#but i really needed to get it out of my system

[soulcaketuesday]

Five of Swords 🗡️

In a show about people being trapped in self made coffins, Namami is one of the only characters that's able to step away when she realises how harmful the system is to her. This card isn't about that, though! Five of Swords is about trying to win an unnecessary battle, inevitable defeat, and trying really hard to stab a classmate. Don't mind the bloody nose, the scraped knee, the smudged mascara - she's going to keep fighting, longer than she needs to, no matter who gets hurt, as long as the sun keeps shining down just on her like a spotlight.

one of my pieces from a now cancelled zine. the other piece is here, go look at this kid having a chill day. drafts and notes below

NANAMI MY GIRL MY SILLY GOOSE i was sooo happy to get assigned a card about her and i REALLY wanted to do the concept justice!! but i was fighting with this the entire time lmao!! i think her pose and expression changed a thousand times and i couldn't figure out where to place the swords or what to do with the sky, i kept trying to switch to a more painterly style bc i hated the lines and ended up just wasting time.... nightmare!!! well anyway hope u like it 💁‍♂️

some things:

she's wearing anthy's rose bride tiara and the earrings that were given to utena by akio, which can only mean good things for her. she's winning the fight. she's gonna win it. (the sillhouette of her shorts is similar to tsuwabuki's middle school uniform shorts in an effort to make her look more childish)

touga was originally supposed to be lurking in the background but he was messing with the composition so i deleted him. then his sword was supposed to be impaling nanami's rose but i didn't like it there so i moved it. despite everything he's still in the scene but only if you have eyes and hearts that believe..........

the yellow sun and white clouds could be an egg 🍳 it could be 🥚 take my hand...

i think the third thumbnail was actually my first attempt but i didn't like it very much... i liked the first one but wasnt sold on it tbh!! i still like the imagery of the tangled swords weighing her down and the little cuts and bandages on her hand, but idkkkkk. i just wouldn't have made it work lol so i guess i went for the most complicated one 💁‍♂️

[muntitled]

Boa

Pairings: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're just a kid, caught in a gangster’s crosshairs. What happens when you don’t deliver like you should…

Warnings: Language, Dom!Seongje, Gangsterism, Bullied!Reader, Coercion, Bullying, Extortion, Mentions of Rape, Smut +18 (mdni), Dark fic, Dubious consent, Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Desperate Sex, Humiliation, Degradation

A/N: I'm not responsible for the media you consume. I wrote this for me so...

Ever since you've started working for him, you've learned to get extremely acquainted with the floor.

"I'm sorry, Sir…” your voice is brittle as you try to make yourself heard in the suffocating internet cafe, “I'm short on delivery today..."

Hardwood. Tile. Linoleum. It's become all too familiar to you. The floor is all you see in his presence.

You never looked Seongje in the eyes unless he addresses you first. He likes that, you suspect.

It's kept you alive this long so you must be doing something right.

"I got assigned a kid to tutor and..." you clear your throat, not daring to make direct eye contact, choosing instead, to keep your eyes trained on the dirty, cold floor.

The internet cafe is the very last place you'd want to be on a Friday evening. You were caught right in between two challenging essay due dates- one for English and one for AP English. Both hung gravley over your head, threatening to set off your sympathetic nervous system and have you fainting from academic stress. Seeing him was the very last thing you needed.

"That tutoring time fucked with my system and-" despite all your achievements, despite the academic prestige and the boundless knowledge… in Seongje's presence you feel insignificant.

A bug he's letting scurry around for no other reason except his enjoyment. You didn't want to get stomped on. You saw what happened to the other kids under his thumb and it kept you up at night. All that blood. All the merciless sadism.

You aren't dumb enough to hope an exception would be made for you.

"I'm sorry,” you conclude, and for a second, you get no response. He plays his game. His friends remain silent.

That's all until he pushes the bridge of his glasses up further against his nose. A calm, quiet sigh leaves his lips.

“Before you started working for me, do you know what you were?" Seongje doesn't take his eyes off the screen. His fingers run deftly over the keys as he speaks to you without ever really acknowledging you, "You were in an alleyway, about to get raped by Eunjang scum."

"Yes, Seongje, I know-"

"And in return for my kindness, what did I ask of you?"

"FUCK- COVER ME BRO!" Your eye snaps up to the source of the loud and sudden burst of energy. Your frightened and pitiful eyes find a boy seated adjacent to Seongje and his goons. He's bent over his screen, clearly not a part of the group. Clearly far too young.

Your heart sinks when you realize Seongje's eyes are trained on the boy too.

"Ya…” Seongje raises his voice a decimal above the cacophony yet it has you flinching. “Too loud,” he says to the boy, “Didn’t anyone teach you shut up when adults are talking?” he asks monotonously to the boy- a child really- still mourning the loss of his avatar on the screen. He doesn't pay Seongje any mind.

Of course he doesn't. He's a kid.

How could he have known?

He came to an internet cafe to play a game with his friends.

It's the boy's innocence that hurts the most.

He doesn't know that the monsters under his bed are very real.

They walk where he walks.

They don't hide.

They move about freely.

Your heart makes like the titanic and sinks.

"Excuse me for a second." Seongje addresses you politely, finally giving you a fleeting glance before pushing himself out of his gamer chair. You see his entire row of friends (if that's what one could even refer to them as) remain unfazed as Seongje rounds the table to stand directly behind the young boy.

He’s bigger, far bigger as he pushes the rims of his glasses up, staring directly at you

"I know you're smart so you're probably aware that your fuck-up won't be tolerated-” he says to you, despite slithering his arm around the boys neck like a boa as he squeezes. Everyone keeps their eyes trained to their computers. Your fist curls at your side. You want to look away but you can't because you're speaking to Seongje. You wouldn't want to aggravate him further by showing him his mindlessly violence bothers you. So you try not to flinch.

You try not to let the casual violence scare you. How nonchalantly he speaks while an elementary school boy flails in his arms, begging to be released from the headlock making his lips turn blue

“You knew there'd be a punishment,” Seongje is still speaking to you. You hold your breathe in solidarity with the boy choking in his arms, “-for fucking up your delivery-” crimson blossoms onto the little boys face but Seongje keeps his eyes on you, appearing unfazed by the boy flailing like an animal in arms, "And yet you came anyway. That's the kinda work ethic, I like-” he smiles, “I like it alot-"

Eventually, after what feels like forever, he lets go of the boy. You finally breathe as well, watching as the kid slumps forward ingesting the air in horrid gasps.

Seongje bends forward, patting the boy on the back.

"No more interrupting when I speak, yeah?" Whether the boy was new to this particular internet cafe, it was unclear, but you hoped to whatever divine being that he wouldn't dare come back.

"So I'll let it slide-" He turns his attention back to you and you watch, still shaken up as Seongje leaves the little boy to make his way back to his side of the table. When he breezes past you he smells like nothing. Like his eyes, everything about him is empty.

"Thank you, Seongje-"

He nods before adding, "After you get on your knees." The goon sitting nearest to you, all the way at the end of the table, his fingers hover over the keys, and just like before, the room is rid of all air.

"Excuse me?”

He pulls out his chair for you, like some mimic of a perfect gentleman he opens his arm, gesturing you in.

"I want you on your knees, under the desk.” His words hang above you all. It has tears threatening to spill. Bile rising.

“What’s with the face? Its not like I’m asking you to suck my dick,”

"Seongje, I need to get home-"

"If you can't do it yourself I'm more than happy to help."

That has your legs moving into action. In your periphery, it feels as though everyone's watching you. A thing in psychology called the imaginary audience. When you're so self-conscious you concoct this idea of being the center of attention… only this time, it's real. You know they're all watching you. You know no one will do anything about it.

"Under the desk you go," he chuckles before sitting down and pushing his chair back in. You back away, creating intense distance between you. Your back hits dirty wires and your knees press hesitantly down onto the grime just to achieve a more comfortable position. Everything you see is his legs, his friends legs and you're suddenly hit with the overwhelming urge to cry.

You want to scream at him to let you go. He's hijacked you from your endless pile of homework and yet the very thought of standing up for yourself causes a sea of nausea.

So you sit there in the dark, not knowing when this punishment would conclude. When would he let you go home? That sends you into another spiral. You've heard Seongje could game for 24 hours straight. Maybe more if he was in close vicinity to food and a bathroom. You knew this internet cafe would close eventually, that gives you the smallest sliver of hope and so you do your time.

Never once does he acknowledge you- the girl under his desk. Unbeknownst to Seongje, you catch one of his fellow gang members sneak multiple glances at you under the table. They all do. Like they enjoy seeing you under here. As time passes, and you slip further and further away from the stress, you realize that down here, on the floor, under his desk, the world is small. It's quite comforting actually and that wasn't the trauma talking.

You've always liked small spaces.

It definitely beat dealing with whatever he had going on up there half the time.

Slowly, your body begins to shut down. Your energy plummets from all the stress and all the thoughts. This is the first time you've been forced into a spot for too long doing nothing. No essays. No tutoring.

Due to tendencies from your childhood that you should've gotten rid of, you find yourself curling up against his leg. He stiffens and you snap out of the exhaustion long enough to reel back. Especially when you see his hand reach under the table. Your heart hammers in your chest, not a single word spoken as his hand searches for something. You move a bit closer until his hand catches on your hair. You wince as he drags you closer, pushing your head against his leg as you had done.

He leaves you there. You try to regulate your breathing as you feel him adjust in his seat above you.

You shift as well. Not your head. He clearly wants you there. But your legs are uncomfortable. You try to kneel and it's ridiculous because your head never leaves his leg.

No position seems comfortable enough until he stretches his leg out, right in between yours and you're made to straddle it. Above you, his fingers are still hitting the keys and you try to disassociate from the fact that his leg is pushing against your cunt. You try to sneak a peek at the surface, his glasses are trained on the screen. Not knowing whether it's your exhaustion making a reappearance but you could've sworn you hear the words, "good girl," release from him in a low drawl.

Something in his tone has you shifting over his leg. Your cunt warms against his leg and you fight the urge to buck against him. All you had to do was remember who it is that you're currently touching. That conscious reminder has you once again hellbent on doing your time with concrete resolve.

That resolve breaks.

It shatters when he eases his back against the chair, enough to once again slither his hand down towards you.

He curls his fist into your hair and tugs.

He pushes you down and lifts you up and you mindlessly follow his movements until you realize he's coaxed you into riding his leg.

He lets go of your hair, satisfied when your hips move out of their own accord.

You hate how good it feels to quite literally be beneath him. You look up and you whimper oh so quietly when you see that small smile play on his lips while his eye remains on the screen.

He's given you new instructions now and so you don't dare to stop moving your hips against him. Despite the damp spot forming on the seat of your underwear. You're not sure what it is that allows you to lose yourself so easily. Perhaps it's all the expectations that melt away when you're doing something so pitiful. You're breaking for him and he's letting you. You're not in control of anything and there's freedom in that.

“F-Fuck-” you didnt mean for the words to slip. There are still other people here but you also couldn't help the wave of pleasure that pushed up so suddenly. Your clit is moving against the fabric of his pants just right and your eyes threaten to roll to the back of your head.

The second that whimper escapes your mouth, he stiffens again.

You watch as he leans back again, this time his hand isn't reaching out for you. It's to ghost over the bulge forming in his pants. Somehow that spurs you on more.

You grind against him desperately and before he can take his hand away, this time you reach up for him.

You watch him closely. The glare from the screen reflects on his glasses. His jaw, tight.

He controls the game easily with one hand, while you bring the other into your mouth.

You're not sure where this other side of you came from. This vixen who rolls her tongue out and forces his index and ring finger into her warm mouth.

He becomes more and more restless… His breath hitching. Seongje's fingers hit the keys more aggressively, while his right hand forces his fingers further down your throat. His hips buck upwards and you can see the damp spot forming where his cock is straining against his pants. He's about to cum in his pants and you're about to cum on his leg and it's far too much for you.

You know his friends are about. You try to preserve even a sliver of dignity but it all goes out the window.

“Fuck-” he spits out, slamming his fist on the table before abandoning the game. There's a fire in his eyes as he sits back to watch you peer up at him with complete and utter desperation.

“What a fucking slut-” he snarled, cleaely audible enough for not only him but his friends too. It has your mouth snapping open. Your back arches as you try to watch him watching you cum on his leg.

You've never held his attention for this long and it sends you off the edge.

“S-Seongje-” you barely squeak out as your cunt spasms against his leg. You rut uncontrollably, spurred on by the name That fell from your lips as if your body needed a reminder of just who it was making you cum. Your tormentor.

It has you seeing stars.

For all of 11 seconds.

Until it comes crashing down on you. Your pitiful act has you reeling. Mind spinning.

You don't want to look up at him but you have nowhere else to look. Your heart sinks when you see a smile form slowly across his lips… Somehow you knew you'd never be rid of him.

[loveinhawkins]

ao3

Robin’s double-triple-quadruple checking that Steve is okay—well, okay as he can be, gritting his teeth as Nancy wraps hastily made bandages around him—when she sees Eddie turn away out the corner of her eye.

She follows the movement unconsciously, but then she really looks, and at first she thinks it’s just this god-awful place draining the colour out of everything, but wow, he looks bad.

“Hey,” she says as brightly as she can, “you just checking out the scenery over here or…?”

Eddie shakes his head, and that immediately seems like a bad idea because his face gets even paler, which Robin didn’t even think was, like, possible.

“Just needed to—” he says faintly.

And that’s all he gets out before he weaves where he’s standing, and Robin reaches for him instinctively, grabs a hold of his hand; his palm is cold with sweat, and she suddenly finds herself thinking that the rumour going around a couple years ago, that Eddie passed out in the middle of a dissection in Biology, must have some truth in it.

“Okay, we’re okay!” she says quickly, and holds on as tight as she can. “We’re just gonna stand here and breathe.”

She says it a few more times, “We’re just gonna breathe,” and she’s got no idea if it’s the right thing to do or not, whether it’s just deeply annoying or making everything worse.

Eddie closes his eyes, and she worries about that initially, but the grip of his hand gets stronger, and he doesn’t sway again, and when he opens his eyes and looks at her, they’re clear and focused.

