#and the way that it’s better to be kind even when somebody else isn’t

[hazbinshusk]

blitzø x gn!reader. during a slow week at the imp office,blitzø convinces you that there are better ways to spend your time waiting for a new client to call on. and honestly, it doesn't really take all that much to convince you, especially when he figures out a kink you've been keeping close to the chest. requested by the wonderful @blitzsicedcoffee. 2.75k

featuring: collar kink, light pup play, dom!blitzø, oral sex (blitzø receiving), blitzø using his tail as a leash, light degradation, penetrative sex. blitzø uses terms like 'pet' and 'pup', reader has non-specific genitalia, and a prehensile tail (so could be read as an imp or an incubus/succubus).

Flipping idly through an outdated Weapons of Wrath catalogue, you’re curled up on the sofa in the I.M.P. office, leaning against the arm of it comfortably. It’s been a slow enough couple of weeks that Blitzø had decided to start having you all work in shifts, and with him holed up in his office, you had the main room to yourself, waiting pointlessly for a new client to call in.

And holy fuck, you were bored.

Even thinking that thought seems to be enough to summon your boss from his office, and you jerk upright as the door slams against the opposite wall when he kicks it open.

“Satan’s fucking taint, how does no one in this shit-slinging ring want to have somebody murdered?” he complains, tossing an empty coffee cup towards the trashcan and missing completely. It bounces off the wall behind it and the lid pops off, spilling the remains of a couple of ice cubes onto the carpet. “This is still Hell, isn’t it?”

“Last I checked,” you reply dryly, returning your attention back to your magazine, thumbing a page over idly.

He arches an eyebrow at you, irritated by your lack of similar dramatics. “Since when do I pay you to just fuckin’ sit there?”

You turn another page with practised nonchalance. You know it’s only going to piss him off further, but, well… you’re petty. “Depends. Did you have something else that needs doing?”

Blitzø groans, throwing his head back dramatically. He sighs, straightening his posture and setting his eyes on you again. He considers you for a moment, an eyebrow raised, before he says, “So… you wanna fuck?”

If you’d been drinking something, you would have choked on it.

“What?”

He grins, shrugging. “There’s no point in soundin’ so damn scandalised. It ain’t like we haven’t done it before.”

You feel your face flush. “A couple of drunk hookups does not mean I’m going to fuck you in the office, Blitz.”

“Why not?” he asks, closing more of the distance between you. You clutch the catalogue tighter against your lap as though it’s some kind of ward against bad decisions. And this would definitely be one. Right? “Ya think M&M don’t get their fuck on on the conference table every chance they get?”

“Christ, Blitz, that is so not the po—”

“This is jus’ fuckin’ adorable, by the way,” Blitzø tells you lasciviously, hooking a claw up under the choker around your neck. You’d worn it on a whim, and you curse yourself for the way your breath catches despite yourself. Your cheeks warm even more as you feel the band tighten slightly around your throat. There’s a second where you hope he doesn’t notice, but Blitzø’s eyes widen then narrow, a downright villainous smirk blooming on his lips. “Ohhh… I get it. Lil’ pup likes to play.”

You swallow, finding your voice. “Blitz…”

“That’s it, ain’t it?” he continues as though you hadn’t spoken, although his smile twitches wider at the hitch in your voice. “You like bein’ collared, don’t ya?”

You hesitate a moment even as excitement floods through you. Heat pools low in your belly at the suggestion in his voice, as the way his claws graze the column on your throat as he hooks two more in the front of the choker. You swallow again, wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue as it tightens the choker around your throat. He tugs on it, urging you to stand in front of him, and you do it without thinking, the catalogue slipping from your lap to the floor. Blitzø is standing only inches from you, his tail switching back and forth behind him slowly.

His breath fans across your face, warm and tickling. “Don’t you?”

You nod.

Blitzø grins. “Good pet.”

Fuck.

You can’t help the soft whimper that escapes you when he pulls you closer again, his nose skimming against yours. He’s watching your every reaction with hooded eyes, and you feel his other hand ghost down over your waist. It makes you shiver, and his smirk widens when you lean forward slightly to kiss him. Blitzø pulls back the moment your lips should meet, and he bites his lip with a cocky grin.

“On your knees for me, pup.”

Blitzø is half-hard as he palms himself through his jeans, and a soft growl rumbles through him as you tongue slides across your bottom lip. He runs a hand through your hair almost sweetly before he suddenly grabs a fistful of it, jerking your head back to meet his eye.

“What’re you waitin’ for, exactly?”

The pain only adds to the heat blooming low in your belly, and you reach up with eager fingers to unbuckle his belt. You lean forward to nuzzle against the bulge in his jeans, planting open-mouthed kisses over it until the fabric is damp with your saliva and his cock is straining against the zipper.

“Oh, puppy wants to play,” Blitzø croons, releasing a breathless laugh as you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. You press a kiss to the underside of the head before parting your lips, curling your tongue around it as you take him into your mouth. His head falls back as the wet warmth of your mouth engulfs him. “Fuck…”

Blitzø keeps one hand in your hair as you suck him, the other lifting his shirt so he can watch the way you gag around him when he hits the back of your throat. You whine around him when you feel the spade of his tail slip under your choker, winding around it to pull it tight against your throat. He smirks when your eyes roll back.

“You’re a good little bitch, aren’t you?” he coos, voice husky sweet as you clutch at his thighs, hollowing out your cheeks as you pull back. He moans as you roll your tongue around the head of his cock and suck, his hand tightening possessively in your hair as you take him all the way in again. Blitzø holds your head in place, thrusting his hips forward to feel the way your throat flutters around his cock. “Fuck, you’ve got a nice mouth…”

You moan around him and the vibrations of your throat makes his eyes roll back. He presses his hips forward until you choke in earnest, releasing your hair as you pull back with a cough. Drool hangs from your chin as you catch your breath, and Blitzø reaches down to smear it across your lip with his thumb. You suck it into your mouth, biting down on it lightly, and he hisses through a sharp-toothed grin.

“Shiiiit…” he wraps a hand around his cock, pumping it against your spit-slick bottom lip. “You want me to fuck you, don’t you, pet?”

Your voice comes rough, your swollen lips brushing against the tip of his cock as you murmur, “Yes, Blitz.”

The imp’s smirk widens, his eyes dark and hungry with lust. You part your lips obediently, and he thrusts it back into your eager mouth with a grunt. His tail tugs on the choker again, and you’d be embarrassed at the way your tail wags behind you, but all you can focus on is the way Blitzø’s eyelids flutter as he presses his cock deep into your throat. You gag around him again before he pulls back, instead fucking himself languidly into your mouth. You curl your tongue to cradle the length of him with each slide of it past your lips, the taste of his precum downright addictive. “Then I’m gonna need to hear it, slut.”

You suck firmly at his cock until his breath hitches and he pulls back, gripping the base of his cock. He snickers deliriously, the choker around your throat so tight your eyes roll back as you blink. “Fuck me, Blitz.”

“Not good enough,” he grins wickedly, stroking himself slowly. He leans down, his other hand closing around your jaw as he brings his face down to yours. He forces your chin up, his lips a breath from yours as he growls, “I wanna hear you beg, baby.”

Dear Satan, you wanted to kiss him.

“Please,” you whimper, shifting on your knees in a vain attempt to meet his lips with yours. Blitzø pulls back just enough to leave you wanting, infuriating amusement playing at the edge of his smirk. “Please, fuck me, Blitz.”

“Hmm?” he raises a brow tauntingly, his tail tugging at the choker warningly.

“Sir,” you correct yourself, an edge of desperation colouring your broken voice. “Please, fuck me, sir.”

Blitzø grins. “That’s my good pup.”

He straightens up, stepping to the side and waving a hand towards Loona’s desk.

“Bend over it for me, pup.”

You make move to stand, and his tail tugs you back down again.

“Did I say you could walk?”

Fuck, he looks so pleased with himself. Still, you can’t help the little whine that escapes you at his tone, and you crawl across the scratchy carpet until you reach the desk. He nods and you stand slowly on shaky legs. Blitz unwinds his tail from your choker as he does, trailing the spade of it down your spine and smirking when you shudder.

“Strip.”

You feel a surge of nerves settle in the pit of your stomach even as you tug your shirt obediently over your head. Yeah, you’d fucked before, but those had been drunk and hurried and in the dark. This was stark and carefully paced, and somehow so much more exciting, and your fingers shake as you push your jeans down your thighs. You stiffen as you feel Blitzø press himself up against your back, his fingers expertly unclipping your bra as his lips find the nape of your neck.

A soft moan escapes you as he trails his lips to the side of your throat, sucking a mark into the sensitive flesh as his hands take hold of your hips, pressing his naked erection up against your ass. He shifts his hips to slide it between your thighs, and you whine, head falling forward.

“Bend over, baby,” he mutters, breath hot against your ear, and he squeezes a handful of your ass as you do as you’re told, pressing yourself further back against his cock as you brace your hands on the desk in front of you. Blitzø groans as you do, claws tearing your underwear away greedily. “That’s it…”

You hear him spit, excitement burning through you as you feel him stroke his cock against your ass, mixing his saliva with yours. Your eyes widen and you moan, a long, drawn out, throaty sound as he presses the head of his cock into you.

“Christ on a stick… always so fuckin’ tight,” he groans, withdrawing only to thrust into you again. With each slow push of his hips, he slides another inch into your warmth, stretching and filling you in a way that makes your eyes roll back. You bite your lip in a vain attempt to stifle your moans, claws digging into the edge of the desk hard enough to gouge marks into the wood. “Fuck, I’ve missed this…”

You don’t even want to think about why those words thrill you so much. You push your hips back to meet him with each thrust, and Blitzø snarls, hands clutching at the flesh of your hips hard enough to hurt. He lets you fuck yourself back on his cock, reaching up to hook his claws in the back of the choker and pull it taut against your windpipe. It makes you whine, your head forced back with the way he pulls at it.

“Bli—” you choke on his name, and Blitzø snickers headily at the eager way you ride his cock. “Fuck…”

“Such a good fuckin’ pup,” he growls, gripping at a handful of your ass. His tail winds around yours, the spade of it teasing against your thigh. He begins to fuck you again, punctuating each word with an unforgiving thrust. “So. Fuckin’. Good…”

You jump as the phone suddenly rings beside you, and Blitz curses as you flex around him.

“Go ahead, pet…” he grinds out, fucking into you hard. “Answer it.”

“Blitz—”

He tugs on the choker when you try to protest, and you moan. “Did I fuckin’ stutter, pup? Answer it.”

You whimper, reaching for the phone with an unsteady hand. You knock the receiver off its cradle, the phone clattering obnoxiously against the desk before you pick it up and shove it against your ear.

“I.M…P. Imm—ediate Murder Profession… Professionals.” you say, trying desperately to control your breathing even as Blitzø takes the opportunity to smack you hard on the ass. “How can I—hnnn – help you?”

Blitzø laughs at your tone, his voice tight with his own need, and you bump your forehead repeatedly against the desk as the guy on the other end of the line rumbles into your ear.

“I’m sorry, can I--  uhn… can I call you back?” you stumble over the words, teeth gritted together in an effort to keep your voice steady. You’re so fucking close, your whole body hot and tingling with sensation. “Blitz is… he’s a little busy at the—fuck. Look, I’ll call you back, alright?”

You slam the phone down and it bounces off the cradle, the receiving falling off the desk to dangle over the side. You moan in earnest and Blitzø groans, his hips meeting yours in a desperate, disjointed rhythm as the two of you approach the peak.

“Fuck, Blitz…” you curse as his tail tightens around yours, his claws pulling so tight on your choker you’re sure it might snap. Your eyes roll back at the feeling of it, your jaw hanging slack. Every time his hips meet yours, you let out a high-pitched ‘uhn!’, and Blitzø snaps his hips forward so hard the desk begins to slide against the carpet. “Fuck…!”

“You wanna cum, puppy?” he snarls breathlessly. “You gotta ask nice.”

“Please, sir…” you whimper, so close that your thighs tense painfully, toes curling against the carpet. “Please. Please, make me cum. I need to cum, sir, please…”

“That’s a good, fuckin’ pet.” Blitzø growls and he thrusts hard, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck. The feeling of his large, strong hand closing around your throat is enough to make you keen, and you all but collapse onto the desk as you finally cum, your body shaking with the feeling of it. “Satan’s fuckin’— FUCK!”

