#and treating it as such is making everything worse

[sakura-onesan]

small remider yakity-sax (s 8, ep 18) exists.

as a rd fan i recognize many pranks she did over time became worse. (regardless, maybe not convince and give panic to your friend as that level as the rainbow cookie episode.) In that episode pinkie gets a yak instrument to play. and her playing disrupts EVERYONE. even the backround ponies. they run away from it. to the mane 6 least to worst: twi none. rarity gets distracted at work and the dress isnt how she wanted, yes she could make another, but she did waste time and materials also she could get hurt by the machine, like other episodes. rainbow dash + wonderbolts + plus the audience. show gets interrupted, followed by dangerous fast fighers outside formation, posible accidents with themselves and audience (luckily none happen). also the audience, they spend they hard earned money to see a show only to get it ruined by a third party. aj and fluttershy are about the same level, but im gonna place flutters first since it included innocent animals. aj: pinkie's playing was so against nature, apples self exploted. important note that the orchard is entire aj family's lifelihood. they did not plat to make applesauce like that. so only they get a say on what happens to their apples. (wasted produce, wasted money, also that sauce was in the trees so not safe to eat) fluttershy: many many animals JUST made to sleep. shes in her own house, late at night, didnt get asked first, and pinkie just plays. animals get woken up and she stays up calming them. the next day shes sooo tired.

Now. the entire episode get played around friends tell another shes bad at what she loves. Actually mentions the episode when twi didnt tell celestia she was bad at acting. excuse me?? celestia's bad acting didnt interrupt or harm or placed risk on ANYONE'S DAY. then when pinkies told the truth the episode makes pinkie go so sad she turns grey (like when on discord influence, chaos magis in pinkie theory), either way everything goes out of their way to tell us the rest of the mane six are in the wrong for telling pinkie to stop.

please even had the yak prince rutherford tell us + the mane six that "there's no wrong way to play the instrument and thats the point of it". please.

so pinkie plays again, screw the consequences or HER OWN actions.

thats why mare do well episode is not good either. we can both agree rd's a boaster. the biggest loudest greatest boaster. maybe she should stop a little. yes please. she was boasting that she was town's hero. yes. rd you should do heroic things because theyre good not to boast about them later. but cmon. the mane six went overboard.

or the first gilda episode. gilda was rude. gilda stole that apple. she was unecessary rude to fluttershy. also. gilda was in a strange town, she was an outsider. around the same season we see how they treat zecora, and they got more in common with zecora than with gilda (which inconsistency found! why give gilda the benefit of the doubt but not to zecora???). much later we realize how shitty griffon town is. unfriendly. unkind. little to no family. shes on defence. not with rd since they're already friends. plus, lets be real pinkie pie was so noisy, wanted to be around all the time. rd should have interviened before. but how wrong is gilda for wanting alone time with someone she trusts!? both gilda some wrong and some right can be true at the same time.

but honestly it happened to every character. like twi with the cruise episode or the movie (cmon no one was helpful, pinkie stop were incognito, rd yes animation pretty but incognitooo)

conclusion: every character was written to be only exagerrated versions of one thing overtime, some episodes we condone something but in others not, not everypony is innocent, and i blame the writing

is it just me or did this happen a lot

(this doesn't have anything to do with punkitt but this doodle style is inspired by her horsecomix so @punkitt-is-here hi)

[lvnleah]

Would love a AWFC!Teen reader fic where she's Leah's younger sister who has always had to deal with being with Leah's sister, so many expectations on her and people being her friends because of Leah (Leah is still very much an amazing sister, loves her baby sister to bits!)

So when she's around ten ish, she makes the choice to not let anyone know Leah is her sister, goes to games but doesn't sit in the family section and sits with friends who she's never told about her family, maybe even uses her mum's maiden name rather than Williamson etc.

Leah is undoubtedly a bit upset about it because she doesn't want to make her little ones passion dampen just by being her (I hc that Leah would very much see R as her baby because that's what she called her when she was born or something) but her and their family all accept it and do what R wants and needs

Cut to R being brought into the senior time, smashing it in the big leagues and getting along well with all of the senior players who are looking at her like 'she seems familiar and I don't know why...' only to find out she's Leah's little sister when she's injured on the pitch or Leah gets injured and she gets all panicked and doesn't want to leave her side

Cue Beth, Katie, Kim etc. Who have all been there for years like 'Holy shit, you've grown up!!!!' Because they probably would've known her when she was younger since they've known Leah that long

Long winded but hopefully you'll like the idea 😂😂

the other williamson | leah williamson.

thank you for this request! :)

this is one of my favourite fics I’ve written!

You had always been proud to be Leah’s sister, how could you not be? She was England’s captain after all and an Arsenal star but sometimes being nine years younger than Leah came with its struggles. 

You were only seven when Leah first broke into the senior team and you were so proud of your sisters that for a while it’s all you talked about. Everyone at school knew about your cool big sister Leah and how she was playing for Arsenal. 

At that time, women’s football wasn’t massive so of course you got a bit of stick from a few boys in your class but it wasn’t anything you could handle. 

“Arsenal women?” One of them scoffed one day in the playground, “that isn’t a proper team!”

You looked the boy straight in the eye. “They are a proper team! My sister’s going to be the best player in the world, just you watch!”

The boy had rolled his eyes and laughed, but you didn’t care. You’d march off, determined to prove him wrong. Well, Leah would prove him wrong, and you’d be there cheering her on every step of the way.

For a while, being Leah’s sister was the coolest thing in the world. You loved going to games, sitting with your family, wearing a little Arsenal jersey with Williamson on the back. 

Leah always made time for you, even when her schedule got busy. She’d let you run around on the pitch after matches, ruffle your hair, and call you “my little bubba,” no matter how much you protested.

But as you got older, things changed.

By the time you were fifteen, Leah was a household name. Women’s football had grown massively, and she was basically the face of it after winning the euros. People started treating you differently, not because of who you were, but because of who your sister was.

At school, kids who’d never spoken to you before suddenly wanted to be your friend. “Can you get me an autograph from Leah?” they’d ask, or, “Do you think she’d come to my party?” Teachers started expecting more from you, too, as if being Leah Williamson’s sister meant you had to be perfect at everything.

At the academy, it was worse. You had been lucky enough to sign for the Arsenal academy when you were twelve but after the euros things changed. Every time you stepped onto the pitch, you could feel the weight of their eyes on you.

Coaches would compare you to Leah, even though you were nothing like her as a player. You didn’t even play in the same position, you were a striker not a defender. Teammates would make comments, sometimes kind, sometimes not.

“She’s only on the team because her sister’s Leah Williamson,” someone whispered once after you scored. “She’s not even good enough for the academy.”

It stung more than you cared to admit.

That was when you made your decision. You didn’t want to be known as Leah’s sister anymore. You wanted to be you. That night after training, you came home and broke down in tears to your mum. 

“Bubba, what’s wrong?” Amanda asked you as you stormed into the house, flinging your bag down onto the ground. 

You sat down with a huff as more tears started to escape, Jacob gave Amanda a look, “Been like this since I picked her, won’t say what’s wrong though.” Your brother sighed.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, wiping at your face angrily, though the tears kept falling.

Amanda crouched down in front of you, her voice soft. “You’re clearly not fine, Bubba. Come on, tell me what’s going on.”

You glanced up at her, hesitating. Part of you didn’t want to say it. You didn’t want to sound ungrateful for the opportunities you had or for Leah being your sister but the words tumbled out before you could stop them.

“I’m sick of it, Mum,” you said, your voice cracking. “Sick of being just Leah’s sister. Everyone at the academy thinks I’m only there because of Leah. They don’t even see me as my own person, just as ‘Leah’s little sister.’ I can’t do it anymore.”

Amanda’s face softened, and she sat beside you before pulling you into a hug. “Oh, Bubba. I’m so sorry you’re feeling this way.”

Jacob sat down next to you on the couch on the other side, frowning. “That’s not fair. You’re talented in your own right. Anyone who says otherwise is just jealous.”

“But I'm always being compared to Leah, J,” you said, though your voice wavered. “No one believes that I'm good enough. They just think I’m riding on Leah’s name.”

Amanda kissed your temple, “You are good enough. And I understand why this is so hard for you. But what do you want to do about it? How can we help?”

You hesitated, chewing your bottom lip. “I don’t want to be ‘Williamson’ anymore,” you finally said. “I want to use your maiden name, Mum. I want to be a Baker, not Leah’s sister.”

Amanda blinked, taken aback for a moment, but then she nodded slowly. “If that’s what you want, then we’ll support you. Right, Jacob?”

“Of course,” Jacob said, ruffling your hair. “You’re still you, no matter what name’s on the back of your shirt.”

A lump formed in your throat, but you nodded, feeling a small wave of relief.

“What about Leah?” Amanda asked gently. “Have you talked to her about this?”

You froze. You hadn’t thought about how Leah would feel. “I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt her feelings. She’s always been so proud of me, but…”

“But you need to do this for yourself,” Amanda finished for you. “You know she’ll understand.”

You nodded.

Later that evening, when Leah got home from training, you sat down and told her everything. You expected her to be upset or worse, disappointed but instead, she pulled you into a tight hug.

“Bubba,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “I had no idea you were feeling like this. I’m so sorry, I’ve made things harder for you.”

“You didn’t,” you said quickly. “It’s not your fault, Le. I’m so proud of you, but I just need to figure out who I am without being ‘your sister.’”

Leah nodded, her hands on your shoulders. “I get it. And I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself. Whatever name you use, you’ll always be my little Bubba, okay?”

You laughed through your tears, hugging her tightly.

That night, you went to bed feeling lighter than you had in months. You were ready to step out of Leah’s shadow and into your own light.

Fast forward a few years, you were now eighteen and transitioning into the senior team. Leah was now twenty-seven and somehow everyone had managed to keep it a secret that you were Leah’s sister. 

Majority of the girls that you played with had either left the academy or completely stopped playing football. Your shirt name was now Baker and had been for two years now, your coaches were different too and everyone just thought that Leah was your family friend. 

“Excited for your first senior training, bubba?” Leah asked you one December morning as she drove you both to the training ground. 

You shrugged, a mixture of emotions, “Bit nervous…” you muttered, “Excited but nervous.”

Arsenal’s senior team had a new coach, Renee Slegers, and she had been to watch the u18s a few times. For some reason, she had seen something in you and wanted you to come train with the senior team and potentially play a few games. 

“You’ve got this, Bubba. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t good enough. Renee knows what she’s doing, and so do you.” Leah told you. 

You nodded, trying to let her words sink in. You knew Leah believed in you, she always had, but the pressure of stepping into the senior team felt overwhelming. It wasn’t just about proving yourself, it was about proving you belonged and you were separate from Leah.

When you arrived at the training ground, Leah walked in beside you, her confidence making her look so at ease. Meanwhile, your stomach churned as the nerves threatened to take over. You adjusted your backpack, trying to focus on your breathing.

“Relax, Bakes,” Leah said with a smirk, using the nickname some of your academy teammates had given you after you changed your last name. “They’re going to love you.”

As you entered the changing room, you were immediately greeted by familiar faces, some you hadn’t seen in years. Beth grinned as soon as she spotted you.

“No way! Little Bubba? Is that you?” Beth’s voice was teasing, her eyes wide in mock disbelief.

You groaned internally. So much for keeping the “Bubba” nickname under wraps. “It’s Baker now,” you corrected with a sheepish smile, but your voice was warm. You couldn’t help but laugh a little as Beth pulled you into a quick hug.

“Leah didn’t tell us you’d grown up so much!” Beth teased. “Last time I saw you, you were, what, fifteen?”

“Beth,” Leah interrupted, shooting her a warning look, though she was clearly trying not to laugh.

More players filtered in, all of them reacting with surprise when they realized who you were. Some of them hadn’t seen you since you were a kid, tagging along to games and family events. For others, it was the first time they’d met you. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Katie said, holding up her hands. “So you’re telling me Leah’s been hiding this one from us? You’re playing with us now?”

