#but it's angst?? and i like it?? hm

[1980shorrorfilm]

hopelessly devoted to you

click here. resources for palestine, congo, sudan, and other countries.

pairing…ellie williams x gn!reader

in which…a certain someone remembers your birthday.

before you read…fluff. angst. cutie patootie ellie <3

it was a grueling day. the sky dim from the consistent storming, the rain damping your body and hair, up until you and jesse had taken cover at a moldy gas station. you sat there for an hour, listening to him talk about dina and their separation…their tenth separation? you lost track a while ago.

but you don’t judge, you hummed in agreement to his frustrations and nodded the entire time. you get him, you do. your failed love life could be a ten-minute-long monologue, you think. relationships are hard in the small community of jackson, everyone has their person or keeps to themselves. you prefer to keep to yourself. you don’t necessarily need anyone— not if you can’t have her.

infected that were migrating through had run you out of the gas station, you and jesse dodging branches and heavy rocks throughout the forest as you ran back home. you, of course, tripped over a dead stump and banged your head on nature's floor.

if you were jesse you would have laughed at yourself, but your generous friend could only watch in horror, worry painting his features while he helped you up, practically dragging your stumbling self until you were in the clearing.

every single muscle in your body was aching when you arrived at jackson’s gates, it felt like seeing the gates of heaven itself. you don’t know what time it is, the sky has been dark the entirety of the day, and your head is pounding.

“we should get you to the infirmary, just in case,” jesse tries, however, you are ready to call it a night and worry about your current issues tomorrow. probably a bad idea, sure, but you don’t care that much in the worn out state you’re in. “i’m fine, jesse,” you lie to the man, but the smile you give him is enough for him to back off, “just need a bandage and a very comfortable bed. not one of those cots.”

“you’re stubborn…ellie’s rubbing off on you.”

“shut up,” you jokingly tell him, chewing your bottom lip as your mind goes to ellie. the idea of seeing her sweet face after the day you just had would provide you more comfort than the bed you so desperately yearn for.

to hear her voice, telling you about the day she had, that you know for certain was miles better than yours. and that’s amazing— ellie williams doesn’t deserve a hard day in her life. you would take all of them for her, even if each one felt as cruel as today.

jesse walks you all the way home, an illuminating glow coming from your windows, despite turning the lights off before you had left. or at least, you had thought you did. you say goodbye to jesse, having to promise you will take care of your injury before bed so he would leave.

you open your door with a deep sigh of relief, eager to shred your backpack and soggy clothes, and slip into something comfortable.

you drag your feet down the hall, stopping in place when your shut bedroom door, swings open before you.

“fuck.”

“ellie?” your brows dip, a quiet laugh escaping your lips at the surprise, “what are you doing?”

“i, uh, well,” she scratches the back of her neck, turning around, waiting for you to follow her into your bedroom. you do, mind drifting to the thought of how unkept you left it earlier, not having time to deal with the laundry at the end of your unmade bed. ellie had seen that; you’re embarrassed.

you gulp, stepping inside the room, and the sight you’re met with confuses you. your bed is made. your clothes are gone. instead, there’s a beige teddy bear, one that’s unfamiliar to you, that’s never been in your room before. it’s undeniably cute, even with its left ear ripped and its eye poorly patched back on.

laid against its belly is a large and flat square object wrapped in old newspapers, tiny pieces of duct tape holding it together. where a classic and beautiful ribbon would be, are shoelaces, making a bow. or an attempt at one.

and laid against that, is what appears to be a doodled on piece of paper. you glance at ellie, then your bed, then ellie.

“i…” she begins, the soft expression on her face suddenly hardening when her eyes trail to the single droplet of blood falling from your temple, and down the side of your face.

“what the fuck happened?” ellie takes a few short steps towards you, grabbing your face with her coarse hands, and turning you so she can inspect the area. even when you try to turn your head, she keeps you still.

“gonna tell maria to pair us. i love jesse but—”

“i tripped, ellie, it couldn’t have been prevented,” you cut her off, but her suggestion does make your heart flutter, and you wouldn’t be opposed to it. you’d spend every last second you have in this universe with her.

