#anyways. i have been picking at this one for a while but i think maybe its what ill do tomorrow if i feel a little better

[corromon]

See keep reading for the description.

Yeah so gonna try doing some longer form text for some of my pieces like this. Keeps it more tidy and "marketable" for sharing etc. Anyway, I wanted to revisit an old Carol dragon design I made because I felt like I didnt really do the idea I had in mind justice. And while I am really happy with how this one came out, I feel like it feels like a whole other character? Maybe it's just me. Also, I dunno if you've noticed but I've been trying to take more time to do like, "daily" art pieces between commission work. I feel like for a bit I was losing my enthusiasm to draw and even more severely I'd been having trouble even picking up like personal projects or even just tackling more complicated pieces than just pinups unless it was for paid work. I think it's like, you'll naturally always start corner cutting work down to the absolute minimum without something to push against that impulse. It's a lil embarrassing to admit but it's what it is. Anyway I hope you enjoyed this latest lil doodle from me.

The tablet I used for this particular piece was a Surface Pro 6 and the software used was Aseprite.

[lilhughesy]

Everywhere Inside My Head | Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

part one. part two. (her perspective)

warnings! mentions of break up and angst!, and I think that's it! word count: 3.5k

summary: the first week post-breakup is said to be the hardest, which isn't wrong when you've been dating the same hockey player since the start of college. you try to find yourself again and how to live a life without him in then picture — but it feels nearly impossible when he's everywhere inside your head.

req: omg please i need a happy ending // Oooof chefs kiss👩‍🍳🤌✨ I can just see reader living her best life and luke seeing her having fun from a distance before groveling and pleading for her back a/n: hi guys! sorry for the wait but here it part three to look at you now and I remember everything! I hope you guys like it!! I lowkey hit a major writers block during it, it's not my best work... lmk if you want one from his perspective! mwah ily all sm 🩷

You laid on your childhood bed, staring up at the ceiling for hours. You weren’t listening to anything, nor were really thinking of much. You were just existing in that moment. You reflected on everything and how much your life had changed in the past week.

It was difficult for you to pack your life in New Jersey into a few suitcases and move back to your hometown in Michigan. All you thought about was him and how your entire life was surrounded by him. He was like the sun and you were one of the planets that revolved around him.

He was your yesterday, today, and your tomorrow.

But now he’s nothing at all.

You knew deep down that you made the right choice, even though it felt so wrong. You knew you deserved more than the crumbs he gave you. You deserved more than eating alone at dinner with his made plate staring at you. You deserved more than staying up late at night wondering if he was coming home or staying at Jack’s, at Nico’s, or at Jesper’s place.

You had grown used to falling asleep alone before leaving him, even though it wasn’t the most comfortable or pleasant feeling. But it felt wrong to go to bed without curling up with his pillow, or to hold his hoodie that smelt so strongly of him close to your chest, or to go to the store and not pick out the ingredients for his favourite meal.

It felt wrong to only make one cup of coffee instead of two.

People always say the first week is the hardest, and they weren’t kidding. You found yourself crying at the smallest things and very frequently. When a song would play on the radio or if you saw the devils post about him — tears would blur your vision. Your parents tried their best to keep your mind off of it but it was difficult when everything in Michigan reminded you of him. It was difficult to get out of bed or to eat or fall asleep, everything seemed to move so slowly or maybe it moved too fast and you couldn’t quite keep up.

You slowly got out of bed and moved to get ready for the day. You had reached out to Ethan and Mark, your closest friends from college, to see if they wanted to spend the day with you.

Ethan and Mark were originally friends with him but inevitably became close friends with you in the process of your relationship forming. They kept your spirits high while you were doing long distance with your boyfriend and provided a great support system for you.

When you pulled out an old UMich hockey t-shirt from your dresser, you remembered vividly the day that the two of you had a flour fight in the kitchen while attempting to bake cookies.

“I hope you know that Ellen never let me in the kitchen to bake.” He chuckled behind you as you pulled out the ingredients from the cupboards. His arms were wrapped around your waist as his face was tucked into the crook of your neck.

You giggled, “I promise you that you can bake. Plus I’m right here anyways!”

"You're going to distract me by having my last name on the back of your shirt y'know," He mumbled against the skin of your neck, his curls tickling you.

"You act like I don't regularly wear your clothes." You teased him, leaned down to kiss his temple. You could feel the smile that grew on his face from your words.

"Okay, little miss baker, tell me where to start," He said to you before finally pulling away. You guided him through the different measurements and ingredients to add to the bowl. His country playlist hummed quietly in the background as the kitchen was filled with your lively conversations and the common laugh here and there.

It was all tame until it came to mixing the ingredients, "Luke!" You gasped as flour went flying out the edge of the bowl, "You're spilling it!"

"It's not my fault that I'm just that strong, have you seen my biceps?" He joked as you tried to scoop the flour into your hands. Your hands were covered in white when a mischievous smile drew across your lips,

"You mean these big biceps?" You smirked while planting a large handprint on the sleeve of his black crewneck. HIs jaw dropped at the sight of your hands on his clothes,

"You did not!" He cried out dramatically, releasing the wooden spoon that he held, "Oh you just started something that you're going to lose."

Your eyes widened while he grabbed a small fistful of flour directly from the bag and tossed it at the front of your (his) navy t-shirt. The cloud of white caused you to cough a bit before bursting into a fit of laughter. Yeah, so much for a peaceful cute afternoon of baking cookies with your boyfriend.

The memory that played in your head caused a flood of tears to flow from your eyes. It left you crumbled on your bedroom floor with the same shirt clutched to your chest as sobs shook your body. You didn’t even hear the two boys come into your room.

Ethan held you close as he let the tears run their course, while Mark had quietly cleaned up your room — knowing that you were never a fan of a messy space. He sorted your clothes into their designated drawers and tossed garbage into the trash before returning back to you.

“Oh you poor thing,” Ethan mumbled into your hair as you tried to regulate your breathing, “It’s going to be okay.”

“I’m trying so hard to not think of him,” You choked out as you wipe away the tears, “But everything reminds me of him.”

“You don’t need him,” Mark said to you, sitting down at the foot of your bed, “He’s been hurting you and he doesn’t deserve all these tears.”

Ethan nodded along to Mark’s words, “Exactly, plus you’re hot and sexy so like you can pull any other guy in the world.”

You let out a weak laugh through your sniffles, “I can’t even imagine dating someone who’s not Luke.”

“Have you spoke to him since you left?” Ethan asked, his arms resting to his sides. You shook your head,

“I told him not to reach out to me and he hasn’t said a thing since.”

“Good for Hughesy,” Mark mumbled, “I’m surprised that he actually listened.”

“You deserve so much more, you know that right?” Ethan said to you, while wearing a sad smile on his usual happy face.

You wiped a rogue tear from your cheek, “I know. That’s why I left in the first place, I couldn’t keep doing what we were doing.”

“You’re so strong,” Mark told you, rubbing slow circles on your back with his hand, “We’re both really proud of you. We love Lukey, he was our teammate but we also love you too.”

“Thanks guys,” You replied, finally calming down. Mark gave you a hand up from the bed before the two of them guided you out of your house for the first time in a while. You got into Ethan's car, you in the passenger seat while Mark took the back seat. Ethan started driving to who knows where while you just rolled down the window.

You leaned your head towards the window and enjoyed the feeling of the wind blowing through your hair. The sun was warm on your skin, your body most definitely soaking up every bit of the sunlight. Music played from the stereo but you didn't pay much attention to the lyrics, only reflecting on the thoughts that played in your head.

It was a strange feeling from having a constant in your life for the past four-ish years in the shape of your boyfriend to not having him at all. It would be a lie if you said that you didn't miss him because in reality, every fibre of your being did.

You told yourself every hour of each day that you deserved more than what he gave you, but you missed him. The version of him that you fell so deeply in love with all those years ago. His soft eyes that were adorned with love and his cute crooked smile that fill your body with butterflies. All of the sweet words he would say to you when you were having a rough day, and how safe his arms felt.

It is never easy to date a professional athlete, but boy was it ever so easy to love one.

"You okay?" Mark asked quietly as Ethan parked the car, his voice pulled you out of your trance.

"Yeah, I'm okay." You offered the two boys a smile, "Just thinking, that's all."

Ethan's hand brushed over your upper arm, "C'mon, let's get some ice cream. It's the solution to everything."

You followed the two hockey players into the ice cream parlour, each of you choosing a flavour before paying. Ethan paid for yours after claiming that it was the least he could do after what his idiotic best friend did to you. The three of you sat outside on the bench, laughing at whatever story Mark was explaining to you.

The boys were right, ice cream does seem to solve every problem. The cold sugary sweetness of the dessert dancing in your mouth as you grinned at your friends in front of you seemed to bring the happier side of you out.

And just for a moment, it did feel like everything is finally okay. That everything does happen for a reason and the end of the emotionally tolling relationship, you would be okay. Until your phone vibrated.

Luke: Hey, do you have time to talk?

Luke: I know that I'm probably the last person you want to hear from right now, but please this is important.

You felt your heart drop to your stomach, and you assumed the smile on your face dropped too as you read the notification.

"Everything okay?" Ethan asked cautiously, his eyes bouncing between you and your phone that you were intensely staring at.

You swallowed hard, "He just texted me."

Mark's lips tightened into a thin line, "I guess I spoke too soon... Are you going to reply?"

"I don't know," You mumbled, rereading his texts again, "Should I?"

"It's up to you honestly," Ethan responded, glancing over your shoulder to see what the devils player sent to you, "Do you want to hear what he has to say?"

"Sort of... But I think it's because I feel bad for just leaving him without saying anything."

"But you did say something to him!" Mark commented, "You told him how you felt and how you saw things, he should've changed his behaviour right after you spoke to him. Not after you finally left."

"He's not wrong," Ethan hummed, agreeing with Mark, "He's probably going to say something like... I'm so sorry, I miss you so much baby, I love you, and I promise I'm going to change or at least some sort of bullshit like that."

You frowned, knowing that they had good points. You decided that you would make your decision later and opted to head back to your home with Ethan and Mark. You were enjoying your time with your friends and you refused to let him ruin that for you.

Besides, did you actually want to hear from him? Is he going to ask you to get back together with him? Is he going to tell you that he's going to change and promise to not treat you like that again?

More importantly, what are you going to say? Would you take him back? Would you fall for his empty promise about changing yet again?

All these thoughts danced in your head as you laid in bed that night. You had yet to respond to his two text messages. You knew in your gut that you physically could not handle the feeling of being a second or third choice to him. Not again. You knew that you deserved to be loved and cherished so loudly and proudly, which he failed to do on multiple occasions.

But him talking to you was important to him, and it was going to mean something to him. So you replied,

You: does a phone call work with you?

His response was immediate.

Luke: Yeah, if that's what you want. Is now okay?

You looked at the top right corner of your phone screen, seeing that it was 8:13PM. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, debating if you were ready to hear his voice again. But if you didn't do it now, it would probably keep you awake all night.

You: ya, now is fine

In seconds, your screen lit up with his contact photo that made your stomach twist. You had yet to change it and it was one of your favourite photos of you two together. You pressed the pick-up button to his call, taking a sharp inhale as you did so.

