#as if they both aren't depressed fucks anyways lol

[measuredingold]

my soul is useless without you

author's note: part two to i'd walk through hell for you is finally here ! i'm not sure if i want to do a third part, but we’ll see lol but i'm currently working on something for folio 👀 as always, i hope you enjoy and feedback is appreciated ! also, if yall have any requests, send them my way :) i'm in the mood to write but inspiration is running thin lol

pairing: noah sebastian x reader

divider: @saradika-graphics

word count: 3.5k

cross posted on ao3 / part one

cw/tw: angst, hurt/comfort, Noah Sebastian Is Bad At Feelings But A Good Friend, reader is going through it, anxiety, hints/mentions of depression, noah is just a good guy and cares about reader a lot ( more than he realizes ), friends to lovers pining lol, 18+ minors do not interact

It's when Jolly asks Noah in-between takes if he'd heard from you recently that the anxiety finally settles in.

Because he doesn't know the last time he's heard from you. Which isn't normal.

He's a bad texter, notorious for looking at messages and making a note to reply to them later or replying in his mind, but he always makes sure to reply to you whenever the two of you aren't together. It's just always been a thing, to always have some form of communication with you when he wasn't over at yours or if you weren't at his, so it panics him when he can't remember the last time he'd spoken to you.

He goes through your messages and finds that it wasn't him this time who didn't respond, but instead it was you. Relief washes over him briefly, the guilt of forgetting to respond to his best friend vanishing, but then that anxiety comes back full force. 

You didn't respond.

You always responded.

He sends off a quick message to you, apologizing for being in studio mode and not leaving the house and asks if you're alright. He waits. They go through another take, he somehow doesn't fuck it up even though his mind isn't all the way there. You still haven't responded by the fifth take and that's when he starts to feel sick, stomach twisting with the worry of what could be wrong. 

He tries to think back to if you've ever gone this long without speaking and he can't think of a time when that has happened. 

"Earth to Noah." Jolly's voice pulls him away from his thoughts.

"Oh. Uh, sorry." 

"All good, man." His bandmate eyes him for a second before his eyes flicker towards his phone. "She respond?"

"Um. No." His brows furrowed as he stared at his phone, the black screen mocking him. "Kind of worried."

"Yeah... I am, too." Jolly murmurs. He clicks around on the screen a few times before twisting his chair around to fully face Noah, arms crossing over his chest. "You should go over there. Check and make sure she's alright."

Noah raises a brow at him. "We're in the middle of recording?"

"And?" Jolly shrugs, waving him off. "We got a lot done today, we can wrap it up. Something's obviously wrong and she might need you. That's more important than some song."

He blinks at his friend, letting his words settle in. Jolly's right, he thinks. You are more important than whatever song they're working on. That confirmation makes him feel funny, something tightening beneath his chest but he ignores it, nodding slowly. 

"Okay. You wanna come?"

Jolly shakes his head. "Nah. The both of us might be overwhelming. If you do need me then call, if not..." He shrugs again before lifting himself up out of his chair, groaning softly to himself, "...might be best for just you to go. She'd probably feel better if it's just you, anyways. You know how she is."

Noah isn't quite sure what he means, but nods along anyways. He checks his phone again and still no text, but he notices that you read the message. He should feel relieved at the sign of life but it only makes his anxiety worse, stomach twisting violently. 

"Okay. I'll text you when I get there." 

He's practically running out of the studio after that, the only thing on his mind was you. He needed to make sure you were okay. Deep down he knew that if this was him, you would've already been here, and he feels guilty all over again. He should've paid more attention, shouldn't have let this slip his mind so easily. He thinks back to your last messages together and how you were talking about your work day, overwhelmed and quite frankly, upset about it all. He should've paid closer attention.

He makes it to yours in record time, legs moving him to the door before he can even think about it. He sends up a quiet prayer to the universe that you had given him an extra key months ago and uses it to unlock the door, slowly pushing it open.

He calls out your name, but no answer.

His eyes sweep over your apartment as he enters, scanning the open space. Your kitchen looked untouched, minus the few dirty dishes that were in your sink. A few boxes of Chinese take-out and some bottles of water. He feels almost relieved. You'd been eating and as far as he can tell you'd been keeping yourself somewhat hydrated, so that was a plus. He knows how bad you can be when you get into this headspace - brain fog, forgetting to do basic things like eating and drinking water. But this... this is a step in the right direction.

His eyes move towards the living room and it's just about the same. A pile of blankets lay together at one end of the couch, pillows scattered along the length of the cushions. You'd been there quite a bit, he can tell, but other than that nothing was too bad.

Noah feels like he can breathe for just a second, eyes going straight to the cracked open door to your bedroom. He hears the faint hum of your television and hears the muffled voice of your favorite characters in your favorite comfort show. His chest tightens. You only ever watch it when things get bad inside your head, when things start to become too overwhelming and you need to cling onto something that you know. Something that won't throw any surprises at you and make things worse. 

He makes his way towards your room, ready to call out your name again as he pushes open your door but stops halfway. You're curled up in your bed, covered in a pile of blankets. He steps closer to get a better look at you and he doesn't think he's ever seen you look so peaceful. Lashes against the tops of your cheeks, lips parted. The crease between your brows is relaxed, which never happens. 

Noah takes a deep breath.

You're alright. He can see that you're safe and sound, at least for now, and that's enough for him. He shuts your door behind him and makes his way back into the main room, taking his shoes off by the door. He takes another deep breath to center himself as he looks around your space, hand finding its way to his hair. 

He decides he'll clean up your kitchen and living room. It isn't too bad, and it won't take him too long. He also just... doesn't want to leave yet. He'll wait until you wake up. Make you talk to him, ask what’s up. Probably make you eat something. Then he'll head home. 

Sounds like a good plan to him.

Even though your door is shut he still tries to be quiet, making sure to carefully wash and put away your dishes without making too much of a fuss. After the dishes, he throws away all the take-out boxes and water bottles. He even makes a note to take the trash out for you when he's all done, because he knows you would've done it for him. 

The constant reminder of you and knowing that you'd do something like this for him, and have, is the motivation he needs to continue. It makes him feel warm all over and he thinks how lucky he is to have someone like you as his best friend.

And he definitely ignores the bitter taste in his mouth at the word best friend. 

It's maybe an hour after he's finished, curled up on your couch that now has its pillows in place, and the pile of blankets are neatly folded and put away, that you finally emerge from your room. You rub the sleep out of your eyes, not noticing him on the couch at first, but when you do you make a noise of surprise that has Noah laughing.

"Hey."

He notices the slight flush of your cheeks but ignores it. "Hi?"

"I uh," He scratches the back of his neck, sending you a sheepish smile. "Hadn't talked to you in a few days. Got worried. So did Jolly. Told me to come over. Check on you. You were sleeping so I just," He throws his arms around, gesturing to the space around him, "cleaned up a little? Figured you would appreciate a clean house when you woke up so..." 

He's talking too much, he knows it, but he can't seem to stop the word vomit from coming out. Noah knows you wouldn't mind, but he was nervous, especially because all you do is stare at him without saying a word. Stare and stare and stare until you sniff, brows furrowing.

"...Thanks."

You're unusually quiet and it makes his stomach turn again. You sniff again and Noah swears you look like you're on the verge of tears, and he sits up on the couch. He watches you closely as you wring your hands together in front of you, mouth opening and closing as if you want to say something. You don't, and Noah catches the exact moment when your bottom lip trembles, and he's moving before he can even think about it.

"Hey. It's okay. You’re okay."

He tries to keep his voice soft and free of any panic, but his heart is beating so rapidly against his chest he swears you can hear it. You sniff again, head shaking as your lip continues to tremble and he does the only thing he can think of. He pulls you into his arms and presses you into his chest. You don't move for a second, but eventually your arms circle around his waist. You squeeze, tight, but he doesn't mind. He just squeezes you back. 

Your body begins to shake as the cries start to rack through you, the sound muffled by the fabric of his shirt. Noah swallows down the lump that was beginning to form, cheek resting on the top of your head. He's always hated when you cry. He himself wasn’t one for much display of emotions, but when it came to the people he cared about, he hated seeing them anything but happy. 

Especially you.

He's seen you cry a few times. Well, more than a few times. Sometimes it was over nothing, and then sometimes it was over an incredibly cute dog you'd seen scrolling on Twitter. He didn't mind those, but when it was over something serious, he fucking hated that. He never wanted you to be anything but happy, and whenever you weren’t, it’s like a piece of him breaks. 

“What’s wrong?” He whispers into your hair, trying to pull you even closer to him.

“Everything.” You eventually mumble against his chest, sucking in a deep breath as you try to control your tears. “Fucking everything is wrong.” 

He fucking hates the way that answer makes him feel. His chest feels like it's on fire, and he swears his heart just fucking broke at how sad you sounded, voice muffled by his shirt. He squeezes you to his chest again.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

He wants you to talk about it, to tell him what's wrong so he can make it better. Noah knows it'll probably be damn near impossible to even do that, but god, he'd try absolutely anything to make your tears stop. You take a long moment to respond, trying to control your breathing, before you eventually shake your head against his chest.

"Not right now." 

"Okay.” He mumbles, raising a hand to smooth down your hair. “That's okay, we don't have to."

"Thank you."

You stay like that for a moment, in the middle of your living room. Noah doesn't plan on letting go any time soon, thinking for a split second that he wished he could keep you in his arms forever. If you were there, he'd always know if you were okay. The thought fades before he could think too hard about it when you finally pull away from him, and Noah catches sight of your slight red and blotchy face. He frowns.

He doesn't remember the last time he's ever seen you so sad. So defeated. Whatever was going on really pained you, and he wishes you'd just tell him so he can fix it. Another passing, fleeting thought, but he thinks he'd do just about anything right now to see you smile again. 

"Have you eaten?" He breaks the silence between the two of you, not waiting to hear whatever you were planning on saying.

You blink up at him. "Um... no. Not since this morning. Had some fruit and coffee." 

"I figured." He guides you towards the couch, practically pushing you onto it. You snort when he grabs a throw blanket and dumps it onto you. "Pick something to watch." 

It's not a question, but more of a command, and Noah ignores the way his chest flutters at the small smile you give him. He turned away from you, pushing whatever feeling was brewing inside of him so far down and got his brain to focus. Food. You need food. To be honest, so does he. He’d been so worried about you for the last few hours that he didn’t even think of getting something to eat. 

It takes him a few minutes of rummaging around your kitchen to settle on making something easy - instant ramen. He’s surprised you hadn't eaten it all in the week you’ve been off-grid, but thankful nonetheless. Noah's way too impatient to wait any longer to actually cook something, especially knowing you hadn't eaten anything since this morning. Every so often he looked over his shoulder to watch you, wishing you'd say something, but would find you either staring blankly at the television or your phone.

A bitter taste settles in the back of his throat every time he turns back around to the stove. He hated this, and he fucking hated that he couldn't do a goddamn thing about it.

He brings your bowl to you once he's finished, already making a mental note to clean up the mess he had made while cooking. You blink up at him and reach for it, giving him a quiet, "Thank you."