You felt your cheeks burn as all eyes turned to you, but Leah stepped in, her tone light and teasing. “She wanted to make it on her own. Didn’t want to ride my coattails.”

“Fair play,” Kim said with an approving nod. “Gotta respect that.”

Leah turned to you, her smile soft. “Alright, Bubba, I mean Baker, time to show them why you’re here.”

You gave her a small, grateful smile before heading out to the pitch. As you jogged onto the field with the team, the nervous energy in your chest began to settle. You reminded yourself why you were there. Not as Leah’s sister, but as you.

And as the session began, you could feel yourself falling into the rhythm of the game you loved, the sound of the ball connecting with your boot grounding you. The team was fast, skilled, and ruthless, but you held your own. A well-timed run, a sharp finish past the keeper and it wasn’t long before you felt like you belonged.

At the end of training, Renee pulled you aside, her expression calm but firm. “You did well today. Keep this up, and we’ll see about getting you some minutes in the next match.”

Your heart soared at her words, but you kept your face neutral, nodding. “Thank you, Coach.”

Leah was waiting for you by the car when you finally made it out of the locker room. She raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to gauge how you were feeling.

“Well?” she asked as you climbed in.

You smiled, the weight on your shoulders feeling just a little lighter. “I think I did okay.”

Leah grinned, her pride shining through. “I told you, Bubba. You’ve got this.”

The night of your debut arrived quicker than you expected. Arsenal was playing a league game at Meadow Park against Crystal Palace, and the squad list had you on the bench. You tried to focus during the pre-match warm-ups, but your nerves were all over the place. Leah, as always, noticed.

“Stop overthinking,” she whispered as the two of you jogged back to the dugout after the warm-up. “Just play your game. If you get on, don’t try to do too much. Be you.”

You nodded, though the butterflies in your stomach didn’t ease. The match started, and you watched intently from the bench, studying the pace of the game and trying to picture where you’d fit in.

By halftime, Arsenal was up 1–0, the goal coming from Leah. Renee made a couple of changes early in the second half, but your name wasn’t called. You were beginning to think your debut would have to wait until another day when, in the 70th minute Renee called you. 

“Baker, you’re on,” Renee said, her voice firm but encouraging. “Stay calm, yeah? Leah’s out there with you. We’re doing okay, 3-0, so just stay calm, yeah? Try your hardest.”

You nodded, barely able to believe this was actually happening. Leah was standing by the touchline, waiting for you, her hand resting casually on her hip. When you reached her, she nudged you with her elbow, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Ready for this, Bubba?”

“Don’t call me that,” you hissed, but you couldn’t help the nervous laugh that escaped.

The referee blew the whistle, and you stepped onto the pitch, replacing Beth up top. Leah gave you a quick pat on the back as you ran to your position. “You’ve got this.”

The first few minutes were a blur. The pace of the game was faster than anything you’d experienced before, but you adjusted, remembering Leah’s advice: play your game.

Then, in the 80th minute, the ball came to you. Leah had intercepted a pass in and played a perfect through ball into your path. You took a touch, your heart pounding as you found yourself one-on-one with the keeper.

You steadied yourself, then slotted the ball into the bottom corner with your left foot. For a moment, everything went silent, and then the roar of the fans hit you all at once.

You’d scored on your debut.

Leah was the first to reach you, lifting you off your feet in a tight hug. “That’s my sister!” she shouted, her voice full of pride.

The rest of the team swarmed you, congratulating you with slaps on the back and ruffling your hair. The chant of your name began to ripple through the crowd, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you belonged, not as Leah’s sister, but as you.

When the final whistle blew, Arsenal had secured a 5–0 victory. Leah pulled you into another hug as you both walked off the pitch.

“Told you you’d smash it,” she said, her grin wide.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop smiling. “Thanks, Le.”

That night, as you sat with Leah in the kitchen at home, replaying the match in your head, she looked at you and said softly, “You’re going to have a great career, Bubba. I’m proud of you, you know that?”

For the first time, you didn’t mind the nickname. “Thanks, Le. Means a lot.”

[gh0stly-mp3]

hi!!! your works are so damn interesting and well written, you are great in this regard!! can i ask, if you don't mind, sae, rin, reo, ness and kaiser with a calm gentleman s/o (headcanons but a scenario is good too)??? because they DESERVE the sweetest person in their life. just an s/o who takes care of them, does all sorts of gallant things like opening doors, pulling out chairs, like "flowers on dates are THE must" and so on??? i hope everything is fine with you, stay like that!!! 🩷

Hiii! Thanks! Especially for saying that my works are well-written, I'm trying to improve my English writing skills and this cheers me up a lot! ♡ - I love this idea btw, gentleman reader is one of my fav tropes :))

Love like you -> bllk hcs

bllk boys x s/o gn!reader

synopsis: how some bllk boys react to you being a gentleman to them and treating them well

tags: blue lock headcanons, fluff, comfort, gentle reader, calm reader, slice of life, kinda established relationship

warnings: manga spoilers, mature language

characters: sae, rin, reo, ness and kaiser + bonus: kurona

a/n: i love doing requests hehe (they're open btw)

masterlist.

Sae Itoshi ~ ♡

Sae would try not to show how much he loves when you take care of him and treat him like he's your prince (beacause he really is). But damn! He adores it! His favorite thing is when you bring him breakfast in bed.

He's used to being treated very cordially, always having people open doors and do everything for him, which he doesn't care much about. But, when you do it (because you love him and not because he's famous), he has conflicting feelings.

At the same time that he loves to feel personally cared for by you, he tries not to show it and keeps up the pose of "you're doing this because I'm a celebrity, not because you love me," but - deep down - his heart is warmed.

Rin Itoshi ~ ♡

Rin thinks you're so perfect, but It would take a long time for him to respond to your affection, but eventually he begins to appreciate your gentle actions and, when he has the courage, approaches you to be by your side.

He gets a little shy when you open doors or pull out chairs for him, but try not to show you. He's too afraid to get close to you and feel safe around you, just so that in the end you abandon him.

The greatest act of chivalry with Rin is to show him your love without wanting anything in return and giving him space in moments of vulnerability. The only vulnerable situation he lets you get close to him is when he's sick, where he lets you hold him.

Reo Mikage ~ ♡

People tend to treat Reo very well when they discover how many things can he buy before even looking the price. So when you showed him gentleness and care, he quickly asked - "how the hell did you know?" - but to his surprised, you didn't know about anything.

He tried to buy you things, thanking your time and consideration for his well being. But then you continued, and worse... You rejected his attemps to pay for your things.

That was a huge surprise, and after this, Reo started to get more and more nervous when you bought flowers for him. You were not serving him, you were not there for a reward, you were not interested in status. Rather, you were loving him for what and who he was.

Michael Kaiser ~ ♡

It's difficult for a prodigy to love anyone, as everybody is, technically, bellow him. Kaiser treats you well, better than he treats everyone else. But you don't let his false ego brush off your determination. Perhaps, one would need more than gentleness to get into his heart, but you know that's too much work for what he really needs. Actually, you were already inside. You just needed to make him understand how much you loved him.

So, you bring him flowers and gifts; you watch, careful, when both of you cross the street; you even brush his hair when he doesn't feel like it. But, unlike all the others, you aren't interested in the champion. You don't bow and let the title he grasps so hardly dominate you.

And he observes in horror the blue color of the roses on the table. And he turns his blushed cheeks away when a car passes by and you put your hands on his chest. And he inches with the warm of your hands on his hair. And he lets you love him, but refuses to step out of his cave.

You know he will, eventually.

Alexis Ness ~ ♡

Ness was confused, surprised and even a bit annoyed with the first time you pulled a chair for him. He was careful not to fall on a prank but when he sit, you simply smiled. He was used to serve you, never him, it was always about you. And suddenly, someone got a glass of water for him. For him. He didn't ask. He didn't even hint on anything. You simply said how hot it was. He must have been thirsty.

Now he gets irritated everytime you make something for him. You were paying attention to his needs, to his attempts on hiding everything so he can make you happy. But sometimes, you catch a glimpse of him staring at you, smiling. (he lovess it, but don't tell him that)

+ bonus

Kurona ~ ♡

He always blush when you open doors or pull out chairs for him, and whenever you do it, he places a shy kiss on your cheek or forehead.

[flymetosnarryland]

We have a problem...

There is only one person you can ask for help when Harry disappears, right?

I'm stressed, super tired and in pain, so… going to vent a little, because feeling a bit helpless, eh. The thing is, I have this nasty cough and I have it all my life. 30+ years of endless months of freaking cough that no doctor knows why I have it and how to fix it. I know people have worse health problems, so I'm not complaining. I'm just living with it, even if it's really hard sometimes, because my body is too tired to deal with it. Imagine coughing every day for couple months in a row like you spit your lungs and other inside stuff out. Your throat is sore all the time. You have hoarse and your chest muscles are on their limits, everything just hurts. Every time it ends, I'm feeling fucking blessed. Now it's going for two months after a month or so break and I'm pretty sure one of my chest muscles tore up or something. The doc I went to, said by hearing what I feel, that it's some in between ribs nerve issue. She gave me some fat painkillers and say goodbye, heh. (They works half way though) I hate to take pills and trying to avoid it as much as I can. But I started this year with different pills for different shit and I just want… I want this cough to stop. I want to be free from other not fully understood health issues than was born from that stupid flu and go back to my good, free from stress life. It was so good before, eh. I just cross my fingers that the lungs specialist I have a visit at Monday will not treat me like a pest and actually will be able to help solving some of the 30 years old cough's mystery. I'm not dying or something. I'm happy, because I'm pretty healthy in general. But I'm so freaking and dead tired because of stupid, neverending cough and can only cry. Just cry, cus can't do a shit with it. Normally I was swallowing it all. It's a shame to talk about something such trivial like this, isn't it? But as my psychologist said, I shouldn't ignore things that makes me feel really bad. And to be honest, talking about it, venting here and even crying, eh, it helps. Next day is a little bit better. Every time. And I'm really happy and grateful for having something to do. To be able to draw at least, since I'm slow with writing cus of the pain. But Snarry truly is my comfy blanket and helps me a lot dealing with stress.

Whoever managed to read that wall of cry, thank you. Hopefully you will not count me as stupid, heh. It's hard as fuck to share personal stuff for me. Especially knowing that other people have bigger problems... mines sounds silly compare to others. I know...

[emsdevs]

The Return

Bear and Bug 🐻🐞

a/n: surprise!! kirby talked me into splitting this part up, so you all get one more part of the main conflict after this!! enjoy!!!

masterlist | NHL Masterlists | Bear and Bug Masterlist

Three weeks had passed since you arrived at Cole’s place, and he’s been trying everything under the sun to get you to return to the lake house with him. Today, after getting out of bed, you find out he’s pulled out the big guns. When you walk into the living room, you’re met with not only Cole but also Trevor and Alex. Apparently, Cole had filled them in on the situation, and they changed their flights to Montreal to come help. 

“C’mon. It can’t be that bad. I know for a fact Jack misses you,” Trevor is currently trying to encourage you to come with them, your packed suitcase sitting beside him. At some point during the night, they had snuck into your room and packed your bags, leaving you with no “good” excuse not to go with them.

“You talked to him?” your head shoots toward Trevor, hope filling your eyes. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as you thought.

“...No,” he looks toward the ground as he speaks, “but! I know Jack, and I know he’s probably falling apart at the seams if you two haven’t talked in three weeks. You’re his person. He’s probably dying right now.”

“Oh, great. I’m killing my best friend! This is exactly what I was worried about when Quinn and I got together. He’s been having such a tough time, and I’ve made it a hundred times worse. I’ll be lucky if he ever talks to me again.”

“You’re right. She is being dramatic,” Alex whispers to Cole before stepping forward to try to comfort you. “Look, sweetheart, the only way to make this any better is to bite the bullet. I know you’re scared, but you can’t keep running away from it.”