"Hey," You heard his voice and suddenly the walls that you had built up seemed to crumble a bit. His voice was shaky and you could tell from his tone that he hadn't been sleeping. He sounded exhausted.

Your hands trembled slightly as they held the phone to your ear, "Hi."

"I wasn't sure if you would actually pick up," He breathed out, you could tell that he was trying to suppress the shakiness in his words, "But, I'm really glad that you did."

You only hummed in response, you didn't know what to say. What do you say to your now ex-boyfriend after pulling an Irish goodbye on a random Tuesday afternoon.

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry," He continued after pausing for a moment, "I wish I could tell you this in person because you deserve an apology face to face, rather than over the phone."

"I don't think I would fly to New Jersey for an apology." You replied with a slightly harsher tone than his and harsher than you anticipated.

You heard him stammer at your words, then hesitation as he seemed to be calculating the right words to say next, "Then I guess right now would be a bad time to tell you that I'm at your front door."

You sat up from your previously lying position, your hand clutching onto your phone even tighter, "You're what?"

You scrambled from your bed, in your oversized t-shirt and small athletic shorts, running down the stairs of your parent's home to the front door. You peeked from the glass to see his tall figure standing on the front porch.

You hung up the phone call and opened the door slightly. The air in your throat hitched as you took in the sight of him. He wore his sweatpants with the black Artizia hoodie that he had 'borrowed' from you. His curls were hidden under a Yankees cap that you knew he loved so much.

His eyes that were typically so bright, were dull. He had signs of the lack of sleep he's gotten, evident in his dark under eye bags and his paler skin. He looked just as exhausted as he sounded over the phone.

"Wha- What are you doing here?" You stuttered out, still in shock that he was standing in front of you rather than in your apartment back in Jersey.

His hand rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous tick that he had, "You didn't respond to me when I first texted you and I got worried that something might have happened to you... So I called your mom and she told me that I can come over to try to fix it."

You were at a loss of words.

"You called my mom? No wait, you flew from New Jersey this afternoon to check on me?" You repeated his words, in somewhat of a state of shock from the information you were still processing.

"I know you told me to not come and find you or talk to you," He swallowed hard before stuffing his hands into the pocket of your sweater that he wore, "But you deserve an actual apology for what I put you through. You didn't deserve any of that."

You slowly nodded, still catching up on the situation. You opened the door further, welcoming him into the home that he had visited on multiple occasions. You guided him to your childhood bedroom, with you sitting on your mattress while he opted for the chair by your desk.

"I'm sorry for just showing up," He said to you, pulling off his hat and resting it on the desk, "It's just- It didn't sit right with me that I made you feel unwanted and unloved and that I didn't care about you and that you never got to hear me say sorry."

Your focus was on your hands and twisting the rings that you wore, and only briefly glancing up to look at him as he spoke to you.

"I am so sorry," He started, his voice regaining the slight shakiness that it had over the phone, "I never meant to hurt you like that and I know that's so stupid of me to say after doing all of that to you. You didn't deserve to feel that way ever and it makes me feel sick that I did that to you after everything- after everything you have done for me."

Your heart clenched and twisted at the way his voice got heavy as he tried to bury down his tears. You could hear it. Your chest felt tighter as he rambled on and your vision blurred as your eyes glossed over.

"You've done nothing but love and support me through everything and you're the best thing to ever happen to me," You finally pulled your eyes away from your rings and locked eyes with his blue ones. The same blue ones that you fell in love with, now brimmed with tears.

"Hockey has always been a big part of me and it's a part of who I am but you, you are my future and you are what I live for." He told you, a singular tear escaping from the corner of his eyes as he slowly approached you.

You stayed sitting on your bed as he lowered to his knees and carefully took your hands into his, "I don't deserve your forgiveness. Not after everything I put you through. But I love you. I love you so fucking much. You are the reason that I am where I am and I am who I am."

"I love you and I've done a shit fucking job of showing it lately and you deserve so much more than what I have given you," He said while pressing a kiss on your knuckles,

“You’re the love of my life, my every feeling is controlled by the look of your face,” Luke confessed with his hands running through his curls as he started spilling the emotions he wanted to desperately show you, “Fuck knows I can’t sleep without you.”

“I exist for you,” He breathed out, looking directly into your eyes, “If I could take it all back and make sure that you never doubted your position in my life, I would do it in a heartbeat.”

“Luke…” You mumbled out, your voice soft as you sat frozen in place. 

His large hands cupped your cheeks as he looked up to meet your downward tilted face, his thumb gently brushing away the loose strands that had fallen over your eyes. 

“I know,” He whispered, “It kills me every day knowing that you are far away from my life and it kills me to know that I could have prevented it."

You slowly nodded with your glossy eyes and a small smile starting to etch onto your face, “Oh, Luke.”

“God, I fucking love you and I can’t ever see myself with anyone else because you’re it for me. I will spend the rest of my life proving it to you if that's what it means to keep you, I love you."

“I love you too, Luke” You smiled as tears finally started to fall from your eyes. He smiled back at you,

“Don’t say too because then you’re just agreeing with me." Luke teased while wiping away your tears.

You giggled, “I love you Luke Hughes.”

You grabbed his biceps and pulled him to his feet as you stood up from the bed. Your arms immediately wrapped around his neck while his instinctively looped around your middle, "Let's never do that again." You said to him and he let out a breathy chuckle,

"I don't think I can handle being away from you." He whispered before kissing your lips softly, "I'm so sorry."

"I know you are," You mumbled against his lips.

[claramelooo]

CHECKMATE

Hey, my lovely readers! It's been a while, huh? I missed you so much!

It with big pleasure that I present for you my new project. I've been try a new formula that I wanted to write this one. So, it's a experiment....

Maybe I'll post the chapter one still this month... I don't know... I have a lot of things to do... urghhh 😩😩😩

But anyways... I hope you can enjoy it!

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: +18, BDSM, Top/bottom dinamic, Brat/Tammer dinamic, Agatha dom! Reader bottom! Reader top from the bottom! (sometimes), manipulation, dubcon, strap, mommy kink, mommy issues, age difference (Agatha's 50 and R's 20), degradation, power dinamic, cnc, angst, fluffy, spanking, anal, feet & plot twist.

Prologue

When the pawn is the chosen piece.

The camera smiles first.

And then, as always, she follows.

Agatha Harkness lifts her chin gently, a polite smile precisely sculpted on her lips — sweet, almost kind. That’s what they expect from her: empathy. A human candidate. Submissive to the will of the people, loyal to the country, the eternal widow of America. A woman who married only once, who never hid scandals… simply because she never had any.

Never allowed them.

She moves like a queen on the chessboard. Dangerous, but discreet. Lethal, if underestimated.

“Washington needs change, and I’m the only one who can make it happen,” she says into the mic at the end of yet another exhausting debate, her voice calm, clear, and motherly.

The cameras flash.

Hearts ignite with the fire that politics stirs.

Jennifer Barkley smiles behind the cameras, proud. Tony Stark, ever the charmer, steps forward to shake her hand, congratulating her on the success of the spectacle — a staged show of support, crafted by numbers and strategists.

But Agatha no longer sees any of it.

She’s only thinking about what she’s about to lose if she gives in to the temptation of feeling.

Because in the political game, love is a distraction.

And she’s not here to be loved.

She’s here to win.

The fake ID feels warm in your hand, made of cheap plastic, and you were sure it cost less than a subway ride.

The tight dress Carol lent you didn’t do justice to the city of Seattle — rich and green. You were sure she’d gone overboard picking a bar like this.

But c’mon… it’s Carol Danvers!

All it takes is one smile from her and you obey.

The entrance to the bar is a breath of freedom in the silent prison your life has become — your relationship with her, if you can even call it that. Carol holds your hand, but not out of care.

It’s possession.

A warning.

The pulsing lights pull you away from reality for one night. You drink and pretend this is happiness.

Until your eyes meet hers.

Icy blue eyes — you were certain there was a hint of green, or maybe it was just the bar’s lights.

But they’re hers.

And they’re locked on you.

The stare is hard, severe. You shrink inside, wondering if something’s out of place. Your hair? Your makeup?

Shit, you curse yourself silently. You knew it was a mistake to wear so much mascara. Now all your flaws were probably plain to see for that woman who looked so… perfect.

You look away, embarrassed. But something lingers. A tension you can’t name. A presence that doesn’t dissolve, even when you turn your back.

It was 3 a.m. You searched for Carol with blurry, drunken eyes, the need to breathe in a calm, quiet space growing by the second. The energy in that place was draining you, making you want to cry.

You hold back the tears like it’s just another regular day, searching for the nearest exit so you can breathe and escape the sea of people.

The half-jammed emergency door creaks open, and you seem to have found a safe place to regulate your emotions.

Seattle’s ever-freezing air makes you feel even lonelier, more depressed — until someone else seems to need space just as much as you…

It’s her!

The woman from the table across the bar.

The woman with cold, terrifying eyes.

Terrifyingly hypnotic.

You lift your eyes a bit higher and take a chance.

The feminine silhouette before you is imposing, stunning. Dark hair cascading like a rope framing a strong face — but something in her flushed cheeks, from the alcohol or maybe the cold, adds a softness to her otherwise severe figure.

You’re intrigued.

The cobalt blue gaze like icy blades piercing into your soul. She doesn’t smile. But she studies you, as if discovering something you never even knew about yourself.

You swallow hard.

She doesn’t even ask your name.

And still, you feel like you’ve just been chosen.

~*~

I dedicate this story to all lovers of politics and women, especially haha 😆💜

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp @lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000 @fuzzygiantlamphorse @imaginaryblogger01 @aboutcustardcreams @upsidedowndanvers @starbucks-06 @absolute-memegarbage @trinity2k @greyella @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @whitelotus00 @dandelions4us @creaturesaphique @warpdrive-witch @sweetmidnights @dingdongthetail @mommy-mommy-mommy-hi

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Cheshire behind the cut; “Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good!” (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“. . . sure,” Lynn repeats, finally. Billy reflexively brightens. 

“Cool!” he says excitedly, linking his hands together behind his back to keep himself from the reflexive clap he almost went for. Probably the clap thing would be kinda dorky, to a teenager. Or just kinda loud to a baby; either/or. “Um–cool, yeah. Do you want help picking one out, or do you wanna do it by yourself? Or, um, try by yourself first, and me or Tawky can help if you have trouble? Or me and Tawky, if you want!” 

Lynn stares at him some more again. Billy probably seems incredibly uncool to a teenager and incredibly weird to a baby, though he doesn’t really know which one of those things Lynn is thinking right now. Like–it could be both, probably. Probably it could be both. 

Gods, how is he supposed to be a cool enough dad for his teenager while also not being too weird a dad for his baby? How’s he supposed to even do that? He’s gonna need his own books. Like, just so many parenting books and stuff. And also, like–he’s probably gonna have to do some trial and error stuff, probably? Like, that kind of thing, he guesses? 