He squeezes her hand twice. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t let go, and he looks embarrassed about it, so Robin says that her sense of balance is so incredibly shit, and this is very helpful of him, thank you.

It works at least a little bit; he almost laughs. Then he swallows, and she can feel his urge to look back over despite himself. He stops the motion just in time.

“Is he—” His fingers twitch uneasily. “Is he okay?”

“Yes,” she says immediately.

She really hopes it doesn’t sound like she’s pacifying him. It’s just, she knows by now what to watch out for, she doesn’t even really need to be looking; an awareness of Steve in her periphery is enough.

She rushes to try and clarify, “Like, I know it seems like I was panicking with the rabies thing, I mean, I kinda was super panicking, but I got it all out my system, like I’m a worrier first and foremost, that’s my secret default emotion, you’re welcome, so when I say there’s nothing to worry about, obviously there are plenty of things to worry about, look where we are, but I promise nothing major currently in the Steve department, and I can tell you, like, instantly when that changes, it’s a sixth sense.”

Eddie blinks, looking slightly stunned. Shit, she forgets sometimes that it’s only really Steve who’s used to these monologues.

A big breath. “And I know it seems like I’m panicking because I’m rambling which—okay, that’s sometimes true, but in most cases—this one included, I swear!—me talking way too much just means I’m comfortable with whoever’s listening.” Eddie’s eyes widen. “So, um. Congratulations? Sorry? Take your pick. Does that, um, make sense?”

There’s a pause before Eddie replies—he’s probably still processing just how many words were thrown at him.

“I don’t think you talk too much,” he says in a taken aback kind of way. Then, “And yeah, sure, that makes sense. Just, uh, questioning your judgement.” A slight self-effacing smile. “I’m not typically the kinda guy folks are comfortable around.”

“Is it really so shocking?” Robin says, meaning it as a tease but—

“Yes,” Eddie says, and while he matches her tone, the word teeters between a joke and something vulnerable.

They both turn at a sudden grunt of exertion—Steve’s standing up, supporting himself with one hand leaning on the rock he’d fallen against. Nancy watches his movements with an anxious intensity; Robin follows her eyeline and notes with relief that the bleeding’s stopped.

“We can go to my house,” Nancy says like she’s trying to convince herself it’s a good idea. “There’ll—there must be some bandages or something just. Just in case.”

Steve lets go of the rock and stands up to his full height. It’s a deliberate show of reassurance, Robin thinks, as much for himself as it is for Nancy.

“Sure,” Steve says. “And guns too, right?”

Nancy’s startled into a laugh. For a second, the weight of concern leaves her face. “And guns,” she repeats.

Eddie catches Robin’s eye with an air of bewilderment. “Guns?” he mouths.

Robin nods.

Eddie looks, if possible, even more lost. Then his eyes slide away from Robin’s, and his expression changes; he starts to frown. At first Robin can’t tell what he’s noticed except that there can’t be any more blood, thank God, because he doesn’t look away. Then she sees it too as Steve takes a step forward with a nonchalant, “What are we waiting for? Let’s go,” like the determined normality of his voice can somehow hide the fact that he’s shivering.

Nancy bites her lip, looking like she’s come to the same unwelcome conclusion as Robin: that no matter what they say, it’ll just result in Steve arguing against it.

There’s a rustle off to the side. Robin glances over only in time to see a blur of denim; Steve catches it against his chest. Eddie’s vest.

“For your modesty, dude,” Eddie quips like it’s no big deal, but Robin can instantly sense the care he’s taken in how he’s said it, that he’s guessed intuitively about the kind of person Steve is: the kind who, when Robin once forgot her umbrella, shared his and made sure she was fully covered, despite him getting soaked in the process.

It’s like she can physically see the path that Eddie’s flippancy has opened up. This way Steve accepting the vest is just continuing the joke; he doesn’t need to admit that he actually needs it.

And it works. Steve expertly sidesteps around the vulnerability and shrugs on the vest, echoing Eddie’s levity right back at him.

“Oh, my modesty, sure. Well, in that case, don’t wanna offend you, dude.”

“You know me, propriety is my middle name.”

Steve laughs. He fiddles a little with one of the buttons on the vest then says lightly, as if an afterthought, “Didn’t know you cared.”

It still walks the line of a joke, but Robin can hear his sincerity, and from the look of surprise on Eddie’s face, so can he. And it’s not like Steve being genuine is a surprise to her, but—

The ground gives way beneath her feet; her stomach lurches as she loses her balance, and it’s only when she accidentally catches Eddie’s shoulder that she realises she’s not going to fall through an endless chasm, that the world is just shaking violently—still not a comforting prospect, but she’ll gladly take it over the alternative.

She barely has time to feel the relative relief before another shudder sends her straight to the ground; she’s too caught off guard to even protect her face with her hands. But her landing isn’t nearly as painful as it should be—as everything finally grows still, she finds the reason why: Eddie, who from the awkward twisted position of his legs looks like he was caught equally off guard, and yet he’s still managed to fling an arm around Robin, bracing to keep her from the worst of the impact.

“Did anyone touch the vines?” Nancy asks breathlessly.

Robin and Eddie shake their heads.

“Any, uh, particular reason why?” Eddie says in the tone of someone who’d really rather not find out.

“It’s a hive mind,” Steve and Nancy say simultaneously, in a very hive mind like way.

Robin hums the theme to The Twilight Zone; everyone laughs, some pressure finally released.

“So killer demon bats weren’t enough, we’ve gotta deal with booby traps too,” Eddie says.

Steve snorts. He glances childishly to Robin as if looking for approval; she rolls her eyes with an irrepressible smile. Seriously?

There’s a split second of disbelief before Eddie just grins in delight. “Real mature, Harrington.”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry, man,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “Just providing what Dustin would’ve done.”

They sober slightly at the reminder that their group’s been split.

“You think they’ve figured out that we’re…?” Eddie wiggles his fingers vaguely. He’s slower at getting to his feet than everyone else had been—he’s still hunched over slightly, rubbing at his knee.

“They will,” Nancy says with conviction.

“Don’t underestimate them,” Steve says mildly.

“Oh, I’m not, believe me. They’re kinda terrifying.”

“Terrifying?” Nancy echoes, laughing again, right as Steve says, “Exactly.”

As if in response to their laughter, there’s a distant growl punctuated with ominous clicking. Steve and Nancy both go rigid, and Robin thinks of the night after Starcourt, when Steve stayed over at her place because neither of them wanted to be alone; and he told her how everything started for him, his voice tripping over the words like he was reliving it all over again: running back to Jonathan Byers’ house, hearing the snarl of a monster.

“Yeah, I’m all for going to the Wheeler sanctum,” Eddie says weakly.

But he doesn’t move initially, so Steve and Nancy end up leading the way. Steve repeatedly sweeps the beam of his flashlight back and forth, making sure that the path is lit up for everyone, and Robin wonders whether he’s so focused on that that he hasn’t yet noticed—

“You’re hurt,” she tells Eddie softly. She’s up and looped her arm through his without thinking—which is kind of a big deal considering she nearly threw up with nerves when dancing with a boy at her middle school Snow Ball—and she realises that, for once, she forgot to be nervous about it.

“It’s not that bad,” Eddie says dismissively, but she can feel him leaning on her so it must be at least a little bit bad. “Hey, we kinda even each other out like this, huh? Your balance is pretty good, actually.” He pauses, then, “I’m okay, promise, just didn’t wanna…” He shrugs, nods towards Steve. “Gotta prioritise, y’know?”

Robin doesn’t push back on it for now, just slows her pace so Eddie isn’t jostled. “Thank you,” she says instead, lowering her voice. She nods toward Steve too. “For the…”

“Style improvement? Yeah, you’re welcome.”

This time Robin only lets him get away with belittling it for so long; it’s important, she thinks, that he knows.

“I mean it. He wouldn’t have taken it if you hadn’t—he’s…” She sighs. The greatest Tammy Thompson impersonator. Stupidly funny. Serious, when he has to be. Caring. Selfless. My best friend. “Stubborn.”

Eddie laughs under his breath. “Oh, and you’re not? What the hell was that back there?” He drops into a gently mocking impression of her voice, “I made that shit up.”

“I was just being honest!”

“Way to give me a heart attack.” She feels him squeeze the crook of her elbow. “Don’t do it again.”

And there’s that balancing act again, joking but not. Robin hears it for what it is. Don’t leave me alone. She squeezes back.

“I won’t.”

She expects Eddie to change the subject quickly. Instead he laughs—smaller, sadder. “Shit, sorry. You must think I’m—”

“No,” she says firmly. “I don’t.”

Eddie looks down like he’s just watching his step, nothing more. But his hold around Robin’s arm tightens again. He clears his throat.

“Thanks, Buckley.”

“Hey, Robin, Eddie,” Steve calls; Robin feels Eddie jump. “There’s vines up ahead, like…” He turns around and indicates where with the flashlight. Then he catches Robin’s eye, knits his eyebrows slightly. You okay?

She smiles in reassurance before subtly tilting her head towards Eddie, wrinkles her nose. 

Steve’s forehead relaxes. The tiniest nod. Yeah, I know. Got my eye on it.

Because of course he’d noticed the hurt knee despite Eddie’s attempt to hide it; Robin recalls now one of Steve’s rants about his time at school, how he’d often clock injuries during basketball games before the borderline neglectful coach.

And then she realises that Steve’s been walking backwards throughout their silent conversation, alternating between lighting the way for Nancy, and for her and Eddie.

She rolls her eyes, briefly draws a circle in the air with her finger. Now you’re just showing off.

Steve grins, waggles his eyebrows ridiculously. Oh, yeah? What’re you gonna do about it?

But he obligingly turns around, as Nancy gives him a sidelong, questioning look. He answers, too far away to hear, points behind him with his free hand like he’s explaining something. Then his hand goes to the vest, rubbing his thumb absentmindedly over the denim near the collar; Robin smiles.

“So, uh, how likely is it that I’m gonna get that back?” Eddie asks. He sounds amused, like he’s just noticed the same thing as Robin.

“Like, out of ten?” She pretends to think about it. “Two point five.”

Eddie snorts. “Wow, thanks.”

It’s a compliment, Eddie, she thinks, recalling the select few sweaters that Steve fiddles with in winter. He only does that with clothes he really loves.

“You’re not the first. He steals my sunglasses all the time.”

Eddie bursts out laughing. “Figures. He’d look good in anything, it’s so unfair.”

And it doesn’t sound serious; it’s said off the cuff, like it doesn’t have to mean anything. But Robin’s growing more certain that she can hear what’s hiding underneath—that, however hesitantly, she’s being tested.

“Yeah, but we’re not supposed to actually tell him that, he’ll never shut up about it.” As Eddie laughs, she elbows him gently, reaches across to tug at one of the zippers on his sleeve. “So are you providing a permanent service with your clothes? Cause I call dibs on your jacket.”

Eddie laughs again; the mix of disbelief and joy in the sound is familiar—Robin’s heard it come from herself not all that long ago. It takes a while to sink in, that friendship can be found so easily—an uncomplicated, earnest type of love once thought lost to kindergarten; it doesn’t have to hurt.

(“I didn’t need the truth serum to say it,” Robin had confessed during a terminally slow day at Family Video. “I think, deep down, I trusted you.”

“Oh,” Steve said softly and watched the rest of the movie they’d thrown on dewy-eyed.)

There’s a spring in Eddie’s step now despite the limp. He calls out like he’s on a summer hiking trail, “Are we there yet?”

Nancy chuckles. “No. Are you five?”

“Wheeler, I’m shocked that you’d repeat the baseless lies of the school faculty.”

Steve turns, his grin caught by the flashlight—and he looks younger suddenly, Robin thinks, like he’s in class, sneaking a look at someone in the seat behind.

“Wow, dude, I’m so sorry. Are you bored? I forgot to book the entertainment.”

“Did you, Steve?” Eddie asks, all innocence. “I thought you were the entertainment.”

And as they go back and forth, it’s as if the darkness of the woods can’t reach them anymore—as Steve starts a game of I spy, and Eddie encourages Nancy to come up with equally outlandish guesses, the two of them barely keeping their giggles under control, violets, vixen, velociraptor?

“Vines, you losers!” Steve says, still grinning, walking tall like he’s totally forgotten about his injury; and Eddie turns to Robin like that had been his aim all along, “Your turn, Buckley.”

Oh, you’ll fit right in, Robin says to herself before jumping into the game—as they all, at least for a little while, leave fear behind.

[screamlet]

♞: Caring for each other while ill

thank you for the prompt! have another 1.2k of fluff, this time set during the summer between s7/s8 when bucktommy was new and anything we wanted it to be, lol. from the nonsexual acts of intimacy prompt list

---

On a really good, horny day, Buck might be strong enough to haul Tommy off his living room floor and drop him on the couch. That's not one of those days, though: Buck is sick, Tommy is sick, and they might be better off dying together in each other's arms on the floor of the loft.

"I should just go home."

"Tommy, you fainted when you tried to put on a sock."

They're lying side-by-side on the floor of the loft; Tommy did try to put on a sock and faint, but Buck caught him before he shattered his skull on the floor. Once he had saved Tommy's life, he felt vertigo kick in and slowly lowered himself to the floor, too, where he and Tommy could lie together for the last 10-15 minutes of their lives.

"I don't need socks to drive," Tommy answers.

Buck laughs quietly. "Don't make me laugh, everything hurts."

"It's too early for flu season, it's the fucking Fourth of July."

"Eighth."

"It's the fucking Eighth of July."

"You know, the Declaration of Independence was signed on July 4th, but on July 8th at 12 PM, it was read aloud in public for the first time."

"So… Happy Public Declaration of the Declaration of Independence Day?"

"It's a little wordy."

"Just a little."

"And it doesn't need to be flu season for my niece to get us sick." Buck turns his head and pouts. "I'm sorry you're sick. I'm sorry I'm sick, too, but I'm more sorry you're sick."

"Don't apologize. People get sick sometimes. This'll probably be the last time I'm sick, though, since I'm gonna die from this, whatever it is."