Blitzø cums deep inside you, clutching blindly at your hips as he shudders through it. You whimper with every touch he gives you as the two of you cum down, your eyes closing as you feel Blitzø bend down to press a kiss to your spine.

“Christ on a stick,” he moans quietly into your skin, smoothing his hands up along your waist and back down again. “Fuuuuck…”

You laugh quietly, breathless, pressing your forehead against the cool wood of the desk. “Pretty sure we fucked it up with that client.”

“Fuck it,” he mutters, his lips brushing against your shoulder blade. “They really want someone dead; they’ll call back after they’ve finished yankin’ it to that hot little whimper-y thing you do.”

“Shut up,” you retort even as you feel your cheeks warm.

When he pulls out you shudder at the feeling of it, patting you on the ass as you push yourself up. When you turn around he smirks at you, self-satisfied, and he hooks a claw in the choker and tugs you in to – finally – kiss you. He does it languidly, smiling as his tongue slides into your mouth. Leaning back against the edge of the desk for support, you wrap an arm around his neck, the other bunching in the fabric of his shirt. Blitzø braces himself on a hand beside your hip, pulling away only when your lungs begin to burn for a proper breath.

“Y’know, I’m preeeetty sure I’ve got an actual collar and leash set in the sex trunk in there,” he says suggestively, nodding towards his office.

You have to hope he doesn’t notice the way that suggestion, even after what you just did, makes you flush. “It’s still so messed up that you keep that shit here.”

Blitzø cocks a brow at you challengingly. “Does that mean you’re not interested in round two?”

“… I hate it when you’re cocky like this.”

“You fuckin’ love it, horndog.”

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Ok well i had the brief thought “what about an ER nurse Eddie au?” and then this popped fully formed into existence so fuck it Friday pt 2.. warnings for smoking and vague references to critically injured kids

“That doesn’t seem very healthy.”

Smoke curls up from the cigarette held loosely in Eddie’s hand. “It’s not, particularly.”

Buck’s hands are in his pockets as he strolls away from the glass doors out into the ambulance bay where Eddie is doing the mature, professional equivalent of playing hide and seek. He comes to a stop barely a foot or two away from where Eddie leans against grimy concrete. “Didn’t know you were a smoker.”

“I’m not,” Eddie sighs, “Particularly.” He looks over Buck’s face as he takes a drag, cataloging bruises and cuts. He hadn’t been the one to look him over before he was discharged, probably because he was out here avoiding having to do so. “Only when it’s- only after the bad shifts.” And only once a month, even if the bad shifts come again and again. He bought this pack in January, it’s stale as shit.

Buck’s eyes follow the smoke as it drifts skyward. “Rough one today?”

Eddie thinks he probably doesn’t have to explain to Buck that it’s sometimes better when a kid is dead on arrival so he doesn’t have to try his best to administer care he knows will be useless. He doesn’t have to explain a day where nothing goes right and he loses more people than he can save and he still has to walk away from someone’s parent or wife or sister, left behind forever in a waiting room on the worst day of their life, and go on to lose the next person too. Doesn’t have to explain why he’s out here, and not in there. “Mm. We’ve got this repeat customer, always hate to have him back.”

Buck’s eyes flick to his face before they settle somewhere around his elbow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He seems like a nice guy. I worry about him. He’s here too often.”

Buck doesn’t look up. “What was he in for this time?”

“Minor concussion. Bruising. Lacerations.” Eddie sucks cancer into his lungs. “Heard a house fell on him.” Exhales it into the night.

Buck does look up this time, eyes a darker blue out here in the shadows. “Part of a house. Just a staircase and the- like, the balcony, really.”

“Maybe he should stay away from those.”

“From houses?” Buck asks, half his mouth twitching into a smile.

Eddie rests his head on the wall behind him. “Guess that’s not really practical.”

“No.” Buck is quiet for a moment, one hand slipping out of his pocket and running through his hair. Eddie wonders what he looks like, when he’s not here. He’s more styled, sometimes, when things aren’t very bad. He wonders if he’s usually all gelled up and neat. Eddie kind of likes the loose curls. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Making your day worse.” Buck looks genuinely apologetic, and Eddie shakes his head.

“The guy made it out okay this time.” Buck is just close enough that Eddie can kick at his boot with his sensible orthopedic sneaker. “You didn’t even need stitches.”

“That’s good.” Eddie’s left foot is pressed along the inside of Buck’s right, and Buck is staring down at them. “His favorite nurse was on break. I would have missed you if someone else had to do them.”

Eddie laughs, just a few bursts of soundless oxygen. “You gotta find new ways to see me before something happens that I can’t fix.”

Buck moves, taking the few steps necessary to lean against the wall beside him. Carefully, he takes the cigarette from Eddie’s hand, holds it between two of his own fingers, and takes a drag. Eddie watches it happen like he’s monitoring somebody’s pulse ox, and when Buck coughs he laughs again, louder this time. “Fuck,” Buck says, laughing too. “Thought that would be cooler than it was.”

“Smoking isn’t cool, firefighter Buckley,” Eddie says, taking the cigarette back and pulling from it again between smiling lips.

“Hm,” Buck says, grinning out into the night. Then he sighs, and rolls his head along the concrete to look at Eddie. “I think there’s nothing you can’t fix.”

They’re very close. “There’s lots I can’t fix.”

Buck shrugs like he disagrees. “I also think I’d like to find other ways to see you.”

Buck’s eyes are even more in shadow at this angle, and they’re the color of the lake back in El Paso that he and a bunch of kids went to after graduation, drunk off beer somebody’s cousin got for them, skinny dipping with breathless terrified delight under bright constellations. “Then ask me.”

Buck inhales as Eddie exhales. “What time’s your shift end?”

“5:30 AM. So, probably 6:15.”

Buck traces the two fingers he’d used to hold the cigarette down Eddie’s arm. “You wanna get breakfast with me?”

“Yes. I would.”

Buck smiles, and Eddie snubs out the cigarette on the wall between them. “I’ll meet you here?”

“Alright.” He takes a step forward, then a step to the right so he’s standing in front of Buck. “Two hours.”

“Uh huh.”

He should really get back inside. They’re understaffed, as always, and there are too many patients, as always, and not enough beds, as always. “See you then.” He doesn’t make any move to leave.

“See you then,” Buck almost whispers. He leans forward, and Eddie still doesn’t move, so he presses a tiny kiss to the corner of his mouth for just a moment. His lips are warm. Eddie hadn’t noticed it was cold outside.

Buck pulls back and leans against the wall again. Eddie smiles, puts a hand in his pocket, and walks back toward the doors.

[colourstreakgryffin]

If we saw how Charlie and Alastor reacted to Rarity like!reader and Pinkie Pie like!reader,maybe a Fluttershy like!reader x Husk??

Idk I think they would be cute together

Haha. Awww, I can just imagine Husk carrying us away whilst we’re crying in fear over Charlie borrowing our little animal friends for the Hotel briefly! Needless to say, this is actually the cutest and one of my favourite MLP-Hazbin mix-couples/duos so far! And again, kinda short!

Husker- Glass Barfly

As I stated previously, Husk is a sweetheart of a lover and his patience is quite high so trust me. He can handle his precious timid helpless little girlfriend better than anybody else. Somebody who is so shy yet kind that she hides behind him for support, he is quite good

Of course, Husk can’t help but instinctively treat you like glass. The most beautiful glass figure he’s ever found. He knows what to do with you

Husk is emotionally intelligent and able to recognise problems very well. So, he can recognise your antisociality and your fear over coming off as a fool, for that, he’ll slowly and carefully push you into pushing your own boundaries for your own good

Husk is getting better and better with your animal friends. He isn’t perfect but he doesn’t ever harm them… well, not on purpose. He’s growing to handle how many they are and how often you carry around your hot-tempered bratty bunny, Devil

Husk finds you precious and he’d beat the shit out of Alastor with the bar itself to protect you. You’re a little fragile butterfly, a charming doll of kindness that loves her animals. It’s natural that he adores every fibre of your being. Others may get annoyed with your shyness, he doesn’t

You can fly like Husk and have wings like him. He is lazy and dislikes flying but he will fly to encourage you to use your wings more. They are soft and beautiful, you deserve to be able to rely on them. He wants you feel comfortable so he will make it that you are. Luckily, he always succeeds

Husk is quite proud everytime you stand up for yourself or you do something you’d never normally do without his push. You’re learning, you’re growing! He can’t help but feel his heart swell at it and he showers you with praise and pride as soon as he can

Husk is learning to be a good person whilst you’re learning to be more confident. You’re helping each other and for that, you’re both quite dedicated to each other. Husk is your armour but you’re his heart

Husk knows you like the functions of a roulette game. He knows when your patience has been pushed too far and when you’re willing to be firm, if not cruel and harsh, and when that happens. He doesn’t even try sway you, he steps back and waits for you to cool down before calming you even more

Husk is always covered in your animal friends. And always means always! He has birds, squirrels, bunnies, butterflies, all kinds of Hell animals following him about the Hotel and he knows that they like him as much as they like you

Husk enjoys snuggling you in bed after work hours. Wings perked overs yours and laid over your back. You’re warm, you’re safe and you’re covered in soft fur. Both you and him like this so every night. You hop into the bed you share with Husk and he hops on top of you

Husk is the only one who can and will hear you in your whole singing glory. You’re way too insecure to sing around anybody else and it took some time for you to be comfortable with him but now that you are, you feel confident and safe singing around him

Yep. Husk got you a cute ring with a pink butterfly-shaped gemstone in the middle. It’s, to you, a sign that he is your safe spot and always is your safe spot. The one you can not be so frightened of embarrassing yourself with, somebody you can lean on and feel supported with

Husk knows about your crippling fear of social situations and how easy it is to embarrass you so you two regularly just spend time together and not ever go out, not until you actually feel okay with it. But of course, you’ll always do stuff for him too. You both give and take from one another

If it is my choice, y’all are engaged

“Leitora, butterfly. Don’t worry, the little buds will be okay. Do you want to go back to our bedroom, we don’t have to watch anything Charlie does with ‘em”

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for 🦄 behind the cut; Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good! (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Um, yeah,” Billy repeats, shrugging awkwardly. “And–you know, you need sun, right? Like for your powers and stuff so you'll be safer on missions, but also, um–Kryptonians just really like it, I think. Well, okay, I dunno if you know if you like it yet, but Superman definitely does. He spends a lot of time in it. So–windows.” 

Lynn . . . swallows, slowly, and tightens his grip on Tawky a little bit again. Billy wonders if that means he wants a hug. Lynn's still a baby, technically–he might not know how hugging really works in real life, or just not know how to ask for one when he needs one. 

Or just not know he's allowed to ask for one when he needs one. 

Or just wants, obviously. 

“I like it,” Lynn says very, very quietly, and Billy can't help perking up excitedly at hearing that. 

“Awesome!” he blurts, then clears his throat and tries to reel himself in and settle down a little more. “Um–awesome, yeah. Cool. I'm glad.” 

Lynn doesn’t say anything else, but he loosens his grip on Tawky a little. Billy still wonders if he wants a hug, but he really doesn’t know how to tell. 

. . . well, he guesses there’s the obvious option. 

“Hey,” he says, leaning forward a little to peer a little closer at Lynn’s face while trying not to be, like, pushy about it. Lynn’s just hard to read, that’s all, and he doesn’t wanna mess up with him. “Do you want a hug or anything?” 

Lynn’s shoulders immediately stiffen, and Billy represses a wince. 

“You don’t have to,” he puts in quickly. “Just, um–I didn’t know if you knew you could have one? If you ever do? Like–that’s a normal thing to want. And, you know . . . do? And . . . stuff?” 

Billy is very, very bad at this, isn’t he, he realizes, trying not to cringe at how awkward and lame he sounds right now. Like–babies need touched and carried and hugged, and really everybody does, but he definitely could’ve made that offer way less weird-sounding. Just–he really doesn’t trust that Cadmus told Lynn that kind of thing was okay or important or ever would be okay or important, so . . . yeah. So he said it.

Just he said it very, very awkwardly and lamely. 

Lynn is totally never gonna think he’s a cool dad, is he, Billy thinks morosely. He’s gonna think he’s uncool and weird and boring and– 

Lynn . . . hesitates, slightly, and Billy gets distracted from worrying about Lynn deciding he sucks and peers at him again. Lynn looks conflicted, and Billy’s not sure what to say to him. 