Well . . . actually, Billy guesses it’s a little weird, but probably, like . . . books about kids with developmental delays or trauma would probably be able to tell him how to split that difference, right? Like, come to think? Like the parts where Lynn’s a teenager and the parts where he’s a newborn and the parts where he isn’t really either, probably. Billy’s second-least-shitty social worker had said some stuff about developmental delays and stuff like that a couple times, and then the guy’d tried to send him to a psychologist like he’d actually thought Billy was dumb enough to talk to a state psychologist about jack shit, and–

Maybe Billy should be getting books about kids with developmental delays or trauma, yeah. That’s maybe a thing he should do, yeah. 

He really needs to, like, start keeping a to-do list already. 

“. . . dunno,” Lynn says stiffly, glancing awkwardly towards the stacked-up piles of books. “Uh–there’s . . . a lot.” 

“Oh, yeah, kinda,” Billy says, then thinks–well, since Lynn hasn’t been talking that much, if he bothered mentioning that there were a lot of something . . . “Want me and Tawky to pick out a few that look good for bed, and then you can pick from those? So it’s not, like, so many all at once?” 

“. . . sure,” Lynn says. Billy doesn’t really know how to read Lynn all that well yet, but he does think the other maybe sounds a little relieved about that offer. Which, well, hopefully he is? Since that’s like, the whole reason Billy made the offer and all. 

“Cool!” he repeats cheerfully. “We can pick some out while you, like–brush your teeth and wash your face and stuff. Or take a shower? Um, I guess you did just get changed, but you could if you wanted. Or a bath, even! It’s like . . . evening-y and all. Or you could do it in the morning, whatever you wanna. But I don’t think we have bubble bath and it’s way better with bubble bath. But we could get some! Like, later, I mean. Um. Did I show you where the bathroom was yet? Well, um–bathrooms, I guess, I guess there’s two of ‘em.” 

There are two–the bigger one’s in the hall, and then a smaller one’s actually attached to the biggest bedroom, so Billy guesses that one’s kind of “his”, technically, but like, he doesn’t care if Lynn wants to use it too. Lynn’s a baby. Though also he’s like . . . a teenager, so yeah, he might care. Billy has definitely met some teenagers who really care about which bathroom they use. 

The idea of caring whose bathroom is whose is really weird to Billy, honestly, but also he’s not a teenager yet, so like . . . yeah, who knows. Teenagers are kinda just weird too, he’s pretty sure? That’s what everybody says, anyway, and he’s met some pretty weird ones himself, so yeah. 

Also–well. Billy hasn’t really been in a situation where it was up to him which bathroom was “his” or which bathroom he could use or anything like that in . . . a really long time, yeah. Or like–ever, really. His parents had a bathroom attached to their bedroom too, and there was like a “half-bath” on the first floor without a shower or tub or anything in it, and he’d just always used the one next to his bedroom with the– 

Billy feels–weird, suddenly, and stops thinking about . . . that. Stops thinking about . . . his old house, he means. His–parents’ house. 

He doesn’t usually . . . think about that, is all. So it’s–weird, thinking about it now. And like, he guesses it makes sense that he is, like how he’s thinking so much about his parents now that he’s a parent too, just . . . 

Just–it’s weird, thinking about it. 

That’s all. 

“I know where the bathrooms are,” Lynn says, which is admittedly pretty obvious. It’s a big apartment, but it’s not like a huge giant house or mansion or something; there’s only so much space. And Billy did show him the bedrooms earlier, at least, and at least where a couple things are, so . . . well, yeah, it’s pretty obvious. 

“Okay, cool,” Billy says. “Do you know how to get ready for bed or do you need a hand or anything?” 

“. . . I know how to get ready for bed,” Lynn says, staring blankly at him. 

“. . . do you want a hand or anything?” Billy offers, just because that phrasing wasn’t, like, an actual no. Lynn–frowns, briefly, and glances towards the wall. 

“Um,” he says. “. . . no.” 

“Okay!” Billy says cheerfully, and really can’t help brightening up again. “Then Tawky and I’ll pick out the books while you’re doing that, okay?” 

“. . . okay,” Lynn says, sparing him a long, blank look. Then he turns around abruptly and disappears back down the hall. Billy feels pretty good about the conversation, he thinks? Lynn told him he needed some stuff, and told him he didn’t need some stuff, and he told Lynn what he could do to help him with the stuff he needed help with, and Lynn said okay to him helping. 

And he’s just, like–he’s really proud, that Lynn feels okay enough to say “no” to him. Like, proud of Lynn for doing it to begin with, but also a little bit proud of himself for apparently doing an okay enough job at being a dad so far that Lynn thought it was safe to say “no” to him. 

Like–definitely he’s proud of that.

[amalthea-13]

Blitz Should Have Died

Introduction

Hello all, it is I, Amalthea, the Ultimate Stolas Kinnie and Stan. I want to address someone who recently commented on a post of mines. I will be piggybacking off a point my mutual @cute-little-fly made in the comments and a post they made that works in tandem with a lot of what I am going to talk about here. Give my mootie a follow, they're awesome! (Hi Fly UwU)

Heavily encourage ya'll to read up on this post. They post some great stuff. Anyway, onto my points. While I may echo some of Fly's points, I will be also imputing my own thoughts regarding Mastermind considering my unique perspective, hence the title. Hopefully, this doesn't get me into to much trouble lol.

Blitz Deserved to Die

In one of my posts I addressed the religious symbolism in Mastermind. Vivienne has been noted by Brandon in interviews as an individual who takes Biblical lore very seriously. If you want more information on this please read my Stolas, Mastermind, and Religious Symbolism + Classism Conversation essay, but in short the point of Mastermind is to show how far Stolas has come as a person.

Firstly, he takes on a punishment he didn't deserve. Blitz was guilty according to the narrative and the law. Regardless of how Andre and Stella spun it, he was in fact guilty. It was a deserved punishment according to the law of Hell.

Stolas willingly and selflessly put himself in the line of fire for something he didn't deserve. Again, from the Sins point of view, Stolas was merely coerced into this. (Not canonically), but from their point of view he was a victim.

Stolas could have stuck with that narrative and let Blitz die to protect Octavia from losing himself. He could clean his hands of Blitz and be on his merry way to find another partner or person to fuck.

Blitz's death would have been deserved afterall. It's not entirely Stolas's problem at that point. He doesn't have to do anything, nor is Blitz his priority in life.

Stolas could continue living and finally be rid of Blitz and all his emotional bullshit. Octavia would be happy and have her father!

There you go, Happily Ever After.

Toodles! Amalthea Out!

What? You genuinely think that is what I believe?

Unfortunately for you dear reader, I don't believe any of the above text I just wrote out. However, I thought it'd be interesting for you all to read how a lot of you sound when defending Octavia and saying Stolas "picked Blitz over her". You see how- sadistic that sounds? How cruel it comes off as? Sure, it's the truth, but- I mean is Blitz really that insignificant to me as a writer that I think he should be- written off and killed purely because he was guilty?

Purely for the sake of a character I relate to and understand?

Let's utilize our media literacy skills guys.

Two Things Can be True at Once

Personally, I get why a lot of people defend Via so staunchly, but good GODS it gets annoying when you all imply Blitz deserved to die purely for the sake of Octavia having Stolas in her life. I feel like many of you forget who else would suffer in the situation.

Loona.

While she is in her 20s and completely fine, Blitz is Loona's whole world even if she isn't willing to admit it. He is her ENTIRE support system and therefore, makes Blitz more important than Octavia's comfort.

I apologize if that seems- cruel to say, but in practicality, Octavia can go to the other Sins or Vassago. Literally anyone else.

Who does Loona have? Millie and Moxxie? Two individuals who are about to deal with a baby (maybe) on their hands? She's an adopted child with NO OTHER FAMILY besides Blitz. She doesn't know Barbie Wire at all. Loona has NO ONE.

I ain't saying Octavia's situation is better, but she can easily turn to other people. Paimon even if she truly needed it. Loona has no one. Blitz is literally her everything.

Stolas made a noble sacrifice to protect another girl who needed saving too. It was reckless, it was irrational, it wasn't well thought out, but he did what he had to do.

While I sympathize with Octavia's pain, trust me I know abandonment, I also empathize more with Loona. She was also put in an AWFUL situation, but no one seems to listen to or care for her in this situation.

The reality is, Stolas did what he had to do. I have mentioned before that I do not think Stolas thought he would die. While many may not agree with me, I genuinely think Stolas thought he could get away with just some jail time or even be pardoned to a different trial where he could maybe fight this.

Stolas in my opinion believed his privilege could save him from dying, and look at what happened? He LIVED because of his privilege;

Stolas: Um... *stands up* I mean...aren't you going to....you know...

[Stolas slides a finger across his throat.]

Stolas: Execute me?

Satan: Hah! Aw no, 'course not. You are a Goetia.

Stolas: But I... committed a heinous crime!

Satan: Yeah you did. But, you are demon royalty sooo... your life has actual worth.

Yes, Stolas was incredibly reckless, but he had privilege and utilized it to save a life. Isn't that noble? Isn't that worth celebrating?

The fact Stolas's plan actually worked, if my theory is correct, is beyond astonishing. In one of my reblogs titled Discussing Mastermind and Why I Think Stolas didn't believe He would Die, I discuss the emotional implications further, but I do believe Stolas was banking on his privilege to save him. Maybe he'd be put in jail or whatever, but at least he thought he'd be able to keep Via. He knew he was throwing his life away, but Blitz deserved to be saved too.

I do believe Stolas cares about Via, but he also loves and cares about Blitz. Those two things can coexist, and are why I think he ultimately made the decision he did. In my opinion it wasn't a question of "Octavia or Blitz?" but the question of "His life or your own?" That was the internal dilemma on the table, and without thinking Stolas saved Blitz, but in a situation between his status or his daughter? You all would be rooting for him to pick Octavia. It wasn't about Via, but if Stolas would willingly sacrifice his comfort for people he loves.

Stolas is an abuse victim and sacrificed his physical and emotional well being for Octavia. He does love and care for her.

To anyone who- insists on saying Stolas still doesn't care about Octavia, when he lost his powers and status, what was the first thing he said;

Stolas: [weakly] But, what about my daughter?

After his punishment, Stolas wasn't concerned about Blitz or himself, but worried about Octavia herself. That girl was the only thing on his mind after saving Blitz.

Both of these characters are deeply loved by him, and he has sacrificed everything he has for them. Both physical and emotional. Stolas has sacrificed his blood, sweat, tears, and bones to both Blitz and Octavia and I wish people respected that more.

Blitz Didn't Deserve to Die

As much shit as I give Blitz, despite being known well for being his biggest critic, I did not want him to die. Even if it meant Octavia being comforted by her father's presence.

I wanted nothing more than for them BOTH to walk away unscathed, but a crime was committed and someone had to pay.

And I would hate for Loona to also lose her father- Stolas made a noble sacrifice for not just Blitz, but also for Loona and that should be noted and understood.

Many of you will continue to die on the hill of "he chose Blitz over Via!" and act as if he doesn't love her, but Stolas sacrifices for people everyday.

He gives up parts of himself he shouldn't have to just so people are happy. He sacrifices anything he wants to provide for people's needs. Whether it be physical, mental, or emotional, Stolas consistently throws himself in harms way to help those he loves.

