#guy who has been numb for ages and ages finally feeling something

[rowanisawriter]

[makwebba]

better than a podium l LN4

summary: lando could've won his first race in silverstone but he ended up not finishing. pairing: lando x gf!reader warnings: mentions of lando crashing and swearing. note: my first formula 1 fan fiction! not my first time writing fan fictions but it has been a couple of years since i wrote something and lately my love for writing is slowly coming back. the pictures are from pinterest and idk who the owners are so if you guys know the owner or if you are the owner, please lemme know :( also no hate on checo but it just kinda make sense cause he's in a red bull idk. dont come for me. anyways, i hope you guys enjoy it!

- lando was leading the race in silverstone, his home race. you could've not been more prouder for your boyfriend, you were certain he was gonna win the race but not until checo hit the rear tyre of lando's car which cause him to spun out and hit the barrier. your heart sank, everything went numb and it felt like the world just stopped. it was a bad crash, you waited for his voice to come through the mclaren headset that's snugged onto your ear. "lando, are you okay, mate?" randy asked through the radio. you can hear him grunt and groan in agony, breaking your heart even further. you hated seeing him like this every time you come and watch him race. what felt like ages, the medical car finally showed up to retrieve him back to the garage. lando didn't even bother making any eye contact with anybody once he got to the garage, not even you. he just went straight back to his driver's room, hearing the door slam behind you. you sighed as you rubbed your face with your hands in frustration. you walked over to where he locked himself in, you didn't even have to see him to feel the tension that was building in the air as you knocked on the door. "lan...?" your voice muffled against the wooden barrier between you and lando. lando's eyes closed shut when he heard your voice behind the door, he always loved how soft spoken you were to him. he hasn't responded back to you as he stayed where he was sat before deciding opening the door for you. there he is. what he once was; a ray of sunlight beaming through the morning sun to becoming the loud rumbling sound of thunder at night. you furrowed your brows as you quickly but gently swift his hand up against yours while you closed the door behind you. "hey..." you whispered as you brought your hand up to his face, searching for his eyes. lando was not the type to cry but boy, he was just on the verge of losing it. you brought him into a tight embrace, your face nuzzled on the crook of his neck and his arms wrapping around your back. he held you tight as you started to hear him sniffle which ached your heart painfully. you had to fight your tears back because he hated seeing you be so empathetic for him whenever he had a bad race. "i was close... so fucking close..." he mumbled, his voice getting choked up. "i know, my love. i know." you slowly pulled away from him as he quickly wiped the tears building up in his eyes with the palm of his hand before it could stream down his face. you rubbed his arms for comfort as you stood before him, you finally managed to see his eyes. oh so beautiful but it was filled with so much anger and pain. "you did so well out there. and i know your fans wanted you to win as much as you do. we all did. but sometimes things just doesn't go our way..." you said, running your fingers through the side of his head, intertwining with his curls. "could never win a race, huh?" he muttered, moving your hand away from him. "i don't know why i got into this sport in the first place. not even good at it." it broke your heart to hear him talk so low about himself. you tilted your head slightly to the side as your brows furrowed when he moved your hand away from him, stopping you from running your fingers through his hair. you didn't let him get away from it when you placed both of your hands on his face, staring directly into his eyes. "you don't have to be a race winner to be a great driver. you are enough." lando looked back into your eyes which eased him a little. he took a deep breath in when his hand found a place down on your lower back, a soft smile appeared on his face which made you smile back at him.

it was that contagious. "in everyone's eyes you're a winner. to me you're a champion." a wave of warmth cruised all over lando's body when you said those words to him. it definitely hit a nerve in his system but in a good way. it didn't take long until lando pulled you in closer to him and placed his lips against yours, gentle and passionate. "i wouldn't know what i would've done if you weren't here..." he said. landonorris and ynusername

liked by mclaren, user1, user2 and 1,233,754 others landonorris shoulda woulda coulda, right? but i’ve got something better than a podium.

the end x

[alleiwentcrazy]

The point is, Steve can’t hear.

A person can get hit in the head only so many times before it takes effect and does permanent damage. Steve’s incessant claims that being in the front row when the fight breaks down does nothing to him, that he’s safe and alright as long as everyone else is, mean very little in the face of cold, evident facts.

His hearing isn’t intact. It takes him a while to adjust to this reality, but with the help of his friends, he eventually does. Thanks to Nancy’s fierce bullying of the government guys who come to Hawkins to assess the situation and cook up some half-assed excuse for everything that’s happened, Steve now has a small army of well-paid doctors that really seem to be eager to help. He also gets state-of-the-art hearing aids that, well—they work, but Steve’s range of possibilities is still quite narrow. Let a few people into the room, let them speak simultaneously and all he can hear is static, rustles and crackling.

But he’s pliant. He listens when Robin tells him they have to get in the car and hit the road to get to his appointment on time. He lets her help with inserting the aids properly on the days he’s just too impatient and too bugged about how they feel and look to even care if they help him hear. He’s not dismissing her enthusiasm when she starts learning sign language before he even gets a chance to discuss it as his option.

He’s doing a lot of things for her, even if they’re supposed to be important to him first. To be honest, these days it’s mostly doing things for Robin that keeps him going. He would have gone completely numb ages ago if it weren’t for her and her unique ways of picking up the severed pieces whenever he crumbles.

He’s also doing it for Dustin. If Robin is his twin sister, Dustin is the little brother he’s never had. And Dustin… It’s just been too rough on him. It’s been rough on everyone; how could it not be if the only thing they seem to be able to do is wait? Wait for the lab guys to figure out a way to end this. Wait for the panic to cease. Wait for Max to wake up.

Wait for the grief to pass.

They wait and wait, but it never stops—on the contrary, it brings fresh, equally unwanted feelings. They’re always there, lurking behind the corner like a kitten that wants to launch itself at an unsuspecting owner – only with them, there won’t be any playtime involved. Steve recognizes this feeling. It’s the same feeling he’d had in that Winnebago when he was dropping off Max, Lucas and Erica at Creel’s doorstep. An awful anticipation of doom waiting to happen.

