#and it haunts them every fucking day to see the way people are still treating them. the 'good' treatment included

[gay-artificer]

Sorry I intended to keep about 400 miles from this discourse but what do you fucking mean that people heard the guy who made fake screenshots against an artist justify it using "Oh its to show that callout culture is bad and that you people were too quick to believe them." and just went yeah that sounds right you have a good point callouts are bad but youre just showing that we support what youre doing actually Really just proves to me that at best the average person who never shuts the fuck up about "cancel culture" is either a remarkable idiot or a massive hypocrite provided you say the right cue words at them

[happy74827]

Say Yes to Heaven

[Logan Howlett x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Sometimes all it takes is one look. One gesture. One word. One action. To remind them that not everyone sees them the same, and It's enough to send a person over the edge.

WC: 3690

Category: Fluff, First Kiss, Logan’s POV

Another Grumpy!Logan x Sunshine!Reader because it’s my comfort trope ✨🫶

『••✎••』

He never realized how much he wanted someone to care for.

It was something he didn't know he desired. A year ago, he didn't care for a single thing. He felt nothing. He was so numb. So empty.

He was an angry man. The kind of man people kept their distance from. Wade ruined that; he aggravated him so much that Logan started actually caring about his life. And for as much as he despised his fugly ass, he was internally grateful for him. He started to open up more and more.

Wade had a part in taking him out of rock bottom, as they say, but you… you aggravated him in the most endearing way possible. You were so bright, so happy, and full of life. Logan couldn't understand how someone could be like that, and he hated you for it. He thought it was so ignorant of you.

"I mean, come on, how could she be that happy all the time? It's fucking dumb. She doesn't even know me!"

That's what he said to Wade, but his roommate only laughed. He found his frustration hilarious and made fun of him constantly.

And don’t even get started on the way you spoke. Never once have you raised your voice at anyone. You always talked softly, and even if you were pissed off, you still found a way to make your words sound gentle.

The man couldn’t wrap his mind around the way you acted, you weren’t a mutant, but you damn well could have been with that forever customer service smile you wore every day.

The level of patience and understanding you held for people was insane to him, especially the amount of patience you held with him.

He was constantly telling you to fuck off, and you took no offense; you just returned that stupidly kind smile and told him that if he needed anything, you were there for him.

You had no clue what he’s done, what he's capable of, and yet you treat him with the utmost respect. And being a mutant, respect, and kindness were two things he hadn’t received in a very long time.

It made him realize things—about himself and others. He started noticing you a little more—the way you looked and the way you acted. It started out as simple confusion and disgust… the typical reactions one would have when one sees an overly happy person.

But it evolved slowly into intrigue and curiosity.

Then something else. Something he couldn't describe.

His first instinct was to push it away. To try and convince himself, he was disgusted. He did this with everything he felt, but he couldn’t keep lying to himself.

It wasn't disgust.

He couldn't name it; he wasn't ready to, but he knew it wasn’t that.

Wade had noticed the change in him, the way he looked at you, the way he started being a little less rough with the words he chose to say. He didn’t bring it up, but the shit-eating grin he gave each time Logan walked in and saw you was more than enough proof that he had picked up on it.

Of course, it only resorted to grins because the one time he opened his mouth, Logan didn’t restrain himself. He popped his claws and had to go couch shopping the next day.

Whoops.

So, with Wade keeping his mouth shut after being chewed out by Blind Al and Logan trying his best to push away the foreign feelings, it finally reached a point where he could no longer ignore them.

He didn’t understand why, of all nights, it had to be this one, but it was.

It was 3 am, and his old nightmares had come back to haunt him. He was restless, sweaty, and couldn't take another second of sleep.

It took a rinsing of the bathroom sink and a pitiful glare at his reflection for you to return his gaze.

He froze for a second.

You were wearing a large T-shirt, with a pair of shorts underneath. Your hair was messy, but it looked so soft, and your face was clear of makeup, leaving the imperfections of your skin that made you all the more beautiful.

Always wearing a smile. Always greeting him with a soft voice, sometimes a little raspy if just waking up, butnonetheless soft.

But once he rubbed his eyes and let out a tired yawn, you weren’t there anymore.

Because you were never there, you lived across the street. You were in your apartment, sleeping, with no idea that, at that moment, the man who constantly told you to fuck off realized he couldn't stop thinking about you.

The same man who would grunt, scoff, and throw away every kind gesture now realized he secretly cherished them.

He stood there for a moment, just pondering his thoughts. His eyes were still on the spot he saw you in.

His head turned to the right, seeing the digital clock that rested on the nightstand.

3:02 am.

You were asleep…. most likely asleep. You would be unhappy if he came over and woke you up, wouldn't you?

He looked back at the sink.

You could be upset, but you could also be happy. You could give him that smile. That sweet, warm smile.

It would be worth it, right? Just for that?

3:04 am

He didn’t think about it. Not even for a second. Ironically, it started raining as if to test him, but the man was determined.

He put on a jacket to cover his bare chest, threw on some random shoes, and was out the door before his mind could stop him.

3:13 am

He knocked on your apartment door. He was completely drenched from the rain. His hair was messy, his jacket sticking to his body, and his shoes were so wet that the squelching sound they made was the only thing audible.

He heard shuffling. Soft steps coming closer. He could smell your scent. It shocked him how easy it was for him to recognize it.

You unlocked the door. Your brows furrowed in confusion.

His mental image of you being in sleepwear, messy hair, no makeup, had been confirmed. You were beautiful.

You had a tired look, one of the many looks he wasn’t used to. But it was still a good look, and it still held your signature kindness.

He had a feeling it would.

You didn't look too shocked, just tired and confused.

You spoke. "Logan, is…? Are you okay?"

Your voice was even softer than usual, the raspiness it held only making it more comforting.

You were genuinely worried about him, and it hit him then that he was being an asshole. Making you wake up in the middle of the night, and for what? Just because he wanted to see you?

Just because of that, he should’ve given you a reason. An explanation.

He should've asked. He should have done so many things differently, but he didn’t.

His head was in the clouds, and all he could think about was you.

You. That was all.

But his expression gave away that he was in a daze, and your worry only grew.

"Logan? What's wrong?"

You stepped out into the hallway and reached a hand to him.

His heart jumped a bit when you did so. It was just a gesture—one simple act of compassion.

He wasn't worthy of that, but he couldn't resist. He didn't want to.

Your fingers barely brushed against his upper arm before he moved. He grabbed your wrist.

His grip wasn't hard. His hold was gentle, as he had no intentions of hurting you. You could’ve easily pulled your arm away if you wanted to, but you didn't.

His eyes locked with yours. He wasn't sure what possessed him, but it felt so right, so he followed his instincts.

He tugged at your wrist, causing your body to fall into him. Your chest pressed against his. His arms wrapped around you, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other resting on the small of your back.

The embrace was so sudden, and he knew the situation was far from ideal, but his senses were overflowed by your presence, your scent, your softness.

His chin rested atop your head, and his eyes fluttered closed.

It wasn’t the first time he ever hugged someone, but it was the first time he hugged someone in such a way. He held onto you tightly, his grip possessive but not painful.

He was afraid to let go.

He felt your hands press against his chest. You were probably going to push him away, he thought, and he tried to prepare himself. He told himself he would let you go because it was the right thing to do, yet he didn’t need to.

You hugged him back, and he almost lost his footing.

How long had it been since he last received a hug? Since the last time, someone held him and showed him affection?

Too long.

Your hands went inside his opened jacket and held onto him. Your fingers pressed against his skin, and your soft, warm breaths caressed his neck.

He could stay like this for eternity, and he would never grow tired of it.

Your voice reached his ears.

"Logan, did something happen?"

He had been standing there for quite a while. He wasn’t aware of how long. Time seemed to freeze around you, but he didn’t mind. He wasn't one to believe in such nonsense, but when it came to you, he was ready to accept it.

Your hand rested on his arm, and he knew you were subtly prompting him to move, and so he did.

He pulled away from the hug just enough to look at you.

Your lips were turned upwards. The corners of your eyes creased.

"Logan?"

It was then that his actions registered—how utterly close the two of you were, how intimately you were holding each other. He was already warm just from genetics alone, but now he felt everything around him heat up.

"I-"

He didn't know what to say. It was like he was back in that bar, drinking away every thought. He couldn't think. There was nothing. Nothing but the feel of your body against his.

But what truly sealed the deal was when he felt your thumb gently caress his knuckles. It was a small movement, barely noticeable, but it was centered exactly on the scars his claws made.

That little movement made his brain short-circuit. His hands twitched. His grip tightened. He held onto you with his entire body as if scared to let you go.

"What happened?"

You were patient with him. The fact that he hadn’t even answered any of your concerns said enough.

But, eventually, he did find some words to respond with. It wasn’t the answer you were searching for, but it was a response.

"Why are you always being so fucking kind?"

It was such a simple question, and yet the amount of pain it carried was overwhelming. He knew you could hear every word behind it. Every word he couldn't bring himself to say.

He didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t a good man. He did horrible things, and sure… he made an attempt to make up for it. To be better, but it couldn’t have been enough, could it?

You were still here, looking at him with those soft eyes.

Why couldn't you look at him the way he deserved to be looked at? Like he was a monster.

Why did you have to look at him with those goddamn beautiful eyes?

"You deserve kindness, Logan. We all do."

And then, your voice became even softer and a little shaky. Your hands went back to massaging his knuckles. His scars.

"Just because you see yourself a certain way doesn’t mean the rest of us do. I see the good in you. Always have since we first met."

You spoke so softly, yet your words were heavy with emotion.

"I know it's not easy, but try to have a little more faith in yourself."

You didn’t deserve the harsh words he always threw at you. You didn’t deserve any of his anger. You didn't deserve him.

"Why?" He repeated his question, his voice strained, and you didn't miss the way his jaw clenched. "Why should I?"

His arms loosened their hold around you; his hands moved down your sides, and his touch feathered light. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he couldn’t quite let go just yet.

You paid it no mind. Only staring back into his eyes with the same kindness he was so used to, the one he had grown to treasure.

"You have a right to feel the way you do, Logan. And I can't claim to understand what you've been through. I can't begin to imagine. But you are a good man. A little rough around the edges, maybe, but you’ve shown me time and time again that you're trying."

A smile crept its way onto your face, and a soft giggle escaped past your lips.

Now, to be fair, he was used to hearing your laughter. With your… odd sense of humor, it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. But, this would be one of the firsts to add to his collection.

The one reserved for him and him only.

Your laughter wasn’t loud, or annoying, or anything like Wade's. It was soft, sweet, and oh-so pleasant.

You were looking at him. Staring up at him with such love and warmth. You didn't even realize it, but he did.

"Besides, who wouldn't be a little grouchy waking up to that handsome face every morning?"

And, now, he was repulsed by the unwelcome vision of a certain masked man making his way into his head. He was so disgusted by the thought he didn’t bother responding. He didn't want to.

So, instead, he moved.

He had a habit of moving on his own and not thinking about it. It went from his hands going to your sides, and now, his hands reaching out to press against the door behind you.

You were pinned against the door, and the way you looked at him didn’t change. Of course, it didn't. Your eyes were always kind. They always were.

You were leaning against the door. Looking at him, waiting.

And he stared back.

He was so close, and he was tempted to pull away. To take a step back and leave. It would be the best for both of you; at least, he thinks so.

He couldn't give you anything.

He had nothing.

There was only himself. His body. His mind. His past.

His claws, too, if that counted for anything.