I will continue to emphasize it over and over for you all as an audience, but everything he does, he doesn't have to do.

Even for Stella, he tries to remain loyal and even keep things comfortable despite his own suffering and internal turmoil.

Stolas didn't want Blitz to die, and therefore that should be merit enough to understand that Blitz didn't deserve it, even if Octavia remains upset.

Octavia Will Get Over It

I have been in this girl's shoes. While it all- stings and hurts for so long. You learn to move on and that at some point you have to let go.

Unlike Via tho... I went years without closure. For Octavia, closure is just around the corner and in some ran down apartment rented by some red dickhead.

She'll get through her feelings and eventually realize where she and her father need to talk and communicate.

I know saying she'll "get over it" is cruel, but she is a young adult. She has to learn that adults have to at some point choose themselves. That they can't- give of themselves infinitely.

What Stolas and Octavia had wasn't sustainable, the constant- expectation he'd willingly choose her over everyone is simply unrealistic. Stolas needs room to grow and love himself. Via needs to learn some independence and that she will be okay with or without Stolas.

She will be okay.

Conclusion

While this may be- a convoluted post, I do hope you all understand why I push back against this argument so hard. Shoutout to my mootie Fly again. Your original comment inspired this whole mess lol.

Toodles, Amalthea Out!

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest May Mayhem Bingo event and my main card over at @steddiebingo.

i get stoned for survival (it helps with the healing)

CCF Prompt: End of the World || Steddie Bingo Prompt: Hold the Line | Word Count: 9396 | Rating: E | CW: Injuries, Unprotected Sex, Mention of Weed | POV: Eddie (and a little Steve) | Relationship(s): Steddie | Tags: Canon Divergence Before Events of S4, Zombie Apocalypse, Surviving in Hawkins, Forming An Unlikely Alliance, Virgin Eddie, Corroded Coffin Boys, Good Uncle Wayne Munson

This one got long, so it's available in full right here on ao3.

Excerpt below:

There are other survivors in town, at least Eddie thinks there are. They can't be the only ones. At least, Eddie's pretty sure. They see traces of other life from time to time and that's the only thing keeping Eddie upright. That maybe they might be able to make it to the other side. 

Run, his whole body is telling him. Run away. Run far, and fast.

But they need to stick together. They need to gather what they can salvage, what they can carry, and make it back to home base.

There's not anywhere else to go, anyway. The town is surrounded. They've checked. And they're guarded by a massive government show of force, more military than Eddie's ever seen in his life, assuring nobody leaves the area.

So, they might not be able to leave town, but they're gonna have to leave the van. If they don't, this is how they're gonna die, he's sure of it. Pressed together, protecting each other, locked in this coffin of a van.

It's ironic, how he loved the Corroded Coffin name before and now it just feels ominous. Like that's where they've always been destined to end up.

He just needs to psych himself up. He closes his eyes, just for a brief second, before he hears the crash, and looks out the window just in time to see a fire spreading across the asphalt, and the zombies turn away from the van. This is their chance while they're distracted. An opportunity given to them by unknown allies. It'll hopefully give them enough time to put some distance between themselves and the shambling creatures on foot.

"Grab what you can," Jeff snaps, "three, two, one," and they push out of the back doors, feet hitting the ground running. 

It was a Molotov cocktail, and Eddie looks back as he runs, desperate to see who threw it. Who else is out there, alive, still fighting. Catching a glimpse, Eddie is absolutely certain he's seeing Steve Harrington, wielding a nail-studded bat. Taking zombies down, one by one, hand-to-hand, as others are picked off by what sounds like a shotgun. Harrington's crazy. Fighting up close like that. Not running while he has the chance like Eddie, Jeff, Gareth and Goodie are doing right now.

And they do run, that's always Plan A. They strategize each move, voting as a group, as if they're planning their next roll of the dice. But they definitely do not fight hand-to-hand unless they've been backed into a corner with no other possible way out.

Steve Harrington getting up close and personal, swinging his big dick of a bat around? Eddie's not surprised, even if he thinks it's way too risky. Way too stupid.

But at least that means there are other survivors.

They aren't alone.

And for some reason it feels right that Steve Harrington is one of them. King Steve, still holding court in Hawkins, somehow.

Continue reading the full fic right here on ao3.

And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the May Mayhem Bingo Event! (Also, you can sign up for card two over at @steddiebingo right now!)

Note: Title and some of the imagery comes from Weed, Whiskey And Willie by Brothers Osborne.

Thanks for reading, leaving kudos, comments or reblogs. All are so very appreciated! ❤️

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

CODES OF CONDUCT - S. HARUKA

codes of conduct masterpost codes of conduct playlist

cw ; afab!reader, swearing, semi-canon au, all characters are aged up (sakura and reader are 19-20), sort of wind breaker spoilers(?), mentions of sex, alcohol, mentions of drugs, thank you @aquazero for the amazing black n white dividers🫶

@x3nafix @neeeooon @narcjsistx @ohagiyoo @levihanmyotp @yorubl1d3 here ya go babes🫶

chapter one ; parties

word count ; 2.2k

you really hated this.

april had only just started recently, and yet your school year had already begun. something that sounded like a mix of a sigh and a groan drawled out of your throat and lips, your chin in the palm of your hand as your elbow rested on the counter of cafe pothos.

the sound of eggs and oil sizzling in a pan absolutely failed to console you, but the moment the smell of omelette rice entered through your nose, your eyes lit up. “thanks, kotoha!” you exclaimed, picking up the spoon set next to the plate of freshly made omelette rice. kotoha smiled, gazing at you as you shoved the omelette rice down your throat.

“yeah, no problem. you looked ready to faint during lecture today.” kotoha hummed. “did you skip breakfast again?” your face reddened, an embarrassed smile making way to your lips.

“well, no way was i going to be late again, right?” you remarked. kotoha's lips pressed into a thin line, raising an eyebrow at you as you continued to scarf down the plate of omelette rice in front of you.

“mhm. whatever you say.”

the moment you finished your food, kotoha took the plate away and washed the ceramic until it gleamed a pristine white. your eyes lingered on her as she did so; you really admired kotoha. she was amazing, majoring in both education and psychology while still having enough free time to work at the cafe and go to parties and social events.

unlike you, she's been in makochi since childhood. you only came to makochi last year to attend university here. you could have gone to tokyo university, especially since you were accepted there, but you rapidly realized that there was no way in hell you'd be able to live in an entirely different and heavily populated city with expensive tourist scams left and right. well, maybe you could go there for medical school. you majored in psychology anyways.

“i know this is really sudden, but there's going to be a party later at shiroko's house. you know, the one who's majoring in business and is so rich that he wipes his tears with lots and lots of cash.” kotoha began. “i know that you don't really like parties and socializing too much, but y'know, it's your sophomore year now, and i don't want you to be as lonely as you were last year, especially since we're not roommates anymore.”

for a moment, you stopped eating, meeting kotoha's hazel eyes. as embarrassing as it was, she was right. you didn't have any friends other than her, and you were too nervous to socialize. but not that you've moved out of the university dorms--the very reason you met kotoha in the first place--, you would really be seeing kotoha way less.

and you didn't know if anyone else would ever be kind enough to invite you.

you bit into the inside of your cheek before managing a shaky smile. “yeah, uh, sure. send me the address and i'll try to go. i don't think i have a shift at the library today.” that wasn't a lie. your part time job at the library indeed didn't happen to take place today. kotoha grinned, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ears.

“great! it starts at nine. i'll see you there, okay?”

you nodded, finishing your plate of food and sliding it to kotoha. you left the cafe, walking back to your apartment while scanning the streets to see if there were any new stores or restaurants. your eyes lingered at the front of the town, where a large sign stood. it changed every week, advertising different stores from around town. but the locals--including kotoha--always looked at it with what seemed to be grief.

but whenever you asked, they always replied with something similar to or the exact response of “you'll understand when you get to know about bofurin.”

you've never heard much about bofurin, but when you did hear something about it, it was never good. usually the words “violent” or “ruthless” would be muttered under someone's breath whenever they spoke of bofurin. at least, the people who weren't the locals who spoke of it. the locals always seemed so uncomfortable when bofurin or furin are brought up. but you knew that furin was one of the old high schools in makochi that was torn down and rebuilt a few years ago in favor of a new hospital.

stepping into your apartment, you nearly fell face first into your futon, a long groan exiting your lips. finally, you could rest, even if it’s just for a little bit. god, how you fucking hated lecture. your apartment was miniscule and run-down, but it was livable. it had air conditioning and heaters after all.

you leaned over to your table, taking your computer out to complete your homework as quickly as you could. but your mind began to wander elsewhere as you researched about mental disorders, and before you could stop yourself, you opened a new tab and typed “bofurin” inside of the search bar, eyes unblinking as the page loaded.

nothing. truly nothing appeared in the search results.

frustrated, you typed in “furin”. this time, a few results appeared, though most of them were either about how the school was once extremely violent a few years ago or it was about the school being torn down and rebuilt into a hospital, though all of those articles had little--if any--views. after a bit too long of doom scrolling, you found a single article about how furin was being shut down. but that article was from over three years ago. it probably wasn’t even of much use anymore.

annoyed, you closed the tab and began your daily dose of doom scrolling on tiktok. liking videos here and there, giggling at an edit of gojo here and there, just the usual. of course, you couldn’t abandon your homework completely, researching a bit more every time you reached the “liking too frequently. try again later” mark on tiktok.

before you knew it, it already reached eight fifteen. shiroko’s house was, if you remember correctly, thirty five minutes away by foot. makochi was safe after dark, and you didn’t want to spend your scarce amount of money on an uber, so you might as well just walk there.

at eight thirty, after throwing on a cardigan and some jeans, you stepped out of your apartment, your heartbeat in your throat. you still really didn’t want to go in the least. loud music from the speaks made you nervous, and the heavy smell of alcohol mixed with drugs and vape made you feel nauseated. you also didn’t want to go to another singular room and walk into a couple in the process of making out.

but you know what, it’s okay. everyone had to step out of their comfort zone, right? and you didn’t want kotoha to worry about you anymore. she had to balance work, being a double major, and caring for the elderly in the town. she had enough on her plate already, and worrying about you would only make her life so much harder than it’s supposed to be.

but there were more reasons than just that. kotoha was definitely hiding something from you. you didn’t know if she was hiding some sort of secret boyfriend or if she was talking shit about you behind your back--not that you think that she’s the type of person to do that, but things happen--or if she just doesn’t even like you that much and is only friends with you out of pity. but you needed to know. you had to know.

the night was chillier than you would have expected, the gooseflesh crawling up your arms when you stepped into the inky night full of dots of stars. it was april, it usually wasn’t this cold. oh, whatever. you wouldn’t even be staying at the party for too long anyways.

after the long thirty-five minute walk, you arrived at the largest mansion in the town. neon lights illuminated through the curtains, and you stepped in stiffly. instantly, you were hit with waves of heat and far too loud music screeching in your ears. already, you wanted to leave. but no way you were that weak. you had to stay. for the sake of your pride and curiosity.