"No you're not." Suddenly Buck's eyes widen as he flails at Tommy. "Are you? You don't have like a compromised immune system or anything? Are you actually dying? Tommy, we're first responders, why haven't we called 9-1-1?"

Tommy's eyes close for a beat. "I'm not dying, I'm just a very melodramatic 39-year-old man who doesn't want to be sick in front of this guy he really likes."

"Oh," Buck says.

Tommy turns his head to look at Buck. "I'm sorry. I was saving that for my deathbed confession, but that could be now. You can't cringe at a guy's deathbed confession, Evan. It's the law."

Buck doesn't—he doesn't know how to—how he can talk to Tommy. He doesn't know how to keep up with him when he's so—he's funny and flirty and sexy and sometimes he seems so serious that everything in Buck's soul quakes in a way he doesn't understand because he's never felt it before. There's a hundred, a thousand things Buck wants to say to him: he wants to flirt back, he wants to be funny, he wants to say something that will get Tommy to smile in this way he has, when the grin breaks across his face like a sunrise Buck stayed up all night waiting to see. He's so—he's so much, and Buck wants so much.

Buck softly replies, "Okay, I won't."

Tommy's eyes soften, too, like Buck had done or said any of the things that might make Tommy fall in love with him. He hadn't, though. Maybe Tommy just likes him.

"Is it more embarrassing to DoorDash Gatorade and more cold medicine, or to text Eddie and make him our DoorDash guy?" Buck asks.

Tommy's eyes crinkle a little. "Do you think either of those entities have the capacity for shame?"

"No, it's me, I'm ashamed. Which is more embarrassing?"

"Well how about this." Tommy closes his eyes and sighs as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone like it's made out of lead. "You keep your shame and I will get a whole pharmacy delivered to your door, and no one will ever know that you have a cold, too."

"Now it just sounds silly. It's fine, I'll do it."

Tommy swings a hand to Buck and holds it out. Buck rolls his eyes and takes it, links their fingers together. "Let me treat you to some electrolytes and cold medicine before we spend our 48 off on this floor, choking on our own phlegm."

"Yeah, not even each other's," Buck says. "I bet your phlegm tastes great."

It slips out of Buck's mouth and makes Tommy stutter and laugh with his whole achy body. Buck's so embarrassed and so proud and so embarrassed, but how can he want to wither and die when Tommy's looking at him so—

The way Buck looks at him? This warm look like—like he can't look away from Buck, the way Buck can't look away from him.

"I can't believe you've been depriving the queer community of hits like that all these years," Tommy replies, still grinning at him. Buck squeezes his hand and hopes this lightheaded feeling is just—it's that he likes his boyfriend, not that worms are eating his brain or anything.

"Hey, uh." Tommy's hand has loosened around Buck's. Buck wants him back, but maybe he's letting go for a good reason. Or a bad one. Buck doesn't care, he wants it back. "So I'm gonna build this delivery order to end all orders, and then maybe…"

"Maybe…"

Tommy turns his head, but he looks less confident than he did 90 seconds ago. "I know we had really amazing plans for this 48 off, so many things we were going to do to each other's bodies that didn't involve cold compresses and acetaminophen. But now that's all been crushed… would it be so bad if we… like if we still, I don't know, spent them together?"

Buck stares at him, long enough that Tommy looks away and shakes his head. "Never mind, I was—"

"Tommy, you fainted trying to put on a sock," Buck interrupts. "You're not leaving here until I say you can."

"I mean, that sounds very hot and in charge of you, but this was supposed to be a fun little weekend. You didn't sign up for—"

"Yes I did," Buck says. "You're gonna stay here until we're strong enough to fuck each other's brains out again. Upstairs. On the bed." Buck links his fingers with Tommy's again and squeezes (clutches) his hand. "It might take a while. We might even need to take a sick day."

There's something around Tommy's eyes that Buck wants to rub away. Tommy, his fun Tommy, the one who's been funny enough to keep him on the floor for this long, is slowly coming back, but Buck wants—he wants. He wants to be the one to say or do the thing that gets Tommy to stop thinking dumb things like is he gonna kick me out of his house when I'm sick. Just like Tommy makes him laugh and think, Buck wants to be the one to—

He just really wants to be something, mean something, to him.

"If you mean it." Tommy lets out a long-suffering sigh. "If you'll have me, Evan Buckley, I would really like to take a sick day with you."

Buck nods with more confidence than he actually has. "Good. Cause you're gonna. Add some popsicles on there, too."

"Oh, good idea, you're very smart."

Tommy flashes him a grin that makes Buck an even weaker puddle on the floor. Good thing he doesn't have to get up yet so he can lie here, watching Tommy order them Gatorade and popsicles and cold medicine, and try not to fall in love with him.

[luvendiary]

something fishy / h. haddock

hiccup haddock x reader

request: Hello everything is fine? I hope you are well…. I would like to say that I loved your Hiccup fic, just perfect!! And the vows… OIIIIII my heart jumped! Congratulations on your masterpieces…. and if possible, when you're better with requests… could you do something for Hiccup again? This time, maybe something where the twins, playful as they are, might want to play a prank on Hiccup, where the reader feels sick. Hence, the reader agrees to play this prank, but when the time comes, does she really feel sick? (Maybe you feel short of breath, and pass out… or, you choose, I trust you) and then a cute moment of Hiccup taking care of the reader, thank you very much!!! a/n: i'm sorry for taking soooo long. thank you for your request and i hope you like it!!

Ruff and Tuff could be a pain in the ass sometimes. As much as you loved joking around with them, and their constant banter humored you, sometimes you couldn’t help but want to throw them both off the nearest cliff.

Right now, was one of those moments. You tried to block out their voices as you stitched through your charred armor, trying to repair the damage it had taken from your last ‘excursion’. However, they seemed to run on an endless supply of energy.

“Fine!” you shouted over their nagging voices. “If I agree to do this, will you leave me alone, for Thor’s sake?!”

Their response came in the shape of two identical grins, which told you all you needed to know.

That’s how you found yourself hunched over a bucket in your hut. What was supposed to be a harmless prank to Hiccup had ended up becoming your worst nightmare.

Tuff had bet Ruff that Hiccup had feelings for you, and all it took for it to be confirmed was to see you in your worst state to prove that. He would come and rescue you from your misery, and his point would be proven.

You thought it was ridiculous.

Ruff had said that to achieve your ‘most hideous state’ you had to at least smell like raw fish. At which you had started to double think your compliance in their plan. Maybe letting them annoy you wasn’t as bad as covered in fish skin.

However, by the time you realized that it was most definitely too late. The smell of fish had overwhelmed your senses and caused you to sprint out of the room before you got sick all over the place.

Much to your dismay, Hiccup had just walked in when he saw you bolt out of the room.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asked as he glanced back at you with a worried expression.

You could hear the twins trying to come up with some sort of explanation as to why you looked as if all the blood had drained out of your system. They stumbled over their words guilty, as Hiccup’s expression grew with anger. The realization dawning on him that your current state was their fault.

“What did you do to her?” he asked sternly, cutting off their rambling.

“It was just a harmless prank!” Ruff defended as she extended her arms towards your hunched figure. “She’s fine!”

“Does she look fine to you?”

You could barely hear their response as ringing sounded in your ears. Your breaths became shallow. The smell of fish overwhelming your senses completely.

You broke out in a cold sweat, but you felt incredibly suffocated. You held your hair up in a ponytail, trying to relieve yourself.

“M’fine…” you mumbled once the ringing in your ears had stopped.

Your words had been enough to silence their bantering.

“See? She’s fine!” Tuffnut nervously said to Hiccup. His voice, unusually high-pitched.

Hiccup threw a murderous glare at him, but didn’t get to give him a piece of his mind as you clumsily stumbled to your feet.

His arms instinctively flinched toward you, as he watched you stand up like you were a deer, just learning to walk.

“Maybe you should sit down for a while,” he said, carefully making his way toward you. His voice, extremely gentle.

“What? No. I’m fine. I’m good. Just got nauseous there for sec…” your words slurred into each other and before you knew it you were back on the ground again.

You couldn’t feel your legs, and all you knew was that Hiccup was staring down at you with those big brown eyes of his.

You tried to smile, but darkness took you over.

Warmth and shadows welcomed you back when you opened your eyes again.

It was like you had been completely removed from the world you had known just a moment ago. The first thing you noticed was the smell of wood, a contrasting difference from the stench of fish which made you shiver in disgust. You were wrapped in a soft cozy blanket. It looked like it had been scratchy once before, but so many years of use had worn it down to the perfect texture.

A log cracked in the hearth nearby, and the sound was enough to draw your attention to a figure seated beside you. His back was slightly hunched in the chair, head resting in his palm, elbow propped on the armrest. Hiccup looked exhausted. However, his head shot up the second you moved.

“You’re awake,” he said softly, voice thick with relief. His eyes, those warm brown eyes, studied your face with a mix of worry and something gentler intertwined.

You tried to sit up, but your arms trembled beneath you.

“Whoa, hey—easy,” he was beside you in an instant, gently pressing a hand to your lower back, to guide you back down. The simple gesture made butterflies fly in your stomach.

“You fainted. You scared the hell out of me.”

You frowned, brows drawing together. “Did I… throw up on anyone?”

His lips twitched in amusement, the concern in his expression never wavering. “No. You missed everyone by a mile. But you were burning up by the time I got you out of there.” He hesitated, then added, “You’ve been out for hours.”

You looked down at the blanket, feeling your cheeks heat for entirely different reasons now. “Guess I really sold the whole ‘sick and pitiful’ act, huh?”

His brows drew together in confusion. “Wait—this was a prank?”

You groaned, covering your face with one hand. “Ruff and Tuff thought if I looked like I was on death’s doorstep, it would somehow confirm that you had feelings for me.”

You were mortified. “They kept pestering me until I agreed. But if I had known their plan had included me being covered in fish guts, I would never have said yes.”

He was quiet for a long moment. You dared a peek through your fingers. He looked conflicted.

“Gods…” you whispered. “I’m so sorry. This was so stupid.”

Then, unexpectedly, he smiled—just a small, private curve of his lips.

“Well,” he said slowly, sitting back on the edge of the chair. “They weren’t completely wrong.”

Your heart skipped. “Wait, what?”

His eyes met yours. “Maybe not the way they went about it… but I was ready to throw them both into the ocean the second I saw you collapse. I—I was scared. I thought something was seriously wrong. I care about you. A lot.”

You stared at him.

He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “So… yeah. Next time, maybe just talk to me instead of dousing yourself in fish guts?”

You stared at him in disbelief. A breathless laugh escaping your throat. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

There was a pause, warm and gentle, before Hiccup reached down to tuck the blanket more securely around your shoulders.

“Get some rest,” he murmured. “After that we can throw them off a cliff together. Yeah?”

“Is that a promise?”

“I’ll wait for you.”

[snurtsnurtcreations]

The Ghost in the Moors

Johnny Mactavish x Simon Riley x Reader

Hey y'all, enjoy my most recent, incredibly persistent brainworm that's resulted in this word vomit. Heavily heavily inspired off the vibes of The Secret Garden and Jane Eyre

Warning: I wrote a sad ending for this one. Major character death y’all, so watch out.

The distinguishable gentleman Mactavish has at long last taken a wife. His heart is not truly in the marriage, but that is perfectly understandable for a man of his standing in high society. (He’s never been so listless before his dearest friend, Simon Riley, died- but those are just the whispers of his staff). He is not cruel or particularly dismissive of his wife, but… it is clear he does not care much for you either.

Not minding much, you take on the duties of the estate admirably. The staff all respect you greatly, and you find fulfillment in many a task surrounding the care of the grounds. Regrettably, however, you do end up falling in love with your husband from the glimpses of him that you get interacting with the staff, with animals, with children… You’d wanted to avoid catching feelings for him when you knew from the get-go that this was a marriage of convenience, but there is a true goodness in him and a charm just past the deep gloom that settles on his countenance.

The thing is though, the Mactavish estate holds a secret. Late at night one might hear a haunting howling. On the dreariest of days, when the fog lies thick and curling over the moors, you’d swear there was a dark presence wandering the grounds. And no one dared enter the abandoned walled-off garden. There is great evil brewing there, the staff would say. It was never particularly dangerous before that one night that… oh, well, they really shouldn’t say.

You start trying to investigate into this mystery. How could it be that there is a whole garden, a plot of considerable size, that no one had access to? What is it that all the staff are nervously tipping-toeing around saying? And why are all past accounts of an energetic and joyous Johnny so false in the face of the cold, impassive character in the present day?

One stormy day, they take in a group of people passing by to provide them some refuge until the storm passes. One of them, an old woman, confidently claims there is a ghost in their midst. The crack of lightning and thunder immediately following her statement does not lend itself well to the doubt of such a statement. Neither does the nervous silence of the staff. Johnny, however, is adamant that such talk is nonsense.

Later, you take the old woman aside, and ask more about what led her to such a conclusion earlier. The old lady just pats your hand and cheerfully says, “Because I am a witch, dearie- I have a sensitivity to these sorts of things.”

You decide far be it from you to question an old lady, but ultimately you do not take much stock in her words. (Though, you make note in your mind, you may not believe it to be true, but you certainly don’t believe it entirely false either…)

You spend your days occupied with the goings-on of the estate, but occasionally you go for a walk around the grounds, reveling in the feeling of being surrounded by rolling hills and nothing but moorland and some sheep in the distance.

A horse comes galloping down the road, and the rider brings it to a full stop as he nears you, the horse rearing it’s head at the suddenness, it’s hooves clipping against the ground anxiously. It’s Johnny. He seems surprised to see you.

“What are ya doing all the way out here, my lady?”

“Simply out for a stroll, my lord.” You answer, confused.

“Is that where you’ve been disappearing for hours? You’ve got all the staff on edge.”

“My apologies, my lord, I hadn’t meant to-“

“Just let them know when you go out next, is all.” And that concludes the conversation. His expression hardly changes as he gallops back out to whatever business he must attend to.

His back and forth attitude confuses you. Just this morning you saw him jump up from the breakfast table to go see to an injured lamb on his property, but now here with you he is cold and impassive.

Still you make attempts to connect with him, and dutifully continue doing your countess tasks.