You were silent for a moment, shocked by the wisdom from Alex. After gathering your thoughts, you spoke, “You’re right. Let me go be sure you all got everything, and then we can head out.”

“No way that worked,” Cole couldn’t believe their plan worked in their favor.

“Bro, when did you become a shrink?”

~~

The tension at the lake house was higher than ever. Ellen and Jim had given up on trying to help their sons work out their issues, so they drove back home for a while, letting the boys stew in their anger. The boys had done nothing except that. Quinn and Luke silently shared an alliance while Jack either ignored them completely or began picking fights. 

“Hope you two are ready to go running back to your precious Bug,” Jack told the other two boys as he walked to the kitchen to grab a snack.

“What do you mean?” Luke answered, sass written all over his question.

“Trev just texted me. He, Alex, and Cole just boarded their flight. With Bug.”

“She’s coming back?” Quinn couldn’t hide the hope in his voice. He didn’t care how Jack felt anymore. He was miserable, and he needed his Bug. 

“Don’t get all excited. That doesn’t mean she’s getting back together with you,” Jack rolled his eyes.

“Don’t tell me you think she’s coming back for you,” Luke doesn’t even attempt to hide the sneer in his voice.

“She’s my best friend, Lukey. Of course, she’s coming back to get in my good graces.” 

“Are you kidding me? Look at how you’ve been treating her, Jack! We’re all lucky she’s even coming back at all!” Quinn is angry now. You’ve probably been hurting more than he has for the past three weeks, and Jack is acting all high and mighty like you’ll come crawling back to him. As far as Quinn is concerned, you don’t need to come crawling back to anybody. If anything, the three of them owe you an apology.

“Of course, you’re sticking up for her! God, she has you wrapped around her finger! You’re so whipped you can’t see that she’s the problem here!”

“No, you don’t get to do that. You know Quinn is right. You’ve been horrible to her, and she deserves an apology. From all of us, honestly. Jesus, I mean, she even put you’re feelings above her happiness. She and Quinn could have been so happy, but you were complaining about how horrible the NHL is every night, so her main concern was protecting you. Mind you, you are not one of the two people in that relationship, so the fact she took your feelings about it into account at all is a kind of grace that you obviously don’t deserve. Why don’t you get down from your high horse and think about everything Bug has done for you? Then, you can tell us if she’s the one that needs to apologize or not,” Luke doesn’t give Jack time to answer, walking off as soon as he finishes his speech. Quinn doesn’t hesitate in following, only giving Jack a sharp look before making his way to your room once again. He found Luke already there, so they sat on your bed together, putting on a movie and soon falling asleep.

Jack, now alone in the living room, takes the time to do as Luke said. He thought back to when he knew you’d be his best friend forever. You two had silently agreed to have separate friend groups at school, but when you saw Jack’s friends had left him alone one day at lunch, you left your friends to go sit with him. They stopped talking to you after that, but you were fine with it because you had Jack. He thought about everything you had sacrificed for him, even skipping out on joining an afterschool club because it would conflict with some of his game times. How many times had you put Jack first, even when you could’ve had something really good for you if you had put yourself first? He could think of at least one: Quinn. He’s a horrible best friend. 

Jack lost track of how long he sat there, losing himself in his thoughts that were slowly becoming more and more self-deprecating, but before he knew it, he heard the front door opening. Moments later, he jumps to his feet when he sees you walk into the living area.

“Hey,” he says, slightly out of breath.

“Hey.”

taglist: @heartsforjh @devilinpradaheels @coldheartedmar @juxmi @puckmedude @alexxavicry @dancerbailey3 @hockey43 @madebyhappymeals @ccomandercody @kirajessie @beenucks @iamspeed6

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[batboysanonymous]

Breaking Point (Pt. II)

Cassian x Reader

Summary: In the heart of the Illyrian wilderness, courage is a blade honed by fear—but it takes more than steel to survive. As the forest becomes a battleground, Cassian is forced to confront what he stands to lose—and whether it’s already too late to save her.

Word Count: 1.2k

──────────────────────────────

The mountains were silent except for the wind, carrying whispers of tension and regret as Azriel followed the path Cassian had taken. Shadows wrapped around him like armor, but it wasn’t to shield himself—it was to prepare for whatever storm brewed within his brother.

Azriel found Cassian perched on the edge of a cliff, wings stretched wide as though he were daring the wind to carry him away. His posture was stiff, his broad back to Azriel, but the tension in his wings betrayed his inner turmoil.

“You shouldn’t have stopped me,” Cassian said without turning around, his voice rough, raw.

Azriel’s boots crunched on the rocky terrain as he stepped closer, the sound swallowed by the vastness of the landscape. “You were going to make it worse,” he replied evenly.

Cassian finally turned, his hazel eyes burning with frustration. “She’s my mate, Az. I had every right to go after her.”

Azriel crossed his arms, his face an unreadable mask. “And do what? Throw more fuel on the fire? You think shouting at her again would’ve fixed anything?”

Cassian’s wings twitched, and he looked away, his jaw tight. “You don’t understand. She doesn’t get it—what she means to me, what it would do to me if something happened to her.”

Azriel stepped closer, his shadows trailing behind him. “You’re right. She doesn’t get it, because all you’ve done is shout and insult her. Do you even hear yourself, Cass? The way you spoke to her back there?”

Cassian flinched, guilt flashing across his face before it was buried under his stubbornness. “She’s reckless, Az. She throws herself into danger without thinking, and I can’t—” His voice broke, and he looked down, his fists clenching at his sides. “I can’t lose her.”

“And you think tearing her down is the way to keep her safe?” Azriel’s voice was low, cutting. “Do you even realize what you said? What you implied? You’re not protecting her, Cassian. You’re pushing her away.”

Cassian’s wings drooped, the weight of Azriel’s words settling heavily on his shoulders. “I didn’t mean to…” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “I just—damn it, Az, I don’t know what to do.”

Azriel’s gaze softened, but his tone remained firm. “You start by apologizing. Not with excuses or justifications—just an apology. But more importantly, you need to let her prove herself. She’s not some fragile thing, Cassian. She’s your mate. Treat her like one.”

Cassian exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “And what if she gets hurt? What if I lose her because I gave her too much space?”

Azriel stepped closer, his shadows brushing against Cassian’s shoulders like a reassuring hand. “You can’t protect her from everything, no matter how much you want to. The only thing you’ll lose her to is yourself if you keep this up.”

Cassian didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the horizon as if it held the answers he so desperately sought.

──────────────────────────────

The trees closed in around her as Y/N stalked through the forest, her emotions a whirlwind she couldn’t contain. Cassian’s words echoed in her mind, cutting deeper than any blade.

“Failing miserably.”

The phrase replayed over and over, each time twisting the knife further. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fought the tears that threatened to fall.

She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t let him see how much his words had hurt.

But the pain festered, mixing with anger and something darker—something reckless.

She couldn’t just sit around and let his doubts define her. She needed to prove him wrong, to show him that she wasn’t some fragile thing that needed constant protection.

Which was how she found herself standing at the edge of the Illyrian hunting grounds, staring at the dense forest where the beasts prowled.

It was a place even seasoned warriors approached with caution. The creatures here were deadly, their strength and ferocity unmatched. But that was exactly what Y/N needed—something to prove her worth, to silence the doubts Cassian had planted in her mind.

──────────────────────────────

Cassian was pacing when Azriel’s head snapped up, his shadows suddenly writhing around him like agitated snakes.

“What?” Cassian asked, stopping mid-step.

Azriel’s face darkened, his expression one of grim determination. “She’s gone.”

“What do you mean, she’s gone?” Cassian demanded, his wings flaring in alarm.

“She left the camp,” Azriel said, his voice tight. “And I think I know where she’s headed.”

Cassian’s heart plummeted, a cold dread settling in his chest. “The hunting grounds,” he said, the words barely a whisper.

Azriel nodded, already moving. “We need to move. Now.”

Cassian didn’t wait for further explanation. He took off, his wings slicing through the air as he flew toward the forest. Azriel was right behind him, his shadows keeping pace as they raced against time.

──────────────────────────────

Y/N’s breath came in sharp gasps as she moved through the dense underbrush, her senses on high alert. The forest was eerily quiet, the usual sounds of birds and small animals replaced by an oppressive silence.

Her grip tightened on the sword she carried, the weight of it grounding her as she pushed forward. She knew the risks of being here alone, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was proving that she could handle herself, that she wasn’t the liability Cassian seemed to think she was.

The first sign of danger came in the form of a low growl, the sound vibrating through the air like a warning.

Y/N froze, her eyes scanning the shadows for the source of the sound.

The creature emerged slowly, its massive form dwarfing her as it stepped into the faint light filtering through the trees. Its fur was dark and matted, its eyes glowing with a predatory hunger that sent a chill down her spine.

For a moment, fear threatened to take hold, but Y/N forced it down. She tightened her grip on the sword, her jaw set as she prepared to face the beast.

This was her chance to prove herself—to prove Cassian wrong.

The creature lunged.

──────────────────────────────

Cassian’s heart was pounding as he and Azriel landed at the edge of the hunting grounds. He didn’t wait for Azriel’s guidance, his instincts driving him forward as he plunged into the forest.

“Cassian, wait!” Azriel called, but Cassian didn’t slow down.

“She’s in here, Az,” he said, his voice tight with fear. “I can feel it.”

Azriel followed without argument, his shadows fanning out to search the area.

They moved quickly, their senses heightened as they scanned for any sign of Y/N. The silence of the forest was suffocating, each second that passed without finding her only fueling Cassian’s panic.

And then they heard it—the sound of a struggle, the clash of metal and the guttural roar of a beast.

Cassian didn’t think. He surged forward, his wings propelling him faster as he tore through the trees.

When he burst into the clearing, the sight before him made his blood run cold.

Y/N stood in the center, her sword raised as she faced a massive beast. Blood dripped from a wound on her arm, but her stance was steady, her expression one of fierce determination.

But she was outmatched.

The beast lunged, its claws swiping dangerously close, and Y/N barely managed to dodge.

“Y/N!” Cassian roared, his voice shaking with equal parts fear and fury.

She turned toward him, her eyes wide, and in that split second of distraction, the beast struck.

The world seemed to slow as Cassian watched the creature’s claws swipe toward her, its fangs bared in a deadly snarl.

Azriel’s shadows shot forward, but even they weren’t fast enough to stop what was coming.

And then the clearing was filled with the sound of a scream—raw and piercing, echoing through the trees as Cassian’s heart shattered.

──────────────────────────────

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[tragedyofdevotion]

The thing with Rin is that he will be genuinely nice to someone he loves.

Of course, in the initial stages of getting to know him, he will be an asshole to you. But he will be nicer and nicer to you once you become close enough to become friends, not outwardly kind and gentle, but care about you and your wellbeing enough to be considerate, like walking you home when it is late or worrying about you when you are sick.

But then as soon as he realize that he is in love with you, he enters the denial stage where he will treat you worse than his worst rivals. Ignoring you when you approach, glaring at you like you killed his family when you try talking to him. Because how dare you! How dare you make him feel genuine happiness, not the egoistical satisfaction he feels when he outwit his opponent and scored a goal, but genuine, pure and sincere joy, with butterflies and caterpillars and all other insects dancing in his stomach and thoracic cavity and everywhere his blood travels.

But after sometime, he gives up, he gives up and admit to himself that he is in love with you and no amount of pushing you away can stop him from loving you. So, he surrenders himself to the warm bubbly feeling he has. And after that, you have a cute tsundere puppy who is eager for your praise, your approval and will do everything to see you smile.

One the other hand, Sae... Sae is someone who knows what he wants. And with his magnetic lure, it is not that difficult for him to get what he wants.

And unlike how it is with Rin, you are the one falling in love with him, and you fall hard. He doesn't even have to try, actually. It is just the small upturn of one corner of his mouth as he looks at you with those enchanting eyes and you are done. It is game over.