He doesn’t like it. He’d like to find a way to do something about it, but he can’t seem to get to the core of it.

Maybe that’s why he thinks he’s hearing things when he really can’t be hearing them.

At first, Steve writes it off as him being paranoid. It happens only when he’s home by himself, so it’s the only logical explanation – he takes off his aids, he gets too attentive about his surroundings, right? He thinks he hears something, but it’s only his tired mind playing tricks on him.

Especially because what he hears are mostly usual, non threatening things. The sound of water running in the bathroom (he goes inside, everything is dry and quiet). The sound of kitchen drawers being opened (he goes to the kitchen, the cabinets are exactly the way he left them). The sound of cutlery being dropped on the floor (but he hasn’t even taken anything out in the first place).

He even gets used to it. Things happen, his brain is weird. It’s confusing, sure, but hasn’t he seen worse things? He definitely has.

But it doesn’t keep him away from sleeping with his bat perched on the side of the bed. If he sleeps at all, if a sudden sound of breaking glass doesn’t keep him awake until his morning shift with Robin, when he can finally leave this goddamn house and take his mind off of things.

Steve tries to ignore it. He really tries, but the point is—Steve can’t hear things like running water in the bathroom when his aids are off. Hell, he only makes it out if he focuses on it when they’re in, so why the heck can he hear it so well? Why are the sounds multiplying?

It goes on for weeks. He avoids the topic for as long as possible, trying to shoo away the obvious similarities between his house and the house that made him hate spiders and cringe at fireplaces not too long ago.

It gets a little too real on just some random Tuesday, when his kitchen positively explodes with sounds the second he gets the hearing aids off. Cabinet doors slam left and right, mugs fall to the floor and shatter, forks and spoons seem to be getting thrown around like ragdolls—but Steve sees nothing. He hears it, he hears it so loudly it hurts, the cacophony of noises he’s never even heard before, but his eyes register no proof of it. He curls down on the floor, expecting sharp glass pieces to cut his skin, but nothing happens. Nothing’s here.

He still covers his head, tucked away in the furthest corner of the kitchen, waiting for it to just stop, to leave him alone—

Steve doesn’t know how long it takes, but when it’s finally done, his knees are shaky and his breathing is ragged. He snatches his aids and takes off, straight to Robin’s house. He doesn’t even lock the door, a thing his parents would kill him for if they knew.

It’s the first time he explains everything to her. It would be hard not to, because she sees right through him. His panicked, restless eyes are enough indication of things not being right.

“Maybe, uh—I think I’ve read something about hearing loss and auditory hallucinations? That they happen, sometimes, especially if the loss of hearing is sudden?” she says, already flipping through her notebook where she keeps all Steve-related stuff and pacing around the room with enough force to make a hole in the carpet.

Steve’s not convinced. “It seems pretty real to me,�� he mumbles and frowns. “But that’s the point of it, right?”

Robin shrugs. He notices that she has a small set of wrinkles around her eyes. Steve looks at them for a second in total disbelief. They already have some worry wrinkles, and they’re not even well into their twenties.

He’s gonna lose all his precious hair in a span of months if this doesn’t stop.

*

They decide to bring it up during his next appointment, still hoping that it’ll maybe go away on its own. Robin tries to make him get a consult straight away (what if it is rabies after all, Steve, like a really really really weird, belated presentation of rabies?), but he waves it off. The option of hallucinations doesn’t soothe his nerves, but as long as it’s not a chiming clock, he can avoid confronting it for a while longer.

It doesn’t go away, though. Steve can’t quite pinpoint it, but it almost feels like—well, it obviously doesn’t feel like it’s real enough to be real. But there’s something that accompanies the sounds, the lack of evidence, the missing of this ominous feeling that Creel’s house inflicted on him.

The sounds—it feels like they bear a presence. Steve’s still scared and gets spooked by them whenever they happen, but he’s no longer truly afraid of them.

Some of them are even comforting. The sound of his pillow being fluffed up before he gets to bed, the sound of pen scratching on paper whenever he leaves his journal open on the desk, the whooshing sound of a lighter being opened and closed – they all make this eerie place his parents have left him a little less empty.

He rarely lets himself think about it that way. He may be a little kooky, but admitting that he’s lonely enough to find hallucinations comforting would be way too much to handle at the moment.

So Steve can’t hear, but he learns to accept the fact that, apparently, sometimes he can. He doesn’t know how it works—to be quite honest he doesn’t know a lot about experiencing hearing loss at all, despite now being hard of hearing himself—but it just makes its place in his life.

He thinks about it a lot, but he tries not to overthink it too hard. It just happens. Things fall to the floor in his house, curtains get torn, the fridge gets opened frequently. He just can’t see it. His mind hears it, but his eyes don’t get the memo. He lives for longer than a week. It’s probably a good sign; nothing’s going to make his bones snap in two now, probably. Hopefully.

Things change suddenly.

Steve tries to spend as much time with Dustin as possible. Between work, his appointments and Robin, Dustin, Max and the kids are his top priority. He doesn’t think he would be able to function if he let himself take a breath and step down from his piled up responsibilities that he chose to take on himself. They keep him together. They keep him going.

Besides, Mrs. Henderson gets really worried. Sometimes it’s just better for Dustin to stay with Steve, and Steve is more than happy to be with him, even though it seems that Dustin doesn’t really like his cold house either.

It’s one of Dustin’s quiet days. He gets them, sometimes—Steve knows that trying to get him to talk on one of those days is a lost cause, and his ears are killing him. He was in such a hurry this morning he didn’t take the time to put the aids in properly. Work was overflowing with people, too, so now his temples are throbbing from trying to pick up the chatter from the static. Seriously, how is it possible that people still spend so much time watching movies in the face of almost-apocalypse, Steve doesn’t know.

“Would you mind if I took my aids off for a while?”

