#but in that I only meant to try make easier pieces for myself or- pieces that I didn't have to feel so perfectionist about. aka. sketchy

[noliaert]

some fanart of THE vampire that owns the night🫰

[reidmotif]

For the Love of Lace

Summary: Reader decides she doesn't want to pine for her best friend, Spencer, anymore, but still needs his help deciding what lingerie to wear for her upcoming date.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: breast and nipple play, fingering (r!receiving), lingerie talk, unprotected penetrative sex, no implied breast size, couch sex, best friends to lovers, possessive Spencer

Word Count: 3.7k

Masterlist

Pining for your best friend definitely has its lows. There’s a certain sense of pathetic-ness that comes about when your friend is simply speaking, and your mind is occupied with the yearning to bridge the gap of distance between you two, and kiss them senseless. I think perhaps the biggest low that I’d hit, however, in the two years I’d been pining for Spencer Reid was the sexual frustration that came with being unable to see myself with anyone else. 

I’d never meant for it to play out like this. I thought it was an innocent crush, a byproduct of all the time we’d managed to spend with each other divulging into our personal lives and sharing the ordinary comings of the day together. However, there came a point where I looked at him and could see my future laid out so perfectly with him. A future of love, and laughter, and God, so much sex.  And no matter what I’d tried, the thought was too good to let go. 

It didn’t help that not only was he oblivious, he clearly didn’t return my affections. There were no signs of longing that I could deduce from his actions, and I’d decided to be reasonable about this. His actions were always remnant of a good friend, but a lover? No. There were no longing stares. No stolen brushes of fingers, or hushed whispers. It seemed that anything romantic about our relationship only emanated from my fantasies of what I wish we could be. 

And so here I was, unable to get past the mental block of wanting anyone as much, and it’d resulting in a long, exasperating two-year stint of celibacy. And Jesus, did it show. The tiniest thing Spencer did would set me off in a frenzy, and it left me feeling nearly perverted at a certain point. There’d been a day that he ran his finger down a page, attempting to locate a passage to display to me and all I could think about was how badly I wanted that finger in me. My mouth. Me. Anything. And then I realized I was lusting over my best friend’s hand, and considered the possibility of this being a serious problem on my end. 

My only block to getting laid was my own self.  And I certainly didn’t relish in the debauchery I’d clearly stooped low enough to indulge in, and so it was decided. This Valentine’s Day? I wasn’t going to watch rom-coms and wonder if Spencer and I could ever have a happy ending like them.

 I was going to man up, and go on a date. Easier said than done. 

I’d found the date, that bit was easy enough. Trying to find someone to hook-up with on Valentine’s Day is like trying to find sand on a beach. Plentiful and simple. 

What wasn’t easy? Feeling ready for it. I hadn’t been like that with anyone for nearly two years, and found myself worrying that my sexual skills had deteriorated with lack of practice, even though the thought was rooted in some ridiculous notions about myself. I knew that logically the sex would be fine, and hopefully, exactly what I needed to get over Spencer, but still. I wanted to ensure the best possible experience. 

I found myself going through the motions of date preparation. A manicure and pedicure. A facial. I even bought a fancier perfume to wear the night of. And of course, a trip to procure some new lingerie for the night. 

I’d always been indecisive, and with the choices presented in the shop, I found myself overwhelmed. I’d decided and picked up 3 possible pieces, and instead of determining between them whilst buying, I bought all of them, with the intention that I’d be able to make a choice in the comfort of my own home. 

Except now, it’d been a week, my date was tomorrow, and I still couldn’t figure out what would work for me. All three were equally as appealing, but which one was the best? The question haunted me, and continued to  haunt me as Spencer and I hung out. Despite my date tomorrow, I’d promised to keep up our tradition of binging episodes of Star Trek on Friday night together, except my head was clearly elsewhere, which he quickly noticed. 

Damn profiler best friend. 

“Alright, what’s up with you?” Spencer asks, reaching for the remote and pausing on some random frame of Spock’s face, the show taking less precedence than my lack of attention. 

I sigh apologetically, quirking my mouth to the side. “I’m sorry, Spence.” I say, taking a deep breath. “Just a lot on my mind.” 

Spencer tilts his head, his expression a little more worried. “Something important?” 

I shake my head quickly, not wanting to disclose the reasoning for my distraction tonight. Especially to him, considering my date tonight had the sole purpose of me getting over the man currently sat to my right. 

“No, no.” I say, softly. “Just.. stuff.” I voiced, quickly.

“Stuff?” Spencer inquires. 

“Stuff.” I affirm. 

Now it’s his turn to sigh, making a slight groaning noise whilst he did so. “Come on. I’ve known you for years. I know there’s something on your mind, and it’s clearly distracting you, so.. Please? Tell me?” He asks, giving me those eyes. A look that would make anyone weak in the knees. 

I find myself hesitating, and bite my lip, and in the end, it’s the way he’s looking at me that does me in. I opt to stay vague, but give him a bit more insight into my wandering thoughts. 

“My date tomorrow? I don’t know what to wear.” I say, shrugging. “It’s not very important, but I want to make it work, you know?” I continue. 

“Why don’t you just show me your dress then?” Spencer inquires. “I’m not a fashion expert, but it’s not like I’m unable to have taste.” 

I laugh a little self consciously, shaking my head quickly. “Oh no, no. It’s not a dress. It’s okay, Spencer. I couldn’t ask you to do that for me.” 

“Shoes? C’mon! I’m your best friend. I’d do anything for you.” He protests, coming closer to me now. 

“Not shoes.” I say, still shaking my head. “And no! I mean, seriously. There are some things you can’t do for me, and it’s fine. I’m fine.” 

“Jewelry? Hair? Makeup?” He implores continuously. “I’m all ears.” 

I realize there’s no way in hell he’s ever going to let this go, so I blurt out with little thought, “It’s lingerie!” 

He goes a bit quiet in thought, and then raises an eyebrow. “And that poses a problem?” He asks, softly. 

I blink a little. Yes. Of course that’s  a problem. I love you so much that it makes me feel weak, and I can’t be even more vulnerable in front of you. Not like that. 

But instead I shrug, running my hands through my hair. 

“I just.. Wouldn’t that be weird?” I say, hesitantly. 

“Not really.” Spencer replies, nonchalantly. “You’re my best friend. And I want to help you in any way I can. Nakedness doesn’t really bother me, and if it doesn’t bother you, I’d love to help you decide.” 

“Spencer..” I mumbled, still incredibly hesitant. 

“I’m your best friend!” Spencer articulates. “And logically, I can provide you with insight that only another guy could give.” He points out. “In a purely platonic, and logical sense.” 

I had to give him credit for that. It’s true. Spencer did have insight that none of my friends could provide, and I’d always entrusted him in helping me make decisions for myself and my life. And honestly, it was starting to get suspicious with how much I’d been objecting to this. The man had helped me decide bikinis, clubbing dresses- this couldn’t be any more different, could it? 

“Okay. Okay. Fine.” I give him a resigned nod, getting off the couch. “Alright. Wait here.”

He plants himself more firmly on the couch, his eyes trained on where I’d disappeared into my room, rummaging through the shopping bag until I’d found the first lingerie piece. 

It was a simple black lace bra and matching panties. The bottoms were a bit cheekier than a normal pair of underwear, and my legs were on display in full. My hair framed my pushed-up breasts, and I looked at myself in the mirror, slightly self-conscious at the fact that I was about to present myself this way to Spencer. 

How did I get into this mess? 

I slowly twist the doorknob, calling out to him. “Spencer! I’m coming out with the first one.” 

“I’m here.” is his reply, and I know he’s waiting, and so I slowly push open the door and come out in the light, a little more in his view. I give a half-hearted 360 degree turn, and look at him. 

“So?” I ask, my eyes finally meeting his, but the sight I’m met with is a lot different than the one I’m expecting. He’s slightly red in the face, his hands fidgeting in his lap- quite different from the more composed version I’d seen of him. 

“Is there something wrong?” I ask, quickly, feeling even more vulnerable as I stood there, half naked in front of a blushing man. 

“No, no!” He sputters. “I’m sorry. This is normal.” He gulps a bit and gives me a quick once over. “Sorry, I’ll be normal.” He clears his throat again and nods more definitively. “This one is nice. It’s simple.” He replies, as diplomatically as I’ve heard him. “Black works well with your skin and hair, and I feel like it brings out your eyes.” 

I nod, biting my lip. “Anything I could do to make it.. more than nice?” I queried. 

He narrows his eyes in thought.  “It’s already really, really nice, but I feel like stockings, or even a garter would even the attention from your breasts, more to your legs- which already look really nice, by the way.” 

It's my turn to blush and I nod quickly. “Stockings, got it.” I say. I blow out a breath of air. “One down, two to go.” I say, absentmindedly. 

“Better go back and try the other two, then.” Spencer says, with a smile. 

I attempt to return his smile and disappear back into my room, putting on the next piece. It was red, and a bit more showy than my previous piece. It was a criss-cross, cut-out lingerie. Lines of maroon fabric danced around my skin in a way that exposed the curve of my breasts, and connected to a simple, red thong. I walked out quicker than last time, a little less nervous now that the initial nervousness of appearing naked in front of him had faded. 

Despite my nervousness fading, it seemed like his had only increased. I’d only caught a glimpse of it in my hurried departure from my room to his line of sight, but had he.. been adjusting his crotch area?

 No. No. I mean, maybe he was turned on, but that was a completely normal reaction to a half-naked girl in front of a man. To my knowledge, Spencer hadn’t dated anyone in 2 years either, so it was completely possible he also had pent-up desires. This was normal. Spencer Reid did not feel the same way for me, not in the same way as I did for him. 

He quickly looks up and his hands are by his side in record speed. “This one is.. Wow.” He marvels, his eyes boring into my body. “Your breasts. They look great.” 

I can’t help the giggle that escapes me, a part of me secretly delighted that even if this was friendly, Spencer was enamored with my body in the way I’d always wished he would be. 

“Was that too much?” Spencer questions, upon hearing my laugh. “I’m only being honest. Your breasts look nice in this one. My eyes immediately went there with this piece.” 

I smile. “No, no. That’s what I need from you, anyway. That’s what I want my date to do too, anyway.” I say, dismissing his worries. 

“Right. Your date.” He says, curtly. 

I raise an eyebrow at the snippy reply, but don’t think much of it. “So.. the last one then?” 

“Yep. The last one.” 

“Right..” I mumble, going back to my room, slightly confused by the sudden change in demeanor, but ready to get this over with nonetheless. 

The last piece was a lot more revealing, in the sense that my nipples were exposed from the get-go with this one. A lavender slip, with transparent lace covering the breasts, and the silky fabric stopping right below my crotch. It was a bit more daring, but I still enjoyed the way it framed my curves, my hips, and my breasts. I wondered what Spencer would think, and out of modesty, I placed both my hands over my nipples, wanting to show the lingerie without fully exposing myself to him. 

I walk out, and this time, his gaze is intense. More so than I’d ever seen him in our years of friendship. 

“Spence..?” I ask, when he’s silent for a beat too long.

“Turn around.” He says, firmly, and I find myself listening instantly, baring my back to him, and no doubt he’s focusing on the way the fabric wrapped around my ass, leaving me slightly flustered and more on display than I’d ever felt tonight. 

“Spencer? Come on. Say something. Feeling a bit like cattle right now.” I voice, laughing a little nervously.

When I hear his voice again, I nearly jump out of my skin because he’s right behind me, his hands ghosting across my bare shoulders. 

“Don’t go.” He whispers, his hot breath fanning around my neck, sending shivers up my spine. 

I’m too nervous to turn around, so I keep my hands planted firmly on my breasts and murmur out my confusion. 

“What?” 

“Don’t go.” He repeats, more firmly this time, and I can feel his hand moving to grip my hip, orienting me to face him. “Please.” 

“Why not?” I ask, softly, my eyes wide as I try to read his expression. His pupils were dilated to the size of saucers, and I could feel his hands moving to cup my face, bringing us even closer. 

“I’d be an idiot to have not at least tried.” He whispers. “I’m sorry for doing this now. I’m sorry if this ruins everything. But I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try.” 

I feel my confusion bubbling up, my eyebrows furrowing a little bit. “Why.. what is this? Is this because of the lingerie?” I ask, my lips parting slightly. 

“No. God no.” I can see him emphatically shaking his head at my rumination. “This has been coming for a long time.” He murmurs. “I thought I could ignore it, but I can’t. I can’t physically stand the thought of someone worshiping you the way I’d like to.” He rasps out, and I feel my heart jump, my breath coming out faster. 

When I’m silent, unable to respond,  his fingers run across my lips. “Can I kiss you?” He whispers. 

I nod, and it’s like he’s been waiting all night, and then some. His grip on my face tightens and he brings me in for a searing, earth-shattering kiss. His lips move over mine desperately, and I feel his grip shifting to bring my hands off my breasts, and to replace them with his own, his hands now pawing and squeezing at the flesh, which draws a soft moan from me. 

He throws his head back at the noise, leaning to kiss my neck. “Fuck yes.” He mumbles, seemingly goaded on by the noises slipping through my lips. “I’ve wanted this for so long.” He groans out, to no one in particular, just wanting to get the words out there somehow. 

I nod rapidly, and his hands are on my hips again, guiding me to the couch and laying me down. I move easily in his grasp,  a slight gasp escaping me as he climbs on top. His thumb goes to graze my jaw, leaning in for another kiss. It’s less rushed this time, slow and passionate. His tongue darts out to swipe over my bottom lip, and I open my mouth easily for him, reveling in the sweetness of how he tasted. 