And Sae knows that, Sae knows how much of a hold he has over you. It is like selling your soul to the demon, but the demon in this case is a very successful egoist soccer player, and all you get in return is a meager of his attention when he wants to give it to you. But what you offer up to him is your soul, your heart, your body and every breathe you take.

This is not to say that Sae treats you badly. I mean he has feelings for you. That is why he wanted you in the first place. And he respect you to a degree and he views you as his equal. But to him, soccer is, and will always be the first. You are not one of the priorities for him. And it may not be very obvious but after a long time, it shows. It shows and it hurts you because you are hopelessly, obsessively in love with him and what he can give you is not enough.

For example, if you were in a relationship with Rin: Rin would come home after a long tiring day of training to you.

But Sae: he come home after training to give his body the rest for another day of training but he wants you there at home because you are his.

This is why a toxic love triangle with the two of them is very very interesting.

You, being helplessly in love with Sae, while at the same time, being the person Rin seeks approval from.

To the massive feeling you have fun for Sae, what he gives you back is not enough, and it makes you starved and thirsty for any ounce of attention Sae would give you. But when he can't give you that, you are cracked, like the soul without any hydration.

And it is Rin's duty to water you back to health with his worried frown and a kind but crude remark. And as soon as you are back to health, you ran back to Sae, because that is what you are, a dog, a pet, with a leash and a collar that you willing put on your neck.

[roxan1930]

Kinda tempted to writ a what-if fic where in Silver Flames, when Nesta is given the "choice" to either get locked up in the HoW or being send to the human lands with the expectation to die there, she actually chooses the human lands, saying death would be better than surrounded by obnoxious hypocritical narcisists.

Feyre and Cassian would right away try to backtrack and just want to forced her to the HoW, only for Rhysand to be, "done" and just winnow her to the border and leave.

Back at the NC Feyre and Cassian would be pissed but Rhys just tells them he'll have eyes (not Azriel(he doesn't and hopes she'll just die and plans to pretend the pragnancy made him forget, even while also lying to Feyre about that)) on Nesta, along with some more manipulation and gaslighting till they just give in.

Nesta meanwhile tries to avoid being seen, but soon get's discovered and has to run from a mob, only to get saved by Lucien and Jurian.

They take her back to their manor where she's just in time to see Vassa transform from bird to woman.

She explains what happened and the BoE is disgusted with Feysand and their groupies and offer Nesta to stay with them and she accepts.

Slowly she gets better as she's treated by respect by the BoE and becomes friends with every member in some way (meeting sassy Lucien, mocking spoiled human lordling sons and daughters they grew up surrounded by with Vassa and talking about SMUT books, training with Jurian on her OWN CHOICE after watching him a few times and being offered to join, and all of them just being sarcastic and teasing each other.

They'd also discuss and ask her opinion on political matters( since, like many say, she was right away more suited and courtier than warrior)

When The IC finds out, first Cassian tries to get her back, only to be denied by Nesta and when he doesn't listen to her, get's send away by BoE.

He keeps coming around but keeps getting send away and Azriel starts spying and constantly reports moments where Nesta's happy and Cassian feels jealous of Lucien and Jurian, Feyre of Vassa for being sister-like with Nesta, and Elain of Vassa and also Nesta for being close to her mate.

Maybe have Eris coming over more often too and flirt with Nesta who flirts back, making Cassian worse.

At some point, Cassian get's told by Lucien he's a worthless matee who doesn't care about Nesta and will always easily put the IC over her, and Nesta confirms that while she likes (or liked?) him, he's not what she needs until he actually changes

She also, since she doesn't need to rely on the NC for protection, tears into Feyre for her I-always-did-everything-while-my-sisters-did-nothing attitude, mentioning all kinds of things she did that Feyre ignored and how she's become a selfish obnoxious hypocrite that flaunts money and laughs at those less fortunate.

Also at Elain for always sitting on her ass and being useless and trying to act like the victim after always having Nesta take care of her and protect her, yet turning her back on her as soon as she needed Elain to take care of her for once. Maybe also tear into her for being a bitch to Lucien and saying he deserves better than her.

In the end ereryone does get better but I don't know how yet.

[oceanista08]

[1] Better ✧. ┊    cha haein x fem!reader

Cha Haein wasn't the type to get distracted during training.

Footwork, breathing, precision—every movement was calculated, controlled.

But today, she was off.

"Alright, take a break," you said, stepping back with an easy grin, barely winded from sparring. "I don't wanna be responsible if 'The Dancer' suddenly gets sloppy.

Haein exhaled, lowering her wooden sword. "I’m not sloppy."

You tilted your head, giving her a look. "You hesitated twice."

She had.

Which was ridiculous. She never hesitated.

But how was she supposed to focus when her mind was still stuck on what you had said earlier?

The casual, offhanded way you had mentioned it.

"I've been busy lately. My boyfriend's been asking to meet more, so I don’t have much free time.'

It had taken everything in her to keep her expression neutral, to not let the words hit harder than they should have.

Because why should she care?

You were her friend. Maybe. She got jealous.

And the more you talked about him, the worse it got.

You always spoke with a small smile, but your words never matched.

"He's been stressed, so I don't mind if he forgets things sometimes."

"He's usually not like this, I think he's just tired."

"I mean, he's not ignoring me—he just gets busy."

Excuses. So many excuses.

Haein had seen couples before. She wasn't blind. She knew what love was supposed to look like.

And this wasn't it.

She could see it in the way your shoulders tensed when his name came up. In the way you always gave more than you received.

She had thought about saying something—had wanted to—but what right did she have?

So instead, she forced herself to stay silent.

Forced herself to tighten her grip on her sword and focus on training, even though she hated every second of it.

Because deep down, she already knew.

She wasn't just upset because your boyfriend didn't treat you well.

She was upset because she knew she could treat you better.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Cha Haein had never been much for socializing.

The crowded banquet hall, the clinking of glasses, the stifling chatter—it all made her nervous. She had planned to leave early like she always did until she saw him.

And at that moment, her plans changed.

You were standing near the bar, neatly dressed, your usual confidence overshadowed by the presence of the man beside you.

Him.

Haein's fingers curled around the stem of her untouched wine glass as she watched him drape an arm around your waist, speaking over you as if you were just there to decorate his evening. The way he barely glanced at you when you spoke, how he only touched you when others were watching, how his attention wandered the moment someone more important entered the room—

It made her stomach clench in a way she didn't like.

She knew you deserved better.

And she knew she could do better.

You had been her friend for years - someone who understood her quiet nature, someone who never forced her into conversations she didn't want to have, someone who always knew when she needed space and when she needed someone by her side.

But here you were.

Accepting someone who didn't even see you.

The thought made her act before she could think twice.

Her heels clicked lightly on the marble floor as she approached, her usual quiet confidence making people move away without her having to say a word. She didn't hesitate as she approached you, not looking at him.

Just you.

"Dance with me."

Your head suddenly lifted, eyes widening a little. "Haein?"

She tilted her head slightly, lips curving into the faintest of smiles. "You look sad, I want to cheer you up."

You blink, and for the first time tonight, she sees something flash across your face—hesitation, disappointment, something deeper.

Your so-called boyfriend doesn’t even notice her presence, too busy talking to someone else.

Haein steps closer, her voice lower, softer.

"You don't have to pretend with me."

A breath escapes your lips—something between a giggle and a sigh. "You don't even like dancing."

"I don't want to," she admits. "But I'll do it for you."

That makes you pause.

And then, slowly, you place your hand in hers.

Warm, familiar.

The moment your fingers clasp hers, she swears she feels something happen.

She eases you onto the dance floor, her grip firm but careful, as if she's afraid you might slip. The moment you settle into the rhythm, the warmth of your body close to hers, she knows she's done the right thing.

Because this — holding you in her arms, watching you smile without forcing it, feeling the way you move naturally against her — it feels right.

"Why did you do that?" you ask, your voice smaller now, more vulnerable.

Haein exhales softly, her gaze steady. "Because someone should."

You blink at her, your eyes searching hers. And in that moment, she knows you understand.

Because he always understood her.

She doesn't need to explain.

It goes without saying how much it hurts to see you with someone who doesn't see you the way she does.

Needless to say, she wanted to be the one holding you like this—not just tonight, but forever.

The song slowed down, and so did you, the distance between you becoming impossibly small.

Your fingers tightened around hers.

And then, barely more than a whisper—

"You should have asked me sooner."

Haein held her breath.

And she swore, in that moment, that she would never be late again.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

And then your lover notices.

The music continues, but Haein can feel the weight of an angry gaze burning her back.

She ignores it.

Until she doesn’t have to anymore.

"Oh, isn't this cute?"

Your body tenses slightly, but Haein doesn’t let go. Instead, she turns around—just enough to meet his gaze.

He looks uncomfortable. Defensive. Like someone whose pride has been wounded.

Good.

You sigh, backing away slightly. "I don't want to do this here."

But Haein's patience is running out.

"She's busy," Haein says, her tone even but firm.

Your so-call-boyfriend scoffs. "Oh, so you're speaking for them now?" He laughs. "I know. You've always been strangely protective, haven't you?"

Haein didn't react. Not taking the bait. She just tilted her head, her hand still resting lightly on your waist.

"I protect people who deserve it," she said smoothly. "Not people who treat their partners like accessories."

His expression darkened. "You don’t know anything about our relationship."

"I know enough," Haein said, her voice calm—so calm it was almost insulting. "I know they deserve better."

His jaw clenched. "And you think that's you?"

Haein smiled, slow and careful. "I know that's me."

You sighed softly beside her, and she didn’t have to look to know you were trying not to laugh.

He scoffed, but there was something uncomfortable about his posture—like he knew he'd already lost.

He was angry and reached for your hand. "Come with me-"

But then his actions were quickly interrupted by Haein. She glared at him, exuding a dangerous aura. "Don’t touch her."

He pulled his hand back and trembled under Haein's gaze.

Haein tilted her head toward the exit. "I think you've stayed too long."

His eyes glanced between the two of you, but in the end, he just stuck out his tongue and turned away. "You'll regret it soon."

As soon as he left, you sighed, running your hand over your face.

"That's…something."

Haeinn hummed, "Are you sad?"

You looked up at her, a slow smile spreading across your lips.

"No," you said, your voice warm. "It was kinda hot, actually."

Hae-In blinked. Then she smiled.

"Good."

She held out her hand again. "Another dance?"

This time you took it without hesitation, your fingers wrapping around hers as if they had always been there.

New blog yayyyyy (/≧▽≦)/

Solo leveling chars x reader ( except Jinwoo - Jinwoo posts in @leonastarry )

[puttersmile]

Heart & Sol Month Days 9 & 22

Prompts: Shared Secrets and Under the Stars

A short story comes with this one!

A Lonely Kind of Cheer

The town square glowed with twinkling lights, festive garlands draped across every storefront. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, settling on the cobblestone streets like tiny, frozen stars. It was the kind of picture-perfect winter evening that should have felt magical.

But for Dogday, it felt heavy.

He leaned against a lamppost near the bakery, watching the towns-critters bustle past, their arms full of wrapped gifts and baskets of sweets. Everywhere he turned, someone was laughing, smiling, embracing the season. And every time someone waved at him—called his name—he waved back, flashing that effortless grin of his.

Just keep smiling. They expect you to be happy.

The thought sat sourly in his chest.

It hadn’t always been like this.

In the past he had thrown himself into the holiday rush—helping neighbors hang their lights, hauling trees into living rooms, carrying more bags of flour and sugar into the bakery than Bobby could count. If he kept moving, kept helping, kept making himself useful, maybe he’d find the warmth of the season that everyone else seemed to feel so easily.

But this year was different.

The cold months were a drain. The long, sunless days left him exhausted before he even got out of bed. The thought of lifting another box, decorating another tree, or forcing another grin made his limbs feel like they were weighed down with rocks.