“Go ahead,” Dustin mumbles, bending over his new book.

Something flips inside Steve’s chest. He knows it’s not supposed to be like that, it’s unlike Dustin to be so… not himself. But what can Steve do? He can’t make him talk. He can just wait, nothing else.

He gets up to leave his aids on the counter and pour himself some coffee. He should probably start making dinner soon, but he decides to take a few peaceful sips first.

It’s weird. To sit with Dustin Henderson, of all people, without a single word. Steve glances at him every once and again, but Dustin either ignores him or genuinely forgets that he’s there.

Steve’s so deep in his thoughts about Dustin, he doesn’t even look to the side when a sudden sound of kitchen chair toppling over cuts through the silence. His eyes are trained on the kid.

Who flinches. And frowns. Steve can swear that he fights the urge to look around.

Each and every chair Steve keeps in the kitchen is standing where he placed them in the morning after breakfast. Nothing real has happened. But Steve heard it. And, apparently, Dustin did too.

Steve’s brain is working overtime for the rest of the evening, and he desperately tries not to show any of it. He’s jumping into conclusions. It was an accident; dumb luck. It’s nothing. He’s working himself up, nonsensically.

But it doesn’t feel like it’s nothing. It was only one chair, one sound, but the feeling that accompanied it was strong. Too strong to be nothing.

He waits to drop Dustin off at home like he’s on pins and needles, fumbling with his fingers and keys and pacing around. Maybe it’s better that it’s one of Dustin’s quiet days, he mostly gets away with it, getting only a few side glances.

When gets back home, it’s late, but he’s buzzing with anticipation nonetheless. He can finally do something. He discards his aids haphazardly, not nearly as carefully as he should, and starts running around the house. The house his parents built is huge—but the kitchen turns out to be quite small when he’s finally done with arraying at least a dozen lamps there. He has to raid three of his father's garages to get enough extension cords.

When he turns them on all at once, he has to take a step back and shut his eyes, because it’s too much light.

Just the right thing he needs.

His heart is beating so fast he can almost feel it ramming against his ribs. That’s about how far he’d thought this plan through.

“Come on,” he says and clears his throat, trying to gauge how his voice may really sound now. He repeats himself, hoping that it’s louder this time.

Nothing happens for a while, but he knows he’s close. The feeling is here. The presence that hasn’t left him in months. It’s here.

Steve walks around the kitchen, moves the lamps a little, shakes some of them. His hands are clammy and it feels like he’s chewed through his cheek at this point, but he can wait. He’s waited for a long time. He can wait a while longer.

When the microwave beeps, he stops breathing for a second.

Until it beeps again. And again.

“Oh god,” he breathes. He doesn’t know if he speaks clearly or not, he doesn’t even care. “Come on, show me that it’s you. Come on, come on—”

The lamp furthest to the left starts blinking, slowly at first. Then the one next to it, then another one, and another one, like someone’s walking around and making them flicker one by one.

They’re blinking so much one of the bulbs goes out. Steve doesn’t hear it hiss, so he knows it went out here, now. He knows it’s real.

“Oh god,” his hand goes to his mouth. His eyes are weirdly itchy. “Oh god, is it really you, Eddie?”

The lamp directly in front of Steve goes wild. When he reaches out, it’s almost like he can touch the presence that’s here with him.

And it’s Eddie. Eddie’s here with him.

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

TOM GLYNN-CARNEY INTERVIEWED BY VANITY FAIR MAGAZINE.

KING AEGON COULD BE A VERY ONE-NOTE VILLAIN CHARACTER, BUT IN YOUR HANDS IS NOT. HOW DID YOU APPROACH CALIBRATING AEGON?

"I think anybody who has the darker side to them as the more prominent side — the side that people see first —there’s always a reason for that."

"I dug into that and found a lot of his boyish vulnerability, insecurities, and self-hatred — stuff that he’d been drip-fed his entire life."

"He wasn’t even a spare, you know? He was just completely ignored."

"He was invisible to most people, which is why he behaved in such a way — to numb himself."

But also to say: "Hey, I’m here as well."

"Any attention was good attention for Aegon."

"I find him less of a villain and more of a tragic case."

CAN YOU TALK A LITTLE BIT ABOUT WHY AEGON DECIDED TO FLY TO ROOK'S REST AT ALL?

"It was that moment — well, it’s an accumulation of moments — but that one in particular where Alicent says, 'Do exactly what is required of you: nothing'."

"That was the final dagger in the heart."

"A real cold reminder that he really is seen as being useless."

"A pawn for Alicent and Otto [Rhys Ifans] to use as a puppet."

"But at the end of the day, the law of the land states that he’s the monarch."

"He’s the king."

"He’s the person to call the shots."

"And no one’s gonna fucking stop him from getting on that dragon if he wants to."

"So he got absolutely obliterated drunk and thought, I’m gonna show them."

WHAT WAS YOUR EXPERIENCE LIKE SHOOTING THE BIG DRAGON FIGHT SCENE?

"Cool, man."

"It’s kind of a little boy’s dream."

"It’s just something that you think of when you’re a child as being the coolest thing in the world."

"And it really was."

"They basically build a screen around you so you know where to look: what’s expected, what’s coming at you, what’s leaving you."

"Your entire perspective is quite clear."

"And then amongst that, you’re clad in all this armor that has been expertly crafted by some amazing workmanship."

"But then again, you’re crouched over this big saddle, strapped in, feeling like you can’t move."

"That crane has really got a lot of work to do to make it look like you’re moving."

AT THE BEGINNING OF THE SEASON, AEGON SAYS THAT AEMOND IS HIS CLOSEST CONFIDANT, AND BY EPISODE FOUR, AEMOND HAS BASICALLY TRIED TO KILL HIM. WHERE DO THEY STAND NOW? AND WHAT'S YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH EWAN MITCHELL, WHO PLAYS AEMOND?

"Oh, Aegon and Aemond’s relationship is very different to Tom and Ewan’s relationship."