But, besides those, there was nothing.

He wasn’t a bad man, but he wasn't good either. Not like you were. He couldn’t possibly begin to match you, not even if he tried.

Which is why he had no intention of trying.

Yet, even as he thought that, his body moved even closer. The dog tags he had never taken off since he was given them hung loosely, dangling in front of your face.

One of your hands was on his chest, the other gripping onto the material of his shirt.

"Logan."

You spoke his name so softly. Almost a whisper, and yet, the sound of it was all his senses were focused on.

Your gaze shifted between his eyes and lips, and the hand that had been holding onto his shirt moved, reaching up to his shoulder.

The touch was light, as if hesitant, and it caused him to lean even closer.

It was so close. You were so close. You had been before, but never like this. Never in the way he wanted.

He wanted you so badly.

And you were right there. Looking at him with those eyes, with a soft, tender smile, and with an expression he didn't recognize.

He knew that was an invitation. You were always an open book, and your body language was no different.

And it wasn't the first time you did so.

There were many times when you looked at him. Your eyes trailing over his face. Your gaze went downwards, lingering before you snapped out of it and looked away.

He always saw it, always knew it was there, but he just chose to ignore it. He wasn’t in the right mind, then. He was just another broken man, struggling to get by, trying his best.

Trying to find some meaning in his life.

But, even now, he was still hesitant. Even after coming all the way here and making his intentions clear, he struggled with it.

"Are you sure?"

Because you were so much better than him.

Because he could still remember the day the two of you met. How much of an asshole he was, how rude, how angry.

It wasn’t until the seventh time you approached him that he realized that he had met someone who genuinely, wholeheartedly cared.

It wasn't until the twentieth time you approached him that he finally accepted it.

He could never forget the way you smiled and spoke to him, even though he had given you no reason to.

"Hi, Logan!"

You would say.

"Good morning!"

You would wave.

"Have a nice day, Logan."

You would nod, even though the man himself chose to ignore you. Goddamn it. You were so much better than him.

Much purer. Much more innocent.

You had a heart of gold, and a soul as white as snow. You were so good, so kind, and the thought of soiling you, of ruining your light with his darkness, it scared him.

It was the sole reason he didn't give in, even now, with you offering yourself to him.

He didn't want to ruin you.

"Yes."

No hesitation. No second thoughts.

Your eyes were so kind. So full of love, and the same emotion reflected back in his own.

But, even with the clear sign of assurance, he still felt the need to create one last line of defense.

With the hand against the door, he peeled it back enough to have your eyes catch sight of the fist it made.

In a millisecond, he unleashed his claws and slammed his fist against the door, the sharp adamantium easily slicing through the wood, causing the door to crack.

And, yet, no reaction. Not a single flinch, not a wince, not even a hitch of breath.

You weren't afraid. Not at all. Even as the claws were mere inches from your face, you weren't scared.

The corners of your mouth twitched. Upwards, and it soon bloomed into a bright smile.

He retracted his claws, and gave you another once-over, just to be sure, and you responded by lifting your hand, grasping the metal chain hanging from his neck.

Your fingers grazed against the cool metal, and your smile softened before turning into a small grin.

"For a man who states he isn’t scared of anything, you sure have a lot of defense mechanisms, Logan."

Teasing. That was a new one for you.

He liked it.

"Say it again." Now, finally, you showed a different expression. Confusion mixed with curiosity. You were wondering what he meant. "My name."

"Logan."

For you, his actions were mere seconds. You had no time to process the feeling of his breath against your lips. The feeling of his stubble tickling your skin. The feeling of his warm, dry lips pressed against yours.

But, for him, it was a slow, steady motion. He took his time. He pulled you closer, his hands moving from the door and cupping the back of your head and your waist.

The kiss was soft. Gentle. Nothing rushed.

He held you like you were fragile. Like you were made of porcelain and could break at any moment. He could, theoretically, but he would rather go through Cassandra’s entire repertoire of torture than hurt you.

He lifted you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and your arms around his neck, his own pulling you closer, his fingers digging into your skin.

You tasted exactly how you were. Pure. Sweet.

Like heaven.

He was sure he was leaving that of the bitter alcohol he had downed on your lips, but you didn't seem fussy about it.

Not that he could focus on anything else, anyway.

He was too distracted by the way his tongue danced with yours.

Too focused on the taste of your mouth.

Too distracted by the way your hands made themselves a home in his wet hair. They would tug every once in a while, releasing a groan he hadn’t known was there.

He was too distracted to care.

He was too lost in your scent. Wade always called him that character from that shity vampire movie due to his nose.

He always disagreed until you happened to mention the resemblance. Then, and only then, did he see the logic.

And you saw the logic here, too—the logic of how good you melted together. Experiencing it now made him question his decision to stay away.

If it was always going to be this good, this intoxicating, he should’ve done it a long time ago.

He should've taken the chance.

It would've saved the two of you a lot of frustration, and a lot of headaches.

But it didn't matter. He was here now.

And, as his foot broke into the door, mouth still latched onto yours, with him figuring his way about your apartment, he thought:

It doesn't matter.

As long as I’m here.

As long as you’re in my arms.

It doesn't matter.

Fortunately, that meant he didn’t have to wake up to that toupee-stapled face every morning, as he had so dreadfully imagined.

Unfortunately, it also meant that the next time he saw Wade, he would have to deal with him talking his ears off about what had transpired.

But, for now, he could live with that.

He was more focused on the fact on making sure you weren’t regretting your choice.

Because he sure as fuck didn’t.

[nix-nihili]

Thinking about how Charles probably never tells Edwin about his father to the full extent because it's partially about vulnerability and the shame that comes with it.

It's about having to be around this one person day and night and not being able to open up to them fully because you can't just... walk away.

You can't just carve your chest open to place your beating heart in the other person's hands and walk away. You have to sit there and watch what they'll do with it. Whether they'll crush it and leave you with a bloody mess while saying that it doesn't really matter or treat it with so much tenderness you don't think you deserve.

(Because how could he ever deserve tenderness?)

See, Edwin is using these cases to build a case for himself against Hell. He's trying to prove himself here. We know this. But Charles is also trying to prove himself. Prove that he's not like his father or Brad and Hunter or the Devlin dad.

That he's not a creature of violence.

Because a part of him believes he can be just as bad as them. That sometimes he is. This is an insecurity of his. How can he tell the one person who seems to see nothing but good in him a glaring flaw? Who's to say that if he reveals things about this huge insecurity that Edwin won't realise the truth in it and agree with it?

(Crush his heart and leave it a bloody mess but at least it will be honest. At least the blood will be deserved.)

Or. Or Edwin will say that Charles is nothing like any of them. That he is good and kind and wonderful. That his hands are not made for hurting, that his purpose is not to ruin lives. That he is someone worthy of love.

(So much tenderness that feels undeserved, that feels worse because how has he managed to convince Edwin of all of this? How can Edwin believe any of this? Is this real or is he just being placated?)

So, if he takes Edwin up on his initial offer ("You can tell me anything"), he's revealing parts of himself he hasn't told anybody about in decades. To tell his best mate first? To be that vulnerable and not have a place to hide afterwards? To live with the fact that Edwin now knows about his insecurities and oh god does Edwin think about it? Does he run that conversation in his head over and over, picking apart the details until the picture is clearer and uglier? Has Edwin realised how much Charles doesn't deserve his kindness? His companionship? His love?

He can't do that. Fuck, how is he ever meant to do that? How is he ever meant to live with the shame of having told someone he has to see every day and wonder if they ever think that it's a bit hypocritical? Or worse, a bit ridiculous. A bit laughable. Not a big deal at all. That he's just been making a mountain out of a molehill and really he should leave it well and alone.

(even if a part of him knows Edwin could never do that. that Edwin is always kind. it is doing him a disservice to think of him this way. but sometimes the other part of him that cowers in fear is too loud.)

All in the past, right? Doesn't matter. He should really get over it. He'd been raised to get over it. Just another fact of life. So many people have had it worse. Hell, Edwin has had it worse. This is nothing compared to it.

(So, then why does it still haunt him?)

[a-moth-called-mof]

No actually I'm going to say. I honestly think that was such a satisfying and fitting epilogue for something as unqiue as the dream smp. Maybe its vague about certain things and maybe it wasn't a picture perfect happy ending but it felt so satisfying, not just because of the original shit nuke ending and the way the server originally just slowly faded (although that contributes) but also, because it's a representation of the dream smp itself saying goodbye to its fans. Jack being the point of the view character is so fitting because he's been there since the early days and it makes it so that for once, we get to see C! Tommy from someone else's point of view without his own perspective offered. And that's so fucking impactful. When C! Tommy asked Jack where he'd been and that he hadn't seen him in a long time, he was talking to C! Jack sure but he was also talking to the viewers themselves by extension. The image of C! Tommy silently standing there and treating Jack, the point of view character of the viewers, like an old friend is so haunting and comforting in a way words can't express.

And then there's just the entire theme of grief and moving on that's present throughout the entire thing? C! Jack and Tommy both reminisce about how much the SMP impacted both of them. They look on at C! TECHNO'S HOUSE as they talk about how despite all the shit it put them through, a part of them misses it and longs to be back there again because there were things there that were fun and that meant something to them. It's so fitting on a metatextual levels. The characters are reminiscing about the SMP's old days "before everyone left" and so are the content creators through the characters but also, so is the audience. The viewers. The old fans who clung on. The fans who who didn't. The fans who, despite everything the server put them through, still wanted to tune into a livestream for even a chance of seeing it again.

I just feel like the stream represented so many of us. When C! Jack says he didn't like the person he was back then but that doesnt mean he was bad, I just feel like that encapsulates so many of us during the pandemic. Like many (I think?), I used the dream smp as escapism. I was in a really bad place and I was avoiding most of my irl friends. I hate who I became during those times. But also. I had so much fun. I would tune into streams every day and scroll tumblr and the fandom made me feel so happy and included and I loved the inside jokes and I loved the characters and I loved the streams and I loved everything and a part of me still misses that. I was avoiding everything in my life and I was so isolated but I was so full of excitement and bliss and fun when I would tune into those streams. I've kinda spent the past 2 years lowkey hating who I was. But this stream, C! Jack's line and reflection specifically, genuinely made me realise that maybe I shouldn't idk view my old self so negative and that he (who I was) was probably just trying his best during a tough time even if his choices weren't always the most functional. That I've improved and that that's okay and good even. And that maybe just because I like who I am now doesn't mean he was bad.

Idk there's also something about C! Tommy telling C! Jack he might never see him again and C! Jack telling him that that's okay (also again image of C! Tommy looking at the viewer's point of view and telling them he'll probably never see them again...). There's just something about growing up and how you kind of lose contact with some people and how that's normal and it's okay and it happens and how that ties back into some of the dream smp's themes about growing up. But also there's a bit of grief there and that's okay. Idk there's something so visceral about the last piece of media about the dream smp literally being about grief and moving on and about how the characters literally say goodbye to eachother after everything but also about how that's okay. Idk I wonder how many people feel similarly

To conclude this, I feel like the moment in the stream that hit me the most was CC! Jack being happy he let go of the manishroom (and the server by extension) and that he's moving on but then later saying "I didn't like letting go of the mushroom. Felt like I wanted to cling onto it forever" and something about that just hits. Idk there's something how the characters both feel such a unique pain and longing for the old times in universe and how that reflects how the audience and streamers themselves feel and there's something about how I genuinely don't think something that wasn't as accidental and beautiful and messy and painful and earnest and flawed and unique as the dream smp could ever capture that feeling. And I think I love it for that. And I think I love the epilogue for representing that. And I think the dream smp said I love you and goodbye to its viewers with that epilogue and I think I said it back.

