#can you call this angst?

[fandomsoda]

Ok so this started as genuine Crossmare angst and then I realized how goofy it looked but continued because I wanted to draw cat sanses, exaggerated expressions, and more evil Dream shit so have this

Obviously not a canon-adherent portrayal of the situation but y’all know how I am

[srfiv]

did days always disappear so easily, chasing you down to the bottom?

[pythonmoth]

cw: post torture trauma. depersonalization. denial. sick jokes as a coping mechanism.

simon riley x f!reader. soap x f!reader if you squint.

Part one | Last | Next

Numb. And cold.

The light in the room is cold and white, devoid of any type of warmth.

Laying flat on the bed, you're barely blinking, your expression is detached, and unreadable.

Your body got so used to the torture that every time a medic moves too fast, you mentally brace yourself for a hit or for another toenail to be ripped off, not moving a muscle.

You've three toenails left, after all. Another three chances of pain.

Perhaps they could cut your fingers off, instead. Or your ears.

That'd be new.

Your eyes are fixed on the light bulb above your head, dimly aware of the medics moving around you as if you were in a simulation game. You hear them curse under their breath, sharing looks, and throwing worried glances at you.

At times, it feels like you're watching yourself on that table. You're the light bulb.

It needs fixing.

The medics have already tended to your feet and toes, your fingers, and deep down you can't help but find it hilarious that, despite the drugs they gave you for the pain, your raw fingers throb bad enough for you to remember it perfectly.

You will never forget the pain.

Or perhaps you've already forgotten.

Images of Si Ghost, a hidden smirk behind the mask, ripping your nails off and showing them to you before throwing them to the side, laughing at you with Soap, and Price, fill your mind. Your past screams break through the image, your fingers twitching briefly.

Is it a memory?

You grimace inwardly.

You're not sure.

Perhaps it is. Or not.

As you're held up by two medics and put to sleep on another bed, drugged out of your mind, you stop worrying about it.

You're mistaken. Surely. Must be.

There's no way it was actually Simon; you're just going crazy. He will come and tuck you to bed as he always does. He'll bring Johnny tomorrow and the three of you will have some of the cookies Johnny keeps hidden in his room, safe from the Captain and the rest, the hungry lot. And they'll have the beer Simon bought the other day. And then Simon will give you a goodnight kiss.

There's no way.

Must be a mistake. Your mind is playing tricks.

Disdain. Laughter. Curses.

"Traitor".

No matter how hard you fight it, your eyes fall shut. With a soft sigh, you smile, amused at yourself. The blanket is soft against your cheeks, your mind spinning happily as exhaustion takes over.

You're mistaken.

"The pinky is next. You're still not giving me names".

You will just sleep it off.

"Please, give me their names. Please".

Nightmares.

As you wake up in cold sweat, hastily standing up from the bed, you put pressure on your cut feet with no care, and it makes you let out a sharp cry. Shocked to your core, you fall down on your knees, screaming in pain again when your hands brace your fall, making the raw skin of your fingertips stretch and burn.

You're suddenly aware of your injuries.

Memories rush to your mind. And they're real.

They're very real.

When the door springs open and you see Si Ghost rushing over to you, his eyes tormented behind the mask, you ignore the pain in your body and quickly crawl back, dragging yourself away from him, not hiding the fear in your expression.

You can't hide it, even if you wanted to.

"No, wait. Please. Please. You're okay" he says, lowering himself to the ground in a heartbeat, his knees touching the cold floor, keeping as much distance between the two of you as possible.

You don't realize you're crying until you taste it in your lips and, even then, you don't even dare breathing. You're not blinking, staring at Ghost in complete silence.

Funny. Crying will forever remind you of it.

"Please, you're safe. You're okay" he assures you, his voice rough and shaky. Ghost shifts forward slowly, but the tension in your shoulders makes him pause.

"I won't touch you. I promise" Ghost murmurs, keeping his hands on his thighs, in full display. "W-we were tricked. A mole planted evidence against you, but we found him a few days ago when we brought you here. I'm so—"

You burst out laughing.

"You're sorry" you crackle. "You're sorry".

"I won't give you any excuses. Price told me he was certain, and I— I had to do my job. Please—"

"Stay away from me".

"Please. I didn't want to do it. I'm so sorry" he pleads, his hands flat against the ground. "I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Johnny and I. You won't forgive us and we know this. Lovie, please".

Your laughter turns into sobs the longer he speaks. Lovie. It sounds so ridiculous right now that even if you're terrified of him you wish you had the strength to strangle him.

Alas, the lack of fingernails makes it difficult.

You press yourself against the bed, unable to stand up, unable to look at Ghost as he stares at you. You can just shake your head, your shoulders never relaxing, your entire body coiled with pain and grief.

Ghost moves slowly as he takes his mask off, leaving it on the floor in front of him. His eyes are downcast, his blonde hair messy and you can see he's been barely eating, however long you've been here.

He looks like shit.

Perhaps, if this was a few days ago, you'd be making a silly joke so he doesn't feel so vulnerable. You would've kissed him and played with his blonde eyelashes until he rolled his eyes, and playfully smacked your hand away.

Now, mask or no mask, you don't know this man.

taglist: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic

styling decisions bc this reader is traumatized as hell. and no, no forgiving.

it'll stay for a bit. you'll be noticing the change in reader's emotions through it!