you awkwardly snaked around the house to the kitchen, a group of juniors drinking beer together. you weren’t old enough to drink yet, and you wanted to save your first drink for your twentieth birthday. fuck it, you came here to socialize, and yet you’re hiding in the kitchen like a coward. you should be out in the living room talking to the hot senior girl who was laughing with her friends or something.

after a few minutes of negotiation with your brain and your heart, you finally decided to walk to the living room. but before you could even take a step, you felt a large hand on your back, and the reek of alcohol contaminated your senses.

shit.

turning around rapidly, you saw a man standing in front of you, red faced and stupid. he was definitely drunk, from what you could tell. you’ve seen him around campus before. he was a senior. “hey, you’re pretty cute. wanna come with me upstairs and--”

“uh, no thanks!” you exclaimed, stepping away from the situation nearly instantly. you slithered your way to the front door, holding your breath the entire way there. this was like one of those horror games on roblox, where you don’t wanna get jumpscared.

finally, you reached the front door and shoved it open. you would have to apologize to kotoha later, but your concerns were valid. you really fucking hated this. when you gulped in the cold night air, you thought you were safe. but the moment the reek of beer stung your senses again, it was almost as if shards of ice were slipping down your throat.

shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit! thank you mom for giving birth to me and raising me. thank you dad for raising me. thank you--

“hey pretty, don’t be such a bore. come on over here and we can--”

you began to walk away rapidly, pulling out your phone to call the police. did this guy not know how to take a goddamn fucking hint? big ass footsteps stomped behind you, and you could feel the white hot heat bubbling in your chest. god, why was he so fucking annoying? you really needed to file a restraining order.

but eventually, all of your irritated thoughts vanished as the footsteps got closer and closer. your stomach twisted and turned into knots, and before you heard a swish in the air. you were dead. you were definitely dead after this one. you prepared yourself for the impact, whether it would be a hand on your shoulder or a hand clasped over your mouth. you raised your hands to your face and shut your eyes close, begging for the impact to be not too painful.

but the impact never came.

“take a hint. can’t you see that she clearly doesn’t want to talk to you? you’re pissing me off.”

you heard a loud crack along with the sound of a hit, along with something falling on the dark road. you squinted an eye open, and slowly, you dropped your arms. a figure stood in front of you, and in front of the figure stood the guy who had been following you, laying on the concrete with a bloody nose.

for a few moments, all you could do was stare at the figure in front of you. the person who had saved you. your savior. “i, uh…thank you.” you stumbled over your words, eyes blinking furiously and palms sweaty.

they remained silent, but you could feel a sudden wave of heat radiating off of them. “uh…uhhhhhh, i-it’s nothing. he was just-- just pissing me off. nothing else.” their back was still turned to you, and you could see that their hair was two different colors. even if it was dyed, it was still gorgeous.

before you could process their words, they suddenly seemed to turn unbelievably irritated. “why are you walking in the dark streets alone at night, and as a girl? don’t you know how dangerous it is?!” they exclaimed, finally turning to face you. they had different colored eyes as well. how pretty.

“you’re alone too.” you pointed out, albeit still undeniably grateful for them.

“well i’m a guy, which lowers my chances, and i know how to fight. clearly, you don’t.”

as thankful as you were for your savior, you were definitely getting a little bit pissed off. you brushed the topic off. “well still, thank you. is there anything that i can do for you?” you asked, already taking out your phone once more to enter your bank account. you had little money, but it was the thought that counts, right?

you expected money. maybe to treat him to a meal. maybe to give him a home for a few days. who knows. but instead, your eyebrows raised at his request.

“take me to cafe pothos.”

[kattsmuse]

TF 141 Flirting Styles and Love Languages p2

Simon's part of this post about the flirting styles of each of the guys. I kind of jumped off the deep end and dabbled in the first meeting y/n in the context of a bar and what their flirting and love languages would kind of look like deeper into the relationship.

TW: This one gets a bit spicy, only maybe 1-2 peppers.

Simon Riley Flirting Headcannon

Simon, ever the silent type, wouldn't actually be much of a flirt initially. While other guys were hitting on you in a bar, he'd be the one to stand back and observe. Like a watch dog, ready to lash out at any sleaze that tried to touch you. But that doesn't mean he wouldn't flirt in his own little way.

I truly believe Simon has flirting in him, but he elects the calculated and silent approach. The moment he sees you alone, he comes over, but doesn't approach you at first. He orders himself a drink, then glances to you while he sits down to wait. You're already on edge; being in a bar alone was hardly ideal. "You seem anxious." He finally speaks up.

You glance to him quicky, exhaling the breath you didn't realize you'd been holding since Simon sat down. You couldn't see his face, and it did both scare and intrigue you.

"It's been a long week," you don't expand upon it.

"What do you drink?" He asked nodding to the nearly empty glass in your hand.

"Just a half-cut whiskey and coke." You respond plainly, to which he asks if you'd like another.

You hesitate then nod a bit. The two of you have a genuine conversation. That is how Simon flirts with you. He doesn't objectify you (not outwardly anyway). He doesn't make you uncomfortable, he simply makes an effort to get to know you.

His presence was overwhelming, this large man walling you off from the rest of the bar behind him, only a few seats beside you on the other side.

"So what's up with the-" you raise your hand, gesturing to your own face. "You pug-faced under there or something?"

A low rumble leaves his chest that vibrates from your ears to your core. "Not quite." His eyes dazzle a bit as they meet yours.

That's the beginning of him asking about your life, wanting to know what made this week so hard, asking strategic questions to get you excited to expand upon every bit you tell him.

You'd only been speaking to him for an hour over a cocktail, and yet you couldn't deny the magnetism he had. There was a chemistry between the two of you that was born out of his simple respect for you. His subtle tactics and attempt to get to know you broke through your shell.

That's just it. Simon is a Sincere flirt. He can think what he wants, have all the dirty images of you twisted in bed with him... but he gets into your heart (and bed) by making a subtle but genuine effort to know your heart.

You go through the night thinking he was the most respectful guy you'd ever met at the bar. Hell, he only pulled because he was not a dick to you. But you find yourself happily mistaken when he's got you bent over the edge of his bed, spanking you and muttering filthy things into your ear. Your face pressed into the blankets, hands pinned against the small of your back.

But ya know what?

That's exactly what you wanted the second you saw him sit down. And you wouldn't trade it for the world.

As you two get to know each other better, is flirting shifts from sincere to more amusing. He likes to pick on you, but you know it's with love. Putting things on the top shelf to hear you whine, or doing little things that mildly irritate you. Nothin' to piss you off, only enough to get you all sassy toward him. He likes seeing that fire in your eye when you're yelling up at him for putting your bras in the same cabinet as your jeans. You're his little flame and he adores you for it.

That being said, he is also worried about you all the time. His love language is a cross between physical intimacy and quality time. He doesn't have to be touching you the way Johnny does, but he does need to be near you. Have his eyes on you so he knows you're safe. He doesn't mind if you're cleaning while he's cooking dinner, he just wants to be near.

To be sure though, once that food is ready, there's a bouquet of flowers on the table, it's set to the nine's, and your meal is steaming on the plate. You have some conversations over dinner before you move on to either snuggling, watching a movie, making a movie, or playing with the pup you'd come to love as your own.

Being with you is all Simon ever wants, and so long as he can see a smile on your face as you drift off to sleep at the end of each night, then he is content.

[universefcb]

HEY LOVE

first of all I ADOREEEE your fics. literally one of my favs. second of all I need anything for Marc Beral. literally I've been craving it AND NO ONE WRITES FOR HIM ANYMORE. Like anything fluffy maybe a picnic and him laying in our lap and we put flowers in his hair 🤭

love you xx

FLOWER PETALS, MARC BERNAL.

→ Summary: You and your boyfriend have a picnic in the afternoon, and enjoy it a lot, but when it's time to leave, a storm starts, which doesn't affect Marc.

→ Warning: Mention of Reader. Fluff. Romance.

→ Author's note: When I received your request my legs shook! One of the hardest things I've ever written because I wasn't thinking about anything 😭

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

It was a quiet spring afternoon, the kind of day that seemed tailor-made for a picnic. The sky was clear, the sun gently warmed your skin, and the park grass exuded that fresh scent of nature. You spread the plaid blanket on the grass, while Marc approached with the basket in his hands and a calm smile, the kind that always made your heart melt a little more.

“I brought the strawberries you like,” he said proudly, placing everything carefully on the towel.

“And I brought a secret mission,” you replied, with a mysterious and mischievous tone.

Marc arched an eyebrow in amusement.

"Mission?"

“You’ll see,” you said, pulling him by the hand to sit next to you.

For a few minutes, you laughed, shared fruit, exchanged long glances and clasped hands, until Marc, after eating a piece of cake, leaned back with his head on your lap, letting out a satisfied sigh.

“It makes you want to stop time,” he murmured, his eyes closed, his voice almost sleepy.

You smiled, stroking his hair affectionately. And then, looking around, you spotted some colorful wildflowers. You couldn't resist. You picked one of them and carefully tucked it into the golden strands of Marc's hair.

One.

Then two.

Three.

“What are you doing there?” he asked, without opening his eyes.

The girl looked at him, observing his face. His strong jaw, some moles on his face, his well-shaped nose and his lips – which were perhaps her favorite part of him.

“Nothing. Just making you even more beautiful, which seems impossible.”

He let out a low chuckle and opened his eyes, finding her face leaning over his.

“Are you going to turn me into a bouquet?”

“Maybe,” you said, laughing, “but a very, very cute bouquet.”

Marc reached out to touch your face, pulling you in for a long kiss.

“I like it when you take care of me like this,” he murmured, his voice soft, “it feels like my heart is at peace when I’m with you.”

You smiled, lightly touching his nose with yours.

“And I like it when you lie on my lap and let me pet you. And put flowers in your hair. And love you just like that.”

Marc closed his eyes again, a silly smile on his lips.

“Then you can continue. I’m yours.”

The picnic was almost over when clouds began to form discreetly in the sky. You were distracted trying to take a picture of Marc with the flowers in his hair — he was now sitting, with that shy and silly smile just for you — when you felt the first drops touch your arm.

“Oh no…” you muttered, looking up.

Marc looked too, and before either of you could think about running, the drizzle turned into rain. Thick, fun, the kind that comes fast and doesn't ask for permission.

“Come on!” he laughed, jumping up and tugging at her hand. “Let’s take shelter over there!”

But you got stuck.

“Wait…” you said, laughing. “I don’t want to run. Let’s… enjoy it?”

Marc looked at you like you had just said the most poetic thing in the world.

"Serious?"

You shrugged, your hair already sticking to your forehead.

“We’re already wet anyway.”

He let out a light laugh and came back, stopping in front of you. His shirt clung to his body, the dark strands already disheveled by the rain. You had to lift your face to look into his eyes — and that always made your heart beat a little faster.

“You are my favorite part of life,” he said suddenly, with that serene smile.

You blinked, surprised by the simple intensity of that sentence.

“And you are the best part of any day,” he replied, almost without thinking.

Marc took a step closer, the rain running down your faces, and he slowly lowered his head, his fingers gently touching your chin to lift it. You stood on your tiptoes, your arms instinctively coming up to hold onto his shoulders—because yes, he was that tall, and you loved it.