[drewstarkeyluvbot]

Haunt me

Rafe Cameron x ex-best friend pogue! reader

Summary : After your encounter with Rafe , you wished never to face him again. Nevertheless, fate fathoms different plans and in a time where old wounds have been ripped open and blood is rapidly spilling out , four hands are going to get messy.

warnings: angst, cursing , jealousy

word count: 3.2k

part one , part three

~

There is no deeper pain than the one stemming from an old love that transformed into a bitter stranger.

Because you know it. You know it now, you knew it then - god - you've known it since you were a toddler. You know you were in love with Rafe Cameron.

Perhaps that's why the pain caused by his absence was so deep, so profound that it reached into the crevices of your very soul and settled there . It was always there , you were aware of it, but you constructed defence mechanisms and put up walls in order to shield it from the outside world,in order to forget it and keep it buried deep within your soul.

Your efforts were destroyed in a matter of seconds , a few words falling from his lips were stupidly enough . It was awoken, dragged back to the surface no matter how hard you tried to conceal it. He made you vulnerable - again - and you despise him even more for it.

Because he doesn't care.

But you do , you care. You always did, even during the days that Rafe wasn't quite Rafe. He has always been short tempered,always had aggressive tendencies. The man that was supposed to distance him from such behaviour ; who should have been the light guiding him through the dark , was the very cause of his peculiar behaviour.

You never quite liked Ward Cameron. Even before Rafe opened his heart to you,you noticed small -yet malicious- traits in his behaviour. You noticed the way he talked to - the way he scolded - Rafe, you noticed the way rafe's back would straighten the moment his father entered a room. It was almost as if a switch had been turned on , and he would attempt to take up the role of the perfect son. You noticed the way his father treated his sister, the way his eyes lit up every time he saw her. Sarah Cameron was his little princess, and Rafe Cameron was the neglected son that yearned for a validation he would never receive.

You were fourteen when you truly realized what a horrible person Ward Cameron was ; It was the first time Rafe cried in your arms . You were so confused - so young - yet embraced him with so much love and warmth that his father's insults and cruel words about pretend masculinity were nothing but a vacant thought. At least until it happened again. But then, you'd do it again,and again, and again.

You were his medicine,in a way. Patching up his wounds and healing his broken soul with your mere presence. You were so full of love,and you gave it all to him. You'd wipe his tears and caress his face until your eyes would sting and your fucking fingers would feel numb, because who cares about momentary torture if it meant seeing him smile again?

But that's all in the past now.

Leave the past in the past, y/n.

Leave the past in the past,y/n.

Leave the past in the past,y/n.

That's exactly what you're weakly attempting to achieve at this moment, before you've realized you got lost in your irrational thoughts once again,the ones that you've tried to desperately avoid. Your head is feeling slightly dizzy,and you can practically feel the blood pumping inside your veins as you grip the glass of the unknown drink you're holding. You're at a random house party, one that the pogues had unwillingly dragged you to, claiming you've been out of it the whole week. Of course you hadn't told them about your recent encounter, you don't need to have more people reminding you of how much fucking power he still has over you, your own repetitive words are enough.

Your eyes shift towards your group of friends, bodies splayed out on the rather uncomfortable couch as giggles and contented sounds fall from their lips. You smile, eyes falling on the drink in your hand and studying the nasty liquid. You weren't really the drinker ; well, at least not to the point of throwing up in another person's toilet and confessing your undying love to said person. But everyone is different, right?

You picked up the habit of staying mostly sober when Rafe first discovered alcohol , and you weirdly felt that taking care of him was your own liability. It kind of stuck on you since then , both the staying sober and taking care of others. He somewhat ruined you, didn't he? How silly.

He's here ;  you noticed him the moment you stepped inside the ridiculously posh house. He's resting against the wall lazily, drink in his hand as his group of friends surrounds him. The same group of friends he discarded you for. He fits into the crowd seamlessly, he blends in. You suppose he never did that with you.

They're not good people, you know that, Rafe knows that. But, perhaps your definitions of good don't quite line up anymore. How silly.

You feel a fluffy mess falling against your exposed thighs, and you move your drink that's hiding the view. You slightly scrunch your nose, narrowing your eyes as your mouth quirks up at the sight of your drunk friend.

JJ Maybank is sunshine presented in human form.

"Why are you so quiet, sunshine?" He slurs in a funny tone, making your soft smile widen into a bright grin. You shake your head, lightly ruffling his blond locks. "Just tired, Jayj."

He groans quietly at your response, scrunching his face like a petulant little toddler. "S' a party! You should be partying and drinking and dancing and singing!"

A loud laugh immediately falls from your lips as you stare down at him fondly, "you're quite literally seconds away from falling asleep on my lap. "  You reply teasingly.

JJ grumbles at your response, reaching up in a weak attempt to flick your forehead but ending up flicking your eyebrow instead. "That's because I've already partied , little brat! S' the aftermath!"

You smile softly at his reply, shaking your head in pure amusement as you let him rest his head on your lap. You lay back on the couch, lifting your gaze and letting your eyes wander about. You know that they're not just wandering about.

Your eyes fall to his lips first, instictevely. You notice the way they're stretched into an obnoxiously cocky simper. You notice his arms after,the way the bicep bulges and contracts as it's tightly secured around her waist. You notice his chest, the way her hand presses against the firm muscle as she smiles up at him with a look that can only mean so much. You notice the way their bodies are plastered together, almost forming into one as he leans down to whisper into her ear.

You notice icy blue eyes shifting to yours from across the room before his hand wraps around her wrist, dragging her away to a place where bodies meet and words don't matter.

~

It's a bit blurry after that, you make up a stupid excuse about having a rapid headache that your friends certainly do not buy, but cannot interfere. You can't even pinpoint how you ended up sprawled on your cushioned bed , images of your car speeding away like a bat out of hell. You're calmer now, tranquility and peace settling inside your apprehensive mind.

Why did you feel that way?.  Why did you feel that peculiar tightening sensation in your chest the moment he dragged her upstairs? Why did he meet your eyes? Why - for god's sake - do you care so damn much?

You need to stop being desperate for an alternative ending to a story that had a miserable one.

Excruciatingly slow hours have passed before you actually manage to drift off to sleep, your face squished against your soft pillow. When you drift awake,you expecte the warm, orange rays of the sun to be peaking through your blinds and cascading over your face. instead , you're met with the soft glow of the moon and a weird groaning sound stemming from the outside.

When you process the noise, you so desperately want to excuse it for being a wild animal,and fall back into the slumber you were in. You can't, not when the groaning ensues, not when it's certainly the sound of a person.

You tentatively lift the warm covers from your body, your feet meeting the wooden floor. You're currently the only person present in your house,the probability of meeting some ill-intentioned person behind the door quite high. Nonetheless,your instincts take over and your hand gently grips the door handle.

The sound of the door creaking tunes out  the rapid acceleration of your heartbeat,the feeling traveling to your ears ; ringing , and ringing and ringing.

It has been two years since the last time Rafe Cameron found himself drunkenly sprawled on your front porch. Today, that changes.

Your heart feels like it's desperately trying to claw out of your fucking throat as you stare at his worn-out form, face first into your wooden , antiquated floor. Soft groans are still falling from his lips , body still and frozen. Just like yours.

"Rafe," it's spoken in a gentle whisper that most definitely does not reach his ears. "Rafe." You repeat a tad louder, still not enough to drown out his throaty groans. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip as you slowly crouch down.

A hand carefully places itself on his back, feeling it slightly move under the touch. The groaning stops. "Rafe." , your voice is loud and clear now ,anxiety bubbling in your chest as you desperately anticipate some form of a reaction.

His head slightly shifts to the side, curtain bangs messy and sweaty as they cling to his forehead , but not enough to shield his pained and glassy eyes. He's quiet for a moment, seemingly filtering my presence. "You're here." The side of his mouth ever so slightly quirks up.

A soft sigh falls from your lips, hand still pressed into his back as you gaze into his eyes.  "How did you get here, Rafe?" You whisper, quietly and hesitantly. Rafe flashes you a toothy smile, gaze lost and hazy. "You're here." He slurs again .

You stare at him, filtering the state he's in. You're slowly dragged back into your past, to those nights you would take care of him. To the night you took care of him and he confessed his feelings.

Rationally, you should go back inside. It is certainly not your fault that Rafe Cameron got piss drunk once again and somehow found his way to your house, as if being lead by the force of habit. You should leave him out here, in the darkness of the night , and let fate deal with his poor misery. You should , but you won't.

"Come on." You whisper softly , grabbing his arm gently and attempting to lift him off the ground. Your strength is evidently not adequate, and Rafe groans deeply as he complies in an trial to assist you in helping him up. He grits his teeth together, legs wobbly as he wraps an arm around your shoulders tightly. You grip his waist tightly and push the door open with your free hand , leading his large frame towards your living room couch.

You carefully place him on it, cradling his head to ensure he doesn't plop it carelessly and sliding a cushion behind it. You can hear him letting out a soft hum as you help him settle in. His eyes burn into you. You do not look into them.

"I'll go grab you a wet cloth and some water,hm?" You don't genuinely expect an answer, simply angling your body around before a strong hand wraps around your bicep. Strong hand, but a gentle grip.  "Don't leave."

Your heart plummets in your stomach at his broken tone, your teeth digging into your lip anxiously. You don't turn to look at him,not wanting the pain in your chest to intensify. "I'll be back,I promise." Your whisper is soft as your hand gradually slips away from his hold, your body moving towards the kitchen before he can mutter another unexpected response.

Your eyes train on the way the freezing tap water drowns the cloth you picked up,in an attempt to prevent yourself from drowning in your own fucking thoughts. You hastily fill up a glass, your hands slightly shaky. You walk back to the living room,back to him.

He's staring up at the ceiling, seemingly out of it and possibly seconds away from falling asleep. Maybe you should have let him, maybe you should stop caring as much as you do. You place the glass on the small table before hesitantly sitting on the edge of the sofa , looking down at him.

His glassy eyes meet yours, and you let out a heavy sigh. "Oh, Rafe" , you speak in a muted tone as you grab the soaked cloth and place it on his forehead. You dap at the sweat that has accumulated there, while simultaneously offering him a sense of refreshment and alleviating the rapid throbbing inside of it.

His enchantingly blue eyes bore into yours as you take care of him, lips slightly parted. "You dating that pogue,hm?" He finally speaks again, voice scratchy and croaky. Your eyebrows immediately furrow, trying to filter his words. That pogue?

You remember the blond mess of unruly hair on your lap, and you let out a small sigh as you keep running the cloth over his face. "JJ?" you speak ,he does not answer. You sigh again. "No, I'm not dating him, Rafe."

He looks at you,not replying before he shifts his eyes. He nuzzles into your hand that's dapping his face,and you're so thankful you didn't drink much alcohol because you're certain you would have emptied your stomach right there.

You pull the cloth away after a while, grabbing the glass of water that was resting on the table. "Sit up." You tell him, receiving a whine in response. You let out a soft sigh, before cradling the back of his neck gently . "Come on, you need to stay hydrated."

Your soft touch turned on a switch, because he slowly moves his body right up. You hand him the glass, your fingers lightly grazing against the other. You pull away first. You discreetly watch his Adam's apple bopping as he downs the glass, silence prevailing.