[spurbleu]

“i want to kiss you. not on your mouth, but on your most secret scars, your ashy black & journeyed knees, your ring finger, the trigger finger, those hands the world fears so much.”

- danez smith, ‘king the color of space/tower of molasses and marrow’

‧︎✳︎༚︎‧︎⁎︎°︎

you kiss him, and simon struggles to understand.

you dedicate yourself to it, a particular worship that a younger you might’ve called dirty. it’s as if you consider it self indulgence, the way you foil into the divots his war, his regret- even, especially, his violence. the parts of him that made him anxious to be as far as he could from you, while never leaving your side.

you trace the catastrophes that draw out in thin and thick across his back. hold the grimy, coarse part of his jaw, the bend of his nose. perfection cradling imperfections without so much of a flinch. you kiss, kiss, his hands. you touch the release of a trigger and the monster that festers beneath bruising nail with the mouth you pray with- and he…he…

blurs.

can’t seem to find a thread of himself when you hold him. unravels into blisters, bruises, scars and bullets- until your kissing all of it. cradling him in vestal palms, holding him together as he spills from your joints.

his filth has made your lips swollen, but the mercy in your eyes burns the guilt and gives him respite. you gave him a hummingbird heart when he had bear hands, and yet you hold both.

(you didn’t tame him, but that’s what it is, isn’t it? letting a wild dog be- and somehow it made him more domesticated than if you pulled out the leash. isn’t sure what to call that yet, but you give him time.)

he’s convinced he’ll never find out what you are, because no human he’s known gives like you can.

“si? you’re drifting off again.”

“…yer jus too fuckin warm.”

[maajul444]

[purgatorei]

this song awakened something in me i think i

[reds-skull]

There's a lack of Gaz angst out there I feel, so I'm doing my part and letting him suffer as well.

[somerandomcockroach]

My brain malfunctioned and I was digging in MTMTE the whole day, forgot to blink, kicked pillow 8 times and was talking with my reflection 6 times

Ended up with 60+ screenshots of nerds being socially awkward/abnormal/straightforward because we use books to talk, not people, silly, cool or sweet, or just facts ahah

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One

The drive's short one. 

Steve gets out of his car, opening the passenger door for Chrissy and escorting her up to the house, quietly envisioning what Jason would look like if a real monster got him.

What would he say, staring down the crazy, five-starred head, filled with teeth and drool? Would he turn back? Or run?

(Steve swears he doesn't take great pleasure in imagining Carver getting eaten, but he'll admit to taking a little.)  

"Chrissy do you have any idea--oh." Mrs. Cunningham startles, grasping her robe at the front as she spots Steve standing next to her daughter.  

"Hi Miss Cunningham." He says.

"Hello." She says suspiciously. "And who are you?"

"I'm Steve Harrington, ma'am." He watches as her mother straightens immediately at his name, and sinks right into the ol' Harrington charm, knowing instantly it will work. "I know you were expecting Jason, but I'm afraid he wasn't able to drive Chrissy home." 

"Oh, Steve! It's so late I almost didn't recognize you." She titters, suspicion gone. "Your mother and I are on the same charity board." 

Of course they were.

"I thought you were dating that nice Nancy girl." She says with a squint that mimics Chrissy's, because even in the midst of a crisis he can't escape the gossip that is Hawkins upper echelon. 

"Nance is waiting in the car." Steve lies smoothly. "I just wanted to make sure Chrissy got home safe." 

"What happened?" Chrissy's father appears, ushering them both in while blatantly peering around them, eyes sweeping the street before closing the door.

Steve recognizes the move. He's checking for nosy neighbors. 

"Jason and I broke up." Chrissy admits.

"What?" 

"We..." She falters in front of her parents. 

"What happened to Jason?" Her father asks, tuning back in once they're safely away from peering eyes.

"I'm afraid Jason and some of his friends brought beer to the party." Steve steps in to explain.  

"Oh Chrissy, it's a high school party. That's no reason to break up with him." Her mother fusses, face flushing in embarrassment. Her eyes dart from her daughter to Steve and back, and Steve knows he needs to start damage control. 

If he plays it right he can burn Jason while he's at it. 

"He was horrible, mom. Just awful." Chrissy says, but Steve can tell she's shrinking under her mothers gaze. 

"He drank quite a lot, Miss Cunningham." With a theatrical wince, Steve turns to face Chrissy's dad, lowers his voice and says "I'm going to have to talk to Coach about it." 

He gets the intended response, which is a raised eyebrow. "That bad, huh?" 

Steve nods once, painting a pained smile on his face. "He made a real fool of himself tonight, Sir. The basketball team has a reputation to uphold." 

"Oh." Mrs. Cunningham says, hand fluttering in front of her face. "I never would have thought…"

"He's normally a good guy. I don't know what got into him." Steve has them both eating out of the palm of his hand, attention neatly off Chrissy and onto the story he's feeding them. 

Its worth it to see her shoulders relax. 

"I couldn't let him take Chrissy home in the state he was in Sir, and he got very…" 

Steve pauses. 

Fills his voice with tempered disappointment, channeling his dad. "Belligerent. Said some nasty things."  

"Really?" Mr. Cunningham says, with a low whistle, and Steve knows by his tone alone that he's bought in.

Hook, line, sinker.