Noah doesn't verbally say anything, just hums out a response as he ventures back into the kitchen to grab you something to drink. When he comes back he notices you had slowly begun to eat, and he feels his shoulders finally relax. Just knowing you ate something eases him, the tension in his body leaving him completely. You're already reaching out for the glass of water in his hand that he happily hands off to you, giving you a gentle smile.

"Need anything else?"

You shake your head, peering up at him. "No. Just want you to come sit with me." 

That same fluttery feeling beneath his chest returns and he wishes he could ignore it again, but it doesn't go away. No, it stays perched underneath his chest, as if it's decided that it's making a home there and never leaving. He doesn't say anything, just nods at your request before grabbing his own bowl and a Pepsi you had in the fridge before making his way back to you.

You wait until he's settled on the couch to scoot closer to him, legs pressed flushed together. You're already halfway through your ramen and for a split second he forgets that weird feeling in his chest, instead focusing on the intense pride filling him. He was able to get you to eat, he was able to help out in some way. Knowing you were alright for the most part and it was from his doing made him feel good.

The both of you eat in silence as whatever show you decided to put on plays in the background. He’s just now realized it was The Office, and he huffs out a small laugh at something Michael Scott said. Another one of your comfort shows, something easy. 

It isn't until you both are finished with your food and Noah's back in the kitchen cleaning up that you finally speak. He doesn't hear you come up behind him, focused on washing the dishes and making sure everything's clean and good to go, so he can't help but jump when he feels your arms slip around his waist and squeeze.

"Shit." He swears, followed by a breathy chuckle. "You scared me."

You don't say anything to that, just squeeze him harder and he feels you press your face against his back. Then ever so softly, he picks up the faintest, "Thank you," muffled against his back. His face flushes, eyes casting down to the soapy water his hands were currently submerged in. He's glad you can't see the blush on his cheeks, and he fucking hopes you can't hear the way his heart is pounding beneath his chest. Can probably feel it, though, and that makes his face burn even more. 

"For what?" He manages to mumble out, resuming his efforts. Your arms squeeze his waist again.

"For being here." You sound so small. "You don't have to be, but you are, and I can't thank you enough for that."

"You'd do it for me." His response comes easily, voice nonchalant because it's true. He knows you'd do the same for him, and the thought has his stomach flipping every which way. "And have done it for me. It's the least I can do."

You're silent after that but don't part from him, and Noah can't help the smile that spreads across his lips at the feeling of you rubbing your face against him. It makes him feel warm all over, and that damned fluttery feeling in his chest is back yet again. You stay like that until he's finished with the dishes, moving with him as he shuffles to the side to dry them off. You don't pick your head up even when he manages to turn in your arms, finally facing you. 

Noah's arms wrap around you, pulling you closer to him and now you can rub your face against his chest. He laughs softly, pressing his cheek against the top of your head.

"Still don't wanna talk about it?" He knows he's pressing but he can't help it, a part of him still needs to know what's wrong and how he can fix this for you.

You shake your head. "Not yet. Tomorrow, okay? I just... don't wanna think about it tonight."

"Okay." He thinks he can handle that. 

"Thank you." You say again and finally lift your head up from his chest, blinking up at him. There's still a sadness there, roaming around behind your eyes, but not as prevalent as it was earlier. He’s at least done something right. "I'm really fucking lucky to have you, you know that, right?"

The way you're looking up at him is overwhelming, Noah's throat tightening at the softness surrounding your tired eyes. You smile at him and this time it reaches your gaze, not faked but real, and his heart slams against his chest. A thought passes his mind again, something he hasn't thought of in years, and he pushes it back with a hard swallow.

"You're just saying that because you didn't have to do the dishes."

You roll your eyes but that smile never drops from your lips, and Noah thinks he'd like to keep you smiling like that for the rest of his life. 

"Shut up. I'm being serious." You're giggling now, eyes crinkling and he catches a glimpse of the real you for the first time in hours - probably days, weeks even. 

"So am I." Noah yelps when you pinch his side, your laughter growing louder. "Hey!"

"I'm trying to be nice here, asshole. You can at least try, too."

He softens at that, eyes meeting yours. He's well aware his face is on fire right now, cheeks pink.

"You already know I'm lucky to have you. Didn't realize I had to say it."

Even if he doesn't say it often, he is very lucky. So incredibly lucky to have you in his life, for sticking by him and for understanding him. For always being patient with him. Jolly reminds him occasionally how lucky he is to have you, how all of them are lucky to have someone like you in their lives. He doesn't know what the fuck he or anyone did to be so deserving of you, but dammit, he's fucking thankful for it everyday. 

You don't say anything, just continue to beam up at him and Noah can't seem to stop himself, tilting his head down to brush his lips against your forehead. He feels you press further into his chest, if it was even possible, and practically melt in his arms. 

He wishes he could keep you here forever, tucked away in his arms. He thinks there isn't much he wouldn't do to keep you safe, to make sure you were okay, and that thought alone scares him. He'd never admit it, at least not out loud, and he tucks that thought away for another time. Or to possibly be never thought of again, he doesn't know. He doesn't really care.

No, all he cares about right now is that you're okay, at least for now, and that you're nestled against his chest like it's the only place you want to be. 

And that's enough for him. 

[occultradio]

4am on another night I'm with you When your broken ghost dies Look at me You look divine I stay with you When your broken ghost dies 🎶🎶🎶

[virq-qgo]

Wolverine x reader

Uh, yeah i know its been like two years LOL. Literately after posting my last fanfic my dog died of cancer. Got like super depressed lmao.. anyways i watched the new movie and i creamed my pants so i had to write the absolute worst fanfic ever. So like this is a warning, its been two years since ive touched my computer and my skills aren't that good anymore.

summary: going to the bar undercover with the man you hate the most had a twisted turn, not expecting to get shot or telling him your feelings.

warnings: cussing, bad writing, random character death, bad writing, not proof read, and this is really long for no reason..

You didn’t quite understand why you were being dragged along with this so called “mission”

It was just one bad dude who robbed a place, so why were you at a damn bar with the person you hate the most. Everyone was aware of this. You two couldn’t be in the same room together without an argument that almost leads to a fight. So why are you here?

So sitting on the bar stool with a glass of water in your hand, a skirt you were wearing too short and a top that left the mind to wonder. What made the whole situation worse was that your worst enemy was sitting next to you, the wolverine aka Logan Howlett.

You knew he was enjoying this by the way he was ordering shot by shot, it was disgustingly attractive the way the man could pour down the hardest liquor down his throat. Rolling your eyes, you focus back on the bartender, watching him make drinks and showing off to the drunken girlfriends or wives. Obviously ignoring the wicked glares he received from their partners sitting next to them.

“Hey, bartender.” you hear Logan call out. “I need something a little harder than this.”

“Nothing for the beautiful lady sitting next to you?” the man behind the counter smirks as he poured a drink for another customer. Totally ignoring Logan's request.

A soft polite smile sits on your face while trying to stuff down the unpleasant feeling you got from the bartender. “Only if it's on the house.”

“For you?” he smiles, “you can have whatever you like.”

Your eyes crinkle from disgust but to the bartender it was from joy. “Oh, you know how to touch a woman's heart.”

You hear Logan scoff while feeling his dark eyes on you. It’s been 10 minutes since you two have been here and you're already getting underneath his skin.

“Something wrong Logan?” you call him out, turning to face him instead of the creep you call bartender.

Logan rolls his eyes as he tosses his head back and downs his shot. “Show a little boob and wear a tiny skirt, and you get anything you want.” 

“Yeah, I would say you should try it. But you don’t have much to show..”

“Is that how you got here, getting passed around the team?”

 “Yup,” you say with a sarcastic smile on your face while pretending to count to the number 8 on your fingers. “Just gotta get into your pants and then I get my reward.”

Logan looks at you with a face of disgust not sure if you were messing with him or not. “Excuse me?”

Just as soon as you open your mouth to make a smartass comment. A sudden yell echoes across the room then the sound of wood breaking. Both you and Logan twist around to see the scene. There you see the “bad guy” you guys were supposed to be after. He had just brutally smashed someone's head into the table, successfully breaking the table in half.

“That a murder.” the words fall from your lips when you see the broken piece of the table

through the poor soul's head.

“Shut the fuck up you fucking clown. That's our guy.” Logan responded in a whisper. But when he didn't hear a snotty response he twisted his head to look at you, only to find your seat empty. Instead he saw you walking towards the scene, causing a deep growl to fall from his lips. Finding himself to chase after you.

Typically, you would leave this stuff for logan. But the guy was instantly on the run. And you didn’t really have a choice but to chase after him. “Hey excuse me!” You yell at the bad guy, instantly frowning as you see the blood cover his hands and shirt.”where do you think you're going, dude? Breaking that table and killing that poor guy? What an asshole!”

The bad guy looked at you, his brows furrowing. His body filled with rage. Who do you think he is and calling him “dude”. If you were here to stop him, then so be it. But you were just a girl, and women are weak. You were easy to dispose of. “Listen lil’ lady. I'll give you a quick death if you leave me alone.”

“I don’t think so, I need you to come with me anyways.”

The man sighs as he hears the words fall from your lips, “How annoying.” he thought.

“Hey, don’t you fucking run off on me like that.” You hear Logan say as he walks up next to you. Making you roll your eyes and turn your head to face him. 

It was so quick to happen you couldn’t even process it, the only thing that processed that very moment was the ear ringing bang that echoed through the air. Then Logan shouting your name. You remember seeing him running away, his face looking angry. It felt like you were standing there for hours, like you were zoning out. Then you remembered him, the guy you were supposed to get. But as soon as you took that first step, that's when you felt it. Burning pain spreads through your body making you want to cry out. Your hand instinctively reaches out to where you feel the pain, not expecting your hand to be bloodied when you pull it back to inspect it. 

You got shot. 

Now you remember why you guys were supposed to basically kidnap this guy, he was a mutant. His abilities were dangerous. The way he fought was with guns and his bullets being made by his blood, it's how he killed people. It was poisonous.

Soft curses leave your lips as you press your hand tight against your wound, but your blood was still pooling out. You felt weak, like you could barely stand and keep your eyes open. You felt as if you were gonna drop dead at any given moment. But you had to help Logan, you two were supposed to do this together. 

The first step you took, you felt your knee give out. Sending your whole body to the ground, but the impact never came. Instead you feel a strong pair of arms lift up your weak body, your eyes see logan. But you refuse to believe it was him. He wouldn’t do this. Why was your body seeing things?

“You idiot! Why did you run off and chase after him like that? You know you don’t have any special abilities to protect you if he attacked you, so why?” He yelled, Logan was truthfully more scared and worried than angry. He was running as fast as he could to the jet to get you medical aid. But he only had so much time to spare before your body was consumed by the poison.

“What happened?” your voice was soft when you asked.

“You were shot in your chest! I can see the huge fucking hole!”

“I can feel it.” Even though you were basically dying, you couldn’t help but make a simple joke. “Y’know, even though you’re a total dick. You have good arm muscles. I like the way they can hold me so tightly. I feel like a princess.” you smile “If it takes getting shot and dying for you to

care, then maybe i should get shot more often.”