You grab the glass when he's finished, placing it on the table. "Do you want more?" , you whisper softly. He merely stares at you, and you so desperately want to reach into the depths of his soul and untangle the mess he has become.

"You care." He whispers, "You still care."

It's as if he's repeating the words that have been circulating your mind for the last week repeatedly, like a vinyl on an old record player. You still care. You hope he doesn't ask for a reasoning, because you can not supply him with one.

"Lay back down." You instruct softly, lightly pushing at his chest as you grab the mostly wet cloth . He obeys wordlessly , and you begin dapping his face again. Why does this feel so intimate?

"I don't know why I came here." He whispers again after moments of empty silence. You momentarily halt your movements, before ensuing . "It's okay, Rafe." You can't help but reassure him, why?

He lets out a soft sound, "Y/n" , the sound of tour name delicately falling from his lips makes your heart stop. "Y/n , you're so lovely." He slurs on a pained whisper.  "Why are you so lovely? This would have been so - so much easier if you - you -" He hiccups before he can finish his sentence.

You genuinely cannot deal with this right now, your fingers tightening around the stupid cloth. It's just the alcohol, he's done this before, do not react, do not give in.

Do not believe his words.

"Why did you drink so much, Rafe?" You ask instead, your tone gentle and quiet. You listen to his breathing pattern for a moment, before lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. He smiles weakly, eyes narrowed and hazy. "So you'd take care of me."

He doesn't know what he's saying.

Leave the past in the past, y/n.

You shake your head at his words, not replying. You finally pull the cloth away , before slowly getting up. A hand instantly circles your wrist, meeting painfully pleading eyes.

"I'll be back." You whisper gently, pulling your hand away as you scurry towards your bedroom. Your head is nothing but a fucking tangled mess, his words making your ears hurt and your heart bleed even more than it previously was. You grab a fluffy pillow and a small blanket before heading back towards the living room.

He's staring at the ceiling again ,and you hover above him. You slowly kneel down, softly cradling the back of his neck and lifting his head, replacing the rather confining cushion with your comfortable one. You get up, before covering his large frame with your warm blanket.

He hums contently, and you've reached the point of utter bewilderment and hopelessness. You don't know what to do , where to go. You need to stay away from him, lock yourself in your name and scream into your pillow until your fucking ears ring and the sounds of roosters prevails over your own broken voice.

A hand slowly reaches up to wrap around your wrist again, your breath hitches at the touch. "Hair." He mumbles incoherently, your eyebrows scrunching up in question.  A soft groan leaves his lips as he stares up at you in anticipation, "Play with my hair."

His reply sinks in, and you instantly shake your head , "Go to sleep, Rafe." You whisper rather coldly, watching as his Adam's apple bops on a gulp.  You hate the way your chest tightens.

"You always did that." He adds quietly, his expression pained. "Do you remember?"

You wish you could forget. Frankly enough,you wish that the fateful night of the thunderstorm , the rain would have started pouring a little harder , or the thunder would have sounded a little louder, or the lightening would have shone a little brighter ; if so , you would have stopped a little fucking earlier and would knock on the door of a random, obnoxious kook that would have cursed you out but you would have pridefully accepted it because at least they wouldn't know how you sounded when you screamed and begged for someone to love you.

You wish you were someone else, someone that doesn't know who Rafe Cameron used to be. Someone that isn't still fucking haunted by the Idea of him.

At your lack of response , Rafe decided to speak up again. "I wish I could go back to the start." he whispers weakly, voice slightly breaking out. "Before I messed it all up."

His eyes shimmer in the darkness of the room,and you wish you would die.

You begin feeling your eyes stinging, but you don't find the power within yourself to control yourself. Your hearts are bleeding, and you're both drowning in your own blood.

"That's the beauty of mistakes, isn't it?"  you whisper, "they're irreversible."

You walk away again.

~

[dazed-and-confused23]

Dear Hearts and Gentle People 18

Summary: Cooper comforts you after the two of you leave Vault 3. There isn't anything he can do to take your memories of that place away, but he sure as hell could try.

Pairings: The Ghoul | Cooper Howard x Female Reader

Warnings: Not many? Hurt/Comfort. Cooper does his best. Drug use and sexual assault are mentioned. Lots of cuddles and crying.

Masterlist

You don't remember how you got out of the Vault, and you don't care to recall how either. You lay in bed in your room at the Atomic Wrangler for three days, recovering from the copious amount of chems that the fiends have shoved into your system. Julie Farkus had told Cooper that she was lucky to be alive and that most women didn't have someone that could save them like he had for you.

Cooper had grit his teeth, lips pulled in a nasty sneer, and told the good doctor that it'd almost been too late, but he was just glad that Julie could help him. Today was the first time that you felt up to more than just sleeping, and the ghoul made sure to be by your side. You sat up, back pressed against the wall, and played with the plate of food in your lap.

"You gonna eat, smoothskin?" He asks and shifts his weight in the stool beside your bed. Cooper's been here for the better part of those three days, only leaving for necessary reasons and never for long. The bounty hunter is dressed down, only his jeans and button-up and boots, and you finally look at him.

You clear your throat, lips pulled in a harsh frown. "Yeah, I will."

Cooper doesn't like the tone you use and sits forward, elbows on his knees, and he stares you down, "Do I need to feed you?"

You scoff at the vauge threat and pierce a piece of steak before popping the morsel in your mouth and slowly chew it. You eye Cooper then swallow, "Happy?"

The ghoul narrows his amber eyes, "Not yet."

He watches your lips purse and look away from him, shoulders slumping and hands going limp. He doesn't expect to see tears growing in your eyes or to watch the way you fold into yourself, lips trembling as a broken apology spills from between your lips.

Cooper rises and takes the plate away from you, setting it to the side so that he can crawl into the bed with you. He sits against the headboard and pulls you back so that you rest between his legs against his chest. You don't bother fighting against him and simply cry a little harder when his hands rub soothing motions across your back.

"Wanna talk about it yet?" Cooper offers quietly. You've not said shit to him about your time in Vault 3. He understood the big picture when he'd arrived down there. His smoothskin had been treated worse than a fucking dog, drugged up and left to wallow in your own filth.

You shake your head. You don't understand how Cooper even wants to touch you right now. You feel disgusting, and the phantom feel of the fiends' hands still haunt you at every second of the day. You want another shower, but hot water was a precious commodity.

"Stop apologizing," Cooper rumbles after a moment, and you snap your mouth shut, unaware that you'd just said everything out loud. His arms tighten around you, and you bask in the strength of the hard planes of his body.

"Nothing those bastards did to you could make me love you any less."

His words only make you sob harder, but you can't help but feel relief at them. Your ghoul loved you and had taken on an entire vault of chem addled cannibals to save you. He had come out on top and dragged your sorry body all the way back to Freeside, snarling and demanding help from the followers.

"Thank you," you say, and press yourself as close to Cooper as you can. You never want to let go, and you never want to see the inside of a vault ever again.

"You're mine, Darlin', "Cooper rumbles and tightens his hold on you, "And nothin' will ever stop me from comin' for you."

*sorry if this one is a little lackluster. I had some trouble with it. ❤️*

[evilkaeya]

Sai!! what are YOUR ada chuuya hcs?

Ohh this is going to be a long post so hold tight. Here are some of my hcs on ada chuuya based on asgr's idea (chuuya deflects with dazai)

> When they first join, they refuse to be partnered with anyone else in the agency. Despite claiming to hate each other it's clear that they share an unbreakable trust. They're not really inseparable, but they're always in each other's orbit. Both have a wall built around themselves but are also confined within a wall together, haunted by a past they share.

> Every mission they're sent to ends in success but with a cost of some destruction and agency money. Fukuzawa let's them be.

> Ranpo is the one Chuuya is most wary of at first. He's a genius on an equal footing of Dazai, if not a step ahead of him. Ranpo seemed to know too much and Chuuya hates it. Until the detective tells him, "People are built of both truths and lies, you know. I can tell both, but it's up to you how you're going to build yourself, and there isn't much to see for me beyond that." Chuuya held onto those words, feeling like he was truly given a chance to find himself, for himself and not for any greater purpose for the first time.

> His first Dazai less mission is with Ranpo, and he's amazed by the detective's ability. Even more amazed by how unprofessional he is, almost to a disrespectful extent. It's a bit like Dazai, but Ranpo doesn’t wear a mask like the other guy.

> So they both learn to trust, bit by bit, and settle right in. Fast forward to a few months later, Chuuya works with Ranpo and Dazai with Kunikida.

> When Atsushi joins, Chuuya is immediately reminded of Akutagawa and how Dazai had treated him. Part of him fears the history to repeat itself, but it doesn't. Dazai takes the kid under his wing and guides him in his own Dazai way, but it's unlike how it was in port mafia. Dazai has changed, and so has he. Maybe they aren't too gone to be saved.

The ghost of the past is still there, but it's not haunting them anymore. It's simply watching from the sideline, fading, as if saying goodbye.

> Chuuya keeps a framed picture of the flags on his desk.

> The girls are very curious about Chuuya's hair care routine, especially Naomi. He's also good at hairstyling and styles Kyouka and Naomi's hair sometimes. Needless to say, he's invited to girls' sleepovers.

> Chuuya is like a big brother to Kenji. They compete on strength, like who can hold the most stuff with one hand and all that. Dazai nullifies his ability mid competition one time, and Chuuya throws him out of the window.

> Kunikida and Chuuya don't get along at first, but they sort of become best friends eventually. One time Kunikida comes back after a mission with Dazai and starts shaking Chuuya.

"How. How did you do it for so long? How did you not go insane?" Chuuya laughs.

> Chuuya is very caring. No matter how much effort he puts into being subtle about it, it's obvious to everyone. He leaves energy drinks on people's desks, carries heat packs with him in winter in case someone needs one, and makes sure everyone has breakfast. The ADA is his family now, he's going to treasure them with everything he has.

> Chuuya stops by Dazai's desk one day and simply says, "Osamu," (cue Dazai snapping out of his doze and nearly hitting his chin on the desk) "thanks, for not leaving me behind." And he fucking leaves, bolts away almost, face hidden by hair but Dazai can tell he's trying to hide tears. But that aside, he still hasn't gotten over Chuuya calling him by first name.

("Ne Dazai, can you stop smiling by yourself like that? It's creeping me out." "Ranpo san, I think I'm in love with Chuuya." "Congrats, you're the last person in the agency to figure it out.")

[beautifulchris]

haunt you

pairing: ex!jake sim x gn!reader

summary: after breaking up with him, you decide to opt for revenge, and revenge he's gonna get

genres: slight angst, exes!au, revenge!au

wc: 1,1k

tw: jake is a cheater and an asshole, swearing, mentions of cheating, mentions of sex (nothing explicit), alcohol consumption, violence, reader is called queen once

notes: i'm back, did you miss me? this piece is part of my collection of fics! indented are the lyrics, banner made by me on canva.

listen to the song for a more immersive experience: spotify link | youtube link

networks: @kflixnet @k-labels @kwritersworld

permanent tag list: @soobin-chois @exfolitae @linos-catnip @prettymiye0n

A place filled with infatuated young adults, alcohol pouring from bottles to glasses and from glasses directly to throats. Sometimes, glasses are even out of the equation.

A young man walking towards an empty room with a beautiful young woman by his side, neither thinking straight, both giving in to the lewd thoughts and desire.

The downing feeling of being betrayed by someone you love, the void consuming you as you easily caught them. 

That was what happened the first time Jake cheated on you.