He breaks off the kiss and moves down, kissing my breast between the lace. His tongue goes out to wet the fabric, and I’m arching my back at the sensation of the rough lace and the warm wetness now rubbing against the sensitive skin.

“You taste so good.” He mumbles. “God. Why did I wait so long?” 

“No clue.” I whimper out, desperately. “But don’t stop.” 

“I’m not stopping.” He says, gruffly, moving to bunch up the fabric of the slip until it pooled around my waist, exposing my dripping cunt to him. 

“I can’t stand the thought of another man touching you like this.” He whispers, his finger running up and down my wet folds, causing me to moan out needily. 

“Shh, shh, baby.” He murmurs. “You’ll get what you want soon enough.” 

Without warning, he easily slides two fingers inside me, and I can’t help but wonder if he was made for me. Given the way he effortlessly reached that spongy spot so deep inside me, I was compelled to say yes. The action prompted me to release a string of desperate moans and whimpers, increasing in octave with every second he pumped the digits in and out of me. 

“Yeah, you like that?” He mumbles, almost entranced with the way my cunt was sucking him in, tightening around his finger with each second he continued. 

“Yes. Yes, oh God.” I moan out, my eyes squeezing shut. 

“Open your eyes.” he demands, his thumb now darting out to rub harsh, tight circles on my clit. “I want to see your face when you come on my fingers.” 

My eyes snap open, and I can’t help it when I release another moan and feel my orgasm absolutely shred through me. My hips raise in an attempt to move off Spencer’s fingers, but he manages to follow my movement, nursing me through my orgasm, and watching every second of it. 

When it's over, he removes his finger and brings it up to his lips, sensually tasting my release right in front of me, never breaking eye contact- and the sight itself makes me need him all over again. 

I pull him in by the collar of his shirt, and my hands move to remove his buttons, wanting to feel his skin on mine. He laughs a bit and admonishes me, removing my shaky fingers. 

“Let me.” He mumbles, leaning back between my spread legs, and removing the clothing, before moving to his belt. 

I bite my lip as he hovers over me, and kiss him again. I can’t get enough of him. He’s all I wanted for so long, and here he is- mirroring my desire in the way I’d always hoped he would. 

“No man-” He breathes out, in between kisses, “could do this for you.” 

I nod in affirmation, continuing to kiss him. No argument there. 

“No man deserves to.” He adds, possessively, and it’s enough to make me clench around nothing, and I know at that point I’m more desperate for him than I had been the whole night. 

“Spence, please.” I groan out. “Need you.” 

He understands immediately and wastes no time, pulling himself out from his boxers, giving himself a few tugs before pushing inside of me, groaning as he feels my warm, wet walls grasp onto his cock. 

He remains there for a second, allowing me to adjust to his size. When he looks at my face again, and I nod, he starts to move, pulling out until only his tip remains inside of me, before slamming in. My jaw drops in a silent scream, and my hands go to grip his shoulders, and with the confirmation I was enjoying myself, he set on a ruthless pace, snapping his hips over, and over again, until I was reduced to a babbling mess in front of the man. 

He’s all I can feel at this point. His hands on my breasts, my hips, before he eventually rests both hands on either side of me and envelops me in his being. I can smell him, and the familiar scent only serves to tighten the coil in my stomach, reminding me that this was someone I’d loved so deeply for so long. Someone who was interwoven into the fiber of my being, and I know this is all I want, and all I’ll ever want. 

As we both feel our releases coming on at an alarming pace, he leans up to kiss me one more time, moaning against my mouth. I feel myself whimper before I feel my walls contract around his cock, my orgasm causing my back to arch even closer to him. The clamping of my cunt seems to drive him to finish too, and a warmth fills my deepest point as he groans into my ear, pulling out and lying against me. The two of us are panting, sweat sticking to both of our bodies and hair, lost in the post-sex haze and enjoying the proximity. 

He kisses my jaw and I giggle out and give a soft moan. “God.” I whisper. 

“Yeah.” He murmurs against my skin, and I can feel his smile. “Are you canceling your date then?” He says, a slight bit of glee in his voice. 

I giggle a little, finding his delight adorable and endearing. “Yes, Spencer. Obviously.” I murmur. 

“Good.” He whispers, laying his head on my chest. There’s a lull of quiet as my hands stroke through his hair, smoothing it out from our illicit activities just a moment ago. I can hear his grin as he breaks the silence. 

“Guess you could say I liked this piece the best.” 

hiii!! omg. this took a while. yes this is more of a valentines day fic and its a bit late but hey!! got it out in february. this was actually written for @imagining-in-the-margins new beginnings challenge, so go ahead and check that out when you can. i hope you guys like this one. as usual, please reblog, like, comment, and show your support any way you can. thank you for reading, and i hope it was enjoyable <333 ty ty ty!!

[malakaie]

had some feelings to write out – for/about @tommyend, no pressure at all to respond

I started watching wrestling – specifically, AEW – in late October 2023. It’s been just over a year since I started watching, and I didn’t expect it to consume as much of my brain-space as it has. When I started watching, I didn’t really know who anyone was. I had heard a few names – Randy Orton, CM Punk, Jade Cargill, Roman Reigns – but had no real concept of the landscape I was entering or what it would mean to get invested.

Truthfully, it was a little overwhelming, and there was more I didn’t understand than I did. In those first few weeks, I received one very helpful piece of advice: don’t try to understand everything. Find a wrestler or two whose vibe you like and stick with them – the rest will click into place eventually, or it won’t, and either way is fine.

And so I did. I think it was around the lead-up to Full Gear 2023 that I started really paying attention. There was something about what House of Black was doing that was different from anything else I was seeing. I could understand just enough to recognise talented athletes when I saw them, but I wasn’t quite plugged in enough to the overall wrestling “ecosystem” that that was enough on its own to get my attention. Now that I understand more of what I’m looking at, it’s easier to understand what I’m meant to be impressed by – it’s easier now to have that moment of, holy shit, how did they do that?

But I didn’t understand yet. I’d been watching wrestling for about a month and was still finding my footing. What I saw, and latched onto, in House of Black was a group of four impressive performers that I could tell were in love with the art of what they were doing. Everything was done with intent – the way they entered the ring, the different but cohesive styles with which each member of the House wrestled, the gear they wore, the ever-evolving paint on Malakai’s face, the evolution and growth of Julia’s character.

It was both the moment that I finally, properly understood that professional wrestling was also theatre—and, I think, the moment that I was magnetised. It felt like a faction that was made for me: a band of storytellers who wanted to take my hand and show me what wrestling could be and was and is, and had the creativity and cohesiveness and physical talent to pull it off.

I could breathe a sigh of relief. I wasn’t lost anymore, desperately trying to catch up to understanding something that everyone around me already seemed to know. I had a guide of some sort, and one that resonated: I’ve been reading since I was 3, writing stories since I was 11, have always been a little “strange,” drawn to creative types and niche hobbies and other people that don’t have many friends. And here was someone who not only felt like me, sounded like me, but was wanted and loved and succeeding. A stranger to me, in the way that performers and public figures always are, but I felt like it was going to be okay. If Malakai could make it—though I didn’t and don’t know him personally, I had no way of knowing if he was ever afraid, or if he doubted himself—then maybe I could, too.

The more I watched and the more I learned, the more true that became. I’ve been depressed and anxious most of my adult life. I have scoliosis that is likely to get worse as I get older, and causes me pain multiple times a week, if not every day. Hearing someone whose work I admired be open about his mental health—especially when sports industries have typically not been kind to people, perhaps especially men, who are vulnerable in that way—and be honest when he’s in pain shook something loose in me that I hadn’t quite realised was stuck and frozen in shame. It’s okay that I’m afraid. It’s okay that I have days where my brain is trying to consume itself. It’s okay that I’m in pain. Did I get out of bed today? Have I been outside? Have I eaten? Have I done something to be kind to myself—or, failing that, kind to someone else? Have I done something creative today?

I started my “gender journey,” for lack of a better phrase, in 2018. There was a lot, a lot, of messing around with pronouns, labels. I didn’t know what I was, only that “just a girl” didn’t feel quite right anymore. And then I felt like I was lying, because, well—I was fine being a girl when I was ten, and thirteen, and sixteen, so why was it suddenly different at 25? Sometimes I still feel like I’m lying. The generation above me often still holds an image of trans people that requires them to have always been miserable, always been “pretending.” A few months ago my mother suggested it was fine if my idea of being feminine had expanded, but she didn’t really believe I was trans, because I’d never been unhappy as a girl child, and besides that I looked like a “clone” of the small handful of other transmasc and nonbinary people she’s met. I must be a pod person. (Newsflash, mom: This is just what queer people look like, a lot of the time. I cut and dyed my hair and got one singular tattoo. How terrible.)

She didn’t ask me how I feel when people call me she, or her—it makes me feel horribly small and unreal, by now—and in fairness to her, I didn’t quite defend myself either. I cringed and shrunk and asked for time to think about it, when what I wanted to say is yes, I know I haven’t had the history you expect to see from me, but this is who I am, and I’m not telling you that I was never a girl. I’m telling you that girl isn’t the place where I stop.

But I was scared, and I felt cornered, and I didn’t say any of that.

What I did have, though, was an artist and a performer and a storyteller who did things with his expression, his clothing, how he presented himself to the world that was like a lightbulb going on. The confidence of a man who told stories with the way that he looked, and who used feminine symbols to do it. He wasn’t any less masculine—but it was an embracing of both that cemented who he was, and I thought: holy shit. I can do that. Our identities are not the same, and I’m not too keen on speculating about the identities of public figures that I don’t know in any event—but it’s reassuring, motivating even, to be able to regularly see someone comfortably expressing his gender (because, yes, cis presentation is gender expression too) in a way that makes sense to him and incorporates the feminine and resonates through his art without doubt or reservation or compromise. This is who we are. Take it or leave it.

I don’t know what’s coming next for any of us. AEW looks like such a different place—in a good way—from when I started watching, and the world is looking pretty scary these days, but I’m still here. The art that got me interested in wrestling in the first place is still here, and I have my theories—unsubstantiated, so far—about where Malakai and House of Black are taking their story, but regardless of theories I’ve been so fortunate to watch them continue to grow and evolve over the past year. There’s a lot I don’t know, but I know the love for the story and the art is real.

I don’t know you personally, Malakai, and I don’t want to claim to, no matter how many scraps I’ve gathered together from interviews and how much of the backlog of matches I’ve done my best to watch so I can understand where you’ve come from and where you’re going next. But your work and your love for your craft has moved me, and I’m glad I stayed alive when it was hard so I could be around to see it when it mattered.

[xaviers-star-tassel]

⭐️ silent cry

✦ pairing: xavier / gn!reader

✦ genre: hurt to comfort

✦ warnings: probably badly written breakdown, feeling of emptiness and loneliness

✦ word count: 1.6k words

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ: there was never no need to hide your tears and feelings behind a fake smile. not when he was always there for you

⋆˙ ✦ note: as a huge stay and a silent cry lover, i couldn’t help myself but write this. this was probably the most fun i had while writing, though adding the lyrics into the story was harder than anticipated. stan stray kids y’all!! not proofread!

you had never been one to burden others with your feelings. perhaps it was that loud voice in your mind that kept on shouting to not annoy others around you, or just the fact that concerning people close to you filled you with guilt. you’ve always been told you were strong, and strong people don’t cry, right?

oh, how wrong everyone was. nobody knew that behind the smile you wore, behind every “i’m okay” you uttered, your poor heart was sobbing loudly. you dared not to show your vulnerability to anyone, not even the ones you considered friends, or even family. to be seen as disappointment was burdening your chest like an anvil.

that happy mask you always wore, simply to make others happy, seemed to shatter the moment you stepped foot in your dark room. the mental heaviness of your body and thoughts left you only sighing into the darkness, your frame harshly hitting the mattress. there was no joy in your eyes. you, who used to smile brightly, felt like you were slowly dying.

no one knew, yet a part of you felt glad. they didn’t deserve to be burdened by your troubles. even if no other person was there to listen to your nightly sobs and cries, you had made peace with that. for all you know, it was meant to be this way.

so there you were. in your room, dimly lit with the light radiating from your desk lamp, silently bawling your eyes out. your head laid on the pillow, the material of the sheet stained by the salty droplets of your tears. you weren’t aware of how long you had been crying, or why you even felt like it. it just happened, and there was no way to stop it. no matter how hard you tried, how much you tried to hold the tears in, it only made you cry more and harder.

your eyes burned, head was throbbing like it was repeatedly hit by a hard piece of metal. you could barely see the outlines of the furniture with how blurry your eyesight was. you wish you could just turn it off, to never feel again. or… to have someone you could cry to. but there wasn’t a person like that.

no one knew how you felt. at least, that was what you thought. one person knew all too well.

xavier was painfully aware of the pain in your eyes. the exhaustion behind your every smile. you were like a body without a soul, your gaze dull and almost empty. he wasn’t someone to notice other people’s feelings, moreover, he didn’t particularly care about the others.

but you weren’t just other person for him. you were special. he wanted to be your support, the shoulder to cry on. he was willing to be of help to you, no matter what would make you happy. truly happy.

yet you never approached him, and xavier couldn’t understand why. wouldn’t it be easier for you to let go of everything you held in? he would listen to your silent cry, that much was something he made clear to himself. your happiness was the most important thing to him, so why wasn’t it yours?

he was standing by your door, trying to listen to any sound coming from behind them. but your apartment was eerily quiet, as if you weren’t even there. but he knew better. he knew you were inside, suffering on your own.

as you laid on your bed, aggressively wiping the uncontrollable tears flowing down your cheeks, a knock erupted through the space of your abode. in panic, you jumped up, running to the bathroom to look at yourself.

the sight wasn’t pretty, it was anything but. your eyes were red, your hair a mess and face fully wet from tears. just the sight of yourself made you tear up even more. you bowed your head down, splashing handfuls of ice cold water on your face.

once you dried your face, you stumbled toward the door, possibly knocking something in the process. your hand made contact with the handle, and with a last deep breath, you swung the door open to reveal xavier.