The kiss happened slowly, wet with rain and love.

He kissed you like someone who knew that moment would live in your memory forever. Softly, but with enough intensity to make you forget that you were both soaking wet and shivering from the cold. And when he pulled away just a little, his forehead resting against yours, he whispered in a choked voice:

“We’re going to have a lot of days like this, right?”

You nodded, smiling.

“If it depends on me, every day of your life.”

He sealed another kiss on her lips and then on the top of her head, where the flowers were now slowly falling, soaked.

They stayed there for a few more minutes, with the rain blessing their love, and she was sure: there was no other place in the world where she wanted to be other than by his side, even though they were so young, they knew the meaning of love.

Taglist: @paucubarsisimp @nngkay @meganesanchez @htpssgavi @merinottt @luvvpedri @moonvr @joaosnovia @httpsdana @ilovebarcaaaa @p4uul0vr @pedricando @barcapix @owala6789

[lousypotatoes]

Why Am I Smiling

Song Recommendation:

A Sky Full Of Stars - Coldplay

Next

Previous

All of the Hotel residents sat in the lounge. It was very, awkward to say the least, due to everyone finding out that Vaggie used to be an Exorcist from Heaven. Vaggie leaned against the wall away from everyone, an uncomfortable expression on her face.

"So, like, where are your wings?" Niffty asked.

"Niffty, I don't have-"

"Did you ever think maybe she's sensitive about her lack of wings?" Angel Dust said from the couch. "Just like her lack of tits."

"Yeah, where are your tits?" Niffty said, putting her hand on one of Vaggie's boobs. Vaggie angrily knocked Niffty off the TV that she was sitting on. "Any other questions?" she said.

"I got one," Husk grumbled. "How come every time Charlie talks to Heaven, we get in deeper and deeper shit."

"It's not her fault," Vaggie reasoned. "Angels are just-

"Liars?" Y/N interrupted. 

"Difficult," Vaggie finished. "But Charlie's trying her best."

"Yeah, well, her 'best' is turning out real well so far," Husk said, walking way to the bar. 

"And where is 'Miss Fearless Leader' anyway?" Angel asked. "Isn't it about time for another doomed to fail plan?"

"She's upstairs, coming up with something I'm sure," Vaggie said, looking a bit nervous. 

Y/N and Alastor looked at each other. Alastor seemed to have the same idea as Y/N, given the smirk on his face. Alastor melted into the shadows, while Y/N flew up the stairs, walking down the hallway and standing in front of Vaggie and Charlie's bedroom door. 

"Knock, knock," Y/N said as she knocked on the door. No answer. 

Knock, knock.

Still no answer. 

Sighing, Y/N opened the door, expecting it to be locked. As she went inside, she saw Alastor standing over the side of the bed, Razzle and Dazzle holding out tissues, and a big lump in the middle of the bed, that was probably Charlie. 

"Oh, Charlie, you look like an absolute mess," Alastor smiled. Y/N walked over to where Alastor was, standing next to him. 

"Go away please!" Charlie groaned, covering herself up with more blankets. 

"Oh no, no, no!" Alastor sat on the bed. "Is that any way to act after picking a fight with all of Heaven and dooming everyone you love?"

"I have enough on my mind without hearing your sadistic idea of a joke, asshole!" Charlie yelled. 

"Who's jokin'?" Y/N said, suddenly appearing next to Charlie, scaring her and making her fall off the bed. "Everyone is waitin' for you in the lounge, waitin' to see what you have planned next."

"I cant!" Charlie said from the floor. "How can I face them after failing them all so hard? They came here to be saved and all I gave them was more pain. I'm just as bad as the cruelest Overlord in Hell anyway. Maybe worse! At least they don't go around giving false hope."

"Well, I never expected to see such a miserable display of self-loathing from you," Alastor smirked, sitting on the bed next to Y/N. 

"Oh, fuck you Alastor!" Charlie angrily said. "All you do is stand there smiling while you watch us struggle and fail. I don't know how you can enjoy all this suffering so much."

Alastor put his hands on Charlie's shoulders. "Just because you see a smile, don't think you know what's going on underneath. A smile is a valuable tool, my dear. It inspires your friends, keeps your enemies guessing, and ensures that no matter what comes your way, you're the one in control."

"But I'm not. I'm the farthest thing from in control," Charlie groaned. "The person I trust most has been lying to me for years, Heaven refuses to listen, I can't prove that the Hotel works, Adam has an invincible Exorcist Army pointed right at my doorstep, and there's nothing I can do about any of it."

Y/N and Alastor looked on each other, wicked smirks on both of their faces. "We know something you don't know," Alastor said in a sing-song voice. 

"Huh?"

"Those big, bad angels are not as invincible as we originally thought," Y/N grinned, wrapping her arm around Charlie. 

"What are you talking about?" Charlie asked. 

"Just that you and everyone else might have more of a chance than you thought," Y/N answered.

"How? I'll do anything!" Charlie pleaded. 

"Anything?" Alastor smirked. "Then let's make a deal."

"You, you want my soul?"

"Your soul, heaven's no!" Alastor exclaimed. "All I need from you is one itty bitty favor. What's a favor between friends?"

"I won't hurt anyone for you," Charlie said. 

"Who's asking?" Alastor laughed. "One favor at a time of my choosing, where you harm no one. In return, we tell you what we know." Alastor held out his hand. "Do we have a deal?"

Razzle and Dazzle tried to block Charlie, but she moved out of the way, some of her demon form coming out. "Deal," Y/N grinned as she watched Charlie and Alastor shake hands. Green symbols began to show up everywhere, all over the walls, and Y/N guessed all over the Hotel.

"No!" Vaggie burst in the room, her spear in her hand.

"Right on queue," Alastor said, letting go of Charlie's hand.

"What did you two do?" Vaggie yelled, running towards Y/N and Alastor. "Let her go!"

"Vaggie stop!" Charlie blocked.

"What? No..." Vaggie said, a crestfallen look on her face. "Charlie, please tell me you didn't."

Charlie crossed her arms. "I made a deal with Alastor,"

"Charlie-"

"Oh, calm down, she still owns her soul," Alastor said.

"They gave me info that can save the Hotel, but we're going to need help," Charlie reasoned. "The Angels can be defeated and Carmilla is the key."

"What? Carmilla Carmine?" Vaggie asked.

"She killed an Exorcist in the last extermination," Charlie answered. "She knows how they can be harmed."

"But I, I didn't even know that was possible," Vaggie stammered.

"If you did, would you have told me?" Charlie asked, walking past Vaggie to get her coat.

"Charlie-"

"I need you to go to her, convince her to teach us," Charlie interrupted. "If she can, we might have a chance."

"With just the eight of us?" Vaggie asked.

"No," Charlie looked down. "We're going to need numbers, too."

"We know a special someone who can help," Y/N said. "As long as Charlie can be her normal charmin' self."

"What's that Alastor said about smiles?" A small smile coming onto Charlie's face.

"Good girl," Alastor patted Charlie on the head. Y/N and Alastor began to make their way towards the door, stopping to wait for Charlie.

"Are you with us or not?" Charlie asked. Vaggie groaned but agreed.

Charlie, Alastor, and Y/N all made their way towards the the front door, Y/N and Alastor ignoring the confused glances and questions from the other Hotel residents as they walked out the door.

The three of them were now approaching their destination, Cannibal Town. As they walked, Charlie ranted to them about Vaggie, frustrated that she kept something as big as being a former Exorcist from her.

"Three years! Three years I've been sharing my life with her and I tell her everything!" Charlie ranted. "My hopes, my dreams, my insecurities, my embarrassing habits, what fucking deodorant I like, and she keeps something like this from me!? Why would she lie for so long? Does she think I wouldn't accept her? What about me? Me says-wait where are we?"

"Cannibal town!" Y/N exclaimed, grabbing Charlie's shoulders and guiding her into Rosie's Emporium, Alastor following close behind. "There's a very good friend of mine and Al's we think you should meet."

"In Cannibal Town?" Charlie reluctantly asked. "But it's, it's, surprisingly nice here."

"Isn't it though?" Alastor said as they walked inside. "And it's all thanks to a very special someone."

The three of them walked into the emporium, a line of cannibals in front of a large desk, and things like perfume and scarves were on shelves to buy.

"Well who hasn't thought about eating their first husband," a voice laughed. "I certainly would have if he didn't taste so bad. I tell you what, you bring old tall, dark, and armless to me and I'll straighten him right out for you, okay sweetie? Now here's my card-oh my stars! Do my eyes deceive me?" Y/N smiled, waving to Rosie.

"Alastor! Y/N!" Rosie said, making her way outside the crowd. "Where have you two been? These halls really lost some of their sparkle without your lively presence and, oh. Who's this you brought with you?" she asked, referring to Charlie.

"Now where are your manners?" she playfully scolded. "Introduce us why don't ya."

"My apologies, Rosie," Y/N smiled. "Charlie, this is Rosie, the most delightful and dangerous Overlord on this side of the city!"

"Always such a sweetheart," Rosie gushed.

"And Rosie, it's my pleasure to introduce you to Princess Charlie Morningstar," Alastor introduced, pushing Charlie forward. "Daughter of Lucifer and heir to the throne of Hell."

"How do you do?" Charlie awkwardly smiled.

"Well, well, isn't this a regal surprise?" Rosie pushed Charlie behind her desk. "Can I offer you something to eat? I'm sure I have a leg around here or something, oh, what am I thinking? Small thing like you, you're probably watching your figure." Rosie opened up a box filled with fingers, offering some to Charlie. "How about some nice pinky fingers instead?"

"Um, no, no, thank you though," Charlie laughed awkwardly.

Rosie patted Charlie on the head. "Oh, look at you, so polite! Alastor you could learn a thing or two."

Y/N giggled, following Rosie and Charlie as Rosie ushered Charlie to sit down. "Tell Auntie Rosie what she can do for you. Y/N, my love, I got a primo connect on a guy with about eight blocks of territory and not enough to goons to run it. Prime pickings for a deal to be made, wouldn't you agree?"

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm afraid me and Al and here for different kind of business," Y/N stood next to Alastor and Charlie, who was sitting in a chair across from Rosie.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense!" Rosie sipped on her tea. "I'm a very busy woman."

"Well, as you know," Charlie started before freaking out. "The extermination is coming early, it'll be here in a month, and they're coming for my hotel, and my friends first, and I, I, I, I-"

"We need your help," Alastor interrupted. "Well, your cannibals help at least, to fend off the attack."

"Wow, when you ask a favor, you don't start small, do ya, Your Highness," Rosie set her cup down. "Oh now, don't fret! I didn't say I wouldn't help, but I assume there's more to this plan than a bunch of unarmed cannibals."

"Oh, your people will be far from helpless when we're done with them," Alastor smirked. "Any by the end, they will be able to eat. Their. Fill."

"Well, in that case, sure why not,"

"Really?" Charlie asked, her eyes wide.

"What can I say? I like your moxie, girl," Rosie said. "And these two have never done me wrong before."

"Oh thank you, thank you!" Charlie exclaimed.