The exhaustion was deeper this time. And worse—this year, he didn’t have the energy to ignore it.

“Dogday!”

He turned at the sound of Bobby’s voice, and for a split second, his exhaustion faded. There she was, bundled in her favorite holiday sweater, a tray of steaming pastries balanced effortlessly in her hands. She looked as warm and bright as the holiday itself.

“There you are! I was hoping I’d run into you.” She beamed, offering him one of the treats. “Fresh out of the oven! Tell me that doesn’t make you feel at least a little festiiiive!"

He took the pastry automatically, but his stomach twisted at the forced cheer in her voice.

It was too much.

Her eyes were too bright. Her voice too eager. And the way she moved—it was as if she was trying to keep pace with the world around her, not allowing a single moment of stillness.

Dogday had known Bobby long enough to recognize when something was off. And right now, beneath all that sparkle, he could see it—something strained.

Something painfully familiar.

“You ever sit down this time of year?” Dogday asked, keeping his voice light.

Bobby huffed a laugh. “Not if I can help it. Too much to do! So many cookies to bake, decorations to fix, last-minute gifts to wrap—”

“Sounds exhausting,” he cut in.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second—so quick that anyone else might have missed it. But Dogday didn’t.

Then she laughed again, waving him off. “I like being busy.”

That was truth but with a hidden lie. He knew it.

But what was he supposed to do? Call her out? Tell her he knew exactly what she was doing because he did the same thing?

Because he used to overcompensate, too—rushing to help every critter with their Christmas plans, throwing himself into the holiday chaos just so he wouldn’t have to sit with the weight pressing against his chest?

Because if he didn’t, people would see what was underneath—and that scared him more than anything?

The thought made him feel sick.

Instead, he took a bite of the pastry, chewing slowly. Strawberry, it was delicious. Of course it was.

“You know,” he said carefully, “you don’t have to do all of it alone.”

Bobby’s smile faltered, just a little.

“Oh, I know,” she said quickly. “But I like doing it. Really. Makes everything feel…” She trailed off, gaze flickering away. “I dunno. Full.”

Dogday exhaled softly, feeling that sourness rumble in his chest.

“Hey…Bobby,” he said softly. "I want to tell you something. A-a secret."

She looked at him then, her usual confidence cracking just enough for him to see something raw underneath.

For the first time all season, she wasn’t grinning.

And for the first time all season, Dogday didn’t force a smile either.

“I hate Christmas,” he admitted.

The words hung between them, suspended in the cold night air. Bobby’s eyes widened, and for a long moment, she didn’t say anything.

Then, very quietly, she whispered, “I hate being alone.”

Dogday’s breath hitched.

The weight of the season didn't lift. But it had shifted.

They had spent so long pretending, so long trying to convince the world (and themselves) ñthat they were fine—that Christmas didn’t hurt.

But now, standing here, facing each other, there was no more pretending.

“…Guess we’re a mess, huh?” Dogday said, voice thick.

Bobby let out a breathy, teary laugh. “Yeah.”

Then, before he could react, she reached out and hugged him. A real hug—not the usual playful, squeeze-the-air-out-of-you kind she usually gave. This one was different. It was slow. Careful. Steady.

Dogday hesitated only a second before he hugged her back.

For once, neither of them had to fake anything.

They didn’t have to act.

Maybe they weren’t as alone in this as they thought.

End.

Headcanon: Dogday gets winter depression.

I did use shipping tags but I think a moment like this would happen before they are a couple.

And its likely "canon" Bobby has bad seperation anxiety.

[noinoi10101010]

jack and his probably low self esteem

i don't know about you but I think jack has some self esteem issues. I mean think about it. In sun and jack bound the reason jack is jealous of dazzle being friends with sun is cause he thinks that dazzle thinks sun is better then him. Now yes jack is a kid and is very protective to those he is closest to but don't you find it weird that that's the reason jack is jealous of sun. And then I came to another realization jack gets little no praise for anything he does. Like on screen think of.when jack had gotten any praise for anything good he did it's very little. And keep in mind Jack is again a kid imagine how getting very little prise for anything good you did even if it's something small. Getting praise in general especially by someone you love is great it's you getting affirmation from someone and if it's from someone like a close friend or family member it's really gonna stick with you cause you care about them and love them and getting praise from someone you care about will make you feel loved and appreciated. When have we gotten that on screen with jack barely. Like even from solar we barely got this. Like solar does care about jack and love him if not he would not have went to see and then the creator to try and get him back but some of the stuff he does unintentionally hurt Jack. The one and only we see solar paise jack is when he came back and when jack told him all he did while he was dead that being studying psychology and making friends solar praised him.for it. Now im not saying that solar has to prise jack for everything he does but when that the one and only time we see jack getting any praise for someone who is supposed to be his dad that's kinda bad. Like lets compare that to how sun treats dazzle and it's almost night and day difference. Like sun constantly praises dazzle and shows a lot more love and affection for her then solar does to dazzle. And back to jack possibly low self worth in his Christmas gift to solar he says he knows that he sometimes causes jack headaches showing that jack knows that sometimes jack annoys solar. Like that is not a good mindset for anyone's child to have. And the fact he have seen a lot more of solar being annoyed at jack then them bounding makes it a lot worse. Jack to me just seems to sense that people find him annoying and to make it worse it's coming from his dad someone he loves so much his Christmas gift to him is him singing silent night to him followed by him saying he loves him. And with the tremendous guilt he will have when he comes back from this negative star crap will make his already pretty low self worth way worse. I mean he'll probably think that he is a monster and his family would be safe without him and that his family would be disgusted with him.

[tsundereho]

batfam sick fic (proofread)

818 words: my base idea posted as well, oooh fun right? tw i guess for talks of incorrect medicine use. I swear in this, so yeah be warned

@coal-or-something helped me (watched me write and go insane, occasionally helped with grammar)

Bruce powers through anything like a fucking truck Dick can power through it but chooses to be a baby about it (for the bit) Jason is much like bruce but is more noticeable, will refuse to be taken care of Tim doesn’t have a spleen he gets sick like unable to leave bed sick, refuses treatment best he can and tries to keep working Steph is stubborn and confident, can and will make her own damn soup but due to being sick it doesn't go very well Damian doesn't get sick very often but when he does he will refuse to admit it to the point of making it worse for himself Duke Thomas probably knows what to do best (other then alfred) Cass was homeless for 9 years, so used to being sick and just ignoring it. So very used to being sick and just forcing herself not to be due to her dad then her time on the streets

Different scenarios of them being sick, all, same level of sick to start, same symptoms

Bruce cannot slow down or take a break ever, and it was becoming more and more apparent as he refused to pause his typing for a coughing fit. Despite Alfreds warnings about it will only get worse. The only compromise he made was not attending a brunch and instead using that time for a nap, mainly because he didn’t have the energy to mask at all.

Dick at the first sign of his cold immediately canceled his plans, sure he was still gonna go be Nightwing but he needed the days to rest! He was sick, he needed soup and tea with extra honey to help his sore throat.

Jason refuses to let anybody near him while he's sick, he knows they’ll do something, whether it's trying to hurt him in his vulnerable state or worse, take care of him. He didn’t need extra blankets or hot drinks, he needed to stop being weak and just get through this, any guidelines on the cold meds? Ignored. He's chugging the bottle in one go. He needs to feel better. Very often nightwing can find him accidentally high and loopy since he took ten times over the recommended dose, the only reason he isn’t dead is because he is a tank of man.

Tim is doing everything he can to ward off the sickness at the first sneeze, wearing a face mask, washing everything he owns as often as he can, when he gets sick he gets sick. One of the many cons of not having a spleen. 

It does help but not by much, he still gets sick and is immediately bed ridden for his own safety, he can and will seriously hurt himself trying to work like this.

Damian since i can’t write steph very well yet

Damian is the one who got sick first, not that he would admit it to even himself, yes he is drinking more tea, but only because he likes the way Alfred makes it, nothing more nothing less, he scoffs at the idea of taking a break, he did not need a break since he was not sick, no matter what father or any of his siblings said, they were all wrong. No matter how much he overslept for school he would show up anyways.

Cass is very nervous about getting sick, it makes her weak. After nearly a decade on the street she knows how bad it is to be out of commission, being sick meant working harder just to eat as your body screamed at you just to lay down. Being sick at the Wayne Manor was very different, actual medicine, warm food, not needing to force her body to keep moving when all she wanted was to collapse. Bed rest for once isn't forced, she wants a nap and a rest.

Okay i see her as stubborn but more understanding of when she needs to give in. sure when she first started getting sick, much like the others just ignored and medicated. Once she started getting more sick? Actually takes it easy instead of brute forcing her way through it. Is she going to go on bedrest? Hell the fuck no but shes gonna make herself a nice little treat.

Duke Thomas, the only one to actually take the recommended amount of medicine and not just the entire thing, he's keeping track of what times he ate and how much, making sure to wash his hands more often and all that shit

i was gonna write more but uh, no :3

[longlivedelusion]

Stress Reliever

Summary: Your regular checkup with your doctor who also happens to be your boyfriend goes... differently than you imagined.

Warnings: Smut. Eating out. Reader is afab. Some ice play. Minor angst.

A/N: This is inspired by this post because I'm feral and Love & Deepspace has become a hardcore fixation. We are locked in baby! Enjoy Zayne girlies~ (I know I did).

It had been a few months since Zayne and I started officially dating, and today marked the second checkup I've had with him since we got together. Sure, I'd been his patient a while now, but this new dynamic of doctor/boyfriend was still an adjustment to say the least.

I struggled with what boundaries to set in times like these, even though it seemed like Zayne was a natural. He treated me like any other patient, was professional in all senses when I was in the office, just to get a text the moment I leave the grounds saying I "looked beautiful today."

So as I walked into the office with a set of papers on my latest blood work, I paused at the door and took a deep breath. Health first, partner second.

That thought went straight out the door however when I walked into the room, Zayne's demeanor a cool chill that swept across the room like a brewing winter storm. 

To the average eye, he was the same cool and collected doctor that everyone knew and respected, but as someone who knew him well I could immediately tell: he was pissed.

"Hello, please have a seat." He said without looking up, gesturing to the chair across from him. I made my way over just as he finished whatever he was looking at on his computer and directed his full, cold gaze on me.

"Hi. Um, I have my latest blood work here." I said, sliding the paperwork across the desk. He grabbed the papers with ease, looking them over as the noise caused from the movement became the only sound in the room. My hands settled back onto my lap nervously, gripping and sliding across the fabric as my mind struggled to hold back the worried girlfriend side of me. Health first, health first, health first... 

He looked over the exams silently, the tension in the room gliding over me like tar as my body tensed across from his seemingly calm one. I watched as his hand tapped slowly on the table, his lips suddenly pursing.

"Your iron is low again. Have you been following the nutrition plan I prescribed?" He said, knowing I hadn't been eating at home as much lately due to late work nights. I'd told him time and time again that I'd been eating my regular, healthy meals not to worry him, but in reality I had maybe skipped a meal or two out of forgetfulness. Maybe three.

"I've been trying to, but with work I might have slipped here or there." I said, knowing there was no point to lying to him now. I tried to stop the guilt from flashing across my features.

"I see." His words clipped. He set the papers down carefully and leaned forward, linked hands together. His eyes bore into mine with a quiet fierceness I knew well, making me look away.

"I'm sorry, I'll be better about it. I'll-"

"There's no need to apologize. If you do not wish to follow my opinion as your primary care physician than that is your perogative." I couldn't read him, his emotions hidden behind stone as he stayed there a moment and then turned back to the computer. "Have you had any problems or discomfort in the past month?"

I looked at him, the familiar check-up questions throwing me out of my head a moment. "Uh, no. Everything's been good. Normal."

He nodded and continued typing. More silence. I felt my skin begin to itch as I struggled to hold to my earlier mantra. Was he mad at me? Did something happen today and I just made it worse? I know he worries.