“It really is fine if you don’t want one,” he promises finally, because it’s the best idea he’s got. “Just it’s also fine if you do want one, and I kinda, uh, didn’t know if you knew that or not.” 

“. . . okay,” Lynn says, which still isn’t really a helpful answer but is also still better than a lie. Billy can work with noncommittal. Like, he’d much rather do a little extra work to figure out what Lynn’s okay with than accidentally upsetting or hurting him 

Lynn probably doesn’t even know what he’s okay with yet, in a lot of ways. How could he, when everything’s still so new and strange? 

“You could hug Tawky, if you want,” Billy suggests. Lynn’s already been petting him, kinda, so maybe he’s more comfortable with touching him than he is him right now. Which makes sense, really. Tawky is really huggable, and also, like . . . sometimes it’s just less intimidating to hug somebody who looks like a stuffed animal at the time and also isn’t currently a lot bigger than you, Billy knows. Like–that’s definitely been a thing for him, a lot of times. 

. . . honestly, he’s not sure who the last person besides Tawky he even hugged was, come to think of it. Some people hugged him, because they were grateful he’d saved them and all, but–yeah. That’s . . . different, obviously. Not as . . . comforting, or comfortable, or . . . anything like that. 

And if Lynn’s never gotten a hug before–well. Yeah. 

Tawky’s a good start, Billy knows. Like–really good. 

“. . . I don’t know how,” Lynn says, his tone just a little–distant, maybe. Or . . . guarded, maybe. 

“Oh, it’s not hard,” Billy assures him, then picks up one of the throw pillows off the couch and demonstrates, wrapping his arms around it to squeeze a little. “You just wrap your arms around somebody and squeeze, kinda. I mean, you’re gonna have to be careful not to do it too hard with baseline humans and all, but Tawky’s tough!” 

And, well–he’s pretty sure Lynn couldn’t hug him hard enough to hurt him, at least not ‘til he grows up a little more or gets a little more sun in him. But he doesn’t wanna push, so he doesn’t say that.

[sloanesallow]

Sebastian Sallow Headcanons

So I've seen some of my moots do one of these and decided it was my turn, even if nobody asked. 🤣

These are all ideas that are present in stories I’ve already published, or ones that are forthcoming in Void. A lot of this is word-vomit LOL. I’ve credited anyone that I’ve been inspired by, but otherwise, similar head-canons to other creators are coincidental.

Disclaimer: My opinions are mine. They might also be yours! They might also be somebody else’s. Or not. That’s the fun thing about fandom. We can all have our own thoughts! Disagree? Cool! Just don’t be mean about it. :)

Sebastian is left-handed.

Actually, ambidextrous. So while it’s probably an error in-game, if you take Sebastian with you to Hogsmeade, in the Three-Broomsticks he stands up to defend you with his wand in his left hand. I’ve just decided to run with it and think his left is more dominant than his right, but he can use both.

Sebastian is on the spectrum.

Because I am on the spectrum, it’s hard not to write this nerdy little boy as somebody who obsesses over data and information. Sebastian is a numbers guy. Counts stuff in his head; keeps lists. Obsessive about his note-taking and will throw away a page if he thinks his penmanship isn’t perfect enough. I put in a previous post that he’d be the type to stare at a jar of jelly beans and know how many are inside with one glance.

Sebastian is very intelligent but oh so stupid (affectionately)

For some reason, the only comparison I can think of right now is a weird combination of Abed and Troy from Community. You know the friend that seems to always be in weird, preventable situations and says the most out-of-pocket things but will turn around and quote Shakespeare. He probably is the smartest person in the room but isn’t humble about it. Sebastian is book-smart and thinks he’s street-smart (insert John Mullaney here) but his life experience is actually quite limited. Yes, his parents died (and he may have witnessed it to some degree), but I do think he might have been sheltered in some capacity. Which brings me to my next point:

Sebastian’s feelings are intense, and sometimes misguided

Sebastian would benefit from therapy, no joke. He likely wasn’t given the space to process his parent’s death, so it’s no wonder he SPIRALS when Anne gets sick. His desperation comes from a place of fear, but his inability to cope leads to some very unfortunate circumstances. And yes, Sebastian can be deceptive and manipulative, but I don’t think he acts this way on purpose, but because he doesn’t know any better. He acts first, thinks later, and this can lead to tension in his friendships (MC/Ominis). It’s also why so many authors write him as somewhat possessive when pairing him romantically with MC (or anyone, really). I tend to write him as being disinterested in romance (too busy) until it smacks him in the face and he chases that high obsessively. However, I think it takes a long time for Sebastian to recognize what real, healthy love is.

Sebastian would never be an Auror

I’ll die on this hill. Sebastian would probably not ever want to work for the Ministry, and distrusts authority, even as he ages and matures. Regardless if you think he acted in self-defense or not, he still killed his uncle with an unforgivable. That’s scary. And dangerous. A kid knowing and practicing Dark Magic? Even if he never does it again, he wouldn’t risk his life by flaunting himself in front of the Ministry. Also, Solomon was an Auror. Now, I’ll admit I have him working with the Ministry in some capacity in my fics (curse breaker), but for the most part, he is a free agent and does what he wants (in true Sebastian fashion).

Pocket cookies

Always has some kind of snack in his pockets for emergencies. I’ve had this come up several times now in my fics (see below) and it’s a running joke. I just love the idea of him pulling out a cookie to offer somebody in their time of need.

Other little things:

Triple Scorpio??? I did this on accident when making a birthday (November 8 1873) for him and CoStar said based on my made-up birth chart he was Scorpio Sun/Moon/Ascending which according to my astrology babes, is uhhhhh insane.  

Allergic to lavender???? Don’t ask.

He's just a silly, goofy guy, okay?

[scary-grace]

WIP GAME: The Shigaraki x reader phone sex AU

@sophsiaaa requested more info about the phone sex AU, and it’s pretty straightforward. in short, the reader works as a dispatcher at a high-end end escort service, answering questions, doing admin, and keeping phone sex clients occupied while waiting for an operator to open up. On one particular night, she finds herself on the phone with a client who’s a different kind of weird than usual:

You’re in the middle of familiarizing yourself with all the parts of the cell when your headset starts beeping — and when you check your screen, you see that every single operator is busy. Again.

You get paid a flat hourly rate, but you really should negotiate that up for nights you spend keeping clients occupied while they wait. You answer the phone and run through your spiel — your operator’s not ready yet, but I’m here, and I’m super psyched to talk to a weirdo just like you — and wait for the inevitable question about what you’re wearing. You wait. And wait. And keep waiting, so long that you start to wonder if the call’s dropped when you weren’t looking. That, or the client got so wound up hearing a woman’s voice on the phone that they had a heart attack and died. You try again. “Hello?”

The call’s still live. You hear your voice echo on the other end of the call, and when you listen closer, you can hear someone breathing. Breathing sort of heavily. Great. “You know I get paid whether you talk or not, right?”

Oops. You shouldn’t have said that. Your boss will be pissed, and if whoever this is pays up, does it really matter if he says anything? Maybe he just wants to breathe heavily into the phone until time’s up. You’d like to think you can sit quietly while some guy does — something to the sound of you breathing on your end of the line, but it turns out that’s beyond your power to cope with. “Um, do you want to know what I’m wearing?”

“What?”

“Clients usually ask that,” you say, trying to cover your shock. This client sounds young. Shiroiwa’s price point is so high that next to none of the clients are younger than forty, but this guy sounds like he’s barely out of high school. You should know — you’re barely out of high school yourself. “They want to know what I’m wearing so they can — um, imagine a little better.”

Silence. The breathing sounds a little less heavy and a little more hyperventilating, and you resist the urge to bang your head on the table with an effort. Why do you always get stuck with the weird ones? “So, like I said, I’m not actually the person you’re supposed to talk to. I’m just here to keep you company until your partner’s ready for you. We don’t have to talk at all.”

You’re rapidly coming to the conclusion that not talking is the best outcome for this situation. You and the client can pretend each other isn’t there until you can transfer him to somebody else, somebody who’s good with the weird ones or the shy ones. Kayoko, maybe. She’s great at bringing clients out of their shells. The fact that she and you and anybody else who listens in wishes they’d never come out of their shells in the first place doesn’t really matter.

“What are you, then?” The raspy voice is in your ear again. “If you’re not who I’m supposed to talk to.”

“I’m admin. Kind of a secretary.” You kick yourself instantly for the choice of words. “Not the sexy kind of secretary. Just — I’m the one who routes the phone calls. And the messages from our chat service. Unless it’s busy.”

“It’s busy?”

“Saturday night? It’s really busy,” you say. He sounds disappointed. “Is there somebody you were hoping to talk to specifically? I can let you know how long a wait there will be.”

“I don’t care who I talk to,” the client says. You hear that from new clients a lot, before they pick a favorite operator. All the regulars have a favorite. “This was stupid.”

“No, it wasn’t,” you say hastily. Your boss will kill you if you lose a client. Even a weird client. “Tell me what you want to talk about. That way I can pick the right partner to send you to.”

“I don’t know,” the client says. You glance at the info Mizuho sent and get a shock — the client’s nineteen, same as you. “It’s — fuck. It’s my birthday.”

“Happy birthday,” you say on autopilot, which is apparently the wrong thing to do. You can practically feel the client’s embarrassment oozing through the phone, and you spin off into a sales pitch that sounds terrible even to you. “Well, you’ve called the right service. I know a ton of our companions who can make your day really special.”

[hanktalkin]

Demo found out about the tattoo at the same time everyone else did: the next morning in the pregame showers.

He’d been wondering about the pain in his shoulder, but not with any sort of gusto, certainly not with the level of curiosity that kept him reminded enough to investigate properly. It was only when Scout whistled and said, “Well somebody got real lucky last night. Or really unlucky I guess, knowing you.”

“What are you on about, Scout?” Demo grumbled, attention focused on trying not to irritate the tender spot, which, annoyingly, hadn’t lessened in pain the way post-bender bruises usually did.

“Just thinking. If it was serious you would have been bragging about her way before this. Nah, nah, I’m guessing you were so wasted last night you got that on a dare, don’t even remember her face or nothing.”

“Scout!” Demo said, whirling on him, wincing a little as the hot water hit the sore spot. “Get to the point before I’m fed enough to give you a swirlie.”

“You got a chick’s name tattooed on your back.”

Scout said it smugly, having guessed—correctly—that Demo had no memory of the drunken escapades that had led to him getting it.

“What??” Demo bellowed.

The other mercenaries had been performing some level aloofness, having noticed the inking but preferring to watch it play out, they couldn’t help snicker their amusement as Demo spun in a circle, hopelessly trying to get a glimpse of the supposed tat. Shower spray scattered against all nearby bystanders.

“You better not be pulling my leg you little mutt,” he said.

“Nah pally, it’s all right there. Schmaltzy heart around it and everything. Though maybe you didn’t dig her all that much, it ain’t that big.”

“Feels massive,” Demo pouted. “Hurts like someone took a bite out of me.”

“That little thing? Psh. Call me when you get a full-color.” Scout tapped his own chest.

But Demo didn’t want to think about Tom Jones, he wanted to think about last night, to try and remember past when he and the BLU Soldier had met up for clandestine drinks and their weekly night on the town. Had they gone to try to pick up women after that? The whole night was a muggy smudge.

“Snipes,” he said desperately, “tell me the twerp isn’t pulling one over on me.”

“Sorry mate.” Sniper shook his head. “It’s there-”

Christ, what else had Demo said or done? If he knew himself he’d no doubt been in one of his pathetic, romantic moods. What other kinds of promises had he made? He needed to track her down and clear all this up-

“-But if it makes you feel any better,” Sniper continued, “this Jane woman probably appreciated the gesture. Who knows? Maybe she got your name tatted too.”

A long, realization-dawning pause.

“…Fuck,” Demo said.