"Cannibals and Cannabis assemble in the square!" Rosie yelled into a megaphone as the four of them walked to the town square. "Now darling," she said to Charlie without the megaphone. "You know I would do anything, anything for my clients, but I can't exactly command all of Cannibal Town to follow someone else into battle. Now don't get me wrong, they love carnage and bloodshed, but to get this group into line, you got to win them over."

"Settle in! Settle in! Important meeting!" she yelled into the megaphone.

"But how do I-" Charlie began.

"With sparkle!" Rosie interrupted. "Razimataz! And that oh so appealing moxie of yours."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Y/N grinned. "When was the last time you've ever failed to inspire someone?"

The four of them walked up the gazebo stairs, Alastor and Y/N leaning against the guard rail. "Think this'll work?" Y/N muttered.

"Oh, I know so," Alastor replied.

"Now fair warning," Rosie warned. "This group sticks together. So in order to convince any of them, you'll need to convince all of them. And there's one in particular-"

"Ugh, Susan," Y/N groaned, rolling her eyes.

"Susan," Rosie confirmed. "Susan, who's a bit of an uh-"

"Ornery old bitch?"

"Yeah, that," Rosie agreed. "She's tough. But win her over, and the rest will be easy as pie. Ready?"

"I guess," Charlie hesitantly said.

Rosie spoke into the megaphone again. "Everyone, we have a very special, very royal guest this evening! Please put your bloody hands together for Princess Charlie!" she revealed Charlie in front of a microphone.

"Boo!" said a raspy voice. "Bring Rosie back!"

"Susan?" Charlie asked.

"Susan," Rosie, Alastor, and Y/N said at the same time.

Charlie tapped on the microphone, an annoying ringing sound emitting from it. "Heh, sorry," Charlie winced. "Uh, okay, uh my name's Charlie-"

"Boo! Get off the stage!"

"-and I run this hotel with my partner, well with someone-"

"Boo! Get off the stage you blue blood bitch! Boo!"

"-wait a second, let me start over-"

"We don't give a shit about some hotel!"

"-Angels are coming to kill us all and-"

"Leave before I eat those big ass eyes of yours!"

"-and with your assistance we can make a stand-"

"Boo! Where's the showmanship? Where's all the finesse? Fucking mediocre,"

 "Fuck you you old bitch!" Charlie yelled into the microphone, flipping Susan off.

The whole crowd of cannibals gasped. "Okay,"Rosie intervened, pulling away a growling Charlie. "We'll be back after a brief intermission."

Y/N and Alastor stood in the gazebo, watching as Rosie ushered Charlie away and back into the emporium.

"I didn't know that you knew Rosie this well," Alastor said.

"Yeah, we've been friends since I fell," Y/N said, reminiscing on old memories. "She's the one that got me to come to the Hotel."

"Interesting," Alastor murmured. "Maybe if I would of known, I would of gotten to see you again sooner."

Y/N blushed. "Oh well, at least I'm here now,"

"You are correct my dear," Alastor smiled. "And I'm glad that you are."

Charlie and Rosie walked back to the gazebo a few seconds later, a nervous look on Charlie's face. Alastor offered his microphone to her, a reassuring smile on his and Y/N's and Rosie's faces. Charlie took the microphone with a grateful smile, starting to sing into the microphone to all the cannibals.

~also didn't know how to write this part im sorry :(~

After all the singing and dancing, Charlie, Alastor, and Y/N headed back the Hotel, half of Cannibal town following them from behind. They met with Vaggie, who now randomly had a pair of Angel wings,  at the gates to the Hotel, behind her was crates of different kinds of weapons, and Carmilla's daughters wheeling them.

That reminded Y/N to stop by to see Carmilla to stock up on weapons, especially because of what would happen next month.

Y/N was now lounging in the library a few hours later. Most of the Hotel had settled down for the night, except for Charlie, who would occasionally come into the library looking for different kinds of books that could maybe help in the defense of the Hotel next month.

Y/N sat curled on a velvet chaise by the window, a thick book open in her lap. Her wings hung over the back of the seat, and her boots were kicked off nearby.

Her sharp eyes scanned the page, but her mind wandered.

Reading helped. It always had. Back when she was alive, books were the only thing that kept her grounded. She’d read on rooftops, in train cars, even before assassination attempts. Fiction was her escape then, and even now in damnation, it offered a kind of breathless calm she couldn’t find anywhere else.

She had just turned the page when—

“You always were a Brontë girl, weren’t you?”

The familiar voice curled in from behind like smoke.

Y/N didn’t flinch. She marked her page with one finger and looked up slowly. Alastor stood near a shelf to her left, one hand tucked behind his back, the other spinning the dial of an old radio set to silence. His smile was as calm as it was sharp.

“I was,” she said evenly. “Though not for the same reasons you liked Poe.”

“Oh?” Alastor stepped closer. “And what reasons were those?”

“You liked the endings. I liked the middle.”

He chuckled, the sound low and theatrical. “Touché.”

She sighed playfully and closed the book with a quiet thump. “What do you want, Alastor?”

“Just wandering. Saw the light on.” He glanced down at her bare feet and the open book. “Didn’t expect to find you in such… a vulnerable pose.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Readin' is vulnerable now?”

“For you?” He tilted his head. “Yes.”

She rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You always talked too much.”

“And you never said enough,” he replied softly, stepping closer.

The air shifted, dense with something unsaid. Something old and rusted, but not gone.

Y/N stood, book still in hand. “This was my quiet place.”

“And yet I always seem to find you in your quiet places,” Alastor murmured.

She turned toward him, and didn’t step away. Their faces were closer now, shadows flickering between them in the golden light. His smile had faded into something more genuine. Almost boyish.

“It wasn’t all bad, was it?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

He shook his head. “No. Not all.”

Her fingers brushed his lapel. His hand hovered near her cheek, not quite touching, afraid of breaking the moment. Their eyes met, still knowing, still dangerous. The space between them crackled like a radio tuning in to a forgotten frequency.

They leaned in.

An inch. Half.

"Alastor? Are you in here?"

The door creaked.

Both heads turned, Y/N’s hand dropping, Alastor’s stance straightening like a switch had been flipped.

Charlie stood in the doorway, sheepish, one foot still outside like she could back out if she had to." Oh!” she said, flustered. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt! I was just looking for Alastor. I needed his help with something."

Alastor blinked once, then gave a wide, unfazed grin. “Delightful. I’ll be right there.”

Charlie nodded awkwardly and closed the door.

Y/N sighed, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “You were always good at slippin' away right before something happened.”

He adjusted his tie, smirking. “I prefer to keep people wondering.”

She turned away and picked up her book again, not sitting this time.

“Maybe next time,” she said without looking at him.

Alastor paused in the doorway, casting a glance back at her silhouette framed by the window.

“Next time,” he echoed.

Then he was gone, and the library returned to its silence.

Only this time, Y/N didn’t open her book again.

ONLY TWO MORE CHAPTERS LEFT

cant believe i started this a year ago <3

dont worry, i'll continue the story once season 2 comes out

stay safe and drink lots of water <33

xoxo, Izzy

Taglist <3

@maksdust @trippoverrt @slytherin4ever @lucifers-silhouette @a-small-tyrant

@mo-0-o @cutiebimbo @bbakaricanbake @mommymilkers0526 @mikariell95

@al-of-the-stars @martinys-world @mysticwitchcraftco @the-spamtong-1997 @flamewriterr

@diffidentphantom @alastor-simp @mydeeralastor @shadowqueen1322

if you would like to be added to the taglist lemme know <33

[landwriter]

I know you've sort of migrated over to Arcane for the time being, but would happily take any Sandman thoughts or WIP updates floating around in your brain!

(Also please feel better soon. ❤️)

Thank you! :)

Funnily enough, I just started working on the seventies SF AU (Lighthouses tag) again after months away. I'd been feeling really uninspired on it but something this week called me back! It's in that awkward stage--maybe you know it, depending on your writing process?--where you've got all the really good solid bits down but it's missing some vital connective tissue. It's 32K and I think I can come in under 40, but those last bits really are the most treacherous and annoying.

As far as Arcane goes, I don't think I've migrated as much as been scooped up temporarily and dropped into my own private obsession. It truly is one singular fic and a highly specific haunting that I need to exorcise. I just cannot and will not get over the idea of these two characters being foils for one another, who are alike in so many ways but living on opposite sides of a coin (a coin that says, I have made myself into a weapon, a coin that says I measure myself by my service to others, that has manacles engraved on it with the word loyalty underneath); who collide once, by chance, and then come together again and again, like magnets, a visceral inexplicable yanking; recognizing themselves in the other, and believing, despite knowing better, that love can transform another person enough to change who they are, and change them enough to save them. It's the Fox and the Hound. It's two knights in warring kingdoms. It's lovers trapped in a story that always ends with facing each other down on a bridge. It's holding hands in the dark, and trying to rewrite the ending. I digress! Very normal about it. As you can see. Super normal.

Have a big long (1.5K) Lighthouses excerpt under the cut. Any of you who've been following along and waiting for this fic are saints in your own right. Dream phones Hob while sick, and Hob talks to him until he falls asleep:

When the sound of the phone ringing cuts through his sleep, Hob stares at the ceiling for another ring or two before he fully understands it’s a phone, and his, and he has to get out from under the covers to answer it. Groaning, he stands and turns on the light, blinking hard. The kitchen clock says it’s just after five, and he jolts the rest of the way awake, hurrying to pick it up. Something’s wrong at home. Nobody here would call him at this hour, but it’s already eight o’clock back east. “Ma?” he answers.

“Oh. No.”

“Dream,” he breathes out. Relief unknits his shoulders. “Hey. Why are you up so early? Did something happen?”

“I did not sleep. In the first place.”

Hob waits, but he doesn’t say anything else. The sound of Dream’s voice, scraped raw, answers the rest of Hob’s question anyway.

“I’ll bring you notes from class. Is that why you called? You sound rotten.”

“Yes,” says Dream, haltingly. “Thank you.” He starts to say something else but stops and coughs sharply. Then he speaks again, in tight measured bursts, and Hob can nearly feel the titanic effort of Dream stubbornly holding off from coughing. “Did I wake you. You said. You were. An early riser.”

Then he muffles the receiver and resumes hacking. Hob grimaces in sympathy. He glances sidelong at the clock, and bites his lip. 5:05. He’d bet a crisp Benjamin he doesn’t have that Dream was staring at the clock too, waiting for the first acceptable moment to call. The sudden wash of protective fondness threatens to drown him.

“I am. I’m up for the day,” he says, as soon as Dream catches his breath again. It is, technically speaking, the truth. He’s not going to go and let Dream feel even worse for what the man presumably deems the mortal sin of needing a small favour when he can barely string together a sentence.

The quiet susurration of static hisses between them. When he realizes Dream isn’t hanging up, he eyes the front door. “Listen, if you can’t sleep, do you want company? I could come over.” He shifts and stretches, putting clothes on in his mind.

“No,” says Dream, and his imagined self, half the way out the door already, turns back and glares bitterly at the phone.

Hob chews his lip instead of asking, Can I come over anyways? He can’t bring himself to let Dream off the phone just yet. “Well, let me distract you from your misery. If you’re lucky, I’ll be boring enough that you finally catch some sleep.”