"Let’s put that out there." [laughs]

"Look, that is sibling rivalry on a very intense scale, isn’t it? It’s the flip of the switch that can happen when somebody feels pushed out or somebody feels like there’s been injustice."

"I always felt like Aemond saw himself being in that position of power and dealing with it better than Aegon would deal with it."

"But then again, his birth certificate states otherwise."

"It was bound to happen at some point, wasn’t it?"

WAS THERE A PARTICULAR SCENE THAT YOU FELT EXTRA CHALLENGED BY OR INVIGORATED BY?

"He’s never in the same frame of mind twice in one day."

"He’s all over the place."

"Keeping up with his erratic mood swings was the hard part, and was this thing that I was having to stay really focused on."

"There wasn’t particularly one scene that I thought, Oh God, not this one, because all of them are challenging in different ways."

"Even the ones where he’s still and more focused are difficult, because you’ve got that sort of inner Aegon rhythm that is rapid."

"It’s very different to mine."

"It’s maintaining that, but still keeping the tension of the scene."

"I relished the opportunity to play someone with such range and creative potential from an acting point of view."

OLIVIA COOKE, WHO PLAYS ALICENT, HAS NOTED THAT YOU TWO ARE NOT VERY FAR APART IN AGE AT ALL, AND YET ARE PLAYING MOTHER AND SON. HOW DID YOU GUYS WORK TOGETHER TO CREATE THAT FILIAL DYNAMIC?

"Every scene that I’ve had with Olivia, there is never a moment that isn’t filled."

"Everything is just so complex and deeply entrenched in her."

"She means everything she says."

"It’s a rare skill to have."

"As an actor, she has that in truckloads."

"It’s a gift to be able to work with her, to play her son."

"Yeah, [it’s] hilarious."

"She’s only a year older than me."

"I think we manage it because we get on so well."

"We’re pals as well, you know."

"I love Olivia to bits."

"Trust her wholeheartedly."

"We have a laugh. We don’t take it too seriously."

"We have common ground on that."

"But then in the moments where the work is happening, it’s all we care about."

"We care immensely."

"It’s one of those things where in the downtime, after we wrap, we can go for a drink."

"We can have a laugh."

"We connect on a personal level as well as a professional level."

"I think that’s what sort of breeds a healthy and believable performance thing relationship-wise."

THERE'S AN AMUSING SCENE WHERE AEGON IS SITTING AROUND WITH THE LADS AND TALKING ABOUT WHAT HIS SOBRIQUET SHOULD BE. SHOULD HE BE 'AEGON THE BRAVE,' 'AEGON THE WHATEVER,' ETC. WHAT DO YOU THINK HE SHOULD BE CALLED?

"Aegon Toast, probably."

[wherenymphsroam]

don’t say it’s unholy, if I let you come hold me (pt 1)

⟡ -- leon finds you drowning your grief in the back of a bar just outside of town. but don't worry, he won't blow your cover.

w/c: 2.1k

warnings: themes of coping with grief and depression, implied underage drinking and unhealthy coping mechanisms, vendetta leon, leon is just a wee bit morally grey here just due to the point in his life this is staged during, no sex but explicit language, leon is readers dad's coworker/friend, angst - eventual sex

a/n: okay, I've been sitting on this baby for a hot minute just because of how self indulgent it is iaqhdsiuwsjih. I wanted to make this longer before I released it, but I think I'm going to just continue this in parts (and even then, don't hold me to that lol judgwiuhd !!). again, please heed warnings, and if you are uncomfortable with any themes presented, please just don't read!

playlist: unholy (hey violet), disconnect (she wants revenge), discipline (nine inch nails), paralyzer (finger eleven)

You shouldn’t be here.

By all legal and ethical means, morality aside, you should be at the library, studying for a final you know damn well you won’t be passing. Or better yet, at home. Maybe poured over a mug of tea, that blend your mom has made you since you were a kid. Some shitty romcom playing in the background, ignored as you doze off surrounded by papers, scattered around the dining table like any other honorable, dutiful college student. Not some… dingy, shithole bar outside the parameters of your hometown.

(One you know your dad doesn’t frequent with colleagues. One you know is just outside the radius of people that would see you here, know you enough to know you shouldn’t be here.)

Maybe you would be back home right now, studying until you felt like your brain was going to melt out of your ears, if not for what happened. The “would’ve” “could’ve” and “should’ve”s are stacked high in your brain, like a mountain of now unattainable possibilities laid bare, slain by the events of recent nights. Something so chilling, so bone shattering and brain dissolving you just can’t manage to wrap your head around it. 

‘Shock’, right? 

That was the operative term for the numbness that has recently buzzed dully in your limbs, the heaviness of your own weight whenever you roll out of bed every day. The term itself is thrown around so flippantly, so easily outside the walls of a hospital, a clinic. General medical common knowledge be damned, everyone knows what shock is.

'Shock' is being betrayed by your child who marries someone of the same gender, rendering you and your paper thin beliefs meaningless. Generations passed down worth of indoctrination gone moot by one, unholy union. It’s coming home and finding your husband in bed with another woman, that blonde bitch at his front desk. The one he told you not to worry about? Yeah, that one. 

It’s the unspeakable, the unimaginable striking. It’s blinding, horrid in how it leaves you.. Empty. You’re compelled to apologize for its effects on your nervous system.

Sorry guys, I promise I’m sad. I know I don’t look it, I’m taking it out on all this- shit lying around. I’ve been meaning to throw this out for ages you know. Guess I finally have a reason now, huh? No, I don’t know how much sleep I’ve gotten the past week, it’s probably fine. I’m fine, don’t worry about me. That’ll make me feel worse. Now, if you would, let me go finish my manic episode in peace, will you-?

Could you blame this too as to why you finally dug out that fake ID your friends coerced you into agreeing to?