Yes, the ‘first’ time. It was an error, a mistake. At least that was what he pleaded. But then it happened again. And again.

The fifth time you caught him, you had enough. You broke up with him for good. It felt liberating, like a heavy load was lifted off your shoulders. You couldn’t explain to yourself why you didn’t leave the first time. 

He didn’t say much, except he didn’t particularly want to see you again.

I know, right? You should’ve been the one to say that. Of course, you disagreed. That would’ve been boring.

Even if your feelings for him had diminished over time until entirely expired, it didn’t mean he had the right to treat you the way he did.

Therefore, instead of avoiding him at all costs, you showed up at his usual spots on purpose.

He didn’t want to see you? You were going to make him look at you. Every. Single. Day. So he wouldn’t forget you that easily.

You weren’t usually a revenge type of person, but you felt like he deserved it.

Although I left, I'm not gone It's funny how every day you say that you moved on I hope that everywhere you go and everything you do You'll never forget me, I'll be watching you

After getting a glimpse of you, his friends would ask Jake if he was okay. He’d say the same thing over and over again.

“I’ve moved on guys, I’m good.”

And he believed it, at first. He’d find another person and it would be nice and new, but then would come the intercourse and his mind would be filled with you. He’d reproach the resemblance between the two of you.

He was looking for a pretty girl he could forget you with. Two, eight, twelve… No matter how many people he’d sleep with, he would still see your face and secretly wish it was you with him.

And when you take her home, you're kissing someone new You'll be wishing it was me on top of you And when she's in your bed, I'll be in your head You'll be thinking 'bout me instead

He felt like you were haunting him and blamed it on the fact he saw you every day. It was your fault he felt this way. You were the only one who could free him.

One Saturday night, at a party held by a common friend, Jake found you outside, a half empty glass in hand, dancing with your friends.

Even if he saw you often, it dawned on him that you looked beautiful every time. Almost like a precious jewel in a museum. An unreachable treasure.

He walked up to you and grabbed your wrist, pulling you out of the crowded space.

Smirking, you followed him without a word.

He stopped when you reached a more secluded area, but not too far from the front door.

“Y/N,” he breathed, taking in your revealing dress up close.

“Jake,” you said coldly. “What do you want?”

He reluctantly let go of your hand and you crossed your arms.

“I can’t get you out of my mind.”

You laughed internally. Perfect.

I kinda like it when I'm fucking with your head I kinda like the games I play, I smile when I see you upset

“How is that my problem?” you asked before sipping on your cocktail by the straw.

“Be with me. Let’s start again, yeah?”

You couldn’t stop the loud scoff that left your lips. He looked desperate and pathetic.

“I don’t buy back the stuff I sell, Jake. What, you’re missing me? You wish we were still a thing? Maybe you should’ve thought about me when you cheated. Multiple times, may I add. It’s over. We will never get back together.”

Everything was said calmly, yet firmly. Your plan worked, he was hurting. That was all you wished for.

“Y/N… I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I was wrong.”

“You must be kidding me. It’s a little late for an apology now, don’t you think?”

“You don’t understand…” he pleaded. “All I think about is you. You’re intoxicating.”

“Damn right I am, yet you still went and betrayed me not one time, but five!”

He gulped, avoiding your gaze.

“More than that?” What else was there to say, honestly? He never cared for you. “You know what? I think we’re done here.”

You started to leave, but he took your hand.

You harshly pulled away and slapped him with all the strength you had.

He fell on the muddy floor, soaking his clothes. He put his hand over his reddening cheek, too stunned to speak.

“I said, we’re done.”

You get what you give when you mess with me

You left him there and went back to your friends.

“Ah, shit, my glass is empty,” you sighed. “That sucks.”

You excused yourself and went to the kitchen.

“That was some epic punch back there.”

Pouring yourself a glass of your favorite cocktail, you didn’t look up. No need, you already knew who it was.

“Thanks, Jen.”

“Honestly, he had it coming. What a powerful queen move, Y/Nie.”

She bitched over your ex for about five minutes, during which you concentrated on the effects of the alcohol in your veins and the deafening music playing in the living room, barely hearing her.

“Jen,” you called, interrupting her, “I’m gonna go. Enjoy the rest of the night.”

“Oh—sure, do you want me to drop you off? I haven’t drank a single drop.”

It was true, you should know as you spent your night with her.

“Are you sure? Don’t you want to stay?”

“Nah, these parties aren’t what they used to be.”

Finishing your glass in one go, you grabbed your coat on the way out. Most of your friends were still outside. You both said bye and left the property, no sign of Jake anywhere, except the traces of his body in the mud.

“You look happy,” she commented, opening the car door for you.

“Thanks. Yeah, that slap felt amazing.”

She started driving towards your house. “What are you gonna do, now?”

“Now that I’m done haunting him, I’m gonna focus on my life.”

Wondering what happened to Jake after that?

He had a hard time forgetting you. Even if you stopped showing up, it took him about six months to move on. You scarred him for life, though.

He won’t cheat ever again, I’m telling you!

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, let me know! here's the masterlist!

[argumentativeaxolotl]

Hey hey hey nerds I’m back at it again with some more CARS HUMAN AU HEADCANONS‼️‼️‼️ THIS TIME ITS ANGST 👹👹👹

Lightning McQueen:

- Bro 101% brushes off any concern he has for himself and uses all of that concern and worry that he’d use for himself on other people and his friends. He doesn’t think he really deserves to be cared after and looked after especially with how much of a dick he used to be- hence why he doesn’t care about himself as much anymore(still enough to keep up with his hotshot facade but if there’s actual danger or someone’s actually hurt he’ll ignore himself in favor of that person).

- I feel like this dumbass is an absolute MAGNET for trouble. Like even as a kid. Lil bro would get into trouble and somehow get hurt while being in a rubber room with rats. Him getting hurt all the time likely exasperated all the families that fostered him which would lead to him getting scolded by some of the… rougher families which led to Lightning being very reserved about himself, going back to the first headcanon above this one. He thinks he’s not worth the attention.

- Lightning was on his own as soon as he got to his Freshman year, this being his last foster family. They were pieces of shit and sort of treated him like he wasn’t there or that he was the cause of all their issues. This caused Lightning to lash out more than normal which is when he sort of came up with the persona of Lightning McQueen(the branding came from Harv later down the line). It was like a last line of defense which ended up helping him only for a little while(then radiator springs happened and blah blah blah).

- He was so used to being treated like shit that Harv’s horrendous treatment of him wasn’t a red flag until Mack came into the picture and stood up for him a few times, the truck driver telling Harv to piss off.

Chick Hicks:

- He never finished his education. In my AU I think Chick would have been forced into racing at a young age by his father after his brother’s death. Chick’s father would be so obsessed with one of his kids becoming a great racer, essentially living through that child, that he wouldn’t give two shits in what Chick or his brother would want to do. Chick’s father likely brought Chick to a bunch of races as a kid which led to him missing many many classes and falling behind his peers. This happened in seventh-eighth grade which led to Chick never going to Highschool as he became the next up and coming racer.

- His father was a pile of absolute, burning, human shit. The man would hurt both of his kids- physically and emotionally- while also sort of putting all his own traumas into his kids, living through them and making Chick into him. Young Chick would likely want to make his father proud and would constantly try to adhere to his father’s words and whatever the man said- examples being shit like “crashing is a part of racing” or “give them a little nudge out of the way” or some shit which would lead Chick into the madman we know today.

- His brother was the only positive “adult” figure in his life and his brother tried his damndest to get Chick to not be like their shitty father, yet the brother just wasn’t around long enough. Chick was absolutely fucking devastated when his brother died and didn’t respond to any outside stimuli for at least a week or two. Their father mourned before moving on and suddenly acknowledging Chick, acting like he was his only son.

- Chick is 100% still haunted by the dying light in his brother’s eyes, having watched him die after a horrific crash. Chick never wanted to push cars out of his way, having seeing what it did to his brother, yet something in Chick wouldn’t let him fight against his father’s shitty teachings. Chick can remember every detail of that day and sometimes wishes it was him instead.

Strip Weathers:

- One time when Cal got severely sick, like bedridden for a week sick, Strip got horrific flashbacks to when his mother passed away due to a terminal illness. Strip was so scared and terrified that he spent so much money on doctors alone. Lynda tried to calm him down, telling Strip that it was just a nasty case of the flu or something along those lines, but Strip just couldn’t lose another family member- especially not one he saw as his son.

- Strip wanted to be a doctor so he could help his mother with her illness and so he could try to find a cure so nobody else had to go through what she did. He put in so much effort and tried so hard, conducting research and studying hard so he could become a doctor. Then his mother passed away when he was still in med school, leaving him shattered and blaming himself for somehow not graduating faster. Tex was there for Strip.

- He dropped out of med school in favor of racing since he didn’t think he would be able to continue after his mother passed. He felt useless for a long time, drinking his pain away for a few years- never during a race- until he met Lynda and she helped bring him back to himself.

- After his crash during the tie breaker, he’s felt immense pain in his wrists and shoulders and neither he nor the doctors know why. It’s not killing him but it lingers and sometimes he just can’t move for a while.

Doc Hudson:

- Doc has a similar thing to Strip where after his crash he just had horrendous pain shooting all throughout his limbs and back. He’s not sure what it is, but either way it’s thankfully lessened over the years, now being dull aches or more joint pain than usual whenever it gets colder.

- Sometimes he’ll randomly have a flashback to when he was back in the Hornet or being wheeled to the hospital during/after the crash. Doc never really got over it and stupidly never saw a therapist about this. These flashes often make him feel worse than he already does, leaving him in a shitty mood and grumpy and more than a little scared to get into the Hornet. Over the years, these flashes have gotten less and less to the point where it’s once or twice every couple years at random.

- Him becoming an actual doctor wasn’t because he had so much time on his hands after the crash- also that was part of it- but it was because that was his sister’s dying dream- to become a doctor and help people.

- His older sister passed away sometime before Doc’s crash so when he was still young. She was much older than him- roughly ten-ish year age gap. They were still close.