“you don’t know that,” ellie says, the woman thinking she could do anything to protect you— even simple mistakes you cause yourself. she exits the room for a moment, and you can’t help but walk to the foot of your bed to get a closer look at the objects on it.

you pick up the paper, realizing it’s not just a piece of paper, it’s a card. a makeshift one. and the doodles aren’t just doodles, it’s a dinosaur holding three balloons. three of your favorite colors. happy birthday, it says. birthday…your birthday…it’s your birthday.

it had not crossed your mind once today, this week, or this month. you only thought about it a couple of months back when it was briefly brought up in a conversation. how the community you were born into utilized calendars even if there was nothing to look forward to anymore, and how you almost wish you weren’t informed on the day you were born. there was nothing to celebrate, no one to celebrate with.

ellie was determined to change that, and she did.

you open the card, a paragraph in the center of the paper.

hey y/n, guess what day it is :) if you couldn’t tell by the extremely beautiful dinosaur in a party hat, it’s your day!! happy fucking birthday, y/n. probably doesn’t feel like much of a celebration today. little do you know i celebrate you everyday. don’t tell anyone that. i honestly think i’d die without you so never leave me, yeah? i love you y/n. i could take up this whole page telling you every little thing i love about you but i’m not going to do that because i don't think i could stop. i hope you had a good birthday. if not i hope this helps. love, your ellie.

“sit down,” ellie reenters the room, not noticing the card in your hand, too focused on the medical supplies in hers. when she does, her face heats up, her pale face flashing red. you continue to hold it as you obey her, sitting next to the teddy bear. she waits for you to speak first, and you do the same to her, which causes a moment of silence as she kneels on the floor before you.

you’re taken back, utterly shocked by how fucking precious the girl could be, how good it feels receiving appreciation from her. getting love from her. not the love you have for jesse or dina, something different, something incomparable. she has your heart clutched tightly in her fist.

“thank you, ellie.”

“it’s nothing,” she shrugs, pouring a bottle of water on a bathroom towel, then bringing it to your face. she’s gentle as she wipes the dark red liquid away, dabbing the injury, scanning your face for discomfort so she can stop immediately. she’s definitely going to yell at jesse.

“it’s something,” you tell her, “and it means a lot to me…it really does.”

she halts her movements for a second, the embarrassment that maybe she did too much, vanishing from her body. “yeah?”

“duh,” you laugh slightly, “i didn’t even remember it, ellie. i was too busy having a shitty day. so thank you for making it better.”

ellie smiles slightly, holding back the grin threatening to spread across her face. she continues to clean your injury, knowing she could scold you for not seeking medical attention right away, but she won’t ruin the moment.

she finishes up by placing a clean bandage over the wound, pressing it delicately against your skin, an odd urge to place a kiss on your forehead to signal she was done. she thinks it’s weird, and doesn’t do it.

ellie reaches for the newspaper-wrapped object beside you, taking the card from your hands and replacing it with the gift. “open it.”

“you didn’t have to—” “open it.”

you groan, doing as told, fighting the annoying strong duct tape and peeling the paper off carefully, not knowing what’s beneath it. ellie keeps her green irises steady on your face as you do so, watching your mouth part faintly when you see the uncovered gift. “ellie…”

it’s a vinyl. an old one. one you’d listen to on a cassette tape until it deteriorated, and you had lost access to the heavenly vocals of the band you so greatly adored. ellie’s not familiar with them, but she had told you she would like to be after how highly you had spoken about them.

she hadn’t forgotten that conversation, or that band, and excused herself on patrol to seek out the damn vinyl in every music shop. she didn’t know it would be so hard, but even if she did, she would search again and again and again. it’s not only a gift, it is a reflection of ellie’s admiration of you.

“how— why— i don’t even have a record player,” you point out, eyebrows dipping slightly at the harsh reminder. “so?” she asks like you just said the silliest thing in the world. “i do…we can listen to it together.”

it’s then that you notice her hand on your knee, thumb grazing through the denim of your jeans in a repeated motion. you forget about the throbbing in your head, and you no longer care about the soreness of your body. that, along with the entire world, seems to fade away right now.

it’s not just your heart in her hands. it’s you, your mind, your soul, everything you have is in her palms. everything she tells you makes you feel weightless, like time pauses and you don’t have to worry about a single thing. just her. nothing else. just ellie. no one else.

“i love you.”

ellie smiles, “love you too.”