This wasn’t like you, not one bit. I mean, really, sitting in the back of some gnarly bar, surrounded with the sorts of people Daddy always warned you about? The sorts of people that only came out after dark, that hung around till dawn when they would then go back to dwell in whatever crevice of the city they called home until dusk? Maybe this was moms genes catching up with you – the predisposed ones you always knew would come to bite you in the ass. Maybe you should go check your eyes, don’t people's pupils dilate when they’re manic? “Crazy eyes'' those people on Tiktok would call them, right? 

“Unwidin’, huh?”

His voice calls through the air between you like he might’ve well been standing yards away. It takes you a moment longer than maybe appropriate to track his distance, his place at your side at the bartop. Glancing over, you first get a look at his hand, gesturing to the drink in front of you, the cigarette dangling between your fingers. The one that was currently beginning to slip in your weakened grip, speaking of. 

They’re long, nimble. Broad hands, worn at the tips, smooth along the meat of his palms. Even under the hazy atmosphere surrounding you, you can make out the glint of the watch up his sleeve – probably expensive, if the quality of the leather of his jacket sleeve has anything to say about it. Look at you. Even buzzed like this, you were spotting the finer details. A daddy’s girl with daddy’s tolerance.

Despite yourself, you nod numbly, head heavy on the bracket of your neck. A sign directly arguing with the idea of your tolerance – or rather, lack thereof – but it can't be as noticeable as your brain is attempting to trick you into believing, right?

Leon settles into the stool next to you, and you don’t so much as cast him a proper glance. Maybe that’s why he finds himself sitting down. You looked out of place, like a damn kicked puppy with your head drowning in a few shots worth in the back of this bar. It was a wonder no one else had approached you up till this point, especially given the time of night. It was hard not to feel like your guardian angel. 

“We both know this ain’t the healthiest way to do it.” He says as he flags the bartender down.

Touche, mystery man. 

Well, alright. Technically you knew the guy. You vaguely recognized him as one of Dad’s colleagues through the haze of your buzz. It was too sweet to interrupt, you find yourself completely unfazed in the face of the inevitable consequences that would come from your fathers colleague finding you here.

If anything, you couldn’t complain.

His voice was nice. Beyond “nice” actually. If you were any more wasted, you’d take him for a certain type of actor. More specifically, the ones you listen to late at night. The ones that speak to you behind pseudonyms and expensive microphones, nestled into crevices of the internet any mentally stable person wouldn’t dream of wandering into.  

You know better than to entertain that thought for more than a few seconds, even despite the dregs of nicotine floating through your blood coaxing you towards such a mental image. 

Finally, you brave a glance over your shoulder at him. He’s pretty. Real pretty. How are you only just noticing how sharp his eyes are? They look darker under this bar's lighting, that typically professional, almost playful glint in his gaze nowhere to be found. It had been a few years since you’d last seen him… maybe it was age finally starting to jade him.

Not that you knew the specifics. He was easily older than you by a decade and some change. And clearly all too happy to bypass all niceties in this situation. Damn. Did you look that bad? He was pretty enough to be an angel, but that didn’t mean he had to act like one. Maybe he felt bad for you. Maybe he had a better head sitting on his shoulders than a better half of the people in here. 

A huff of soft breath leaves through your nose, tendrils of smoke swirling out of your system with the action. Shaking your head, you dip it, taking another long drag from your quickly burning cigarette, an excuse to try and string together some sort of response that won’t make an ass out of you. Or actually, anything that didn’t scream “you’re hot and I don’t know how to conduct myself around good natured, attractive men” would do just fine. Those damn eyes of his… it was a mistake, letting your gazes lock. His eyes alone were enough to make your stomach flip. 

“Well,” you mutter, not daring to look back at him. “This is better than my plan b for the night.” 

You don’t so much as flinch when the bartender comes over, taking an order he murmurs in a tone you want spoken against the shell of your ear from behind. Your periphery catches the actions of the bartender pouring his order into a short glass, bronze in color.

Whiskey. Of course.

Reaching for the middle of the table, you stub your cigarette in a conveniently placed ashtray. Sure, you were a little fucked up in a way you’ve never been before tonight, but you had manners. 

Meanwhile, Leon is doing what he does best. Observing. He tries his best not to make it obvious how he watches your hand wobbles when you lift it. He watched the subtle change in your expression when he called to you, how your head bobbed when he sat down. Anyone else would be paying attention to how quickly you recoiled with the action, as if self conscious of your dragged reaction time. However, he had spotted the tension in your slouched shoulders. A reaction rooted in self preservation, a fear of judgment. It was enough to tell him just how many shots you probably had in your system. 

He was no stranger to girls like you, ‘situations’ such as the one he was currently sitting next to.

It was a familiar, cliche dance – the unspoken, drowning struggles of a near stranger on display, insecurities risen to the surface like hemorrhaged blood under thinned skin. It was written all over you. You were scrappy, worn paper, and he was the storm settling overhead. Baring your weariness and struggle and strife to his blind eye, painting you transparent. He could see right through you. You were running from something. Likely attempting to drown, bury it somewhere deep if not for just a night or so. 

“‘Plan B’?” he questions, tone calm, even almost lighthearted. It betrays his sharp gaze, perceptive and on guard as ever. As if he were approaching an injured doe in the wild. Not that he’s done much hunting lately. He’s found that meat off the streets bleeds more freely than the skin of doe’s and rabbits does in present times. 

A wry smile tugs at your lips, almost as if you figured he’d press the topic. It was already too much to ask that he didn’t mention your connection to his coworker, how Leon knew you were definitely not supposed to be somewhere like this, and he had managed to uphold that silent prayer.

Maybe your otherwise handicapped condition was blurring whatever lines that stood between you right now, the lines that constructed what he should be doing, finding you here without a legitimate ID.  He should be outing you to the bartender, dragging you out of this place by the scruff of your neck with your dad dialed into his phone.

He shouldn’t be… entertaining you, right? Could you go so far as to call his complacent presence.. Encouragement?

