#every time i see him he’s wearing less and less

[radioactiverats]

Mentor Starscream x reader!seeker (9/?)

Starscream has somehow… gotten you a new set of wings (don’t question it don’t question it). Your suffering at the hands of Megatron is the last straw, acting as the trigger point for Starscream’s first attempt to assassinate Megatron. It goes as well as you’d think. There is a cave involved.

It is 3am BUT one more ramble before my week of holidays end (sob sob)!!

—

The feeling that something is wrong stirs you back to the land of the living.

Your frame feels... off.

For some reason, you feel heavier than usual, and you struggle to make sense of the freshly pinging sensors in your... new set of wings.

You have a new set of wings.

You hear a voice - Knockout? - shouting in alarm as you scramble up with a clatter to inspect a set of wings that aren't yours. Not your paint. Not in a shape you recognised. Not yours, not yours, not yours - it feels so wrong to be bolted to someone else, someone you don’t know - where did these come from? The thought slams with dizzying force into your processor and you fall still, suddenly icy with terror. You're wearing a dead bot's wings. The realisation launches you into a blind panic. “Get them off!” You screech, vocaliser glitching. Any way you move, you can see them, feel them - had wings always been so heavy? Knockout’s servos on your freshly repaired, overly sensitive frame only drive you even further into a frenzy even as he’s trying to stop you from tearing at your wings - shouting into his comm over the cacophony of terror that rings through your processor. Just as you think you’re really going to lose it, you’re all at once bathed in the reassurance of a familiar EM field, which douses the worst of your panic. You slowly become aware of thrumming warmth around you, red and blue paint, a neon orange cockpit. Arms cradling you tightly, as if afraid you were going to fall apart, and the low croon of Vosian in your audials. Starscream.

You immediately latch onto him, greedily soaking in the comfort of his EM field. There’s no doubt you’re making a mess of his frame with coolant and energon but Starscream pays it no mind. He pulls you onto his lap, a large servo cupping the back of your helm to securely tuck your faceplate into his neck as you shudder against him, frame wracked with sobs.

“No more pain,” Starscream murmurs, and you allow yourself to be soothed by the high trills and clicks of your native tongue. Comfort doesn’t last long, though - you involuntarily press closer to Starscream, and that tiny movement sends a sense of wrongness shooting through your frame, clumsy with a heaviness you’re not used to - reminding you all over again that you have someone else’s wings.

“It feels wrong,” You hiccup, “My wings - what happened to my wings-?”

Starscream’s arms tighten around you.

“I promised you would fly again,” He murmurs. “These are your wings now.”

“B-but how?”

You go still in his grasp, stiff as a board. “Who?”

The servo stroking your helm stills.

The few nanokliks where you hold your breath, awaiting his answer, are tortuous.

“…Long gone.”

You pull back to look at him properly. Worry twists his sharp features, but his optics hold yours steadily.

Your servos dig into his arms. “Promise?”

Behind you, you don’t see Knockout turn away to hide the expression on his faceplate. One of you is accustomed to lying, and it’s not Knockout.

Starscream’s answering rasp is gentle as it is hypnotic.

“…Promise.”

You have no reason not to trust him.

——

Everything after you leave Knockout’s med bay feels strangely normal. There is no ‘aftermath’, no dramatic change to the status quo. You are merely another statistic in Megatron’s ever-growing list of cruel deeds.

The only difference is that Starscream is strangely jumpy. He’s constantly tense, on high alert every time you hear pedesteps outside your shared habsuite - deliberately evasive, and somehow, you see even less of him than you usually do.

No one gives you a hard time, either. It’s all so weirdly normal that you’re more or less prepared to shrug it off, pass it off as another busy period - perhaps Megatron is planning another offensive. The ghostly pains that flash through your frame aren’t that bad, and it wouldn’t be the first time you barely get to see Starscream, anyway.

That is, until you’re circling the grassy plain in your altmode one evening, prepared to finish your training for the day. You’d been spending more time trying to get used to your new wings - broader wingspan, greater speed - flying feels better than ever, but from high above the ground, you spot him next to your landing pad. Waiting for you.

You land, precisely, perfectly, the way he taught you. You hope he’s pleased - but instead of the approval you hoped for, there’s something strange in his expression as he watches you.

“Listen carefully,” Starscream rasps. His frame is still, even as a gust of wind ruffles the Terran grass around you. “Go to these coordinates. Do not let yourself be found at any cost.”

You hadn’t wanted to admit it for a while, but he’s frightening you.

“Sir?”

Starscream’s optics are strangely bright, glittering with an unsettling sheen.

“Now.”

You want to argue. Want to insist he tell you what’s been eating away at him for countless solar cycles. But the way he looks at you is almost pleading. Needing you to play your part in whatever he’s planned. Even as you take to the air, his optics never leave yours. His severe posture, his unreadable expression, are burned into your processor as you speed to the coordinates he’s given you, even as you can’t shake the unsettling feeling.

The coordinates he’s given you lead to energon mine, a cave system so far off the grid for both Terrans and Cybertronians alike that you actually feel relatively secure being here. How had Starscream even known about this location? Another thought springs unbidden to your processor.

Had he been keeping this location from Megatron?

A prickling feeling of unease crawls up your spinal strut. I mean, you know this is not normal. None of this has ever been normal. But a cave? Which was starting to feel more and more like a hideout?

Solar cycles pass. You desperately try to keep yourself from succumbing to panic by tasking yourself to dig raw energon from the rocky walls of the cave, a repetitive activity that keeps you just the least bit grounded. You should never have left Starscream alone. Surely he would come for you. Surely he was okay.

You get your answer a few joors later in the form of an explosive comm. Knockout’s voice blasts tersely into your audials.

“-treason. Failed attempt to assassinate Megatron. Stand by.”

Suddenly, the abundance of energon you’d dug out seemed lacking for the imminent disaster.

Treason?

There was no way. There was no way Starscream would go to such lengths - their was no way he had tried to -

Had he?

The acrid smell of spilt energon and the screaming roar of engines on full speed give you your answer.

Knockout staggers into view as he more or less drags Starscream’s limp frame into the cave. You can barely recognise your commander with the amount of energon that coats his battered frame, and you choke back a sob as you stumble forwards to meet them.

“Megatron knew,” Knockout says through gritted denta, as he lowers Starscream to the ground. “Starscream tried to - he wanted to take over. But Soundwave found out.”

Knockout’s yanking an assortment of medical tools from his subspace, tools clattering across the cold floor.

“His null ray may as well have been useless because Megatron saw it coming. But he decided to repay Starscream in kind.” The smoking hole in Starscream’s chassis tells you all you need to know.

“These are all the tools I can spare without drawing suspicion. As of now, Megatron thinks that Starscream managed to get away from base, but has sustained life-threatening injuries in the process and therefore… will succumb sooner or later.”

The look he gives you is apologetic, knowing, and regretful all at once. “My intake is sealed, cadet,” He says.

“I hope we meet again, if Primus wills it.”

With a squeal of tires, Knockout is gone.

That leaves only you and Starscream. Starscream, who has a gaping hole in his chassis and is losing energon fast.

“Oh, frag,” You chant, throwing yourself at Knockout’s medical supplies, “Frag, frag, frag - ”

Starscream twitches, a pained frown on his faceplate - had he heard that?

“Stay with me,” You mutter, as you finally find the tool you’re looking for. Thank Primus for Ratchet. Factions be damned, you’ll send him a fragging gift basket if Starscream pulls through. Knockout had left you a jar of nanites - you frantically dump all of them into the jagged hole that mars Starscream’s chassis, so dangerously close to his spark - and pray that his self-repairing mechanisms kick into gear as you get to work.

By some miracle, his frame doesn’t reject your attempts to fix him - but it’s only joors later that you dare to hope that he’ll make it, after all. The gaping hole left my Megatron’s cannon looks better, if you can call it that - no longer as devastating now that you’ve soldered wires and fuel lines back together, waiting for mesh to knit itself together again. Now, you just need him to wake up because the rapidly growing pool of energon beneath him isn’t doing your nerves any favours and he had to be online to ingest the energon you’d dug out, replenish his drained systems.

Exhausted, you desperately wave a chunk of raw energon in front of his faceplate.

“Sir. Sir, it’s me. Wake up!”

You put it down to the chunk of energon, but by some divine intervention, Starscream’s systems do sputter to life immediately after - he immediately groans when the pain inevitably hits, but it’s much more manageable compared to the last memory stored in his processor. Megatron raising his cannon, optics cold. Searing heat in his chassis before the explosion of agony, crumpling to the ground, energon pouring over his servos, restraints, unforgiving blows, pain, pain, pain - “Sir!”

His optics snap open.

Your faceplate above his, frantic. It’s you. You’re safe. He’s not there anymore.

“Where - ?”

“The coordinates you gave me.” Starscream can see that you’re trying incredibly hard to keep it together, plates drawn tight and frame quivering. There’s a streak of energon on your faceplate - his? Before he can think, he’s reaching a trembling servo up to cup your faceplate, thumb stroking over your cheek. “It’s been a few solar cycles.”

Coolant - is that coolant dripping down your faceplate? You lean into his servo, unable to hold back an ex-vent of relief at the warmth of his frame - proof that he’s still alive.

“I’m here,” He rumbles, as if you’re the one who needs reassuring, as if he’s not the one with a smoking hole in his chassis. “Told you I wouldn’t be so easy to get rid of, didn’t I?”

A lame attempt at normalcy, but it seems to work - you huff out a weak laugh, shaking your helm as you reach for a roll of bandages.

“I just welded these,” You say. “We don’t have Knockout anymore, so it’s probably better to keep your welds bandaged while they’re fresh.”

Ah. That was another question that had been brewing in Starscream’s processor as he slowly came back online. Knockout had fixed the hole in his chassis, right? He was the only one who had the knowledge to do so - and yet, glancing around the cave, bandages and medical tools were strewn haphazardly around, as if they’d been left in a hurry. Knockout’s perfectionist streak would never have allowed that. There’s something he’s missing here. His optics slide to you, your glossa poking out and faceplate furrowed in concentration as you wrap his arm.

With a critical eye, Starscream watches you work for a few kliks. “When did your bandaging get to be passably neat?”

You freeze, mid-wrap.

Well. He’s in no condition to whoop your aft. You might as well come clean, since you’re more or less on your own side right now.

“I asked Ratchet to teach me,” You mutter.

Starscream stiffens.

“…The Autobot medic?”

Oh boy.

“The one and only.”

“How-? You can’t have - oh.”

Abruptly, Starscream falls silent. Rendering him speechless is no easy task, but you’re not sure whether this is the right time for celebration.

“That was what you were doing.”

You resolutely do not meet his optics, stubbornly continuing to bandage his welds.

Too weak to hide it, his EM field tells you all you need to know, anyway.

Static distorts his vocaliser as his voice rises in a screech. “How could you be so reckless?”