“no, ellie, i…” you hesitate, sucking in the air and then exhaling. your eyes are on the birthday card next to you, the vinyl in your hands, and then her widened pupils. you realize then, that you don’t need to repeat yourself, you don’t need to emphasize it. ellie gets it. your hands are trembling, and she holds them. but something is wrong.

the moment stretches on endlessly, watching a shadow of sadness flicker over her beautiful features. without her saying a word, that she has yet to do, you understand. she won’t say it back. not in the sense that you wish for her to.

“i…dina came to me…after her and jesse…she…” ellie’s quiet voice drifts off, sparing you the details of the night dina first showed up at her door, a repeated pattern until they finally shared an intimate moment that led to a short-lived kiss.

something you missed, because you weren’t searching for hints they had something. something you crave. her head is down, “i’m sorry.”

your confession now hangs heavy over both of you. you feel sick. you feel dumb. and yet, you force a small, understanding smile. “it’s okay.”

the words feel hollow. ellie feels like shit. she’s never cried in front of you, and she’s fighting back the tears that so desperately want to fall right now. she hadn’t meant for this to happen. she hadn’t met to fall in love with her best friend, all while her other friend was falling for her.

she could’ve waited— she would’ve waited. but it happened so fast, and ellie had made a decision already.

“i’m um…really tired,” you chuckle, trying to ease the tension, but it somehow makes it worse.

“y/n—” “do you mind if we call it a night?”

“you hit your head pretty bad,” ellie says, the sorrow tone of her voice now mixing with worry, “you should stay up.”

“you’re not my doctor, ellie,” you immediately catch the snappy tone you give her the moment the sentence leaves your mouth, biting your tongue in response. ellie doesn’t point it out nor make an argument out of it. she is the most understanding with you. even if the context is her simply looking out for you. you fold in your lips, still holding the gift, ellie finally standing up.

she doesn’t know what to say. at all. she could say sorry a million times but eventually they will mean nothing to you. she doesn’t even know if they do now. “i uh…i’ll leave you alone.”

the worst words you could ever hear from the person you love the most in the world. of course, part of you wants her out of sight after the humiliation you just walked yourself into, but the other part of you wants to go with her, play the vinyl she had gifted you, and lay together in her bed as her finger taps in rhythm to the music on your thigh. but you can’t do that. not when her bed is reserved for someone else.

you barely nod, “okay.”

she gulps, hesitantly walking to your bedroom door, the one she was so happy to walk into just an hour prior. there’s guilt in each step she takes, her cheeks hot and mouth dry. she stops in your doorway, tugging at her bottom lip with her sharp teeth, glancing back at you.

whatever she was prepared to say, dies on her tongue, swallowing it down and opting for something else.

“happy birthday, y/n.”

then she’s gone. and you’re left alone with a teddy bear; a permanent reminder of this night. happy birthday to you.

[daily-odile]

Eon doodles... designs courtesy of @the-bitter-ocean of course

[litt1e-prince]

"Who's your friend, MK?"

INSPIRED BY THE FIC: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46162438/chapters/116212117

Which, if you 'haven't read yet- why not?? go read it now!! It's literally so good, its so good- had me crying- LIKE. I WANNA FIGHT WUKONG FROM THIS FIC SOOOO BAD but at the same time,,, i wanna hug him and bring him nice things and make sure he's safe and happy! The author writes so amazingly and aaaah! the pain!!!!

[autisticlancemcclain]

Pidge stares hard at her twisted fingers. Her eyes have long since begun to burn, and she holds her face carefully parallel to the floor, knees presses to the sides of her head, watching as her vision gets blurrier and heavier, until eventually the tear drops from her eyes and splatters on her glasses.

“How did you handle it?” she asks hoarsely, not even looking up. “The homesickness.”

For a while Lance doesn’t say anything. His breathing is steady and near-silent, quick little inhales and long, shallow exhales. Practiced breathing, when he’s choking back tears. He does it several times a day. Sometimes Pidge can’t stand to look at him. She doesn’t understand where he puts it all, the sadness that is constantly bubbling out of him. Doesn’t understand where he finds the strength to let his voice get choked up in the middle of a sentence and keep going like there’s nothing wrong. She feels hot shame heat up her own body, in the clear absence of his; a secondhand embarrassment at emotion that shouldn’t be advertised so easily, so trustingly, so constantly.

Eventually he sighs. When Pidge looks up there are tears in his brown eyes, as there so often are, but she fights the urge to look away and tucks herself under his open arm, instead.