[autopsyfreak]

The ‘Fight Response’.

as someone who exclusively experiences the fight response as a trauma response, i’ve faced a lot of demonisation from others, including other victims of similar traumas to myself.

it seems apparent that there are still a large quantity of people who are only willing to offer kindness and understanding to victims if their trauma presents in the way of the flight response or freezing/fawning. the moment it results in lashing out, suddenly it’s perceived as cruel or you doing something abhorrent, despite the fact it comes from the same place as the other trauma responses.

i often see people giving more sympathetic and gentle responses to those who freeze or flight (this can lead to infantilisation, which isn’t appropriate either, however that is not the focus of this post), meanwhile i have almost never met anyone who has approached my reactions with that same level of caring.

if it is somehow hard to understand, think of it as an abused dog, which feels backed up against a wall. it’s common, in this instance, for that dog to growl and snap at you, perhaps even bite you in order to defend itself from a potential aggressor because that’s how it’s brain has determined is the best method to defend itself from this perceived threat. you don’t view that dog as malicious or mean. that dog isn’t cruel or evil, it’s traumatised. the dog in this scenario would be seen as something that just needs to be shown that people can be gentle and aren’t as dangerous as it’s been made to feel.

so why doesn’t this mindset apply to people?

why do so many people, including other abuse victims, still actively demonise those who’s brains do not cower in response to being triggered and instead yell or say things that may be upsetting?

i’ve met far too many people who have the freeze and flight responses, who will actively demonise people they meet who respond with the fight response. just because somebody’s trauma has led them to have a less conventional approach to feeling unsafe, doesn’t make them any more or less ‘evil’ than those who do cower and freeze.

you may be someone who freezes when triggered and someone else may be someone who lashes out when triggered, they both stem from your brain associating the situation with trauma and therefore perceiving a danger or threat and responding to that however it feels it has to in order to defend itself, to prevent the previous pain from being endured again. you’re not better or worse than each other for having differing responses, you just, like everyone else, have different brains.

do not demonise victims for developing so-called ‘negative’ responses as a result of their trauma.

[bellewintersroe]

Hey, there! I have a BoB headcanons request that is a bit angsty/heavy so if you don’t feel like doing it, I completely understand! I was just wondering how the easy boys would go about trying to comfort a reader with guilt/trauma from either killing a German soldier (like Winters when he shoots that one SS soldier) or not being able to save a fellow soldier if you’d like to go the nurse route. I’d just love some Winters and Eugene comfort!! Thank you!🫶

Heyyy so sorry for the slow reply!! Thank you, this is such a good request!!! I’ve combined both your ideas for the diff guys- I hope you enjoy!

Tw - talks of death, guilt, trauma, ptsd, war, etc.

BoB Headcanons - How they comfort you

Eugene Roe:

As a fellow medic, Gene understands completely what you’re doing when you start shutting yourself away.

After leaving Bastogne you didn’t actually think things could get much worse, but when you lose Jackson in the dingy basement in the middle of Haguenau - let’s just say you don’t take it well.

“It woulda’ happened anyway… it’s not your fault.” Gene would remind.

You’d sigh with a heavy heart and attempt to leave any kind of confrontation.

“Gene you weren’t the one assigned to take care of them. He died under my watch, I didn’t do good enough.”

Not only are you heavily burdened by Jackson’s death, but you’re also exhausted and cold and hungry. Gene at first would watch from afar with a furrow between his brow until enough was enough and he confronted you.

He’d find a way to pull you back in, he’d wrap blankets around your shoulders when you’re just sat staring into space. Or he’d force Hershey bars into your pocket, practically begging you to eat.

“It’s my fault.” You’d tell him.

Gene just takes the honest route, he knows that’s better than blatantly trying to soften the blow with anything else.

“Jackson woulda died anyway. I saw what happened and… you could’ve tried everything n’ he wouldn’t have made it…”

If you need him to go into technical medical talk he would. He’d do anything, he’s the type of guy to sit talking with you for hours.

Huge empathetic so cannot stand the idea of you being troubled by this or taking the blame.

If the two of you aren’t already together then he’s a little more careful to not overstep boundaries, but he 1000% keeps the blanket wrapped over your shoulders in place by holding it there with an arm over you. Even if his hand is freezing.

Dick Winters:

It maybe happens around Bastogne? You happen to fire at the Germans and when you guys go look after, one of them is just a kid.

Let’s say he’s nowhere near older than twenty, still in his teens, and you’re absolutely horrified from the second you find this out.

It makes you freak tf out and the men bundle you back to the line pretty fast, they all know what it feels like, that guilt ravishing them alive. And Winters especially understands the exact thing you’ve been through.

I feel like he’d find out pretty fast, the two of you are in a private relationship that can’t be openly shown out on the field.

He’d take a sensible approach, despite being oh so worried.

Has you come sit in his and Lewis’ tent at CP.

Would offer you a drink, food, another coat, new boots, worries that you need feminine products? Idk the man just wants to take care of u ok.

When it comes to it and you say no to everything he simply sits besides you and just looks over your face.

Then he opens up about Holland and how he shot another soldier, just a kid. It’s relatable and the feelings he talks about are exactly what you’re experiencing.

If you get upset he can’t engulf you into the hug he wants, but he deffo squeezes you with an arm around you, encouraging you to know this isn’t your fault.

Extremely mindful of you for the following days after. If you wanna go off the line then he does that, if you wanna go for a walk then he makes somebody’s with you at all times.

Super super emotionally intelligent and would support you through anything.

Joe Liebgott:

Probs walks into the quiet aid station all loud mouthed and hollering about something irrelevant. He knew you were on shift tonight with one other nurse who’s occupied upstairs in the building. Your arrival in Austria luckily called for a lot less gruesome wounds and gory deaths- but every now and then, someone slipped through your fingers.

Your head snaps up, away from the patient who lay still before you. Your eyes are full of tears and at the sight of Joe, you begin to sob.

“What is it-” immediately goes to run forwards, but then he clicks when he noticed the bloodied man below you. Your hands are covered in crimson, trembling and it’s smeared all over your uniform.

Realises pretty quick what’s happened.

“I couldn’t save him, Joe.” You wept. “Nobody came to help.”

Understandably Joes first reaction is to throw a fit that nobody else was here to help you- but then he takes in your broken expression once more and remembers where they were. Things like this just happened out here.

“Okay, baby.” He’d sooth, approaching you as carefully as possible. He’d take your hands in his and meet your gaze. “Let me help you.”

You can’t tell me that he wouldn’t be the biggest sweetheart ever?

He’d wash your hands for you, rubbing his thumb gently over each patch of skin, then he’d get help from another medic, a little pissed that nobody came to help. After that he’d tell whoever’s in charge you’re done off shift and take you back to your room (screw fraternisation rules, Joe doesn’t follow them, not when it comes to you).

He’d pretty soon find out that the guy on the table had a burst artery, whilst he’s undressing you from your stained uniform, he’d tut to himself gently.

“Somethin’ like that happens n’ they’re gone. There wasn’t anything you coulda’ done.”

“No but- I could’ve tried! If somebody helped then I could’ve done it! We’re not in Bastogne anymore I should’ve been able to help!”

“Y/n, you know you can’t think like that.”

Wouldn’t allow it for a second that you blamed yourself, it physically pains him that you’re sobbing and shaking, Joe holds you close and just lets you get it all out, feeling pretty revengeful for whoever left you alone that night.

“It’s all my fault, Joe…”

“No… no, sweetheart. C’mere, the guy was a dead man the second he got hit..”

The best with comforting you with words, if he needs to be a little harsh to get it through to you that it’s not your fault he will- but he won’t allow it for a second that you take any form of blame for this.

It hurts him to know it’s hurting you.

[isthemedia]

Poolerverine-Yoink! (1/2)

Since Ao3 is down for maintenance right now.

Here it is! Part One of two. Ao3 link to come when it's up and running again!

@manicpixxiedreambitch

@leo-i-am

@nickisgirl

(Since ya'll left comments figured to tag ya)

=====================================

Logan thought he had an idea of how Wade’s moods went. Sure they were sporadic and nearly unpredictable. The keyword being ‘nearly’. There were little tells Wade had, probably just natural instincts and habits his body did. Despite the constant dying and regenerating Wade’s body did-a story Logan STILL isn’t sure he was ready for-it seemed that there were just some things that always came back to Wade. 

The way his hands would twitch when he’d be on a short fuse, ready to fight or maim or pull out god knows what kind of weapon from who knows where. Luckily Logan knew how to take a hit. He also knew just WHERE to hit to get Wade somewhat under control. 

How Wade’s leg would bounce from being cooped up for too long-sometimes five minutes would be too long. Logan needed to yank him by the hood of his sweater as he tried to climb out of the window to the fire escape cause he needed out ASA-NOW. 

How some nights, when he’d be jolted awake from his own nightmares and warped memories to see Wade also up on the pull-out. The glow of the tv casting an eerie blue glow over him, as he’d just watch whatever was playing…without a word. At least Logan thought Wade was watching what was ever on during the first few times it happened. However, once he’d get a better look, he could see Wade…well, how did that saying go? Lights are on but nobody’s home? Something like that. Those times, well, those times were the ones he didn’t really have an idea on how to handle. 

Logan figured he learned enough of those cues and habits that nothing could really surprise him with Wade anymore. 

But it was just like the fucker to come up with something new. 

Which is where Logan was now. Staring at the lump in the middle of the pull-out’s mattress. Just what the hell was Wade doing? Sure the man could be lazy, but this was something else entirely. 

“Come on!” He gave a kick to the pull-out, jostling it somewhat. “Get up! This thing takes up enough space as is!” 

Wade refused to move. Hell, he wasn’t even saying anything. It was actually pretty damn quiet, that the familiar snikt sound seemed almost too loud. “Wade, ya know I won’t be afraid ta force yer ass out.” 

No response. 

Not even a snark.

And that was pissing Logan off the most. 

That does it! Raising his claws, ready to--

A knock came on the door. 

The sound was enough to knock some of the fury out of Logan. He couldn’t quite stop the growl that left him as he turned away from Wade, claws sheathing back, and stormed over to the door. He nearly tore it off the hinges when a second round of knocking started up. “WHAT!?” 

“Huh, you do have fangs.” 

Logan faltered some. Embarrassment was quickly quelling most of the boiling rage. “Ah--Vanessa, um…” 

Vanessa smiled sweetly. “It’s fine. I had worse greetings-and most of those came from Wade. Which, by the way, gotta call from Al,” she continued. “Mind if I step in?” 

“Huh? Ah, yeah sure,” Logan stepped aside and let her in. He noticed she had a canvas bag slung over her shoulder. Figured she was out doing errands. Even though it didn’t work out between the two of them, Logan could still feel how much the two loved each other. That both would drop whatever they were doing if the other needed help. 

Vanessa made her way over to the pull out and knelt down. “How long has he been like this?” She asked. 

“Hm? All monrin’.”

“Ahhh,” she sounded like she knew exactly what was going on. Probably did, she was with him long enough. 

“He’s done this before?” 

“He has, but it’s been a while since the last time,” she set the bag down and started digging through it. “He’s not gonna move for a while when he gets like this. Well, at least when somebody can see him.” 

“Gonna fill me in on what’s goin’ on?” Logan asked as he made his way over to her. Peering over he could see the bag was filled with…quite a bit of stuff. And all of it was stuff Wade liked. Snack, drinks, shit he saw a couple of toys in there too. Looked more like something you’d bring for a sick kid.

“Hard to explain,” Vanessa said as she pulled out a small Hello Kitty plush toy. “But you know how some people just, shut down sometimes? Burnout? Crash?” 

“Yeah?” He knew that all too well. “Wait, is that what this is?”

“Kinda?” She said. “It kinda is, but kinda isn’t.” Logan huffed. These answers were getting him nowhere. “You know about his cancer, right?” 

“Y-yeah.” He kinda felt like an asshole when he decided to ask what happened to Wade. He thought all that scarring was from like a fire or a chemical spill-or maybe his mutant gene just made him look like at. It wouldn’t be out of the possibility-hell he knew Beak. He didn’t know that Wade had cancer-STILL has cancer. That his healing factor wasn’t healing that cancer, just kept replacing it. That those scars were from it. That he’s constantly dying and regenerating. 

“Well, some days that pain gets to be too much,” Vanessa continued. “Says that even the voices in his head get too grating to listen too. That everything feels like static cause he’s being watched. Like sticking your tongue to a 9 volt battery, kind of static.” 

Well now he really felt like an asshole now. Dammit. He shoulda realized something was bad when Wade stopped being so damn chatty. “So what do we do when he’s like this?” 

“Not much,” Vanessa said. “Just time, and just making sure he’s alright,” she added with a slight grin. “Watch this.” 