Even while prone and severely injured, it seems that the idea of you in danger is enough to spur him back to life. Maybe you should have recounted your misadventures to him earlier.

“And for what?” Starscream continues to rant. “What if they’d kept you captive? What if they tortured you? Did you even think about what happens to prisoners of war - ”

“It worth it,” You interrupt, “because it was for you.”

Silence descends abruptly upon you both.

You chance a look at Starscream - his intake is hanging open, optics wide. It would be funny, if it weren’t for the severe injuries and the whole cave and treason situation.

…Okay, so maybe it is a little bit funny. Meanwhile, Starscream’s systems have more or less gone haywire - you hear the telltale sound of a reboot.

Him?

You -

You got yourself captured -

For him.

For - had you been anticipating this?

He’d never questioned how you managed to repair him every time, when all the puzzle pieces were right in front of him.

Yet another thing he had failed to factor in.

…Did you really care that much? Was he really worth so much to you?

He’s definitely spiralling. Worriedly, you wave a servo in front of his faceplate.

“Hello? Earth to Commander Starscream.”

Starscream’s optics cycle and narrow in, razor-sharp, onto your faceplate.

You brace yourself for another scolding - but unexpectedly, just when you think he’s about to bust a fuel line, a tired ex-vent is all that leaves him.

“I told you I’d find out eventually.”

You remain silent, unsure what he wants to hear from you.

“The truth, cadet,” Starscream says, optics narrowed. Almost as if he could hear your thoughts - then again, he’d always been able to read you easily.

“You did the repairs? All by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Because Ratchet taught you?”

“…Yes.”

“Because you snuck off to learn how to do so.”

The last one sounds more like a statement than a question, but you defiantly lift your chin, meeting his optics to answer anyway.

“Yes.”

Come what may, you need him to know you don’t regret your decision. Today has simply proved to you that your gamble had paid off.

After a moment, Starscream ex-vents, but reaches a servo out to you - you help him sit up, leaning against a rock, and his servos gently curl around your wrist to pull you into a delicate embrace.

“One day I’m going to have a spark attack if you keep worrying me like that,” He scolds, but it’s gentle. Even now, worrying about you, as if he’s not the one who’s grievously injured right now.

You mash your faceplate against his good shoulder. Silence is the best option right now, you think. The second-best option is to make sure Starscream fuels up on enough energon to finish self-repairs, and you are a mech of many talents, so you grope blindly around for a chunk of raw energon and shove it in the general direction of Starscream’s intake.

Muffled sounds of indignant outrage tell you you’ve probably hit your mark. Whether out of necessity or to humour you, Starscream accepts it anyway.

The colour of his frame is looking much better, but he’ll need a few solar cycles at least to regain full functionality.

When you meet Starscream’s optics again, you know that you’re both thinking the same thing - you’ve bought yourselves precious time to consider your next steps.

Previous / Previous bonus / Next

[bitebitekxll]

Do they purr - genshin non-humans

៚ Zhongli ✧ Xiao ✧ Wanderer ✧ Albedo ✧ Venti

Notes: Holy hell how do I have 50 followers??? THANK YOU EVERYONE FOR SUPPORTING MY SILLY MUSINGS. This literally was just my way to learn how to write smut and post self-indulgent head canons but I’m glad people are enjoying this with me :DDDD

𝐙𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐈 ᥫ᭡

Yes, 100%. He will deny it every time but lay on this man’s chest, maybe press a kiss to his jaw, and his chest is going like a fucking engine. He will insist that it’s not a purr, it’s simply a content growl— or perhaps a rumble, at most. He isn’t some measly cat, after all, he is a mighty dragon, the Prime Adeptus—

It’s definitely a purr.

Get him a cat ear hairband. He will give you the most long-suffering, unamused look while he wears them, but he will wear them. Anything for his beloved ♡~

𝐗𝐈𝐀𝐎 ᥫ᭡

No, unfortunately. You have found no evidence that your stone-faced Yaksha is capable of emitting a purr, or purr-like sound (though certainly not for lacking of trying).

However… there is the matter of whether he is able to trill or coo like a bird, given that is his true nature.

He gets annoyed when you ask him, adamant that is not something he can do, and how dare you even entertain such a notion. Have you no respect for the adepti? Hmph.

…but you swear you’ve heard him chirp when you catch him off guard: kissing him without warning or praising him unabashedly.

It seems this will require further investigation.

𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀 ᥫ᭡

Not purring, but whirring!! Got this idea from @seabirdtxt ‘s Glitch in Irminsul fic (it’s SAGAU focused on the diff vers of scara existing at the same time, go read it it’s great) and it just makes so much sense to me.

As a mechanical puppet, and an advanced one at that, Scara has tons of machinery going on inside of him. Though it usually can’t be heard, if you get especially close to his chest— a privilege only reserved for you and maybe Nahida during hugs —you can hear the whirring and clicking of his moving parts inside. It doesn’t sound the same as a purr, not exactly, but it’s pretty damn close.

Most of the time it’s pretty faint, but sometimes Scara might just make it louder— it’s got nothing to do with the way your face lights up or how you smile when you hear it, don’t be stupid.

Of course, the only way he can make the noise louder is by overworking his system, making the parts inside move faster than they’re supposed to. If he does it too much or for too long, well…

You’ll know it’s time to lecture him on taking better care of himself when he starts burning up. Overheating is the first sign he’s about to overload his system and shut down (or from everyone else’s perspective: pass out).

You’re the only one who can make him stupid enough to be willing to break his own mechanisms just to see that adorable ridiculous expression on your face. (He might come back to his senses in a petulant huff if you start calling him a cat, tho)

𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐎 ᥫ᭡

Sadly, purring is not a feature homunculi come with. But this is Albedo we’re talking about, he can definitely figure it out.

He won’t tell you just what idea you’ve sparked with your question— you always worry when he starts self-experimenting —but it’ll be fine! He takes all the necessary precautions, limits any risk, because there’s always some risk in life, and downs a concoction or two in his quest to see if he can change the makeup of his own body. As an artificial life form, he’s less delicate than an organic one, so he doesn’t need to worry about pesky issues like rearranging his (non-existent) organs in a fatal manner.

And it works! Well, sort of. You come back home to a boyfriend that is fully capable of purring!! And also!! Has, uh, cat ears…

Albedo would consider it a success— he accomplished his goal, even if there were a few side effects. And you get a pretty catboy equipped with the cute, twitching ears and a fuzzy blonde tail; everybody wins! ♡

Of course, there’s always the chance his experiment just turns him into a cat entirely… but it wears off after a day or so, so it’s not the worst thing Albedo’s done to himself.

Either way, congratulations, he can now purr for the next 24 hours. And regardless of his cat-to-boy ratio, he will be expecting pets. Get to it~

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈 ᥫ᭡

He has bird vocalisations! Except he’s worse at hiding it then Xiao may or may not be. It’s not outright chirping, but it is a cooing trill in the back of his throat, too vibrational to be a regular hum.

It’s the sound he makes when he’s perfectly content, laying in a warm patch of sun on the soft grass, sat atop a roof with alcohol warming his veins, and curled up in your arms, round cheek smushed against your chest. He takes in a deep breath, filling his lungs with your scent, and then releasing it in a sigh, accompanied by the musical tones of his little trill.

He makes shorter ones when he’s pleasantly surprised; when you unexpectedly toss him an apple or pat his head. He’ll grin or lean into the touch and make that sound in his throat. Too quiet to be heard by the people around you over the din of the town, but you’ll hear it. It’s a sound just for you ♡

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Cater Diamond: Woke Up Lookin’ Like This

The way that goofy diamond mascot follows Cater into his various outfits 💀

dbsjgejeje Can’t believe he’s being an beauty guru/influencer showing off makeup products and shooting a GRWM vid in his groovy… OTL

Rise and Shine!

Looking like you have it together is far different than actually having it together.

Some days—like today—Cater had trouble getting himself out of bed. He always did in the end, but with great effort, like lugging a sack of potatoes to the washroom. A splash of ice-cold water often did the trick, rousing him awake and adding a faint flush or pink to his face.

But color is a flaw. Imperfect. No pure diamond has splotches of another color tainting it.

He’d paint over his half-dead canvas with cleanser, toner, serum, and moisturizer. Skincare was less routine and more ritual for him. A special magic charm, complete with an incantation muttered to himself.

Smile already. You’re never fully dressed without it.

By the time he patted himself dry, his face managed to settle into its usual arrangement. The upward curve of his lips, a friendly sparkle set in his eyes, tangerine waves pushed back by a headband to show off the mask he wore. This was “himself”—the thinnest sliver of Cater he showed the world.

He plopped down on at the foot his bed. His phone was mounted on a tripod, and just out of camerashot were various pieces of equipment. Extra lights, reflectors—tricks to flatter him. To distract, deceive. Even the placement of the plushies on his bed had been arranged for maximum visual appeal in the eye of the camera.

Aaand… action.

The recording started.

Cater flashed a huge grin and waved to his phone. “Gooood morning, Magicam fam! How’re you doing today?”

His spectators were, of course, no one. Not now, at least. He’d have to edit this footage later, tweak and fine tune it to achieve perfection before releasing it to the public. Then he would lap up that sweet, addictive validation.

And so he donned that mask once more, playing to his imaginary audience.

“Hahah, you guys are so silly.” He playfully tossed a few of his locks. “Did you think Cay-kun woke up like this? It takes effort to look this good!”

Cater winked, pointing at his audience members. “You can do it too! I’ll walk you through my base makeup routine 🎵”

He held up a slim grey tube, his palm acting as its backstop to keep the camera focused on it. Other products were neatly lined up before him like a procession of card soldiers.

“Lately, I’ve been really gravitating to this beand new UV primer! Have you heard of it? It literally just came out this month. I got my hands on it as soon as I could and I’ve been wearing it every day since!”

Cater rattled off the benefits and uses of the primer: UV protection, dewy—not greasy (this difference was important) finish, great coverage, evening skin tone. “You can put powder on top or dab it on with a tissue over a full face of makeup and it still looks good! This is sure to go viral ⭐️”

He was in the middle of a demonstration when the knocking came. Cater startled, smearing a blob of product across one cheek.

“Aaah, shoot…!”

He scrambled for his phone, cutting off the recording. Then Cater shot up, rushing to his door while rubbing the primer into his skin.

"Coming...! Wait just a sec!" he called.

An aside, to consult his reflection in the mirror and ensure that every last bit of product had been pressed in. His skin was left supple and glowing, giving the impression of a guy that hadn't spent the last hour before drifting off doomscrolling and commenting on shallow posts. A guy that had it all together.

Cater slicked back a stray strand of hair and braced himself for his next act. The door swung open, revealing you and your school bag.

“Mornin’~! You’re up bright and early!” he chirped, casually leaning against the doorframe. “Wasn’t expecting you to be over so soon.”

“Oh—well, I wanted to see if I could catch you without your full face on.” You squinted at him. “Wow, did you really wake up looking like this?"