Steve nods once. "I have to get back to my girlfriend, but Chrissy'" He turns earnestly here, to let her know he's not faking this next bit. "Let me know if Jason bothers you at school. I'll set him straight again if I have to." 

"Thank you Steve." Mr. Cunningham says, as Chrissy's mom hustles her daughter towards the kitchen. 

Steve shakes his hand, then waves at Crissy as she calls her own thank you over her shoulder, before disappearing out the door and back to his car.

The same one where Nancy very much isn't. 

That's a problem for tomorrow Steve.

xXx

Tomorrow Steve gets into an argument with Nancy. 

She can't recall that Jonathan took her home, or that he's bullshit, their whole relationship, bullshit--

But she also can't tell him she loves him.

So Steve snaps at her. Storms off.

 Play’s more basketball.

It takes less than two hours for him to get mopey and another three for him to spiral into deciding he was wrong somehow.

That's what his mom said all the time anyway, wasn't it? The man's always wrong Steven, and he's the man here so…

He gets flowers, chocolates, and fucking waylaid (by Dustin Henderson with his Grow a Monster) and things go sideways from there.

 Train tracks and a junkyard and demodogs make time speed up. An encounter with Billy and a dinner plate causes Steve's recollection of the evening to be fuzzy. 

He just knows that in the middle of dodging death, he has the realization that Nance wants to break up with him.

That he should let her. 

Even if it hurts, even if he doesn't want to. 

She wants to be let go.

So Steve does. He respects her, and when he has a moment after its all over, he tells her to go with Jonathan.

(At least he permanently gets the squirts out if this. Or at least everyone but Mike.

Even if most of them are shitheads and one of them's Hargrove's step sister.

It's--something.

But when Dustin keeps pestering him, demanding Steve drive him all over Hawkins and then drags him to the movies, well.

It might be the best something Steve's had in his life so far. )

xXx

"Oh shit. Is that from Caver?" Eddie asks, popping up near Steve's car like the clown in a jack in the box. 

"Carver can't hit for shit. This was Hargrove." Steve replies, attempting an eyeroll before remembering that his entire face is a bruise. 

One, giant, never ending bruise. 

"I guess his step sister gave him the slip to come hang out with these kids I watch sometimes. I didn't know she wasn't supposed to be there." Steve shrugs, because it's the technical truth. 

If you turn it sideways and squint anyway. 

"Asshole tried to threaten the kid Max is into by slamming him into a wall and screaming shit, so I stepped in, and--" He waves at his face. 

The same one he's already getting looks for. 

"I was winning." Steve sighs theatrically. "He broke a plate over my head."

The story seemed to freeze Eddie but he recovers with a quick shake of his head. 

"You poor thing." He tuts. "Let me guess--you were more worried about the hair than the wound?" 

Eddie's hands flutter like he's going to touch Steve's head but he seems to contain himself at the last minute.

The hospital threatened to buzz it for stitches." Steve says darkly, playing into the bit. 

(He had not gone to a hospital. 

None of them had.)  

"What would our King be without his crown of hair?" Eddie laments, in a falsetto that was half insult half oddly sincere. It was jarring in that it was hard to get a read on, but the more Steve was around the guy the less it seemed malicious and the more it came off  as just….goofy.

Eddie Munson, Steve decided, was not a freak.

 He was a dorky little weirdo, just like all the other kids Steve now hung out with. 

Just older, and with slightly better hair. 

"Hey Eddie." Another boy calls out, approaching cautiously. 

He's got a leather jacket on, and if Steve thinks hard enough he can sort of conjure up a memory of the guy at Eddie's lunch table, throwing a piece of bread at a pale sophomore decked out in plaid. "You good man?" 

"Yeah Jeff, just checkin' in on the Hair here." Eddie sticks a thumb towards Steve, who raises his hand and waves. 

The falsetto comes back, somehow higher as the older boy swoons over Steves arm. "Soothing his poor soul after that brute Hargrove almost killed him." 

"Has anyone ever told you you're a lot like Bugs Bunny?" Steve asks, the thought leaving his mouth the instant he had it.

(He doesn't care, it's a legitimate question.) 

It has the effect of making Munson look downright chuffed. "I have actually, but only by my Uncle." 

"Why are you checking in?" Jeff interrupts, before seeming to realize he said it out loud. " Ah, I mean--"

"Oh he didn't tell you?" Steve says, as casually as he can muster. "Eddie claimed me and Chrissy at a party last weekend." 

See Munson? Two people could play the weird bit game. 

They've attracted more of Eddie's friends now, two more boys in leather jackets edging closer like frightened deer. 

(One of which is the aforementioned younger man Jeff threw bread at, and Steve vaguely thinks the guy's name starts with a g.) 

"Apparently we're his minions now." Steve tells Jeff in a rather put upon manner. 

"It was just you, the fair maiden chose otherwise." Eddie counters dismissively, voice dropping down low. 

Steve snorts. Hums a sarcastic; "Like you'd let us choose." 

Eddie finally abandons whatever voice that was supposed to be (a villain, Steve thinks, and wonders if it hurts Eddies throat to drop from a false high to a deep low that quickly.)  to say:

 "Mock me all you like, Harrington, but you can't deny the bit worked." 

Steve automatically went for another eye roll, and gets a flash of pain for it. "Who said I was mocking you, you dork? Just stating facts." 