“xavier! what are you doing here?” you mustered up the energy to smile brightly, hoping he would look over the red rim around your eyes.

you glanced down to notice a small box in his hand, and you immediately knew it were the macarons you liked the most. it was the packaging of it that gave away the content, and it made your heart flutter with genuine joy. even though it was a sparkle, it was enough.

“can i come in?” xavier asked with his usual calm tone.

the question surprised you, but you let him in anyway. with how dark your apartment was, his step to your room was careful, mindful of his surroundings. you quietly followed behind him, silently wishing he would explain his visit.

once you stood by your bed, xavier placed the box on the nightstand, right under the lit lamp before facing you. that was when you noticed the knot in between his eyebrows, not very far from a frown.

before you could say anything, his hand grabbed onto yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. your gaze fell down to your intertwined hands, then back at him. your eyes were round in surprise, and you barely bit back a gasp that threatened to fall from your mouth.

“why are you smiling when you don’t feel like it?” he whispered quietly, his free hand going up to cup your cheek.

he could feel the dried pathways of your tears beneath his palm. the cold water that you splashed your face with earlier didn’t get rid of the evidence of your tears fully, as it appeared. the pad of his thumb grazed ever so gently against your skin, drawing soothing circles over your cheekbone.

“what are you talking about? i’m okay,” you lied with a smile, though you could feel the tears prickling behind your eyelids.

“you always say that, but i can see how your heart sobs,” xavier’s voice was but a mere whisper as he drew you closer.

the forced smile began slowly faltering from your lips, and it was soon replaced by a quiver. without even realizing, a sob rippled through you, making it hard for you to hide your tears. one by one, like pearls falling from a torn necklace, tear droplets ran down your face. you couldn’t continue pretending to be alright, not when xavier was around.

a wave of relief washed over the man standing in front of you. he smiled softly as he engulfed you in a warm embrace, letting your tears stain his sweater. he didn’t mind. at least you weren’t alone in this, you had him now.

“don’t be the only one hurting,” he murmured into the crown of your head, earning a choked cry as a reply.

you tried to muster up a response, but nothing more than a sob came out. xavier shushed you gently, wordlessly saying that words weren’t needed.

careful with his movements, he settled on your bed. back leaning against the headboard, his arms reached out to pull you down on his lap. you had no energy to fight against it, in fact, you didn’t even want to. his warmth was soothing, and somehow nostalgic.

xavier’s arms held you tightly, like you’d slip away from his grasp if he let go. you cried and cried, body trembling and tears falling. loud sobs and pained whimpers filled the room, the dark place of all your deep sorrows.

even in his arms, it still hurt. why did it all have to hurt so much? and what was it that hurt? you weren’t even sure anymore. you couldn’t even tell if you had a reason to cry at all. it all felt useless, and utterly pointless. it felt unfair that xavier had to deal with your feelings, wrong even. you should push him away, right? you were a deepspace hunter, his partner. you were meant to be strong…right?

just as you were about to pull away, still crying heavily, you felt xavier’s slender fingers on the back of your head, gently pushing your head onto his chest.

“lean on me. i won’t let you go,” he whispered close to your ear, his lips brushing against your temple as he planted a gentle kiss on it.

xavier sat there with you, not uttering a sound as you let every tear out. his left hand gently caressed your hair, untangling the knots with a gentle touch, while the other drew soothing patterns on your back. his sweater was pretty much soaked by the time you were done, but he couldn’t care less. his favorite piece of clothing meant nothing compared to your happiness.

“thank you,” you managed to whisper, your voice hoarse and almost gone.

“you don’t have to thank me,” he shook his head, looking into your still teary eyes. “i’ll listen to your silent cry. always.”

his lips touched your forehead, calloused hands cupping your cheeks. he softly brushed the tear trails away, keeping his gaze on you. his touch was gentle, comforting. this man, the one who killed wanderers without mercy, treated you with upmost love and care. as if every crevice of your body was made of the most fragile glass.

“when you lose strength, i’ll hold you. i’ll say ‘it’s okay’ to you. just don’t cry alone, not when i’m here. not when i’m near,” xavier said in a quiet tone, leaning your head down to let you rest on his shoulder.

the heat of his body completely relaxed your muscles, putting your mind at ease. his chest slowly rose and fell as he breathed calmly, lulling you to sleep. your eyes began to close, and within a moment, you were asleep.

xavier didn’t leave your side, he wouldn’t dare. he stayed with you the whole night, occasionally waking up from his slumber to make sure you were sound asleep. as much as he valued his sleep, he valued you more.

he loved you more than anything.

© xaviers-star-tassel

[kikker-oma]

Fan Joy July!

Coined by the sweet @isasan347 , Fan Joy July is an art challenge I've created for myself!

I will be drawing one piece of colored fan art every single day of July that corresponds to a scene in various Linked Universe Fanfics.

This challenge is meant to push myself to draw daily, give back to writers who make this fandom so much fun, and give others a chance to read something new they may enjoy 😄

I will be choosing some fics myself that I've read and enjoy, but I would love if others recommended their favorite LU fic. This way I can pick one LU fan fiction to draw for all 31 days. Feel free to self promote as well!

To recommend me a fic, please comment or reblog this post with the link so that I can see it easier. Please avoid sending asks if you can, just because I tend to get overwhelmed when my inbox gets full 🥴🥲 hehe

I'll be taking recommendations from April 11-30. After that I'm going to start drawing so that I can be ready to post in July! ( This is gonna take me a while so I need all the prep time I can get haha).

**I'm not asking anyone else to do this challenge, but I would ADORE if anyone wanted to join me! Even if it isn't for the whole month. **(I can be your excuse if you've ever wanted to draw for a writer but were too shy hehe)

I've also seen one or two writers interested in how they could participate. I think that maybe if there is an artist you enjoy you could write something for a drawing they've done? I know there are a ton of very talented LU artists in the fandom, so that could be a good challenge for writers 😀

--- General Notes:

Please note that I will only be doing 31 drawings and a recommendation does not guarantee I will draw for it ( I love you all, but I can only do so much)

I will be tagging my challenge as "FanJoyJuly" and will try my best to note posts appropriately

I will be tagging writers (if they have a Tumblr and I can find it)

I will be linking the story for each day in the post

I will not be releasing which stories I'm drawing for until I post them (for the DRAMA😉)

As we get closer to July, I'll create a master post and update it with each post I make in case people are interested in following along ❤️

Thank you all for the initial feedback for this idea, and I'm excited to get started!

[galedekarios]

"i'm strong enough. i'll carry on alone."

i've already made a more detailed post about the loss scene that was part of act i and gale's romance in early access.

the scene held a lot of weight and was a turning point in the relationship between gale and the protag, while also highlighting just how far gale has fallen, in terms of social standing and in terms of power:

Gale: Khat-Tsjin Deth-Thra! Player: You don't sound very happy there, Gale. Gale: Happiness is like a stray cat: sometimes it seeks you out, sometimes it ignores you. Tonight, I'm ignored. It's getting alte. I think I'll turn in. Perhaps some sleep will do me good. Player: They say you should never go to bed angry. Gale: Isn't that advice for couples? The only one I'm angry with is myself. Please - just let it rest. Player: [Insight Success] We shared the WEave the other night. Now share what's on your mind. Gale: Very well. Just now, I was trying to cast a spell I once cast with ease, but I failed. You see, this fire - there was a time that I could make it come alive. That it would take the shape of a dragon and roar in delight. There was atime I could silence a Beholder with a word, and lift a tower from its foundations with a flourish. There was a time I was all but one with the Weave. But no more - a mere shadow of the wizard I used to be. Why? Because I've lost. Player: I don't understand. What is it that you've lost? Gale: I've lost... Player: [Insight Success] Go on. Every burden is easier to carry when shared. Gale: An apt enough observation. I've lost Mystra. I sought to impress her personally. To turn the eyes of my muse upon me. To win the favour of a goddess. But I failed, and all I invoked was death and dismissal. My death. Her dismissal. Player: I don't know what to make of what you've told me, but I sympathise. Gale: Thank you. You're a good friend. I often think of that moment we shared together - one under the Weave. I hope you think about it too.

it's a wonderful scene that offers a lot of insight into gale's character as well as his past, but what i haven't focused on in the original post is the dialogue the player would get from gale if the protag failed the check to convince him to open up and share the burden that was making him visibly upset:

[the banter is identical with the one above up to this point] Gale: I've lost... Player: [Insight Failure] Go on. Every burden is easier to carry when shared. Gale: I'm strong enough. I'll carry on alone. Gale: With that I bid you an evening better than my own.

i think this shows a very interesting side of gale and one that we both don't get to see often and / or press him on: the side of gale that masks his worries, his fears, his insecurities and his pain to soldier on and do what he feels needs to be done.

we catch glimpses of it in the full release as well, specifically during and after elminster does his duty as mystra's chosen and informs gale of her demands of him:

Weary Traveller: You must find the Heart of the Absolute, whatever that may be, and use yourself as the catalyst that will burn it from this world. Player: We'll be rid of both the Absolute and Gale in one fell swoop. Win-win. Weary Traveller: I may be slow to anger, but I will not have you sully this moment of most sorrowful import with ill-considered levity! Gale: It's all right, Elminster. If ever gallows humour were appropriate, this is its grim-smiling hour. Weary Traveller: It brings me no pleasure saying this, my friend, but such is Mystra's will. Yours must be the sacrifice that will undo the Absolute. And for your sacrifice, you will be redeemed - such is Mystra's promise. Weary Traveller: With that, I've said my sorry piece, and need only bestow unto thee the charm I was bid.

it's elminster who is upset on gale's behalf, not gale himself. he treats it as 'gallow's humour' - whether or not it's meant like that by the protag.

the same view he takes on shortly after, once the protag asks him how he is feeling:

Player: How are you feeling? It can't be easy, facing the possibility of death... Gale: Oh, you know me - ever the optimist. I'm trying to focus on the positives. devnote: Gallows humour Gale: The truth is, I was living on borrowed time already. Consuming those items would only have kept the orb sated for so long. Gale: If anything, I feel more at peace than I have in months. At least now I know my death will have purpose. It won't be a distant 'bang' in the footnotes of history.

Player: You're seriously considering doing what Elminster said? Gale: Of course - he offered the clearest solution to our problem. All I have to do is find the right place and time, close my eyes, and let go… devnote: Trying to sound upbeat, not fully engaging with what he’s saying (that he’s going to kill himself). Gale: Then the slate will be clean, wrongs will be righted, the Absolute will be gone… devnote: Trying to sound upbeat, not fully engaging with what he’s saying (that he’s going to kill himself). Gale: …and I along with it. devnote: Still trying to sound upbeat, though this time the reality that this means he will die weighs a bit heavier

the game gives you no option to press him on any of this. on this front of maintaining optimism, of gallows humour, clinging tightly to the idea of there being purpose in his own death, yet not fully engaging with what that actually means.

until he can't avoid it anymore, and even then, he carries on. we know it's already of limited comfort to him by the time the last night alive scene / act 2 romance scene takes place:

Gale: I am terrified - I will not claim otherwise. My face could scarcely conceal it even if my words sought to deny it. nodecontext: Hushed, vulnerable Gale: There is no point in running from the inevitable. Better to meet it, on my own terms. nodecontext: Resigned

and it's echoed later too, in act 3, when he offers himself up as an out, a failsafe, for the protag and the companions:

and it of course culminates in the scene - if you chose to take that route - which gale ascends to the elder brain alone, spelling his friends and companions away to safety.

he says he is strong enough to carry on alone, to do what he believes must be done, what's been ordained to him, by fate or by mystra, and he is. despite being terrified. despite wishing he didn't have to be.

it's an interesting aspect of gale - but his relief is all the sweeter for it when he realises that he doesn't have to be strong enough and that he doesn't have to carry on alone.

he's found friends and possibly love.

every burden is easier to carry when shared indeed.

[fazedlight]

Hero (Kara character study. Angsty but gets better.)

I can save this world.

Kara looked herself over in the mirror, her chest puffing in silent pride at the symbol that lay across it. I am the last daughter of the House of El, she thought to herself. I am the last daughter of Krypton, and no one will ever forget it.

Her mind drifted to watching her cousin’s feats from her living room. Collapsed bridges, raging floods, villains - human and alien alike - who sought to cause harm. How he stood in the way, the El family crest on his chest, cape snapping in the wind. 

She couldn’t save her world, but she could save this one. She could make herself worthy of the House of El.

I can save this world.

She could still hear the screams from across the city, from the child she couldn’t get to on time. The fire had spread so rapidly that the mere minute it took for her to come up with an excuse and run away had cost a child his life. She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, but there were others in the building she could still save.

She thought of asking Kal how he handled it, the loss of a single precious life that might still have been here had she been just a little better, just a little faster. But maybe he didn’t really deal with that - maybe she was just the failure he wasn’t. She had failed to be there for him, after all.