Cater gave a laugh that was light and effortless. "What do you think?" he asked teasingly. An expert dodging of the question--not the truth, but not quite a lie either.

You bit your lower lip, considering it. "Come on. Nobody's that perfect. Even Vil-senpai has to work hard to be the way he is."

You took a step toward him, and he backed up. One foot rested on that line dividing his room from the rest of Heartslabyul. You teetered there, as if on a tightrope. One more step, and you'd breach into his territory--his room, his most intimate place.

"... What's your secret?"

My secret?

He had many. Too many. They writhed like worms inside of him, those ugly pieces that shrank from the sunshine.

Cater turned away, plucking up another tube of product. He squeezed a dollop onto his index finger. "What's the fun in giving it away? I think..."

His arm shot out, poking you in the chin.

"... It's more fun to give chase! If you spot a white rabbit hopping around, you'd be curious about where it's going, right?"

Your reached for where he had marked you. Your fingers came away moist with a thick cream. With a sigh, you rubbed at it, the cream vanishing into your skin.

"You're impossible."

Cater smiled--perhaps for the first real time since he had woken up. "That's one impossibility! Come up with five more before breakfast and maybe I'll be nice enough to give you a hint~"

[really-burnt-toast]

Hi! Can you tell us more about your head canons for Fena and the other special followers you drew a bit back?

You don't know how excited I was to answer this! 🙏

Please allow me to ramble a little, because I decided Im going to go through every NPC / OC I made for cotl, specifically my au!

These are them all! I decided to finally get around to drawing Echo, Latra and the concept for Nalen too!

Imma be writing down a brief history of them along with fun facts/head canons (who are technically canon).

(all of that under cut, tw; mentions of abuse and death) (I may have missed something. Also brief mention of fertility struggles.)

Fena

Let's start with Fena first, cuz she's a fan favorite!

Fena was born in Darkwood within a big family that was traditional and mainly worshipped the old faith for protection. Their village was often the target of wolves (who have connections to the teeth in the darkness). During one of these attacks, the Villagers had to evacuate and thus, Fena's family were forcefully split up. Fena and their sibling had to spend days trying to get to another village, but were caught at night once again. Fena managed to get "rescued" by the old faith - only to be offered as a sacrifice to Leshy. Mellia (my Lamb) saved her. Fena is currently the head of disciples and Loyalty enforcement.

Fun facts: Fena is a trans woman. Fena was once married to Thorantre but got divorced. Fena is Mellia's favorite follower. Fena's sibling was later rescued by the Lamb. Fena has Cynophobia (fear of dogs and canines), but it's most aggressive against Wolves. Fena currently thinks Thyma is a spy.

Other hcs: Jumpy, definitely the type to get scared and then act all tough. Loves her body and is a proud lust rite champion (why she wears a flower crown). Unhealthily cautious. Horrible at flirting. Would probably crack someone's rib while attempting to. Kinda like the thought of her getting too obsessed with finding info about Thyma and then eventually she realizes they have lots in common... Like fuck, that guy is kinda funny and cool but also, he's definitely going to kill someone.

Thyma (real name unknown)

Thyma's story, as per they claim, is;

They were raised in Darkwood by their family/pack and one day an "incident" occured which left their family dead. The Lamb rescued them and promised safety. Thyma is not willing to speak any further on it. He is currently Night patrol and trying to dispel any distrust put against him.

Fun facts: Thyma is a Demiboy, born afab. Thyma has Nyctophobia (fear of the dark) and Insomnia. They chose to be a night guard to be alert at night. They also wear the Moon necklace to be awake 24/7. If they sleep, they do so in the day. Thyma has permanent markings on his face that cannot be removed. He is medically noted to suffer from hallucinations.

(More story to be revealed soon)

Other hcs: Sarcasm king. Also King of internal panic. Definitely gets horrible period cramps. Gets sick of seeing blood. Probably tried going vegan to look less suspicious but ended up horribly sick and malnourished. Tucks tail whenever Fena is near. Besties with Agana. Acts cool and stoic but is actually kinda pathetic. Monologues to himself when patrolling. Stares at bright lights, despite being told it could blind them.

Thorantre

Thorantre was also born in Darkwood. During the Genocide, his family were often harmed due to being mistaken for Sheep-kin. After the death of multiple family members, Thorantre decided to protest against the old faith and stand for the protection of Sheep. For his spreading of "propaganda", he was going to be put to the blade but was fortunate to be trialed at the same time as Mellia was beheaded. They rescued him and he became their first ever follower.

Fun facts: Short-fused and dramatic. Has canonically killed another follower during a petty fight. Doesn't really do his job as a disciple and is only still a disciple for Mellia's sake. Often mistaken for a sheep by the Lamb in moments of unclarity - personal gossip girl and somewhat Therapist to them. Close friends with Fena despite being exes.

Other hcs: Girls girl by heart. Shameless flirt but extremely picky with partners. Divorced because he was too high maintenance. Knows of everyone's business and keeps pulling Agana into gossip. Gets annoyed when people ask him for stuff so he makes them pay him to answer. Will say the most gayest thing followed by the most straightest cis-guy take ever. Will just randomly ditch disciple meetings because he's bored. Also suspicious of Thyma but for no particular reason.

Agana

First born in the Cult, raised to become a disciple. As a child they were wild and unruly but settled down with age and is now determined to befriend every cultist.

Fun facts: Is afab genderqueer. Had a huge crush on Fena growing up. Currently has a little crush on Thyma. Is usually the first to know of ANYTHING happening in the cult, even private happenings. Will often share their own savings with children in the cult. Is pretty forgiving with Tax enforcement.

Other hcs: Chronic simp. Fandom girlie, probably. She's the type to ship people unironically. Probably saw the tension between Thyma and Fena and misinterpreted it. Says "hello fellow kids" but is actually up to date with trends. Has been trying to integrate Thyma more into the group. Probably gets the most affected by sin.

Latra

Born in Silkcradle to a family of Shamura's worshippers. Latra ran away and got married on the outskirts of the domain. Her marriage was cruel and abusive, fueled by her husband's growing rage of her infertility. Despite praying daily, no one had come to save her and so she took matters into her own hands. One night she plotted to kill her husband but was caught, resulting in a fight to the death where she was the victor. Latra dragged herself away with two of her limbs damaged beyond repair and managed to run into the Lamb. She was taken into the cult and became a Missionary, as her knowledge from Silkcradle aided her skills. She has been in the cult since the first crusade through Silkcradle and has been resurrected multiple times. Currently she is in retirement again.

Fun facts: Latra was offered a position as disciple but declined. She is known to delay retirement until physically impossible to work. She originally didn't worship the Lamb, but ended up doing so after many years of staying. Latra was one of the people to dissent from Shamura's curse. Currently engaged to Echo.

Other hcs: Has had rumors go around about her past. Has been working with children and has been helping rehabilitate rescues. Has babysat a few times before. Actually great at flirting but prefers pulling dad jokes and bad flirts. Wanted children but gave up on it due to her age. Actually best friends with the Lamb. Only didn't accept discipleship because she is worried about her own reputation straining Mellia's reputation.

Echo

Born in Anchordeep before it had that name and before Kallamar had the crown. Experienced first hand his climb for power and the subsequent events that shaped the downfall of the old faith. Was also a disciple for a short while before becoming a field medic during the genocide of Sheep kind. Echo married the general of their group and the two along with a troop were sent to patrol Anchordeep. That continued even after Mellia was resurrected and started killing the bishops. Once Kallamar started growing paranoid and cowardly, Echo started to question the strength of their god. That was met with backlash and after a huge fight in the group, Echo stayed back a bit. Eventually they found their group having been attacked by the Lamb and Echo mercy killed whoever was still alive. Echo dissented against Kallamar and was later found by Latra during a Mission. Echo was indoctrinated and became the cult nurse.

Fun facts: Echo is intersex. Echo is considered to be mute, but has the ability to talk. They only talk to Latra, Mellia and Kallamar (to screw with him). Echo is widely known to be an asshole, but is the most respected nurse in the cult. Echo suffers from mild PTSD. Is currently Latra's personal caretaker and has been trying to convince her to accept the golden skull necklace Mellia offered her (which is included in discipleship).

Other hcs: Fell in love after having to pull an arrow from Latra's shoulder. Has to go in evacuation after being flirted with because they are worried they'll explode (they won't). Academically smart but Interpersonally stupid. Can communicate with sign language but rather uses their expressions to communicate their opinions. Had begged multiple times for Mellia to resurrect Latra whenever she died. Has been secretly trying to figure out an early form of Fertility treatments in order to grant Latra the wish of having children. Also has been looking into adopting.

Nalen (real name unknown)

(This character is currently still a character concept and might change with time.)

Born and raised in the Lands of the old faith after the Bishops had already died. He was raised as a pup to become a spy that would sneak into the Red crowns cult to find any special information that could allow the old faith to overthrow them. He managed to sneak in during a time where the cult was facing a hectic time - entering with a group of people who were starving and asking to be indoctrinated. Able to avoid detection for a full two years now due to building trust and reliability, building relationships and faking worship. His mind hasn't even been read once yet due to Mellia struggling with their new godhood. Perfect time, perfect alibi.

Fun facts: I don't really have any yet, so I'll offer the description of the concept; I wanted a spy character that looks like they could just be any other cultist and who's a species that's both unassuming but reliable and easily trainable. So the golden retriever it was. And while all followers of the Lamb have a red base, his base colour was dark purple.

(same with hcs, but you know the stories of band kids just pretending to play the instrument all year? Kinda that. Him praying and just mumbling the words bc he has no clue what's going on. It's a miracle he made it this far.)

(Also, sorry for the lack of pictures but I got too impatient and wanted to answer as quickly as possible LOL)

[multi-fandom-imagine]

hi !! I don't know if you are taking any Bridgerton request at the moment but if you are could you write one where Benedict and reader were courting but he started to spend less time with her so she wears a revenge dress to one of the balls and gets a lot of attention so Benedict gets a bit jealous? with a happy ending please

A/n: Man I cannot remember the last time I've written for Bridgerton.

It hurt, seeing someone you cared about slowly pull away from you so when it was announced a ball be thrown you'd decided to set your own plan into motion and you'll make him see.

The ballroom was alive with music and laughter, the chandeliers were casting a golden glow over the swirling mass of dancers. Benedict Bridgerton had barely stepped through the grand entrance when he spotted you.

And he almost forgot how to breathe.

You were stunning...no that wasn't the correct word, you were devastating. The deep sapphire gown you wore clung to you in a way that left nothing to the imagination yet remained utterly tasteful. The delicate lace along the bodice highlighted the graceful curve of your collarbone, and the rich color made your eyes shine brighter than any star in the sky.

He swore you stole his breath away.

But it wasn’t just the dress—it was you. The confidence in the way you held herself, the way you smiled just enough but never too much, and the way every gentleman in the room seemed to gravitate towards you as if drawn by some invisible force.