Logan frowns as he hears your comment, still rushing to get you to the jet as fast as possible. “You’re so fucking stupid, you’re not dying. If you wanted me to hold you in my arms then all you had to do was ask bub.” 

A weight of relief went off his soldiers once he saw the jet, he was right there. But when he looked at you, he saw that your hand was pressed against his chest and your eyes were on him. Barely opened. “Hey, stay with me.” he comments. “Keep your eyes open, please. We're almost there!”

Your eyes scrunch together as you see his lips move but no words come out, it didn’t help much that you were fading in and out of consciousness. Growing up, you were told not to be afraid of dying because you could die at any given time. Despite all the missions you’ve been on and how many times you were knocking on death's door. You were never afraid. But today was different, why were you so afraid? Maybe it was because you're dying pathetically, or the fact that you're in the arms of a man you’ve fallen in love with.

“I’m sorry.” you tell him, your voice soft and weak. Blood drips from your lips and down your chin. Your hand grabbing his shirt. Everything was going by so fast. In the middle of a deep silence, you look up into Logans eyes, knowing these might be your last moments together. Pain rushes through your body and words fly out of your mouth before your brain can catch up, and you’re saying what you’ve always wanted to say. “I love you.”

He freezes, shocked at your words. He looks down at you, taking in your face, and the pained look on it. You can see his brain racing like a speeding train, and his breath catches in his throat. “You’re an idiot. Why did you wait till this point?”

“I- I thought I would have more time.” was all you managed to say before shutting your eyes.

Finally, Logan runs up the rail of the jet and sets you on the cot. Watching the aids surround you, immediately taking quick action. With the flight there and taking you into emergency surgery. They finally came up to Logan, who fell asleep in the infirmary's waiting room. Telling him that you were okay and would make a good recovery.

Without wasting a single second, Logan rushed to your room. His heart dropped once he saw your frail, weak body. Connecting to different types of wires and IVs. He felt terrible, guilt consumed his body as thoughts raked his mind, he could've prevented all of this, all of your pain. Only if he was faster.

Logan found himself staring at your body, wanting to reach out and take your hand. He pulled up the chair by your bed and sat down, his eyes switching from your resting body to the monitor. Finally mustering the courage to take hold of your hand. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t quick enough, I should’ve been the one. But I was so fucking slow, in my own god damn bloody mind.And  I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I love you back, I was just so scared. Scared that if I told you, I would never get to tell you so again. I was so fucking selfish. But holy shit, I'm so in love with you. It hurts so much. But I'll make sure to tell you every single chance I get. I love you.”

“You better get started.” you say with a smile on your face. 

Logan looks at you in a state of shock, not expecting you to be awake. Without holding back, he basically launches himself onto you. Wrapping his arms around your weak figure, wanting to hold you tight but being so gentle with you. “You’re okay” he breathes out of relief, “You’re an idiot, but you’re okay.”

“I love you too by the way.” The smile on your face was wide, you were in so much pain. But you were so happy. Never in your life did you think you would be here, but here you are. In the arms of the man you’ve pretended to hate for so long.

“Oh shut your pretty little mouth.” Was all he said before pressing his soft warm lips against yours. 

If someone had asked you what it was like getting shot, you would probably tell them it hurt really fucking bad and wouldn’t recommend it. But if they asked you on a personal level. You would tell them that you would do it again if it meant that you got to see Logan care for you. But it still hurt like a fucking bitch.

[mythbringer-mayhem]

GODDAMNIT

man, I was just scrolling and now I'm a goddamn Raidioapple shipper what the FUCK

Ok ok-

And now I'm going to elaborate just because.

I was expecting someone out there to ship Lucifer and Alastor the second I heard Hell's Greatest Dad. I mean- two people singing/arguing over being father figures? Sounds gay to me /pos. The internet sure does love it's enemies to lovers (me included. I'm hopless lmao.)

BUT. I have specifics for this ship.

I hate it when people just look at Alastor's aromanticism/asexuallity and just go "nah. I'm just gonna do it anyways." I used to headcanon Alastor as complete aroace in the sense that he just can't feel that way for someone (this is not meant to sound like "oh he can't love anyone :( he's incapable" I mean specifically a romantic/sexual relationship.) Then fucking short ass king of hell arrives, and Alastor just IMMEDIATELY chooses violence.

I didn't think much of that besides "oh that's a little interesting," and then I stumbled across Radioapple and had to take a double take. My brain needed to figure out how that would work, like how it would start, flourish, ineract, yadda yadda-

.....so now I consider Alastor Demiromantic-

(I'm still goddamn writing jeez-)

Read on if you like random people looking wayyyyyy too much into fictional characters.

Headcanon timeeeeeeeee

When Lucifer and Alastor first meet, Alastor is surprised Lucifer doesn't know who he is. Up to this point, everyone knows about the terrifying radio demon, so it must be a little weird for someone to be completely ignorant to his existence. Especially when that person should probably know the ins and outs of what's going on- ....because he's the fucking king of hell.

This is something new for Alastor. It made him curious. When you're curious, you try to learn more right? So, Alastor starts pushing Lucifer's buttons, seeing how he reacts. On Lucifer's end, Alastor's just being a smug asshole. However his true intentions are information on the esteemed oh-so-powerful king of hell. Maybe Alastor doesn't quite know where this fascination comes from, but regardless he wants to learn more. I can picture him progressively bothering Lucifer more and more (this is his unique way of getting to know him semi-discreetly)

As well as figuring out what ticks him off, Alastor would also probably passively learn things Lucifer likes. For instance, he finds out what Lucifer's favorite alcoholic drink is or something- bare with me- Let’s say Lucifer has a rough day, and it's very clear to everyone in the hotel. While he's frustrated in his own room, he hears a knock at the door. Answering it, he finds his aforementioned favorite drink. At this point, he wouldn't know who left it. But after a while, he'd be able to figure out it's Alastor through process of elimination. (This is inspired by a comic I saw! :))

Now we've got Alastor trying to discreetly be kind to Lucifer, and Lucifer is aware without his knowledge. And Lucifer would call him out for it lmao. Slowly, they'd start acting friendlier towards each other. It would take a long, long time though. The slowest slow burn of them all. They'd hang out more, do things, kick angel ass, have friendly banter, do stuff with Charlie. Untill Alastor finally realizes that he might have a crush on Lucifer. Though, I feel he'd take a while to fully figure that out, do some soul searching, maybe go to Rosie for advice.

Then they'd confess. Or they wouldn't lol. I can totally see them going on what is essentially a date, even though they just consider it "hanging out". It would be a quiet relationship. Something you'd miss if you aren't looking for it, but it is there. They both just need someone they can rest with in my opinion.

These ideas are probably sporadic and nonsensical- but I ✨️don't care✨️ I just needed to rant about the old timey deer man and the short depressed apple gremlin.

[coyotetatertot]

Promotional for Tate's company in my interp of A Better World AU.

FULL TEXT BENEATH THE CUT‼️‼️

God, I love exploring what he can do if he hadn't suffered through his father abandoning them and then YEARS of caretaker burnout as he tried in vain to heal his dad. What if he hadn't learned to fear his intellect and skill. What if Appalachia hadn't been cut out of him by being raised in the Bay Area. What if his abilities and cultural identity were both nurtured and encouraged by loving parents and a strong educational support system. What then. 👁️

I think he definitely still has his issues, because public figures often do lol. Fame causes so many problems. But fuck if I don't wanna let this lil scruffy genius out of his mental cage of repression, burnout, and depression. I think he's wild, enthusiastic, and has so much heart and spirit underneath all those layers of bullshit. 30 years of suffering and he is in his 30s, the divergence of the AU puts him on a radically different path from childhood and that makes him a TOTALLY new person.

On the highest peaks in the world, the strongest tethers aren't your rope, but the emotional ties which unite your climbing team and keep you connected to those waiting for you back home. Whether it's by blood or by choice, Tater Higgs McGucket understands the importance of family. Son of revolutionary inventor and co-founder of the Institute of Oddology Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, Tate describes his father as his closest friend, collaborator, and mentor. In collaboration with family friend and other co-founder of the Institute Stanford ("Ford") Pines, the three first designed their renowned supplemental oxygen delivery system after an expedition studying anomalies in the Himalayas.

"Our investigation took us to Camp 1 of Manaslu," Tate described in an exclusive interview with Mountaineering Monthly last week, "And I was shocked by the amount of traffic. This was some of the roughest terrain on the planet, but we saw more people out there than on some of my hiking trips back home in Oregon. . . Ford was our interpreter, and after talking with the locals, we realized that there were all these companies selling tickets to the top — with sherpas puttin' themselves on the line just to ferry tourists to the summit."

The influx of inexperienced climbers has had disastrous consequences, as Tate witnessed firsthand. "A lot of these people, they're physically and mentally capable of makin' that kinda climb, but maybe they don't follow best practice. You can summit without any oxygen, if ya stop and acclimatize along the way. But that takes a while, so it can be really temptin' to ignore your body and throw an oxygen bandaid at the problem. But then you're puttin' yourself in an emergency situation if it fails. While we were there, one of those climbers ran out, and a sherpa had to run more oxygen up there. I told him there was a storm a-comin', but he went up anyway. And we ended up losin' 'em both."

Tate's growing twang was underscored by a nervous bouncing of his leg, and he took a moment to collect himself before resuming the interview.

"Dad and I had a look at these open circuit breathing apparatuses. While they were reliable, we saw they were plum wasteful. Knew we could make somethin' better. There's a growin' culture of risk-takin' 'round them mountains. And maybe we cain't stop the industry that's causin' these problems, but we can at least make it safer for them climbers. 'Cuz at the end of the day, regardless of what ya think about these people? With an accident like that, there’s people left behind that're a-hurtin' somethin' fierce. Partners, friends, kids without parents. I mean, just the thought of losin' my dad like that is enough to break my heart — but that's reality, for both the families of that climber and the sherpa who died tryin' to save him. . . Naw, I reckon we can do better."

That was how the youngest McGucket, who had become a household name in the 1990s for his work in designing personal computers with his father's company, first ventured into the world of alpinism. But what he hadn't expected was to fall in love during the process.

"I always needed nature," he explained, "I get overstimulated awfully easy, and so I go out there to clear my head. Been hikin' and fishin' since I was a kid. . . And so, after workin' with climbers to test this equipment — I saw a lot of them eight-thousanders up close, right? And one day, I just knew I had to see it from the top."

But having become familiar with the dangers involved, Tate knew that preparing himself for such a climb would be no easy task.

Luckily, he found a trainer in Ford's twin brother, Stanley Pines.

“Stanley is a stand-up guy. Real old school. Throws a hell of a punch, catches a hell of a catfish.” Tate said of his mentor, “He’s a fighter. So I knew I needed him, because all it takes is one slip up or act of god for these expeditions to turn life-or-death. And he’s been great. Neither of us knew much about rock climbin’ or mountaineering before all this. But we’ve learned together. And having summited a few eight-thousanders now, I can tell ya, I wouldn’t be here without his help.”