Then the news of her father’s involvement in Medusa came to light, and Kara stopped knowing how to feel about the sigil on her chest.

I can’t save this world.

It was the last conscious thought she had, as Reign’s hand loosened. She remembered starting to fall, but she couldn’t remember landing.

She was trapped - trapped in her own mind, away from everyone. Unable to escape. But she wasn’t damaged. She was stuck because… she was afraid? Because she was a failure. Because Reign represented everything she couldn’t be. How could she try to save the world, when destruction was so much easier than creation?

I can’t save this world.

What is it the man had said? “They’re not like you. You’re a superhero.” As though her cape made her any less a refugee who came here for safety, a child sent across skies to protect and be protected.

How does one fight a villain that lives in everyone’s soul, a piece of darkness and fear that turns outward with suspicion and hatred towards those that are different? Even if she was a shining example of the best of her kind, she would simply be discounted. “You’re one of the good ones,” they would tell her. Because hate was easy when there was fear.

I can save her.

Kara’s chest fluttered in panic as Lena held Myriad in her hand. It had been too easy, how quickly their relationship had recovered from Kara’s own cruelty. She never wanted the other shoe to drop. She hid, she always hid, hiding would always be easier than acknowledging the possibility of loss.

She thought she had lost enough in her life, but as the kryptonite encased her in the last remnant of her home, she could only feel a new type of regret.

I can’t save her.

Kara’s fists clenched as she stared down Lena on the balcony. You act like a villain, I’ll treat you like one, she thought to herself, hating herself every moment. She knew the torn woman in front of her was an adversary she had created. But she had tried, Rao, she had tried to do the right thing.

She didn’t know how she could live with the string of failure that had followed her ever since she had picked up the cape. But at the same time, she knew there came a point where - whatever she had created - she still needed to do what was right. 

Even if it meant giving up any hope of being with the woman she loved.

I can’t even save myself.

She could still feel the softness of Lena’s hand in her own when they reconciled. There was still so much they needed to talk about in the aftermath, something else she needed to confess. The bridge was there for them to cross, once it was all over.

But then the only option became to risk her own life. Her soul tore at Lena’s longing gaze when she left the Fortress, and Kara wondered if they would ever get the chance.

It was a twisted comfort, knowing that Lena cared, even in the midst of their fallout, even as Kara faced her eternity in the Phantom Zone.

They saved me.

Kara broke down sobbing when Alex shoved her under the sunlamp, feeling the painful tingling of her cells remembering how to process sunlight. Everything screamed at her - the thundering sound of the light breeze outside, and choking scent of motor oil from the passing cars, and the hammering of all her friends’ heartbeats from the Tower’s mainroom.

Her body screamed like she was 13 again, panic and joy overwhelming her, because the pain wasn’t tied to the loss like it was all those years ago. It was a second chance, with everyone she loved.

We can save the world. 

There was this exhilaration to being back, to seeing the blue oceans and red sunrises and green grass. Maybe it’s easy to get carried away, when you can forget what made everything so hard.

Her father was going to save this world from its own destruction. She was going to absorb the sun. It was easy to seek easy solutions for everything, only for it to solve nothing at all.

We can save the world, sometimes.

It felt so odd to smile and cry, as Lena pulled her into her arms. Kara’s mind jumped from seeing her sister so happy with Kelly as they danced, to the words that were missing. The words Kara needed to say to her best friend.

She knew in the night - once they were out of their wedding clothes and in their pajamas, curled up on Lena’s couch - the words would finally tumble out.

But as Lena stood in front of her, reminding her that the world wasn’t on her shoulders alone, Kara took the moment to pause. She thought of her old cape, torn up and folded neatly in her closet at home. The day she put it on, she never thought she’d need more than feats of strength to save the world.

But how could strength defeat masses manipulated into bigotry? How could strength defeat magic? How could strength defeat the best friend she had betrayed? She wasn’t here through strength alone, but through connection, and truth. As Lena reminded her, the only salve against the darkness was in standing together.

We can save each other.

A small smile crossed Kara’s face, as she watched Lena snooze next to her in the morning light, hearing her voice from the day before. “You can’t always be our savior, Kara. You shine your light and inspire others to shine theirs.” She could never save everyone. No one could. But that’s not what hope was about, as much as cynicism said otherwise. 

As Kara reached up to brush hair away from Lena’s face, she remembered the lyrical sound of her family motto falling from Lena’s lips. With each person who stood next to another, the spark grew. Perhaps they could someday create enough light.

Kara lowered her head, placing her forehead against Lena’s as she slept. As Kara listened to Lena's peaceful heartbeats and calm breaths, she found herself praying to Rao. Thank you for this spark.

[abbu0414]

Comfort (Soapxf!reader)

Hi guys! This ones kinda for me because I feel like I've been overworking myself and getting overwhelmed at small things, and I am just WATING for my huge breakdown (I'm due for one in like 2 days I can feel it). And also in honor of the new CoD season coming out yesterday, I bought the battlepass as a little treat for myself. Anyways, please enjoy :)

Word count: 634

♪Song to Listen To: House Song by Searows♪

This had been the 8th night in a row that you had come back late from work. It wasn’t unusual for you to work extra, or to come home late but Johnny knew what was going on. I mean come on he was your boyfriend, he’s always up to date on these things. But he knew that this meant you were trying to distance yourself from your emotions, or something that you were thinking about. The only way you would stay sane, was if you overworked yourself to exhaustion. If you were constantly working, this meant that at night you would sleep peacefully. And this meant as a boyfriend, he needed to do small things to make your life easier, like wiping off counters after you made dinner for the two of you, or folding the blankets that scattered the couch after one of Johnny’s after work naps. 

After night 11 of working in a row AND working late, he had enough of you torturing yourself. And in all honesty, you have had enough of it too.  You came home and softly closed the door to your shared apartment. Your work backpack feeling heavier than usual as your tired, sore feet carried you down your long hallway. 

“Bonnie, is that you?” Johnny calls out from the couch

And suddenly soft tears begin to spill.

All of those pent up emotions, all of those days where customers just bitched and yelled at you, all of those days you wanted to hide in the back and cry, all of those coworkers that made you do all the hard work just for them to get all the credit. You couldn’t take much more of it.

You don’t even make it to your door as you crumble in the hallway, letting out silent tears. You hear footsteps approaching you, but don’t look up. A figure removes your backpack off of your heavy and tired shoulders. It sits on the hallway floor right in front of you and lifts your chin to meet its eyes. 

“Just because you can carry heavy things, doesn’t mean I can’t help lift. I’m here to help carry the heavy stuff too.” And just like that, you explode. 

“I-I don’t w-want to carry all the heavy stuff Johnny.” Your sobs echo in the empty hallway as you bring your body closer to his until he has you with your legs wrapped around his waist and and he has his nose in the crook of your neck. 

“I know Bonnie, I know.” 15 minutes later you’ve calmed down and your breathing softens, Johnny peppers your neck and face softly with kisses as he takes in your smell that he loves so much. He realizes that you’ve cried yourself to sleep and he gives a light chuckle. As he gets up off the floor, he takes you with him and carries you to your shared bedroom. 

Changing you into your favorite t-shirt and shorts combo, he takes in your sleeping face. With your eyes and nose red from crying so hard, it breaks his heart into a million pieces. He tucks you into bed and climbs in with you (him being the big spoon obviously) his hand snakes around your waist and up your chest to give you something to hold onto while you sleep. You nestle your cheek into his hand as you take a big sigh of relief from letting all your emotions out and taking in Johnny’s cologne and touch. He always knew how to calm you down and after a long couple of days, this is exactly what you needed. 

Maybe calling out of work wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. (Johnny was gonna do it for you while you were asleep anyways to force you to take a break.)

[i-me-mine]

𝙈𝙧. 𝙁𝙞𝙭 𝙞𝙩 | 𝙀𝙙𝙙𝙞𝙚 𝙈𝙪𝙣𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

Header done by the loveliest soul in the world @aftermidnightwriting Thank you! 💜 Older!Eddie pic is from by the incredibly talented @eddiemunsons-missingnipple

Summary: Moving to a new home after your divorce meant having a house requiring a lot of repairs - and Eddie, who was once your crush, was the helpful staff member of the hardware store that would help you fix what was broken.

Word count: 3.3k

My Masterlist | AO3

≿━━━━ ᴹʳ. ᶠᶦˣ ᶦᵗ ━━━━≾

As you entered the hardware store for the first time, a strong smell of sawdust and paint filled your nose, and the store was quieter than you expected. At a glance, you saw some of the things you were looking for, nails, screws, a hammer… but you know that to get everything on your list, you would need help.

It shouldn’t be a problem, right? Except it was. The only employee you saw around was sitting behind the counter, discreetly eating a donut while checking what seemed to be a catalog or an order book, wearing an apron with the nametag written “Eddie”. Not that it was needed; you would recognize those curls anywhere.

He glanced up, greeting you. “Welcome to Boyd Hardware Store. How can I help you today?”

He didn’t recognize you. You felt your chest heavy, reminding yourself he had no reason to remember you.

The last time you spoke was still burned in your mind. You were just a stupid girl asking the Corroded Coffin guitarist to go with you to the Junior Prom and being rejected.

You knew that Eddie despised those school events, but you had a crush on him, and back then, it seemed like a good idea, but the outcome left a bad taste in your mouth.

You swore that no one would reject you again; you started cheerleading, and as you joined the popular circles, you and Eddie grew apart as he was seen as the town freak, and you never spoke again. You hated to admit that even over a decade later, you never got over his rejection.

“What can I do for you?” Eddie insisted, staring at you intently.

Blood flushed your cheeks as you noticed how weird you were acting, standing there silently. The back of your hand rubbed against your forehead to clean the sweat forming. While you wished you could blame the hot weather, it wasn’t even that hot - the matter was that you felt like a spotlight was focused on you, waiting for you to mess up. It was stupid to be so self-conscious, and you knew that, but learning how to deal with everything alone was not getting easier with time. Finally, you took a deep breath and opened the piece of paper that contained your shopping list, which was already crumpled from being handled so much.

“Would you help me get these, please?” you handed over the list to him, wishing that it wasn’t in such a deplorable state.

His eyes scanned the list, and he turned to get a shopping cart, nodding for you to follow him while he entered the aisles, starting to pick the items listed, occasionally asking if you had any preference, while you just answered with a shrug.

“So the happy couple is getting a house renovation…” he teased.

“Something like that,” you shyly replied, your right hand instinctively reaching out to the finger on your left hand where your wedding ring used to be. So he did remember you after all; he just didn’t know how your life had turned upside down recently.

“I never imagined I would see you here; I thought you’d hire contractors or something like that to get things done.”

“No, I’ll do it all by myself,” you replied, staring at your hands.

“I cannot picture you as a do-it-yourselfer at all; I’m afraid that’s too much for you. I’m not sure if you can make it…” he said quickly, smirking, and you felt that he was laughing at you.

‘For Christ’s sake, Eddie! I don’t even have a choice! I’m all alone and don’t know what I’m doing with my life. I don’t need you to tell me I’ll fail; my mirror already tells me that every day; thank you very much!”

You bit the inside of your cheek and shut your eyes, trying to stop the tears from falling; the feelings of rejection and insufficient filled your body and itched your legs, fueling them to run away from there. The warm touch of his hand on your shoulder stopped you, and when you opened your eyes, his chocolate button eyes filled with concern were looking straight into you.

“Hey, I-I’m sorry. I d-didn’t mean to upset you. Shit, that was awful. I was trying to make you laugh. I didn’t know.”

“That’s okay, Eddie; we don’t talk anymore. You couldn’t have known,” you murmured, embarrassed.

Eddie opened his mouth to speak but closed it again without saying anything, with a conflicted look. He finished taking your items and helped you wrap them when your fingers touched. You felt an odd exhilarating shiver run through you. You withdrew your hand, embarrassed.

“My shift ends in 15 minutes. I can give you a ride home, so you don’t ha-”

“I’d hate to be a burden, Eddie,” you interrupted him.

“You won’t be. Please, let me take you home.” he tried to infuse his ask with as much sincerity as he could and opened a big smile when you agreed.

You haven’t noticed how much you craved to have a normal conversation with another human being until being in the car with Eddie. At first, you were worried that there would be an awkward silence during the ride, but being apart for years meant that there were a lot of stories yet to be told, and the atmosphere was like you were still just two kids having fun and laughing.

The sudden car stop at your door brought you back to your reality. You were genuinely having a good time in what seemed to be forever and didn’t want it to end.

“Wanna come in? For a coffee, a beer, or something?” you wondered if he would notice that you were desperate for his company or would just think you were being polite.

“Sure!” he rejoiced, picking up your bags and following you to your door, happily entering right after you. “Wow, where are your things?” his voice echoed in the empty house.

You were so blind by your excitement of having Eddie tag along that you forgot that your house was in no condition to receive guests, with little furniture and scattered boxes.

“He left me empty-handed. I was able to get my personal stuff, but no more than that… I… I lost everything.”

Sadness sinked its claws into your heart and filled you with the pain of having wasted years of your life in a failed marriage and being left with nothing, not knowing how to move on. You could feel your body curling in as the shivers that loneliness caused you started to appear again until a wave of warmth and coziness invaded you: Eddie’s arms wrapped around you. The comforting feeling of his hand petting your hair and breaking down the walls you’ve built to appear strong.