Benedict clenched his jaw, fingers tightening around the glass of champagne in his hand as he watched another man—a Lord he didn’t even recognize—lean in closer, his gaze lingering far too long.

Your laugh ringing in his ears as you turned your head away shyly.

He hadn’t meant to let things slip between them. Between his art, his family obligations, and the pressures of society, he had let the days turn into weeks, and the weeks into something dangerously close to neglect. You had been patient, always so understanding, but now… now he saw the consequences of his absence. No...that was a lie, those weren't the reasons.

You were his best friend, more than his best friend and when Benedict realized that he started to pull away, he started to pull away because it scared the ever loving shit out of him.

And now you weren't waiting for him anymore.

He should have known better. Should have seen that you wouldn’t sit idly by while he withdrew into himself. You had always been too brilliant for that, you didn't deserve any of that.

And now, every man in the room knew it too.

Benedict downed the rest of his drink, barely tasting it, before setting the glass aside and moving through the crowd. He wasn’t reckless like Anthony, nor as effortlessly charming as Colin, but what he lacked in their methods, he made up for in quiet determination.

You still laughing when he reached you, a soft, melodic sound that sent another wave of jealousy coursing through him. That made his heart beat a bit faster, sent his pulse racing.

“May I have this dance?” His voice was smooth, but there was a weight to it—a claim beneath the polite words.

You turned, the laughter in your eyes flickering when you met his gaze. “Oh? I thought you were otherwise occupied this evening.”

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to keep his composure. “I was a fool.”

Your brow arched. “I won’t argue with that.”

A smirk tugged at his lips despite himself. “Then let me prove to you that I am your fool.”

For a moment, yoi studied him, as if weighing whether or not to make him suffer just a little longer. But then, with a small sigh, you placed your hand in his.

“Try to keep up, Bridgerton.”

And as he led you to the dance floor, the rest of the room faded away—because there, in his arms, was the only world that had ever truly mattered.

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character 2024 — Scripted Undefeated Bracket — Round 2

Propaganda

Kayne (Malevolent):

He’s a god who acts like the main characters are his personal soap opera. His first appearance was playing the piano covered in blood after he had massacred an entire town. He just kinda shows up sometimes to cause chaos and is often munching on chips while he watches shit go down. Also he never wears shoes, for some reason

Madge Stallion (Fawx & Stallion):

Raging lesbian in a lavender marriage

Seduced someone working for the enemy

Is just as chaotic and at time brain cell-less as her male companions

Loyal but still willing to call her friend since childhood out on his bullshit

She canonically fucks. Like in canon she fucks so much. See above about seducing the enemy and then pepper in her on again off again romance with Martha Hudson.

#madge propaganda time : #she will flirt with basically any girl she sees and oh she does it so well #also !!! she once flirted and got on with technically an enemy in the middle of a spying mission ???? #she went like 'oh sorry just gotta go to the loo' to go spy in the house got caught and flirted so well she 1/ got laid 2/ got information #3/ came back like nothing happened #with some motivation she could flirt and get a boner from a dead rock tbh #madge stallion IS THE SEXIEST

Additional propaganda below the cut:

Kayne (Malevolent):

Literaly just a tumbr sexy man

black suit, no shoes, covered in blood, plays piano, quirky laugh

An eldritch god soaked in blood. He's Arthur Lester's number one cheer leader.

covered in blood, plays piano, silly laugh, very Will Wood coded

He's insane. He's so dynamic. Will Wood's The Normal Album in humanized eldritch god form. Always covered in blood. Need I say more?

#KAYNE SWEEEEEP LET'S GOOOO #my babygirl he deserves to win this entire thing #i'm not biased i swear

#Kayne my love #i want to end you but i love hearing from you

#kayne (haven’t even heard him) because i play piano so by that logic i’m sexy (in an asexual way)

#Kayne is such A Guy. like he’s just so Character #he does Things and says Lines and it’s great

Madge Stallion (Fawx & Stallion):

Madge Stallion was submitted without propaganda.

we gotta get our girl some propaganda. she would hate it, but the mystery of it all is kinda part of the appeal here.

Madge stallion NEEDS no propaganda

Madge: so sexy she needs no propaganda

#madge stallion is a great woman to lose to

#Madge she's a sassy lesbian detective what else do you want

#madge stallion needs no propaganda #by virtue of being madge

This is propaganda for all the female characters. Voters please remember how pretty all women are and factor that into every single vote you make. Thank you.

[mr-s33k]

Every Historical Inaccuracy in TGS part 1

In this episode of Enoch is a nerd, I'm going to tell you about the little details that aren't quite right so they can now bother you too.

First thing to be discussed is the police.

All in all not an awful representation. I can't really see their collars because of the cloaks which I can't say are exactly uniform regulation because I can't find any photos of cops with coats on from the 1880s. The sleeves are missing a bit of stripy-ness and their belts are missing the buckle but like I said, not bad.

The police are the only notable thing in the first chapter so on to chapter two!

This carriage shouldn't even really be big enough for Henry and wolf form Jasper, much less all those cages.

These are roughly the same as the carriage they're riding in albeit much less glamorous. You really only have enough room for yourself and maybe one other person. The space in here is more akin to what you'd get in a train which. is very not where they are.

Now this one will be shocking to you,

but Neil Degrasse Tyson was not alive in 1886.

This thing indeed. That's not very Victorian Marketing of you. I do know it wasn't intended to be accurate though so it gets my approval.

One does not simply go to the theatre this is the 19th century we're not animals we have standards! You can't just go in your casual clothes you have to dress up! At least Jekyll is wearing gloves but they've both severely neglected the procedure of Going Out.

Where did she even GET this dress? It follows none of the trends of the 1880s or. any time ever really. I'll be talking about character design more in another post but since she's not a main character I thought I'd go for it.

The term lesbian would not be popularized until the start of second-wave feminism in the mid to late 20th century. You're a little early Hyde but he's got the spirit. Hyde probably would've used the word "sapphic" in this instance because that was the more popular term. The term "lesbian" wouldn't appear in a medical publication until 1890.

The police station is so... tall and fancy? This isn't the usual 19th century police station look, they were pretty straight forward and simple and only one floor tall. I'm also wondering where they got the funding for this.

Now I've made a post on this one before but I'll say it again for the people in the back

This is not the procedure you follow to ask someone to dance in the 19th century. Typically you do not dance with women you've just met (unless you're flirting, which Jekyll doesn't do). They also skipped the step of filling out her dance card.

Dance cards were these nifty little slips of paper given to women at balls, much like the one Henry is attending. They looked like this:

Usually they would be attached to a woman's dress or wrist. They would be filled out throughout the evening by the different people she danced with. Henry didn't even ask for hers. Masher behavior. You're telling me he asked a woman he just met to dance and didn't even fill out her dance card? What a creep.

Now I can understand why Sage wouldn't add that detail and it's completely reasonable to assume there was a cut between him asking her and them dancing but the more important issue here is that they're Not Wearing Gloves. Their hands are touching someone call a doctor I just broke my 19th century sensibilities they now need to be amputated they're holding bands premaritally what is this I thought he was a gentleman.

I would like everyone to take note however that the gloves issue makes this scene more romantic

Robert's collar is unbuttoned and they're not wearing gloved Henry must've been loosing his mind.

please reblog this or at least like it I crave validation

[no-goodbyes-no-regrets]

Day 1: Non sexual intimacy @bucktommyfluffebruary

I'm already a day behind and it's only day 2 🤦‍♀️ But I'm still planning on doing the full 28 days.

(whether or not they'll be posted within the next 27 days however remains to be seen)

A lover's touch (AO3)

Tommy takes care of Buck after he gets discharged from hospital in 8x05

---

"You don't have to do all this." Buck insisted as Tommy helped him into his truck. He'd just gotten discharged from hospital, with a prescription for painkillers and doctor's orders to take it easy for at least a few days.

One of the nurses had given him scrubs to wear after Tommy had insisted he couldn't put his uniform back on "It's covered in pumpkin guts, Evan.", and he'd reluctantly agreed, and carefully gotten changed in a bathroom, despite Tommy reminding him it wasn't like he'd never seen him in his underwear before.

"And how would you get home if I didn't?" Tommy asked, pulling Buck from his thoughts.

"I could've just gotten an Uber..."

"Oh, sure. You want me to just... leave you here, go home, wait for you to get home with your paid ride, then drive over to your place to see how you're doing - wait, would I be allowed to come over? Or would you just text me to tell me you're fine?" Tommy deadpanned.

Buck rolled his eyes and let Tommy fasten his seatbelt while mumbling something under his breath that sounded a lot like "bitch"

Tommy ignored him and gave his knee a quick squeeze, before closing the door and jogging to the other side of his truck and getting behind the wheel.

"Your place or mine?" He asked as he started the engine.

"Mine." Buck sighed. "I want to get out of these scrubs and I don't have old sweats and hoodies at yours. I only bring my sexy clothes when I'm staying over." he said, trying to sound less like a petulant child and more like the hot sexy man he wanted Tommy to see him as.

"Alright, yours it is." Tommy laughed a little and pulled out of the hospital parking lot. "Do you mind if we stop for food or did you want to attempt to cook with that shoulder?" he quickly glanced at his boyfriend, eyebrow raised, daring him to deny that wasn't exactly what he was planning.

"Only if we can get a greasy burger and fries. I'm done being healthy for today."

"Deal."

By the time they got to Buck's loft and had something to eat, he was feeling more and more grimy and restless in the uncomfortable scrubs.

How medical staff could wear those all day every day he'd never know.

Tommy was clearing up after their meal and had started a load of laundry, and had been waiting on Buck's hand and foot since the moment they'd walked through the door.

It was sweet but also a bit frustrating. Buck was used to taking care of himself, he hadn't had anyone fluff his pillow or adjust his blanket since he was a kid and Maddie used to read him a story before bed.

"Are you comfortable enough in that chair? Do you want an extra pillow? I think you can have more painkillers in about half an hour if you need them."

"No, no I'm ok. I just... kinda feel gross. I think I’m just going to take a shower. I feel like I'm still covered in pumpkin guts."

"I can assure you, you're not. You look just like you did when we woke up this morning." Tommy told him.

"oh great, so I look like I just woke up." Buck complained.

Tommy smiled but decided not to take the bait.

"Yep. Cute, a little pouty, and very kissable." he said and kissed Buck to prove his point. "Do you need any help with that shower?"

"I can wash myself, Tommy, I'm not an invalid."

"No, but you currently only have one fully functioning arm, and the doctor said not to lift it above your head for at least a few days."

"I'll be fine." Buck said a little too harshly, and immediately felt bad. "I'll let you know if I need help."

Tommy nodded.

"Sure. You know where to find me."

He went upstairs to find something more comfortable to wear, and smiled at the sight of one of Tommy's cut off hoodies and his spare charger on what had become his side of the bed.