Logan wasn’t sure, but that grin Vanessa had reminded him of Jubilee’s when she managed to steal some snack from Hank’s hidden stash in his lab. She always managed to somehow just pull out the good without knowing. He watched as Vanessa set the plush toy on the edge of the pull-out. She slowly inched it closer to the mound on the bed. She got about three inches away, when--

Logan blinked. 

It happened so fast he wasn’t sure just what he saw. Vanessa was too busy laughing, the plush toy gone from sight. 

So he did see that right. Wade snatched it and took it under the blankets with such speed it was almost cartoonish. 

“That-is what I call the Yoink-Zone,” Vanessa explained. 

“The what?” 

“Yoink-Zone,” she grinned. “It’s hard to get Wade to come out from under the covers like this-cause again static feeling. So I had to find some way to make sure he ate something. Found this out through trial and error,” she explained as she pulled out a small pack of fruit shaped marshmallows. “It’s dumb, but it works.” 

“I guess,” Logan heaved a sigh. 

“Here, your turn,” Vanessa said as she handed him the packet of marshmallows. 

“The fuck you mean, my turn?” 

“Hey, you live with him now, so that means you gotta take care of him.” 

Logan wanted to argue with her. He didn’t need to do shit.

But that wasn’t true. Hell, if this was all it took, it was the least he could do. Wade did more for him and dealt with his nightmares. Taking a set of claws to the gut. Needing to calm him down from his fight-or-flight response. Hell there was one time he bit off two of Wade’s fingers cause he got too close to his face. And the asshole had the gall to tell him it was all alright. 

This was less destructive at least. 

Logan slid the marshmallows towards the lump of blankets, and again, lighting quick they were snatched up. “...yeah this is dumb.” 

Vanessa laughed and smiled warmly, before inching her hand towards the ‘Yoink-zone’. Instead of getting snatched violently, Logan watched as Wade reached out and took her hand. Fingers threading together, and just holding her hand gently. “Things are gonna be alright Wade,” Vanessa said softly. “I’ll stop by later on if this keeps up, but Logan should be able to take it from here then. That's alright?” She felt him squeeze her hand softly before letting go, giving a thumbs up, before disappearing underneath the pile of blankets. 

She got up, one of her knees gave a pop while doing so. “Got a couple of snacks and drinks in that bag,” she gestured. “I’ll take it back next game night.” 

“Alright, ah…thanks Vanessa,” Logan nodded as he walked with her back to the door. 

She took his arm and patted it. “It’s no problem. I know Wade can be…well, Wade…but I know you’ll help him out with this.” 

“Yeah, I got it,” he nodded. They shared their good-byes and Vanessa was on her way. Logan leaned back against the door and heaved a sigh. This was probably going to be a long week. He hoped it wasn’t going to last long, but then again Vanessa made it seem like there was no real time frame for how long this thing lasted. 

He made his way back over to the pull-out. Mary-Puppins was now beside it, whining as she stared up at the edge that seemed to be too far out of her reach. 

Alright, this could be a bit mean, but then again, Wade loved the ugly thing. So maybe it wouldn’t hurt. Logan scooped her up and set her on the bed. Watching as she sniffed and toddled closer to the pile of blankets. When she was near that space-yoink!

Mary yelped as she was pulled under. Logan heard concerned shushing and small mumbling-Wade absolutely trying to appease the dog he probably spooked like that. Logan couldn’t help but laugh at the whole thing. He only proceeded to laugh even harder when one of Wade’s hands snuck out from under the blanket to flip him off. 

--

It was only the second day of this mood of Wade’s. Logan had to go out and restock on things for the merc, since the bag Vanessa brought was emptied before noon. And to be honest, Logan needed that time to be out of the apartment. 

Some thoughts were starting to rear their ugly heads again. The more he tried to push them back. Or cut them off-only to have two more replace them. Fucking hydra analogy, like the actual hydra and not the organization…though isn’t their motto something like that?

Whatever. 

He sighed as he roamed the aisles. Maybe after this he should start thinking about moving out. It’s not like he wants to-well not fully. It’s cramped, three adults and a dog all staying in a one bedroom apartment? Two over six foot men sharing a pull-out? The apartment itself definitely has seen better days-hell seen better years with the upkeep. 

Sure they could probably move-Althea included, he knows Wade wouldn’t want to leave her behind. Despite their sniping back and forth, and that godawful namesake Wade gave her, he did care about her. Shit, Logan did too. There was something about her…she wasn’t Chuck, that’s for sure. But there was just something about her. Something comforting and welcoming. She definitely filled a gap that was missing for him. 

While all moving out together sounded nice-well, alright that was the problem. It was a nice thought. A nice idea for a nice, somewhat domestic, somewhat fucked up future. 

But, if there was one thing Logan learned in his long life was this: Logan Howlett doesn’t get a nice life. 

That’s just how it was. That was why he seriously needed to think about moving out, and away from them. Because he was getting too accustomed to the idea of living with Wade. Too comfortable with the other man laying right by him. Being a constant in his day-to-day life. 

Great so much for escaping those thoughts. 

He wasn’t sure what it was with Wade, but there was something there. Something he’s been missing for years. The lines between companionship and desire were starting to blur. Fuck he’s been alone way too long to think of Wade like that. 

Then again, it isn’t just because he’s been alone for so long. Wade was different. Different then a lot of people-and he wasn’t meaning his looks or that weird quirk of him making comments to someone he couldn’t see. Wade sorta just, accepted him. The good and the bad. Wade didn’t try to change him, or make him more suitable for living with him and Althea. 

He didn’t need to be a ‘good guy’ to bring home. To Wade, Logan was fine just as is. PTSD, anger issues, alcoholism, and all. It was something Logan never even thought possible. There was always SOMETHING about him people needed to change. But not for Wade. 

So when was the other shoe gonna drop? It was gonna happen, he just knew it was. That’s why he had to be far away from Wade when it did. 

He sighed as he made his way back to the apartment, bags in hand. Well, that can be something to go back to worrying after Wade gets over this mood he’s in right now. Couldn’t last that much longer, could it? Maybe he should call Vanessa. Get an idea on how short or long this thing lasted. 

Entering the apartment, he could see the lump on the pull out hadn’t moved, but Mary was laying on the mattress just slightly out of the ‘yoink-zone’. He made his way over and sat on the edge of the bed. Mary whined, and he just gave her a quick little pet before digging out a bag of chips. 

He slid it close to the pile of blankets. It was getting easier to catch it. Wade’s hand shooting out from under the pile to grab whatever there was, and back under again. Logan chuckled softly and shook his head. 

Wade was absolutely ridiculous sometimes…and he was getting used to it. 

Mary made a small sound before she settled onto his lap. Welp, looked like he was stuck there for a bit. Could be worse. He knows he shouldn’t, but to hell with it. He knows he’s gonna need to abandon ship sometime, but for now he could enjoy this for a little bit. 

He absentmindedly pet Mary, his eyes slowly trailing back over to the pile of blankets. With his other hand he slowly slid it across the mattress. He was expecting Wade to just snatch it when it was close enough-but that didn’t happen. 

Like with Vanessa, Wade reached out slowly. Placing his hand over Logan’s. Wade’s hand was cold, despite being tucked under that pile of blankets. It wasn’t bad…it actually felt kinda nice. Logan ran warm anyway. 

“Yer gonna need to let go or I’m gonna need ta stop pettin’ Mary if you need somethin’ else,” Logan said. Wade gave a soft pat to the back of his hand before giving an ‘okay’ gesture, and retreating back under the blankets. Logan laughed and looked down to Mary. “You get so damn spoiled.” 

--

Laura and Vanessa were over. Day four of Wade’s mood. Laura got a first hand experience and witnessed the ‘yoink-zone’. She actually jumped-claws shooting out and everything. 

“Just so you know, he’s not gonna shut up when he’s over this,” Vanessa warned. 

“How is that different from normal?” Logan asked. 

“You’re mean,” Vanessa teased. “I mean that he’s gonna be dumb and talk himself dry,” she explained. “He’s a bit, out of it for like a day after all this. So just keep an eye on him, alright?” 

“Been babysitting him for four days already, shouldn’t be a big deal if another gets tacked on,” Logan shrugged as he leaned back on the bed slightly. 

“You miss him talking, don’t you?” Laura smirked. 

“Dunno what yer talkin’ about,” Logan grumbled. 

“Suuuure you don’t.” 

He huffed and shifted slightly. He was about to say something else when--

“SHIT! I forgot!” Two, scar roughed hands grabbed onto his arm and pulled-HARD. He toppled back and found himself partially under the pile of blankets. It was dark, but he could mostly make out what was in front of him and well…over him. 

Wade had this almost soft, fond looking smile on his face. The same one Logan always saw him give Vanessa-but there was something just slightly different with this one. “Got too close there Peanut,” Wade’s voice was hushed. A bit raspy from not being used for a few days. 

“Yeah, figured,” Logan said softly. “Better?”

“Hmm…a bit,” Wade murmured. “Gonna talk your ear off, cause I had a lotta thoughts goin’ through my head during all this.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” the smile stayed on Wade’s face as he leaned down. 

It was obvious what was going to happen, but still Logan felt his breath hitch. The position was awkward, but not the worst kiss he had. Wade’s lips were chapped and scarred-but felt so right against his. He almost wanted to chase after them when Wade lifted his head. 

“...ready ta come out? Say hi ta Laura and Vanessa?” Logan asked.

“Yeah, ‘m pretty sure I’m good,” Wade nodded. 

Logan shifted and pulled the blankets back and off of himself as he sat up right. Wade pulled them back as well, but still remained cocooned in them. He shifted and shimmied across the mattress till he could comfortably lean against Logan. 

“Hey,” Vanessa greeted softly. 

“Hey,” Wade gave her a soft smile. 

“Missed ya,” she added. “Logan did a good job at taking care of ya.” 

“Hmmm he did…thanks Peanut, I owe ya.” 

“Nah,” Logan shrugged. “ Deal enough with my shit, the least I can do.” Yeah, sure, maybe this was a bad idea. Logan’s all too familiar with bad ideas. He knows that there’s gonna be a consequence for this sooner or later. But that can wait. 

Wade hummed as he felt Logan’s hand slide under the blankets. Feeling around, until he reached Wade’s hand. “yoink,” Wade said softly as he took Logan’s hand, threading their fingers together.

[harmonicakai]

I Bet on Losing Dogs

Pairing: Beomgyu x Reader

Summary: Your insecurities get the best of you and you abandon your relationship with Beomgyu in the worst way possible.

Tropes: friends with benefits, angst, college AU, band AU

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: mentions of sex (mdni), emotional unavailability, slut shaming, no happy ending :-(

A/N: This is SAD because I am currently sad and also I didn’t bother to edit it. Apologies in advance to the Beomgyu biased readers bc I know this is not what anybody asked for </3

“You disappeared Like a faint ghost I bury it in the air What am I to you?” —Ghosting, TXT

You’re a horrible person.

Really, you should’ve broken things off with Beomgyu before they even began. It’s never a good idea to be friends with benefits with somebody you actually like. 

You do your best to distract yourself from confessing your love to him by sleeping with other guys. What started bright and electric between the two of you has fizzled with each encounter, his touch now feeling dull and hollow on your skin.

So, when you wake up next to him after a movie night, your stomach drops when you see the marks he’s left on your neck. Everybody will know what you get up to, if they haven’t already been gossiping about it behind your back.

There’s a numbness to the way you slip out of his apartment without so much as a goodbye. If you had woken him up, he would’ve noticed the sad look on your face and canceled all of his plans to spend the day making you feel better.

You don’t deserve his friendship, let alone his love, although he's only confessed the latter when he thinks you’re asleep and can’t hear him. Or, sometimes Huening Kai will let it slip how much Beomgyu talks about you when they’re away.

The walk home is brutal. You’re even wearing the jacket he’s refused to let you give back to him, knowing that if you had left it behind, he’d surely know something was wrong.

When he notices you’re gone, he shoots you a text about Merriam-Webster’s word of the day. Beomgyu has never cared for linguistics, but he knows you’re a real nerd about this kind of stuff. You decide not to reply.

Things would be much easier if you could just disappear out of his life, but the two of you have become so intertwined that it’s impossible. All of your friends are his friends.

Before him, you were just some quiet girl who shrunk away in the back of the classroom. After getting paired up and reading the poetry you managed to dream up, Beomgyu knew he had to get to know you more.

For most guys, the way he acts with you would come off as desperate. But he’s so earnest in his admiration for you and your talent that there’s simply no way he could possibly be faking it.