When one day you ask Johnny on an evening stroll about the garden, what starts as an innocent question becomes a full blown argument as he gets increasingly more upset and angry at you. You cannot for the life of you understand what is making him so irritated about it- you just wanted to know more about this garden!

“Fine! You wish to know about the garden? Let me show you the garden.” He snarls in his fit of rage and grabs you by the wrist. You stumble after him as he stomps to the walled garden, brushes aside the vines to reveal a door and lock that you would otherwise have never known was there. He pulls a key off a chain around his neck and slams the lock open, yanking you into the garden.

The thing is, the sun is setting, the sky darkening rapidly- likely due to the dark clouds brewing on the horizon, inching closer and closer with the strong winds. You are entirely uneasy. The last thing you’d wanted was to see this garden in such conditions, with Johnny in such a rage. For the first time in your stay here, Johnny’s made you truly afraid as he guides you deeper into the garden. You softly plead for him to stop, to slow down, but your pleas seem to fall on deaf ears.

The garden is so large it’s practically a forest of its own. The plants are so overgrown, the bushes towering over you may as well be walls, and the vines and roots taking over the ground seem to make it their mission to trip you up. Already you have lost sight of where the door was.

“Here. Here is the god damned garden.” He says as he tugs you even deeper into the foliage. Your foot snags on a root, and this time you fall to the ground. Your fall causes him to pause a few steps ahead, and you wonder if it might have pulled him out of his episode. But then he turns to you with a manic grief-stricken glint in his eyes, spreading his arms out demonstrably. “Is this what you wanted to see so badly? The ruined remains of whatever good I’d had?” Johnny roars.

You can only stare up at him, teary-eyed and confused. He opens his mouth to say more, but the wind makes a whisper noise akin to what you’d swear sounded like someone saying “Johnny…”. Both your heads snap towards the sound. You see nothing but the swaying branches, but Johnny’s sharp inhale has you turning back to him. His face is pale as you have never seen it before, mouth agape, eyes wide.

“No, no…” He whispers. Never had you seen such deep terror in anyone’s face. Just as you are about to ask what is the matter, he turns and sprints away as though he had all the hounds of hell on his tail.

“Johnny!” You shout in alarm, but by the time you have risen to your feet, he is already out of sight. You run in the same direction he took, but it is difficult to navigate the garden, especially now that the sun is gone and darkness coats everything. Branches slap painfully against your face whilst your hands are busy hiking up your skirts, so you drop one side to shield your head. “Johnny!” You shout again, with a growing panic as you realize you don’t know where he went or where you should go to exit the garden.

Nothing answers back except the howling of the wind.

You come to a complete stop. You cannot even hear any sound of Johnny’s movements. Looking around provides you with no clues for where to go. Your breath hitches, but you bite down your panic and steel your nerves.

“Alright,” you mumble to yourself, “alright, no need to panic. I must simply find one of the walls and follow it until I reach the door.” With your newfound inkling of bravery, you set off in one direction, attempting to keep as straight a line as you can with the bushes and trees in the way. A nearby owl taking off nearly makes you jump in fright, but you push onward. Just as you reach a wall, setting a hand on the stone bricks with triumph, the first drop of rains hits your nose.

Your spirits take a swan dive as the heavens open up a torrent of downpour. You try to hurry along the wall, but it is difficult to do when there are huge swathes of overgrown plants that you must find a way to step around, then find the wall again. It is only when it starts to rain so hard that you can’t keep your head up without droplets obscuring your vision that you decide to perhaps wait it out a little. You find the largest tree within your limited line of sight and hug yourself close near its trunk. Underneath the canopy of the tree, the rainfall is lessened, allowing you to see just how hard it is raining outside the cover of the leaves. You let yourself sink down to the ground when shivers start to wrack your form and the rain shows no signs of easing up.

You sniffle miserably. If you let a few tears loose, well, who would be any the wiser whether the droplet down your cheek originates from the sky or your eye?

“I’m so stupid.” You murmur despondently, “Never should have brought it up in the first place.”

But you still when it feels as though a hand is wiping your tears. You turn to the source and see- nothing. And yet the warmth along your cheeks is undeniable. Some unseen hand slides down your hair and settles a warm, warm palm against the back of your neck. Your breath is caught in your throat, your eyes searching for someone who is not there.

“Don’t give up…” A voice whispers, “Take care of him.”

You blink the tears from your eyes, wiping the remaining wetness off your cheeks.

“Alright.” You take a steadying breath, “I- I will.” And your voice carries true conviction, because truth be told, you would have kept taking care of Johnny either way, for your love for him runs deep, even though today has not been the first time you’d thought perhaps it shouldn’t run so deep.

An approving hum, and then a feeling akin to being embraced. You allow the warmth to seep into your skin, to chase your doubts away, your hands hovering in uncertainty.

“Who… who are you?” You whisper. The warmth pulls away.

“Only a ghost.” Is all the answer you get. Then there is a distinct emptiness in the air, and you feel as though whatever presence was here has left now, yet you still ask,

“But what is your name?”

No answer.

You rise and look around. The rain is not as heavy as it was before. You set back off to follow the wall, when you hear an anxious voice calling your name from somewhere within the walls of the garden.

“I’m here!” You answer. Soon Johnny emerges through the foliage, looking entirely guilty, but relieved to have found you. He hurriedly wraps a cloak around you.

“I’m so sorry, my lady, I- I never should have brought you here, let alone have had the impudence to leave you in the dark unaccompanied- I am truly- truly sorry.” He stumbles over his words, worried eyes examining your form.

“It’s… it’s alright, my lord” You let him wrap your hand round his elbow and lead you out of the gardens. Despite the darkness and overgrowth, it seems he knows exactly where he’s going. “You looked terrified when you fled- what was it that sent you away in such a hurry?”

“Perhaps that old woman was right.” He says in a hushed tone, like a confession, “For a moment, I could have sworn I’d… seen a ghost.”

As you approach the door to the garden, you think it could very well be true- in the corner of your eye you catch sight of the large ghostly form of a scarred man, fading in and out of reality.

Following that day, you keep your promise to the ghost, caring for Johnny in whatever ways you can, making sure everything in the estate runs smoothly, having food be brought up to him when he misses his lunches, being a comforting presence in the evenings in the library when the fire runs low and it is obvious he is restless with the silence of the house.

He has even begun speaking to you a little about his past, which you’d like to think is because he’s warming up to you, but rationally you reason it is more likely because he still feels guilty for his actions that day. Sometimes he speaks of his old friends, men he had served in the military with when the war had been ongoing. Once he’d confessed that the garden was a gift to his old love. You hadn’t pried, but you could tell this old love of his was still enduring to this day, his face struck with grief as he spoke of it. He’d soon excused himself to retire for the night, as though suddenly remembering it’s you he was speaking to.

During one peaceful evening, you had gently asked permission to restore the garden. He had seemed uneasy with the idea, but then schooled his expression to appear nonchalant, and shrugged you off with a “sure, why not?”. His reaction had almost made you take back the offer, but then your mind flashed back to the ghost, and you felt in your bones that it would be better in the long run to set the garden back to it’s former glory, in honor of whoever it had been initially made for.

It became your personal little pet project. You did not include the staff in this effort, your gut warning you against it, as though the inclusion of others would somehow desanctify the garden. So bit by bit every day, you would go in and weed and trim and do what you could on your lonesome. Many evenings you’d be found in the library reading up on gardening books, and often you’d question the local farmers on plant caretaking - you would have asked the gardener of your estate, but it turns out you didn’t have one. The staff had told you Johnny had never bothered replacing the previous gardener. When you’d asked what happened to the previous one, they all fell silent.

There were days you knew you were not alone in the garden as you tended to the plants and cleared pathways. Somehow you could always tell when the ghost would come to join you, unseen though he was. Sometimes his eyes digging into the back of your neck, other times his hands brushing some plants away to reveal your misplaced trowel.

Eventually, perhaps once it became clear to him that this isn’t some passing fad but a permanent routine for you, he begins conversing with you. Just small quips at first, a ‘that one’s a weed’ here, a ‘don’t trip’ there. You always respond with a thank you, and try valiantly not to pry with all your burning questions. As time goes on he speaks more. He has a habit of telling you silly jokes (ones a proper lady probably ought not to laugh at) that have you giggling while you’re weeding. Oftentimes he starts talking about a specific plant and how best to care for it. You listen closely, enraptured by his vast knowledge, and even start bringing a journal to write down notes. (Sometimes he huffs out a laugh when you write something down with wide eyes, though you’re uncertain whether that was actually a laugh or just a gust of wind sweeping over your hair). On especially foggy days, you can nearly see him fully- which you’d think would be counter-intuitive, but it is almost as though the fog lends him form. It does not last long though, only a flicker and then he is a disembodied voice once more.

Every once in a while, you hear Johnny approaching the garden door while you are inside. The ghost always falls silent when it happens, and it feels as though all three of you are holding your breath. But always Johnny pauses by the door, stands for but a minute, and retreats back. The ghost becomes much more reserved after Johnny leaves, not joking any more nor speaking as much. It takes a few day’s time before he opens up again.

Sometimes, though rarely, you admit to the ghost how deeply in love you are with Johnny. He answers with a knowing chuckle, saying “He’s easy to love.” The ghost will let you wax on poetic about little moments that made the yearning in your heart pulse like a blooming bruise. How he handled a tough situation with the servants, treating them fairly and compassionately. How he scaled up a tree in town to get a farmer’s cat down, effortlessly climbing up the branches and gently cradling the cat. The way he looked at you over dinner with those piercing eyes of his, how the light catches in them so handsomely. The ghost only sighs wistfully, as if he shared your yearning all the same.

“But I know he dislikes me.” You confess, “He still longs for his old love, the one he built this garden for, and resents me for taking the place of his beloved. I feel he wishes he had never met me, let alone married me.”

“Don’t say such things,” The ghost answered sternly, “Though he is swallowed by grief, he still cares deeply for you.”

You didn’t believe him, but you let him have the last word, returning to your work.

When not gardening or taking care of the estate or watching out for Johnny, you start an even more private project- researching into who the previous gardener was. The servants’ hush when you had asked about a gardener piqued your curiosity- it felt like the first real clue to solving the estate’s mystery. You tried finding records of why he isn’t in the estate any longer, or even simply records of his employment, but there seemed to be no trace, not even a name. Either the records had been destroyed or Johnny kept them locked away- and the last thing you wanted was to send Johnny into a rage again for prying. (You may have forgiven him, but the mind does not forget so easily- just the mere thought of overstepping made you incredibly uncomfortable- and he never acted that way with anyone else, so, really, it’s you who was the problem. Perhaps his dislike of you is more than that, perhaps it is a hatred?)

You reach a disheartening stopping point in your research when you can find no more. That is, until Duke Price and Lord Garrick give your husband a visit. They are some of the old military friends Johnny’d spoken of previously. Entertaining your guests in the parlour, the topic of your work in the garden is brought up. A somber hush falls over the men. A true tragedy the gardener met his demise, they say, he was a good man. One of the best. They pour out a drink for their fallen friend. Johnny asks that you give them a moment of privacy, so you oblige. (Heavy-hearted though you may be).

You learn his name that day. Simon Riley.

Later, you are hesitant to bring it up in the garden, but… you are burning up with questions, and perhaps, perhaps this once, the ghost might answer.

“Do you know…” you begin hesitantly, but stop uncertainly. He hums for you to continue, so you gather together whatever scraps of bravery you have, “Did you know the previous gardener of this place? A Mr. Simon Riley?”

The air grows still, a tense silence falling over the area. Then,

“Of course I knew him.” The ghost says, his voice soft and sorrowful. An invisible hand tucks a hair behind your ear, “For he and I are one and the same.”

You take in a sharp inhale. Your hands twist the fabric of your skirts.

“May I call you by your name, then?” You ask quietly.

His answer is whisper-soft, a shuddering concession, “Yes.”

“Simon. Simon Riley…” You say it slowly, enjoying the way his name rolls off your tongue. And then his form fades into view like never before. Still slightly transparent, but now he is here, directly in front of you, and so close, so close you could reach out and cradle his face, and his eyes, oh his eyes, they are so full of longing and woe. “You are… beautiful…” You breathe.

He flinches, taken aback, eyes wide.

“You can… see me?” He asks, astonished. You can only nod in response.

He refuses to answer any more of your questions that day, and instead waits to see how long this bout of visibility lasts for. From that day forward, you can see him at all times, though some days greater than others. Some days he is barely an outline against the garden walls, and other days you can see him as clearly as if he were alive and real. Those days it is only your hand phasing straight through his body when you try to set a palm on his shoulder that breaks the illusion.

Since he will not answer your questions, you turn to other means, now armed with a name. You look through public records, and find a cemetery with his name, and then an obituary that stated he had died in a fire. You shudder at the thought of it, pained on his behalf. What a horrid way to go. But there are no further details on what caused the fire nor where it had happened. Was it on the battlefield? Was it in the grounds of the estate?You find no further details.

You return to gardening and your countess duties.

There finally comes the day that Johnny approaches the garden door and instead of leaving, creaks the door open. Your conversation with Simon had fallen silent the moment you heard Johnny’s steps once more, but when the door had opened, you and Simon exchanged a surprised, excited glance.

Johnny stood within the doorway, looking around with equal parts amazement and heartache, his eyes wide, his brow furrowed. It made you suddenly realize just how much progress you’d made after all this time. The garden looked nothing like when you’d first seen it on that dark night. The flower beds were thriving, the bushes cut back to a respectable size, the vines no longer encroaching plants and pathways but rather providing a delightful contrast to the other foliage. Deeper in the garden there were still pathways overgrown, but for now you had completed a commendable amount of work.

A couple steps in, and Johnny was turning his head this way and that to take it all in.

“Good afternoon, my lord.” You greeted him.

“Good afternoon, my lady.” He parroted back. “You… really have been busy in here.”

“Yes, I’ve grown quite fond of the garden. I hope I have done it justice, though I have not seen it in its golden days.”

“You’ve done… remarkably well in restoring it.” Johnny murmurs. “It looks almost… like…” He trails off.