It’s warm, in his hold. Bony too. But he holds her without fear of squeezing too tightly, winds his long arm around her back and shoulders and presses her face into his neck. He smells, as he always does, of flowers, although Pidge could not identify what kinds, and she imagines that she’s sat under the rows and rows of shelves in her mother’s greenhouse, watching her work. Her hands shake so she winds them around the creases of Lance’s jacket and grips tightly.

“I don’t,” he says after thinking about it. “I carry it with me. I always have.”

Pidge thinks she knew that, in her bones. She thinks she understood that about Lance from the very second she first saw him, two years ago at the Garrison auditorium in September; this boy who slouched and grinned and shot finger guns and laughed like a hyena and cried four times a day. The boy whose eyes were deep and dark and filled with an abyssal pain that hurts to look at. Off-putting.

“That sounds lonely.”

Lance hums. He shifts, resting his chin on the top of her head. She feels the slow drip of his tears, down his nose and plopping onto her scalp, and parcels at how his heartbeat doesn’t change, the ease in his voice. The shaky steel of it.

“It is. I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t. Lonely. It’s just something I carry.”

Her breath shudders out of her, big and large and shaking her shoulders. She hears what he doesn’t say: I have gotten used to it. She thinks to herself: I will never get used to this weight.

She says: “I don’t understand.”

Ever so slowly, he begins to rock them back and forth, barest sway of their bodies. His lips press her hairline. Her face crumples and her breathing quickens as she forces down the tears, shoves back the mirroring feeling, the mixing of Lance and Matt happening in her head.

“When I was four my oldest brother moved away. He was getting married. I never got over that, I don’t think. He lived down the street longer than he lived down the hall but I never really stopped missing him.”

He pauses for a moment, and Pidge knows it’s deliberate in the way his whole body stops moving, pondering, before starting again.

“Sometimes I miss him on purpose.”

Pidge pulls away, enough to look him in the face, to watch his sad eyes and slight smile and the familiarity in the uncanny expression, the Lance of it.

“Why?” she asks desperately, hands twisting further in his sleeves. “Why would you ever — on purpose?”

“Because I love him on purpose.” The tears drip down Lance’s face as a steady waterfall and he doesn’t even flinch at them, doesn’t even blink. Lets his eyes fill and spill over again and again like cupped hands under a leaking faucet. “When I miss my mom I love her. When I miss my sister I love her. When I miss my brother I love him. When I miss Keith I love him. When I miss you, I love you.” He gently pulls his sleeves away from her clutched fingers, wrapping his hands around them instead and squeezing. “The grief hurts like a never healing wound. But I’m terrified of not having that. I don’t want to wake up one day without the reminder of how deeply I’ve loved and how deeply it will always be a part of me, that love. I don’t know how I’d ever function without it.”

“You don’t function with it,” Pidge argues. “It — haunts you. I see it in your face.”

Lance shrugs. “I function with it. I function because of it. Every day that I miss them I live because I will miss them until I see them again. It’s an — anticipation, almost. I miss you and I can’t wait to see you again mean the same thing.”

A strange noise bursts out from Pidge’s throat, gut-punching. I miss you and I can’t wait to see you again mean the same thing.

She misses her brother in her bones. Her father in her blood. Her mother in her heart.

Waiting to see them again pulses at every level in her body. That’s — manageable.

“Oh,” she says, and she means oh, in the way you blink your eyes open in the mornings. Oh, I see now. Oh, that hurts. Oh, it’s bright.

Lance squeezes her hands again. “There are worse things than loving so much it hurts you,” he says softly.

“Oh,” Pidge says again. “Oh.”

[whumblr]

Desperate

Tw: prepared for suicide

-

The door to their hiding place breached and Whumpee sprang up from a light sleep, scrambling through the darkened rooms of the abandoned house hoping to find somewhere to remain out of sight. Eyes darted about in a panic and they snatched the first available thing that resembled a weapon. A pair of scissors.

They slunk down in a far, dark corner of the room, scissors in hand. If they were spotted they could just-- they would have to--!

Fight? No. Weakened by days on the run, by hunger, by their injuries, they knew they didn't stand a chance.

They took a deep breath and opened the scissors, resting the blade against the side of their throat. They weren't going back. They weren't! They knew exactly what was waiting for them. And it was way worse than this.

Heavy footsteps echoed up through the stairwell, getting closer to the room.

Whumpee's gaze was determined, but their eyes were empty. As if they'd already taken that first step over the threshold and life merely clung to their body.