He kissed the top of your head, whispering that it was okay, that you’re not alone right now, and you allowed yourself to cry, to be vulnerable for the first time in ages. The weight of life has been too much for you, but Eddie, in these few moments you’ve shared, seemed like a ray of sunshine chasing away the dark clouds that have populated your life for so long, and you decided to enjoy it while it lasts.

“The house is not that bad; it just needs some love, some repairs here and there… we can do it! We can go to the thrift shop later and get you some nice furniture...”

“Wait, what do you mean by ‘we’?” you interrupted him.

“You and me. I’m your neighbor; my house is just down there, so it’ll be easy to come here to help.”

“You don’t have to.” you countered without thinking.

“But I want to. If you allow me, of course.” his smile was so contagious that you just mirrored it, agreeing with it.

≿━━━━ ᴹʳ. ᶠᶦˣ ᶦᵗ ━━━━≾

For the following weeks, you threw yourself into the house repairs, with Eddie stopping by almost daily to help you with something. You were in the middle of the room, surrounded by paint cans, brushes, and drop cloths - You had decided to face the daunting task of painting the walls, but instead of being scared of it, you were both grinning from ear to ear. It was so much easier to face life having Eddie by your side!

Your fingers brushed very briefly, and you felt that current zapping again through you like a shock. You gasped involuntarily as you felt it going all the way down to somewhere deep inside you. Eddie had his sleeves rolled up and his hair in a wild bun, and you couldn’t help but notice how big his biceps were, the details of his tattoos, and how cute he looked with the small curls that the bun couldn’t hold falling on his face, imagining how it would feel to be in his arms or to touch his face, his hair…

“Hey, sweetheart, let’s get to work; I’m not painting this alone!” he chuckled while pressing play on the radio, metal being the soundtrack for your work.

You wondered if he noticed that you were daydreaming about his beauty but decided to focus on the task, brushing into the paint and spreading it across the wall. He followed you, filling the spaces you missed, you both working together in a kind of synchronicity, moving around each other, laughing as you painted, as Eddie pretended to play guitar using the paint roller, and occasionally, you had fun painting each other instead of the walls.

As the work progressed, you were more and more covered in paint, your clothes and faces splattered with colorful splotches, but you didn’t care; you were having too much fun. You danced around each other, singing along to the radio and making jokes as you painted.

When you finally finished, the room was transformed, and you were both tired but happy. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, taking out and sorting some things still in boxes.

“What kind of filthy things you hide here, huh?” his lips quirked up in a half smile. Eddie was holding one small box with “Do not open” written on its side.

You tried to take it from him, but he was already opening it. Photos, music tapes, cards, drawings… that box contained many things from when you were young that you locked there and did not allow yourself to look back on anymore.

“Is this what I think it is? Have you kept it?” he asked while holding pieces of wood.

“Yes…” you murmured, burying your face into your hands, ashamed.

Many years ago, you were paired with Eddie during an art and craft activity in school. You created a wooden heart piece that he painted, transforming it into a flaming heart. “It will look more metal,” he said. Later he also drew the corroded coffin logo and signed it, giving it to you as a gift.

Unfortunately, you mistakenly took it as a sign that he liked you, which got you the courage to ask him to the Junior Prom. He reacted very badly, you discussed, and when you pushed him in a moment of anger, you dropped the heart, and it broke into pieces, the same pieces that he was holding now. You kept those pieces because they represented how heartbroken you were that day.

“I was so stupid… I got scared. It’s not an excuse, I know… believe me, I would change it if I could.” He put the box aside and gently tried to hold your hands, to pull them away from your face. “I lost you that day, didn’t I?”

“It’s in the past, Eddie. We were just teenagers; it doesn’t matter anymore.” you let go of his hand and stood up. “I think we both deserve a rest. Thanks for the help.” you left the room, running to your bedroom before he could see the tears in your eyes.

≿━━━━ ᴹʳ. ᶠᶦˣ ᶦᵗ ━━━━≾

You regretted later the way you reacted. There were not many house repairs left, which already made you worry that he would stop coming to see you after it was done, and you were afraid that you just gave him more reasons not to come back. But the next day, he was at your door, happy to continue helping as if nothing had happened. The final touches were done, you had lunch, and he went to complete the last fix needed.

You stood in the doorway, watching Eddie work diligently to repair a broken shelf. The way his muscles flexed while lifting the heavy tools and materials was mesmerizing for you. Despite the sweat on his brow and the dirt on his hands, he was still gorgeous.

You were captivated by how the light streamed through the window and illuminated his body. You couldn’t help but notice how his curls caught the sunlight, how much you wanted to run your hand through his hair, how his eyes sparkled with concentration, and how his smile lit up his face when he finally fixed the shelf.

You could barely remember the pain and the loneliness that you felt when you had to move to that house. But meeting Eddie again changed everything; his company made you feel happier, lighted the weight of the hardships of life, he made you feel like life could be great again.

At that moment, you felt overwhelmed with gratitude and admiration for him. You felt lucky to have him, someone who was strong, capable, kind, and caring. As he wiped his hands on a rag and turned to you with a smile, you felt your heart swell with love and appreciation.

“Thank you, Eddie,” You said, wrapping your arms around him. “You’re amazing.”

He chuckled and pulled you close, holding you tight. You then felt that strange sensation in your chest, your heart beating faster than usual, the fluttering in your stomach. You try to push the feeling aside, telling yourself it was just the excitement of seeing things done and Eddie being friendly to you.

But as he pulled away and looked at you, You saw something in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat. There was a tenderness there, a warmth that you had never noticed before or maybe have not allowed yourself to see it - and you realized that you were really in love with him.

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. You tried hard to shield your heart against it, but it had no use. You felt torn between your feelings for him, the knowledge that he might not feel the same way, and the fact that he already broke your heart once. You wanted to tell him how you felt, to pour out your heart, hoping that he would feel the same, but you were also afraid of ruining what you have built together recently, of losing him again if he didn’t feel the same way.

“I need to go now… but would you let me take some of that lasagna home?”

You smiled and hurried to the kitchen to pack his lunch leftovers. When you came back, he was already at the front door. As you said your goodbyes, you walked back inside, and he walked away. You then stood there momentarily, noticing an addition to the repaired shelf.

The wooden heart from your childhood stood there in one piece, with a card next to it. You recognized Eddie’s handwriting, which has not improved over the years: “Here I am, trying to glue your little heart back together.”

You were not sure if he realized how much this meant to you. You felt lost and confused, afraid to be once again misinterpreting the signs. You knew you had a decision to make but didn’t know what to do. All you know is that you have never felt this way before.

≿━━━━ ᴹʳ. ᶠᶦˣ ᶦᵗ ━━━━≾

You had been nervous all day, your stomach hurting each time you thought about telling Eddie how you felt. So when he showed up in the afternoon suggesting watching a movie, you accepted it, thinking that this would give you more time to plan what to do.

It turned out that it wasn’t such a good idea. You couldn’t concentrate on the movie, feeling again that familiar electric current that seemed to happen between you two. Once in a while, you glanced in his direction, and he didn’t look relaxed either. You felt an overwhelming craving to touch him that was not fading, but you made an effort to keep your hands holding a cushion until you mustered up the courage to talk to him.

“ThankYouForTheHeart,” you said quickly, and it sounded like it was a single word.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. D-Did you like it?” he turned his body to look at you, ignoring the TV altogether.

You took a deep breath and looked up at him with a serious expression.

“Yes. But I have to tell you something.” your voice shook slightly. “I already made this mistake once; I won’t do it again.”

Eddie looked surprised and took a moment to process what you had just said. You notice the sadness in his eyes as he starts looking down. Then, he takes your hand, and you feel the warmth and connection you longed for.

“I understand…” he said softly. “I blew my chance years ago, I know… but it was worth trying again.”

“Wait, no. I have not finished” You shake your head, your eyes filling with tears. “My mistake was assuming things and never coming to talk to you about how I felt.”

You took another deep breath and raised his head so he could look at you and told him, your voice barely above a whisper, “I love you, Eddie. And I’m scared as hell about it.”

Eddie gently squeezed your hands and smiled a warm, affectionate smile that made your heart skip a beat. “I love you too. Maybe I always have; I just didn’t realize or had the courage to admit it until now.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. You were afraid of confessing your feelings, but he said he loved you too. You sat silently for a moment, both lost in your thoughts and emotions.

“I don’t want to rush things if you are not ready,” he said. “But I also don’t want to hide how I feel. I care about you too much to stay away.”

Your face lit up with joy as Eddie leaned forward to kiss you. You smiled into the kiss and cupped his cheeks as you kissed him back. Unlike other kisses you had before, kissing Eddie seemed natural and comforting.

Your lips molded into each other, finding a perfect rhythm, and soon you were opening up, breathing him in, and letting him kiss you dizzy. You kissed with a tenderness and passion that you have never experienced before, feeling as if you had just discovered a love that was both new and familiar.

“You deserve more than being loved by a broken girl with a broken heart, Eddie.”

“I thought you would have noticed by now, sweetheart… If it’s broken, I can fix it.”

You then kissed him fiercely, grabbing his shirt to tug him closer. But, instead of satisfying you, the kisses had the opposite effect of increasing your need for him. He skipped his hand under your shirt and traced his fingers over your abdomen, and you felt as if you were melting into him as he held you closer and closer while exploring each inch of your body.

You didn’t want him to stop. And he didn’t.

[whore-ibly-hot]

Heya, hope you're doing well. I was wondering on the yans with a body conscious darling? Specifically with their tummy and thighs, totally not feeling body conscious myself lol.

Thank you! (Also may I be 💍 anon? :0)

ARRRRAARAR I LOVE THIS ASK

As a bigger girl myself, I am no stranger to being body self conscious. While I am on a really successful weight loss journey right now, my thighs and tummy are my most embarrassing areas in my mind. I'm happy to make an short piece based on this, 💍 anon!

First and foremost, there are two stand out yanderes who love your tummy and thighs. This would be Joey and Fritz. Joey's town is old fashioned, and Fritz is literally in the olden days. Back then, wide hips were seen as a sign a lady could carry a child easier and bear more. Since both Joey and Fritz crave a family, the adore it. Upon learning you are self conscious, they would bathe you in compliments, and whether or not it removes the anxiety it does feel nice.

The Mean-girls, or at least Maggie, have unending confidence. Because of this, they don't really know how to make you feel hot. They've always either told themselves they were gorgeous, or told losers at school they weren't. So, Maggie and Sasha would take you shopping, in an attempt to retail therapy the sadness away. This happens to be Sasha's favorite pass time. Meanwhile, Lindsey would be trying to figure out what conscious meant.

Ahmed would go the route of showering you in compliments about your body, but mostly just tries to make you feel better by putting himself down. You feel ugly? Don't worry, your a godess, it's a lowly worm like him who's the disgusting one. Patrick would just try to plow you, telling you the nastiest things he can think of pertaining to the parts that make you upset. Telling you to get used to loving your stomach because it will swell much bigger when he fucks you full of his seed, or how he wants you to trap his head between your thighs.

Mattias would be gentle, and kind. As I mentioned, he craves physical touch from you, and loves using your body as a pillow. He would explain in more than just compliments, but rather a speech about how beautiful you are to him. He would also offer to go to the gym with you, and teach you how to use some of the machines there, if only so he can see you in workout clothes.

A thicker woman was seen as beautiful in ancient Athens, so Puck would be very confused as to why you didn't think you were beautiful. He would take you to see human statues and paintings of beautiful women, to show you the similarities in your figure and there's.

Carl would definitely take a similar approach to Patrick, and try and fuck the negative thoughts out of your mind. He'd also be more possesive, telling you not to think bad things about HIS possessions, his girls tummy, his girls thighs.

Gabriel wouldn't be the kindest about it, telling you to not worry about vanity, and to not insult your appearance, as his God made you in his image. Joshua wouldn't say anything, to stubborn to compliment you the way he wished. Instead, the few times you both cuddle he would silently pay more attention to those area.

Last but not least, Johannes is to awkward to voice how he feels, so he would do whatever Fritz told him to...

[iztea]

Do you like drawing in a sense that it relaxes you? Like a hobby you‘re looking forward to after a day of work. Do you feel joy while you draw?

I‘m currently battling my art demons and came to the conclusion that drawing actually makes me feel shitty a lot of the time because I only take joy out of the results yk? So if it‘s good, great! If I get overwhelmed woah my world is breaking down. My therapist told me I need a hobby that actually relaxes me and that I like solely for itself, not connected to performance, and I was wondering if drawing is just generally the wrong thing for that or if there‘s a way for people to actually enjoy it in a relaxing way.

You‘re so open about your drawing process and you‘re my favorite art account so you fell victim to my question haha but I get that this ask is pretty specific and kinda weird, don‘t feel pressured to answer :)

i do very much enjoy drawing in a relaxing way; for me, it's the equivalent of playing video games or watching Netflix so, in a way, i think of drawing as "unproductive work". Not sure if you're actually looking for a solution-based answer to your problem or if you just want to hear my side/my opinion on the matter, but I'll try to delve into both. 