“Like…?” You echo. He shakes his head, as though breaking from a reverie.

“It looks almost identical.” He says, but you feel like that is not quite what he meant to say initially. While his attention is elsewhere, you exchange a look with Simon. Simon seems quite familiar with Johnny, and perhaps what Johny might have meant, shaking his head wryly.

That leads you to wonder why Johnny can’t seem to see Simon. If he saw the ghostly figure besides you, surely he would have said something? If it was Simon that had made him flee the garden that first evening here, would it not stand to reason that Johnny knows something about Simon’s demise, and is perhaps more qualified than you to be able to see his ghostly form?

But Johnny says nothing, and his eyes never stop on Simon as he glances around.

“It’s… good to see the place be put in order.” He says primly, then moves to leave, “I will see you at dinner, my lady.”

You say your goodbyes and watch as he makes a swift exit. You and Simon listen as his footsteps become more and more distant. Then you crumple in on yourself.

“Ohhh, he hates it, he hates what I’ve done to it.” You bemoan miserably. “I’ve besmirched the memory of his lover and now he despises me all the more.”

“What! Are you daft?” Simon exclaims, “That was him saying thank you, stilted though it may be.”

“Don’t lie to me, Simon, you saw him! You heard his tone! I am an imposter in this garden, in this household, and he will never accept my being here.”

Simon grips your shoulders, meeting your gaze seriously, and it is the first time you have ever seen him look so angry.

“Don’t you dare speak that way. You, you shining, quaking thing, you belong here most of all. He cares for you, I know it.”

“No you don’t, no you don’t. You don’t see us in the house, Simon, you don’t see our dinners- he barely speaks to me aside from polite conversation and those few times he’s had a drink and forgets that it is me he is speaking to. There are times he looks at me and I can tell, it isn’t me he is seeing, not really.”

No matter how much Simon swears up and down that you’re wrong, nothing he says can change your mind. You depart the garden that day with a heavy heart, feeling as though you had said far too much to Simon, added onto his already heavy burden with your own trifling sorrows.

Weeks go by and nothing really changes. The sun sets and rises, the skies continue to be plagued by grey clouds, the heather blooms purple over the moorland. You busy yourself with the garden and making preparations for your head maid to visit some family, which meant reworking certain schedules, and Johnny busies himself with the business and the farmers in the area.

Then one day you happen upon a tattered letter. It slips out of an old book you had reached for in the library. The book had looked worn and well-loved, so you had reached for it out of curiosity, when out dropped a lone letter.

You read over it once, twice, thrice… then sank into the window seat with a hand over your mouth and wept, eyes tracing the words over and over again.

It was a letter addressed to Simon, from Johnny. There was evidence of old tears on the paper. The shaky strokes of the pen were visible in every word- every word a confession of love and regrets. Every other word was an apology. Sorry for leaving Simon in that town alone, sorry for not getting to the burning building fast enough, sorry for not confessing his love properly while he was alive. An account of all the sweet moments the two had that he would miss forevermore, and a single final ‘I love you’ finishing off the letter.

The dots all connected in your mind then. The love they shared, the garden that was built, the yearning glances and longing sighs- the burning house, the deep regrets, the haunting, the listlessness. It was a vivid picture painted in your mind, and suddenly you wanted nothing more than for there to be some happy ending for them. Your heart ached for their love story cut short, burned with your love for them.

You tried to compose yourself and set the letter back into the book, but then your eye caught on the inscription on the cover page of the book.

‘To my dear Johnny, I may not be the best with words, but I would borrow from all the poets in the world if only to see your smile.’

You stifle the sudden sob that bubbles up your throat, and flip through a couple pages of the book- all of it lovingly annotated, certain phrases underlined, notes in the margins of some pages. You gently, ever so carefully, fold the book closed and set it back in its place on the shelf.

That night all you can do is weep for the two.

But surely there must be something you can do? Simon may be a ghost but he is still here- that has to count for something, right? But then might he disappear if his regrets are laid to rest? You’ve read somewhere that ghosts are only souls that have unfinished business in the world of the living… You do not know enough about the supernatural to say anything for certain.

So you track down the old woman who’d first said there’s a ghost in the estate. She said she is a witch, did she not? Surely she might have some solution, something that could help? When you reach her little cottage and tell her all that has happened, all you have learned, you are not quite as composed as you’d thought you would be, instead kneeling at her side and telling your tale like a beseeching child, with tears sliding down your cheeks. The old lady strokes your hair comfortingly.

“Oh, my child… there is little that can be done when one is dead.” She says regretfully, “There is a balance in life, you see? One cannot bring back a life without giving something back in return of equal measure.”

You glance up sharply, eyes wild.

“A life for a life, then? It is possible?” You ask. The old woman is taken aback.

“Well, yes, but…”

“I could turn in my life for Simon’s? They could be happy together again?”

“It is… possible. But, child, what of your happiness?” She asks earnestly. You pause, contemplate. Then shake your head, determined.

“I would be overjoyed to see them reunite. That is my happiness.”

And so the plan is hatched. The witch needs some items of import to make the spell work, which you are able to obtain with some sneaking around. The difficult part is the spell must be done where the ghost’s presence is tethered. You aren’t certain where that may be until she starts asking where you tend to see Simon most often and where is his form most sturdy and visible. Then it becomes obvious to you it must be in the garden, so the issue lies in sneaking her out to garden with everyone none-the-wiser.

In the few days leading up to the spell, you become more withdrawn. Simon catches on quickly to the change, but chooses to let you keep your secrets. To your surprise, Johnny also seems to notice a difference in you, and unlike Simon, he is persistent in trying to figure out what might be the matter. With each passing day it becomes more and more difficult to brush him off.

But soon the night of the ritual is upon you. You sneak out of the house in your silky gown with naught but a single candle, and meet the old woman near the entrance to the garden.

Simon is instantly upon you, questioning and inquisitive as the witch sets everything up.

“What… what is this?” His face is grim.

“I’m bringing you back, Simon.” You answer lightly. His eyes widen at the realization as the witch starts chanting, cutting your palm open.

“No. No, stop this immediately!” He reaches for you, to pull you away, or push you back, but his hands phase right through you. It is one of the nights his form is weakest, and you’d purposely chosen today for that reason. “Don’t you dare. I need you here- we need you!”

You only send him a soft, doleful smile, taking a vial from the witch’s basket.

Panic sets on his face as he realizes he cannot stop you. His ghostly form disappears entirely, and part of you is glad you will not have to see the pain in his eyes when you go.

Simon had gone to get the aid of the only one who’d be able to stop you. He used all his strength to appear before Johnny, who’d been at his desk, writing ‘neath the candlelight. Johnny startles and watches, mouth agape, as Simon shouts at him to save you, that you’re in the garden, about to die.

That gets Johnny up and sprinting down the stairs and out to the garden, his shirt billowing in the window, his hair askew. Simon is right behind him, though his form fades in and out of existence. They burst into the garden, footsteps skidding on the dirt.

They are too late.

Johnny grips Simon’s arm in his shock, chest heaving, and Simon’s frame is sturdy, solid, alive as he supports him. Your body is still and motionless on the ground, your face pale, lips parted, eyes open but unseeing. The moon illuminates the scene, an unwilling witness to the tragedy that has befallen.

Simon sinks to his knees while Johnny cradles your limp body. There is nothing they can do but weep.

[yoruslvr]

Sooo I usually just keep to myself when it comes to my opinions on stuff, but I really need to get this out of my system, so I guess it's time for me to get over my Tumblr social anxiety for now...

(Touchstarved demo spoilers (?) if you haven't played it already)

While I do agree that Ais' character changed the least in the update I'm not too big of a fan of the changes that were made. For starters, when we meet him again at the wet wick after he leaves us after the whole seaspring thing, in the original demo he says that he "felt lonely" or something along those lines and in the updated demo he says something like "Had to give you a reason to come looking. Miss me already?" Personally, I prefer the old version. Ais admitting that he was lonely and seeking out the people he's actually close with (Vere and Leander) makes more sense to me. But having him ask us if we missed him instead comes off as a little too friendly for someone he just met. It would probably make more sense for someone like Vere to say that, imo.

The pacing of the relationships just kinda feel rushed to me too, like the scene where Ais is wiping the MCs tears on a first encounter coming off as a little excessive(?). I think moments like that would land a lot better after more time and buildup, but without that slowburn, the romance feels more unnatural.

HM: "Gang took a walk." will be missed </3

Anyway, as someone who was a crazy Ais fan after playing the original demo, I'm not too sure how I feel about these small changes in his personality.

Also English isn't my first language so I might have misunderstood or missed some things but idk :P

[reccyls]

Victor's Main Route: Both Ends Clear Bonus Story

Masterlist

Bonus Story: Your First and Final Love

After praying that I would find one thing that I would not be able to give up, despite having let go of everything else, A free-flying robin willingly chose to fall into the reaper’s grasp.

Victor: Please, do come in.

Kate: Okay…

A month after we began our relationship, I invited Kate to the room where the queen was supposed to be living, and where many previous monarchs had stayed. The way she timidly shuffled in while anxiously looking this way and that made her look like a recently-adopted kitten trying to get used to its new home.

(Too cute…)

I closed the door behind her and locked it. Kate was studying the portraits on the walls with an earnest intensity.

Kate: This is…

Victor: The previous king, yes. The policies he enacted were very effective, and I respect him very much.

Kate: And this portrait is of…

Victor: The ruler who instituted what would eventually become our present day legal system.

I could spend all day watching her amazement as she spun in the middle of the room.

Victor: Kate, over here.

I felt a little sorry for her, so I pulled out a chair so she could sit.

(I know this room very well, but this is still new to Kate.)

She still seemed a little nervous as she sat, but gave me a bashful smile.

Kate: I’m happy to be here again.

I continued to speak as I opened the closet and searched for something.

Victor: You’re welcome to come here at any time. Victor: I’m sure the people depicted in those portraits would be happy for the company.

I was confident that Kate wouldn’t steal or damage any of the valuables in this room. Not just because we were lovers, but because I knew that Kate was a genuinely good person. Finding what I needed, I left the closet and made my way back to Kate. She blinked in surprise when she saw what I was holding.

Kate: Is that the queen’s veil?

The thick veil of pure white cloth was meant to conceal my identity, and as a result, it barely let any light through.

Victor: You asked me before if I could see anything while wearing the veil.

It had been a comment she made about a week after we became lovers, when she had come across the veil. At the time, I just told her that I was used to it.

Victor: Since we have the time, why don’t you try it for yourself?

Kate: …What?

Kate’s mouth dropped open, but she pulled herself back together after a few moments and violently shook her head.

Kate: No, no, no, I can’t wear something that important! I wouldn’t even dare to touch it!

Victor: It’s just a veil. I suppose you could call it an antique, but…

Kate: Saying that does not help!

As I held the veil out to her, she raised both of her hands in refusal. She frowned and said:

Kate: It’s important to you, isn’t it, Victor? I don’t want to ruin it.

Hearing her concern, I stopped pushing it at her.

(...Of course you’d say that.)

To me, the veil was just a piece of cloth. But Kate cared for it, and what it stood for, a lot more than I thought. Because caring about the veil also meant she cared for me during the times I wore it.

Victor: That’s exactly why I’d like you to wear it.

She stopped shaking her head when I spoke.

Victor: You are the only person in the world who is worthy of holding this.

It was a nice declaration and all, but mainly, I just wanted to see Kate wear it.

(I really do mean it, though.)

That seemed to have changed Kate’s mind, though she was unaware of my ulterior motive.

Kate: Okay, I’ll do it!

With a look of determination, as if she were about to ride into battle, she slowly reached out for the veil.

Victor: I can put it on you. Hold still for a moment.

Kate: Okay.

I unfolded the veil and placed it over Kate’s head.

Kate: Whoa, it’s so heavy!

She hunched over, arms suddenly flailing as the full weight of the floor-length veil settled over her. Holding back my laughter, I gently caught her flapping hands.

Victor: The cloth is quite heavy since it’s meant to hide my identity.

I pulled her to her feet with one hand, and she waved the other hand in the air like she was searching for something.

Kate: I can’t see a thing. How do you even walk with this thing on?

She turned her head from side to side, but apparently still couldn’t see anything, because her grip on my hand tightened.

Victor: You get used to it. It just takes a bit of practice.

Kate looked like someone playing dress-up as a ghost. She couldn’t see a thing in front of her, and what’s more the cloth got caught under her feet, making walking difficult.

(What if I let go of her?)

That would be mean of me. Just a little bit, though.

Kate: …Huh?

Without a word, I let go of her hand and took a couple of steps back.

Kate: Victor?

Kate extended both her arms out in front of her, searching for me. But she quickly realized that I wasn’t nearby.

Kate: Where did you go?

Her voice was full of confusion. I watched her wave her arms about as she took a few wobbly steps.

(...Oh no, she’s too adorable, I can’t stand it.)

I clenched my hands into fists, holding back the urge to run over and take her into my arms. But then, in a very, very small voice…

Kate: …Victor?

Her voice wavered as she whispered my name, and I could no longer hold back. I swept her into a tight hug.

Kate: Ack!

Victor: How on earth are you so adorable?

As I pulled her even closer so I could press my cheek against hers, she reached up to grab my coat lapels.

Kate: Got you!

The veil parted when she looked up, revealing a brilliant smile. Her radiance rivaled the sun.

Victor: …That’s it.

Kate: Huh? What was tha- whoa!

I picked her up and moved towards the bed.

Kate: Um, Victor…?

Victor: If you keep acting so cute, you’ll get swept away by a very wicked man.

Kate: Nn…

I sat her down on the bed and greedily kissed her.

Kate: Mm… ah…

Shifting closer, I captured her lips again, not giving her the space to breathe. When I slipped my tongue into her mouth, I could tell that Kate’s mind was beginning to grow fuzzy. As my hands crept up her thighs, I could feel when she started to relax and spread her legs for me.

Kate: Ah…

I pulled up her skirt, caressing her exposed legs. I couldn’t get enough of watching my fingers sink into her soft skin. Rolling down her socks, I let my tongue trace down her calves.