They were going on six months together and things were going well. He was happy and settled in a way he hadn't felt since... pretty much ever, and he hoped Tommy felt the same.

He debated stealing Tommy's hoodie, but decided to go for something that would keep his shoulder somewhat warm. Warm and cold compresses is what he vaguely remembered the doctor saying. He'd been slightly preoccupied with the curse, as well as wanting to look good for Tommy, and hoping Eddie wouldn't rat him out for practically yanking off the hospital gown when Tommy texted to ask what room he was in.

Suddenly noises from the TV drifted up to the bedroom and it made him happy to know Tommy felt comfortable enough in his space to make himself at home, and doing something as mundane as switching on the TV.

He grabbed some clean clothes and made his way to the downstairs bathroom, pausing to press a kiss to the top of his boyfriend's head as a way of apology for snapping at him earlier.

He'd planned to quickly undress and wash the day off of himself, only the quick part, he realised once he'd turned on the water and tried to get the scrub top off without hurting his shoulder more, would not be happening.

He spent a good fifteen minutes twisting himself into crazy positions and jumping around his bathroom until he'd finally managed to get the top off. He was red in the face and slightly out of breath, but he figured at least the water would be warm and relaxing.

He stepped under the spray, tipped his head back against the shower wall to let the warm water run over his face, and felt himself relax. His prickly mood from before as well as the embarrassment of getting hurt on the job in such a stupid way washing off him and disappearing down the drain.

After a few minutes, he opened his eyes and moved the wet hair off his face, grabbing the shampoo from the little shelf in the corner. He squirted some in his hand on auto pilot, only to then realise he couldn't lift his arm high enough to actually rub it into his hair.

He awkwardly moved it to his good hand, but then quickly found out washing your hair with one hand was no easy feat. He bent down so he could use his injured arm too, but the movement tugged on his sore shoulder too much and when stars appeared in front of his eyes, he stood up and gave up.

He rinsed the shampoo off his hands and out of his hair as best he could, and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist.

"Tom?" he said softly after opening the bathroom door. "Tommy?"

The other man was sitting on the sofa, scrolling through his phone, while some sitcom played on the TV. He looked up at the sound of his name.

"Evan? Are you alright?"

"I uh... think I might need some help after all... i-if you don't mind..."

"Of course not. Tell me what you need." Tommy replied, dropping his phone on the table and walking over to him.

"I uh... tried to wash my hair... b-but it's not going so well with one hand."

"Good thing I have two then." Tommy smiled and gently steered him back into the bathroom. "Give me two seconds. You go ahead and get in the shower."

Buck did as he was told and got back under the warm water and watched his boyfriend quickly strip before joining him.

It was somewhat of a tight fit for two men of their size, but neither exactly hated being close to each other.

"This isn't exactly what I had in mind when I thought of showering with you." Buck joked, trying to distract himself from feeling completely helpless.

"Next time." Tommy promised and pressed a small kiss to his lips. "Just relax and let me take care of you." he said while squirting some shampoo in his hands and gently massaging it into Buck's hair.

As much as he'd hated asking for help, having Tommy take care of him like this felt like heaven.

He'd known Tommy's hands were magic and could make him feel amazing, but never like this, never outside the bedroom.

"I wish I had one of those stools for the shower" Buck mused as Tommy gently started washing his body. "I'd never leave this bathroom."

"I have one at my place. I got it a few years ago after I sprained my ankle getting out of the chopper."

"You mean you fell out?" Buck teased. He'd gotten to know Tommy's crew over the past few months, and they loved sharing embarrassing stories from Tommy's probie days at Harbor.

"It had been raining! Everything was wet and slippery!" Tommy protested.

"And you tripped over your own feet trying to get back into the hangar."

"Who told you that? Melton? Tess? O'Neil? Donato wasn't there yet, so it wasn't her."

"I have my sources."

"It was Sal wasn't it? I should never have introduced you. He's banned from ever talking to you again." Tommy said, only half joking. He turned off the water and quickly wrapped a towel around himself, before doing the same to Buck and gently drying him off.

"Maybe it wasn't Sal, maybe it was someone else."

Tommy stopped what he was doing and narrowed his eyes at his boyfriend.

"Maybe I should ban all of them from ever speaking to you again. Or monitor the conversation so they won't spread lies about me."

"It's not a lie if it's true." Buck teased, sore shoulder forgotten.

"Yeah, yeah, see if I fly you into a hurricane again." Tommy mock threatened. "You can get Donato to do it next time."

"Hopefully there will never be a next time." Buck said, letting Tommy push him to lean back against the sink and helping him put a pair of sweats on. "But maybe we can take a trip together? We could go to Vegas. It's not really fair that you flew Eddie there but you've never taken me."

"You don't like MMA." Tommy argued, mildly distracted trying to find a way to get Evan's hoodie on without hurting his shoulder.

"There are other things we could do in Vegas, aren't there? We could go to a casino... or see a show... or... go see Elvis."

Tommy frowned.

"Graceland? That's not in Vegas..." he trailed off as confusion made way for realisation. "Oh... you mean... Elvis. A chapel."

"Well... Maybe not just yet... but... eventually... maybe? Would that be something... you... would like... one day?"

Tommy tugged Buck's hoodie over his head and gently guided his arms through the sleeves.

"Get married? By Elvis? In Vegas?"

"Y-yeah?"

"I don't know about the Elvis part... but the rest..." He paused and bit his lip, looking almost shy and as un-Tommy as Buck had ever seen him. "Yeah... yeah that sounds pretty good."

[celenexox]

Just another Picture to Burn - Matt Sturniolo

summary: when your boyfriend matt cheats on you, but you couldn’t care less

warnings: breakup, swearing, minor violence

as matt walks into the house, you walk over to him and slap him across the face, chris and nick watching this unravel behind the two of you in shock

five minutes before this happened, you were called to the living room by your friends nick and chris

as you walk over to them coming out of matt’s room you hear chris say “y/n there’s something we have to show you”

nick and chris look worried, scared almost, you chuckle a little at the look of their worried faces, not knowing what’s about to come next

“what’s up guys? what’s up with the frowns?” you say, trying to lighten up the mood

as you walk over to them, chris hands you his phone, on it, a picture of your boyfriend matt, kissing another girl

you couldn’t believe your eyes, didn’t know how to react, what should you say?

“when was this?…” you say, barely above a whisper

“three days ago” nick answers softly

“okay, how do you know, maybe this was before we got together” you say to chris and nick, but honestly you’re just trying to convince yourself of that right now

you and matt have been dating for only three months, which is not that long, so that picture could have been taken before that, right?

“n- no y/n, this was three days ago, he was wearing that shirt three days ago, and that’s the day he went to that party without us” nick says

“he went to a party without us, without me? he doesn’t even enjoy parties” you say, trying to keep your composure

“okay so where is matt right now.” you demand to know, your whole demeanor has changed, you can’t let your friends think that you’re upset, that you’re weak, matt doesn’t deserve you like that for him

“he’s gonna be home any minute now, don’t tell him for now okay?” chris asks of you

“why not? i deserve to know more about what happened from him, not his brothers, he cheated on me! does that not seem insane to you??” you raise your voice at chris

suddenly, you’re interrupted by the door opening, matt walks in

you, nick, and chris are now all staring at him

you look at nick and chris before walking up to matt, sort of a warning

matt looks at you walk up to him quietly, confused at what’s happening

then suddenly you slap him across the face, creating a loud sound and a gasp from nick and chris

you’ve never laid a hand on matt before, and you didn’t think you would ever have to

“what the fuck? y/n, guys, what happened” matt says, still confused, his audacity and the fact that he hasn’t caught up yet surprising you

you walk away from matt, snatch chris’s phone out his hand and shove it in matt’s face with the picture still up

“this is what happens you bitch!” you say loudly, “how could you cheat on me! we’ve literally only been dating for three months you pig!”

matt’s face now red as a tomato, almost speechless and trying to gather up the right words to say in this situation “okay y/n i can explain”

“save it you bitch! i never want to see you again, im out, we’re done!” you say, and grab your things and head out

——————————————————————

it has now been two weeks since the two of you had broken up, and to be honest with yourself you weren’t that upset that he was out of your life, the only thing that really upset you was the fact that he wasted your time

and also ever since you and matt broke up, you haven’t spoken a single word to your friends nick and chris either, not because you’re mad at them, but because you’d be reminded of matt every time you’d see them, and you didn’t want that right now

suddenly you were bursted out of your thoughts with a knock on the door

you got up and opened the door, it was matt

you chuckle at the fact that he showed up here, no shame, no remorse for what happened between the two of you

“what the fuck are you doing here matt?” you say with a blank tone, you didn’t like the idea of matt being here at your house

“i messed up okay? and i miss you, i promise if you take me back i’ll never fuck up like this ever again” he says, all desperate sounding

you look him up and down a few times, “there’s no way you think that i think that little of myself, matt the pictures were everywhere, of you kissing another girl, that’s not me, while we were together”

“yeah i know but-“

you cut matt off

“let me finish, I’m never gonna make the same mistake again, you were just a waste of effort, i could have done so much more things with the time that i spent on you, now get the fuck out” you say and slam the door in his face

you knew that you never wanted to see him again, you realized that he loved himself and the thrill of a new girl more than he could ever just love you

you didn’t care what happened after this, you knew that he was just another picture to burn.

[skzdelf]

Hold my hand | Han Jisung

.ᐟPAIRING: Han Jisung x afab!reader

.ᐟSYNOPSIS: On a crisp autumn day, Jisung and you share a visit to a small vinyl shop that sparks unexpected moments of inspiration.

.ᐟCONTENT: friends to lovers; nonidol!han

.ᐟWORDCOUNT: 1,4k (1469)

He knew a lot about music.

In fact, he knew a lot about everything you could imagine.

And you knew everything about him—his favorite color, his favorite band, his favorite author, the chord he played best, and the ones he struggled with a little more.

You knew how many songs he had poured straight from his heart into the notebook you gave him months ago.

You knew he couldn’t see well without his glasses, and you also knew he didn’t like wearing them—except when he was with you

You spent all your time together at his house, mostly studying.

Study sessions at his place always played out the same way. The two of you would sit at his desk, or sometimes on the floor when the notes took up too much space, with music playing in the background from Han’s massive collection of records and vinyls.

After a while, once the calculations were solved and summaries were written, Han would usually stand up and grab his guitar to clear his mind, as if music and his guitar were his safe haven.

He’d start playing familiar melodies or compose something on the spot. He always looked up from his guitar whenever he thought he had stumbled upon something special, searching for your eyes, as if your approval was the confirmation he needed to trust his creation.

In those moments, the world seemed to stop. The music filled the room, and you could feel the weight of his gaze—expectant, eager for a word or gesture from you to reassure him. Sometimes, you’d nod with a small smile; other times, you’d let out a soft “I like it,” or you’d suggest a minor change, sparking an unmistakable glow in him.