Also aiding in his expeditions were his prototype real-time weather and vital monitoring systems, which have since become standard issue in all McGucket brand protective wear. But Tate is most proud of his high-frequency beacon system, which allows climbers to communicate with their partners and first responders — even from inside perilous crevasses.

"The danger of avalanche or serac collapse is real. There are times when your life just ain’t in your own hands. Our systems allow climbers to communicate when they’re entering or exiting a perilous area, and can send out an SOS. They’re also constantly pinging, so in the event somethin’ does happen, they’ll help your climbing partners or first responders find you.”

But high altitudes aren’t the only place you’ll find the twin peaks of McGucket Mountaineering. Tate’s inventions have seen heavy use by first responders of all stripes, from firefighters to wilderness search and rescue — and he has recently signed a contract to manufacture respirators for medical use.

"At the end of the day, it’s all about making it home safely.” Tate concluded, “You gotta prioritize what matters most. You can do incredible things in this world, but none of it matters if you can’t share them with the people who love you.”

[electrozeistyking]

I am so incredibly curious about N and Uzi before…. N had to kill her…

What was life like as a married drone couple? How did they do their wedding? How awkward was the conversation about having a kid?

I’m also curious about V in this AU, what are her thoughts on all that’s going on… N killing Uzi, N having a kid, N being fricken’ depressed… She was a broken individual in the canon, is she still just as broken here? Has she healed from all that the solver’s but her through?

sorry for the many questions, but as an obsessive individual you have crafted the perfect thing for me to obsess over and i am dying for more content lol.

p.s. are there more fics to come? Ik ya only have the one prologue rn, are more chapters on their way?

Hey, no need to apologize for being curious! I quite like the amount of questions! Tells me you're interested in the AU, y'know? Anyway, let me dig up some old notes!

These aren't the full notes, though. A lot was cut, especially if they involved spoilers and/or if they made this go on for too long.

Everything was as fine as it could possibly be on this frozen, toxic exoplanet. Hell, this stretch of fine-ness went on long enough that one of them decided to propose to the other.

And by one of them, I mean Uzi. 

This is based on some observations (aka the hand holding thing in Episode 6), but N was a major fucking dork when V asked him if he was thinking about proposing to Uzi — y’know, saying things like “I don’t know if I should” and “maybe she doesn’t want to go that far” and “maybe we’re fine as is?”

Then meanwhile Uzi’s been drawing up plans on how the hell she’s going to propose to this tall ass robot.

In the end, she kinda threw it all to the wind and decided to do so with no big events or plans or anything. She kinda panicked, though, so she said “Do you wanna marry me?” instead of “Will you marry me?”

N nearly short-circuited trying to say yes. He was kind of having a “Oh my goodness, this is happening????” moment and a “OH SHE DOES WANT TO GO THAT FAR” moment at the exact same time, so something may have literally sparked.

[...] there was a funny period of time where the duo kept very suddenly realizing they’re married, like it didn’t actually sink in until that moment. 

In fact, N exclaimed “oh my goodness” and leaned against something every time it occurred to him.

Unfortunately, the good fluffy times couldn’t last forever. 

You see, one way or another, our beloved robotic dorks somehow found themselves on the topic of having a kid. The conversation itself was fine, if slightly awkward at first (what with N being unsure he’d be good at parenting, anyway). However, just as they reached the peak of “hey, would they be more disassembler or more worker” jokes, Uzi started coughing. 

Which is not normal for any kind of drone. Unless they accidentally swallow something wrong, or if the air’s a bit too thick for whatever reason, drones don’t cough for seemingly no reason. And yet, despite how odd it was, both of them tried to brush it off.

In a brilliant moment of jumping to conclusions (even if they’re the right ones), Uzi realized that The Solver was trying to take over her body.

In a panic, N tried to help any way he could, but felt like he was doing nothing in the process. Uzi just kept getting worse, and every time they landed up empty-handed, the thought he was failing her stung even more. 

V tried to help as well, out of fear over what that thing would do if It took over (and because she did think of Uzi as a friend, even if she’d never admit it to her face).

When The Solver started hijacking her body during one such search to find a way to stop It, Uzi realized it was all over for her. 

Whatever this thing was — whatever It wanted — wasn’t good. And so, in a moment of desperation and panic, she came up with a plan to destroy It. Hopefully, if everything worked in their favour, It’d be gone once and for all.

Of course, its success banked on N’s cooperation. Since V split off from the duo this time, he was the only disassembly drone who could possibly carry it out. Predictably, he tried to decline at first, seeing as the plan was to kill Uzi and destroy her core.

However, when Uzi explained that this was the only way to get rid of this fucking thing, N reluctantly agreed. Despite being incredibly painful, he brought out his laser gun (which is what I think it is, shut up) and the couple had one last heartfelt goodbye.

But then, just as N went to shoot her, the laser turned an awful shade red he’s never seen before and started malfunctioning — something that’s supposed to rarely ever happen. N panicked, calling out Uzi’s name... right before the weapon exploded.

V felt the vibrations of the explosion from where she stood and immediately rushed to N and Uzi’s location. She assumed that something went wrong, but what she saw was not what she expected.

Uzi was dead. 

There was a Fatal Error message on her visor, as clear as day. She was in multiple pieces, with a hole in her chest right where her core was supposed to be — having most likely imploded, thanks in part to The AbsoluteSolver’s weirdness.

While N was alive, his body was in rough shape. He’d been split in two due to the blast, and his chest had been cracked wide open. Judging from how dark smoke billowed from where one of his hands should’ve been, something had gone completely wrong. 

But how? There was a very small chance their weapons could malfunction, and yet... what the fuck happened?

V chose not to dwell on it too long. N’s body wasn’t regenerating on its own fast enough for some reason, and he was losing a shit ton of oil at an alarming rate. 

Fuelled by pure adrenaline, V somehow managed to carry both of N’s halves and all of Uzi’s pieces back to the Outpost.

[ca-suffit]

I was going to say this off anon but I have a second blog for iwtv and I don't want the og one out in the fandom kind of. But I never understood why people say Louis was abusive to lestat and the instances they point out are a) neglect b) not being affectionate c) withholding affection. Which like. Ok. Maybe my inexperience but I just don't think not giving love back in this instance is abusive. Because I genuinely do think he wasn't capable of love in those times. Like early on we see him lying to his family juggling 3 roles to spend time with lestat and shopping dates and what not. He was loving. And then HIS CHILD RAN AWAY. i don't think any caring parent is capable of love in that time. And then there's his malnutrition which ofc lowers his sex drive and the mental toll malnutrition takes is depression and anhedonia. But to call that manipulation??? To call that abuse?? Withholding affection as abuse in this case? Like mf What makes you think he was capable of love you can't deny something you don't have/aren't capable of!? His child is missing. His child is gone do you get it??? He's supposed to be making date plans??? Ik withholding affection and then lovebombing is a thing for abusers but ffs. He's depressed that's why he isn't loving when you're depressed you're literally not capable of it because your brain has drained all of it out WHAT DO YOU MEAN WITHHOLDING LOVE? Same with Armand. His child is dead. A part of Louis died with her. Is he supposed to be ffs. I don't want to type anymore. And ykw both these partners have the power to leave at any time. If you're not getting love that's what you do i get lestat why he wouldn't in America like he'd be pretty much alone and Armand always had that choice too. It's their specific personalities which made them stick with him but at the same time.my guy you're both more powerful than him fucking leave if it's so bad. But that's what love does and they stayed but at no point was it abusive on Louis' end?? At no point did it justify the abuse he's met with at lestat's or armand's hands??? And there's always intent behind abuse and if Louis' is not loving it's not because of some scheme. No his child is missing. The child.is also female and tiny we know what happens to them when they're alone how tf do you not get what state he'd be in?? And to expect love from him? And that's what's actually funny to me about both lestat and Armand like they really didn't think about what the loss of a child would mean to both their respective relationships with Louis. Like they really thought a parent could chill live laugh love with them while his child is gone. Ok. Sure why not. Um yea. Sorry for the long rant. Anyway I just don't think withholding affection applies to anyone here least of all Louis and never Louis no matter what the "pAtTeRn" is with him. No the pattern is depression brought on by the loss of his child. If you had actual brains you'd make that connection but no. No. Since this is the abusive partners yaoi show we have to see abuse where it isn't and minimize where it is. It'll be wonderful when Marius the guy who does loooooooove children will show up. Then we'll surely talk about love and loss and see the connections

ppl just made shit up bcuz they needed to soften lestat tbh. then armand to a degree too.

the angle never was "what are louis' partners doing to help him thru these bad times." it was always "louis isn't loving *them* enough!!" louis is also younger than *both* of them and comes from a different life experience which is still alive for him too, unlike their individual experiences and/or traumas. armand is still experiencing racism but it's not like the antiblackness louis and claudia face.......which then ends up in the trial too?! which *both* louis nb partners have a part in???

u bring up a good point for the marius angle too. this fandom makes me sick lol.

[mijikai-tan]

So, I rarely post text stuff on this blog and I know I don't upload on this blog frequently as I used to back in the day (just post one pic and then disappear for an entire year scenario lol) but if anyone still cares at all, I'll just ramble right away

Just when I thought this year couldn't get any more worser, it ends with a cherry on top revolving around my parents getting sued. I won't get into too much personal detail but this is stressing me the fuck out today. My parents currently aren't in a good financial situation-ish and I honestly don't know if I'm able to even survive 2025. I'm legit terrified of going homeless if we lose this case (I mean there is also 2 steps ahead of planning other work-arounds but this is still fucking terrifying) I'm going to have to take art business seriously again and do everything I can to make money again in 2025. That is if we somehow win the case and we're still able to live in this goddamn house. Idk I've been through enough shit this year and it fucked me up both mentally and emotionally causing me depression. I just want to be happy and live peacefully

But anyways, I'm going to have to start planning on re-opening art commissions again, chibis mostly. I'll open chibi commissions, YCH commissions, maybe design adoptable again, sell merch on inprnt, literally do everything I can to make money because art is the only thing I'm good at

Ofc my love and passion for my favorite fictional pairing (RenMei lol) won't go away as I will still draw them in my free time when I'm not doing art business. But atm, life is not looking good for me so I need all the support I can get so I can also help my parents

I might also consider opening commissions / do commissions on ko-fi but for now, I have to come up with a lot of plans and stuff since I haven't did Chibi commissions in like. a year or so. For now, I'll list my ko-fi here so if anyone want to support me, feel free to donate. Until then, once I make plans for art commissions and art-business related stuff, I'll make a new post about it.

[whatyourusherthinks]

Horizon: An American Saga-Chapter One Review

Another day, another movie who's name refuses to properly stick to my memory. And hey, this one comes with a spice of looking really fucking racist from the trailers! Hooray! I mean, maybe it comes with the Western territory (lol get it because Westerns always take place in the part of the US that were territories at the time they take place, I'm goddamn hilarious I know), but the trailer made this movie look like Kevin Costner fighting off all the evil Indians and disrespectful young people to save his land that he totally stole from said evil Indians. Maybe I'm being cynical because I haven't seen a Kevin Costner movie I've liked but I dunno. I actually kinda like Westerns, they occupy a similar space in my mind as Noirs, a bit of a guilty pleasure. Intellectually I know that both kinds of movies can be really questionable about minorities and that what they provide I can get guilt free from other types of movies, but something about the atmosphere and tropes draw me in. Anyway, I've stalled enough let's get into it.