Thank you for your time lmao now it’s time for me to disappear for like three months again <3 HAPPY HALLOWEEN‼️‼️‼️

[crushedsweets]

WWHAT WUD THE CREEPS DO 4 HALLOWEEN I MUST KNOW

anon... yes i like this. general disclaimer this is tailored to my au !! stuff under cut

toby likes it, thinks its fun and stuff. he's not the type to dress up beyond like, maybe a jacket and a mask or whatever, but he'll go and buy(steal) stupid ass halloween decorations from spirit or the dollar store. there r several mini skeletons sitting around his cabin. he treats it like elf on the shelf, but. . . skeletons... def will sit around and watch scary movies with a bag of halloween candy . totally carves pumpkins with whoever will do it with him

tim wouldnt really want to do much cuz he's just tired, but he probably would put out a small little pumpkin and bowl of candy outside his door. he's in an apartment so he doesnt really get trick or treaters. will prob buy some candy after halloween so its on sale

brians so annoying omfg(lovingly) he'd buy a fake arm, blood, and wig and stick it in his trunk so it looks like an arm is sticking out. yall know what im talking about. him and tim share an apartment so he'd prob try to actually put something simple around it, like some plastic pumpkins, but nothing really big. he is also a grown man with no kids, so he doesnt find himself going all out for these things

natalie. ok i recently made it where she's either already a tattoo artist, or learning to be a tattoo artist or whatever, but i could see her and some coworkers setting up the shop all halloweeny. she's so fucking tall that they'd just call her over for all the spider web stuff. she thinks its fun and she likes halloween a lot so it's cool. she'd get a huge kick out of doing halloween tattoos during october too. goes and hangs out with toby/nina for it

nina goes to parties . she HAS to get a whole new costume for every party. its super wasteful but she doesnt care all that matters is shes sexy. every year without fail she is a sexy gothic vampire for one of the parties. she works at hot topic, BUT she'd absofuckinglutely get a second job at spirit halloween for october. she's a creepy galll... def sets her apartment up super cutely, brings toby and nat over so they can carve pumpkins with her, tries to dress them up, etc. tons of halloween posts on her social medias too LOL shes so cute

jeff would prob also go to more like... weirder ( ?) parties with creeps and scary people roaming around just doing crazy shit. warehouse shit. prob finds someone to bring home and kill. he thinks its fun, its easier to just go about his days looking the way he does, he loves scaring the fucking shit out of people. doesnt decorate or wear costumes though, says its cringe LMFAO. hates how hyped nina is about it

jane and mary would totally decorate, but in a much more.. ? elegant ? way. like those tall skinny candles, swap out their doormat for something halloween themed, really nicely done pumpkins for some reason. jane would want to host a cute little halloween dinner for uni friends. probably just gets simple costumes, like she'd put on a witch hat and black dress and thats all, but its cute. takes sally (and ben, if sally asks him to come) trick or treating.

sally draws tons of drawings, loves disney halloween marathons, paints on pumpkins(doesnt like the smell of gutting them), etc. she'd decorate with jane cuz she lives w her. she loves it so much but she still gets scared of the animatronic things at stores and stuff LOL. begs ben to trick or treat w her. really embarrassing for ben

ben wouldnt do much besides like. he'd get worse w his internet trolling (scaring the fucking shit out of teens on the internet), start doing more actual hauntings bc nobody will believe his victims during october which means slender wont find out he's doing it. he would not want to go trick or treating..but he'd go with sally with a pillow case and he'd try to awkwardly stand further back but the ppl at the door would always b like 'aw dont be shy come here!' LOL

jack doesnt celebrate it, his family didnt really celebrate it much when he was human so he doesnt do it now. he does get kinda sad during holiday season though, cuz of obvious reasons, but halloween isnt the strongest Pain for him

liu is so fucking miserable theres no way. jk he'd set out like, some pumpkins and maybe get one of those lights that project ghosts onto his garage, but he wouldnt want to go all out or do anything to the inside of his house. jeff really liked halloween when he was younger so its kinda like ouch but he's getting overit. i guess. . .

kate doesnt..celebrate anything........ but when she does occasionally visit the cabin, maybe for food or a shower, and she sees toby decorated, she'd be happy to see it. she's kinda unsettling to be around, but she'd sit down and watch a movie with him in silence. then bring a massive bag of candy to the mine w her w/o telling toby. he just had to cope

ann and lulu dont do anything in the hospital. they dont really have any concept of time........... or the resources to decorate... and they dont get any trick or treaters... cuz theyre...stuck in an abandoned hospital in the woods . . . yeah..

ty for ask anoni like this one. very simple but very sweet

[boomcomplains]

My best friend was adopted from South Korea. She was told she was an unwanted child born outside of wedlock, so she shouldn't look for her birth mother because it will ruin the woman's life.

She was told she was supposed to be grateful for the family who adopted her. They were such good people.

Good people? Her mother left her without food in an isolated house in the countryside for days. Her mother had multiple boyfriends who, upon finding out they were not the only one, would bang on all the windows and doors screaming for her mom to come out. I was sleeping over during one of these incidents, and my friend was just like "meh, this happens all the time." The memory of the violence men are capable of still haunts me. When I brought it up years later, she had forgotten about it. That's how every day it was.

She told me once that she felt like she was a pet, or a handbag. This documentary used the words supply and demand so much I felt sick. My friend is a human fucking being.

Sometimes, I struggle with how unfair life is, and my friend said to me "Oh, I stopped caring about fairness when I learned as a child I was the only kid in class who couldn't be president." And let me tell you folks, that thought assails me on my darkest of days. I at least thought at one time I could be president, and I didn't know how important that was to self-esteem until she said it.

My friend has been asked if she sees less because of her eyes. I met a Korean once and told them about my friend, and that Korean was offended. "She's not Korean," she said. My friend is treated as someone she's not by East Asians. She worries about her safety as even her own mother votes for Trump. Her mother tells her to be prolife because she would be dead if not for prolife advocates.

My friend was human trafficked. Now, she's holding the pieces of her life, not sure what to do with them. She loves her husband, her child, and her job. She doesn't know who she'd be in Korea because she still remembers that she was told she was a black mark on her birth mother's life.

This documentary is the first time she realized that she was a human, that there is a high likelihood that her documents are made up, that her attempt to reach out to her birth mother was stymied by liars, and that maybe—just maybe—her birth mother actually wanted her. Maybe her birth mother doesn't even know she's alive. I don't know you deal with even one of those things, let alone all of it.

Please open your eyes to adoption. It is not altruistic. It's a way for people to get paid, and for narcissists to look good in their community. By and large, it is not about the child and that is just... so sick.

Adoption is how the government gets out of paying for welfare, and how the wealthy get kids they feel they deserve.

I'm grateful my friend is in my life. She is the most fulfilling relationship I have ever had, but now, I wish that we never met to save her the indescribable sorrow she has had to endure.

My friend is kind. She likes to make gardens in her aquariums. She likes to woodwork things with utility, and she is an amazing cook. She has a son who is a hyperactive ball of both sunshine and thunderstorms, who goes to a school that he is not only welcome at, he never wants to leave. He told her when she picked him up "Come back in a 100 hours" and that means something to her. She's providing what she never had. She likes to go to Hmart because she feels anonymous. She really likes hip-hop. She gets bored easily, and you can watch her eyes drift into her thoughts before she browbeats herself back into paying attention. If you say, I wanna try and make [insert anything] she is not only down for it, she's excited. She is all of this, and so much more.

Growing up, she was told she was angry. That's all her family see her as, even now. But she's not nearly as angry as she should be.

But I guess I just wanted you folks to see her and others like her. What was done to these children is unthinkable, and it still happens even now because we don't see the poor and/or the disadvantaged as people.

[violetsandfluff]

Lucid Dreaming

a/n: I’m soooo sorry this has taken forever! I hope you’re still around

wc: 1.4k

The line between friends and acquaintances was always foggy. At what point did someone go from being a casual encounter to a bosom friend? Some people seem to radiate a type of energy immediately recognizable as “friend energy,” and Shawn was one of those people for you. His gorgeous smile and contagious laugh made him enjoyable to be around, you couldn’t help it. Even if you had only met him briefly here and there, you couldn’t help but refer to him as your friend behind closed doors.

Everyone around him loved him, understandably, and it wasn’t as if they could prevent it. He was unconditionally outgoing, always ready to listen or laugh. When he talked to you, he made eye contact like you were the only thing in the world. He never failed to make you feel special, but then again, he treated everyone like that. Occasionally, (more often than not), it made you jealous to see him with anyone else but he hardly knew you. What could you expect?

“Someone’s jealous,” your best friend would tease whenever she caught you staring at him forlornly, eyes green with envy.

“I’m not jealous,” you would protest. “I don’t even know him.”

It was true that you had only been on the receiving end of his undying attention a handful of times, but you felt like the entire world rested on those moments. He haunted your dreams with his gorgeous honey-brown eyes and adorable curls, his rosy cheeks, and his uplifting, luminous smile. His lush pink lips always accompanied these dreams, along with his pearly teeth, perfectly defined abs, and smooth, able hands, which had a habit of snaking up your thighs when you least expected them.

Occasionally, he managed to lose his illustrious demeanor in your dreams, appearing as either a frat boy or an affectionate boyfriend, but he was the same Shawn both ways, the one you barely knew, yet couldn’t live without.

Almost as a survival instinct, your dreams began coming true.

One day, you ran into him at a grocery store. Miraculously, you ended up behind him in line, close enough to smell the faint, masculine scent etched into the air. He was dressed in skinny black jeans and a simple white t-shirt, accentuating his broad back and muscular shoulders. His hair was arranged in a perfect mass of curls atop his head, and you couldn’t help but admire it… until he turned around to meet you.

His dark eyebrows raised in surprise as he recognized you, and you couldn’t pull your skittish eyes from his warm, welcoming ones. Just as he opened his mouth to speak to you, the woman in front of him in line finished checking out. He turned away without a word and, once you had finished checking out, he was gone.

He was such a curse. The mere thought of him plagued your mind, making it all but impossible to concentrate on anything. Any encounter with him had you fucked for weeks; dreaming about him at night, during the day, and every moment in between.

One night, you dreamed about seeing him at the beach.

The ocean spanned endlessly before you, wafting its warm, salty breeze toward you tantalizingly. You were alone, dressed in an emerald green swimsuit that accentuated your body perfectly. A layer of sunscreen on top of your newly-tanned skin made you glow in the sunlight. Your hair was tossed carelessly into a messy bun atop your head, along with a pair of sunglasses you didn’t plan on wearing.

You laid your towel down on the sand a few yards away from the beach access and assessed your surroundings. A large group of people was congregated about waist-deep in the water, but one man, in particular, caught your attention. He was tall and muscular, his back tanned by the sun, and his helmet of curls dripping wet with saltwater.

Part of you wanted to believe this someone was Shawn. As nonchalantly as you could, you began creeping slowly closer, pretending to snap pictures of the horizon as you waded into the crystal-clear waters.

A water fight broke out among the group, and the man ducked towards you, laughing, to escape a blow from a beer can now filled with water. Your breath caught in your throat as you caught a glimpse of his face, but you couldn’t tell whether or not it was him.

He visibly noticed you, his hazel eyes fixed on you, and your heart caught in your throat. As soon as it started, however, his attention returned to the water fight.

Another night, you dreamed that you met him, suddenly an attractive bartender, at a club. And yet another night, he brought you home with him from the same club. He laid you in his bed beside him for the night, lying down himself as far away from you as he could to give you respectful space.

Before he knew it, however, you were in his arms with your face buried in his bare chest as you breathed in his scent and traced the contour of his arms, which laid in stark tan contrast against the immaculate white sheets. Your fingers roamed his unclothed upper body, tracing his intricate tattoos meticulously while he fussed over your hair.

“You can’t go to sleep with it down,” he reasoned as you fought his arms in order to trace his guitar skyline tattoo. “It’ll get all tangled and knotty. If you’ll let me braid it, it’ll be smooth and wavy when you wake up. It won’t take forever, I promise.”

“Can you do it later?” you bargained as your hands ventured to his pecs once more to feel the hard muscles move beneath your palms as he rolled over to face you.

“It’s past midnight already, darling. Don’t you think sleep should be a priority?”

“No,” you stated blankly, mulling the situation over in your head before adding, “but I will let you braid my hair.”

Shawn’s fingers made quick work of weaving your hair into two broad French braids. He admired his work once he was done.

“It’s about bedtime now, don’t you think?” he asked sheepishly, to your dismay.

“Please, let me finish tracing your tattoos,” you pleaded, reaching for his hand and clutching it to your chest.

“Finish the swallow and we can go to sleep,” he compromised. “You can finish in the morning. You’re much drunker than I am, but we could both use the rest.”

It was true that you were exhausted at that moment, longing to curl up against your hookup’s chest and melt into him as your world dissolved into that of a dream. The temptation overcame you. You lost yourself in his comforting warmth as his hands caressed your back steadily. His chest rose and fell beside you, creating a rhythm that lulled you to sleep.