Yet again, Eddie reacts weird to the comment. He looks almost bashful for a second, before he recovers, tugging his hair in front of his face as he plays with it.

The bell rings once in warning, and Steve makes a face towards the doors. 

"I gotta go, Mrs Clicks out to fail me. See you around, Eddie. Jeff." The way his eyes are bruised up he can't quite make out the face Jeff makes at that, but Steve's pretty sure the guys mouth was open. 

"She's a nasty one, my minion, best stay on your toes around her." Eddie calls, and Steve waves a hand in the air to show he heard. 

"What just happened?" Jeff asks, far too loudly for how close Steve still is. 

It makes him chuckle a bit, even as one of the other guys says something in a far quieter voice that has Munson squawking and flapping his arms like a bird. 

The winding little feelings in his chest squeeze his heart, and Steve shakes his head, refusing to be fond of Eddie Munson. 

xXx

College rejection letters come in, one after the another.

Steve could have made it into a few schools he's certain, except he hadn't really applied to any.

Not that any college other than Penn Hurst mattered. His dad wanted him to be a legacy, come hell or high water.

Steve's punishment was hand picked by his parents, and he gets the sailor outfit his new minimum wage job requires is supposed to be a part of it--that his dad made him apply because it was the most embarrassing thing he could think to subject Steve too-- but honestly? 

It's not that bad. 

Not even with Robin, the manager he met yesterday, and who positively, completely and totally, hates Steve’s guts.  

He figures he has time to win her over. 

All the time in the world, now that demons aren't trying to eat his, or any of the kid's, faces. He can focus on the small things. Build himself back up.

Figure out the person he wants to be, now that he's no longer King Steve. 

It’s the thought that kept him from attending any graduation parties. To go felt like backsliding into old habits. 

‘If the kids--if it comes back again--’ 

Getting drunk at night in a random house seemed almost irresponsible.

Particularly not with people Steve has history with, without anyone he really cares about being present. Certainly not Nance and Jonathan, who he wishes he didn’t know are at some end-of-year game night one of Nancy’s friends is hosting. 

(Steve can’t think about that for a number of reasons. 

When he does--because of course he does-- he makes sure to focus on the weirdness that is Jonathan Byers being someone he cares about, instead of the fact he can’t seem to kill his love for Nancy. 

Or that he's horrifically jealous of their relationship. 

That the best sleep he had ever had was between them, two nights after the lab, when they crammed themselves into Jonathan's bed because they all couldn't quite believe it was over.

That night had been so incredibly weird, but grouping together felt safer. Smarter.

Better.

Not in a way Steve wants to put into words. 

Not in a way he wants to confront at all.) 

His parents hadn’t been able to make it home to watch him walk at his graduation--his father landing a last minute meeting with some important person or other. 

Faked apologies were given, money transferred, and Steve, not wanting to sit in his too-huge house, had meandered to Family Video. 

Tried to forget his father’s cold voice in the background of his mother’s call, loudly announcing he’d have made it a priority to see Steve graduate-- if he’d gotten into Penn Hurst. 

Steve just shakes his head. Pushes those thoughts into the back of his head, into the same place all his other weird thoughts live.

The glare he gets from the tall, pimple-ridden guy working the rental counter was expected.

Chrissy Cunningham, was not. 

"I thought you’d be at one of the parties.” He tells her, when he turns down the romance aisle and finds her staring blankly at a shelf. 

She startles, before recognition flits over her face and a warm smile is directed his way. 

“I'm honestly not a fan of parties." She confides in him, hand clutching a tape in her hands."Not those kinds, anyway.” 

"More slumber parties, less keg stands your speed?" Steve guessed, blatantly turning his head sideways in order to read the title.

She awards him with a wider smile. "Exactly." 

"Chrissy Cunningham. Are you renting Jaws?" He teases, leaning in just a touch.

She flushes, but turns and squares up to him. Steve's delighted to see it. 

"Why yes I am. I'll do you one better and even admit it's one of my favorite movies." 

Steve grins at her, and sees the way she lights up on response, eyes bright. 

This is the Chrissy that Carver had tried to kill. The strength and pure fun that radiates off her enhances the beauty she has to something almost otherworldly. 

Steve has seen enough beauty in his life to recognize when it will stay. That Chrissy wil one day be 80 years old, with gray hair and knit sweaters, and she'll still be able to light up a room. 

"Like sharks killing people that much huh?” He teases. And it’s easy, slipping into this part of himself around her. The part he’s been trying to get back. 

The confidence that he walked with, before monsters crawled out of the ground, and Nancy put a hole in his heart.

"I'll let you in on a secret. ." Chrissy leans in, dropping her voice low enough that Steve has to lean in a bit too to hear. "My favorite character is the shark." 

Steve playfully gapes at her, and for the first  time in a long time, feels like things will be okay. 

He’ll be okay.

He won’t be King Steve. He’s not Nancy's Boyfriend Steve either--but someone else. Himself.

A Steve who exists outside of Hawkins High, outside his family name. 

He likes it.

"I told you that was his car. Steve!" A too familiar voice calls and Steve can't mask the despair that hits him as he turns to his (now least) favorite shithead, whose storming through Family Video’s doors. 

"Dustin." He identifies, with an edge to his voice he can only pray Chrissy doesn't pick up on. "Other brats. What are you doing?" 