What's the Movie About?

The West, and there is people who want to move there, and some people who don't want the first people to move, and also Kevin Costner tries to help a prostitute. Also something about the Civil War.

What I Like.

First things first, I'm sorry Mr. Costner. This movie isn't racist I think. Well, at the very least the Native Americans are actually characters, and maybe I am just inclined to like them more from the outset, but I thought they were portrayed just as well if not better than the white people in the movie. And the movie isn't afraid to portray Whitey as evil, if not more so, as the Native Warriors that burned down the town in the opening scene. So congratulations! You've won the 'Not As Racist As You Could Have Been' Award Mr. Costner! I mean he did make Dances With Wolves Roan, you should of had more faith. OKAY BUGGNUTZ I SAID I WAS SORRY. The cinematography is pretty good. They certainly found some very pretty locations to film at and Costner knows how to block and frame a shot pretty damn well. I also kinda like the Mari character, even if she does make a really weird and questionable decision at the end. There was also a family that blew itself up in the beginning that made me laugh harder than every comedy I've seen so far this year. Unintentionally, sure, but I'll still give it to the movie.

What I Didn't Like.

So my summery of the movie was pretty bad, right? Well, that's because this movie is three to four plots jarringly slammed together. So I'm doing the best I can alright. This is why this movie is three hours long. Because it's four movies in a trench coat. And unlike a kid trying to sneak into a bar that way, there's nothing adorable to coo at nor any audacity to respect. Costner wanted to make this more than one movie, right? Then make every storyline it's own goddamn movie. What, you've never heard of a movie with a B-Plot? THESE AREN'T B-PLOTS. Every storyline has the same amount of weight as every other one. Just where there would be a cut to a different scene, they instead cut to the next story. And here's the best part: Only one of the plotlines is interesting! The one with Kevin Costner, shockingly enough, is about a travelling bounty hunter (I think) protecting a prostitute and a kid after the kid's mom's past catches up to her. That's the storyline with the Mari character. The other ones are about this town that got burnt down by Native Americans and some of the survivors getting revenge, which mostly just depressing in the most obvious ways. I liked the Native characters but that was it. One of survivors of the town getting burned down and her daughter join up with a Union post and fall in love with some soldiers and that's really dull. It doesn't help that I'm pretty sure I know exactly how that storyline will end. And the final one is about these annoying British settlers in a wagon train going west run by Owen Wilson's brother. With all the cuts between these stories, it's pretty damn confusing about who's who and what anything is supposed to relate to each other. I'm not even sure if the wagon train and Kevin Costner's storyline are supposed be at the same time as the destroyed town and revenge for the town stories. Being able to understand the dialogue might of been some help, half of it is mumbled and the other half sounds like Shakespeare if he was kicked in the head by a horse being ridden by John Wayne. What else, what else... Oh yeah, there is the most sexless sex scene I think I've ever seen. It was almost impressive how sexy they were trying to be and how much they weren't.

Final Summation.

I'm kinda mad that I'm not more mad at this movie. Roan that's circular. SHUT UP. What I mean is that this movie is just bad. Not horrible, not horrendous. Hell, it's not even that interesting to talk about. I'm probably going to forget everything that happened by tomorrow, let alone by the time the next movie comes out. (Except for that exploding family. I'm going to treasure that scene in my heart forever.) But most forgettable movies aren't THREE FUCKING HOURS LONG! Hell, probably six hours, because I'm willing to bet that the next one will be just as boring.

[theinkedfoxsl]

🌻to 🦷please

Ask Game Here!

🌻 ⇢ tag someone you appreciate but don't talk to on a regular basis

@kkomaism i guess? I talk to most of my friends on a regular basis besides him so 🐇 ⇢ do you prefer writing original characters, reader inserts, or a mix of both?

Both! 🧃 ⇢ share some personal lore you never posted about before

I'm very open about my personal lore so that people know they aren't alone and that the terrible things that happened to them ARE terrible and they are allowed to be hurt by it. 🎲 ⇢ what stops you from writing more in your free time?

Depression lol 🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

All my favs r ocs so most of the shit I say is canon or ends up becoming canon??? Anyways some love to Ice Star though because Honoré didn't learn sign language for Lux, but he did get leagues better at it- 🧸 ⇢ what's the fastest way to become your mutual?

Talk to me about my ocs or yours! Or just message me. I'm honestly not that scary. 🪐 ⇢ name three good things going on in your life right now

Moving, I'm engaged to the prettiest german man ever, and tomorrow is taco tuesday and im getting tacos 📚 ⇢ what's the last thing you wrote down in your notes app?

A message I sent to the guy who retraumatised me outlining why his actions hurt me and that he should learn to have more respect for people's boundaries as he goes through life. 🍬 ⇢ post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character

I fucking hate Zhongli, he's a stupid cunt who uses his age as a means of projecting wisdom he doesn't utilise. 🔪 ⇢ what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

I'm a horror novelist first and foremost. So a lot. A lot. 🦷 ⇢ share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on

my personal wisdom is don't let fried foods escape u just because some nutritionist calls it bad. all food is valuable. amen

[perexcri]

I’m your biggest fucking fan I literally can not stop reading your ficus (which may have made sleep deprived and a depressed byler) pls, pls do you have any more byler fics to read? Thx ily

ahhh hello!! thank you so much, though i am sorry for the sleep deprivation and depression :') make sure to take care of yourself first and foremost bc the fics aren't going anywhere :D

um so i feel bad but idk what exactly you mean by more byler fics,,,like idk if you mean from me or recs in general, so i'll answer both ways!

according to ao3, i have about 516k words of almost pure byler fic posted, which is about all i have :D i have some wips ofc and some abandoned works wasting away in google docs, but everything else is there! i'm also always working on other stuff ofc. i even wrote some today in a notebook even though i'm out of town for a family function :D

but if you're looking for recs from my own stuff, i have a few to give! there's a weird inverse correlation between how much i like a fic and how much attention it receives tho, so these are actually some of my least popular works lol. i love the writing in them tho and they're the ones i'm most proud of, so here ya go:

empty rooms, shuttered and dank

you and i were fireworks that went off too soon

a flower that resembles you

drowning on rooftops

come to me again (in the cold, cold night)

and as far as fics from other people go, i've recently done a couple of rec asks that can be found here and here. also feel free to check my bookmarks on ao3! i've got all kinds of stuff tucked away there

anyway! idk if that helps at all, but i appreciate the kind words and that you like my writing! just be sure to take care of yourself :] 💜💜💜

[phantom-miria]

Omg, yes i agree with everthing you said! I really don't necessary think that most people hate on f!robin just because they're misogynistic, they're most likely just other queer people that are feeling "vindacted" that IS finally acknowledging m!chrobin (and like, I get it! IS has a horrible track when it comes to mlm rep, the fact that m!chrobin isn't a thing in canon and the way they handled the queer male options in 3H is super annoying so I do sympathise with them a lot!) I just wish they wouldn't discount their hatred on her? IS bullshit and homophobia is not her fault?

And yeah, we have this amazing high fantasy world full of dragons, magic and trime travel but queer people having a child is where people draw the line? And why do they feel the need to go on posts of people having fun to remind them that "it's not canon"? I swear that those people love to do that with queer ships, is so annoying. I had this terrible experience recently with some f!chrobin shippers and idk I just felt like they were disgusted at the ideia of Chrom being bi from the way they talked, I hated so much.

Anyway, I'm really sorry for the rant and for reminding you of all the fandom bullshit that you were trying to ignore. I'm just so tired of all of this and I feel like no matter what I say about this anywhere else, I will get called of something bad. You felt like a person that would understand where i was coming from and you did, thank you for your time and understanding! Have a good day/night.

I definitely agree - I see how we got here, and I have sympathy, but a lot of it dries up the longer I'm in fandom and I get worn down by people swerving all over the place to take it out on F!Robin or people who did enjoy what we got in canon, I think. And there's also been a weird narrative about her being favored, which I think is extremely untrue if you look at the history of their inclusion in Smash and the trailer, then the amiibo, then the Fates cameo, then Warriors, etc etc. He always gets the lion's share in crossover content and it's really fucking depressing to people who like her!

FEH was the only spot she really had anything "over" him (and even then it was uneven, with him being available at launch with a summoning movie while she was relegated to grail unit added later) and now after an admittedly big wait his legendary here, with a bunch of shippy hints and getting to be himself in his legendary, plus he got the duo I'd give my eyeteeth to have her in, etc. I really think he was always doing fine as far as official rep, and Engage DLC just came along to confirm the same old pattern of "when only one is picked for representing the character in a crossover, it's him". Officially he has historically done well outside of giving nods to shippinness with Chrom, so I think it is both great and understandable that people are so excited about it now. Of course it feels vindicating! But I don't see the reason to sneer at other fans for what they enjoy or their hopes or personal disappointment about a female avatar not being allowed to officially rep the character, lol.

I really can't understand why people see those fans celebrating and decide they have to ruin it. As if those fans aren't already accutely aware of the fact that it isn't canon in the original game. As if that isn't the reason they're so happy in the first place? It is truly such an unwarranted dick move.

I'm really sorry to hear about that recent experience, anon! I love bi Chrom with all my heart - unfortunately I don't talk about it so much because I am an OTPer who's ended up unfathomably annoyed about the male player character, so I only really end up engaging with ship content for him with a female character most of the time, and so functionally the fact that I headcanon him bi ends up not coming up super often. But I love that idea and am extremely attached to it. There are dozens of us! Dozens!! Especially as a queer woman. It's important to me that they are both bi in my head.

I'm unfortunately not surprised to hear that people reacted with disgust - I remember that from my days in DA fandom :( but it never gets easier. It just makes it feel like there's no real place, because the people who like the version you do suck, but if you don't like the other version as much and those people think you suck for liking the one you do, it's just kind of well...here I am, then. Lol.

No need to apologize, anon, I like talking about this kind of thing! I think I'm just worried that I've been spending too much time doing so recently and my friends are going to be absolutely sick of it, lol. And realistically it is better for me to spend less brainspace on people in fandom being shitty, probably? But I think it's good for you to hear that other people in fandom feel the same way and have problems with a lot of different corners, like you do. I hope you have a good night too! There are people out here who just want to ship and have a good time. It's not all bullshit, even if it feels like it sometimes, or even if you end up focusing on it a lot like me. <3

[authoralexharvey]

For the Tarot Ask: The Magician, The Sun, and Three of Wands

Thanks for the ask! Answering from this list.

01. THE MAGICIAN: SPARK OF MAGIC (What inspired you to write your novel?) 

The answer changes a bit depending on which book we're talking about, all varying levels of cool. Sorry, I'm about to talk a lot.