Your subconscious made you feel safe and secure encompassed in Shawn’s strong arms, and beside his broad, muscular chest. When you awoke in the morning, feeling rejuvenated and chipper, you reached for him as you had done every morning you’d woken up beside him. Something was different, though.

Shawn was nowhere to be found.

You opened your eyes to see your own familiar bed, in your own familiar bedroom, and the same familiar sunlight streaming through your sheer curtains.

A dissatisfied puff of air escaped your lips as you tried to recall the dream, now hazy in your mind. All you could think about was Shawn, and how the truth was that he could be anywhere with anyone right then, and you had no say in it. Your dream world could be some lucky person’s reality, and you would never know.

A tear of frustration slipped from your tear line down your cheek, but before you could wipe it away, a smooth, low voice cut through your silence.

“I didn’t know you were still here.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I just thought you’d gone home.” You felt the side of the bed dip as he sat down on it, rolling onto his side and perching his chin on your shoulder. He moved his large hands to your hips, holding them tightly as he kissed your cheek. His pink lips were smooth and consoling against your skin.

You allowed them to roam freely across your face and travel down your neck and shoulders, left exposed by a skimpy spaghetti-strap tank top. His fingers ran down your arms delicately, conditioned and calloused by his guitar strings. Goosebumps rose in the wake of his touch.

“Oh, look at you,” he hummed, pleasantly surprised by the slick, moist coating in your panties upon further inspection. “All it takes is for me to leave, hm? Tell me, dear. What were you up to while I was gone?”

taglist: @chocochipcookie305 @butlerbliss @fishingirl12 @monikamendes @sonder444

[getvalentined]

Finally updated my directory with the links to bsky and cara, as well as links to my screenshot and gif tags for easier access (for me, mostly) and the Strifentine tag because it belongs with my top ships.

I keep wondering if I should put a little list of my NOTPs and disliked characters up there too, but ehhh. I have one on my website, and the fact that I dislike a ship or a character doesn't mean I'm gonna talk shit or anything. I don't like Ang*al and still dedicated almost 2k words to creating closure for the character at the end of Smoke and Mirrors, I don't like Lucrecia and I still go to bat for her pretty regularly—these are good characters, I just don't personally like them, and don't like how the fandom treats them. Ships are a little more touchy, since people can be really bad at tagging them, but I can just scroll on by and not engage in conversation about them for the most part.

More personal random update nonsense under the cut.

I'm actually feeling really down lately, for a handful of reasons. Some of it is the weather and air quality recently (it's so hot I want to throw up, there's been smoke in the air so I can't breathe, etc.), but some of it is more...mental and emotional, I guess.

I am so artistically burnt out I kinda want to die (I have no plans to make this happen, don't worry), but I'll deal with it. I've been like this since Turtle's health scare a few months back, when I got less than ten hours of sleep in the span of a week, and then proceeded to get less than five hours a night for the two weeks following, so it's no shock I'm still a mess. It doesn't seem like it's going anywhere any time soon, which sucks because I still owe people commissions from fundraising for her treatment. I may end up just...saving up to refund people.

The issue is that I feel like I can't draw unless I'm working on commissions, but when I try to work on commissions I literally burst into tears and can't do anything. It's a really fucked up cycle where I end up just paralyzed and on the verge of throwing up every time I even think about drawing, which is super hard on me as an artist. I feel like a failure, I feel like I'm letting everyone down, I feel like I'm ruining everyone's opinions of me forever. It's a really shitty feeling.

I'll figure something out. I'm an adult, that's what I have to do.

Speaking of people with ruined opinions of me, I think I'm going to start muting or unfollowing people who reblog/interact a lot with BB$C. I know she has a lot of friends, and maybe she's gotten better, but she still has me blocked so I'm not exactly hopeful. This is the woman who (apparently) told her friends that I abused and lied about her because one of my friends reported and called her out for tracing, and when she faced no consequences I made a vague sad thread on the general topic of popularity rendering unethical behavior acceptable in modern fandom. I only found out that she was seemingly telling people I abused her because one of her friends made a public comment on the twits about me being abusive—on a QRT of my thread detailing how I'd spent the previous year being abused by my now-ex. Very cool for me, the knowledge that some people saw that I'd been abused and went "oh she deserves it though" doesn't haunt me to this day or anything.

It's been a couple years since it all went down, but I just...I dunno, I feel like it's hard to genuinely improve as a person without even trying to make amends with the person she said those things about? But who knows. I'd be down to talk if she ever wanted to, but she hasn't yet, and I don't assume she will. I'm one of like four people on the planet who cares anyway, so it is what it is.

Summer is a rough time of year for me in general, so I'm struggling a lot recently with feeling like I deserve to even talk to other people at all. Constantly seeing the name of someone who went out of her way to make sure that I'd never feel welcome in a community I've been part of for a quarter century pop up on my dash all the time is not conducive to fighting that feeling.

Not to pity party over here, but I do get it. My older sister, my ex, BB$C—they're charming and creative and supportive, the people that they like generally don't get to see how they can be to the people that they don't. In the rare cases that they do see it, they change the narrative to make that person into something irredeemable, downplaying their own actions (if they admit to them at all) while exaggerating the actions of the person they dislike. These people have friends that genuinely love them, so of course they're going to believe their friend over some sad-sack stranger on a dying blogging platform. It's no fault to these people that they believe their friends.

(Just to clarify, I'm not saying that my ex tried to kill me the way my older sister did, or that BB$C was abusive in the way my ex was; these are diminishing levels of trauma. She and I were never friends, our sole one-on-one interaction was me approaching her on a zine project to make sure she was comfortable with me having created a piece of spot art that seemed to have ripped off her page art; I'd done it without realizing the concept had already been used elsewhere in the project, and didn't want her to assume I was copying her without credit. The irony of this is not lost on me.)

It would just be nice to feel like the truth means anything. I'm an abusive liar because I apparently said that this woman traced a bunch of her work; not only did I not report her, but it also isn't a lie. There are overlays with over a half-dozen screenshots and official renders to prove it. But even when her friends are shown those overlays, which I have done, it doesn't matter. The goal posts move, and suddenly I'm abusive just for caring that she traced at all. Allegedly lying is what made me abusive, but somehow I'm still abusive even if I didn't lie—and she's still the nicest person in the world, even though she did.

I do hope she's better. I hope her friends have helped her to become the kind of person who looks back at what she did with guilt and shame, and that she uses those feelings to improve. But seeing her name pop up over and over, sometimes from people who know what she did and still decided to re-follow her years later anyway, is a little too much for me to handle right now.

[scoobydoodean]

i think it’s kinda funny how you don’t have some sort of online handle except your urls, so i can only ever address you as like dftsam. anyway i saw a take that said cas “learned” to feel unloved from dean, from the way dean treated him basically - an example they gave was dean looking away when cas said I love you as he was dying in s12 - and it seemed there were a lot of people agreeing with it. i’m not one of them, but if you were interested (only if you’d wanna talk about it, I’d get it if you didn’t) I’d love to get you thoughts on this idea?

So I read this at like 1-2 AM lying in bed and I was like this:

I find it so fucking funny when people start in on this shit, because Dean girls and Cas girls can do this to each other all day long. “Dean made Cas feel unloved” “Cas made Dean feel unloved”. You can build a framework for either (BOTH) by cherrypicking scenes to suit a narrative. Like. I can easily say that Cas repeatedly sent a message, regardless of his intentions, that Dean’s feelings don’t mean jack shit to him. I prefer to take things with humor and just understand where Cas’s issues are coming from (just like Dean—who makes his best effort to understand Cas; just like Cas makes his best effort to understand Dean) rather than get mad and demonize him so I can be angsty about Dean always feeling "unloved"… but the guy… look—making no effort to explain why he is like this at this moment (because Cas apologism is absolutely not the point of this ask) Cas is known to do the following:

Control the means of communication. You will pretty much never see Dean ghost Cas. Even when Dean was forced to kick him out, he checked up on him to make sure he was okay. But Cas will knowingly and intentionally ghost Dean’s prayers and calls for days and weeks at a time on repeat through their ENTIRE RELATIONSHIP. Dean has expressed that this upsets him more than once, but Cas continues to do it. Every once in a while he’ll throw in a half-assed apology sure—but it doesn’t mean anything. He’s going to do the thing he’s apologizing for again as soon as he’s decided he doesn’t want to face Dean’s questions or doesn’t want him involved yet again. Which means 1) he isn't actually sorry 2) how it makes Dean feel is not important to him or else he'd stop doing it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Keep secrets about bad things going on CONSTANTLY. Over and over and over and over… then Dean is still the one who ends up apologizing for getting mad about it. Rinse, repeat.

(Often) Refuse to be a team player in an effort to keep Sam and Dean out of harms way over the things he has personally decided are too dangerous for them, without ever letting them have a say, because he has unilaterally decided they are too tiny and soft and he needs to fall on a sword when no one asked him to and no one WANTS HIM TO. A lot of people want to turn this into bemoaning Castiel's constant unappreciated sacrifices, but this is so unbelievably shortsighted of a take. He is attempting to relate to Dean, a person who believes he is poison and that loving him gets people killed, by attempting to fucking martyr himself over and over and OVER. Dean doesn't WANT it, and it isn't NECESSARY 99% of the time if Cas would just WORK AS A TEAM.

Urges Dean to co-parent children who he feels he has personal obligations to twice.

Who does that remind you of? Because I know who it reminds me of, but people don’t want to read that meta—or about how Cas traded out his car for a truck (who else did that?), or about how your last words before a sacrifice can haunt a person and rip them open in ways you never intended. Of course Cas isn’t that guy… but I bet my ass Dean sure as hell sees the shades of him.. I do think it is an intentional decision to frame Cas in the late seasons after another person who also made Dean feel very unloved and unwanted—not in the big things like big grand sacrifices—but in the small things—the day to day things that slowly strangle a relationship to death—like making unilateral decisions for everyone and not answering the goddamn phone. (Edit here: I do NOT mean that Cas is intentionally being framed as CRUEL and EVIL. I only mean that he is intentionally being paralleled with John. Dean and Sam are also paralleled with John in different ways at various points and it doesn't mean any of them are evil irredeemable villains. They just have some obvious hangups and the way this particular one for Cas ends up manifesting is probably pretty difficult for Dean and probably makes him think of John behaved and how it made him feel).

Dean didn’t react right when Cas said I love you in season 12? Well. That’s debatable. But going on the offensive first before the defensive: Cas only wants to say this on his deathbed when Dean has no chance to respond.

Dean, on the other hand, has expressed his care for Cas MULTIPLE TIMES. He didn't say the words, "I love you" (he doesn't even say that to SAM) but he said "We're family" "You're the closest thing I have to family—you're like a brother to me" and "I need you" and "I'm not leaving without you" and "Being with you today is the most I've laughed in years" and "I'd rather have you, cursed or not" and "It's a gift. You keep those. Let's work as a team. We're better together."

And what does Cas do after every single one of these expressions of Dean's love?

He L E A V E S!!!!

He fucking leaves, and Cas girls want to talk about Dean making a face? And cry that Dean makes Cas feel unloved? Forgive me if that makes me fucking CACKLE at the AUDACITY.