"Seems we are all done here then. I just sent the signed certificate to your Captain, so you are free to go."

Wait what? "...just like that?" I asked. Normally he would avoid signing until I promised to take better care of myself or would at least scold me slightly before doing anything. Something was definitely up. 

"Yes." He said, not looking up. "I will see you in a few months."

I stood, taking that as a my cue to leave, but as I reached the door I paused. I felt the pull towards my partner, the desperate need to understand, to talk, to say fuck these boundaries and-

"Zay- Dr. Zayne." I hesitated as I turned back around. "Are you alright?"

He stilled for a fraction of a second before he continued his typing. "Why do you ask?"

"You seem off today and I was just concerned-"

"I'm quite alright." He said and didn't even look at me. He kept just typing and typing. I wasn't, couldn't take the next 9 hours waiting for him to get off work before I figured out what was going on. I'd go insane.

"Zayne," I said softly. "Please? Talk to me? I know we agreed to separate our work and personal lives but I'm really worried, this isn't like you. I know it's not just the iron thing."

He sighed, shoulders falling slightly as he closed his eyes. "It's nothing, darling. We can speak about it at home."

I move to the desk again, but this time around to face the side of my seated partner. "You won't be home for another 9 hours." My hand reached out to push his short hair behind his ear. "But if you really don't wanna talk about it, I understand."

He nuzzled into my hand, silent for a moment before he spoke, "It's the board. They've been reducing staff and resources from the Protocore Syndrome rehabilitation center in Maple Ridge due to the increase of need in other areas, but the cases in that area are unlike anything we've seen in other locations. They are pushing the staff already as is, yet they want to reduce it more."

He turned, moving my body in between his legs as his head settled on my chest. "I've been arguing with them all week about this and yet they won't listen. If they do this, a lot of people will die." He added with a sigh.

I keep stroking his hair back. "Oh, baby I'm so sorry. Maybe the Hunter's Association can help back up your claims? Maybe it'll be enough pull to get you the resources you need."

He shakes his head. "I've tried, but unless there's a public outcry or some miracle, I don't think there's much else we can do."

I gently pull his head back and he looks up at me with a slight furrow in his brow. "Don't give up. There had to be something else we're missing." I say, determination in my voice. "You're the Dr. Zayne, you'll find a way. I know it."

His eyes softened, looking at me with fondness and trepidation. "I may be good at my job, but I'm no miracle worker."

I shrug, "Maybe, maybe not, but you are stubborn. And determined. And that goes a long way."

And there, from the corner of his lips drew a small smile, "You are very good at comforting others, you know."

I smiled back, kissing his forehead gently. "I've been told once or twice." I pull back, and look at him again. "Is there anything I can do to help? Really, I wanna help you if I can." 

He paused, thinking deeply for a moment before he tilted his head to look at the door. "Perhaps there is one thing that you could do."

"What? Anything." I said with no hesitation.

He reached over to his comms channel and dialed the receptionist. "Miss Liǔ, please hold my appointments for 30 minutes and make sure nobody comes to my office in that time. I have an important call."

"Yes, Dr. Zayne."

The call ended and in that second I felt hands on my thighs as Zayne stood and lifted me onto the table. "Anything?" He repeated, face now mere centimeters from mine.

My breath hitched as I tried to form a single thought beyond fuck in that moment. "Zayne, this is your work, I mean anyone could hear us."

"Then I suppose you need to stay quiet then, don't you darling?" From his hand his Evol swirls until a cube of ice lands between his fingers, and he pulls back. "Open."

My eyes widen at the command but I do as he asks, mouth wide as he placed the cube on my tongue. The ice wasn't too cold surprisingly, but it still numbed my mouth somewhat.

"Don't stop sucking this cube, understood?" He said as he dropped to his knees. "Not until I tell you."

I nodded, pupils blown wide as I watched him make quick work of my pants. He shoved them down my legs, his mouth searing into my skin as he began his ascent up my thighs. His kisses were reverent, unrushed despite the ticking clock, the dual sensations of the cold and heat now rising in my body as I dropped my head and closed my eyes.

I felt his mouth inch it's way up, up, up closer to the growing wetness between my legs. I was still covered in that sense, and despite Zayne barely having touched me I was already brimming at the seams with want. It was always that way with him, somehow he could have me from 0 to 100 with barely a breath. 

Which, in that moment an actual breath took me from my thoughts as his mouth ghosted over my cunt. He drifted around it, yet never quite touching where I wanted. I felt everything leave my mind in that moment as a soft moan got stuck in my throat. I couldn't speak, couldn't beg, couldn't anything. So I settled for the next best thing.

I reached forward, hand grabbing onto his hair as I locked eyes with him, exuding every pleading thought I could into that stare. He simply chuckled and grabbed my hand, placing a gentle kiss on it before settling it back on the desk. "Patience, darling. I'm taking my time. After all, I need to relax."

With that he nuzzled into my clothed core, nose flickering over my clit as he let in a small inhale. "God, you smell divine." He said, the movement making me grip the desk. He licked a small stripe from the bottom up making me lift my body in reaction.

"You taste divine too."

He reached up to the edges of my panties, pulling them down and away as he greeted my now glistening core. His hands gripped my thighs as he let out a breathy "beautiful" before licking a long stripe up my folds.

Another moan got stuck in my throat as he began to suck on my sensitive bud, his tongue soothing it at random intervals before diving down and up again. The way his mouth moved over me, the care, the gentle lick to a fevered suck had my mind reeling. I started pulsing my hips upward, desperate to get more pressure where I needed, but Zayne just kept going at his own designated pace.

His hands tightened on my thighs as he pushed them down, a silent order as his mouth continued his ministrations, my juices slowly dripping down his chin and onto his desk.

My hands reached back for support as I instead sucked on the cube on my tongue for some sort of extra stimulation. One of my hands reached for my chest, pinching and kneading as my muffled keens grew more desperate.

Zayne was not a selfish lover by any means, but in this moment he couldn't care less about anything but his face between my thighs.

With the impending countdown of the clock, I felt a rush of adrenaline shoot through my system as desperation kicked in. I tried to open my mouth to speak, but the words struggled to come out with the ice on my tongue. "Pwease" was all I managed, the ice balancing on my tongue awkwardly as I spoke.

His eyes shot up to me, his mouth slowing and pushing back to an agonizing pace. It made me whine in frustration as Zayne's hand gave a warning squeeze. A reminder of who this was for and who was in charge here. But, to also trust him.

I sighed and nodded, legs widening as I struggled to keep myself in check. What mattered was he was getting what he needed to relax, and if that was by eating me out, well. Who was I to complain?

At that thought, the pressure began again and a new sensation filled my body as a finger began to press in. My body tensed at the intrusion, a muffled moan escaping Zayne's mouth from the tightness as he started to suck just a bit harder. His finger pushed in and out at a casual pace, curling and twisting as he explored its tight walls.

My body began writhing against the desk, pushing against him as he pumped his fingers. I reached forward, one hand still on the desk while the other grabbed his hair for dear life. He was a man enjoying every single bite of his meal, slowly, intentionally, yet desperate for more. 

Soon, a second finger pressed in, stretching me to heaven.

Whimpers and whines stayed caught in my throat as he began curving his fingers into a spot he knew well, one he knew that could have me screaming in any other circumstances. Despite the ice cube in my mouth, if anyone listened close enough to the door of infamous Dr. Zayne they would hear the desperate whines of his partner and the sounds of his fingers ravaging my cunt.

Closer and closer it built, the need to cum. Just that, a need. Zayne could tell too, his movements growing faster as he pumped into me hard and fast, tongue swirling and sucking with just the right pressure. My nerve endings felt alive, the cool ice barely grounding me in the present while his mouth kept me afloat in the sky. I could feel it growing closer and closer until-

"Mmm!" I sucked hard on the ice while I lurched forward, body shaking as my orgasm hit me with barely a warning. His hands pressed into me lazily through the aftershocks before he eventually he let them go and his mouth replaced them. He licked and sucked any remainder of cum before sucking his fingers clean as well. He let out a deep sigh.

"Incredible," he mumbled, a small smile on his lips as he rubbed gentle circles on my thighs. He stood then, leaning over me as he gently kissed my lips. The ice cube melted between our tongues as his Evol dissolved the magic and I sighed in relief.

"Thank you, darling." He said as he pulled back, forehead against mine. "I needed that."

I smiled, head reaching to stroke his cheek. "I'm glad to help." I said, the sincerity coating my words before I looked down. "What about you though? I can-"

He stopped my hand before it could touch him, moving it up to his lips instead. "I got everything I needed." He said as he kissed my palm, and then every finger. "I'm quite happy like this."

"Are you sure?" I asked.

He looked up then and smiled, the tension from earlier completely melted away. "Absolutely."

[ihni]

Billy Hargrove's 20th birthday

(Also on AO3)

Billy is having the worst day.

Actually, no. He’s had many days that were worse (most of them including his dad on a rampage), but he’s currently standing on the side of the road with his thumb out, trying to catch a ride back to Hawkins, in the end of March, in the rain, so excuse him for being a little dramatic.

Also it’s his birthday, so. Every inconvenience gets automatically amplified, for some reason.

But fine, it’s not the worst day he’s ever had, but it sure as hell isn’t good, either.

Billy’s turning twenty today, and he’s still stuck in Hawkins. Working two jobs to get by while trying to save up for the move back to California – because it will happen, it was just maybe a bit naïve of him to think that he’d be able to go right after graduation. But he’s out from under his dad’s roof, at least – moved out first thing after getting his diploma – and even if the small space he’s renting over Mrs. Richardson’s garage is seventy degrees of crappy, it’s his and his dad can’t touch him anymore, which makes it the best home Billy has ever had.

But best home or not, it gets terribly depressing to look at the same four walls all the time, at least when he’s not working or sleeping. (It’s not like he has much of a social life anymore, what with him working all the time and having been somewhat of an asshole back in school and also being entirely uninterested in maintaining his ladies’ man reputation now when he’s free of his dad’s fury.) So a couple of months ago, Billy decided that for his 20th birthday, he’d drive up to Indianapolis and have the best night of his life. He had done his research and found two venues that had bands playing that night that he wouldn’t mind listening to, so he would drive to the city, go to a concert, eat some good goddamn food and drink some good goddamn alcohol and maybe get goddamned laid, and he would treat himself to a night at a motel or cheap hotel and he’d have goddamn milkshake for breakfast because he was an adult and no one could stop him from doing that if he wanted to, and he would have the night of his goddamned life.

(It would also get him out of his tiny little apartment, because if he wasn’t home, then it wouldn’t be so noticeable that no one came to see him on his birthday. Perhaps no one would knock on his door to wish him a happy birthday, or perhaps someone would, but he wouldn’t know or care because he wouldn’t be home. Schrödinger’s birthday wishes.)

He’d been saving up for his little outing for almost four months, and looked forward to it for even longer.

He hadn’t even made it halfway. Thirty miles into his trip, the Camaro’s engine spluttered and started smoking, and that was that. After hitching a ride to the nearest house, a phone call to a nearby garage, and two hours of waiting by his broken-down Camaro for a tow, he finally got his baby to an open garage. There, a big guy with an even bigger belly rooted around in her engine for a while and declared her unfit for the road. Getting her working again would cost Billy everything he’d managed to save for this trip and more, and would take at least a week.

Hence why Billy was currently standing on the side of the road with his thumb out, trying to catch a ride back to Hawkins, in the end of March, in the rain.

On his goddamned birthday.

At this point, Billy has gone through the first four stages of grief – denial, anger, bargaining (the mechanic just raised an unimpressed eyebrow when he tried to haggle) and depression – and had now landed in acceptance. The day was a bust. His plans had fell through. He’d wanted a good thing, and instead as usual, he’d ended up worse than when he started. With the rain beating down on him and the cars splashing him when they passed, he was soaked through. Soaked through and cold and hungry and poor and one hundred percent over this whole day. He just wanted to get home to his crappy four walls and crawl into his lumpy bed and forget this whole failure of a pipe dream, because God forbid Billy Hargrove gets to have a good day!