The door creaked open and beams of light entered the room, followed by two men, cautiously stepping around, whispering.

Whumpee slunk back into their corner, praying the flashlight would brush past them, that they would be one with darkness. They didn't make a sound, their breathing oddly calm, their eyes following the men around.

And one of them spotted them. They looked at each other for a second. And then he noticed the scissors against their throat.

"No, no, no, wait! Don’t! Don't!" the man shouted, waving his hands. He fell to his knees and held out a hand, as if they were a wild animal to be kept at bay. "Don't. Please," he said more calmly this time. "We're here to help."

A bit of life returned to their eyes. Hope mixed with a fair bit of suspicion, mingling in a blend of despair. They stared at the man, their hand trembling but tightening around the blade of the scissors. Blood trickled down over the palm of their hand but they barely felt it.

"Please," the man said again. His eyes widened, gaze following the drops of blood. He quickly glanced up again, looking Whumpee in the eyes, and shuffled a little closer, inch by inch, hand held out. "We're not here to hurt you."

Whumpee mewled, torn. The dull blade bit their skin. It hurt. It already hurt so bad. Fear held their hand back, not daring to press the blade deeper. Desperate hope filled their chest. Maybe... maybe they wouldn't have to do this?

"Please, your team is looking for you," the man said, nudging forward.

And Whumpee broke. Tears streamed down their face, dripping from their chin. Hope won. They shuffled over on their knees, dropped the scissors, and fell into the man’s arms. Hands wrapped around his neck, clawed in his shirt, and they sobbed against his shoulder.

"It’s okay," he shushed, brushing a hand over the back of their head. "It’s okay."

He waited patiently until the fingers clamped in his shirt relaxed, until the sobbing died down. Gently untangling himself from Whumpee's grip, he held them by the shoulders, nodded at them in question and held out a hand.

A trembling hand slid into his palm, accepting the offer, and he slowly pulled them up to their feet.

He smiled at them.

Then his hand was on their wrist and as they stood straight, he spun them around, forced their wrist halfway up their back. A metal click followed.

"Sucker," he chuckled.

The bright feeling of hope in their chest popped. It sank like lead into their stomach, transforming to an intense fear and Whumpee completely froze up.

The man caught them as their knees gave out. "Someone is willing to part with a lot of money to get you back. Alive."

-

General whump tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @whumpifi @auroragehenna

[amethysts-prompts]

Prompt #231

“Get. Up,” Villain said. “You’ve suffered bigger wounds. And if you don’t get up, I’ll destroy anything that’s left of this world.”

Villain took a breath. “Please,” they said. “Please get up. Please don’t die on me.”

******

Main blog: @amethystpath-writes

[emry-stars-art]

All right so. I forgot to mention I am planning on doing some of this whumptober prompt list and it’s like. All about Abram and Evermore 🫣

Day one: drugging/sick/poisoned (full under the cut)

Find the royal au masterpost here

We’re messing with the idea of Lola and Nathan being sent with an entourage late-timeline to try and ‘reclaim the Wesninski house heir’ the ‘fair and correct’ way. It’s announced to Palmetto, Nathan coming with intention to fight for his heir back, challenge Abram directly; Lola came just in case Nathan somehow ended up losing. There are very strict instructions from the Moriyamas not to come back without a Wesninski heir.

[pr0cyon-lotor]

Part 4: Drinks With Friends

(This has some of my writing. If you see punctuation/grammar mistakes, it's because I wrote this on Tumblr and couldn't be bothered to put it in a spell checker :P)

(MF and LMY are drinking buddies because... Idk they're neat)

(I feel like LMY would be significantly more shitposty if given the chance. So I gave her the chance)

LMY's Messages Era:

(Male + Female friendship where they're they both get a little silly even though everyone else perceives them as serious 🔛🔝)

Ming Fan was sitting on the floor next to Liu Mingyan's bed. He threw his phone behind him onto the bed after responding to the tweet. Just as he did Liu Mingyan returned with three bottles of soft colored liquors.

As much as he wanted to turn his head and scoff, he couldn't deny that getting at least a little tipsy and complaining didn't seem great right now. He had a lot to complain about and maybe a few drinks will make it easier for him to talk about it.