Mike stands stubbornly at Dustin's right, Lucas nervous at his left. 

Will Byers is situated next to Mike but Steve's not as familiar with him, and has no idea how to interpret the kid. 

If he had to guess based on the face he’s being sent, Will’s more nervous then the rest--but equally determined. 

(This does not make Steve feel better. It in fact, somewhat convinces them they’ve run headfirst back into trouble.) 

"Well we were going to go to Lucas’s, but now, we're bumming a ride from you!" 

"I'm busy." He says flatly. 

"Ste~eeeve!" 

"I didn't know you had a brother." Chrissy says, hand covering her mouth. 

Looking back at her, Steve's pretty sure she's trying to physically hold back laughter. 

If one could shoot lasers with their eyes, Steve would be nailing Dustin for ruining--whatever it was that was happening here. 

"He's a rescue" Steve says flatly. "It’s not working out though. We're planning on returning him to the shelter.” 

"Wow Steve." Dustin returns, offended. "First of all, if anyone's rescuing anyone I rescued you, or did you suddenly forget that you show up to family dinner every Thursday at my house like a sad orpha--mmpphh!" 

‘Mmpphh’ because Steve had taken several long strides across the store to smack his hand over Dustin's mouth. 

"Sorry Chrissy, it would appear the asshole children I am paid to babysit escaped whoever is supposed to be watching them." He shakes Dustins head, in lue of strangling him. “Hit me up later we’ll discuss the shark’s best kills.” 

“Will do.” Chrissy says, as Steve begins the process of shoving his four smaller friends out the door. “Drive safe!” 

“No you don’t, and you’re gonna prove it by swinging through McDonalds for us.” Dustin sing-songs, swinging himself into the passenger side of the Beemer. 

“You assholes owe me, big time.” Steve hisses, as Lucas and Mike instantly begin making kissy faces the second they’re out into the parking lot. "I had plans tonight!"

“Do you have McDonalds money?” Steve asks, only to immediately wince at himself because fuck did he just sound like a soccer mom. 

“I have money I took out of my mom’s wallet.” Mike says as he settles into the car with his friends.

“Fine.” Steve sighs in defeat, starting the car. 

He determinedly does not ask if the idiots walked here, because there is a suspicious lack of bicycles, if only because he hit his mom quota for the day and Steve refuses to say anything else that might edge out his cool persona.

The one he swears he still has.

Supposedly. 

("Does my mom really pay you to watch me?" Dustin asks a while later, when the other brats are distracted. His voice is painfully honest, and softer than it normally is. 

"In food, yes." Steve says, because he’s not that much of an asshole--and maybe, because Dustin is truly his only friend right now.

Steve honestly looks forward to those Thursday dinners, helping Ma Henderson and having her fuss over him in a way his parents never had. 

In a way no one ever had. 

Dustin lands a solid kick to his ankle, making Steve curse. "That's not payment you ass!"

"Ow, God Dustin--" 

"Just admit you're my actual friend, you dick!" 

"Language! I swear your mom stole you from wolves, you animal--" Steve swatted at him. 

Maybe, possibly later, he will go on to admit that yes, Dustin is his friend. 

He will even agree to making up a stupid handshake for it. 

It involves lightsabers and gore at least, which Steve insists is very cool.)

[athousandbyeol]

i can't stop thinking about this scene.

it was so light-hearted. sheng wang was all-smiley after finishing (perhaps multiple rounds) of revising and studying. but the lively atmosphere simmers down into this thick and stifling tension once jiang tian opens his closet.

honestly, if i were sheng wang, i would have so many questions too. why is he packing? is he going somewhere? but where? so, whatever sheng wang is thinking or feeling at the moment is valid (to me, at least, it is.)

i think it has so much to do with sheng wang's expression here (liu dong qin, the actor you are) that breaks my heart into tiny, million pieces.

it's in the way his eyes follows every movement of jiang tian, but particularly directed at the opened luggage, that has me thinking of sheng wang's fear of separation. the trauma he experienced when he was just a little boy.

i can't imagine how he felt when he saw his beloved mother collapsing to the ground—at the age so little to grasp the situation—to comprehend the meaning of sadness and grief and death.

he was broken. he was devastated. but those feelings as a child were just feelings. but the adult sheng wang now understood that those feelings come with bitter memories and realisations that death is inevitable, and death is permanent. his mother won't come back to him no matter how frequently she visits him in his dreams (and wake).

his heavy breathing. his fixated stare. that feeling of abandonment is washing over him again. they're coming in slow, steady and destructive.

so when jiang tian approaches him with the said book that has more extensive questions, he still can't look away. not until jiang tian realises that sheng wang's attention is now elsewhere.

and he finally asks,

i personally adore how benjamin acted this scene out. jiang tian immediately glances over at the luggage, somehow already knowing the context/direction of this conversation. (it's in the subtlety of benjamin's acting here that has me going nuts.)

when sheng wang asks this question, it reminds me of this scene in episode 1,

jiang tian was looming in front of sheng wang's house, wondering if he should stay or leave. possibly his only destination would be uncle ding's house. maybe he has nowhere to go, to be honest.

sheng wang immediately called him, voicing out his thoughts. and the context is similar—are you leaving?