Kate: Mm, Victor–

I gripped her thighs as I pressed kisses to the tops of her feet.

Kate: That’s– dirty…

As I kissed her toes one by one, she blushed scarlet and shook her head.

Victor: And yet, your face says you want more.

Kate: Aah…

I lightly bit her ankle and she let out a moan.

Victor: I have to teach you that being too adorable is a sin.

I moved back to her thighs, kissing and sucking until I left a mark at her inner thigh. Seeing this, Kate reached out for me.

Kate: Too late. I’ve already been caught by a very, very wicked man.

She kissed my cheek and gave me a naughty smile.

Kate: So what should I do now?

I blinked in surprise, briefly stunned by her expression. Then I pulled off my coat, tossing it along with the queen’s veil to a chair. After giving them a glance, I turned back to her.

Victor: Unfortunately for you, there’s no escaping this situation anymore.

I pushed her onto the bed and chuckled.

Victor: You’re stuck being loved by a very wicked man for the rest of your life.

-----

I was roused from slumber by daylight falling across my eyelids. As I squinted at the morning sun peeking in through the curtains, Kate shifted lightly in my arms. I ran my fingers across her neck, tracing the marks still leftover from last night, and stroked her hair. Her breaths were still even as she slept.

(...I never imagined that I’d see such bliss in my lifetime. Not until I met you.)

Waking up with someone asleep in my arms. And not just any person, but the one woman in the world I was madly in love with. I sat up and continued to stroke her hair.

(All of this is the happiness Kate has given me.)

I wanted to savor this moment forever.

But alas, work called. There was a lot to do today.

(I won’t be able to spend as much time with her…) (I’m going to have to find a full day to set aside just for the two of us, next time.)

As I was planning out a schedule in my head–

Victor: Mm, Victor?

Kate’s lovely voice drifted to my ears, and I turned back to the bed to see Kate’s sleepy eyes blinking up at me.

Victor: Good morning, Kate. Sorry to disturb you.

I approached the bed to press soft kisses to her eyelids. She giggled.

Kate: Hehe… good morning.

She greeted me with an adorable voice as she accepted my kisses.

Victor: I’m sorry to do this right after you just woke up, but I need to leave. Victor: Do you know how to go back?

Kate: Yep, the passageway to your room is hidden behind that portrait. I just need to pull the lever over there.

Victor: I knew you’d remember. Victor: That’s my sharp girl.

She smiled in contentment as I stroked her head. When I stepped back, she also hurried out of bed. She was wearing one of my spare shirts, sleeves rolled up as she picked up the queen’s veil from the chair it had fallen on last night.

Kate: Let me.

She stood on her tip-toes to try and place the veil on my head. It was adorable, and I laughed and bowed my head so she could put the veil on for me. She smiled with satisfaction once I was fully dressed in the regalia of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria. As a reward, I pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Victor: I’ll be off now.

And that was when Kate lifted the edge of my veil, stretching as far upwards as she could to kiss my forehead in turn. With a smile and eyes full of soft affection, she said:

Kate: Good luck. I’ll see you soon.

I opened the door and stepped outside.

(Our lives from now on would not be simple.)

I would one day destroy her, erasing her from history itself. Sadness and suffering would befall her, and even after despair led her to her death, she would be fated to walk into the depths of hell forevermore. No one in their right mind would call it a happily ever after.

(But I can’t let her go. And even if I could, I won’t.)

When I looked over my shoulder, Kate was smiling and waving to me. I smiled back, closed the door, and shut my eyes for a moment.

(You don’t need to know the weight of my love.)

It was a tale that had been written on the day we first met, a fate that was set in stone when you fell into my arms.

Victor: I am your first and final love.

The only man you will ever love.

[drdemonprince]

Your essay about how being able to disclose my status as autistic has really made me rethink a lot of my anger Ive had about never receiving an official diagnosis. As a kid my parents sought out doctors because I was showing some serious delays both socially and physically. This was during a time when there was still extreme stigma around girls possibly having autism. In the end I got some kind of social anxiety diagnosis, put in a couple of group talk therapies and that was it. When the problems persisted into adolescence and led to a confrontation with my peers they took another look at me, but ultimately I was well behaved in class so they just chalked it up to the other kids being shitty. When I finally started learning about autism in my psych class it was both vindicating and infuriating. I was upset that everyone from doctors to my own parents seemed to miss what seemed obvious to me. It felt like the entire system had failed me and I mourned the life I could have had with a proper diagnosis. It also led to a lot of self doubt as to whether my opinion was "good enough", but trying to get an official diagnosis was borderline impossible for me at the time. With everything happening now, I'm realizing the amount of privilege I have compared to other autistic people. Even though I may not have gotten the help I needed early on at least I have a choice now in what I do about it. I've gotten more involved in the autistic communities around me and I'm worried for those who don't have the privilege that I do. Anyway long story short thanks for pointing that out. Hopefully I can use it to make sure others in the community have someone looking out for them.

♥️ Yeah and to be honest, if you had been diagnosed the "help" would have taken the form of abusive ABA Therapy & social skills trainings, as well as separation from other kids, which may not have helped matter for you at all. (though there is much to be said for the understanding and possibility of community connection that an earlier diagnosis can bring). Thanks for sharing your experience.

[kurgy]

hi, im sorry for remaking this post i need to for several reasons at this point, and its a little longer than usual, sorry. but with the social security cuts/mass firings, payment schedules becoming inconsistent right before my eyes, and my tax rebate is still in limbo, im really really not doing well financially, and my additional income options have greatly dwindled, and i genuinely just dont know what else to do anymore, im at a loss

once i finish my remaining comms, i regrettably cannot take on more due to serious health complications. i have always had some health problems and developed a kind of chronic gi issue in my teens that manifested as frequent stomach and abdomen pain/discomfort, acid reflux, stomach ulcers, some other gi issues, and a near constant feeling of intense nausea, which 90% the time forces me onto my bathroom floor for a while, close enough to make it to the toilet when i need to hurl again, which i do on/off every day for at least and hour, multiple times. after a decade of this, it has wrecked my digestive system and practically ruined my teeth, and most recently i suffered what i thought was a flare up that has now lasted well over week, and has since become my new normal, which is seriously fucking me up and impeding my ability to just live so much worse than it ever has before.

my ability to work, do chores, leave my apartment, draw or write or read for leisure, move furniture i was supposed to move weeks ago, or do any patreon work has come to a screeching halt. and every time now i have tried to just draw through it i start to feel seriously disoriented and sick, its not even a lack of focus, its sort of like brain fog. to the point my sight is just blurs and blobs and im confused and have to try and force myself to refocus only to see all the absolute nonsense random lines i was aimlessly makin on the canvas and then running to the batbroom nauseous as hell again.

so im just...overall very worried about finances rn as grocery prices get worse and the federal government that controls my paychecks is gutted with now noticeable effects. i weirdly havent gotten my paycheck yet, and my next $48 bill comes out in a few days. genuinely have no idea what is happening with my check. but i honestly am scared. severe health problems, elon musk trying to end social security payments, upcoming bills, either being bedridden in agony or slumped against the bathroom wall in agony, both keeping me from working, and then my check skipping pay day and no word yet on my rebate, im just really freaked out on how to pull this togther to pay bills, cover rent, and get my dogs food on top of renewing my support letters (not cheap) knowing so little

i dont know, any help would mean the world to me rn, i feel like the world is falling apart. id like to pay my last bill for the month, and i deeply, seriously appreciate any and all help as a disabled person in poverty

Paypal.me/kurgyy

venmo @ kurgy

cashapp $kurgyyy

[violetscar656]

"The unknown", Aftermath Part 3

Summary: Azriel is Nightcourt’s spymaster, brother to the High Lord and General, best friend to Y/N (Past + present)

Warnings: Mentions of blood, torture, and slight angst?

Author’s Note: Hello, I really had to get this outta my mind, every time I tried to write part 3 it was always in Azriel POV, and guys I REALLY TRIED  in Y/N Pov but my brain stopped braining, sooo, I hope you guys enjoy. Please read parts 1and 2 to Comments are open to any suggestions.

57 YEARS AGO

I entered the healing counters; all I knew was that Y/N had gotten hurt during her mission. I walk towards the chambers and see Madja working on her. I freeze near the doorway, a gaping hole on the right wing, wrists’ bloodied, face covered in blood and dirt. By the cauldron, the way she is injured I don’t think it’s others’ blood.

“You shouldn’t be here” Madja said “I need you to go, Azriel”

The healer looks towards me “Everyone else is down the hall, now go” She demanded

I obey, guilt and anger pumping through my veins, I turn towards the hall, I see everyone settled there, but my sole focus is on Rhys, he sent Y/N to this mission

I go straight up to him, grabbing his collar and slamming him to the wall, “WHY?” My voice was not that of a brother’s, it was of that of the spymaster, lethal and dangerous

Rhys saw the iciness on my face “It’s not what you think, brother- I just sent her to get an update”

Cassian pulls on my arm “What the hell is wrong with you?-Az look at me” I don’t, my gaze on Rhys anger getting the better of me

Cassian grabs my face “Look at me Az- we cannot get like this, for Y/N”

Yes that was true Y/N always hated it when we fought; she would jump right in between

“Spit out your anger and look at him, really look” Cassian demanded, and I let go of Rhys , I closed my eyes and took deep breaths

I look at Rhys his gaze on ground, “Brother” I say, guilt creeping up, silver-lined black-violet eyes met mine “It was just a regular update, it was not a mission” Rhys sits on the floor he combs his hair with his hand “I do know, who or what got her in this situation” His rasps,

Sound of clearing throat came, we all turned “I did the best as I could” Madja said gloomily “There was too much of blood loss” Her face full of remorse

“What do you mean Madja” Mor asked, in the haze of my anger, I didn’t even notice her

Madja's gaze travels to all of us “I found high amount of faebane in her system, which is stopping the healing process, an antidote is given, yes, but with the various injuries, it’s hard to say” She pauses, face of sorrow  “I have done the best as I can on the wing for now, it needs to heal before I do another procedure” She pauses again, as if  to contemplate how to tell the further news “I’m going to be honest, there is very little hope”

Silence

“W-what?” Amren said voice stunned

Cassian curses, “Is there anything we can do, ANYTHING?”

“For Y/N?” Madja answers “Have faith that she’ll make it through” Her expression turns grim “Though I suggest to prepare yourselves for the worst, not many have come back from this situation we have”

---

“I am going to kill them all” Rhys growls

I finally speak up “What are we waiting for?” My voice horse, we came back to the town house when the high healer practically kicked us out, all except Mor

“Rhysand” Amren voiced, she is the only one that seems to be in her senses me and my brothers are ready to kill every Illyrian if that what it takes, “Killing the misogynist bats does seem fun, do not get me wrong, but you are their high lord not just a brother” Amren reminds Rhys with a rare gentle tone

“We try to respect them, hell, even go out of our way to get things changed there. But if this is how they treat our sister, they can all lie waste” Cassian replied to Amren

I furrow my eyebrows at, our sister comment; but no matter how much I want to deny it, killing Illyrians will get us nowhere. Nuala and Cerridwen reported to me that one of the young soldiers in training and a female, is the one who found her and got her to the camp.

We sit in silence for a while, “I’m going to her” I said, not able to stand being away

“Mor is already there, and if you leave shadowsinger, these 2 will follow” Amren put me in my place

--

It’s been four days since she is unconscious, Madja was able to repair her wing, and most of her wounds are healed, it is just a matter of time now. All of us decided not to take any action, at least not until Y/N is awake; she will be wake up.  I look at the night sky, wondering if the Mother or the Gods, whoever is watching over, are laughing at my situation right now.

--

I was caught of guard and pinned to the ground, “F-fuck” I grunt

“You're not yourself, brother” Rhys said, moving himself from me. We decided to spar, to get our minds at least a bit normal

I hear a whistle “If Rhysie could beat you then- yeah you truly aren’t” Cassian told from a distance

It’s been 7 days now, Y/N hasn’t woken up yet. I close my eyes, not giving in to the fear of her leaving us. These 7 days have been the longest days in my existence ever since the war.

I get up “Well, yeah” I tell them, dusting off myself

Ten days passed by, we were all sitting in the Town House living room, Mor not present when -

“Awake, Awake” My shadows basically shout, the glass in my hand slips, and all of them look at me

I finally take a real breath “S-she is awake,” My voice almost trembling

---

Present

I stand leaning on the wall of the Town House living room, seeing the madness before me-

“What do you mean it is not an option?” Y/N practically screams

Rhys seems to be on the edge to explode “It means that I won’t take the risk-

“But I'm saying it as a back-up option” Y/N cuts him off  

This female just offered herself as bait to catch those males, knowing that it could risk her life. In the past, she barely came back alive. Does she have any limit for her self-sacrifice? How do I explain this urge to just hold on to her? Maybe it’s because she was the only one who understood me.

I was sitting by the Sidra drinking my guilt and pain. Rhys' message about Amarantha’s plan got to us a couple of hours ago

“That won’t work- well at least alone” Y/N says, sitting next to me, and gestures towards the bottle; I give it to her

“He did what he thought was right” She takes a sip “Doesn’t make it right for us, though” I just stare at her, she stares right back, she signs “Brood all you want with your usual Azriel expressions, tell me when you are ready”

My brows furrowed “Usual Azriel Expression?” She snorts

“You know face unreadable, but eyes telling everything.” She pauses “Others might not get it Az, but your eyes don’t lie to me”

“Rhysand” Amren’s voice drags me from the memory “It can be considered as an option”-  “Granted it is a deadly and somewhat idiotic one, but it will work”, that from Amren. Why am I not surprised  

I don’t bother to even look at her, I simply look at Y/N, trying to figure out why she even thought of this. The last time her condition was – I don’t want to go there, it felt like the lowest point in my 500 years

“What I don’t get is how your spies did not get this information, shadowsinger?” Amren asks

I slowly turn my gaze away from Y/N and look at Amren “Their hideouts are mostly deep in the forest and mountains which line the borders, it's nearly inhabitable surroundings”

I pause, “What the females told, is the truth, the randomness of the deaths made it hard to notice” – “It also stopped for a couple of years, it coincidentally is after Y/N’s escape” I declare

“Maybe when Amarantha had the entire Prythian under her command, it had to stop? Feyre says

“In that time, there were significantly fewer killings, and none near Windhaven” I reply

Rhysand had updated Feyre and Mor on the situation; by the look I saw on Feyre’s face in the morning, it seemed that he even told the aftermath of the kidnapping; Y/N’s nightmares, though I don’t think he told them that

We start to discuss tactics, knowing we need more information. I got locations of a couple of hideouts, but not much. Whoever these males were, they covered their tracks, well, almost. A good number of my spies are now located in the borders of every camp, it’s just a game of waiting now.