With you, he truly felt heard. You paid attention to every little thing he did or said. You didn’t roll your eyes, even if he asked for the seventh time whether you really thought the lyrics to his song were good.

You didn’t lose your patience when, with wide-eyed enthusiasm, he explained the difference between chords.

For you, Han was your refuge, and his was music.

For Han, music and you were his safe place.

So, what could come from a combination of the things he love most in the world?

The cloudy, cool autumn day was perfect for meeting friends at a cozy café or curling up on the couch with your pets. But here you were.

You and Jisung were strolling through the city streets, the brown and reddish leaves painting the gray, gloomy roads with their vibrant colors.

Han had discovered a small, old vinyl shop online and had spent the entire week insisting that he wanted to go with you as soon as exams were over.

When he spotted the shop less than a block away, Han got excited, grabbing your hand in a quick motion and rushing toward the store. Both of your laughs filled the air with an overwhelming sense of joy.

A hand-painted wooden sign, weathered with age, hung above the entrance and read: “Eternal Melodies.”

Crossing through the door, a soft jingling of bells announced your arrival. The interior was warm and welcoming, lit by dim ceiling lamps that cast a golden glow over the shelves. The floor creaked lightly under your feet.

The walls were lined with shelves that stretched to the ceiling, packed with vinyl records organized by genre and artist.

Han immediately started browsing shelf by shelf while you made your way to the section where your favorite artist was. You searched through the records until you found one you didn’t have and decided to take it.

When you turned back toward Han, you saw him holding three records already. Laughing, you pulled out your phone to snap a candid photo of him.

That same day, after leaving the shop, you headed to Han’s home to listen to the new records.

When the second record finished playing, Jisung stood up and grabbed his guitar, apparently inspired. The sound of his dark boots echoed on the tiled floor.

He sat down on the floor, leaning his back against one of his colorful furniture pieces. Taking his pick between his teeth, he started playing a melody that seemed to be etched into his memory—it wasn’t improvised at all.

When he finished playing, as always, Jisung looked up from his red guitar to meet your eyes, but this time, his gaze was more intense than usual.

As the vibration of the guitar faded, you looked up from your phone, focusing on the boy with glasses.

“What did you think of the melody?” he asked, his cheeks slightly flushed.

“It sounds beautiful, like all the others,” you replied, offering him a warm smile.

“Would you like to hear the lyrics? They’re not finished yet” he asked, a hint of doubt in his voice.

Your eyes lit up with curiosity at his question. You nodded softly, letting the anticipation fill the air.

“Of course, I’d love to hear it” you said, shifting closer to him on the floor, ready for whatever he had to share.

Jisung let out a quiet sigh, as though gathering the courage he needed. His fingers tapped nervously on his red guitar before he began to sing. His voice was soft, a little shaky at first, but with each verse, it grew stronger.

He started singing what you assumed was the chorus of the song from the way the rhythm carried it forward.

“Cause all I want is you, not your tears, until the tears dry up.”

As he sang, his eyes stayed locked on yours, conveying every word with a sincerity that moved you. The song spoke of being there for someone, offering unconditional support, and a promise to never let go of the hand of the one you love, no matter the challenges.

The lyrics reflected the depth of your connection, and you realized this song was his way of expressing feelings that ordinary words could never capture.

“I wanna make you the happiest one, no fear. So baby, hold my hand now” he continued singing, his eyes fixed on you. Even without looking at the chords, he didn’t miss a note, as if he’d memorized it completely.

When he finished singing that small piece of the song he had written, he set his guitar aside and held his hand out to you.

“Baby, hold my hand?” he repeated, this time in a questioning tone, waiting for your response.

You lifted your trembling hand from your lap and placed it in his, resting it on his palm. A beautiful, radiant smile spread across Jisung’s face—the brightest you’d ever seen.

He brought your hand to his lips, gently kissing your knuckles without breaking his gaze.

“It’s called ‘Hold My Hand,’ and I wrote it for you. It’s hard for me to express myself with words, but… I’d like to stay by your side forever” he admitted, his face growing redder by the second as he tried to hide it by clasping his hands together.

You couldn’t believe that the boy who had become your safe place was now in front of you, showing his vulnerability through a song written especially for you. Your heart raced so fast you feared he could hear it, but when he looked at you again, with that mix of nervousness and tenderness, a warm sensation filled you completely.

“Did you really write that for me?” you asked softly, barely believing what you’d just heard. Jisung nodded timidly.

“Yeah… It’s just that, well, you inspire me to feel things I’ve never felt before. You’re my safe place” he admitted, glancing away for a moment before meeting your eyes again.

In that exact moment, between the four walls of his room, you realized there was nothing else in the world you wanted more than to make sure he knew how important he was to you.

“Jisung…” you began, holding his hand tighter, as if you didn’t want him to ever let go. “I… you’re my safe place too. I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I’m so happy to have you.”

A wide smile spread across his face again. Without thinking much more, he leaned toward you, resting his forehead against yours.

“So, will you stay by my side?” he whispered, his eyes closed and an expression of pure sincerity on his face.

“Forever” you promised firmly, feeling his lips brush softly against yours in a kiss filled with emotions. At that moment, you knew there would never be a safer place in the world than his arms.

It seemed you didn’t know everything about him after all. You didn’t even know how many songs he had written in the notebook you gave him, because you definitely didn’t know this song.

Your new favorite song.

[tellyouily]

fall right back to you

dnf - fluff - 900 words

read on ao3

-

Dream’s office is colder than his, and purple rather than George’s dark blue from the LED lights framing the ceiling.

He has his headphones on, his eyes no doubt fixed on the portion of the video he’s in the middle of editing, and it’s probably because of this that he doesn’t notice George coming in.

George closes the door behind himself and steps closer to the desk. It takes him one look at the monitor to Dream’s right to see that he still has X open, still showing the black screen of the stream George just ended. So he was listening. George smiles a little at that; he had a feeling Dream probably stuck around after he stopped texting him.

He touches the top of the chair, and Dream looks up quickly.

“Oh, hey. You scared me,” he says, but he’s smiling. He pulls his headphones down to rest around his neck.

“Sorry,” George says, letting his fingers slip into Dream’s messy curls. “You stayed for the whole thing?”

Dream nods, stretching. “I did. It was nice.”

He reaches out and strokes his hand across George’s lower back, over his t-shirt.

“You should start a podcast or something. You’d be good at it.”

George shakes his head, managing to suppress his smile even as Dream starts to laugh.

“Idiot,” he says, pinching Dream’s nape just lightly. He deserves it. Kind of.

Dream responds by leaning backwards in his chair and grabbing hold of his spare office chair, pulling it closer for George to sit.

“Sit,” he says. “I’ve missed you today.”

It makes for an easy decision – George’s favorite type of decision, coincidentally.

He sits, using his feet (and great effort) to roll the chair closer to Dream’s, and placing his legs in Dream’s lap, having to bend his knees over the stupid armrests to make it possible. It’s suboptimal, for sure, but it will have to do.

Both of Dream’s hands instantly come to rest on his calves, squeezing once.

“Tired?” Dream asks, gazing at him openly.

The look in his eyes, and his whole demeanor, really, tells George that out of the two of them, Dream is easily the one who is the most tired. But Dream is right, too – George is a little exhausted.

He closes his eyes for a moment, nodding. When he opens them again the world has gone a little blurry from his bleariness.

“Yeah, a bit,” he says

Dream encloses his hands around George’s ankles, his palms warm against the tiny sliver of skin between George’s sweatpants and his socks.

Looking at him now, George realizes that Dream looks… good. Like, in a noticeable way – a level of good that exceeds his usual level which George has gotten somewhat used to and somewhat less abnormal about. Somewhat. The second thing he realizes is that he doesn’t recognize the hoodie Dream is wearing. It’s dark gray and expensive looking. And nice. It makes Dream look really nice.

“I like your hoodie,” George says, because he does.

Dream looks surprised, but only for a split second before a smile takes over his features. He sounds a little suspicious, though, when he says, “Thanks.”

“Is it new?”

Dream nods, sparing a quick glance down at it. “Uhm, yeah. I think so, anyway.”

George clicks his tongue. “Trick question, I already knew it was.”

He did – Dream has many hoodies, but none in this shade of gray. As the Dream expert, George thinks he’s pretty much qualified to be certain of these things.

Dream laughs. “You are so weird.”

George doesn’t let it faze him. “I know every single piece of clothing you own,” he says instead. Because he does.

“Wow, so impressive,” Dream says, still laughing.

“It is,” George agrees, pressing his lips together solemnly. “I have an archive.”

To this, Dream nods slowly, which George appreciates. His detailed cataloguing of Dream facts should be admired and applauded, most of all by Dream.

“Alright, I’ll make sure to tell you next time I buy something, then. For your archive,” Dream says, not sounding entirely earnest, but George will take it.

“For my archiving purposes,” he echoes. “Yeah, you better.”

Dream just looks at him then, smiling through to his eyes. And George knows that face, would know it anywhere. He knows exactly what Dream is thinking. He narrows his eyes.

“I’m not kissing you.”

It makes Dream laugh, again. “What? Why not?”

“You’re gross.”

Dream snorts.

George smiles. “I don’t know where your lips have been. You might’ve licked the toilet since I last saw you for all I know.”

His ankle gets a gentle squeeze. “If I tell you, will you kiss me?”

“No.”

Dream raises his eyebrows. “Fine. I guess you hate me.”

It’s not that he means it, of course – he’s being an idiot, actually – but George won’t stand for such accusations. Especially not after Dream has said he missed him today, and especially not now that he’s wearing this hoodie which makes him look so extra kissable.

George leans forward, closing the short distance between them, and pecks Dream on the lips. One second and then it’s over, but Dream’s immediate smile is proof that it did in fact happen.

“I knew it,” he says.

George laughs, shifting closer to him subconsciously. “Knew what? That you’re an idiot?”

Smiling like he’s won, Dream only shrugs. “I just knew it.”

Luckily for him, George is not above kissing him again to get the answers he needs.

[more-sonorous]

Uh I love going through your channel and reading all of the stories you come up with and I’m amazed and love them. It brings me joy to read them. I don’t know if you take requests I was wondering if you could do one where race has some problems and Jack is the only one who can get him to talk. Thank you!!!

i loved this ask! played around with it a bit and created a piece full of brotherly love that i'm truly hoping is what you were looking for!

have this little slice of life :)

.....

little ray of sun-- racetrack and jack

By all accounts, Jack Kelly had a decent day. He’d spent the morning pissing Pulitzer off by drawing egregious comics all of the other artists found funny, flinging droplets of ink onto the man’s shoes every time he strolled up to his desk, and using the most horrible grammar he could muster. By five, Pulitzer’s jaw was twitching but he had three spectacular political comics staring him down, so he couldn’t complain. Instead he glared up at Jack and a snarl formed beneath his perfectly groomed mustache as he dismissed him for the day.