although jiang tian answers sheng wang's question, not leaving him hanging the way he did in episode 1, it's still not enough. the reason being, as of right now, we're knowledgable of sheng wang's past. but what about jiang tian? we know nothing about him. we just know this boy is closed off and distant and cold and grumpy. but why?

these questions are the answers. but sheng wang doesn't know. not yet.

they could have just dropped the conversation here. but this is one of (the many) things i notice about sheng wang: he's always curious. always seeking answers. even in his studies, he would ask crab (i love you, friend) for the solution. and we saw some instances where jiang tian would share the method he used, etc, only to help him. and i think it's being presented at a different light here. sheng wang is waiting. he's waiting for jiang tian to give him answers.

as jiang tian says it's a habit, it might not be the answer sheng wang wanted, but it was needed, at least, only for the night.

it's so overwhelming to me how jiang tian has always been providing sheng wang with safety, happiness, anger, irritation, fun, answers and questions. how susceptible sheng wang is with everything jiang tian is. they are like mirrors reflecting one another. because for me, jiang tian is like a closed book, but i could understand him once i start reading. but sheng wang, he's more layered. he's open but also secretive. he expresses emotions, but not everyone reciprocates and understands him. not until jiang tian.

and i'm no longer sane in the head because of this.

[gomzdrawfr]

good evening Tumblr peeps

I bring you some bunny!Ghost

[monochromeia]

I want fanworks that really lean into the fanon split-spark twin dynamic for the Lambo twins. I want more than just some shared feelings and communicating telepathically. I want shared emotions that go from mild annoyance to a whole violent breakdown in minutes just from the feedback loop of the bond. I want one of them to suddenly give an idea or something that the other was thinking about bc they didn't even realize it wasn't their own thought. I want them to be seperate but whole, two but one. They're their own people, with their own thoughts and feelings and personalities, but also they can't help but sometimes even forget between themselves which one of them is which.

[marymekpop]

⟢ highlight of the hour: love scout [07/12] ⟣

never a burden

[sluttylittlewaistenthusiast]

╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all the fanfics i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) some will have summaries if provided <3

ᡣ𐭩 how you can help palestine . fic recs m.list

@moralesispunk

⭒ Simon is a tummy man

@guttednights

⭒ olderboyfriend!simon

@youronlydarlin

⭒ loser!simon

Just loser!Simon who's unknowingly a sex god

⭒ sucking Simon's dick like crazy

Suckin Simon's dick so good he starts beggin'

⭒ loser!simon who's unaware of just how big he is

⭒ jus suckin simon's dick til hes overstimulated

@undercoverpena

⭒ Keep You Close

he's pretty sure he's in love with you. not that he'll admit it, acknowledge it.

⭒ I'm With You

he knows how he feels, he knows how she feels. yet he fucks it up all the same.

⭒ About Someone, That Isn't You

memories that cloud reality, forcing him to blink them away—finding less glimmer, less shine greeting him as your eyes try to go dull. 

@bingoboingobongo

⭒ In His Eyes

Gaz swears that there’s something going on between you and Ghost. Soap refuses to believe it until he sees it for himself.

@ohmygraves

⭒ After your leave you came back with a ring

memories that cloud reality, forcing him to blink them away—finding less glimmer, less shine greeting him as your eyes try to go dull. 

@peppermint-toads

⭒ The night Simon retires

@oceantornadoo

⭒ Simon in love

simon riley being in love but he actually just doesn’t know it.

@shoukiko

⭒ Ghost vs. Simon

@konigsblog

⭒ hickeys w Simon

@suguann

⭒ Husband!Simon

@slvtforsimon

⭒ bouncing on Simon's cock

@tacticaldiary

⭒ Capture in Tandem | Recovery in Tandem

"I'll give you a choice." He says, cocking the gun. "Shall I put a bullet through you, or her?"

⭒ A Fighting Chance | Frayed Stitches Don't Hold

"When was the last time you kissed me and meant it?" Her voice drops into something akin to defeat.

⭒ It All Comes Crashing Down

She presses the metal radio against her lipa and mumbles her final words, hoping that although he has not spoken, he would hear.

@halcyone-of-the-sea

⭒ Til It Hurts | part 2

You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?

⭒ Harvest Storms

In the process of trying to keep you happy and separate from him, he was leading you down the exact path he had tried to steer you from.

⭒ Another Word for Protection

Simon Riley x Niece!reader (platonic series)

⭒ Black Metal Bourbon

⭒ Between Dreams and Sugars

Your screams will haunt his dreams until the day he dies.

@lovelyghst

⭒ soft tummy simon riley

@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world

⭒ The Roomate Series

Three years ago you decided to go to college after being out of high school for so long but the only problem was that you needed a place to stay. You found an ad about someone needing a roommate for their apartment and ended up becoming roommates with a man named Simon Riley.

[ethan-acfan]

I need more fics of post violent bleeding effect episodes. I wanna see the after effects of Desmond having to be injected with a high power sedative. I wanna see everyone sitting in a weary silence after Desmond passed out before slowly returning to their desks while Lucy files the incident report. I want to see Desmond waking up, still drugged out of his mind, and while the things he says are funny, nobody really laughs at them since they know he's only saying them because of the sedative.

[decojellyfish]

It's okay, love ♡

Hope you guys enjoy this one! Gaz needed a proper one, not just a drabble :) If you have any constructive criticism, please comment below! If you have any requests, or just want to say stuff to me, feel free to submit stuff!