Taking a seat beside you, joining you in your mission to drown your ache, your pain. Keeping you calm under his gaze, as if a sedative rolled off him in gentle waves. His throat bobs around his sip of whiskey, and you can’t help how your gaze lingers on the action. 

“Plan B consisted of finding someone to fuck me into next week,” you mutter dryly, as if the admission of your half hearted ‘plans’ for tonight left a sour taste in even your mouth. It wasn’t who you were. This wasn’t what you did. For fucks sake, you weren’t even supposed to have gotten this far, knee deep in an actively self destructive decision. But life sure did have one hell of a way of knocking you one hundred eighty degrees in the other direction, didn’t it?

No. That’s an excuse. A shitty one, at that. It's an excuse you've heard your dad mutter under his breath when he slouches into the couch with a beer in hand.

This is a poor choice, and you knew this was a poor choice. And yet, that didn’t stop you from walking your happy ass into this bar, nose up and full of talked up confidence you poured into yourself in the parking lot. No amount of tugging and pulling and pleading your guilty conscience did on your brain would stop you, not this time. You knew that getting into an Uber to haul you outside the lines of town would seal your fate to the whims of this bar. How classy. 

If Leon was a worse man, he’d take your words at face value. (Or maybe he’s just damned with all that thorough training he’s been rung through. It’s practically impossible not to read people nowadays. Even alcohol has ceased to debilitate him of this begrudgingly equipped set of skills that was all but pummeled into him.) 

His gaze wavers. Flickers, almost with a wash of amusement for a moment. You were trying oh so hard, taking that clipped, short tone with him, all but puffing your chest with this aura of  mental toughness you likely wanted to think you had. It was cute, really. But oh, the lacing of desperation in your tone... The sweet vulnerability in your breath… every hairline fracture your already cracking front is bleeding. 

He doesn’t have to be a bloodhound to want to dig for more. He just can’t help himself. 

thank you for reading! I have emergency commissions open, so if you enjoyed this piece, please consider taking a look at my menu or rb’ing :^)

[banned-for-horny]

After your words I just need more possessive traumatized, messed up Robin who clings to PC like a small coala.

"Robin!"

Robin is five when he skins his knee.

He doesn't remember how or when. What he does remember is the itch of the cut, the way his skin tingles and burns as blood begins to puff at the seams. He remembers his eyes watering, blurring the world around him as he starts to hiccup and wail, because Robin had been (and always will be) a crybaby.

But, he also had you. You'd come running the moment he fell, chubby hands dragging one of Ms. Bailey's friends behind you. Unlike him, you were never allowed outside without supervision. Today, that seems to work in his favor.

Yes, Robin remembers thinking. He's very lucky to have you.

"Robin, what are you-stop!"

Robin is seven when he loses his first tooth.

That's late, apparently. You're already missing three, two falling out and one forcibly knocked out when an older orphan tried to push you down the stairs. Robin had bitten the older orphan in retaliation, but the force from hitting the floor still knocked your tooth clean out.

But it's not a scary process, you tell him when you cram your fingers in his mouth. It doesn't hurt at all! And if it hurts, you'll go get Ms. Bailey for him and then she'll buy you some nice pastries from the café.

It's a flat-out lie. Robin recalls blood gushing from his mouth when you finally ripped his tooth out. It started to make him dizzy, so you ran out to find some help until he was sent to the hospital to have his mouth looked at. You're still there when he wakes up, though, and you manage to buy him some vanilla ice cream with what meager savings you have.

His throat was still numb from the anesthetic, but Robin recalls tasting milk and honey when you smiled at him.

"No, Robin, stop! S-Snap out of it already!"

Robin is ten when he first walks in on you in the bathroom.

It used to be fine before. He remembers taking showers with you all the time, blowing suds at your face and wrestling to shove you under the surface. Ms. Bailey had said to stop that when he reached seven, but you were never one for listening to the caretaker, so neither was Robin.

But now, Robin thinks that night, it's...different.

He has his thin blanket strained between his legs, face warm and neck damp with sweat. The weird squirming in his stomach won't stop. He wants to sleep, but every time he shuts his eyes, he sees your bare back instead and feels sick all over again.

In the future, he will take classes and learn from a pretty blonde man all about what he's feeling. It's natural, he will learn, for boys his age to start developing some interest in people. It's not something to be ashamed of. In fact, in this hell, it's something he should embrace.

But for now, Robin just rolls onto his stomach and tries to ignore it.

"Robin, this isn't-please, don't! Get off-"

Robin is thirteen when someone tries to take you right in front of him.

Your bodyguards are careless, have been ever since you hit thirteen. Robin knows one is still around, though he's too busy schmoozing with some other guy across the park.

But Robin isn't, and the second the lady's grip on your forearm gets too tight, he's there with a fistful of mulch and a scream that splits the air like the temple bells. He shoves the chips at the tall woman's cheeks and rams an elbow into her shoulder. It's just enough to get her to let go, stumbling back from the assault.

Then she rounds on Robin with her lips pulled back in a snarl, but you're already on her, throwing your entire weight into a tackle that sends the woman flying into the fountain. Your physique has always been better than his. He's still very lucky you would never use it against him.

By the time a 'random bystander' (ie, the bodyguard that supposed to be protecting you under Ms. Bailey's orders) comes in to sweep you and Robin away, you're starting to grow a black eye and his ankle hurts pretty bad, but he's hand-in-hand with you. You're all smiles for the first few hours, reassuring him that everything was okay and that you're fine, but when he's in his shared room with you, you end up slipping into his bed.

You're trembling. Robin wraps his arms around you and holds you tight.

"Don't touch me!"

Robin is sixteen when he sees you kiss another classmate.

He doesn't know who she is, just that you're just as flustered and apologizing to hell and back. It must have been an accident. It happens all the time.

That doesn't stop the hole from tearing into his chest, rattling his nerves and flooding every pore in his marrow with...with what? Unease? Disgust? Betrayal?