Liu Mingyan sat down in front of him on a pile of pillows and blankets they didn't bother picking up after they were at each other's throats. She handed him a bottle of a vibrant green liquid, it's swirled with eatable glitter. It was pretty, he wondered it would taste good.

"I will be completely honest, I didn't think you'd entertain me after the last time we drank together," Liu Mingyan admitted; her voice calm and smooth. It was sometimes hard to connect the unhinged messages to the poised girl in front of him, but he knew better now than to try to make sense of it.

He pressed the cold bottle against his aching cheek. He could only hope it wouldn't bruise. He always forgot that terrifying strength seemed to run in the Liu family. At least he could hold on against Liu Mingyan, he was positive he'd get taken down by Liu Qingge if he tried.

"I need to complain anyway. What even is this?" Ming Fan asked as he opened his bottle. The took a sniff, it reeked of hard liquor underneath the sweet tone. His scrunched his nose subconsciously.

"A glitter wine, I think. Sha Hualing gave me a few bottles before she left," Liu Mingyan answered as she opened her bottle, which had a dark pink liquid inside.

"The alcohol smells strong," Ming Fan absentmindedly complained as he looked around. No shot glasses or anything to pour some out. He contemplated for a moment before sighing and deciding if he's going to tank his liver, it might as well be in college.

Not that he had a test tomorrow, and he finished his work for the other classes. Shizun was out for the week, and Shen-laoshi wasn't the type to drop a test without warning. He could probably call in sick if his hangover was as bad as last time.

He put the bottle to his lips and took a sip only to taste it. Not bad, it was a tart-sour flavor. Maybe lime or green apple or both. The alcohol was still strong, so he wasn't going to chug it any time soon. Maybe if he drunker.

"How is yours? Mine tastes like dragonfruit," Liu Mingyan said while pulling up her facemask.

"Lime and green apple, I think. I like it," Ming Fan conceded and took another drink, this time to actually coerce a buzz in the very least. He had Liu Mingyan to blame for his ever climbing alcohol tolerance.

"Hm, sounds good," she responded while swirling her bottle. "Do you have something to complain about? You always rant when you drink.'

Ming Fan nodded absentmindedly. It's been a few months since the first day, and he still had so much left in the semester. This year felt long. All because of one annoying brat. Maybe he shouldn't have taken a gap year, then he wouldn't have to deal with Luo Binghe.

"This damn kid. He thinks he's better than me or something," he muttered bitterly and took another drink. He wondered how much he could drink before he was incoherent.

"The same one that took your scholarship?" Liu Mingyan asked, and pulled down her facemask to follow his lead a drink out of her bottle. She subconsciously covered her mouth with her free hand as she drank.

"Yes, it's always him, I swear! What did I do to him? I don't understand why he has it out for me!" Ming Fan ranted.

"Well... If I remember correctly, you had a mean streak when we were in middle school. Maybe he was one of the kids you bullied," Liu Mingyan offered, while fidgeting with her bottle.

Ming Fan wilted a little. He felt so much shame when he's reminded of his middle school days. He didn't know why he constantly picked on kids younger than him. It was definitely an insecurity thing, but he still hated it.

"Maybe..." He murmured and shook his head. He took one big gulp, not wanting to think about it further.

"As I was saying, this guy keeps like following me around," Ming Fan continued before things got sappy.

"Does he?" Liu Mingyan said, entertaining his rant. She also wasn't the best with emotions, so she understood the change of topic.

"He always trails behind me and Ying-er. I could be talking to her about an assignment or something, and then I notice him lurking in the corner of my eye. I can't say anything because Ying-er gets mad at me when I say something!" Ming Fan's tone turned whiney as his inhibitions slowly started waning.

"And don't get me started on tests! He constantly scores around me or above me! And then he has the nerve to look at me when we're told what we made! Shen-laoshi loves to show our ranks in the class at the end of the month, and ugh!!!" He groaned and put his head in his hands.

"I don't get it. I don't know what I did to piss him off. He's so smug too. He once walked up to me and showed me what he had while I was talking to Ying-er. She complemented him, so I had to too, or else people would think I'm bitter," Ming Fan complained, looked at the floor through the gaps of his fingers.

"You are bitter though," Liu Mingyan supplied helpfully.

"Shut up!!" He yelled back, feeling his face grow warm. Yeah, he couldn't deny it, but shouldn't friends feed each other's delusions? He huffed and crossed his arms while looking away from her. He continued to drown himself in his lime flavored vice.