For TOOD, the biggest catalyst was, well, a few things. I was in a queer lit class in college that I absolutely hated tbh. For my final, I made a short zine/collection? about the nonbinary experience from my perspective and one thing I included in that was a short story called Morning Afters, which was about two people who ended up being the main characters of TOOD. The MC, Quinn, is someone whose body changes every day, and they are trying to leave their fuck-buddy's house before they wake up but end up being discovered and the two bond over their different gender experiences.

I also had really nasty beef with this one cishet indie author dude who considered himself the savior of the gays and said queer people are so bad at writing their own books he has to do it for them--yes, really--so I wrote TOOD to spite him because he's a shitty man and a shittier author.

Anyway.

TWEfA was born out of my love of the Soulsborne franchise and also from the cannibalized corpse of an older novel I wrote a very long time ago. When I was like. Fifteen. A lot has changed since then. Maka and Dakota have stayed the most true to their original selves and I kinda... rebuilt everything around them. I'm sure some elements of it were also inspired by Madoka Magica. In fact, I guarantee some of it was.

Little Vicious Minds came about because I was playing Skyrim and am very mad still about the limited options of what you can do with/to Maven Black-Briar and so I resolved to make a story about someone who decides to destroy her criminal empire. And it kinda,,, blossomed from there.

Lilium was really a love letter to my depressed teenaged self because I wrote it originally in high school when everything fucking sucked. I see myself a lot in both of the main characters in different ways. It's also about your dead brother coming back as a demon which I have no real experience with so. *shrugs*

ASMLP started as a random thought because I love spellbooks and think they aren't used enough in fantasy so I resolved to write a book that required spellbooks and then I... made a whole magic and college system around that and it kind of evolved from there.

BTMS started as me wanting to write vampire erotica and became... very much not that.

I could go on. It really does just depend.

19. THE SUN: POSITIVITY (What is your greatest writing strength or skill?)

I like to think I'm good at dialogue and also at making people fucking sad. Highest praise I think I've gotten yet is a comment/review I got about Lilium about how well I got across the sense of loss and grief one of the MCs endures--and this is before I had lost anyone in my life to the inevitability of death. I don't want like. Instagram-worthy prose or anything but I would like for someone to feel like I just ripped their heart out of their chest and presented it to them when they're done reading, you know? And I think I'm pretty great about that so far.

66. THREE OF WANDS: FORESIGHT (Do you know what your book cover is going to look like? Do you have a color in mind?)

I don't have to imagine for ASMLP, because I already have one! You can see it here. As for my other works.... mmmm...Back when I wrote on Wattpad, I had to have a kind of idea for a cover because you were shooting yourself in the foot if you posted books without covers there. But since leaving there... well, not entirely. I also haven't gotten as far/thought as far ahead as I have with ASMLP--and in truth part of me buying the cover was to give myself an incentive to finish the fucking book. So far has been kind of working. I'm trying to finish by March lol

I haven't thought about covers for anything else yet. I should start doing so for BTMS since I want to publish it before or after ASMLP so we'll see. My main rules about covers is I vehemently refuse to have people on the cover. I hate it. Loathe it. The shadowed hands for ASMLP is as close to having people on the cover as I'm willing to get. I want my covers to have fancy typography or to make a focal point of important objects. I will settle for nothing less.

Thanks again for the ask and sorry for talking your ear off!

[salsa-di-pomodoro]

Emmet breaks spacetime to find his brother this, Emmet goes feral without his brother that (which you shouldn't take too far btw), where are the Ingo goes apeshit fics. Where are the fics where Ingo single handedly corrals the gods into getting him (and Akari, if she's tired of being in charge after having to save the world) home. This man is depressed one day about his memories and then his unovan religion socialization kicks in subconsciously and he goes 'no fuck this. I am going to get my memories back whether they comply or not' and that escalates into 'i am going home no matter what' and also 'i am going to be happy. I will make it so'. This man didn't get raised with the values of TRUTH and IDEALS for nothing. That shit sticks in your mind so much even if you don't personally think about it much. Have you seen how many times unovans mention truth or ideals in the games. They're important to them. And they're important to him.

I don't even mean that Ingo becomes a villain or anything. I just mean to say he sees a child befriending gods and goes 'hey what the fuck. If they can do that i can do something about my own situation as well for sure' and don't try to tell me the gods wouldn't listen to him. First off i believe Arceus and everyone else do love their creation, they just sometimes don't understand it. Second of all even if that wasn't true not all the gods agree with each other. If Arceus couldn't or didn't want to do anything he could just ask giratina. Or dialga and palkia. How would palkia help? They bring him to celebi. There's no way he wouldn't get celebis approval especially with palkias help.

What? The Pearl clan wouldn't let him go? Lmao what are you even talking about. Even if they didn't want him to leave the position of warden they value space very much. They'd want him to find his own before all else, and even if they didn't Irida would and her judgement is the most important one in the clan. I'm pretty sure she mentions wanting to travel, too, so she might join Ingo for a time as well.

Something is wrong in Unova upon his arrival? Impossible. Unova loves their Subway bosses and Emmet loves and trusts Ingo enough for that not to be a problem. Even if he didn't Chandelure would be proof enough of something off. i don't think she would just feel her trainer's soul disappear in a split second and not cause a commotion, she'd immediatly begin to freak out. Even without that you know what always fixes shit? Communication baby. This man will not let something go until they've properly discussed it. If the other's opinion is still the same after they've all explained themselves, then fine. But i guarantee you it won't be. If communication is difficult for some reason there is nothing that stops him from making it easier or doing it anyway. He can also go to a god again and have them help out of it's something he can't do anything about himself. Grudge? Gone. Death? Xerneas'd. Legal trouble? Over.

There is nothing that can't be fixed, especially in the pokemon world. It's going to be exausting, and probably very taxing on the mind, but it would be worth it so much. And there is no way Ingo and Emmet aren't both going to go to therapy anyway in the end.

Even if the gods couldn't fix it and send him home, they'd at least grant them both peace of mind. A letter, a picture, sent back or forward in time. With proof that it's real, obviously, and that yes it is god that brought this to you, so there's no misunderstandings. And don't tell me they can't do that, you've seen the arc phone. A space time distortion, conveniently timed on both sides, courtesy of dialga and palkia. They're going to get to be happy eventually, whether that means moving on or being reunited. Though there's like no way they don't get reunited lol

[outlustings]

Hello there! I've been enjoying every little bit you wrote about Eddie, he's my absolute favourite in the outlast games, your characterization of him is spot on and everything is just fhshdhsjdh

If I may request a thingie, I'd love to see your take on a pregnant psychiatrist assigned to help Eddie, and him being very delusional on who the father is, and thinking it's his

(bonus points if he asks to feel the baby kick)

Thank you so much for what you do! Have a lovely day!

(ok so this got out of hand. you said "your take" and my take is sad and awful and i hate it lol. have 5k words of it.

this is not a cutesy story this is choppily written angst. my film studies teacher would call this high melodrama but i'd personally like to call it me trying to turn my depression into a contagious disease.

reader is referred to with she/her pronouns. reader also needs a hug, nothing goes well for reader. lots of emotional neglect and sadness and everything. reader is alone in the world lol. enjoy?)

×

This new job was making you tear your hair out. Interviewing and offering emotional support to insane men wasn't exactly new to you, no, not really, but trying to act calm around a serial killer? That was tough. Not to mention that the moldy, cold building was filled to the brim with these violent people - but for some reason, as a cruel test from the universe, you were assigned to the worst one of them all. Eddie Gluskin. Case number 196. That number would haunt you in your dreams.

Things were going a bit rocky with your spouse at home, but you chose to blame it on the stress of you working in a place like Mount Massive. The reason why he slept on the couch most nights or played net poker into the early hours of the morning on the computer, gambling your savings away - it was just tiredness. Yes. The move had been hard on him. And your new job was hard on him, right? Who the fuck wanted to live in Colorado anyway?

Not to mention all the nights that you spent up and about your tiny apartment, trying to ignore your partner's fist slamming into the desk for the fourth time that night, leafing through past interviews and files upon files of him. Gluskin.

All of those pictures of mutilated women, all of the BDI tests and brain scans and newspaper clippings. Insane prescriptions for sedatives and doctors' handwriting about his medication causing hypersexuality. You spent many sleepless nights thinking about this man. You hadn't even met him yet.

Another thing that drove you practically insane was people grilling you constantly in the breakrooms.

Oh, you know, we're just both so tired from work, and you know, we gotta pay that mortgage, you heard yourself explain to your coworkers for the fifth time in the same month.

We really don't have the energy to focus on kids yet. But you guys are looking great!

But you knew that their nods and smiles as they cradled their tea cups on top of their baby bumps were a front that concealed their pity for you.

Why aren't you pregnant yet, doctor? Why don't you get knocked up, doctor? Why, doctor, I thought you'd be the kind to have kids early? Why don't you come over for Michelle's baby shower, doctor?

It was driving you insane. You weren't safe, not even in the breakroom. You took up a habit of eating your lunch in an empty toilet stall, away from your coworkers.

And then there was Eddie Gluskin.

You hated him. Hated how his eyes wandered down your body as you tried talking to him, hated how his leg brushed up against you underneath the table, how his foreamrs strained against his handcuffs, how his hands ached to wrap around your neck. His sly grin, the way he talked to you, so lightly, as if nothing was wrong. He divulged frustratingly little about anything. All he wanted to talk about was you, himself, and the supposed chemistry between the two of you.

"I knew ever since I first laid eyes on you - you, you would be the one," he'd said once, leaning back in his chair, inspecting your blushing face with a grin.

It was starting to make even the supervisors uncomfortable. They amped up security, for your sake.

What you didn't like was him being restrained - you'd never been comfortable with the extreme measures at Murkoff - but what you liked even less was how entirely convinced he was about your relationship being something other than professional. And it never changed, not even as the weeks went on.

He was talking to you as if you were his dutiful housewife, catching his coat as he shrugged it off after an exhausting day at work before taking his hand and leading him to a plate of some horrific jello slop. The vivid image of yourself in turquoise heels and an apron flashed before your eyes. Marion Ryan on the radio. You almost smiled. This was all so, so stupid.

You shook your head slightly, trying to focus on his words, nodded solemnly before cutting off his monologue.

"Eddie, are you aware of where you are right now?"

He turned his gaze to you. Confused. Maybe even a little offended. But you had to know if he was delusional - maybe regressing into a previous life. Suddenly, in your mind, the lady with the turquoise heels had no face. You wondered who she could've been. Someone else?

"Pardon?" he huffed out, his thick brows knitted together. You had interrupted him so rudely.

You swallowed.

"Are you aware of where you are right now?" you repeated, slower this time.

"Yes? Why'd you ask?" he gave a small laugh, incredulous. Like your question was stupid.

"You seem awfully casual with me," you blurted out, smirking slightly as you watched his cheeks blush faintly. So, so faintly.

Eddie rolled his eyes.

"You won't even let me tell you about my day? Like we're strangers," he muttered under his breath, "Stupid bitch."

You frowned.

"I'm sorry?"

"Nothing," he waved his hand as best as he could in his handcuffs, assumed another casual, charming grin, his eyes glinting dangerously.

Your brain was scrambled. What the hell was going on? You sighed.