Pushing old Joe’s buttons was Jack’s favorite work pastime when he worked at The World on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. It always put him in a chipper mood to know that he was one of the most popular artists on Pulitzer’s team, so the old bastard couldn’t really fire him even if he wanted to since people were raving about his comics. He couldn't fire him over little things anyways, like Jack putting his feet up on his desk or wearing a bandana ‘round his neck instead of a tie. He’d gotten good at subtly irking the man without breaking any office rules, and it added a bit of life to his boring office work. When he earned that little jaw twitch? Well, Jack considered the day a win. 

He carefully shelled out a few cents on a pretzel for dinner and finished it on his way back to the Lodgings, brushing the coarse salt off on his trousers and whistling to himself as he walked. At his core, Jack Kelly was a little shit. He enjoyed his little shit moments when he could.

As he dreamed up ways to dramatically retell his office antics for the littlest newsies, he rounded the corner to find Albert’s head of gleamingly red hair perched on the steps leading up to the familiar lodging house. The moment the sarcastic ginger laid eyes on him found him shooting to his feet and practically speedwalking to Jack. 

“Kelly!”

“Yo, Albert.” Jack greeted cheerfully, removing his own hat and pushing a hand through his hair as he took a glance at the distressed expression on the freckled face in front of him. His cheer seemed to slip into nothingness. “Everythin’ okay?”

Half of Albert’s thin mouth curled into a snarl. “No. Obviously it ain’t. It’s fuckin’ Racer, Jack, he’s– he’s doing that thing he does and I dunno what the fuck to do.”

“Ah, shit.” Jack sighed, glancing up at the doors as a spike of worry for his almost-little-brother shot through his chest. Tension coiled through his limbs. “Okay, I’ll handle it–”

“You better, man, because I couldn’t. I even got Crutch and Davey to try. He wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t say a goddamn word to us. Davey’s out collecting bits from the guys to pay for Race’s bunk tonight, and I’m sure he’s gonna get enough, but this can’t happen tomorrow. Racer’s already short on cash–” Despite Albert’s harsh, biting tone, Jack knew the kid well enough to see deeply rooted concern in the furrow of his brow and the tight shrug of his shoulders. He was tense right up to his ears.

“I got it, Albert. Anyone tried getting him to eat yet?” He started a quick jog up the stairs and into the building. Though Jack knew what to do, that didn’t make him any less jittery when things like this happened.

He found himself despising his ‘real job’ because it meant he couldn’t spend mornings here with the boys. If he’d’ve known about Race’s situation sooner, maybe his brother wouldn’t’ve missed out on a day of selling. Jack barely checked in with Kloppman as he thundered up the stairs, Albert trailing behind and talking a mile a minute through a lopsided, thickly accented mouth. His speech might’ve sounded like another language to someone that didn’t know him well.

“Yeah, Crutch’s up there workin’ on dinner. I just dunno what coulda caused this one, Jack, he seemed fine yesterday and he was playin’ poker last night before bed– he seemed fuckin’ normal and now he ain’t even speakin’ to anyone–”

“Well, sometimes there ain’t a reason.” Jack toed open the door to the bunkroom and Albert stumbled to a halt behind him, both of them gazing at the sight of Crutchie murmuring softly to a despondent lump of Racetrack. Other newsies lingered silently around, awkwardly pretending like they weren’t nosy-ly watching the scene in the corner unfold. Jack’s chest squeezed tightly and a soft exhale escaped him, worry and exasperation all in one. “Sometimes he just gets like this. But I’ll figure it out, Al, don’t go all batshit on me.”

The redhead practically growled, proving every stereotype of fiery gingers more than true at that moment. Race would be delighted to know that he had an angry guard dog as a best friend. “I ain’t even close to batshit, Kelly.”

“Well, if that's the case, why don’t’cha help Dave collect donations? Scare the kids into puttin’ a penny in your hat or somethin'.” He swiped Albert’s backwards cap right off his head and held it out with a well-practiced cheeky grin, earning him another sneer. 

Albert snatched his cap back and stormed out of the room, each movement tight and tense with worry. Jack crossed the room in a few strong strides, gently tapping Crutchie on the shoulder. He held a glass of water and a sandwich wrapped in wax paper, both entirely untouched. When Crutch met his eyes, a silent understanding passed between them and like the well oiled machine of brotherhood they were, the boys switched places. Crutchie ruffled Jack’s hair and tucked his crutch beneath his arm, immediately limping off to go clear the stragglers out of the room.

Jack pushed a hand through Race’s head of fair hair and glanced over his expression– tight with sadness, blue eyes staring straight ahead. “Mornin’, buddy.”

Racer closed his eyes at the sound of Jack’s voice, which he took to be a good sign as he ran his fingers through his brother’s tangled hair. Jack's skin seemed darker than usual against the light coils of Race’s dirty hair, matted and tangled. “Rough day today?”

As expected, Jack didn’t receive a response. He carefully set the sandwich and water aside and tugged his fingers through Race’s hair. It wasn’t very intimate or sweet as it might’ve been with someone like Dave or Kath, because Race was a proper mess and his hair was beyond tangled. Jack worked the kinks out and watched his nose wrinkle and twitch, upper lip curling every so often as a reminder that he was cognitive and alive and feeling something, still. 

“Everybody’s worried about you.” Jack started, trying not to betray just how deep that worry was. This wasn’t the first time– far from it– but that didn’t make it any less scary. “I am too, a’course. Wish I woulda been there for you this morning, buddy, but Bastard Old Joe would fire me if I was any more than a minute late to his shitty office. Still, ‘m here now. Want’cha to talk to me, if that’s appealing at all. You gotta talk to someone, after all, or Albert’s gonna get so mad his head’ll turn as red as his hair. Then he’ll explode or some shit, I dunno.”

Jack knew this side of Race like the back of his hand. He remembered countless days in their shared past when Race would wake up just the same as he was now, glued to the sheets and subdued and silent, remaining still and motionless for as long as possible. The impossibly impish trickster he normally was would disappear beneath lumps of thin quilt and stony silence would take over in its wake, turning Racer into someone unresponsive and lethargic. Jack had a hunch that it was because of the constant motion Racetrack was in. Always with a smirk or a stinging quip, running betting circles and poker games and puffing cigars. Full of biting sarcasm, mind racing a mile a minute, bright as a star with nowhere to shine. An engine constantly chugging along, overheating until the point of exhaustion. Breakdown. That was whatever this was– the point where he chugged to a sudden halt and collapsed, withdrawn and almost unreachable. 

It happened once or twice a year, almost always in the bleak, dark, wintry months. Sometimes Race would spring out of bed the next morning, chipper like nothing ever happened. One time, when they were around ten and twelve, he was stuck in bed for a week. Jack wasn’t about to let that happen again.

“You don’t want Alfred to explode, do you? We’ll hafta find another token ginger…”

“No.” Race croaked, finally responding to the subtle joking that always drew him out of his shell. 

That’s what Jack had figured out– gentle touches, lighthearted mood, quips and teases. It took that. He didn’t respond well to Crutchie’s optimistic mothering or Albert’s intense pushing. Jack could picture Davey in all of his awkward loveliness trying to sternly coach Race out of the bed with false logical positives, like he was waking Les up and trying to get him dressed for the day. No, Jack knew Race, and he knew that Race responded to the feeling that he hadn’t done anything wrong. That things were normal.

“That’s what I thought.” Jack responded, with the same calm cheer coloring his tone. “Now c’mon, you can’t let me have better hair than you for a whole day. You wanna get up? Have a bite of dinner? Looks like someone got you somethin' from Jacobi’s…”

After a moment of silence, Racetrack weakly shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. “Can’t.”

“Can’t get up, that’s okay. I ain’t gonna make you.” He parroted, gently pulling his fingers through Race’s separated curls. “I would like it if you’d talk to me, though. So’s I can get a good night’s sleep, knowin’ what’s on your mind. I know you like torturin’ me but I sorta need my rest…”

The blonde let out a quiet snort, the motion jerking the blankets he held clutched to his chest. Jack couldn’t help his own smile at the transformation in the younger boy’s expression. He seemed to soften around the edges, with a little exhale that spelled progress. “Can’t deprive the great President of his beauty sleep… How’s he gonna sell papes without his pretty boy face?”

“That’s the problem– I need my pretty boy face. It’s the only thing I got goin’ for me.” Jack joked back with practiced ease, like everything was fine and Race wasn’t having one of his bad days. It was good, and it worked, because Racer snorted again.

In one shift of obviously difficult motion, Racetrack rolled onto his back and stared up at the wood holding up the bunk above them. Jack placed a careful hand on his shoulder and went still, waiting patiently. He could see Race’s mind moving behind intelligent blue eyes, the dart of his irises and the wrinkle of his nose as he thought. Sorting through his thoughts. Analyzing. A mathematician's brain, not at all like Jack’s artist brain or Davey’s literature brain or Kath’s journalist brain. Solving a problem. Race was a skeleton of problems and solutions wrapped in skin with a trickster’s smile. He was missing one of his pieces in that bed, because half of his face was occupied by an uncharacteristic frown. 

Finally, he spoke. “I can’t stop thinkin’ about what the fuck I’m gonna do after this.”

“After what?” Jack tried to put the pieces together, but he’d never been good at solving Race’s cryptic riddles. “When you get outta bed?”

“No. After all’a this.” He muttered, throwing one hand up as if gesturing to the entire bunkroom. “I got nothin’ planned. Once I’m eighteen and Klop gives me the boot, I’m done.”

Oh. Jack knew this rabbit hole of thought all too well. The cause of Race’s spiral was one that had caused him many spirals of his own, and it probably did the same for almost every newsboy that came before them. “You ain’t done. You basically got two years to figure shit out, man. Plus, you’se smart as a whip. Anybody would kill to have you workin’ for them if they knew how your brain worked.”

“Yeah, but they don’t, and since my Ma had to go and fuckin’ die on me, I ain’t got no schoolin’ to show for it. No proof.” He muttered, dragging his hands over his face. “I hit eighteen and boom, I’m on the streets. My Pa’s gonna want me to join his fuckin’ gang and I can’t do that, Jack, I swear to God–”

“You don’t hafta join any gang, Race, we’ll find you some other job. Stuff comes up when you least expect it. You gotta look at the good and the bad.” Jack reassured, carefully squeezing Race’s shoulder.

He sighed, hard and long. “Well sometimes it don’t feel like there’s any good.”

“Yeah, I hear you.” Jack responded, even though he knew the feeling far too well. Before Pulitzer miraculously offered that job, he’d been thinking the same thoughts. Now he was staring down the barrel of a secure future where he worked full time as an artist for the paper. It had all been pure luck. Chance. How was he supposed to explain that sorta thing? “I hear you, but you might not be lookin’ in the right places. Listen– we’ll get Davey on the job hunt with us. I’m sure he knows a couple places that are hiring. You can get in early, start up part time like me, work your way up. By the time you’se eighteen, you’se set.”