Yes, he might still be a little dramatic. Sue him. (Actually don’t, he doesn’t have any money left.)

But it’s been a long day. He started early to get a head start on what he was hoping would be a night to remember, but most of the day has passed and it’s getting dark. Soon, no one will be able to see him here at the side of the road, and with the rain the risk of being hit by a car is just too big. He briefly considers knocking on the door of the first house he sees and ask to stay the night, but immediately discards the idea. No one would open the door for him anyway, the way he looks.

He has just resigned himself to the thought of walking all the way back to Hawkins – it’ll take all night and he’ll probably die of pneumonia in the near future, but at least he’ll be able to crash into bed at the end of it – when a pair of approaching headlights flash at him and he hears a car switching gears to slow down. He also hears music – good music – that is abruptly shut off when the car rolls to a stop next to him.

Three things dawn on him, one after the other:

The car is a van.

The van is not just any van, but the one belonging to local drug dealer Eddie Munson.

Eddie Munson is indeed the driver, turning on the little overhead light and motioning at Billy to get in.

It’s not like Billy dislikes Munson. He never bullied him when they went to school together, unlike so many others, because Billy knows the value of good weed and when he first showed up in Hawkins he correctly deduced that Munson would not sell the good weed to his bullies. He knows that Munson at least has a good taste in music, if a flair for the dramatics.

That doesn’t mean that Billy likes Munson. The guy was at the bottom of the totem pole back in school, and hanging out with him then would have been social suicide. Because Billy cared about those things back then.

Now? Now he just wants to get home. Fuck today.

“Need a ride, handsome?”

And it’s a jab somehow, Billy knows it. And if he wasn’t soaked to the bone and shivering, he would have answered something like ‘fuck you’ or ‘didn’t know you swing that way’ or even a sarcastic ‘no, I’m standing out here in the rain because my shower is broken, what’s it to you?’. But he’s weary and doesn’t have the energy for whatever would follow, so he just gives a tired nod.

A wrinkle appears between Munson’s eyebrows, like maybe Billy’s lack of answer is the worrying part.

“Well get in. You look like a drenched rat.”

Another thing that Billy on any other given day would have snapped out a reply to. Today, he just takes it. It’s probably true, anyway.

Climbing into the passenger seat of the van, he waits for Munson to comment on his drenched and haggard appearance or warn him to not get the seat wet (an impossibility, at this point), but instead the worried wrinkle on Munson’s forehead deepens.

“You okay, Hargrove?”

And what does Billy say to that? It’s not so bad, in comparison. Hell, it’s not even the worst birthday he’s ever had (birthdays in the Hargrove household were never a hit when Neil was home). He’s not nursing a cracked rib or a split lip or two broken fingers, his face is not bruised or tear-stained, and he doesn’t have to go to bed without dinner (although, the leftover takeout in his fridge was bordering on inedibility yesterday, and the only other thing he’s got in there are eggs and barbeque sauce, so what that dinner will be is anyone’s guess. He’s got bread. He can make an egg and barbeque sandwich). So in that sense,

“Yeah,” he rasps. “Peachy.”

“Right,” Munson says doubtfully and doesn’t drive. Doesn’t drive for a long time, until Billy tips his head to the side to look at him. Then he blurts out, “You’re not gonna die in my passenger seat, right? Because half the town already thinks I’m, like, killing babies in my free time.”

There’s so many things Billy could say to that. What slips out is, “I’m no baby.”

Munson’s eyes flick down to his broad chest where Billy’s wet jean jacket – which is way too cold for the end of March, what was he thinking? – covers his tight light grey Henley, and clears his throat. “Um,” he says. “Clearly.” And then he seems to shake it off and looks back up at Billy’s face, eyes wide. “I mean, you really don’t look too good, man. You sick or something? Or drunk? Here, let me turn up the heat –“

“I’m fine,” Billy says, just a hint of an edge to his voice, but he doesn’t say anything when Munson’s hand reaches out to turn up the heat. Instead he sinks back in the seat and closes his eyes as he gives a full-body shiver.

“Shit,” Munson says and still doesn’t drive away. Billy hears him turn in his seat and rummage around somewhere behind them. A few seconds later, something soft is tossed in Billy’s face. He opens his eyes and sees that a ratty towel has fallen into his lap, and when he looks up he sees Munson next to him, holding a soft-looking blanket. What?

“What?” Billy says, confused.

“Off with those wet clothes,” Munson demands, “you’ll catch your death.”

“What are you, a grandma?” Billy mutters, slowly regaining his ability to snark as the warm air is being blasted in his face. He puts the towel over his face and wipes it off, and then starts drying his hair with it. It’s not like he’s gonna make it look worse. “Why do you even have this?”

“We use them to pack up our instruments when we go to gigs,” Munson explains, motioning to the back of the van. Billy doesn’t turn around, too busy drying off. “We were in Indy last night, for a gig. I have the instruments in the back. The others drove back this morning.” A pause, then, “Um, I’m in a band.”

Billy knows that. He’s even seen them play once or twice, although he didn’t make himself known. They’re not half bad, actually, not that Billy plans to say it out loud. Instead he makes a noncommittal hum and reaches out for the blanket, glaring when Munson pulls it out of his reach.

“Hey, no,” Munson says, “Off with those wet clothes first.”

“First you’re picking me up from the side of the road and now you want me to strip,” Billy murmurs, but does what he’s told. Even if he’s still sitting in his wet jeans – and soaked-through denim is not fun – it’s a relief to at last get out of his wet jacket and shirt. He discards them in the footwell and puts the blanket – that Munson wordlessly hands him – around his shoulders, pulling it closed in the front. It’s a bit itchy and smells like mold and it probably makes him look like a homeless person, but at least it’s warm. He shivers again and looks pointedly between Munson (who is busy staring) and the windshield and the road ahead.

“Oh, right!” Munson says, snapping to life again. He turns off the overhead light and finally pulls off the side of the road, back into traffic.

Billy has had his license since he was sixteen, and he’s been driving for even longer than that, and before that he simply walked or skated or caught a ride with friends when he wanted to go somewhere. But he has vague childhood memories of riding in the backseat, his parents in the front, at night, during the rain. Of leaning his forehead against the cold glass, feeling the car’s vibrations around him, and looking out in the dark – the only light coming from houses they passed and the other cars’ headlights and their reflections on the wet asphalt. It’s calming, and strangely familiar, and he can feel his eyes flutter shut.

Of course, it doesn’t last.

“So, um,” comes Munson’s voice from beside him, breaking the relative silence. “What were you doing out here anyway?”

“Car broke down,” Billy says, keeping it short. Not having the energy to go into his plans for the day and the way they fell through.

“Oh. That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

A beat, then, “Were you coming down from Indy too, or …?” Seems like Munson doesn’t like the silence. Billy doesn’t get why he doesn’t just put the music back on. Can’t he see that Billy isn’t exactly in a chatty mood?

“Nope. I was heading there but …”

“But your car broke down?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm.”

And Billy thinks that’s gonna be the end of it. He leans his head on the window and closes his eyes. Listens to the rattling rumble of the engine (Billy’s no mechanic, but he thinks that the van may be heading in the direction of the Camaro, too), and tries not to think.

It doesn’t work. Munson is quiet for maybe a minute before he starts, “So what were you gonna do in Ind–?”

And Billy snaps.

“Listen, man, I’ve had a really bad day. I get that you’re just trying to make conversation but I’m cold and wet and I’m not getting to Indianapolis tonight, so I’ll miss the concert and my car is broken down in a garage thirty miles from home and she’ll be there for a week, and I’m pretty sure they ripped me off when they said how much it’s gonna cost to fix her up.” He takes a breath, trying to keep calm. “I’m grateful to you for driving me back, but like, I’m not exactly the best of company right now.”

To his credit, Munson just nods, eyes wide and ringed fingers gripping the wheel harder. “Got it. Sorry.”

And that’s not … That’s not what Billy wanted. Munson has nothing to apologize for, Billy’s just in a shitty mood. But before he can figure out a way to voice this, Munson has reached out and turned the music back on, quickly turning the volume down to something more resembling background noise.

Billy relaxes back in the seat and pulls the blanket closer around him. Looks out through the windshield, watching the wipers push off the rain and more water cover the glass between every swipe, looking out at the road ahead and the red lights of the nearest car, still far in front of them.

Without really knowing why, he says,

“I’m turning twenty today.”

He doesn’t say it very loudly and he regrets it as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Half-hopes that Munson wouldn’t have heard him. But of course he did.

“Really?” comes Munson’s voice, a hint of excitement. “Happy bir–“

“Don’t,” Billy says, and it comes too fast and sounds too hard. It’s not Munson’s fault. He drags a hand down his face and says, “Please” (to soften the blow), “don’t.” He swallows. Closes his eyes against the way they are burning, suddenly. “Just drive me home.”