---

“She won't budge” Mor said “She is convinced that after we get the information, her plan will work, and I think- I can understand her” My jaw ticks

“No” I said in a voice that doesn’t feel like mine. Mor looks at me, confused

I clear my throat “I think Rhys rubbed off the self-sacrificing bullshit on her” Mor sorts

“Az, you seemed intense, more than usual during the meeting” She states

How do I explain it to Mor of all people, hell I don’t even have it figured out. But seeing Y/N yesterday it - I am not sure if I see her the same way she sees me. I never saw her as a sister, my best friend, yes, but there is this other feeling, something that formed in those days she was unconscious 50 years ago. I can't even think about it, my brothers see her as their sister, and vice versa, so why should I be any different to her

“Az?” I hear Mor’s voice and blink

“Were you saying something?” I ask

“Yeah?” She exclaims, “I was telling you that this mission seems more important”

I look down and shake my head, I can't tell her the whole truth, so I go with “She is my best friend Mor” My voice a little hoarse; Mor gapes, I look at her, “What?” I ask her, confused

She tilts her head up “Nothing” She chuckles, looking at me like she didn’t before, grins and leaves ..That was- well odd

---

The border between IronCrest and CrimsonStone camps, the latter being the deadliest camp; that’s where we were; “We” because once I got the information that the majority of the killings are between these camps, Y/N demanded to come along no matter what.

“We need to take cover there” I say, pointing out to the cave in the middle of the mountain

Y/N nods, and we head there. I send my shadows in every direction to check for any activity. These mountains and forests are basically for wildlife.

We sit trying to warm up, knowing better than to start a fire. I notice Y/N trembling with cold, I sit next to her, and hold her, her hazel-green eyes widen

“Body heat” That’s all I say

 “Thank you” she replies, leaning into me

A couple of minutes pass by in silence, I break it “I’m with Rhys on the plan you suggested”

She snorts “Well I got that figured out, by the way you're mother-henning me”

“What?” I look at her, assumed, she furrows her brows “You're barely leaving my side, we are not splitting directions and searching like on previous missions” She gives me a knowing look

“Aand you have the -I need to be serious but I'm worried as hell look -” She whispers, shouts

I gaped at her, I didn’t even realise I was doing all those things

She narrows her eyes “I refuse not to be involved, just because of what happened”

“If holding you back means that you won't sacrifice yourself, then fine, I’ll gladly be the bad guy” I reply to her, my voice gentler than I thought

I sense my shadows coming back “We found something” they whisper, “It is not far”

“We need to go” I tell Y/N

--

We go near the forest grounds along the CrimsonStone camp, high trees and every suspicious pattern of leaves on the ground, it is like someone placed it there. 

“I’ll move it”, Y/N heads forward “No” I stop her, “It can be a trap”

I use my shadows to move the leaves, and there we see it, nearly camouflaged into the ground, a door. I look at Y/N, silent words exchanged between us, it’s time to uncover this

--

We go down the narrow stairs, my shadows already informing me they have a captive,

“There, there, now before the inevitable, let us have some fun” a male voice said, and  another voice laughed

“No please no” a female voice cried out. I look at Y/N, her face pale

I nod to her, and we charge further inside. I knock down the male with ease, and look towards Y/N, who successfully put down the other male. And together we start rescuing the female

“Shh shh, it’s ok, we are here to save you” I hear Y/N comforting the female

“We need to be quick” I pause “We need to make sure she is safe” I look at the males “I need them for questioning”

“We need to get her to safety first” Y/N tells me, I nod

--

“You are just a bastard nobody, and you always will be that” one of the males hissed at me.

I bought them in the Night Court’s prison, the only reason they survive is for questioning, “No, little boy, you need to play nice” I unsheathe truth-teller, and point it at the ear of the second male

“You look more intelligent than your friend” My voice ice “Who are you?” I dangle my dagger near his eye “Since when is this going?”

“I-I will tell you,” The second male says, terrified to the core “Shut your dam mouth” the first one said, I don’t bother with threats. I aim and through, truth-teller right in the eye of the stupid male, and he screams in pain

The smell of piss hits me “Now you can be clever and speak or stupid” – “Well you just got an example of what happens when you are stupid” I say to the second male

“I-it’s all male” the first one says “Males who do not believe in what your High Lord is implementing” he gulps “We do not have any regret; females were always beneath” The tone in which he says it wants me to kill this bastard right here.

“How many of you are there?” I ask with calm

“There is no specific number, at least not that I know off” he looks towards the other male “He knows more than I, he has been in this longer”

I stroll towards the first male, one side of his face dripping blood. I take out a bottle from my pocket “This is a pain killer” I show the bottle “You want this, then you tell me, or-“ I give him the spymaster smile, which promises slow death

“Nn-never” He spits out “Well I guess your going to be stupid then” I say, voice laced with venom

--

I flew to the Town House, the information I got about the camps involved and the reasoning was just barbaric

I knock on the door “Brother” and enter Rhysand's office

“Az” Rhys says, Cassian stops his pacing, at looks at me, to my surprise, Feyre is sitting on one of the chairs

“Feyre, Cass” I look towards both of them, and give a nod to Rhys, opening my mental shields, I allow Rhys to look at what happened. Feyre gasps, and by the reaction Cassian has, they know it too  

“What the actual fuck?” Cassian exclaims

Feyre stands up and walks towards Rhys side, they both look at each other. The former’s face filled with anger and worry

 “Rhys, I want you to look into their minds” I say

He nods, “I will”

“Y/N needs to know this, and you 3 know this fact very well” Feyre declares, and we all look at her; she looks towards me “You should tell it to her, Az”

“No, no, I think Cassian can handle her better” I reply not trusting myself on how I’ll act in front of her

“Oh you Illyrian baby, grow up, you have to tell her, and that’s an order” She says with the High Lady voice  

I get up “You know,sometimes I hate you guys” I tease and leave

--

I walk into the library in House of Wind, searching for Y/N, I stop by the table

“She is at the 4th level” Clotho writes

“Thank you” I tell her, “She is not looking good, Lord Azriel” I take an audible breath

“It’s just Azriel, Clotho, and I know, I’ll try”

“This library has been like a sanctuary for females who have seen terrible things, make sure Y/N doesn’t need more reasons to be here” Clotho warns me

With that in mind, I go the 4th level

My shadows reached her before I did, Y/n just smiled at them, her eyes looked so sad

“Care for company?” I ask her

“Az” a sad smile lines her face “Will it be rude if I say no?”

I look at her “If you don’t want me here, I’ll go- but I came here to tell you what happened”

She whips her head towards me, mouth half open

I side smile “Don’t be surprised, it was Feyre who ordered me to tell you”

Y/N’s eyes go soft, I sit next to her on the table “They are males who think females are beneath them, and they do not agree with Rhysand’s rules about training the females and not clipping them”

She look at me “And?” she asks, I look down, not able to meet her gaze “And nothing else” I say in a low voice

“I know it is more than horrific” – “But, Rhysand is going to look in their minds” I look at Y/N, I see her face, pale and in shock, I look in her eyes and see horror and what is that shame?

I hold her hand “Tell me something, anything, dove”

She tightens the grip “I need them dead Az” she tells “The male with green siphons, he was there 50 years ago, I didn’t forget his voice” She pauses, her eyes bore into mine “I will kill him”

Stunned I say “Y/n, I promise you” I hold her face “You will kill him”

--

Screams of agony and pain fill the chamber. “What is it?” I ask venom in my voice

“This is what you did to the females, didn’t you?” I slice near the talon of the stupid male's wing “Torture them, while they are helpless” I cut near the main membrane “Cut their wings off”-

“Please, please, I’ll give you any information, all of it” he breathes heavily “Please stop this madness”

“So you do believe that it is madness” Rhysand’s voice echoes as he walks inside

“What pray tell is this Az?” – “Why are these sorry pieces of males still with limbs?” Rhys’s voice is lethally calm

I just smirk, Rhys goes silent, and the sobs of the males stop, he is in their minds, few heartbeats later

“You are pathetic” Rhys says, disgust on this face “We are done” – “Get in here”

I turn my head and see Y/N walking in her face ice, but resolve and rage in her eyes

She kicks the male “Do you remember me?” –

She huffs, “I’m the prize who got away from you” She pulls out a dagger, I stop her and give her truth-teller, silent words exchange between us two

“This is what you pitiful males will see last” – “An Illyrian female with wings, who will end your life” she smiles, showing them her inner monster “Some people do not deserve a quick death”; and then two swift moves, and both males' throats gush with blood

--

I walk towards the balcony “Here” Y/N turns and takes the glass I offered

I look at her intently, “We just won a battle” she says, looking at the sky “Not the war”

“We will destroy them” I tell her, “Thank you” She says “Thank you, for letting me end them”

I smirk, “Anytime” I keep my now-empty glass on the table and stand in silence next to her, feeling the chill night wind

“You know” Y/N breaks the silence “I feel lucky to have this family, to have a best friend like you, who always got my back” She looks at me

I stare at her, surprised by the words I heard. In that moment, I just smile Best friend, not brother. Y/N places her head on my shoulder,and we just stand there, in silence, and a feeling of peace fills me

“We need to discuss what happens next” She says,

“And we will” I tell her, “But not now, right now we give ourselves time” I look at her and smile “Y/N- I hesitate for a bit “You are my best friend too”

--

You walk towards your bedroom, Azriel just called me his best friend, not sister, and he gave me truth-teller, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You enter your bedroom and sit by the dresser, I called him my best friend. You look in the mirror. Later, after this mission, if I survive, I’ll tell him, later.

Note: Please dont hate meee, this is my first time writing male POV, and well, Az is stupid, I know, sorry for that. We still love him.

My taglist <3: @the-onlyy-angie @lreadsstuff @xadenswhore @willowpains @secretsicanthideanymore @a-chegwidden

[the-s1lly-corner]

Sprout w/ V K L (fluff alphabet)

need to make a better system to keep up with who got what prompts from which list to keep from making too many repeats but tbf i love rewriting older hcs to compare and contrast- see how my view on the character has changed over time and how my writing has developed hmmmm hmmmmm hmmmmm prompts: valentines, kisses, love language notes: gn toon reader, pre game, short and sweet, written on computer cws: none

LOVE LANGUAGE

its not a secret that he shows his care for others through his protectiveness for them- and thats not going to stop when the two of you get together... if anything he really leans into that side of him! he shows he cares by taking care of you- acts of service, words of affirmation, things like that! and reminding you to take care of yourself

...as for what makes him feel loved... well hes not too sure! hes so focused on tending to everyone else that he hasnt taken much time to figure out what he likes. though he cant deny the warmth he feels when you turn the care back on him and make him take a step back. do something for him, lighten some of his work. he has the instinct to tell you you dont need to do it, but he definitely appreciates it

KISSES

he tastes... like strawberries! sweet with a bit of a tartness to him! he actually tastes pretty good actually... try not to eat him!/j

hes kind of an awkward kisser at first- doesnt really know what you want or how you want it, his hands have no idea where to go. its best to lead him into it so its not too uncomfortable for the both of you the first time

looooooves quick pecks in passing- giving and getting, sometimes its the most he can give you, hes a main so his time is divided all around :( he does his best to make time for you

VALENTINES

well obviously hes going to bake something for you! something he knows you like, and he might go a little overboard- good luck eating everything before it goes bad! you might have to share with him... and a few other toons... to make sure it doesnt all go to waste

he feels he has to lean into the stereotypical valentines date stuff, even if its not something for him. outside of dumping a truck load of baked goodies on you hes actually pretty casual about the holiday

wont be hurt if you dont get him anything, but if you DO get him something hes going to take such good care of it!

[mastermatoyas]

For me it's also the complete lack or curiosity or thought when presented with something unfamiliar. Like, the Annoying Yank (TM)'s first instinct, when presented with something foreign and unfamiliar to them (the metric system, non-American slang, social and cultural norms) isn't to say something like "oh, neat! I learned something new." Instead they get, like... weirdly defensive?

Instead of just Googling metric/imperial or Celsius/Fahrenheit conversions, the way literally everyone else does, they'll be like "omg I don't know what that means I need it in freedom units" and then go on about how their system is sooo much more intuitive and easy to understand.

Instead of trying to figure out slang terms from context clues - or even just politely asking - they'll make fun of you for using funny words that they don't know and having a silly accent. If you try to play along and make fun of them in return, they'll get super butthurt and probably try to give you a lecture on how *their* silly accent and odd slang actually have a long and proud history among [insert oppressed class of people here], so really you're an asshole for making fun of them. They can still make fun of you, though, because *you're* clearly just speaking that way for their amusement and there's no history or meaning behind anything foreigners do.

Anything unfamiliar to them is not just new or even surprising - it's "weird." Even when presented with evidence of the fact that their way of living is not the default - something *everyone else* has had to deal with their whole lives - they can't accept it. They have to find some way to argue that the American way of doing things is actually the only "normal" way, and everyone else on the planet is a quirky outlier.

If I say that I have a blister on my toe from wearing cheap thongs, it should not be difficult to figure out from context that I am not speaking about underwear. When I hear an American talking about how they could see some girl's thong poking through the top of her jeans, I am similarly capable of understanding that they are not talking about shoes. But as a non-American on the internet, I constantly find myself editing my own words just so I don't have to deal with some confused yank either mocking or "correcting" me. I don't mind a bit of intercultural banter, but at a certain point it starts to get tiring.

im american and i knew that like in kindergarten so i think some of you are just stupid sorry

[luiluvr]

treacherous || luigi mangione

genuinely spent so much time pondering how to write this out, thank you to the anon who sent the request i really love how it turned out :,) also in my head luigi loves taylor swift, hence the ending mwahahaha

WARNINGS: none, fluff, a moment where luigi snaps from stress, f!reader, kinda (not really) proofread

SUMMARY: After being freed from prison, Luigi has plenty to catch up on and he tries his best to reply to letters from supporters, but between keeping up with them in a timely manner, having a new girlfriend and other things he’s trying to do — he snaps at you.