The first time you had gotten together was an honest mistake. You had been dumped, again, and he was there for you. It seems like he always is every time another man decides you aren’t worth his time.

It’s not that you don't love him. You do, as much as you’re able to. But you know that if you actually took things to the next level and they didn’t work out, it would break you entirely.

Still, is ghosting him without any sort of reason or explanation any better?

With finals in full swing, you know you’ve got the perfect excuse to be distant for a while. It’s the summertime that you’re worried about. Beomgyu has made sure to include you in every plan of his that he thinks you’d like, sometimes even arranging entire days around you in between his band’s schedules.

Really, the easiest way out is to start dating someone else. It always makes Beomgyu shrink further away from you to know that you will consistently pick someone else over him, although he’s secretly satisfied when things inevitably go sour. He hates knowing that the only thing that drives you into his arms is being rejected by somebody else, but he wants you too much to care.

The two of you talk about everything except how you feel about him, and he knows that he isn’t entitled to any of your emotions. You’ve made it clear from the start that you’re never going to be able to reciprocate in the way that he’d like for you to.

You weren’t always like this. At the start of college, you came in with the idea that you’d fall in love and have your happily ever after. But years of being used for your body and consequently dumped without reason has ripped your heart off your sleeve.

The way Beomgyu worships the ground you walk on makes no sense. You hate yourself. Maybe he just wants something to fix, and once you finally open up to him, he’ll leave you just like everybody else.

The thought makes no sense knowing him, but it’s the driving force in never confessing how you actually feel. So, you offer up yourself physically in the hopes that it’s enough, but it always leaves you feeling empty inside afterward. No amount of kisses or compliments will probably ever change that.

Among his bandmates, you’re closest to Yeonjun. He’s the only one who knows that you love Beomgyu just as much, maybe even more, than he loves you. 

It was revealed through a drunken confession at a frat party the weekend Beomgyu went home for his mom’s birthday, where you immediately got embarrassed and proceeded to go home with the first guy who gave you any sort of attention.

Meaningless sex is really the only way you can get off these days, but the act always leaves you feeling worse than feeling nothing at all with Beomgyu. But if you’re never going to be good enough, pure enough, to truly deserve him, then what’s the harm in another hook up?

You know that every time he finds out you've been with somebody else, you’re breaking his heart. It’s just that there’s so much love from him to go around that it never actually makes a difference in how he treats you. He has the biggest heart you’ve ever seen and you don’t even have the decency to not trample all over it.

You wonder if everybody else also agrees that you’re not good enough for him. They’re so nice whenever you’re around, but you’ve seen men turn into monsters behind your back. For your sake, you try not to think about anybody else's opinion besides Beomgyu’s, but even those thoughts weigh heavy on your shoulders.

After a few days of not returning his texts, he finally musters up the courage to call you. Before you can pick up, your phone sends him to voicemail, and you know that’ll be enough of a sign for him to leave you alone.

It isn’t until you run into him dropping off your poetry final in the writing department’s office that he truly sees what’s become of you.

You haven’t slept properly in days, and you barely eat. Your eyes are constantly puffy from crying all the time, and today is no different. Seeing you like this devastates him.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice shaky and barely above a whisper. He’s got his hand wrapped around your wrist to keep you from running away. His demand for an explanation on where you’ve been and why is stuck inside his throat, and instead, only sobs come out of his mouth.

Beomgyu never cries, and watching as he tries to hide the tears running down his face reminds you that he must be hurting just as much as you are. You want so badly to hold him and apologize, but all you do is stare.

Eventually, he manages to collect himself as much as he can, taking in the irreparable damage you’ve caused one last time.

“Here,” he says, digging in his backpack and handing you a stapled stack of papers. It’s his final project. “I’ll go print another. I want you to read these. Please, promise me you’ll read them.”

You accept the papers, your eyes skimming over the lines of poetry on the first page. It's about you. You flip through the rest of the stack. They're all about you.

It takes everything in you not to start crying too, although you’re so exhausted that you don’t think anything would even come out at this point.

“I promise,” you assure him, although neither of you know if you’re telling the truth.

—————-

Taglist: @orangesodafoam @deezbutz28 @ur-mother-realnotclickbait @iyeeeverydee @internet-folks @darlingz99 @foxyjun @stardustmooncakes @giaalorine @beomgyubabybear @niningtori @goquokka @csbenthusiast @moarmyjkhk @lizdevorak @sooberryworld @lonelybutterflytae @midnight-mochii @theresawtf @nowadays56 @jjklvr9 @baekberrie

P.S.: Please shoot me an ask or a reply if you’d like to be added to (or removed from) the taglist! I struggle to keep up with different lists for individual members, but if you really don't want to be tagged on all of my works, just let me know and I will do my best to make a note <3

[vigilskeep]

Do you have any thoughts on the differences (or similarities!) between Sol’s relationship with Viago and Lucanis’ relationship with Caterina? In a mentor/protege sense, I mean

Viago clearly cares about Crow!Rook and worries about their safety so it’s hard for me to imagine him being as cruel as Caterina was, even if it is the norm for the Crows. Then again, Caterina is a prime example that you can love someone and still hurt them

i think the different age gaps are one main difference on a basic level!!

viago is in his like late thirties maybe early forties currently, and probably only became talon after most rooks were finished with training. i can’t imagine anyone is going for more than a 20yr age gap tops, and for my rook i usually hc a 5-10yr age gap. he might have mentored them a little and seen potential in them, but it’s still closer to growing up together than being raised together. he’s not responsible for their situation in the same way, he’s just someone ahead of you going through the same situation. the previous talon would have been in power, so they would have had a “shared enemy” to blame for the hardships in both their training. also, viago is so all bark no bite with rook that personally i truly cannot imagine him being cruel in the direct way caterina was. he doesn’t have that in him imo

(does any of this make rook feel better about the fact that, now he is talon, he must be putting more kids through what they went through together back then? well that’s a different question!)

anyway, my point is that caterina is lucanis’ grandmother and was afaik already first talon. she had all the power in the house and was singularly responsible for raising him. there’s no-one for either of them to blame but herself!

also, you have to remember where viago and caterina were coming from and the effect those differences probably had. caterina had spent a long life in the crows, watching all her family members die and determining it was because they hadn’t been pushed hard enough. viago spent at least the first decade of his life outside the crows, in at least superficial comfort, and probably compared to almost any crow isn’t quite hardened to how their children are treated

caterina devoted a lot of her own energy to her remaining grandchildren (or, you know, to lucanis, and illario was also there) and seems to have been personally training them day to day. whereas i would not be surprised if the worst things that happened to rook were because the person they had latched onto/earned favour with was just a young assassin answering to somebody else and couldn’t be there all or even most of the time. if viago was planning some kind of takeover and that is how he became talon, as i like to hc, it might even have been a bad idea for rook’s safety and a liability for himself for him to be too overtly invested and always intervene when they were having a bad time. which is a hell of a way to justify letting a kid you care about get hurt but that’s the crows for you

to summariseeee i don’t want to completely soften the rook viago dynamic and make them the “exception” to how i read the crows but as i see them as kids who ended up in a survival horror together, i think they basically did the best anyone could’ve expected? whereas caterina was a grown powerful woman fully responsible for her grandchildren, and because she let her own trauma and ambition rule her, she chose to hurt them like that. i think those are quite different setups

[aritany]

On Identity: The Truth

Content warnings: homophobia, transphobia, references to self harm and suicide.

I’ve been keeping secrets my whole life.

I’m 10 and I’m listening to my dad at the dinner table, who I know to be the most trustworthy person in the world. He talks about the legalization of marriage between two people of the same sex and asks us to consider the implications. Where do we draw the line in the sand? Legalizing gay marriage paves the way for legalizing pedophilia, after all. If a union between two men or two women isn’t disrespecting the sanctity of marriage, what’s next? Marriage between men and animals?

I’m 11 the first time I hear it: “It doesn’t matter how low I set the bar for you, you still can’t reach it.”

I’m confused and afraid—I’m trying so hard—but I hear it then, and again, and again, spoken low in disappointment, shouted with a vein popping in her forehead, cold like a fact, and it sinks in, bone deep.

I’m 12 with my first crush on a girl. I’m not confused, I know that’s what it is—I want to kiss my friend, and I already know not to talk about it. Never to talk about it. It isn’t safe.

I’m 13 and doubting. I throw myself into fitting in. I pick the right boys to like and I go overboard, and I do like them, I do, I do, I want them to like me, I want to be their friend. I want to be their equal, but that’s not quite how the story goes, so I settle for trying to hold hands with somebody I desperately crave respect from, but that’s wrong too, I learn. 

I’m 14 and convicted. How could this be wrong? I brush hands with a girl in choir and we meet eyes and I know. I watch a gay kiss on TV and I sob into my hands and I tell no one, no one, no one.

I’m 15 and I come out to my mom, haltingly, with the terminology that I have, because the thought of hiding forever—keeping quiet through one more dinner—kills me.

She tells me no. She tells me I’m wrong.

I look in her eyes and I understand: it’s not an option, and it never will be.

I’m 15 and I do my best to stop there.

It doesn’t work.

I’m 16 when I first hear my mom say that you can love someone and not approve of their lifestyle. I wonder what kind of love that is. I wonder how that kind of diluted, half-hearted, patronizing love can be enough for anyone. I wonder if she’s thought about how that feels, to be told that who you are—not by choice—is fundamentally wrong.

I’m 16 and a boyfriend is a shield. The right choice, so I make it, and it’s even almost fun. I love being his friend. I’m afraid of anything more.

I’m 17 and my youngest sibling whispers, “So am I.”

My heart breaks for the pain they’ll experience, as they too are taught, painstakingly, how to hate themself. Which parts of themself have to be kept hidden, which parts are shameful. They sit at that dinner table and hear the rhetoric that pushed me to the brink and over it, and I hope they’re stronger than I am.

They aren’t.

I’m 18 and my mom works at a college for the performing arts. I sit and curdle quietly while she talks about her genderqueer students. Misgenders them behind their backs. Deadnames used flippantly. She knows better, after all. She can be the expert on somebody else’s identity. They’re mentally ill, all of them. None of them are happy. They’re searching for something only God can provide.

I’m 19 and I come out as bisexual to the man I’m certain I’m going to marry, tearing the secret out like a bandage fused to skin. He tells me of course it’s fine, that he supports who I am. Of course people like me should have rights, of course. I laugh, relieved. Later, I find out this moment was almost a dealbreaker for him, and I wonder how much was ever real.

I’m 20 and I’m out. I’m 20 and I’m free. I’m 20 and I believe, because I’ve been told, that I am loved for who I am. All of who I am. I still flinch when I hear a car door slam.

I’m 21 and I’m searching for the connection to my womanhood. I’m searching for what makes a woman a woman. I’m reading gender theory and talking to friends around the world and wondering exactly what it is that I’m missing.

What does the rest of the world know that I don’t?

I’m 22 when my marriage ends because my body might not be attractive to my husband one day, and my parents email him in support and solidarity, expressing sympathy, and I’m not surprised.

I’m 22, and standing up for who I am has cost me everything. A spouse, two sets of parents, financial security, a city’s worth of community, more childhood friends than I can count. My parents tell me to go back in the closet so my ex-husband will love me. To them, his frustration is understandable, of course—by presenting androgynously, I’m betraying my marriage vows, after all.

I wonder, stunned into silence, where I promised to look like a woman.

I’m 23 when I come out to my parents for the third time; not as bisexual, not as trans, but as hurt. 

I lay out the pain of the last decade as succinctly as I can, hoping they’ll hear. When I assert that yes, to be in relationship with me, use of my name and pronouns is a requirement, my mother jokes, “Well, we don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

It’s not a joke.

I see the flash in her eyes, the instant regret as she laughs it off like it’s funny, but it isn’t.

The kid sitting at the dinner table knows it’s not a joke. The kid who listened to countless lectures on the morality of queerness knows it’s not a joke. The kid who stood with shaking hands and tried to bleed out the bad knows it’s not a joke. Years of casual bigotry taught me how to hate myself, which parts of myself I should cross out and ignore, which parts of myself I should be ashamed of.

I’m 23, and I have finally unlearned shame, and when I ask my parents to see me, the joke is that I’m a terrorist. I’m unreasonable.

The shock of it becomes a balm, later on.

Some jokes aren’t funny.

Some jokes aren’t jokes at all.