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Harpee Hawk! Gaz x Harpee Dove! Fem! Reader Both of you are nervous on your first date together :3

SFW ~ An odd combination of fluff, then angst, then fluff again :) Warnings: N/A

───♡───────────── Beginning You were waiting at the reserved table at the restaurant where you had planned to meet your date, fingers nervously fidgeting with the fabric of your dress. Your anxiety about being set up makes you glance at the time on your phone every 5 seconds. It was 2 minutes passed your agreed meeting time. You try to subtly fan yourself with your hand, nervousness setting in and making your skin slightly perspire and your white feathered wings twitch ever so slightly in anticipation.

Then you saw him. He came slightly rushing in, he knew he was a little late. You could see in his face. Although he was afar, at the entryway, you could see a slight glint of guilt in his eyes. He was scanning the restaurant for your face, but he spotted you because of your shiny, soft wings instead.

It made your stomach fill with enough butterflies to make a bug collector jealous with how his face suddenly lit up and he began to make his way to your table.

He spoke your name as he approached, almost in disbelief. He was just as astounded as you were as you took in each other’s beauty. It was kind of a brief awkward silence, which you two realized as you looked away from each other with a light blush dusted upon your cheeks.

“I-I’m Kyle.” He spoke, still in awe of your presence, as he held out his hand to you. You responded with your name, as well, and held his hand. You thought it was a handshake, although that would’ve been awfully business-like for a romantic date until he began to raise your hand to his face and he gently kissed your knuckles.

He looked at you the whole time, with you practically melting at the way his half-lidded eyes gazed into yours that were wide open at the surprise.

He then sat himself down in the seat across from you, “Sorry, love, f’ bein’ late. Traffic was complete chaos out there.” He chuckled, making you smile and laugh as well. “It’s okay, at least you showed up late rather than not at all.” You responded, adjusting the shoulder strap of your dress.

“Have you ordered anything yet?” “No, I was kind of waiting on you. I was just gonna wait until about 20 minutes passed our agreed time before I just ordered something or just went home.” You both laughed, a waitress soon approached your table and requested your order.

After you two had placed your orders, she left and you were left alone with each other again. You both stared at each other for a moment before he was the first one to speak up.

“You’re dress looks lovely. It goes well with your wings.” Kyle smiled, you could almost melt with the way his eyes shifted to the feathered protrusions in your back. His brown eyes began to sparkle with admiration before they returned to your face. “You look lovely…” He spoke softly, but loud enough for you to hear him.

You had never really made it this far when it came to a date, either being ghosted or stood up, or your date making you so uncomfortable that you say you’re off to the bathroom when, in reality, you’re booking it out of the agreed spot and going home. Something about the thought of someone caring for you so much that they would kiss you, greet you every morning, comfort you every night, and take you off on an adventure to experience new things together.

It felt so foreign to you. But with Kyle, you could feel the love radiating off of him. Honestly, it terrified you. This felt strange, weird, scary. Scary that you had never gotten this far, scary that you didn’t know what to do or where to go from here.

So you did what felt familiar.

You grabbed your purse, stood up, and spoke the words that felt like a safety blanket to you. “I-I just need to use the restroom for a bit, is that okay…?” “Oh, of course, love. I’ll be right here when you get back.”

He was oblivious, only an understanding smile appearing on his face. It made your heart almost shatter with guilt. But it was the only way you wouldn’t become an emotionally terrified wreck in front of the gorgeous piece of art that sat across from you.

Walking away from the table, you went in the direction of the bathroom, constantly checking over your shoulder to make sure he couldn’t see you before abruptly changing direction and going towards the entrance. You grabbed your coat, quickly putting it on as the host thanked you for coming to the establishment.

You didn’t say a word, quickly shooting a glance over your shoulder at the two-person table. Kyle still obliviously waiting for your return. You felt a burning lump in your throat, tears pricking at your eyes as you couldn’t bear to watch. You were setting up this man’s beautiful heart to be broken. All because you were scared of what actual love felt like, having been denied it for so long.

You swiftly left, already beginning to hiccup, and blinked back your tears. You didn’t want him to see you abandoning him through the windows, so you shot up into the sky and began to fly back home.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“They’re just in the bathroom, they’ll be out in a minute.” Kyle smiled up at the waitress as she served your food across from him. Once she left, he softly muttered to himself, “Hopefully…” before glancing over at the bathroom with a small sigh. He held his hands together in his lap, trying to calm himself down. It had been 24 minutes. Kyle didn’t know what had happened to you.

Maybe you were having stomach issues? But how could they have been so bad that it kept you almost 30 minutes in the restroom? The worst idea that he had popped up in his head was that you had gotten hurt in the bathroom and needed dire help. But that one was also the most unlikely, so he pushed it to the back of his head.

It’s been 32 minutes since you announced that you needed the restroom, he didn’t want the food to get cold. He took a small bite of it, surely he could explain once you got back that he didn’t want to eat cold food that had originally been served warm.

It’s been an hour and 3 minutes since you had left. Kyle had eaten part of his food, not even half of it. He was too worried about what had happened to you. Why you left him. He looked at the plate of perfectly untouched food that was probably cold now.

He was holding his face in his hands, wondering what he had done wrong to make you have this reaction, when the waitress approached him and asked about the bill.