WC: 2.1k

It had been over a year since he walked free. Through thick and thin — it had been endless hours of pondering, worry and prayers to a higher power; unsure if they were even listening. By some miracle, the verdict fell on the courtroom like an angelic tune: “not guilty.” His legal team had spent so much time in understanding every aspect and working through so many kinks that they encountered. But they did it.

It was you he found in the midst of it all, an escape from the hells he suffered through, when he saw you, when he read your letter – he felt like he had found heaven. There was something about you that fascinated and intrigued him. He impacted you equally – the male’s image, what he stood for… Something almost revolutionary that somehow united a split nation. Your heart ached every time something new was revealed about his case, the way he had been treated was diabolical. A disgrace to the country – to the world – to the people.

Strong as a tree he stood, resilient and kind despite his circumstances. Even behind bars – he was such a darling before it all happened. You always believed in his innocence. The mere thought of support made his heart cheerful, even in the strange, various ways people expressed it. He was proud to bring people together.

So, now that he sat in the comfort of his own home, still haunted by the memories of the life he endured inside that prison – he kept a smile on his face and continued to spread positivity, more than happy to keep in contact with those who showed him nothing but love in a time of pain. It was difficult to write back to what seemed like over a thousand different letters, but he kept persistent and worked diligently day in and day out to be sure everyone received a response from him. He was writing a letter back to a mother, to whom he pondered his reply for a few days now. It troubled him more than most letters normally would, considering these types were always heartbreaking. The ways the healthcare system treated families was so dehumanizing. It was a sad reality.

He wasn’t all for the public eye and attention on him, he never was – he appreciated it nonetheless, he would never not be grateful for people caring. It was a rocky process, getting out so many responses. Sometimes he’d get a bit stressed because of it. Today was one of those days, he had a major hand cramp, a slight headache on the left temple and a sudden stump. His fingers trembled, causing a shake through the pen he jotted with; a cramp in his back made him sit up straight forcefully and he glanced out the apartment window – a little break for his eyes.

When sense finally sunk back in and he focused on the paper, you had walked back in from running a few errands. Luigi had been so indulged in keeping up with his replies for weeks. It became a little annoying for you, not necessarily because you needed his attention – okay maybe you did; but all he did lately was write. Day in, day out. He tried not to overwhelm himself with anything else so it didn’t disturb his thought process while reading then replying to letters. Perhaps tonight you would cook something for him, and he could take a break to talk with you. His routine was just: wake up, clean up, read through letters, have lunch around noon, then he’d start responding to all of those letters he spent reading during the morning. He’d grab a snack for dinner or order out for you both, and still be writing.

Sure, his dedication was endearing, however it could be too much on you. It felt like your partner had just become another person in the house rather than what he was before he decided: “I think I’ll start replying to all of those letters.” 

“Hey Lu,” you said softly as you hung your keys on the hook by the door, kicked off your shoes and sat your bag on the couch. He doesn’t reply, just hums something as he writes. You sighed and carried the bag of groceries to the kitchen, then sat them on the counter. “I’m cooking dinner tonight, so we can sit together and eat. Maybe you can tell me about your letters?” You smile, placing some refrigerated things in their place; and all you’re met with is a nod from the back of his head. Shaking your own, you slowly pad off to the bedroom. You had been ready to shower since you got up, while you were out, you went to the gym. 

After, you winded down. Drying your hair carefully, applying skincare and dressing comfortably. Maybe an hour went by – you weren’t entirely sure. You stand, sliding into your fuzzy slippers and emerging from the bedroom, no surprise that Luigi’s still sitting there silently. “Hey, I’m gonna start cooking now, I know it’s a little early but I was thinking we could have a movie night.” 

No response … You continue on with what you please. 

He was hyper-focused on making the best response, and all he heard was the nose you were making. Clanking a pot or two, rustling food packages, popping oils, every sound sinking into his ear drums and driving him nuts. Accidentally, you dropped some tomatoes, they were just the small cherry ones. “Shit,” you muttered, they rolled around and scattered. Luigi rubs his temple. When dinner was finished, you were so content with it, you glanced over at Lu. “I’m done with supper, are you ready to eat?” ...  “Luigi.”

Silence. “Babe.”

Nothing. Again. “Luigi,” You call, and he turns, staring at you. He then rises up, comes over and picks up the plate you were holding for him. “Mhm.” He hums and walks back off to the desk. Like getting a toddler’s attention – the casual span of a gnat of course, Luigi plops back down in his chair and eats while reading another letter. You dine alone at the table, quietly. The only sound to flow throughout the room is the gentle scrape of the silverware on the plate, or small swallow. You offer Luigi seconds, but he denies. So, you take his plate and begin cleaning up – normally he would assist with that, or do it himself if you cooked; alas, tonight he wouldn’t.

Your hands are rushed over by warm, soapy water as you scrub the plates, the silverware, the pan and pot you used. Then carefully wiped down the stove, the countertops and the table despite you being the only one who sat there tonight. You were able to sit down, just let out relief knowing that was all set and done – in the corner was Lu, writing again. After dinner you guys would relax on the couch and watch a series or movie together, soak in life. He was able to enjoy breathing freely again when he’d sink into the cushions and throw pillows – wrap his strong arm around your side as you lay your head on his broad chest, your serotonin bursting out as you burrow in his embrace.

It's the opposite, you don’t lean into anyone, no extra warmth, no company, just you, the couch and the black TV screen you hadn’t turned on yet. You wanted to wait, perhaps he’d change his mind tonight, he’ll set everything aside and come to you. Tuck himself behind your body as he cradles you into his side, cover both his and your legs with a fuzzy blanket, pet your hair until you eventually fall asleep right there so he’ll carry you to bed.

Not tonight.

You take yourself back to bed after TV time – if you even consider it that. The TV stayed on mute as to not disturb your boyfriend’s intense writing session in the corner of the apartment. It only bothered you somewhat. 

What finally tipped the iceberg was waking up at 2 AM and finding the illuminating light from a small lamp on his desk still on. His eyelids droopy, his pen hovers over the page hesitantly, shaking ever so slightly. Luigi was one blink away from passing out.

“Lu, come to bed will you?” Your voice replies gently – there’s no visible reaction from the male. “Luigi,” you repeated. He draws in a breath, sitting up, his back cracks quietly, causing his face to contort in a reflection of mild discomfort. Being hunched over the desk all day is equally worse to being hung over a laptop or phone all day. Which he normally was against doing to himself. He cut a connection with electronics at a certain point in his life, and he swore it was one of the greatest things he did to help his mental and physical health. Now here he is, sleep deprived and ruining his posture simultaneously 

“Please come to bed, you look so exhausted.” 

He tilts his head and continues to write (what you’re assuming is) a new letter. You just missed him, you wanted to cuddle to sleep and know he was there in the bed by you as you close your eyes and let peace swallow you whole. Your heart aches to be without him – even if he is there. You love him too much. 

“Luigi, babe–” “Oh my god, don’t you see that I’m trying to write these letters?! Just shut up for five seconds, I’ll go to bed when I’m ready!” He snaps at you, the tiredness is clear as day on his face. Normally his skin is a gentle tan, slowly losing its color – going pale again. HIs eye bags were saddening and as you stared in disbelief that he snapped at you like that. It’s truly painful to you. You understood he was busy, overly stressed trying to respond to more letters than possible every day. He needed to slow down though. He was driving himself crazy by not sleeping enough and not socially interacting only through letters.

He sat silent after his little snap, he sighs as immediate guilt crept over him and he looked at your expression. Never used to that, he never gets angry or upset with you, he always talks it out slowly, genuinely, lovingly. He had no idea what came over him, but now – staring at you – his beautiful, tender-loving girlfriend who he probably just startled by yelling at – was eyes-wide and arms folded. 

“Baby, I’m so, so sorry – I didn’t mean…” His apology is delayed when you walk off to the bedroom. He rubs his aching face, then combs his fingers through his curls and stands – finally. After hours. He swallows a lump in his throat as he makes his way back to your shared room and leans against the doorframe. “Look, baby…”

“I don’t want to talk to you, Lu.” Your voice is muffled by the way you lay against the pillow – facing away from the door. “Look – I didn’t mean to snap at you okay? I’m really stressed right now… That’s not an excuse though, I should never yell at you, bellissima.” He murmurs, sitting beside your feet at the edge of the bed, his weight sinks the mattress awkwardly. His hand reaches out, lanky fingers wrap around your leg and he gives it a squeeze through the fabric of your pajama pants. When you don’t respond, he clenches his jaw, he has no idea what to do other than to give you attention. He should’ve done it before, never ignored you, he felt horrible.

“I’m so, so sorry princess.” He whispers, crawling up on the bed behind you. He snaked his arms around your waist, his breath heats the side of your neck as he begins peppering kisses right there. All he knew was he wasn’t letting either of you go to bed until you were happy again. He squishes your back against his front. “Dolcezza,” he sighs, “Please talk to me.”

You shake your head slowly, he kisses your jawline. “You’re my princess,” his breath tickles your skin. “I’m gonna make time for you, I shouldn’t prioritize anything else in the world over you, my love. Even cheesy letters.” He says, you turn onto your back and he immediately grins, the corners of his lips turn up, his cheeks blush every time he sees that pretty face of yours. He inches towards you, resting his chin in the valley between your breasts, harmlessly.

He flaps and flutters his big hazel eyes, those flawless lashes – like a new puppy. “Oh fine, you big baby.” You smile, but his smile’s brighter. He leans up and plants his plump rosy lips against yours. “So treacherous.” His eyes meet yours again.

You squint and raise a brow, “Was that a Taylor Swift reference?”

“Maybe.”

“You actually like Taylor Swift!”

“All too well.” He says cheekily.

[solarwynd]

I used to defend army’s relationship with BTS a lot back when I was still an army. Especially from kpop stans who said we were a cult. Even did so earlier into my days after becoming a solo, but through everything that has happened, especially recently. I’ve really come to realize just how toxic it is.

I saw a these three posts earlier yesterday. (Top one from another pjm bottom ones are mine) the top one might be a solo, but solo or not though, I still know that that all 3 are common sentiments for a lot of actual armys anyway: their fear of becoming obsolete in their need of wanting to be the only people Jimin relies on, basically wanting to own him and loosing BTS as they know them.

The top one literally reads exactly like how music execs used to (still do in fact) view them in regards to BTS. The music industry’s fear of armys encroaching on the decades long ecosystem of keeping artists indebted to their labels in the pursuit of chart success and fame. How they hated how armys beat the system and started a grassroots movement that allowed BTS to get to where they are now.

It was never about really wanting anything for Joon. Armys just feel like they’re loosing control, influence and are trying to reassert it just like Billboard did. Intentionally using underhanded tactics to ostracize us and Jimin. Delegitimization of our efforts and dactively trying to break our morale. There’s a reason they care about quelling us more than the other groups of solos who are just as large in numbers despite them presenting actual harm to Jimin’s person and character. They care more about keeping their norm and BTS in tact for their own stanning needs over anything else. We’re a threat to that.

And even outside their hatred of solos, most importantly, BTS is an even bigger threat to that. The bottom two are proof of this. Staying in solo era longer than they're comfortable with. The hidden resentment that they hold towards those men for doing so. Because here you have a fandom with a superiority complex that's so egotistical, they believe that they could never be like other kpop fandoms who treat the group they stan like property and characters. When, in just this past week alone, we've had 3 instances with them proving that they're exactly like that. And I think the company is using and has been using that mentality of armys to their advantage. Them thinking that they're too "aware" to be manipulated as well as them believing that they always do what they feel is best for BTS.

It's symbiotic and parasitic in that way. Where the company is potentially weaponizing armys (unbeknownst to them) by carrying out their own agendas against through them at the cost of destroying the foundation of the fanbase. And where both armys and the company work in tandem to keep a member (Jimin) in line.

It is a little scary to me, because as we've seen last year, Bang has very underhanded ways of ruining people who he views as a threat or don't fit within his vision. Armys are so unperceptive and it has very little with them being naive. They just don't feel the need to question anything as long as they're also content with things falling in line with their version of normal. They always need visible and verbal proof that something is wrong before they move to act. So to be willing to ignore all that, some of the members being burnt out, Bang's obvious campaign against Jimin (and potentially Joon) just to get back the BTS they're used to just shows how selfish most of them are.

[girlbossvicvega]

my take is matt and foggy’s relationship goes so hard in the original show because they unconditionally love each other but at the same time they do not understand each other at all. they need each other to balance out their worse traits but neither really sees the other’s issue with them as a flaw

matt lies to his loved ones, makes frequent poor and self-flagellating decisions, and then refuses to change his worldview about this despite people telling him it’s hurting them, because he thinks he knows better than them (catholic), but also because he knows every sin being committed in a five mile radius and has the means to do something about it. he is ashamed of the fact that he cannot stop all of the horrible things he is a forced witness to and so he fundamentally does not understand why foggy gets so angry about him putting himself on the line for foggy and others. it’s because he cares about you dumbass

foggy on the other hand does not live in a nightmare hell world where he can hear everyone suffering or have a hilariously tragic backstory warping his worldview into a self-sacrificing one, he just sees his best friend who he cares deeply about be exceptionally cavalier about getting hurt over and over again. he blames himself for enabling matt to get himself seriously injured, he (rightfully) worries about matt’s mental state and feels like he’s the only one actually giving a shit about matt’s safety, and because of the helplessness he feels at his inability to stop matt these worries and fears come out in an extremely understandable but selfish mentality where the law always prevails, the system would work all the time if matt would just stop fucking around with the breaking bones shit. foggy. foggy. i hate to break it to you but you are in a the law doesn’t always work sometimes you need to break bones show