No more words comes from Munson, and they drive on into the night.

~~~

Billy flinches awake a little while later, not even realizing that he’d fallen asleep. He rubs at his eyes and that’s when he realizes that he’s only wearing an itchy blanket on his upper body, which is when he remembers where he is and why.

He groans.

“We’re not back yet,” Munson says, voice subdued, and that’s when Billy realizes that they’ve stopped and that the music has been switched off. “I just gotta fill her up, and maybe get a few things. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

Billy’s face burns; that makes it sounds as if he’s a toddler who needs his sleep (never mind that his plans when he got home had been to just faceplant into his bed and preferably sleep for a week). To show that he will do no such thing, he sits up straighter and looks around.

They’ve stopped at a gas station. It’s brightly lit up in the dark of the night, artificial lights making Billy’s headache worsen when he squints out through the window. He knows he should go out there and offer to pay for at least some of the gas – that’s what a decent person would do – but Billy’s shirtless under the blanket. His jeans and shoes are damp and uncomfortable; he doesn’t really want to move right now. Besides, he’ll need every cent he has to pay the mechanic so he can get his baby back.

Still, he feels bad. And then he gets angry for feeling bad, because he has so much other shit to feel bad about right now and the last thing he needs is a guilt trip. Even if he’s guilt-tripping himself.

He groans again, leaning forward to rest his forehead on the dashboard to hide from the gas station lights and listening to Munson fiddling with the pump outside the car.

It’s a couple of minutes before the door to the driver’s side opens, and Munson climbs in. The door closes behind him, but Billy doesn’t look up, even as he hears Munson rip open something that crinkles. He waits for the sound of chewing, or for the car to start, but there’s nothing. Nothing for a long time.

Eventually, he turns his head to the side and opens his eyes. And there, right in front of his face is …

A muffin.

He sits up. Blinks.

In Munson’s lap is a four-pack of cheap chocolate chip muffins that he obviously just bought inside the gas station. The packaging has been torn open, and he’s holding one of them out to Billy.

“Happy birthday, man,” he says.

The muffin has a candle in it.

Or no, not a candle. It’s a blunt.

Billy barks out a laugh, and Eddie – whose face has been carefully open and neutral until now – visibly tries tampering down on a smile. He gives the muffin a little shake and raises his eyebrows until Billy’s hand sneaks out from under the blanket and takes it.

“Cute,” he says, voice low, as he gently picks out the blunt. He doesn’t have a pocket that isn’t wet, so he puts it down in his lap, on top of the blanket.

Munson starts the car without acknowledging the gift, but he grabs his own muffin as he starts the car and drives back out on the road, biting off the top of it while he drives one-handed.

The music turned back on when the car did, so they’re back to driving through the darkness to the sound of heavy metal. Billy picks at his muffin, and looks down to the little gift in his lap. The white of the rolled-up paper is visible against the dark brown of the blanket, even in the low light of the night. He thinks about the events of the day, and the plans that fell through, and about his car. He thinks about his place in Hawkins, and how no one has probably knocked on his door today even though they know where he lives. He thinks about his previous birthday, and how much they sucked.

Perhaps he should have known better than having such high expectations for today. Just because it’s his first birthday on his own doesn’t mean that everything will suddenly be perfect. It’s him, after all. He should have known to scale it down a bit.

A gas station cupcake, a blunt, and a friendly face. A warm car, a blanket and ‘happy birthday’.

A friend.

Billy’s eyes burn again, and he blinks and blinks and is grateful that the overhead lamp is off while they continue to drive without speaking. As they get back to Hawkins and Billy sees the hated ‘Welcome to Hawkins’s sign lit up by the van’s headlights, he clears his throat.

“Thank you.”

[thebibliosphere]

I both believe "poor people deserve art" and "artists deserve food", but it's hard to reconcile those beliefs. I blame capitalism. And I suppose it mostly matters who you're stealing from?

I don't mean to question you at all, I'm against people pirating your stories. I guess I was just wondering if you had more thoughts regarding the reconciliation the two beliefs I quoted above.

I think the reconciliation is working toward a future where things are better, and authors and artists don't have to beg people not to steal from them because they think every author is Stephen King, who wouldn't notice if you stole the pennies found under his couch when in reality most of us are hunting for spare change down the back of the couch because we are earning below minimum wage.

We need people to embrace the idea that art belongs to the working class, both in terms of consumption but also creation.

If you don't support the working-class creators, you'll only end up with rich fucks with no scope of the world beyond their own narrow view of privilege.

Indie creators are actually working very hard to change the way the industry works, and the publishing industry is shitting itself over it. They don't like the success some of us are having. It's why they keep upping prices while slashing corners on their own production (while never affecting the man at the top) to try and stay competitive within the rat race they've created.

They're not interested in the proliferation of art. They're not interested in making sure their authors can afford to live. They don't want more diversity. They don't want inclusion. They want profit at whatever the cost.

And while indie creators very much need to get paid because we live in a capitalistic society and everything is burning down around us, and a carton of eggs now costs more than what I earn per hour, our creativity is directly at odds with the type of profiteering big publishers want.

The money should go to the writers. Not the CEOs. The money should go to the workers in the print houses. Not the CEOs. No one needs the kind of wealth these people have. It's obscene. We need direct action against these conglomerates. We need unionization. We need a means to fight back so that we can make art and make it accessible.

So, how do we do that? I don't know. I'm just a very tired, disabled creator doing my best to keep my head above water. But I think getting people to realize that art and books are worth saving up for would be a good start.

That putting money in the pockets of creators is just as important as your own enjoyment of their art. Because if there aren't any artists, you've got nothing.

Getting them involved with their local libraries would also be a great start. Educating them on how the industry works is part of that. The number of people telling me they had no idea libraries paid authors is staggering. And that's intentional. It's a by-product of right-wing propaganda to make you think libraries are worthless and just sap taxpayers' money.

They're not.

If they were, the fash wouldn't be trying so hard to take them away.

Basically, we need working-class solidarity and for certain people on the left to rid themselves of the idea that just because something isn't borne of manual labor, it doesn't have worth. We need the artists and the dreamers as much as we need to bricklayers and the craftsmen. Otherwise, what's the fucking point of it all?

[hitlikehammers]

The One Where Wayne Munson KNOWS BETTER Than to Lend Air to IDLE GOSSIP

(and does it anyway on accident and ends up thinking his 💕boy's boy💕 might be ✖️stepping out) ——(1/3)

Wayne Munson’s lived his life mostly free from the hubbub of small town gossip. Some was unavoidable in his tiny holler as a boy; more was part and parcel to the service, and plain keeping half-sane in war—anything for a distraction. After all that though, Wayne’d had more’n his fill of even a teaspoon of hearsay, and compared to where he came from? Hawkins, Indiana was small potatoes for keepin’ his nose clear out of it.

Which is all to say he don’t mean to collect any of the latest scuttlebutt on his way just to town after he gets off his shift with the sun barely a glimmer, just past 5 for Leah’s to be open for a better cup-o-joe than the sludge he gets on the floor. All he wants is a hot nightcap because he knows damn well his boy didn’t pick up more grounds before Melvald’s closed last night, and Wayne doesn’t want to see his bed until he’s had a full mug of fair-to-middling coffee.

And honest: he don’t think that’s more than he’s earned to ask.

But it is more than he bargained for signing’ up to, when he sees the only other people in the diner at this hour on a Saturday.

Because the only other people are a girl he don’t know, though he can’t see her real well from the back, which only really means he sees her coffee date full-on and much too well in exchange because they’re leaned in and they’re being all touchy across the table, voices low but not too low—he don’t think they even noticed him come in, let alone come to wait close enough to hear ‘em while he insists on saving the lovely Leah herself the trip to a table when he can damn well carry his own drink, thanks kindly.

“You’re gonna have a coronary if you keep hiding this.”

The girl sounds…she sounds the way Wayne remembers his Mamaw sounding when she was about to hit his Grampy up the head over some harebrained such-and-such. Exasperated, but all from a deep well of unshakable loving.

Which is what perks up Wayne’s attention, and then churns his insides quick right-next, because—

Well. The boy this young lady’s being all over-fond at for his antics is Steve Harrington.

Who, for all that Wayne understands, is meant to be his boy’s boy.

“No, no,” Steve’s shaking his head, tone bowstring-taut; “I’m gonna tell him.” Kid sounds resolved for all of half-a-second before he’s groaning, running hands over his face: “Or, I mean—”

The thunk of the boy’s head to the tabletop clatters the cutlery, and if Wayne weren’t already clued into their conversation, he’d be wholly absolved for dropping eaves given how the noise echoes through the mostly-empty establishment bar-to-door.

“Dingus,” the girl says, and it drips with concern, with affection, with a deep choler that, again, sings loud of married-couple.

Which twists Wayne’s guts all the more to hear.

Because she’s talking to Wayne’s boy’s boy.

“I’m gonna, I promise,” Steve sounds not unlike a man on his way to the gallows, even more when he sighs deep as anything and traces out his lips with his fingers, hands shaky even out the corner of Wayne’s eye for a distance as he hisses low:

“Fuck.”

And Wayne, see, he don’t like borrowing trouble. He meant it about keeping his nose clean of the gossip and the hearsay. So he makes sure he reminds himself good in his own head that he don’t know the facts here, and jumpin’ to conclusions don’t do no favors to nobody.

It don’t do nothing for the way that what he does know, what he sees and hears with his own god-given senses in the now, don’t add up too kindly for the Harrington boy.

Not least because it seems to be adding up poor indeed for Wayne’s boy.

“Do you think he’ll—”

“Steve,” the girl’s voice goes softer, but also frantic almost, as Wayne sees her reach across the way and gather Steve’s hands with a familiarity to the motion that wouldn’t make sense unless…

Unless they’re something special to each other.

Wayne’s watched Eddie reach out for Steve that way. He’s watch Steve do the same. So it…it just don’t make sense—

“You’re shaking,” the girl says, all kinda pitiful, and Wayne’d seen it before, but now he chances a look again and: oh.

Boy’s a leaf in a cyclone.

“It’s a big deal,” Steve rasps out near under Wayne’s ability to hear it.

But he does hear it.

“You need to just lay it out,” the girl tells him, earnest now and more of that than any irritation, any frustration put-upon or otherwise; “be up front with him.”

And it ain’t fair, yet, even if all the signs are pointing that direction; but Wayne likes Steve. He doesn’t want to think the worst of him. And he doesn’t, really, in his heart, think Steve could do or be the worst, from all he’s learned and seen—Wayne’d had uncharitable thoughts about it he kid, before he knew better, based on hearsay which one more time, he don’t countenance as a rule, and he’d been taught better and quick from the second he saw Steve at his nephew’s bedside, and heard the only thing he’s proud and happy to have dropped in upon uninvited:

You nearly fucking died yourself dragging him out, Steve, what the hell—

That Henderson squirt, scolding Steve something fierce.

So Wayne reminds himself this boy loved his boy enough to risk himself to bring Eddie home. Before they were anything to one another. And Wayne knows damn well they’re both something to each other, now. It don’t make sense that Steve wants to…be up front about a notion with Eddie that could hurt.

But then: care can look a lot of different ways, and can change over time. Ain’t nobody to fault for that. And much as Wayne can’t quite believe the Steve he’s gotten to know these past many-months could swallow hurting his Eddie…

Wayne’s been proven incorrect about people more than enough in his life to know better than to think it’s impossible to be wrong about a man’s heart.

“Oh, I’m sure that’ll go over fucking fantastic,” Steve’s huffing, rolling his eyes—apparently he don’t want to be up front with the person they’re talking about. Wayne tries to remind himself that they’ve not flat out said it’s Eddie yet. Wayne shouldn’t go making assumptions.

“Why not?” the girl’s pressing him. “Be honest, with him,” then her tone does go a little judgemental; “you can’t honestly think he doesn’t suspect—”

“I really don’t think he does,” and it’s a strange thing, because no matter the words themselves, it don’t sound like Steve’s meaning to be deceitful about a thing. Kinda sounds a little like he’s mourning, like he’s just in a kind of pain. “If he did, then at least maybe I’d have some kind of,” he waves his hand in the air, looks frantic, at loose ends all around; “heads-up for where his head’s at.”

And they’re both quiet for a spell, and Wayne looks for Leah in the back, knew she was getting food ready and was happy to wait—for better or worse with the conversation he’s been privy to without permission unspooling at his side—but he’s starting to feel antsy for all that he’s hearing, and the way he can’t quite tamp down associating it all with Eddie, with touchy things Steve might have to tell Eddie—

“Tell him by the end of the weekend.”

And now: think he might have to tell, encouraged so damn strong and single-minded by his lady friend with her hand on his arm.

“That’s fucking tomorrow!”

“End,” she’s narrowing her eyes sharp enough Wayne notices more in the shift of the room than to see it head-on; “of,” and then she’s smacking Steve’s arm to emphasize hard enough it rings out; “the weekend.”

Then Wayne notices how her posture shifts, and she leans closer again, so much affection, and easy with it, and welcome for it, no doubt about it:

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” she says low and earnest; “especially not when the thing you’re like this about is,” and then her tone shifts to something bright, near-on hopeful, even:

“It’s such a good thing, Steve.”

“I mean,” Steve mumbles, kind of miserable really; “of course you think so.”

And Wayne don’t like where his head goes for things the girl who’s watching Steve with such soft eyes might think to be good, might think while she’s touching him so close and —

“He’ll,” and she huffs a touch before going all heartfelt again: “Eddie is going to—”

And the moment his plausible deniability about the subject of the discussion is gone, Wayne gives up waiting for his coffee at the counter and…retreats to the corner by the door, far as he can get from whatever’s said next. He’d leave, honest, but the truth of the matter’s this:

He can’t be expected in good faith to figure out how to bring any of this up with Ed if he don’t have no caffeine in him.

☕ 👀 ☕

✨ part ii >>>

For @thefreakandthehair, who requested 'Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST—and since this is almost a YEAR LATE, could I possibly offer it as a normal-amounts-of-late birthday gift, more than as an egregiously-and-unforgivably-late prompt fill for you?

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here @pukner @ravenfrog @sadisticaltarts @samsoble @sanctumdemunson @shrimply-a-menace @slashify @stealthysteveharrington @swimmingbirdrunningrock @theheadlessphilosopher @theintrovertedintrovert @themoonagainstmers @theohohmoment @tillystealeaves @tinyloonyteacups @tinyplanet95 @warlordess @wheneverfeasible @wordynerdygurl @wxrmland @yourmom-isgay @1-tehe-1

NOTE: it's important to me that you know that Wayne's accept belongs to nowhere, and is just the voice of someone I knew as a kid, who also sounded like a little of everywhere and then again nowhere. so if you think some turn of phrase doesn't fit what you think you're reading in terms of dialect? it's just that this way of stringing words together is—with intention—its own amalgam of places and times

divider credit here and here