I think for me personally, I've always found drawing to be relaxing for the most part. Frustration is always to be expected, of course, but I wouldn't say it ruins the mood, it's just something that comes and goes. The only unpleasant part about drawing for me is strictly related to the social media aspect or just making it public. Now, I'm not sure if you have an art account as well or how much you relate to this but I very often dread posting stuff online. I kinda have to force myself almost every time to make something public because I hate the applause but I am also rational enough to understand that art is meant to be shared with others, even if I personally don't feel a strong need to... It's just one of those human behaviour things you have to mimic or adapt to get by, similar to many other things that don't make sense to me personally but I cognitively understand why they happen but I digress

 When it comes to the process itself, I actually enjoy it more than the final result. If I had a lot of fun experimenting with brushes and new techniques and crazy effects i saw online then i get a sense of joy no matter the end result, and here is where my first piece of advice comes into play: learn to enjoy the process without thinking of the destination. For me, even when I do have a clear idea in mind, it always fluctuates and I let it fluctuate. Sometimes it even looks like shit. So what? It's just for your eyes, who cares if it doesn't look good? Just call it a flop and move to another thing, or revisit it sometime later when your skills improve. This is even easier when you do not have an art account where you share your art, there's zero pressure, you're creating the pressure yourself.

Just think about it: 

>why do you feel shitty and overwhelmed? -> because you care about the end result

>why do you care? -> because if it turns out bad, it feels like wasted time. or because you put your worth into what you create or because [  fill in your answer here ]

>do you still want to continue drawing? -> if there is a way to enjoy it in a relaxing way, then yes i assume

Ok great! Then, the solution is to remove that root feeling of disappointment, overwhelm or despair by learning to appreciate the process of creation and bask in the uncertainty of it instead of being so dead-set on the final piece. If you are not content enough with your skills to end up drawing something that you're always satisfied with, and if it causes you this much distress, then drop your expectations and don't reach the finish line. I mean this literally: draw forever-WIPs. Sketches. Doodles. Don't render, don't even try to think of a color palette. Don't Finish Your Art. Enjoy the process of discovery, of trial-and-error of indecision and I can assure you it will be during these moments when you'll find the relaxation you're looking for.

Enjoyment and relaxation, in my experience, come from two places/approaches: 1. the subject itself and/or 2. noticing improvement in your skills.

To give you an example, when I was sick with fever I drew Dazai as that "let's take ibuprofen together" meme and I thought it was the best shit in the world I was on cloud nine and giggling to myself. Looking back on that art, I now realize it looks terrible (and i lowkey want to redraw it) but back then i was laughing while drawing it and felt Great. because I was drawing something i thought it was funny. Not even once did I think "oh man, I hope this turns out nice ohh it will be so awful if it doesn't the world will explode" because that was not its purpose. Granted i was a bit,,,,,, unwell given my sickly state but my point still stands! So, what I'm trying to say here is that you can try drawing "funny/silly" things as a way to sort of lessen that burden of expectations. Or just something you reaaalllly want to see and you know no one else will do it. Taking matters in your own hands type beat

The second way to enjoy drawing in a relaxing way is by taking the other route: instead of focusing on the subject matter, try focusing on new techniques, new brushes, new tutorials or approaches you found online. Basically, focus on improving your skills in a fun-no-pressure-no-strings-attached way while keeping your subject of choice neutral or uninteresting. Or maybe take the artwork of an artist you really like and try to deconstruct it/ reverse engineer it and apply it to your own art. But whatever you do or choose, just never finish it. let them stay as wips or else you won't be very.. relaxed.

*please note this is an "and/or" statement, so you can absolutely do both: try a new technique you found while drawing something that you also enjoy for uhhhhhhhhhhh relaxmaxxing as the would kids say

Lastly, what I would highly recommend is listening to Adam Duff's podcasts, he really hits the nail on the head when it comes to such topics and more, he really narrates and explores that soulful part of an artist way better than I ever could with this answer so please check him out, I think you'll find your answers there

[bigassmoonchild]

please enjoy the email i had to send our favourite team because of them being pure gremlins { i have known most of them since i was 18 so 7 years }

just to fluster them the hell out and since im at my main job tonight and cannot do it myself

can we get the 141 ones reactions

{ never thought to request reactions until the latest one about crocheting which i total understand }

this is my third time trying to answer this. both times i initially tried tumblr closed me out of the submission and deleted the entire thing. i will answer all other asks tomorrow 🫶🫶

(also, why is croissant banned? who did what with croissant? and if your team is good, i am always more than happy to write them little drabbles or hcs 😉 )

Simon 'Ghost' Riley:

initially, he walked past the medbay door. he briefly saw the sign on the door but didn't think much of it. until he fully registered what it said. spinning around and marching back the way he had come, he pulled it off the door and read it.

fully. he read all of it and had to pause for a few moments to gather his thoughts. what the hell? why did you have to write this? who caused you to write this? he had too many questions that he didn't exactly want answered.

almost worried, but just more confused than anything. simon wasn't entirely sure what to think about the paper, but he knew the only way to figure it out would be through questions. he didn't entirely need them answered, but it would be nice to know. he almost didn't want them answered.

still, simon found himself entering your office and laying the paper down in front of you. your head turned to the side, looking almost flustered at the fact that he had seen the paper. you didn't give an answer, and so he sat down in the chair across from you, staring nearly through you.

sighing deeply, you looked up from the paperwork and gave him a little grimace. 'what?' you asked. simon once more gestured to the paper in front of you.

'what's this?' was all he asked and you looked away again. biting at your lip, you picked it up to read it over. 'stop stalling,' he told you and you heaved a deep sigh.

you didn't make eye contact. 'we've read a book together, my squad 'n i,' you started. 'it made a lot of comments and little quips start. then they started to argue about certain parts of the book and well,' you gestured at the paper.

he nodded slowly in understanding, standing up and grabbing the paper to return it to where he'd found it. turning around, he held it up and raised his brow. 'ghosts medical blower?'

Captain John Price:

the way to the mess hall had him pass by your office, and so he figured he'd bring some paperwork meant for you. kill two birds with one stone, it would be easier than running back and forth later on.

placing the files and others miscellaneous papers down, he nearly missed it. just one quick glance brought all of his attention to one piece of paper, just barely uncovered by other random items strewn across your desk.

The below terms are banned:

and so he read it. curiosity killed the cat, so to speak, but the satisfaction of knowing what this was did not bring it back. all price could do was stare for a few moments, just trying to think through it. and as he thought, he knew he did not want answers.

it was either some new terms and language that people were using but he wasn't caught up on, or it really was just some strange thing within your own squad. either way, he tucked the paper away so that you wouldn't know he saw it.

when you returned to your office, you knew price saw the paper. it was tucked between a few files and some of the papers he'd given you. you wanted to give him answers, you wanted to let him know what it was, but you didn't. maybe he'd come to you, or maybe you'd just moved it without realizing.

he didn't meet your eye for a few days, loking a little worriedly at you when he thought you weren't looking.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick:

you weren't one to email him. you almost never did, unless it was absolutely important that he be added. so when he opened up his email after a long mission, he found one from you with no subject line.

to be honest, he was a little worried about what it might be. maybe spam? did someone hack your account? he wasn't sure, but gaz wanted to make sure it wasn't anything important.

he almost wishes he didn't read that email. almost wishes he had just left it alone, especially without a subject line. and so when he'd gotten to 'ghosts medical blower' he closed the email and deleted it.

it had to be a joke. he wouldn't admit it, but it made him a little flustered to read some of that stuff. did people really think of his lieutenant like that? especially those working so closely with him?

and he'd found you, in your office typing away. standing awkwardly for a few moments, gaz looked around the room. he wasn't often in your office, especially not regarding these types of situations.

when you'd finally looked up at him, raising your brows expectantly, he could barely get the words out. 'you sent me an email,' was all he could say. you nodded, giving him a confused look.

'i send a lot of people emails, gaz, you need to be more specific,' you told him. he didn't meet your eye, just looked around and nodded slowly.

finally opening his mouth, he gave you a little grimace. 'some terms needed to be banned?' he asked and watched your eyes widen. covering your hand with your mouth, you clicked and tpyed a few things before sighing in relief.

'lord, gaz, that was absolutely not meant for you,' you whispered, clearly flustered and not meeting his eye. 'i am so, so sorry about that,' you looked at him briefly.

he gave you a little smile, finally making eye contact. 'all is forgiven if you tell me what it's about,'

Johnny 'Soap' McTavish:

you were a tough nut to crack. soap spent weeks trying to wear you down to the point where you'd become comfortable enough with him that you would talk with him freely. and when it happened, he was ecstatic.

but he never expected this to happen. you'd handed him a few papers absentmindedly as you walked by him, giving him an affirmative sound when he'd asked if it was for him to read. and so he read them.

when he'd gotten to the one paper, he had to rub his eyes. he was tired, sure it had been a long day, but soap was positive he was dreaming. you would never just give him this paper, not without context.

and so he found you, waving it around in front of your face and giving you a cheeky smile. with a quick glance, you'd jumped up and tried to rip the paper out of his grasp. soap was faster, though, and easily held it out of your reach.

'now what's this, lass, about being ghosts medical blower?' he asked you and you huffed angrily. shoving at his shoulders, you tried harder to get the paper back.

he tsked at you, waiting for an explanation. 'my squad's been reading some weird stuff online, and they're making comments and it's turned nearly into an argument over some things,' you told him. he howled with laughter at that, bending over to catch himself from falling.

you'd snatched the paper from him and turned around. and that's how, for the next four or five weeks, you found yourself at the end of his jokes. all of them seemed to somehow mention some term or phrase mentioned in the paper he'd read.

it took you elbowing him in the stomach and making your own comments about him before he finally put it behind him. soap may have found it and made a copy, which sits hung on on his wall in the flat back home.

[silverflqmes]

hi ellie!! can i get a modern au with cyno where he’s a huge geek of pokemon (because he would be) and he’s finally met his match, whom he’s interested in (the reader with she/her pronouns)? it can be either in a headcanon format or drabble, whichever is easier! thank you advance<3

໒⦂ 𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐆𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐇𝐂𝐒.

notes. hello anon, sorry for the delay</3 i decided on making this into headcanons, since it suits the request a bit better; anyway i hope it’s to your likings, enjoy<3

disclaimer. there were no suitable cyno gifs so i made one myself. if you use it, don’t be an ass, credit.

genre. crack + fluff

cyno x fem!reader.

⌗ this man — THIS GEEK — has been into pokemon from his days on cartoon network. he was the guy that woke up early mornings to watch the clone wars at 7am BUT STUMBLED ACROSS pokemon one day and was like “o h.”

⌗ child cyno just starring at the screen in wonder like what is this piece of art and why have i only found it now. literally asking himself why he hadn’t bought the trading cards before ( maybe because the kids in his neighborhood were always BUYING THEM UP ).

⌗ through the show, indigo league, he also saw the games being advertised and he just had to have one — to at least TRY.

⌗ he was gifted a gameboy one christmas to play mario related games, so he decided.. to give emerald a try😐

⌗ the amount of hours that went into that game for understanding it ALONE. there was so much to learn for no reason, but a fun game nonetheless.

⌗ throughout the years cyno would continue collecting cards, literally getting them at any trip to a store with lisa ( yes, yes lisa. ), and she would just giggle but buy them, anyway<3

⌗ cards were banned at school tho because they were being exchanged left and right like DRUGS LMFAO ( this happened at my school oml it was so bad ppl were sneaking them in AND SOME GOT CONFISCATED BAHAHA )

⌗ oddly, but not so oddly, he likes electric and ground types the most, despite them being each other’s weaknesses LMAO also likes fighting and dark types though.

⌗ lucario is his favorite.. i mean, come on.. for the sake of this au, I BELIEVE CYNO WEARS THE HOODIE BC OF LUCARIO

⌗ umbreon is a close second tho

⌗ dare i say.. he almost bought the four hundred dollar life size, wife snatcher, lucario plush..

⌗ tighnari stopped him lol

⌗ furthermore, when he got pokemon mystery dungeon, explorers of sky ( I MISS THIS SO MUCH IM SOBBING INTERNALLY ).. he restarted his ds 3638393927382920 times to try and get riolu

⌗ he failed, and settled for pikachu ( riolu became his partner and actually, it worked out way better )

⌗ ( spoilers ) there were tears in his eyes at the end of the final chapter after fighting dialga and descending the steps.. iykyk..

⌗ flashing forward a few years — 2016

⌗ the year he met you

⌗ there was this gym near his house when he downloaded pokemon go ( ofc he had to hop on this train ) and gurl..

⌗ for the longest time he was on TOP with that gym, never lost.

⌗ and then this girl shows up who went up in the ranks and stole his spot

⌗ he told himself not to get mad — i mean, it’s just a silly little game, there were plenty of gyms to go around, right?

⌗ wrong, he was bothered.

⌗ and if that gym was shut down, it meant you lived near — like no way you didn’t

⌗ so on the trip to the park one morning, on his way to the pokestop, he found a girl, at the top of the slide on her phone.

⌗ it was the strangest sight to him, like what were you doing up at that hour, on your phone, right at the pokestop when pogo was trending

⌗ you had to be her.

⌗ he checked the gym again to make sure, and there you were.

⌗ “judgment is upon you.” he would proclaim, pointing at you, as though declaring war of some sorts.

⌗ meanwhile you just give the most confused look ever to him. like who is this boy and who is he to complain?? and what about??

⌗ until it finally clicks.

⌗ “twilight arbiter?!”

⌗ and now cyno is speechless because he was acknowledged by the enemy.

⌗ cue the blossom of a very strong and precious friendship.

⌗ that very first day you would both find out that you attend the same high school, wondering how you hadn’t met sooner since you lived in the same neighborhood and attended the same school??

⌗ like where were you all these years? where was he all these years??

⌗ either way, you wouldn’t waste your time together now as you both ramble of your mutual interests, trade your cards — play them, lend one another games — you name it!