I’m 24 and I’m learning that it’s scary to be alone. Bigotry made me an orphan and made us strangers, and knowing that it’s the right choice to stand up for myself doesn’t make it any easier. I’m learning the only way out is through, if you’re not squeamish:

Cut off the part of yourself that’s 7 years old standing outside of their bedroom because the nightmare had teeth and claws and they are the heroes that will hold you close and make it warm again.

Amputate.

Cauterize.

Don’t let them see you bleed.

I’m learning that the wound takes a long, long time to close.

I’m 25 as I write this, and I am proud of who I am, even if I’m still bleeding. All of who I am. It’s taken a long time for me to let that person see the sun, but here we are, basking in the glow. Those wounds are healing. I am visible for everyone else who whispers, “So am I.”

Your sunshine will come. Your sunshine will come. 

Your sunshine will come.

[flowercrowngods]

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 (these make one big story, you won't understand this part without the others)

day 07: free space a happy ending

Wakefulness embraces him so slowly and gently that Steve’s not entirely sure he isn’t dreaming when he sees Eddie lying next to him, watching him with an easy smile as his fingers tap out a slow beat on his pillow. Steve looks at him, blinking away the remnants of sleep, not quite daring to do anything more than that for fear of it being a dream after all, scared that Eddie would disappear if Steve reached out to touch. 

But then Eddie’s smile widens. “Good morning, sunshine.” 

Steve gasps a little and moves his hand to Eddie’s cheek, tucking a few strands of hair behind his ear, his breath hitching when Eddie leans into the touch. 

“You’re here,” he whispers, his gaze wandering over Eddie’s features, taking it all in and looking for any indication that this is a dream. 

Eddie hums. “And you’re pretty.” 

It hits him out of nowhere, the open sincerity in Eddie’s voice, the fondness in his eyes, the honesty in everything about him. The love, open and free now — or getting there, at least. It’s still so raw, though, so new, that Steve doesn’t know how to handle it yet. 

“Shut up,” he huffs once he’s caught his breath, rolling over to hide his face and the way his cheeks are heating up. He rolls right into Eddie's chest, though, and he's so warm, so close, smells so good that Steve wants nothing more than to bury his face in his neck and stay there for the rest of the morning. Or maybe the rest of his life.

The reflex to pull away is there. The urge to run and hide, to laugh it off, to freeze up and find something else to do, something to occupy his hands and stop them from reaching for Eddie. Years and years of muscle memory telling Steve to leave. 

But Eddie's arms come around him, holding him close and pulling him even closer. And Steve breathes him in, remembering that it can be okay. Remembering that they get a chance now. 

Remembering the words. 

What are you doing? 

Changing the world. 

So he tries that, too. Changing the world. He tries by winding his arms around Eddie, too, and breathing in again and again, learning that Eddie won't disappear if he does. 

Slowly, he dares to move his arms, stroking along Eddie's back in slow, gentle patterns, lulling himself into a safety he hasn't felt in a while. Maybe ever. At some point Eddie begins to hum, and Steve thinks that it's just another one of his audible smiles, inviting Steve and the rest of the world to join in if they're so inclined. But then he detects a familiar melody in the vibrations of Eddie's neck against his skin, and he holds his breath to find out what it is. 

His heart jumps when he recognises the song as one he used to listen to on repeat like a lovesick fool around the time his feelings for Eddie turned into something more, something better, something infinitely worse. 

It skips and he forgets how to breathe as he lets his hands travel over Eddie's back, slowly and tentatively daring to slip underneath his shirt and touch his skin. 

Eddie begins to sing, then, and Steve wonders if he's even been in love with him before, because nothing of what he's ever felt compares to Eddie's gentle, hoarse, sleep-rough voice as he sings Somebody to Steve, to their little bubble, or to the world outside. 

"I want somebody to share, share the rest of my lifeShare my innermost thoughts, know my intimate details."

He closes his eyes as he listens, focusing on the vibrations, on the warmth, on the closeness, on how this moment is everything he's never even dared to want. Everything so perfect that he couldn't even dream it up. 

Everything. You're everything. 

He needs to be closer still, so be buries his nose in Eddie's neck and breathes him in, tangling their legs, filled with a breathless kind of joyful bliss when Eddie's breath hitches, too, and he stumbles over the words of the second verse as Steve tries to climb into his skin. 

"I want somebody who cares for me passionatelyWith every thought and with every breath."

You have me, Steve thinks, pressing his lips to Eddie's pulse point. It's not a kiss, not quite. It's something deeper. It's a promise. 

Eddie's hands come up to hold him there even as his voice carries through the drumbeat of Steve's heart in his throat, running fingers through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp, making him purr along to the melody. 

"But when I'm asleep I want somebodyWho will put their arms around me and kiss me tenderlyThough things like this make me sickIn a case like this, I'll get away with it."

When the song ends, Eddie's words faded out, replaced once again by the gentlest silence, Steve feels raw. Vulnerable. Open and exposed. But he also feels safe, and loved, buried in Eddie's skin and held there, as though Eddie is just as scared of fading away as Steve is. 

He lifts his head just slightly, enough to meet Eddie's eyes – only to find that they're closed, an expression so serene like Steve has never seen before. Mesmerised and overflowing with affection, he reaches out to trace the line of his brows, down to his cheeks and all the way to his lips, where his eyes are glued for a second. 

The thought of kissing Eddie is right there. The opportunity is, too. But he doesn't. He barely dares to move as it is. But he does roll them over the rest of the way until he lies comfortably on top of Eddie, and tucks his head underneath his chin, finding one of his hands and lacing their fingers. 

"You've got him," he breathes eventually. "That somebody. If you—“ 

"Yes," Eddie says, his other hand finding its way to the nape of Steve's neck to play with his hair again. "I want."

"Good." It's lame; far from what he wants to say. From what he has already said last night. It feels like they're doing this backwards, starting with the I love you and catching up with the slow build-up afterwards. "Good. Me, too." 

"Good," Eddie hums, and there's that smile again that Steve can't help but mirror. 

They fall asleep again like that even though it’s already late in the morning; cuddling and holding and cradling each other, still trembling slightly. Maybe that's what changing the world will do to you. Maybe that's the bravery more than the love. 

Or maybe it's just Steve and Eddie. Steve and Eddie. SteveandEddie. 

I love you. 

~*~

It takes a bit for Steve to relearn loving Eddie. To not associate it with tragedy and sadness and a bone-deep loneliness that'll leave him breathless even on the best of days. 

It takes a while for Steve to learn a whole new kind of breathlessness, a whole new kind of aching when it comes to Eddie. 

And Eddie's not much better than Steve, pulling away when Steve wants him closer, swallowing his words and needing a second, third, fourth try until he learns that he gets to love Steve now. 

Years of unrequited love, or feelings unreturned, of words put out into the universe with no one to receive them, are not easily or quickly unwritten. But every time Steve's breath gets lodged in his throat and he wants to run away, Eddie is right there to remind him of what they can have now. Every time Steve tries to be a little less of who he really is, Eddie is right there to coax him out of his head with gentle touch and a lot of hugs. 

Every time Eddie starts to doubt himself and all the ways he makes Steve the happiest person on the planet, Steve is right there with the words he only has for Eddie. Words that don't get stuck anymore. Words that finally get a recipient. 

~*~

Their first kiss, the first real kiss, doesn't happen that first morning. They spend the first week only holding each other, barely wanting to let go, hiding their vulnerabilities within each other. 

Steve is worried about it at first, seeing Eddie so quiet, so reverent, lacking his usual cheer, his energy and snarky comments. He asks about it one night, ready to prove right that he isn't and can never be enough for him, that all he will do is steal the things that make him Eddie. 

Eddie stops then, lifting Steve's chin with a finger when he's too scared, too ashamed, too vulnerable to meet his eyes on his own accord. 

"Stevie," Eddie says, his voice so gentle that Steve immediately feels stupid for doubting. "I have loved you for ten years. I've had you for three days. Let me bask in it. Let me be unable to be myself with how absolutely and utterly overcome I am with the knowledge that I have you now. That I get to hold you. That I get to kiss you and keep you and... God. I'm not unhappy. I'm so much the opposite of that that I'm not sure there's a word for it. Other than devoted. Smitten. Bewitched, body and soul."

Steve wants to kiss him then. Almost does, with the way they're just staring at each other, breathing the same air —air that smells like Eddie now. In the end, Eddie just holds him, brushing a kiss to his cheek, his forehead, his temple, and whispers, "Let me bask in it." 

And so they do. 

Wayne called Eddie not long after with the words, "Chrissy just told me the wedding's off. Please tell me that means what I think it means." 

Eddie just blushed, reaching for Steve, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "Yeah, I, uh. I finally talked to Steve."

There was a very loud cheer on the other end that made Steve laugh, falling into Eddie's side, holding him tight, a weight falling off his shoulders knowing that Wayne was okay with them. 

You know, I always figured it would be you. 

No matter what happens, you'll always be a son to me.

It made his eyes sting again, but he basked in the moment and in the knowledge that Wayne was on their side. Always has been, always will be. 

"You better come here on Sunday, and bring Robin and Chrissy, too." 

"Robs and Chrissy?" Eddie asked. 

"Oh, you're in for a treat. I'll see your asses on Sunday, boys." 

And with that, he hung up. Steve immediately went to call Robin, hopeful and giddy with Wayne's implication, knowing that Chrissy was Robin's person just like Eddie was his. 

"She loves me," Robin said, on the verge of tears, and Steve joined here right then and there. "She's– Steve. She's so– She... God!" 

"Yeah," Steve laughed at the ceiling above his bed, grinning because Robin sounded so happy, not even caring that she didn't have the right words for it, because he could hear Chrissy laughing in the background, too. Laughing and saying hi to him and interrupting Robin's ramblings and groans and giggles with kisses that always left her dumbstruck for a good two seconds each time. 

When the call ended, he went right back to the living room, where he and Eddie started watching Pride and Prejudice before, and fell right on top of him with a happy, happy smile. 

~*~

It happens at Wayne's, exactly one week after Eddie showed up at Steve's in the middle of the night. One week after the phone call. One week after I love you. 

It happens in the soft glow of the fairy lights Steve and Eddie helped him put up years ago. I happens after Wayne hugged him tight once more, after he pulled Chrissy to the side and promised her that she's still his kid, that he still loves her, and that he's happy to see her smile like that. After he promised the same to Robin.

It happens when Wayne's inside to refill their drinks and Chrissy and Robin are caught up in each other that they're blind and deaf to the rest of the world. When Steve turns to find Eddie looking at him with the softest, gentlest expression. 

"Eddie," he whispers, leaning in to rest their heads together, lacing their fingers and stroking his thumb along Eddie's palm.

"Yeah, baby?" 

Baby. It fills him with butterflies, with the urge to scream, to shout from all the rooftops that he loves Eddie, and more importantly, that Eddie loves him back! Baby. Baby.

"I love you." 

"Hmm. I love you more." 

No, you don't. Just longer. "Can I kiss you?" 

He can feel Eddie's little gasp before he leans in even closer, rubbing their noses together, cradling Steve's face with his free hand. "Please," he whispers. 

And Steve does. He captures Eddie's lips, pouring into it everything he feels and more. Sealing the promises he's made and all the ones he's yet to make. The promises to love and cherish Eddie. To be brave. To be there. To stay and keep and bask. 

It's nothing like their first kiss all those years ago. There is no question behind it this time. Only declarations, only promises, only the beginning of a shared future. 

And there are many, many more after this one.

🌷🤍🌷 THE END 🌷🤍🌷

tagging: @sexymothmanincarnate @mcneen @livsters @eddiemunchondeeznuts @abstractnaturaldisaster @steddie-as-they-go @hyperfixationgoddess @goodolefashionedloverboi @stxrcrossed186 @eddiemunsonswife @bidisastersworld @ghost-ly-s @romanticdestruction @walkingaftermidnight07 @anaibis @rainydays35 @mightbeasleep @sunfloweringstories @korixae @tuesdaycats @totoroinatardis @ilovebookshowboutyou @musical-theatre-gay @theluckyalien @copingmechanizm @srra @changelingbaby @sassygoop @obsessivelyme @r0binscript @hardboiledleggs @estrellami-1 @bisexualdisastersworld @space-invading-pigeon @swimmingbirdrunningrock @y0urnewstepp4r3nt @oxidantdreamboat @spilled-jar @phirex22 @littlemsterious @captaingigglyguinea @animecookie95 @sharingisntkaren @haluton @littlemsterious @animecookie95 @suddenlyinlove @bisexual-bilingual-biped @jinx-nanami @makewavesandwar @scheodingers-muppet @morcantinon @hexdbog @homosexualhomocide13

god i can't believe it's over. i thank you, every one of you, who cheered for me, cried with me, screamed and yelled at me, and stayed with me throughout this past week. i have no words right now other than thank you 🤍🌷 and i hope this is okay

[annoyinglandmagazine]

Klaus And Gil Relationship Thought

One thing that I think defines their relationship and explains some of what makes it Like That is that sense of being all they have for such a long period of time.