Whatever it is, it's chased by a rush of shame. You would never betray him. Furthermore, you aren't his. Not like that, at least. You've been raised by his side ever since he can remember. Wherever Robin went, you were guaranteed to follow (or, at least, try). Even when school started and your schedules differed, you made it clear that walking home with Robin would be part of your new routine. If Robin ever fell, you would be there to catch him.

And if anyone tries to hurt you, Robin is supposed to be there to protect you, because he's your friend-no, because he's yours.

"..."

Robin is nineteen when he finally pulls out of your cum-slicked hole. Sweat drips from his temple and traces his cheekbone. His arms are aching, his stomach burns, and when he looks down, your eyes are locked onto the curtained window that overlooks the town. The flesh around your throat is already starting to puff with hand-shaped bruises. You could have easily fought him off, but you would never lay a hand on him, even if it meant hurting yourself.

He's lucky, he thinks before collapsing on top of you. You're still half-dressed in your sleepwear, the fabric clinging to his sweaty skin as he tries to curl around you. The bed sheets below you are still fresh with your scent.

Right. This is your room. He'd come into your room, climbed into your bed, and-

He doesn't realize he's crying until your hand touches his cheek. You're not looking at him, glazed eyes focusing on the wall instead, but the rest of your body moves on autopilot, muscle memory from years of comforting him when he wept.

"...it's okay, Robin," you murmur. "It's okay. I'm fine."

Because you would always be there to catch him. No matter what.

Robin is very lucky, indeed.

[mercillery]

ok can we have a part 3 for yandere zenon x cheater reader? im so totally absorbed in this scenario. For part 3, zenon somehow finds out that dante forced himself to reader and reader chan was loyal and faithful all this time. ((but now after the isolation and abuse reader chan went through [that she didn’t deserve ofc], she does not harbour any sort of feelings for zenon anymore. basically she’s now numb and emotionally unavailable)) zenon also finds out that dante ordered his dark disciples to twist the what truly happened which caused to put all the blame on reader chan. basically dante being dante and spreading his evilness. what would happen now that everything has been uncovered?

BTW I REALLY LOVE YOUR WRITINGS I HOPE YOU ARE DOING WELL. THANKS SO MUCH 💝💕🎀

WARNINGS: FEMALE READER + YANDERE THEMES + DANTE SUCKS + NOT PROOFREAD

NOTES: I honestly did not think I’d ever get to part 3 with this. Sorry this was so short, anon. And thank you for your kind words, I hope you’re doing well too 🫂🩷🩷🩷

I read this request and did the biggest 😮 of my life

Okay, so imagine Zenon, standing in the dim, ominous corridors of the Spade Kingdom’s fortress, a place so lacking in interior design you’d think they hired someone who exclusively works with shades of "doom" and "gloom." He’s brooding as usual, probably wondering why they ran out of skull wallpaper for the meeting room. And then—boom—news drops like the world’s most dramatic mic: Dante had forced himself on you, and you, the loyal soul that you were, got framed, slandered, and thrown under the metaphorical bus while Zenon fell for the whole twisted story like it was some top-tier villain plot.

How does Zenon find out? Picture this: A Dark Disciple, sweating like they're in a sauna, stumbles in, eyes darting like they just got caught in a game of "Who Told Zenon the Truth First?" Maybe this Disciple is one of those rare ones who took a philosophy course once and grew a conscience. Or maybe Zenon overhears a whispered conversation while passing by, because let's face it, his ears seem to pick up everything—he’s like the NSA of the Spade Kingdom, minus the Wi-Fi.

The moment the pieces click into place, the atmosphere drops about 20 degrees. Everyone nearby suddenly finds a very urgent task to do elsewhere. Dante’s penchant for turning every situation into a melodramatic power play has finally caught up with him. He had you cornered, used his twisted charisma and brute force to strip away your peace, and then had the audacity to spin lies thick enough to strangle your truth. Zenon never fancied himself an emotional man, but realizing you bore this cruelty alone ignites something he can't quite name but feels suspiciously like...regret? Rage? Maybe even shame? Oh, we’re venturing into feelings territory, and Zenon didn’t sign up for this emotional rodeo.

Enter Zenon’s response: the guy's ice-cold exterior shatters. Anger seethes through him in waves so palpable you could surf on them. He doesn’t yell—Zenon isn’t exactly a karaoke enthusiast—but his silence becomes so sharp that even the bravest Dark Disciple in the room considers updating their will. In his head, he’s calculating: How do you punish a brother who holds all the arrogance of a peacock that just discovered mirrors?

But here’s the kicker: as he processes this, he knows how numb you've become—how the light in your eyes that once flickered even in darkness now looks like someone turned the “Open” sign of your soul to “Closed.” And it hits him in a way that no bone magic ever could. The one person who stayed true, who endured his coldness and the insanity of being tied to him, was left shattered and empty because he couldn’t see through Dante’s lies.

And let’s not forget, Zenon is not a talk-it-out kind of guy. He’s more of a “this ends with me breaking several laws of nature and decorum” type. Once the truth settles, and he stands before you in that isolation chamber he should have burned down ages ago, there’s a new weight in his stare. No words will fix the cavern between you now, and he knows it. You’re a shell of who you were, and Zenon’s about to realize that revenge on Dante isn’t just personal; it’s poetic justice wrapped in a tragic bow. And Dante? Well, let’s just say his evil cocktail is about to become the least of his problems.

The bloodlust that ignites in Zenon when he finally pieces together what happened isn’t just your run-of-the-mill rage—it’s the kind of fury that could power a medieval war machine. And the best part? This time, it’s not directed at you; no, you’re the one thing in this twisted story he doesn’t blame. All that anger has one target, and it’s wearing Dante’s smirking face. The fact that it’s his brother who crossed the line? It doesn’t matter. Family dinners were awkward enough before this, but now, they might as well be battlegrounds.