⌗ he especially trades when you say that he has a card of your favorite pokemon, and of course he wants to see you light up<3

⌗ he falls first asf, but you fell harder

⌗ pokemon related puns.. i don’t have to explain this one, nor do i want to😐

⌗ owns a good bit of plushes, and has also bought you a handsome amount for birthdays, holdidays, friendship-a-versaries.

⌗ random but he stumbles across pokémon showdown one day and honestly..

⌗ “HOP ON PS! HOP ON PS!” at two o’clock in the morning.

⌗ oh you’re probably wondering, how do you get together, exactly?

⌗ “are you a pokeball cuz you-”

⌗ “caught your heart, perhaps?”

⌗ silence.

⌗ he did not expect you to finish his pickup line, nor did he expect that boldness — he truly met his match, didn’t he?

notes. my pokemon knowledge is not very extensive, it’s based on what i witnessed as a kid from the sidelines and friends</3 so i hope this fulfills your request!

↳ return to main masterlist . request rules . send an ask

[nerves-nebula]

Emotional neglect/abuse is so tricky cause what do you even say. My parents never said they loved me? That’s not true. They hit me? Also not necessarily true. They didn’t care about our education or future? They probably cared more about me getting into college than any other part of my life. They wanted me to succeed, they would brag about our achievements and my mom loved posting online whenever one of us got accepted to a college or got a scholarship.

It’s easier to talk about the physical stuff. show pictures of the conditions we lived in, tell stories about how my mom never gave us medicine when we were in pain, or how she let our brother terrorize and abuse us. How I would starve myself all day because I couldn’t stomach anything, and she’d just glare and get annoyed when I mentioned that I hadn’t eaten.

It’s easier to explain what’s wrong there.

It’s harder to explain that she used to kiss us goodnight, and tuck us in, and sing to us, and that none of that was enough. How do I explain that what hurts even more is that she did say she loved me, it just wasn’t true. She probably thinks she loves me. And what an awful kid I am, to not believe her when she says it.

But I’ve trusted her before, I’ve trusted her over and over thinking “surely this time she’ll see how serious I’m being. This time she won’t laugh, or say it’s stupid, or just something I should get over. She’s insisting that I tell her, so she won’t laugh this time. She can’t. She wants to know what’s wrong. This time it’ll be serious enough. This time.”

The most succinct way I can put it is that she loves her child. The idea of someone who is her kid. Not me, though, never me. Never a real person.

I think I was 12 when I figured it out. I figured out what love meant to me, and respect was key. Without it, any stalker on the street or abusive husband could claim that their love was the real deal, and I didn’t want that. Of course that made me realize that I couldn’t give my parents a pass on this one. They didn’t love me, they loved me in their own screwed up ways sure, but if I validated that as real love then a stalker or possessive boyfriends love would be just as valid. It hurt, and I was small, but it didn’t hurt that much worse than anything else and I was already in pain.

How do I explain that she went through all the motions a good parent should, that she hugged me when I cried about how I’d wanted to kill myself (forced me to hug her, wouldn’t let me go until I hugged her, I still remember trying to pull away three times before giving up- something about that is biblical I think. I still remember feeling like an animal was dying on its way down my throat, halfway lodged in my chest, when I realized the hug was about her and not me. It was about her feeling better, giving herself closure. Making herself feel like a better mom. “You knew I wanted to kill myself? and you never did anything?” “What was I supposed to do, you were always in your room.” I still hate being touched. Hugs are difficult, no matter how much I want them.)

It takes an essay to explain it. My parents are ghosts to me. Ghosts that text me nonsense every now and then and ask for updates. I give them the bits and pieces they’re asking for, because I can’t bring myself to be as cruel to them as they were to me.

meeting them face to face make me sweat. I shut down. I feel tired immediately. (aren’t you always tired?) I’m not safe with them (ok, but you’re not safe anywhere) I can’t rely on them. They will lash out if they don’t get what they want. They’ll twist anything they can. They’ll shout and badger and laugh and mock.

They’re the ones who told me not to be stupid, because if I’m stupid then I deserve whatever happens to me. They’re the ones who fueled my agoraphobia (everyone will kill you given the chance, if only you could stop being so strange) and blame me for never leaving the house.

I buried any idea of them being there for me, being people I could rely on, when I was 13. because I knew they would kill me if I didn’t.

My parents are ghosts who text me, or monsters using the faces of my dead protectors to torment me, or two very dysfunctional very disappointing people who should never have gotten married or had kids.

God I wish parents were real.

[skyrim-forever]

Day 5: Gentle

A/N: Hey everyone! This entry will include pregnancy, totally understand if that's not your thing and you want to skip. But if you're interested Theodora goes to see Danica Pure-Spring due to what she thinks to be her years of fighting catching up to her. This one kind of got away from me and it's 1600 words XD Tagging @tes-summer-fest

The journey to Morrowind had proven to be more difficult than she anticipated. On paper it seemed straightforward, get to Windhelm and take the Northern Maiden. Whiterun had only been meant to be a quick stop on the way there, however as she got closer to the city her health began to fail. First was general exhaustion, even riding on horseback was tiring and then she lost her appetite. The mere smell of food was enough to make her vomit. Perhaps the battle with Alduin had left her more damaged than she initially thought, or if it was the years of fighting that had finally caught up to her. Theodora knew that she’d never make it to Solstheim in this state, let alone face whatever was waiting for her there. 

Praise be to Kynareth for having a temple in the city. She regretted not seeing Danica sooner. 

“Hello Dragonborn, what brings you to the Temple today?”

“Hi Danica, I’m not feeling well. I was wondering if I have some old injuries that are causing problems.” 

“I see.” The Priestess gestures for her to follow her, leading her to a bench tucked away from the main hall. “Can you please describe what you have been experiencing ?” Theodora takes a breath, the exhaustion is beginning to hit. 

“Well, I find I’m getting tired much easier, I can’t do the same amount of travel as I could even a few weeks ago. And Divines, even the smell of food makes me nauseous.  I’m wondering if I have an internal injury, I haven’t gotten proper medical treatment for quite some time now so I wouldn’t be surprised if something is much more damaged than I originally thought..” She lightly laughs “I’m not great at recovery.”  Danica nods along as she speaks. 

“Have you noticed any changes in your body? Perhaps needing to relieve yourself more often?”

“Yes! I’m up every two hours at night. I had forgotten about that, just thought I was just starting to get older.” 

“Hmmmm. When was your last bleed?” 

“My, um” Theodora stops mid-sentence, surely Danica wasn’t implying that she was…? Anxiety starts building inside of her. Relax, she is just trying to cover everything. “I don’t remember. I figured it was all the stress keeping it away.”

“I see.” The two women sit in silence for a moment, tears begin to well up in her eyes as the gravity of the situation sets in. Pregnant the word repeats over and over in her mind.  

“It is okay Theodora.” The Priestess holds her hands in hers. “There are treatments available if you need them.”

“Thank you, could I have a little time to myself. I need to think before I decide anything.”

“Of course, I’ll be over there when you need me.”

The tears came out in full force, snot coming from her nose, and loud sobs. Why wasn’t I more careful? You stupid bitch how could you let this happen? She wasn’t fit to be a mother, what did she even know about mothers? There was the threat of Solstheim to deal with, how could she do that with a child? While pregnant? Then came the thoughts of what if the baby looks more like Ondolemar than me?What kind of place is this for a half Imperial half Altmer child? She lays her head back against the paneling of the Temple, eyes shut in an attempt to stop crying. 

The thoughts then begin to morph, perhaps it is not all bad. She may never see Ondolemar again, but she could still have a small piece of him. He wasn’t really gone now, there’d be proof of their time together. And maybe that was enough. She had been praying to Akatosh for something, anything to help her keep going. Maybe the Divines were not so cruel after all. She could do with her child what she wished her mother had gotten to do with her. She’d tell them they were born of love, that they could do anything, they’d be the Dragonborn’s child. And no matter what, that fact would give them protection. She had more than enough money and Theodora had been looking for what to do with the rest of her life. Being Thane in nearly every hold had proven not to be as glamorous as it originally sounded. She is torn. 

Returning to the main temple hall, she speaks to Danica.

“I’m going to need a few days to think about it.”

“Absolutely, think it through. Whatever you decide, the choice is fully yours.”

“Thank you, Danica, truly thank you.”

She spends the night at the Bannered Mare staring at the ceiling and thinking through every possible scenario. She could go into hiding, maybe even move back to Cyrodiil or as far as the coast of High Rock. raise the child somewhere no one knew her, maybe in a large city so seeing a mixed child wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. But could she leave the friends she did have here? She was sure Camilla would understand, she was the only one who knew about her relationship with Ondolemar. Wanting kids herself, Theodora couldn’t imagine her thinking less of her. All her thoughts seemed to involve how to have the baby, not if she should. Maybe that was a sign enough. Eventually her eyes grow heavy and sleep overtakes her. 

Dreams were normal for Theodora, mainly nightmares, but dreaming has become a place of old memories. In her dreams her father and Uncle Elo still breathe. Aunt Rhiannon still smiles. They were all still at the house in Anvil, and sometimes even the city itself was thriving, flourishing as it was when her father was young. This was one such dream. She is in the kitchen when she hears a baby’s crying coming from upstairs. Instinctively, she follows it. Through the house’s winding hallways she grows closer to the source of the sound, now hearing a woman’s voice.

“Shhhhhh, it’s okay, shhhhhh.” It’s coming from the storage room, the one that had been beside her room. The door is partially cracked open, a sliver of sunlight shines on the dark hardwood. When she opens the door fully, a woman is there. She looks like her paintings, long curly dark hair, warm skin, wearing a long white dress and brown belts. Everything is the same save for the grey streaks in her hair that she never got to grow in life. Before Theodora can stop it, a word she’s never uttered leaves her mouth. 

“Mom?” Kassandra turns to her, clutching a small golden bundle in her arms.

“Sweetheart, I’m just trying to calm him down, he woke up from his nap early.” She rocks the baby softly. “I think he wants his mama.” Theodora’s arms open naturally and her mother places the baby, him, in her arms. 

“Here, support his head like this. Be gentle.” She takes her hand and adjusts it behind his head. “Good, good, you got it.” She can see him better now, his small pointy ears and brown eyes. She takes a brief glance up, brown like her mother’s eyes. “Oh isn’t he sweet? You’re so lucky.”

“I am.” She rocks him slowly. “But mom I’m scared.” Tears start coming out of her and her mother wraps her arms around her. 

“I know dear, I know. But you’ll be okay. You can do this, you have done so many hard things.”

“But what if…” Kassandra stops her mid-sentence. 

“Don’t worry about what ifs, you can’t predict what will happen. What do you want?” Amidst the tears Theodora looks down, back at her son. His crying has ceased and he smiles at her. 

“I want him.”

A crash of thunder jolts her awake, as her hands touch her face she feels tears, she had actually been crying. It was not just a dream. Never before had she dreamt of her mother, let alone talked to her. As more tears come, this time of joy, she feels healed. The little girl in her who never got to cry to her mom finally got her mother’s advice. Though she did not know through which mechanisms had made it possible, she knew that was in fact her mother she spoke to. And if her mother believed in, she could. 

Seemingly having forgotten what time it was, Theodora rushed to the Temple. With a swift knock on the door, Danica answers. 

“I’m keeping it.”

“Congratulations.” Danica rubbed her face and smiled at her. “You’ll have to be gentle with yourself these next few months. Based on your symptoms I suspect you’re around 6 weeks.” She takes a piece of parchment and writes something down before handing it to Theodora. 

“You’ll want to start taking these herbs, they will help you with tolerating food. Once you’re six months along take these ones.” She points to a small list of plants, some of which Theodora had never heard of. “They’ll help prepare you for birth.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome. Oh, and no more drinking. Not until you’ve finished breastfeeding.” Oh that’s right she thought, pregnant women famously can’t drink. She hadn’t been sober for longer than a few days since she was a teen, this was going to be a challenge. 

“Alright, I understand.”

There is life back in her, both figuratively and literally. Deciding to still go to Morrowind, she figures it would be best to be pregnant away from prying eyes. She has a few  months still to make progress on the Miraak issue. Perhaps it was naive to think she could still adventure pregnant but Theodora already felt stronger. She has someone to be strong for.  

[scarabsinthestardust]

Tender // Ch. 5

MASTERLIST

word count: 3200+

I'm so sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out, friends. I came back from vacation sick and had a lot of catching up to do. But here we are, and chapter 6 is already almost done, too. Things are getting intense, and I am again apologizing for what's to come.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: child abuse; religious violence; burns; depression; anxiety; paranoia; unspecified undiagnosed mental illness; language; alcoholism; intoxication; jealousy; suicidal ideations; drunk driving; verbal argument; physical violence; domestic abuse; blood; mentions of hospitals, stitches, shots, and medication; manipulation; toxic behavior; stalking behavior (if I missed anything, let me know)

There was no rhyme or reason for what they’d done to him. They could probably justify their actions in their own deluded minds, but to anyone on the outside, it was barbaric and cruel. When the boy asked why, his voice raw from screaming, they only told him it was God’s will, whatever that meant.

The boy is 13 now. He’d read the Bible, and he didn’t recall anything about this. Of course, he fought against the pain. Who could be expected to sit quietly and obediently when there is red hot metal being pushed against their flesh? His mother chose the spot of a small birthmark above his right hip. The offending spot, a mark of the Devil, needed to be cleansed. The pain would eventually fade, a jagged scar in its place, but you don’t ever forget the smell of burning flesh, especially your own.