"There's no need to pout, A-Fan. Nothing wrong with being bitter," she said in a teasing tone. She picked up her bottle and paused halfway.

"Hey, A-Fan, do you think he likes Yingying? Maybe that's why he's constantly following you two and trying to one up you," Liu Mingyan suggested. That gave Ming Fan pause.

Would Luo Binghe like Ying-er? A protective part of him wanted to keep the beast far away from her, but...

Begrudgingly, he did have to accept that out of the other people in Cang Qiong University... Luo Binghe was unfortunately one of the better options. Especially with his GPA, and the fact he was polite with everyone...

Except Ming Fan, but since he was sensibly buzzed he could acknowledge he was really easy to hate. If not jealousy, then his abrasive attitude. If he wasn't actively attempting to be charming, his personality was rather lacking.

He can see why he wouldn't be liked, and if compared to Ying-er... He probably seemed like a demon.

Liu Mingyan noticed Ming Fan wilt a little. She swayed slightly as she offered her drink to him. Ming Fan looked at the dark pink liquor and sighed. They switched drinks without a word, a soft silence between them.

It lasted a while, Ming Fan idly looking at the floor. His nail mindlessly scratched at the label. It was a moment before he broke the silence.

"Mingyan... Am I... unpleasant?" He asked; his speech more slurred than before. Liu Mingyan stopped mid-drink; she swallowed and wiped her lips. "No, not particularly. Why?"

Ming Fan didn't respond. His bottom lip was touching the lips of the bottle; if he simply tipped the bottle back, he could drink enough to completely forget this night...

"Because I think I'm unpleasant," he murmured quietly and tipped the bottle back. Emotions were hard. He can deal with the repercussions of drinking so much later.

NYY's Messages Era:

(fun fact: MF's drunk texting messages are based off messages my friend sent me drunk asf)

<< | < | • | > | >>

[fearmeeeee]

the need to only post finished art im 100% proud off and fits the aesthetic of my account vs the fact I have no time or energy to finish anything and I scribble 793834293748349734 ideas that just never see the light of day and I'd like to share actually

[phosphorus-noodles]

wow, this guy can fit so many Guys in him,

[toopolar]

Me, desperately grasping at nothing: gabriel ultrakill is car seat headrest coded

[mamawasatesttube]

sometimes i think about posting a jason opinion publicly. then i remember i value my mental health

[averlym]

" just...come here. just sit here with me" (...that one scene from princess momonoke, click for better resolution)

[boyfridged]

see, the thing is that (up until countdown at least) there’s no symmetry in jay and bruce's respective ways of grieving.

jay is perpetually trapped in the bargaining stage of grief, trying to reach out to bruce from beyond death.

bruce is way past this. he has settled into a quiet, passive type of mourning, devoid of hope for a reunion. and to stay in this state, he had to necessarily disregard jay’s true image – an image of an earnest, bright child, his son. the memory of jay has been reconstructed in his mind a thousand times and sealed in a folder labeled as “soldier” (or even just a personal failure). it's ugly. it's unfair. it's a coping mechanism.

so to me, the issue isn't that bruce wants his dead, sweet little boy back – the issue is that he barely remembers him. if he did, maybe he would be willing to take a leap of faith and search for that person in jason who came back. but he's not even trying to reconcile the image of 15yo jay with red hood – or rather, maybe the image of a volatile kid that he created in his grief fits with the red hood a bit too accurately. maybe it's a bit too convenient. it works perfectly well for his own self-preservation and sanity, to think that jason has been doomed from the beginning.

jason, on the other hand, is cursed with remembering. one of the very sparse concepts that i found interesting in rhato was when in #3 (2011) jason chose to give up on his happiest memory – skipping patrol to watch a movie with bruce. maybe it's because recalling these tender, sweet moments is what gives him hope, and motivates him to keep bargaining and trying to reconcile with bruce. and bargaining with reality is exhausting. the readers and jay know that it's a lost cause – both because neither bruce nor jay are the same people anymore, but also because, ironically, batman, the symbol of hope, doesn't have any left when it comes to getting his son back. bruce, in his grief, essentially closed the door. jay, in his grief, is banging on them.

[artybritney]

minutes before disaster (telling spy he's better)

ref image + speedpaint ( cw flash ) below!

[inky-fwog]

I'm having the strong urge to put a blorbo in a horrible position and possibly kill them in the process.