I think one thing people tend to do, is they frame everything as if Cas is oblivious to Dean loving him, but Dean has to know or SHOULD know how Cas feels about him. This is why we get rancid takes like "DeAn nEedS tO pUll hIS hEaD oUt of HiS asS". Oh shut up. Castiel canonically can SENSE DEAN'S LONGING. If Dean's head is up his ass, Castiel's is shoved so fucking far up his sphincter it's coming out of his mouth.

Yet still—Dean recognizes, in season 11, that Cas is struggling—that Cas feels down on himself and unloved (and I DO NOT think Cas BLAMES Dean for that at all—it takes a lot of willful ignorance about everything going on with his biological family to come to that conclusion) and Dean tries to FIX IT. He once again reiterates to Cas how much he cares about him—that he's family. He has NO IDEA that the words intended to make Cas feel better are going to send him down one of the most deranged spirals of unhinged decision-making ever (the Kelly shenanigans are WILD). I actually have a slightly different take on this, from the typical " it sent him off the deep end because he got 'brother-zoned'". I think it sent him off the deep end because it was the final *nail in the coffin in what Cas saw as a reversal of their relationship—where he isn't the guy who protects everyone anymore with his grace and his grand wings... that's Dean now, and Dean is saying that Cas, like Sam, is under his protection... and Castiel absolutely could not STAND that. He didn't need his romantic affections to be returned. What he wanted, more than anything—what he saw (in a rough draft of the script) when Jack showed him paradise, was Dean thanking him, and his powers returned to their former glory. Because Cas has unilaterally decided Dean's feelings, he chooses to love him like a saint, laying down his life, instead of being in a partnership, because he doesn't want to be someone Dean protects—not even in a partnership where they protect each other. He wants to be the sole protector.

All of that to say: Cas didn't learn how to feel unloved from Dean. TEXTUALLY. It is ON THE TIN. Saying that is literally the EXACT OPPOSITE of what Cas SAYS about Dean. He says he cared about the whole world because of DEAN. He cared because Dean's love was so captivatingly beautiful and inspiring and transcendent that it changed who Cas was inside to the core, and he fell fucking head over heels. "You changed me".

[doctorjackdaw]

as the new year comes to light and the sun rises over the ashes of 2023, i’m saying goodbye to the sideblog that i started on tumblr and fell to when twitter became hostile and ai fueled / mined beyond belief. i’ll be here - i hardly even have a personal blog for non kink art at this point, and you know what? i don’t care!

bellies, pregnancy, sickfic and the rest of my kinks are more than just fetishes. they’re hyperfixations for me, so it’s really most of what i want to draw.

baggage under the cut vv

at the same time, my resolution this year is to let more people in, share my work and have others work shared with me. 2023 was tumultuous as fuck and i finally saw the end of a connection that was sucking my soul out. i’m still haunted by it, and the way they treated me for over a year made me feel i didn’t deserve respect, that i wasn’t allowed to make my own choices, and that by nature i was wrong for having strong boundaries about the kind of love i want to share with others. when you spend so long trying to help someone heal but you’re afraid of them, it’s surprising to connect someone who actually meets you where you are.

i wish i could say im not afraid of you anymore, but im still looking over my shoulder. and if you read this? i hope you find more happiness every day. i hope you get comfortable and heal.

my other resolution is to get my sweetheart ET on tumblr more often so you can see the hand they have in our characters, the ones i share here!! they’re so creative and wonderful and i want you all to get to share in their light.

here’s to the new year, new life, and connections. let’s create the world we want to live in!

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

Day 9: Slumber Party, with all additional prompts (Watching someone sleep, Possessiveness, and Murder fantasy)

Vampire AU. Dream watches his precious bloodbag sleep after his first feeding, and fights the urge to tear out his throat and drink his delicious ichor all at once. Warnings for stalking, past abuse and torture (not of Tommy, for once), intrusive thoughts, violent thoughts, trauma, body dysmorphia, extreme dehumanisation, possessive behaviour, obsession, codependency, and grief.

ao3 link

——

Tommy talked in his sleep.

It wasn’t a surprise, Dream supposed. If anyone wasn’t able to shut up even in their sleep, it’d be Tommy. Loud, outgoing, human Tommy.

He had to admit, he was a little jealous. Humanity was a gift cruelly ripped from him, his curse imparted without consent. The sun forever torn from his grasp, the feeling of fresh air breathed through his lungs, the taste of fresh fruit, the changing of his face in the mirror, all taken by selfish whim.

He still had nightmares of being cattle, passed around from cruel hand to cruel hand, the venom coursing through his skin, laughter as he whimpered in pain. He’d wiped them all out long ago, of course. He’d made sure he was the last bearing his curse left alive, a monster turned protector. But seeing Tommy there, the scabs over his wrist red and raised, he felt more like those people who’d forced him to humiliate himself to spare his siblings than he ever had before.

Not in their torturous cruelty, of course. He was nothing like them, the way they took joy in his humiliation, treating him like worthless cattle at best and a toy to abuse in every way possible at worst. No- he saw Tommy much like the siblings he worked tirelessly to keep from meeting the same fate, forcing a smile across a battered face and asking for more if it would spare them. He would never understand that, never in his life.

What he understood was the hunger.

Until he’d gotten a taste of Tommy’s blood, feeding had always felt like a chore, like forcing ash down his mouth. He got through on as little as possible, the memory of the agony of teeth and venom in his skin burning at the thought. It was necessary to keep his strength up, heal from the sun’s stubborn rays, protect the mortals he’d taken on as his own, but it was an unpleasant and humiliating process for both him and the poor soul who’d generously volunteered.

But he and Tommy had been fighting over something insignificant, something he couldn’t even remember, and in the heat of combat, blood had spilt, staining his sword. The smell alone was distracting enough it was difficult to keep a fighting stance- when, after they’d resolved whatever it was with a laugh, he’d dared to have a taste, he was intoxicated.

The ambrosial taste of Tommy’s ichor, inexplicably utterly addictive, had haunted him ever since. He wanted to tear Tommy to shreds, open up his throat and drain him dry. Bash his head on the floor and sink his fangs into his flesh while he couldn’t fight it, and tear out his flesh to get to the delicious liquid inside. He wanted to eradicate Tommy to gorge on his blood, and he couldn’t stop thinking of killing him and digging into his heart to get to the prize inside.

The difference between him and the others was that he hated it.

Dream didn’t want to hurt Tommy- of course he didn’t, that was ridiculous. He was fun to mess with, but that was different to fucking killing him. He wasn’t some animal, cattle to use and throw aside. He was his friend, and very much an equal to him in every way.

Well, not exactly, but that wasn’t because he was human, was it?

He wasn’t- he wasn’t going to be like them, not now, not ever. He wasn’t going to let anyone treat his Tommy like that, forcing him to debase himself and act like an animal and call himself worthless. Tommy didn’t deserve that. No one deserved that, not even the bastards who took joy in making him smile and laugh while they sunk their fangs into him. But if anyone deserved that the least, it was his bloodbag.

He’d made sure the deal he’d made was fair and just. L’Manberg for Tommy’s blood, anytime he wished. He hadn’t pressured Tommy, hadn’t threatened to kill everyone he loved unlike some people, simply provided a fair trade- his freedom for L’Manberg’s. And, of course, he chose to become Dream’s bloodbag.

Of course, because he knew Tommy. He might have presented himself as a big, manly, rude and inconsiderate lout, but the boy was kinder than anyone he ever met. The way he hid it belied that fact- even the kindest of people who are open expect praise, the fawning servitude of a dog that Dream was sick of being forced into, yet Tommy did good while obscuring it, so none would know. No one who didn’t spend hours in his wall, unblinking as he quietly observed.

To keep him safe. Of course. No other reasons.

Absently, Dream ran gentle hands across Tommy’s curls. They were tangled and matted, stuck out in awkward directions, perfectly imperfect. Dream wished he could be like that- he missed the way his hair stuck in too many directions, the acne that pockmarked his face, the scars that were proof he could survive anything. He felt like a porcelain doll, forced into eerie perfection. He almost wished it was true that a vampire could not see themselves in the mirror- it’d be far kinder than the constant reminder he was a prisoner in a body so wrong.

“Wilbur?” Tommy’s voice was slurred, his words hard to make out even though he was talking his little head off, but that word was clear, and Dream felt a mix of angry possessiveness and pure, innocent joy bubble up in his chest in a confusing array.

Of course, wanting to tear Wilbur limb from limb was an expected feeling. Tommy was his, after all. They’d made a deal on it and everything. Tommy was his bloodbag, not to torment and treat as property, but to care for and cherish dearly as someone valuable. The idea of Tommy having any other family felt like a betrayal of that, and some dark part of him screamed that he needed to hurt Tommy for that, too. That it was a betrayal on Tommy’s part, that he needed to be taught his place, that maybe Dream deserved what happened to him, and it’d be a kind thing to do it to Tommy too.

No, no, no. He wasn’t going to do that. He wasn’t going to- to force Tommy to walk on all fours, or carve rituals into his back, or make him eat from the dirt, or any other of the fucked up shit he was so kindly treated to before having his humanity stolen from him, a violation of his personhood he’d never inflict upon another. As awful as the abuse was, there was no greater pain than feeling every cell in your body die and slowly twisting into a horrifically wrong form, too perfect and uncanny.

There was a reason Dream was the last. He wouldn’t change that ever. He was firm, at times, but not cruel, and it’d be a cruelty above cruelties to subject another to his very special hell.

He focused on the warmth in his heart, like the sunlight he dearly missed. The tone Tommy said that word in, even if it wasn’t yet the correct name, was so familiar. It was the way his siblings said his name, sweet and soft and loving. He missed them so- they’d grown from being so little and in need of his care into bigger than he’d ever be so quickly, and then they were gone. Sometimes, on the worst days, he regretted sacrificing everything for people who were so fleeting. But now, he could see them in Tommy, his silly jokes, his childish insistence that he wasn’t childish.

It was almost as addictive as his blood.

He ran a finger over Tommy’s wrist, guiltily. He knew how much that hurt, from painful personal experience. The way media portrayed vampire bites was a cruel lie- it was agony, like being eaten alive. Fangs dig into your skin, tearing at any flesh to let the blood flow. Venom entering your bloodstream, like fire in your blood, keeping you still and compliant but not at all dulling the pain. The sickening nausea and exhaustion afterwards.

Predictably, Tommy had woozily made his way home and passed out halfway down the Prime Path after Dream had drank from him, and Dream had had to carry him home and tuck him into bed as he mumbled nonsense, a look of terror on his face. He’d done the same the first few times- except he usually woke up to mocking laughter and bruises. Sometimes, newer ones would take pity. They never lasted long.

Kindness was something punished by a world of cruelty. Even Dream, as good a man he tried to be, was not immune. Was it so bad if he was a little selfish? It’s not like he was cruel to Tommy- the opposite, really, he treated him as kindly as he could. He shouldn’t have felt guilty over that.

After all, why should the cat apologise for having to eat the rat to survive?

Prime, he already was starving, imagining how Tommy’s ichor tasted. It almost reminded Dream of how being alive felt.

It would be fine to take another bite, he reasoned. Tommy was asleep. Tommy wouldn’t feel a thing. He’d be able to watch over him, make sure he was okay. It was fine. It was.

Stroking Tommy’s hair like a parent would a child with one hand, he grabbed Tommy’s wrist with the other and sunk his fangs into the raised circles, red and tempting, and as he feasted, he tried to ignore how Tommy’s eyes opened just a tad, how Tommy whimpered in the quietest voice.

He would think it merely a dream later, Dream told himself. It was kinder. And they made a deal. It was fine. Tommy was fine.

After all, Tommy was his.