~

I was 16 when I left that place. I had nowhere to go and no plan, but I’m smart enough to know how to survive. I managed to save up whatever money I could scrape up and worked as hard as I could until I was able to land steadily on my own feet. I pulled myself up from the ground and rarely asked anyone for help. I refused to rely on anyone. People can’t be trusted, and I’m the perfect example.

I thought that being with Josh would be the remedy I needed to fix myself, that he would be the one to pull me out of the water and back onto solid ground. But I never should have put that on him. It was never his responsibility, but now I’m finding that it’s easier to blame him for my slip-ups than admitting that I have a problem.

The band isn’t due to go back on tour for quite some time, but they’re in the process of writing and recording new music, which requires a lot of time spent at the studio. I know they’re working so hard, and I should be proud of him, but the longer this takes, the further he slips away. He spends all day with his brothers and returns home late and too exhausted to do much of anything other than sleep.

I can tell our last fight (if I can really call it that) still weighs heavily on him. He doesn’t talk as much, which I thought would be relieving, but instead it only makes him seem more distant, and it hurts. He doesn’t ask me many questions anymore, and he’s hesitant to try and make plans. I curse myself for creating that dark cloud of unsurety that hovers over him.

I fell off the wagon in Wichita, and I haven’t gotten back on it. Some days are more difficult than others. Josh tries to keep me afloat as best he can. He’s done what he can to keep me away from any alcohol, and he’s even dropped me off at a couple of AA meetings to make sure I go. But it’s not like there’s a step-by-step manual on how to make sure your boyfriend doesn’t decide to be a piece of shit today.

I’m assigned to a job that’s supposed to keep me out of town for a few days, but some changes in plans have me returning home a day early. I try to call Josh on my way back, but I only get his voicemail. He doesn’t call me back, but eventually sends a text. “Sorry I missed your call. I’m out with the guys, so I’ll be out late. I’ll see you when I get home.” The little heart emoji at the end makes me scoff. ‘Out with the guys.’ He’s at the bar with his brothers, and there’s no telling what he’s getting up to.

I don’t know why I’m finding it so hard to trust him these days. I want to believe that he wouldn’t lie to me, wouldn’t allow himself to be whisked away by some other man, but then I remember that I’m beneath him, and he’s weak. I imagine it wouldn’t take much, that he’d give in to the first handsome man that spares him a sultry glance.

I don’t go home, and I don’t go to his house. Not yet. I’m tired from the drive and my mind is muddled with made-up scenarios that send me into a spiral. I wonder if I can will some kind of tragedy into existence, something to take me out of my misery – a car accident, a gunshot from a robbery gone bad, anything. It would be so easy to lie down on the nearest train tracks and wait it out or take a flying leap off of the top floor of a parking garage, but in the end, I’m too much of a coward to do it myself.

I don’t hesitate to go inside the store and buy the liquor. I park in an empty lot; the fact that it’s in walking distance of Josh’s favorite bar may or may not have been intentional. I don’t have any second thoughts before I crack open the first bottle.

The more I drink, the more my fear and sorrow turn to hate. I’m angry. I’m angry with myself for not having the strength to control my urges. I’m angry with Josh… for what? For having a social life? For wanting to spend time with his brothers at a place I can’t go? That’s stupid. He’s not a child. But I need him more than I’ve ever needed anyone. We’ve been apart so much recently. Maybe he just needs a reminder of who I belong to, who he belongs to.

I can’t find my keys; I probably dropped them between the seats. It’s for the best, really. The liquor has fogged my brain and made me clumsy, but at least I can stay upright. I barely stumble down the sidewalk until I reach my destination. The doorman eyes me warily, but one of the benefits of being a raging alcoholic is you get better at hiding it.

It doesn’t take me long to spot Jake, Sam, and Danny at a table inside. But where’s Josh? I scan the dimly lit room until I find him. He’s leaning up against the bar talking to someone I don’t recognize. He laughs at whatever the man says to him, his cheek red – from alcohol or is he blushing? The man leans in, too close for my comfort, and touches Josh’s shoulder. Heat rises up in me and my skin is tingling. My vision tunnels until Josh is the only thing I can see.

I rush towards him, miraculously without bumping into too many innocent bystanders, and force myself between him and the unsuspecting stranger. The man takes a step back and shoots Josh a concerned look.

“Finn, what the hell are you doing here?” His eyes are wide and panicked, like he just got caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

“You first,” I spit, my tone venomous.

“What are you even… shit, you’re drunk.” He lets out a frustrated sigh. “Jesus Christ, c’mon.”

I glare at the stranger once more before Josh drags me outside. Jake seems to have noticed and is hot on our tails. “Josh, you okay?” Jake doesn’t trust me, and he doesn’t make any attempt to hide it. He hasn’t been fond of me since day one. His presence and desire to be in Josh’s business fuels the fire, and I’m about to start in on him, but Josh is here to play peacekeeper.

“We’re good. Can you just, uh, give us a minute?”

I know the last thing Jake wants to do is leave his twin out here alone with me. I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t feel safe with me either. But at Josh’s pleading eyes, he relents, reluctantly retreating inside.

Josh turns to me, chewing on his bottom lip. Much like someone trying to calm a frightened animal, he approaches me slowly and carefully, his voice low. “Finn, baby, let me take you home.”

“Why, so you can come back here to that asshole?”

“What? Who are you talking about?”

“You know who I’m fuckin’ talking about. Were you gonna take him home? Were you gonna fuck him?” His feigned cluelessness is just fanning the flames. “Would he have been in your bed tonight if I didn’t come back early?”

“No, I wasn’t… the guy I was talking to in there? He’s just a friend, Finn. I wouldn’t-“

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” I close the distance between us. I’m so close and so much taller than him that he cranes his neck to maintain eye contact. He’s annoyed, tiptoeing into angry. He’s upset that I’m making these accusations. He pities me for being broken. But he isn’t afraid, and he very much should be.

The thing about alcoholism, in most cases, is that it brings out the worst in people. They do things they would never do sober. They hurt people in ways they would never think to do if they weren’t under the influence. They lose all sense of impulse control. The only thing that matters is what they’re feeling in those moments, the urges to act out on whatever terrible thoughts they’re having at the time. For me, it’s like I’m watching it happen to someone else. My self-awareness is clouded and I feel almost as if I’m just an observer, watching someone that looks oddly similar to me make the biggest mistakes of his life.

I expect a fiery argument from him, but if he’s mad, he pushes it down. “You don’t mean that. You’re drunk. You wouldn’t be saying these things if you weren’t.” He’s trying to diffuse a bomb and he’s about to cut the wrong wire. “Please, baby, let’s go home. You can sleep it off and we can talk in the morning.” His hands move to my face, and he looks up at me tearfully.

He thinks he can calm me down with his sweetness, sprinkle me with soft gestures to quell my anger. But it’s a façade. I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to manipulate it, to make me think I’m delusional, that I imagined everything. He’ll blame it on the alcohol in me instead of just admitting that he was the one acting like a whore.

I wrench away from his hands and my own come up. They meet his chest, and I shove him away so violently that he slams into the brick wall behind him with an audible thud. I hear him cry out, but it doesn’t register in my mind what I’ve done until I see blood. Blood? Wait, why is there blood?

“Josh, fuck, are you okay?” I try to go to him, but he sidesteps me.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” He’s got his hand pressed tightly on the back of his upper left arm. There’s blood seeping between his fingers and down his arm, staining his clothes. I notice something I didn’t see at first – a small piece of metal rebar that’s sticking out from the wall and is now coated in Josh’s blood.

“Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” The remorse I’m feeling isn’t false, and I don’t have to force the tears that are threatening to spill from my eyes. What have I done? I never meant for this to happen, for him to get hurt like this. “Please, let me see it. Let me help.” I try to go to him again, but he doesn’t want me near him.

“Get the fuck away from me!” His words sting, and the look in his eyes tells me he means it.

I’m frozen as I try to figure out what to do, and I watch him try to control the bleeding on his own. He can’t really see the wound, but he knows it’s bad. “Josh, you need to go to the hospital,” I say, keeping my voice down.

“No fucking shit, Sherlock.” He looks toward the entrance to the bar, probably considering going in to get Jake. But he glances back at me and something flashes across his face that I can’t explain. Worry? He starts to speak again but decides against it, before walking in the opposite direction. He’s not really going to drive himself there? I offer to take him but he shuts me down. “Like I would let you drive me anywhere right now. Actually,” he starts, turning to me. “Give me your keys.”

I shrug. “I don’t know where they are.” Is he asking because he’s actually still concerned about me, or because he’s trying to prevent me from driving off and fucking up someone else’s life?

He huffs. “Whatever. Go home,” he orders. He’s livid, and rightly so, but there’s something else painted across his face – pain, betrayal, and sadness.

I think I’m going to vomit. My legs are numb; I’m unable to move them and I can do nothing as he walks away from me.

~

I should have left. I shouldn’t have found my keys and gotten back behind the wheel. I shouldn’t have driven to Josh’s house, still drunk. I shouldn’t have let myself in with the spare hidden key. I shouldn’t have decided to wait for him, to try to salvage what’s left of a relationship I know is already in tatters.

It’s probably three or four hours before I hear the lock click on the front door. I watch him as he enters and shuts the door behind him. He doesn’t seem surprised to see me, but he makes no move to come any closer.

“I told you to go home.” He won’t meet my eyes and he looks so drained of energy. His left arm is wrapped up with white bandages, midway between his elbow and shoulder. He’s got a bag in his hand that looks like prescription medication and his bloodstained jacket draped over his arm.

“You are my home.” It’s the first thing that comes to mind and it’s pathetic, but it’s the truth. At least, it feels like it. “Are you okay?”

He scoffs. “I have five stitches and had to get a tetanus shot.” He holds the medicine bag up. “And antibiotics for ten days so it doesn’t get infected.”

“Josh, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to… for you to get hurt.”

He tosses the medicine on the coffee table and sighs as he drops onto the couch. He sits as far from me as he can. “Finn… I want to help you, but if… if it’s gonna be like this… I don’t know if I want you here with me right now.”

“It’s not, I promise. I just got carried away. I wasn’t thinking. You know I would never hurt you on purpose. I’ll be more careful. It won’t happen again.”

His jaw tenses and I can see he’s thinking about what to say, what kind of decision he’s going to make. He’s dejected, like he doesn’t have any fight left in him. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. But he doesn’t trust me. And if he doesn’t trust me, he won’t forgive me. Time to pull out all the stops.

I’m not faking it, not really. I do feel remorseful for what I did, and I’ll admit that I’m the one that messed up. Alcohol makes me paranoid, and now that I’m sobering up, I realize that Josh didn’t do anything wrong. It isn’t his fault that he’s too weak to tell people no. If anything, I should have taken it out on the asshole that had the audacity to touch him. But I am ashamed of how I acted, and I need to make him understand that. And if that requires me to beg, I’ll do it.

I give in and let the tears flow freely; it helps feed the pity I’m trying to draw from him. I know I’m just being selfish. I’m doing this for me, despite knowing this is not what he really needs. What he should do is put as much distance as he can between us. I’m not confident that I can keep him safe. But I’ve already started the game, and I have to finish it.

When I grab his hand, he makes a small effort to pull away, but I tighten my grip. Don’t let go. “Baby, please don’t push me away. I made a mistake, but you’re the one who said it was okay to make mistakes, right? I’m trying, Josh, I really am. I’m trying to be better, but I can’t do it alone. I need you.” That’s it. That’s the icing on the cake. That’s how I get to him. Josh is a lover, it’s in his blood. He loves being needed, getting the opportunity to help people, and he won’t say no. “If you shut me out now… I don’t have anyone else. You’re it for me. I can’t do this without you.”

He's fighting with himself, I can see it in his eyes, but I can also see that I’ve won. He still loves me, and he won’t just walk away from that. Even better, if he thinks he can fix me, he’s going to try, even if he takes all the damage in the process.

“What do you need me to do?”

I don’t have a real answer for him. He knows I won’t go to rehab – it’s too similar to a hospital. The AA meetings only do so much. Plus, I’m getting to the point where it annoys me, sitting there listening to all those idiots and their fucking sob stories. I don’t give a shit about them. I never did. Then they start bringing ‘God’ and ‘faith’ into it, and I realize they’re all just sheep, blindly following a fictional idea of God – or maybe just a god that doesn’t care about them either.

Josh’s big brown eyes are watching me closely, maybe trying to decide if he’s the one making the mistake. I certainly won’t be the one to tell him he definitely is.

I beg for him to just let me stay with him, and he concedes. I try to be gentle with him; I don’t think he can handle anymore heaviness tonight. I make him eat so he can start his antibiotics, and I’m extra careful of his arm as we lie down. Again, I don’t really sleep, but he crashes hard, the day finally catching up to him. And I do something that I know is another mistake, something that is guaranteed to cause problems later, but I justify it as my way of protecting him.

When I’m sure he’s fast asleep, I unlock his phone, download one of the many tracking apps that are freely available, and link it to my phone. I disable all notifications and hide the icon in some folder I know he never uses, one of those where you keep all the software apps you can’t delete.

There’s no doubt in my mind that it’s wrong. It’s disrespectful, a violation of privacy, an act that solidifies how much I don’t trust him. It’s controlling, manipulative, and just overall creepy. I would have been livid if he had done it to me. But the deed is done, and I’ll tell myself whatever I need to, to not feel guilty for this. I’m doing it for him. I’m doing it for his safety, to keep him out of trouble when I’m not here. He needs someone to do it, and who better than someone that loves him? He needs me, and I’d do anything for him.

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