“It looks like I’ll be the one paying f’ it huh?” He responded, defeated. He took the bill from her, quickly speaking up before she left him alone. “And can I get two boxes f’ these?” She responded with a yes and a nod.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It wasn’t that difficult for him to find your address, he had just asked through the grapevine of people he knew definitely were in contact with you. He knew how creepy it was, but he just wanted to make sure you had gotten your uneaten food. That’s all.

Kyle landed outside of your townhouse, walking up the steps and knocking on your door. He hoped you at least had made it home safe.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You were still sniffling from your crying session. You felt like such a fool for leaving what seemed to be a perfect man in the dark like that. You felt so many emotions all at once, even as you tried to compose yourself in your pajamas, and snuggled up in your bed as some pitiful attempt of physically comforting yourself. Shame, embarrassment, fear, confusion, helplessness, and frustration with yourself.

You nearly gasped in horror when you heard a knock on your front door. Tears rushed to your eyes, that stupid look you always developed when you were about to cry made its way to your face again. You waited, hoping, praying that whoever it was would just leave you alone.

But it came again, somewhat more frantic than the first time. It felt oddly like a ‘worried’ knock. You sighed, grabbed another tissue, and lazily tried to clean yourself up, this person wasn’t going, were they?

You got out of bed, your wings slightly twitching as they stretched out. They had been stuck in a position that was slightly wrapped protectively around you as you were crying. Your wing muscles were aching, and it took you up until now to notice how stressed they were.

Shuffling down the stairs, you just wanted to be left alone which was why you didn’t bother to look out the windows by your front door.

Your front door opened, Kyle felt relieved that you were okay, you nearly got a heart attack when you saw him on your front step. Here come those tears, already severely blurring your vision, obscuring his worried face once he saw you begin to cry at the mere sight of him.

“You kind of forgot your food, love…” He softly chuckled and handed you a styrofoam box, your shaky hands taking it. “You alright…? ‘M sorry if it was anything I said that made you feel the need to-” “I-I’m sorry…” You whimpered out through trembling breaths and uncontrolled hiccups.

Kyle looked at you, his eyes growing sympathetic as he watched how you just crumbled right in front of him. It made him want just to hold you, cup the back of your head, and whisper into your ear ‘It’ll be okay’. 

“I-I’m sorry for-... for just leaving you like that!” You desperately explained, your tears now already rolling down your face, down your cheeks, and down your neck. You didn’t know where to put your take-out box so you just awkwardly held it as you used one hand to wipe at your face.

He looked at you, taking a small breath before stepping into your home and gently taking the box from you. He set it down on a nearby table where you kept your shoes and a vase of flowers. Then he turned back to you and gingerly took your hands in his, looking into your red, puffy, watery eyes.

“It’s alright, love, I forgive you… but there must’ve been a reason you did it…” He was gentle with his words, they felt like a hug almost.  “Was there…?”

You sniffled and glanced up at him as you thought of an explanation. “I-I guess I’m just… just afraid of actual love…? As stupid as it sounds…” you sniffled, your shoulders quivering along with your breaths as you tried to calm down. You gave a small awkward, kind of desperate laugh.

Kyle softly chuckled, “‘Fraid of love…? That sounds awful…” he would gently plant a light peck against your knuckles. “How long have you had philiphobia…?” he asked with a small smile. This time, you let out a real laugh. Small, but real. “What’s that…?”

“The irrational fear of love…” His words were so smooth, soft, and velvety as he said that. It felt strange, but like a strange comfort, almost. You took some time to think. “Well, I’m not exactly terrified of it… more like, I’m just unnerved by the prospect of it…”

“Still, how long have you been bothered by it…?” You really started to dig deep into your memory, trying to figure out where it all began.

“I guess… I guess when people started to make a big deal about getting into relationships… I suppose all the way back in elementary, I just wanted nothing to be loved… romantically loved. I never really got that, in any of my school years, and now I’ve just… kind of grown distant to the idea of being loved…?”

“And yet you still reach out for it, love. You’re in the dating pool, you still want love…”

“Yeah… I guess I do…” you mumbled to yourself. He looked at you, moving a bit of hair that had stuck to your face via crying. “Mind if I show you just a little bit…? Not a kiss, but I still want to give you the romantic love you desire…”

You paused, in thought, debating internally on whether or not you accept his proposal. Maybe it was time you did something you were afraid of. I mean, exposure therapy is there for a reason, right?

You give him a small nod, and you see him light up like a warm candle, a comforting light within the cold darkness of night. He then opened up his wings and proceeded to wrap them around you, pulling you closer to him. His coffee-brown feathers gently brushed and rubbed against your ivory ones. He then held you closer with his own arms.

Those muscular arms that silently screamed, ‘I will protect you with every fiber of my being’. One hand resided at one of your shoulder blades and the other cusped against the back of your head.

You both stayed like that for a bit. And you finally let yourself just be. Just be in love. Just relax into the comfort of the loving embrace of one harpee to another. Your eyelids would begin to droop shut, your body relaxing in the warmth of Kyle’s love. You could hear it, in the way he breathed, that he was smiling once he felt you relax into him.

“How’s this, love…?”

“...I like it.”

“You sure? You just like it?” He quietly chuckled.

“Yeah… I love it.” ───♡───────────── End