"I'm going to let you tell me about your day - but don't call me that," you eyed him, clicking your pen and pressing it against your notepad, ready to cuss him out in an email later.

"Call you what?"

"Anything that you're trying to call me - I know we -..."

"Darling?"

"That too. Just -..." your eyes flicked to your notes, where you began scribbling something.

"Did you enjoy last night?"

You lifted your head up, quirking your brow at him as he grinned at you.

"Last -...? What?" you asked, stopping your pen mid-sentence, staring at him, the way his eyes narrowed and his grin melted into a smirk.

"Try to remember, my love," Eddie leaned closer, lowering his voice into a conspiratorial whisper as you heard his handcuffs clink softly underneath the table, "How I fucked you. The way you were begging for it, little minx."

You blinked at him, heart sinking to your stomach as you felt cold, numb waves flood through your extremities.

"No. That never happened."

Your throat felt suddenly very dry. You watched his eyes rove over your body as he smiled, cocking his head to the side.

"Don't worry, I won't tell them," he winked and gestured towards the two-way mirror to your left, "I know you're a little shy about these things, but it's only natural."

You huffed out a laugh, regretting it immediately as you saw his eyes glint and flick to your lips.

"Right. Okay then," you tried to compose yourself, "I'm sorry, maybe you dreamt it. Because it definitely didn't happen, Eddie."

You kind of wanted to add a second"I'm sorry," to the end but decided against it as you watched his pupils dilate. For a second, the intense blackness swallowed you whole. You shuddered, ever so slightly, but held his gaze.

"Ah," he clicked his tongue and leaned back in his chair, making a point in rattling the chains of his handcuffs against his thighs as he adjusted on his seat, "Well, darling - nevermind. I'm just glad we were able to conceive."

Oh Christ.

×

You couldn't shake the look in his eyes for a few days after your last appointment with him. So intrusive, yet - genuine. Why did he sound so genuine, so sure? You couldn't get the intense, icy blue gaze out of your mind. His boyish grin haunted you.

You'd have to write this down in the notes. His little delusions. Fantasies. At the cost of your own dignity.

You tapped your fingers against the rim of the toilet seat, watching the whirling waters below as you flushed down another cup or so of bile. It was six in the morning.

Morning sickness? Couldn't be.

I mean, you kind of have to, your brain told you as you grabbed the cardboard box on autopilot, shaking the rickety plastic stick out onto your palm. You racked your brain, thinking about your spouse. Maybe - wait, two months ago? You couldn't even tell when the last time was. He hadn't touched you in weeks.

You eyed the unopened pack of pads on the shelf as you tapped your foot against the tile of your bathroom, waiting for the result. Wait, when did you buy that pack again? It was like time was blurring into a big, grey mass and your brain was a fuzzy, great mess. Everything was wrong. You threw a quick glance at the test resting on the edge of the sink. Two lines. Your heart skipped a beat.

You only told your spouse. No one else. Of course, you wouldn't bring it up at work, especially not to him. Eddie Gluskin did not need to know you were pregnant.

You were getting nowhere with him. Even after four months of constant consultations, all he wanted to talk about was his days at the library with anatomy books, playing pool with the other patients and how he'd managed to get two portions of prepackaged dessert by being charming to the staff at the cafeteria. He was deep into his own delusions as ever. Kept calling you his wife. Darling, dearest, beloved. Maybe he really thought you were his.

×

"He's refused to leave his cell," the guard sighed, crossing his bulky arms, leaning against the doorframe of the empty therapy room, "Unless you come to retrieve him yourself, ma'am."

You blinked at the man, clicking your pen absentmindedly, your eyes flicking to your watch. Twelve minutes late.

"W-why?" you cleared your throat, "Why isn't he cooperating?"

The guard shrugged. Indifferent.

"I don't know, ma'am. But he won't move. He said he won't move unless you, uh, come. And I've got orders -..."

"Yeah, my orders not to restrain him," you finished his sentence and rose from your chair with a sigh, your hand flying to your lower back, "Shit," you muttered.

"Your orders?" the guard scratched the back of his neck.

"Yes?" you quirked a brow, "Is there a problem?"

It came out way more aggressive than you wanted.

"No, no," the guard shook his head, his hand shooting to his belt, where he snatched his keys and started spinning them around in his finger, the little clinks digging into your throbbing brain, "I just thought - you know. You weren't the doctor."

He gave a weak laugh, the kind where he was inviting you to laugh with him. You wanted to punch him.

You slung your bag on your shoulder and frowned pointedly at him.

"No," you said coolly, "I don't know. Shall we go then?"

×

"You do have a gun on you, right?" you eyed the bars of the cells and how easily they rattled in the fists of the prisoners as the groaned and yelled obscenities at you.

"A taser," the guard mumbled.

You sighed.

"You better have some excellent aim then if shit hits the fan," you adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder, very aware of the clicks of your heels against the crumbling concrete of the cell block floors and the howling and hissing of the men around you.

You approached the door of the cell that you knew to be his. Your fingers felt numb as you reached out for the bars, grabbing onto them for support as you cleared your throat. The cell was dark.

"Eddie?" you called out softly, "Come on, we have to get going. I'm here now. You're late."

No reply. Your heart beat loudly against your ribs.

"Can you turn the light on?" you hissed at the security guard who blinked at you dumbly. He raised his flashlight.

"He dead?"

"I don't know," you whispered, turning your head back to the cell, "Eddie, wakey wakey," you called out, desperation clawing at your throat. You heard a grunt from the bed of the cell and the guard lit up the cell with his flashlight.

Eddie climbed up from the bed, flashing you a wide grin.

"Darling, you finally came."

"There we go," you sighed, "Come on, there's no time for games, we have to get going, okay?"

You gestured for him to come out. He rose slowly from the bed, walked up to the bars, bare feet slapping against the concrete. He leaned against the bars. He was so much taller than you. You swallowed.

"Where are your slippers?" you heard the guard pipe up from behind you. Eddie just stared at you. Licked his teeth obscenely.

"Eddie, get your shoes on, we have to go," you crossed your arms, tried to ignore his heavy breathing and feverish little mumbles as he pressed himself against the bars.

"Not the cuffs this time, please," he muttered.

"It's policy," you sighed and tapped your heel against the floor, "Let the gentleman here get you into your cuffs and we'll go."

"Why don't you love me?"

"Eddie... Not now. Really."

"Let me out, we can run away - together."

You stepped back but felt his hand snatch your wrist. You squealed. The guard lifted up the taser.

×

The months dragged on and on. You were heavily pregnant and every day felt like a herculean task. Getting out of bed was hard and it was not only because of your swollen belly. You were overworked and stressed out and your nearly daily run-ins with Gluskin didn't help in the slightest. The higher-ups wanted more therapy, more consultation mingled with whatever the fuck they were doing downstairs. It made him aggressive. Rashes that split his handsome features began popping up on his face, his swollen lips twisted into a frown.

"For the sake of the baby," his voice trembled in frustration as he gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white and distended, "I'll have to work on my moods, darling. But you're really not being very helpful."

You tried very hard to not roll your eyes.

"Okay, do you want to take a break?" you sighed in defeat, tapping your pen against your bottom lip as you eyed your watch. You were only twenty minutes in and it was already going swimmingly. You made a mental note to never bring up his father again. Not on a Monday morning.

"Oh no, you can't just walk away from the mess you've caused," Eddie chuckled, "I know that you lot get hormonal, but really, there's no need for such - vulgarities. Nonsense."

You shook your head.

"I can see that the topic hurts you," you tried to go for an understanding approach but you were interrupted by his scoff.

"Hurts? No - but I'll tell you what hurts," he narrowed his eyes at you, bouncing his leg up and down so that the chains of his handcuffs clinked dangerously, "What hurts is a mother denying the father of her child. That's unbelievable."

You felt coldness settle in the pit of your stomach.

"We've talked about this," you sighed, furrowing your brows, "My... pregnancy - has nothing to do with you, so can we please stay on the subj-..."

"Has nothing to do with me?" Eddie repeated, barking out a breathy laugh, lifting up his hands and slamming them down on the table while looking around the room.

"It really doesn't, Eddie," you gritted your teeth.

"I bet that's why he kicks you so much," he quirked his brow, baring his teeth, his voice lowering to a growl, "A rotten temper - just like Mommy. But no matter, if he has the same smile as you, so lovely..."

You exploded.

"No!" you screamed, rising up from your chair so fast that you knocked it over, "This is enough! This - it's not yours! My baby is. Not. Yours! Your fucking -..." you lifted your hands to your head, tearing at your hair as you swallowed your spit, eyes wide, "Your wet dreams are not real! I'm sorry that you're alone and I'm sorry that I'm such a fucking shitty psychiatrist - god - I can't help you, I really can't! This is not real, the baby is not yours, so stop it! We've never been anything but a doctor and a patient and I'm sorry I can't help you but this is too much! Stop acting like - like... it's..."

You took in shallow breaths, your lungs expanding painfully as a sob racked your body and you shook, your words dying down as you slowly bent down to pick up your chair and slumped on it, your head in your hands, tears streaming down your face as all you heard was the rushing of blood in your ears and the monotone buzzing of the lights above you.

Eddie was silent. You rubbed youe eyes with the heels of your palms, sniffling against your sleeves as you trembled in your chair, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulder. Every bone in your body was screaming for rest.

"I'm sorry," you huffed out after about a minute of tense silence, wiping at your eyes.

"No," Eddie muttered, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..."

"No," you said louder, not making eye contact as you swallowed back another sob, "No, I'm sorry, I should-d-..." you hiccuped, "...- be more professional. It's just that - god, I'm so..."

You couldn't even finish your sentence before burying your head in your hands again, leaning your elbows on the cold steel table between you and him. You heard the rattle of his handcuffs, heard a soft, feathery popping noise and raised your eyes as he waved a tissue in front of you, one that he had plucked from the box on the table.

You took it with a slight, choked out laugh and blew your nose noisily.

"Thanks," you mumbled, dabbing at your eyes with a dry corner.

Eddie just nodded. He watched you wipe your tears, his face blank, but soft. Almost pitying.

"I'm sorry, darling. I upset you."

×

You always came back to an empty house, your legs sore, your eyes swollen and bloodshot. Yet he wasn't there. The father od your child. He was away most of the time. Kept his distance. Even in bed, he kept his distance, his back turned to you as you rubbed the stretched, itchy skin of your stomach, trying to focus on those crumbly patterns on the ceiling so that you wouldn't start hyperventilating. Then morning came and back to the asylum you went. And back home you came, the smell of piss, blood and hand sanitizer fading into the pungent fumes of fresh paint that wafted from the baby's room and gave you a migraine. You sat on the floor, folding tiny clothes into a bag, unfolding them onto the floor, then folding them again, swallowing back your tears. It's like you were going insane.

You were offered a severance check in February. You took it. You didn't even care anymore - you didn't care where the money came from or what they were trying to say by essentially firing you, leaving you to pack up your office in some damp cardboard boxes - you really didn't give a fuck. You were glad it was over.

But you had to say goodbye. You had to.