It’s unhealthy but both of them are fairly isolated individuals in their own way and while their interactions aren’t especially affectionate they’re kind of used to them being it when it comes to close relationships with other people.

Gil spent most of the formative years of his life being fairly mercilessly bullied by his peers and that leaves its marks whether it gets acknowledged or not. He’s then told that the only friend he had was only using him and this probably leads him to believe that other friends he’ll have might do the same if he isn’t very careful.

Worth noting here is that he’s not entirely wrong either, Wooster for example was one of his best friends but he was also a spy who was possibly following orders when he decided to befriend him.

The knowledge of his parentage is also a massive secret and keeping something like that hidden is a whole new barrier between him and everyone else. It means even when he’s in Paris where he’s actually beginning to make friends he can never fully trust or be honest with them. There’s always a bit of an act.

It’s unlikely that Klaus ever expects to see his daughter or wife again and the rest of his family were almost certainly killed in the attack on Castle Wulfenbach. Every friend he ever had either died, vanished or turned against him, including Bill, Barry, Punch and Judy who he was extremely close to since he was in college.

To say he has trust issues would be putting it lightly so he’s too paranoid to even think about forming an attachment to anyone else. The closest thing to a friend he has is Boris and even with that implicit trust there and probably a degree of personal closeness, at the end of the day it’s a professional relationship.

Gil is all Klaus has, he’s everything. If Gil died I’m honestly not sure what Klaus would do. And in a fucked up way for a long time Klaus was all Gil had too.

He wasn’t great but he was there and Gil knew that if it came to it he could probably go to him if he really needed to. Just to know that he mattered to some extent to somebody, that he had some reasonably solid tie to another person, would make a child like that feel a little less alone.

The truly depressing thing about them is how astoundingly little it would take from Klaus to do so much for Gil. Whatever amount of actual warmth he’s given him over the years it clearly hasn’t been anywhere approaching the realm of enough, nothing about their relationship is enough, but they’re both so incredibly lonely and it’s better than nothing.

[punkpandapatrixk]

Full Cold Moon in Cancer ♦︎ Moon Magick Pick A Card

Happy New Year~!🍀It’s January already but, gosh, aren’t we all still preparing for the spring equinox this year🍓That’s when the real new year begins, aenergetically~🎍

The Full Cold Moon on 26th December carried a theme surrounding Home and Hearth. It touches on our IC (Imum Coeli) and 4th House in our natal chart. The IC tells us who we are when no one’s watching, and after we become super clear about that, it helps us realise what kinds of company are legitimately good for our sense of belonging in this mortal world.

Your IC can literally shed light unto the reasons you feel alone and separated from the people around. The Full Cold Moon in Cancer—ruler of the 4th House—invites us to take a look at our sense of familyship whilst being incarnate on Earth.

People on this Planet have been struggling with an immense sense of loneliness since the introduction of social media; isn’t that strange? How is it that the more people we’re able to connect with the more miserable we feel on the inside? Well, isn’t it clear that social media has helped us become more aware of what’s truly FAKE when it comes to human connections?💍

Our IC deeply craves real familial connections. Moving forward, wouldn’t you rather entertain soul-based friendships that really care about your wellbeing as a Human being? This Cold Full Moon in Cancer, you’re invited to once again die to everything and everyone that doesn’t make you feel seen, heard, respected, or wanted👻

Fake connections, whether online or offline, can go fuck ‘emselves🥢

[Masterlist] [Patreon] [Paid Readings]

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 1 – The Choice to be Free Has Always Been Yours to Make

i d e n t i t y – Knight of Pentacles

Others may think you are mad, but you of all people know there is method to your madness. More than everybody else gives you credit for, you’re actually somebody who’s very strategizing. You are careful with your plans and you think very many things through before you execute your plan. Others simply do not understand this mechanism in your brain because you’re quite unique, quite unorthodox even. This Full Cold Moon, you are invited to ponder if the source of your misery is actually other people’s beliefs about you rather than your actual incapability.

Just because you’re following a strange path of your own doesn’t mean you’re doing something wrong. Weirdos throughout history have changed societies for the better. We should all be thankful to weirdos—and especially, WITCHES. Did you know that WAY TOO MANY of our advances in science and medicine were actually done by witches? They burnt and hanged the witches and took credit for all of their hard work. Tsk tsk tsk… I raise my cup to all y’all witches who’s working to blast open new pathways for the rest of Mankind🍸Keep doing you. Keep going because spring will surprise you with loads of delights~🍬

s e r e n i t y – Queen of Pentacles Rx

You’re a helpful soul, that much is apparent. But you’ve got to learn some discernment so that you don’t get taken advantage of very easily. What the Queen of Pentacles in reverse is trying to show you is that, unfortunately, too many people in this world don’t even deserve to be helped. Not by you, at least. Unless you’re getting paid for rehabbing messed up people, let them deal with their own mess and grow up from it. Ultimately the Queen of Pentacles Rx is cautioning you against letting messed up people in your inner circle because these types of people are gonna bring their mess into your Life.

You get to decide, with your skilled discernment, who’s worth helping, fighting for; who’s worth keeping because they give you just as much affection. If, in order to keep serenity in your world you must look like a stingy bitch, let it be. Be selective with who you give your time and money to. Make sure you aren’t sucked dry of spiritual aenergy yourself. Your Higher Self and team of Spirit Guides are saying, this whole winter you’ve got shit to manifest—big, big shit. Preserve your precious aenergy so you can manifest real, long-lasting results~!🌳

f a m i l y – 8 of Cups Rx

Having said all of that, this card is saying: don’t easily walk away from things and endeavours that you know from deep within your heart matter. I think you’re so dreamy and floaty that you could have a hard time being realistic when it comes to the physical manifestation of your real desires. You could think, since they’re unrealistic, you might as well give up and choose to focus on other more pragmatic pursuits. If you must leave, leave the people and environments that don’t support your heart’s desires—don’t leave the desires and end up becoming very unhappy with yourself! After all, with your already methodical mind, you actually have all the power in you to bridge your dreams to Reality.

That’s why, honey, the freedom to be free has always been in your mind. Now you’ve just got to make the right decision—what kind of freedom is real freedom to you? The freedom to choose to kowtow to societal expectations or the freedom to walk your own path no matter how lonely (at first)?

‘If you end up with a boring miserable life because you listened to your mom, your dad, your teacher, your priest, or some guy on television telling you how to do your shit, then you deserve it.’ – Frank Zappa

full moon self-care🔻🌒🌓��🌕🌖🌗🌘

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 2 – Art and Romanticism Have Always Been an Important Part of Your Heart

i d e n t i t y – 9 of Cups

You have many dreams, but if there’s one thing, you’ve always dreamt to be independent, doing your dreamy things in your dreamy space. I think you’re the kind of person who’d be considered a quiet eccentric. You have many interests and hobbies, and you’re quite sensitive about having your me-time uninterrupted. I think you could erupt if someone walks in on your serious activity and startle you or if someone in your family tells you to go and do something in the middle of your reading. That kinda vibe. You’re quite a loner, actually. You’re super weird tho XD Do you maybe identify as an autistic kid, fam?

Anyway, please know that this Full Cold Moon is inviting you to ponder more deeply about your place amongst Humans. I have a feeling you don’t really like Humans or at least, you find human interactions absolutely exhausting, for the most part. If you know this blog, you know already how much I prize individuality and being alone if it means peace of mind and faster manifestations LOL BUTT!! In this reading, I’m getting that many of you may want to ponder yet again how you interact with people, especially those closest to you because sometimes, there really are people who care about your wellbeing more than you realise.

s e r e n i t y – 10 of Cups Rx

Many of you choosing this Pile probably haven’t got a nice family background. Of course, there are a million scenarios for each person but for the most part, I sense that you’ve felt familial connections to be emotionally unsatisfying. That’s why you seek emotional fulfilment in this multitude of hobbies and interests. Clearly you’re a very intelligent person, that much I’d like to iterate. And so, this reading seeks to validate your feelings about your eccentricity.

Art and all those dramatic things have always been integral to your sense of identity. I really think you should indulge, as long as whatever dramatic things you enjoy aren’t detrimental to your mental or physical wellbeing. If you happen to be the type that’s already doing detrimental things in your pursuit of an emotional high, this card is suggesting you pause breathe and eat before you go after another round of pursuing that high.

f a m i l y – Page of Cups Rx

When you’re pausing, you can cry. Accepting our emotions and acknowledging that they make us Human usually comes with a sense of grieving for all the ways we’ve thought ourselves as being in the wrong. There’s not a thing fundamentally wrong with you, it’s the people around you that have made you feel like you can’t communicate with them with striking vulnerability. And if these experiences have caused you to bear a lot of dark thoughts or negative emotions, I’d like you to know it happens to the best of us.

You could literally turn your pains into art, if anything. If you’ve chosen this Pile as your main pile, know that the pain you’ve experienced through human connections could be turned into art and that your Art has the capacity to heal those who come into contact with its backstory. And this, totally will have a significant place on the world stage because, as you can see, human interactions in recent years have gotten weirder and weirder in some capacity. So many people are hurting from getting disappointed by the…government and celebrities? LOL

full moon self-care🔻🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – Princess Kaguya, Is That You?

i d e n t i t y – 2 of Cups Rx

At the core of your being, you’ve always been different in that your heart is a lot purer, your morality is criminally significantly higher, you’re compassionate and can empathise with people on a level that’s beyond the comprehension of most others. The way you’ve experienced this Human Reality is incomparable to what most others have known. Basically, you’re an alien! And that’s an incredibly modest thing to say about you.

What you genuinely wish to see manifest in this world is vastly more high-vibrational than most people would even care to think about. I hope you accept that you are genuinely such a good person when you’re in your best element. What’s really difficult to maintain is your faith in people, for the most part, because you haven’t really met anyone who’s capable of giving their heart to you as deeply as you’ve given yours. This whole experience has broken your spirit and faith in a lot of things.

s e r e n i t y – 9 of Pentacles

And thus, you’ve carved out a Life of your own, quite separate from most people you’ve ever known. I’m sure you’ve burnt a lot of bridges up until just recently, and I sense, many of you simply know there’s still a few more to burn going forward. This is your confirmation that you’ve done the right thing. In this Human world, too many people buy into the idea that to be good is to be social; but you’ve experienced firsthand that that’s often not the case. You know firsthand that many people’s demons get activated by some weird connections to other people’s demons. And you don’t like that.

So you made a decision to walk away from most aspects of social life and worked your butt off to polish your skills. Some of you have spent many years studying; some of you have spent very many months working on a glow-up; some of you have deepened your spiritual prowess and connected to higher realms; basically, you’ve died and become a ghost… Springtime will bring you the resurrection you deserve, bitch!🎍

f a m i l y – King of Cups

About your Soul Fam though, I feel that travel is highly indicated for you. Some of you, you could be meeting a Soul Fam member during travels, but for the majority of you, this aenergy is giving the idea that you’re literally meant to travel the world or live abroad, perhaps even for the rest of your lives. Highly advanced souls can often have a narrative in which they’re expected to die on a land different from the one they were born into. So, if you’ve been thinking of moving to a different country or state, this is your confirmation that it is indeed part of your soul scenario.

Thanks to modern travel, it’s so easy for highly advanced souls to connect with their true Family members from different countries and that’s something we’re glad about LOL If you’ve ever wondered whether you’re going to die alone and sad, that’s totally not the case. If anything, you have so many Soul Fam members who are going to be just as highly spiritual, profoundly dreamy and vastly empathetic as you are. You’re going to be very glad when the time comes for Soul Families to reunite in the upcoming couple of years~ YAY~!

full moon self-care🔻🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[Masterlist] [Patreon] [Paid Readings]