There’s a long pause. “Alright,” Dream replies. “Since you insist.”

Hob grins. “Can your phone reach your bed?”

“Why?”

“Well, you’re definitely not going to fall asleep if you’re standing by the phone, are you?”

“Oh. No.”

Hob smiles at his own bed across the room as he listens to the sounds of shuffling. His stomach does something funny, with Dream in this state, still him but not, slow and pliable from exhaustion. Letting himself be bossed around by Hob. Just a little.

He hears a distant cough and then Dream brings the receiver back to his mouth. “Alright.”

“Good?”

“Miserable.”

Hob snorts. He can picture Dream sitting propped up in his bed with his phone beside him, receiver cradled in his hand. Chest aching like hell, probably. Delirious with exhaustion. He slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor. Doesn’t even know what he’s going to say until he opens his mouth, still thinking of other nights he’s been up, sleepless. Thinking of withstanding suffering. “Alright. When I played football in high school,” he starts, smiling when he hears a little huff on the other end, “Coach would lead us in this prayer before games. Same one every time, sent up to the patron saint of athletes. Saint Sebastian, give these boys the strength and fortitude to prevail. We must’ve heard it a hundred times. I end up looking him up in the library one day on my free period. I’m killing time and I see this big book of illustrated saints off the shelf. Alright. I wanna know. Who’s this guy that’s supposed to stop us from getting our asses kicked, right? What’d he ever do?”

“I know who he is,” rasps Dream, who even while sick as a dog can’t resist showing off his omniscient knowledge. “He-”

Hob hushes him. “‘Course you do. But I didn’t. Picture me, sixteen or so, finding his entry. In the school library. Saint Sebastian, martyr. Commanded to be shot to death by archers. But the art. He’s in this little loincloth, bound by rope to a tree, muscles straining, pierced with arrows. I stared at it until the bell rang. Then I did something terrible.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “I tore the page out of the book and shoved it right into the pocket of my letterman jacket.”

“No.” A scandalized croak.

“Oh, yes. I took him home with me,” he says, laughing. “Hid him under my mattress between the pages of a Playboy. He became my patron saint.”

“Undignified.”

“No way. Undignified was me imagining how I’d come upon him in the woods, and rescue him. I was one of his loyal converted soldiers, wasn’t I. I’d untie the ropes, suck the venom out of his wounds-”

“Venom?” interrupts Dream.

“Listen, I’d just seen Strange Cargo.”

“That’s a myth. It doesn’t work.”

“Come on, you’ve gotta give me a little creative leeway for my sexual fantasies, man.” Then he realizes what he’s said and feels his ears get hot. “But it doesn’t work in the movie either. The guy doing it knows it won’t do anything. He just wanted the guy who was poisoned to know somebody cared about him, before he bit the dust.”

Dream is quiet. The hush of static over the line feels charged in a way it didn’t before. Hob winces. He’d just wanted Dream to laugh at his expense. He grasps for a change the subject, but Dream speaks up before he can find something, anything, better than sexual fantasies.

“That’s very kind of him.” A beat. “Is that what you’re doing now?” His voice is low. He doesn’t sound like he’s teasing at all.

“God, you’re dramatic. You just have a cold,” Hob says, while trying very hard to not imagine pressing his mouth tenderly to a mortal wound on Dream’s thigh. Failing.

“But you do,” says Dream, very quietly.

“Do what?”

“Care. About me.”

Hob swallows down the first three traitorous words that spring to his lips. Dream must be feeling pretty damn sorry for himself, talking like that. Doesn’t mean Hob has any right to say what he wants to say. “Yeah,” he says. “I do. Of course I do. You’re my best friend. I’d suck the venom out, any day. Even if it did no good.”

Dawn is starting to lighten the room. Hob hums. “You know what, I’m pretty sure that’s why I imagined it. Embarrassing as hell, but that’s what it was for me. I mean, it was hot. But mostly it was the thought of putting my mouth to another guy’s skin and, God, and showing him I care, you know? Acting all swaggering like Steve McQueen or Clark Gable but secretly saying, I cared about you. I really cared. Being somebody’s arms to lie in, as they died. As long as there was mortal peril. Saint Sebastian, barely surviving the arrows, or that poor bastard in the desert, bit by a snake. Because there was no other good reason I could think of to hold another man that close.”

He twines and untwines the cord around his fingers, itching for a cigarette. This is the sort of thing he could never say to somebody’s face. Not even Dream’s.

“Sure, it would be nice to be somebody’s arms without all the tragedy. But that didn’t occur to me back then. To be honest, I’ve only just started to realize it is. Never felt possible before. So I never got around to wishing for it. Until here.” Until you.

He trails off into silence. Dream says nothing.

“Dream?” he asks, softly. His heart is pounding again like he just got woken up.

Nothing but the faint hush of static answers him. Hob squeezes his eyes shut and sighs. “Hey. You still awake?”

There’s no response. Well, for the better. To be spared of hearing Hob empty his guts like that.

He gently hangs up the phone, and groans as he stands up, stiff, and walks back to his bed. He imagines Dream in his own bed, dozing curled beside the phone, receiver lying next to his face, and wishes he could be there. Wishes he could see him, getting some rest at last.

Wishes, so stupid that it hurts his chest like holding in a bad cough, that he could be his arms to lie in.

[rattsin]

Fury made Alanna gasp for breath. How could anyone get well in a menagerie? How could Jonathan breathe? This went against all the commonsense rules Maude had taught her for healing: clean air, quiet, absolute cleanliness, calm and reassuring voices. Didn't these people know anything?

[mamawasatesttube]

im sick (again :/) so we're on silly time lockdown. please enjoy tim experiencing the consequences of pissing off a drunk wizard (get psychic blasted idiot)

“Kon, I could really use you here, if you’re”—Cassie grunts with some kind of effort—”not busy.”

The wind whistles past Kon’s ears as he picks up speed, leaving the golden fields of wheat behind. Cassie’s voice reaches him the slightest instant faster as he gets closer to Titans’ Tower:

“It’s nothing, like, life-threatening, but I promised my mom I’d—Tim, stop wiggling!—I promised my mom I’d help her out with this big thing at the museum tonight, and—”

Kon barely alights on the rooftop and zooms down into the common room, not bothering to actually let his feet touch the ground until he’s there. And then he blinks.

“What’s… er, what’s up?”

“Oh, thank the gods.” Cassie, holding a squirming bundle of black fabric, breathes a sigh of relief. She shoves the blob at Kon, who belatedly realizes that it’s Tim, wrapped up in his own cape like a delinquent cat in a towel at the vet. “This is your problem now.”

“Kon!” Tim sounds overjoyed, albeit muffled by cloth. “You’re here!”

“Uh… yes. Hi?” Kon turns the cape bundle in his arms to locate Tim’s face, flushed from struggling hopelessly against Cassie. The moment Tim’s eyes fall on Kon’s face, he lights up with a brilliant smile.

“Hi,” Tim says, and wiggles in Kon’s arms. “Hi, Kon!”

Okay, something is definitely wrong with him. “That’s me,” Kon agrees, and looks back over at Cassie. “Why is he in the punishment burrito?”

Cassie gives Tim a long-suffering look and rakes her hand through her hair. “Because,” she says, “after the third time he forgot his grapple line is broken and tried to climb out the window anyway, I got sick of his shit.”

“Kon,” Tim says, wriggling some more. He hasn’t stopped beaming. “Hi. You’re Kon.”

“I sure am,” Kon agrees, raising an eyebrow. Since he has the showstopping, awesomely handy-dandy power of TTK, he lets Tim get his arms free of his cape, just to see what he’ll do; to his surprise, all Tim does is grab two handfuls of the back of Kon’s jacket, then buries his face in his shoulder and hums in contentment.

“Kon,” Tim says again, rubbing his cheek against his shoulder. “You’re nice.”

“I do my best to be, yeah.” Kon pats Tim’s head, bewildered and a little amused. “Cass, what happened to him?”

Cassie buries her face in her hands. “We may have kiiiind of pissed off a wizard? And then there was, um… well, it turns out he specialized in psychic blasts, and he may have announced that by zapping the shit out of Tim?”

Zapping—

Alarmed, Kon looks down at Tim, sweeping him over with X-ray vision. No broken bones or any immediate damage sticks out; he doesn’t even have a bump on his head to show. But he’s sure acting weird! He’s still nuzzling Kon’s shoulder like a cat, not even trying to get out of his grasp. 

What does that even mean? Kon doesn’t know anything about how to help with psychic injuries! What if the damage is permanent? What’s gonna—

“Okay, okay, chill, whoa!” Cassie holds up her hands quickly. “That’s your doom and gloom freakout face, whoa, I promise it’s not all that bad! I already got him checked out, Raven said he’s gonna be fine, it’s just—he’s just gonna be a little loopy for a bit until it wears off, that’s all.”

Loopy, huh? That sure is an apt descriptor. Kon shifts Tim in his arms, absently rubbing his back; Tim hums in contentment, boneless against his chest. Honestly, Kon’s amazed that Cassie needed to punishment burrito him.

“Okay, so…” Kon glances down at Tim again, then back to Cassie. “I just gotta watch him for a bit, make sure he doesn’t try to climb out any windows?”

“Yeah! Pretty much.” Cassie shifts her weight, rakes her hand through her hair, and glances at the clock on the wall. “I’m super sorry to dump this—Tim—on you and run, but I promised my mom I’d help out with the museum charity gala thing tonight and I gotta be there to help the setup crews in, like, twenty minutes, and…”

Kon waves her off. “Hey, it’s no big! S’not like Tim and I don’t like to hang out. Right, buddy?”

Tim lifts his head, looks at Cassie, and puffs up his chest importantly. He jerks a thumb at himself and announces, “I’m Kon’s buddy.”

Cassie stares at him, unimpressed, and raises her eyes to the high heavens. “Yeah, Tim, you sure are.”

[starflungwaddledee]

Oooo starstruck dee has little stars at the bottom of her feet! Are they just aesthetic or would they make imprints into the ground? (like pawprints)

exactly like that! though she's not the only one...

edit: might need to add some additional dialogue to this to make it more clear, but a clarification in the interim; he knows about his own footprints. he's just surprised to see something similar already there when he knows he's only just landed. he lifts his own shoe to confirm that they're not identical (and also to reveal this to the viewer). seems his stoicism beat off the clarity in this one, sorry 😭

[moe-broey]

My homunculus

Hashtag my homunculus

[timothyslucy]

thinking about that japril scene where april breaks down in tears when she tells jackson that they were having a baby boy, and how much i want that for chenford, but happy!!! like... they agree that they don't care about knowing the sex of their baby, but lucy accidentally finds out somehow, and in her excitement she stops by the precinct over lunch, or after shift to tell tim, "we're having a girl" with the biggest smile on her face, only to quickly go into a slight panic when his face drops like 😧 and she starts to ramble like, "l-look, i know you probably wanted a boy first-" but tim surprises her by interrupting her and crashing his lips to hers, only to pull away with tears in his eyes like, "no, i want this. i want exactly this."