“Okay.” Race breathed, eyes fluttering shut. “Okay, that… that sounds okay.”

“Yeah?”

A tiny nod, a jostling of blonde curls. Jack let out a sigh of relief as Race finally pushed himself to sit up, rubbing his hands over his face. Every movement seemed like he was pushing through a sea of syrupy fatigue, fighting his own body to get things working again. Jack rubbed his back through it all– though he’d never experienced this sort of thing, Race had been through it more times than he could count, and it looked the same every time. Painful, difficult, but a surefire show of Racetrack’s incredible determination.

After a moment, he twisted awkwardly and lurched into Jack’s arms, wrapping him in a messy embrace. “Thanks, Jackie.”

“Don’t call me that, bud.” Jack responded simply, swinging his arms around Race and embracing him happily as the little shit exhaled a harsh laugh into his shoulder. He smelled like sweat and stale bed linens but he was talking and awake and moving, and that was more than enough to make Jack grin. “You want dinner? Water? You’re prob’ly fuckin’ parched.”

“Huh. Guess I am.” He said almost absently, like he was just then remembering his own humanity. Race reached across Jack and downed the glass of water in one go, before Jack offered him the sandwich and he slowly tucked in.

Moments like this made Jack remember why he’d stayed in this position for so long, leading these boys. They made him dread the day he had to leave, too. He slung an arm around Race’s shoulders and leaned back against the headboard of the bunk as the door creaked open, revealing a green-eyed boy with his cap held carefully in his hands. Jack motioned Davey in, tugging Race closer up against his side. The younger boy curled up beneath his arm, seeming to melt into the embrace.

“Hi, Racer. Feeling better?” Davey asked politely, coming to a halt beside the bed and tucking freckled hands into his pockets.

Race nodded wordlessly, without making eye contact as he bit his sandwich. He’d probably only be talking to Jack for a few hours, but that was how things always went. Jack had a remarkable knack for weaseling into people’s cracks and gently breaking them open. Davey rocked back on his feet, wearing a pleasant little smile. “That’s good. Your bunk is all paid for tonight, so no need to worry about that.”

“Great. Thanks, Dave.” Jack briefly grabbed his hand and squeezed, and like clockwork, Davey squeezed back. He trailed up to hold onto the taller boy's wrist as an idea struck him. “Hey, Davey, you think you could help Racer here start up a job search? Like, a post-newsie career?”

“Well, sure. I can think of a couple things that suit you, Race.” He smiled the type of smile that appeared when he had an idea. Jack felt confident for Racer that Davey was going to take good care of this little issue. Things would be okay, even if it was slow going. Even if Race was burrowing further into his arm, looking stony and miserable. “I’ll get back to you on that as soon as possible. Is it alright if I go tell the guys you’re alive and well up here?”

“Go inform the masses.” Jack responded easily, shooting Davey a lazy grin.

Davey returned the bright smile, crinkling his wide eyes into crescent moons. “Yessir. Oh, and Jackie?”

“Yeah, Dave?”

“Les gave me a couple of taffies for Race.” He briefly dug into his pocket and carefully deposited the candies in Jack’s palm, just a simple brush of pale skin against tan. “You don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to, but if you do, I promise they’re safe for consumption.”

Jack thanked him and he disappeared as quickly as he came. Only once Jack had set the taffies aside, did he notice Race’s shit-eating smirk. A little bit of bright mischief was returning to his eyes as he trained them on Jack, brows curling downwards into a ghost of his usual impish expression. That was both a good and bad sign. Jack felt his own eyebrows raising. “What? What are you making that face for?”

Race’s teeth flashed in a little grin as he did a remarkable impression of Dave: “Jackie…”

And that earned him a smack upside the head. Jack’s face prickled with heat as he adamantly shook his head, rolling his eyes to the soundtrack of Race snickering beneath his arm. “Shaddap, ya’ bastard.”

Then he started fucking cackling, and Jack didn’t even have the energy to be pissed off at being the butt of the joke, because Race was gonna be okay. Rough patches were tough, but he could see a bit of sunlight through the clouds. Jack held him a little bit tighter and thanked the higher powers for small breakthroughs. 

....

thank you for the ask, darling! <3

[doctor-bus]

I tend to have extremely vivid (sometimes lucid, though I don't have much control) dreams, but there are two that really take the cake for me. Under a readmore because they're long

The first one was a nightmare I had once while taking a nap. It was a really long dream, and most of it was just me going through my daily life, doing things like sitting at my desk on my computer, talking to my mom at home, attending class, ect ect ect. All super mundane and not scary at all. Except every so often my ex would call me, and I didn't want to talk to this ex so I was ignoring the calls.

Except later on, I was rushing across the university campus I was attending at the time and not really paying attention, so when my phone rang I answered it on reflex. Instead of my ex, it was a robotic, automated sounding voice listing off a description. Things like "He is: blonde. He has: blue eyes. He is: 6 foot 5. He is: 200 lbs." It was weird and creepy, so I quickly hung up before the message ended. I sent a couple texts to my mom and friends about this weird ass spam call I got and then just went to class.

The rest of the day in the dream, I kept getting the calls and ignoring them. I knew that it would be the same voice if I picked up, and I really didn't want to get involved in whatever weird bullshit that was.

Then it was evening, and I'd just gotten out of the shower. I remember the sensory detail of the steam in the hallway being extremely vivid (I think just because I was overheating under the blanket). I stepped from my bathroom into my bedroom (in nothing but a bath towel, as I hadn't finished drying off yet) and immediately grabbed my phone off my desk to check it, but my hands were still kind of wet so I fumbled it and accidentally called the number back. It fell on the ground and I had to kneel down to pick it up. By the time I did, it was already partway through the message

"He is: blonde. He has: blue eyes. He is: 6 foot 5. He is: 200 lbs. He is: right handed. He is: 15 ft away."

And at that moment I realize that I am supposed to find this person, and that this person is coming to find me.

My bedroom only had two possible points of entry, one door and one window. I was near the door, so I backed up a little and angled myself so that I could see both at the same time.

My closet door opened behind me.

I scrambled back from the closet towards my desk and window, and this guy slowly climbs out of my closet wearing a tattered, old, incredibly creepy dinosaur costume. It looked sort of like a cursed, hand-sewn doll, stained + faded blue fabric and black bead eyes. He has to sort of bend down to get the long neck and head out, but then he stands upright and is absolutely looming over me, and I'm still kneeling on my floor pretty much naked.

I know with full certainty that whatever the voice sent him here to do will not end well for me. So I quickly grabbed a dagger off my desk (one I'd looked at online right before the dream but didn't end up buying) and stabbed upward at him, right into his crotch.

And out of the wound came dozens and dozens of hands, all grabbing me and pulling me into the split seam.

Then I woke up and spent the rest of the day going "what the absolute fuck was that?!?!?" lol

The other one was less scary, but very emotionally moving.

I dreamed that I was an actor, and that I played the villainess on a power-rangers type show. It was kind of hokey and cheesy, but I was part of an evil power couple with another character, both themed after pollution (for the good guys to beat back, ofc). Like I think I was styled after oil and he was styled after industrial smoke or something???

Anyway, our characters are in evil love or whatever, and we were kind of flirting too. Nothing had come of it yet, but we had really good chemistry and spent a lot of time making flirty banter in between filming scenes at this park in my home town.

(Also at one point we, and a bunch of our coworkers, kicked the shit out of a truck with awful transphobic bumper stickers and ran away lol.)

Anyway, I wanted to keep things going with this guy, but he was really hesitant, saying things like how I didn't really know him and I needed to understand; it's not just his character, he really is toxic. Saying that it's better if we end it there and whatnot.

But then the show got cancelled and we all got fired. (Maybe partially bc of the truck incident. We didn't get caught, but there were enough trans people and allies in the cast and crew that we were suspected. The guy may not have had a name but he DID have blue hair and pronouns, and he was super understanding that I'm non-binary even though I was playing a femme fatale)

I said that was stupid, and that I wanted to keep seeing him, and he kind of relented and said he wanted to keep seeing me too.

Throughout the rest of the dream, we'd meet up periodically. I was doing some other stuff too (there was a weird nonsense segment where I was astral projecting to a Thanksgiving feast and my cousin spilled sprite on the stove and I couldn't clean it up bc I couldn't touch anything??? but that wasn't really relevant).

Anyway, I kept meeting up with this guy, but some things were off. Like, I'd try to call him one day and it'd say it was disconnected, but then he'd call me back from that same number a few hours later. There was another point where I walked the apartment building that I thought he lived in, only to see it burnt out and abandoned, but then later when I walked by again it was normal and I could see him in the lobby through the window. So I kind of assumed that maybe I was mistaken? Maybe I'd gotten lost? But then google maps also said the building was abandoned. But I was like, whatever.

And I had a really good romance with this guy, like, it felt like we had a very serious relationship for months.

Then out of the blue, he says we need to break up. I'm emotionally devastated, asking why, crying, saying that I really love him and I thought we were happy??

And he looks me dead in the eye and says

"Because I'm not real. And the closer you get to me, the closer you come to not being real either."

And then I woke up, feeling a profound sense of loss for the life we had together. I still remember him fondly sometimes, even though it was only a dream.

Anyway if you read all that, thanks for coming to my TED talk lol. I have a lot of cinematic dreams like this, but these two are def the wildest.

I’m so nosy what’s the weirdest, strangest, most insane dream you’ve ever had?

[enha-stars]

how much do you want to bet that san will only wear either a trench coat or simply a thong at coachella

[dreadfuldevotee]

Carol Cutshall I know your game, Rolin & Co. I've got you beat. Color (in terms of wardrobe, specifically) in IWTV so far has been representative of a kind of vibrant inner life and honesty in characters. It's the reason why it's so jarring go from seeing Louis in his beautiful multicolored array of stylish clothes in New Orleans to his solid, un-broken string of Couture Minimalism All-Black Ensembles in Dubai. Even in just comparing his unassuming browns and muted tones of Paris next to Claudia's self discovery in pastel. So, to then turn your eye to Armand; always in black, white, greyscale and browns so dark that in most lightings- they end up functionally black.

And then I think about how his rare pops of color, outside of his green shirt in Just Start The Tape, are orange and red. Adoration of the Shepherd continues to be a interesting painting to tie to Armand, this time in the detail that our only image of Armand before his turning is him in a bright blue gown. And in thinking of all these things at the same time, mentally, I am whacked in the face by a piece of trash on the wind which has this The Vampire Armand quote plastered to it

Anyways, anytime someone goes "Oh I hope to see Armand in color in S3" I think the monkey's paw curls

[kinokoshoujoart]

the coolest kids in forgotten valley!!☆

(…it seems there may have been a stretch of time where rock and lumina were the only kids in forgotten valley…🥲)

poseref