×

You walked up to his cell, nodding at the guard reassuringly as he twisted his key in the lock and wrenched the heavy door open. You swallowed, tugged at your coat and stepped inside his cell. His domain.

Eddie was sitting in the center of the room in a rickety chair. Humming. They must have kicked up the sedatives after your last visit to his cell. You were kind of glad as you eyed the scratchy linen of his straitjacket, how his muscles bulged against the straps. You felt both guilt and a sense of triumph flood over you. What had this place done to you?

You took a deep breath and walked up to him, leaving about two feet of room between the two of you.

"Eddie?"

His head snapped up, startlingly fast. He smiled tiredly.

"My love - I was just thinking about you."

"Eddie, I - uh..."

You didn't even know where to begin. You settled your hand on top of your bump as if trying to suck up courage from your baby. You sighed.

"I'm leaving Mount Massive, Eddie. We're - this is going to be goodbyes, okay?"

Eddie blinked at you.

"What?" his lips parted, his eyes widened as he tried to process what you'd just said.

"Yeah, I'm - I'm leaving," you decided you'd add some finality to this all and continued, "I got fired."

Bullshit.

"No, that's not possible. You were so good to me," he shook his head slightly, his voice quiet yet slightly panicked.

You smiled gently.

"Thank you. But I gotta go now, Eddie. I jist came to - to..."

You didn't know why you came. You watched him stare at you, watched his handsome face stretched into a taut grimace as his eyes drilled into yours. He was silent for a while. You opened your mouth but he interrupted.

"Can I feel it?" his voice was startlingly soft. It trembled ever so slightly, bouncing off the walls of the cell.

"Eddie, I - I really don't know -..."

"Please?" he whispered, "Just for a moment?"

You stared into his eyes, and for a moment, you got lost in the softness of the baby blue - the exact color of a blankie you'd picked out for your baby. Something took over you. Against your better judgement, you nodded slowly, took a few steps towards the man in front of you.

Eddie's face was blank as he leaned to you, his face a few inches away from your bump as you shuddered in the cold air, feeling the indescribable heat of his body against yours as you closed the distance between the two of you. He cocked his head to the side and softly, slowly, pressed his ear against your belly. You held your breath, watched from above as his broad shoulders rose and fell and how he nuzzled his cheek against the roundness of your stomach. For a few heartbeats, he listened, eyes wide. Then his face melted into a soft smile. You watched his lip quiver.

"Ah, a healthy heartbeat. He's strong," Eddie mumbled, craning his neck back and flashing you a slight grin before settling his forehead against your belly.

Against the thin, stretched fabric of your blouse, you felt hot puffs of air fan over your skin as he breathed against you. You swallowed back a lump in your throat, watched as he gave your bump a gentle kiss. Another one. Then he pressed his forehead into you, sighing deeply against your belly.

Everything felt hazy. It took a while for you to adjust to the warmth inside you and when you came to, you found your hands tangled in his black hair, squeezing him closer to your waist in an awkward hug as you stroked his head.

You trembled, your eyes burned and your throat clenched around empty air and the scent of mildew and the scent of the iron bars and the scent of him.

"Hush now," you heard his voice as he cooed to your bump, "Mommy's got to go away now. She's feeling shy - but she'll come back to Daddy with you. All mine."

You let out a shaky sigh and tore your hands from the softness of his hair, hating yourself as white hot disgust pumped through your veins. You looked down at his flushed face, his pleading eyes that were glossy underneath the blinking fluorescent lights.

"I have to go," you croaked out, "I'm sorry."

"Stay, please," Eddie whispered, "Please don't go."

You stepped back, grasping your belly, rubbing at the are where he had touched you. You shook your head, walking backwards, heart beating. He rose from his chair.

"I can't. I have to go."

"No!" he gritted his teeth, his voice getting louder, "You can't leave me!"

He wriggled against his restraints, taking a long step towards you.

"I can't stay," you shook your head, felt a tear roll down your cheek, tasted the salt as you watched him try to shrug off his straitjacket, his wide eyes fixed on you as he grunted in desperation.

"Don't go!" Eddie yelled. You shook your head, tried to open your mouth, but no words came out. Nothing but a weak whimper as you backed out of the cell and slammed the door shut, squeezing the bars between your fingers as you watched him.

"I'll find you, I'll come and see and - and I'll take you and him home! You can't walk away! You can't do this to me!"

You heard him scream as your vision blurred and you stepped back from the cell bars on wobbly legs, turned youe back to him and started walking away towards the doors. Your chest felt heavy. Shattered.

At least someone was excited about the baby.

You heard his voice call your name out to you behind your back, but this time, it was low and gruff, bouncing off the walls sharply, drilling into your brain. Not a smidge of gentleness. Only desperation. But not hysterics, not anymore.

"You know it's not real, right? The child."

You turned around on your heels. He was slumped forward, forehead pressed against the rusting bars, his eyes fixed on yours. His chipper grin was gone. All softness in his face had turned to icy coldness. You shuddered slightly, but didn't open your mouth. Just stared at him with what you hoped looked like pity in your eyes.

"I heard the doctors talk about it. It's not real," he paused before muttering quietly, with a bitter edge to his voice, "I would have given you a real one and you know it."

You wanted to scoff at him. But you didn't. He sounded so sure. Something in your gut told you - no, nothing was wrong. He was wrong.

"Yeah, I know," you spat, "You with your - your fucking... Grasp on all things real. Don't even bother."

You stood there for a moment. Staring at him, your blood feeling cold. An empty, numb buzzing spread throughout your limbs as you looked in his eyes for the last time. One final blow that he had to deal to you.

"Goodbye, Eddie. I wish you the best."

You didn't even know if your words were genuine anymore. You turned around and rushed to the metal stairs, wiping your eyes, sliding your other hand on the railing, hearing the guard's keys clink against his belt behind you as you left case file 196 to rot in his own sickness, his own filth. Fuck him. You didn't even care anymore. That's what you kept telling yourself as sobbed with your forehead pressed against the steering wheel of your car.

A few weeks went by and you kept seeing the man in your dreams. Blood and guts and screaming babies and his god damned smile. You woke up in cold sweats, your heart racing as you felt your belly, felt the kicks that your son gave you. You're safe, you closed your eyes and rubbed your bump, fingers grazing stretched skin and bulging flesh. I'm gonna keep you safely tucked away from Daddy. Then you'd turn to your side and fall asleep quicker than you realised what you'd thought.

×

The labor was tough. Excruciating. Even with the epidural, you felt nauseous, tingly. Cold. You tossed your head from side to side as you hyperventilated on the plastic sheets, kicking and screaming.

"Emergency caesarean," you'd heard after twenty hours of trying to push. You didn't even care anymore. You just wanted to hold your son. You welcomed the darkness as the clear plastic was cupped over your nose and mouth, the air tasting sweet and viscous and cold. So, so cold.

With all that trouble he gave you, you knew he was his father's son.

Your partner squeezed your hand. You blinked lazily at him, trying to adjust your eyes in the bright light. Dark bags under his wide eyes. His mouth a thin line. Something was wrong. Your stomach jolted.

"What is it?" you muttered, adjusting yourself on the pillows, hearing the fabric rustle underneath you, mingling with the beeps all around you, gripping his hand with numb fingers, "Honey?"

He just shook his head, ever so slightly, his wide eyes still fixed on you. You were starting to feel creeped out, the way he held your hand and just stared. He looked almost catatonic.

"Wh-where's the baby, honey?" you looked around the room, turning your head, tearing your gaze off your spouse. An empty crib with tubes around it, hooked to nothing, undisturbed hospital sheets quivering slightly in the breeze of the air conditioning, "Where's... Where is he?"

You shook your partner's wrist, your brows furrowing.

"Where -...?" you opened your mouth, lifting your upper body off the pillows before being interruoted by a knock at the door.

"Come in," your partner called out hoarsely, not taking his eyes off you.

The door was pushed open. Two doctors with white coats stepped into the room along with a nurse. You eyed them.

"You're awake, we -..."

You interrupted them.

"Where is my baby?" you demanded. Your voice was starting to get louder. They just stood still, quietly.

"Sweetheart," your spouse whispered squeezed your hand, bringing it to your lips. You felt panic constrict your throat.

"Where is my baby?" you yelled. Your words echoed, rattling the linoleum as your chest heaved. The doctors shut the door and stepped to your bedside. Your gaze flickered between their solemn faces and your partner's glistening eyes.

"No," you croaked, your voice going up an octave as you felt coldness spread through your stomach and chest and into your limbs, "Where?"

"Darling... There was no baby," the stranger sitting beside you said with a blank face, his thumbs digging into the flesh of your palm. You breathed in exactly one lungful of the sterile, numbing air, your eyes widening before you distantly felt yourself let out a raw, throat-tearing screech as your world collapsed on itself. You saw nothing. Blackness swallowed you. There was nothing.

[mrs-nate-humphrey]

this might seem a little random lol, but what do you think of the chair and dangina parellels, dan and blair both seemed to be attracted to georgina and chuck because they could be mean and not have to be nice all the time.

i love any & all parallels! i think that's interesting & would be a very grim kind of arc, if georgina ends up making dan feel as ~tied down to her as chuck made blair feel. (i even kind of reference this in my fic "just a yellow lemon tree," in which dan's married to georgina. there's a conversation in chapter 2 in which dan asks blair why she left chuck and the parallel is meant to be implied there.) that said, from what we saw in canon, i wouldn't say it's the exact same. there's scope for the evolution of dangina to get to a chair level, but we're not quite there yet. lemme elaborate:

you know blair's whole speech in s4 about "what's mere happiness in the face of this great love we have?" to chuck? that... that's kind of the first thing that comes to mind for me when i think about chair. chuck & blair's whole dynamic is fucky because they're both so obsessed with an image of each other - blair wants a big romantic love that's all cinematic and exciting, and what's more blockbuster than good girl gone bad and her love fixing the heart of a local ruffian? chuck on the other hand wants this infallible caretakery woman to an extent where it feels like a replacement of his missing mother figure, and he doesn't want blair to Leave him so he'll do anything and everything to keep her there.

honestly more than dan & georgie, c/b reminds me of serena/georgina. we don't see serena before her party girl days but i've always imagined georgina to be the major "bad influence" who got S into many of the dangerous situations she was in, and i could see serena being into georgina because of how georgie dared to defy all societal expectations.

that said, i like the idea of unhealthy dangina as a sad ending for dan. where he ends up stuck with her and she's all he has left, and she's obsessed with the goodness in him, and he's with her because who else would have him? i think that specific dynamic/ that type of endgame would definitely parallel chuck/blair.

i know i'm not the only one who's into this, back when the fandom was more active many others shared this headcanon, i think. i've read a lot of really good dangina fic that has that sort of depressing, defeated, fucked up vibe to it, but right now the only one i can recall is this gem by secondaudrina.

anyway, i hope that answers you!! i think canonically the way c/b & dangina are, they aren't on the same intensity of fuckery, even if there is that common thread, because chuck & blair are kind of ... worse. but there is scope for that evolution to happen. like dangina have the seed for that kind of dynamic. chair is already watering the whole damn garden of it. you know what i mean?