He should’ve seen it coming, really. That nagging thought needles at him like a thorn he can’t pull out. A part of him knew Dante might one day take an interest in you—it’s Dante, after all, a man who considers “personal boundaries” a foreign concept, especially when it comes to beautiful women. But Zenon thought he had kept a tight watch on you, sure that the shadows of his vigilance were enough to protect you. Turns out, even shadows have blind spots, and Dante knew exactly how to slither into them.

And as that anger festers, Zenon’s usually ice-cold logic burns with a single focus: Dante. Dante, who knew you were Zenon’s, who saw that invisible line in the sand and not only crossed it but danced on it. Dante, who left you a shell, drained of feelings, left with nothing but numbness where there used to be warmth and hope. Zenon knows you aren’t to blame. Not for this. Not for anything. The thought anchors him even as the violent storm inside threatens to break him. You were his; you were true and faithful, even when he was too cold, too distant to see the truth.

The million-dollar question: what now? What’s Zenon’s next move, and what kind of trouble has Dante unknowingly signed up for? Well, let's just say the Zogratis family reunion is about to get an upgrade—from “tense” to “bloodbath, guest-starring the Grim Reaper.” Listen, Zenon’s been holding it together with that controlled, cold demeanor of his, but finding out what Dante did to you?

Dante might have a reputation as the charming, ego-fueled ladies’ man of the Spade Kingdom, but he messed up—big time. He should’ve known better than to touch you, Zenon’s one precious, untainted thing in a world full of corruption. Zenon isn’t impulsive, no; he’s meticulous. He’s the guy who plots three steps ahead even when he’s playing chess against himself. But with this revelation, his obsessive tendencies are cranked up so high that the needle might as well snap off the dial.

And don’t get it twisted: this isn’t a rage-fueled rampage. Zenon’s not going to storm down the hall, screaming like some low-level henchman caught in a tantrum. This is a hunt, a cold, methodical execution where Dante is the prey, and Zenon is Death with a bone to pick. Because in Zenon’s world, harming you is a cardinal sin, punishable by, well... death. Family ties? Irrelevant. Brotherly bonds? Not like that ever existed in the first place. Dante didn’t just cross a line; he set the whole dang map on fire.

Don’t think Zenon is going to play fair or drag this out. He’s not the “monologue and let the bad guy escape” type. He’s the “I’m going to remove you from existence before you even register what’s happening” type. Dante is powerful, sure, but Zenon’s on a mission fueled by obsession, betrayal, and a smoldering, controlled fury. If you’re worried Zenon might not win this? Don’t be. Dante’s facing a man who’s decided that brother or not, you messed with his world. And Zenon doesn’t just plan for victory—he guarantees it.

Zenon’s attacks are like clockwork: precise, merciless, and unforgiving. Each blow he lands isn’t just a strike—it’s a declaration of betrayal avenged, a reminder to Dante of just how far he crossed the line. Zenon doesn’t waste his breath on dramatic speeches or curses. No, his silence is deafening, a silent promise that words would only cheapen what he intends to do. The only sound between them is the sharp clash of their power, punctuated by the chilling realization that Zenon isn’t here for a fight; he’s here for an execution.

Dante, in his typical fashion, tries to laugh it off, throwing taunts like they’re worth more than the air he’s wasting. But Zenon? He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react. Dante’s bravado falls flat, lost in the shadow of Zenon’s ice-cold, calculating expression. A face so still, so controlled, it could freeze the blood of anyone foolish enough to witness the carnage. The fight itself is brutal, a display of Zenon’s sheer depth of possessiveness and hatred, honed to a deadly edge. When the final blow comes, it’s swift and final, a moment so silent it almost echoes.

He emerges victorious, a grim conqueror of a battle that wasn’t just personal—it was sacred. But here’s the thing: victory doesn’t taste like anything at all. Not when he returns to you and finds your eyes as distant and cold as the deepest, most unfeeling void.

The sight of you, numb to the core, eats at Zenon in ways no physical wound ever could. He hides it well, of course. That’s what he does best—keeping his pain locked up so tight it would take a miracle to crack him open. But the reality is, seeing you so lost, so detached, shatters whatever satisfaction he could have drawn from avenging you. He knows he can’t force a reaction; demanding you to feel again would only be another cruelty added to the list of things you never deserved. So, he waits, resigned to the idea that your trust, your warmth, might never come back to him. That he might have won the battle, but lost the war for your heart.

But Zenon is nothing if not relentless. The yandere in him, that twisted, obsessive part, doesn’t mind waiting. If all he can do is dedicate his life to protecting you from the distance, even if you stay cold and unreachable forever, then so be it. He will guard you, care for you, and devote himself to you, even if it means living with the torment of knowing that redemption is out of reach. Because for Zenon, loving you—even from afar—is a battle he’ll keep fighting, whether or not you ever feel again.

Although you’re now as emotionally numb as a frozen fish stick, Zenon’s trust in you skyrockets. Why? Because nothing screams loyalty louder than surviving Dante’s twisted schemes while staying faithful to the guy who basically invented stone-cold silence as a personality trait. So congrats—if Zenon’s trust was a vault before, it’s now a fortress with “No Trespassing” signs aimed at everyone except you. Gone are the days of cold punishments and harsh treatment. Turns out, finding out that your brother is the villain of the century makes Zenon reevaluate his methods faster than you can say, “Therapy, maybe?”

Now, Zenon knows you’re numb, probably for good, but that doesn’t mean he’s planning to make it worse. In fact, punishing you is out of the question now. He won’t say it—because if Zenon admitting fault out loud isn’t the eighth wonder of the world, I don’t know what is—but he realizes his old ways of dealing with his feelings won’t exactly be much to help you feel again, you know?

So he tries to reach out. Tries being the keyword here. He approaches cautiously, as if you’re a wild animal that might bolt, or worse, give him that blank, thousand-yard stare. Zenon doesn’t do verbal apologies—why use words when glaring and brooding have always worked just fine? Instead, he goes for subtle actions. He starts taking care of you like a silent, overbearing butler, appearing out of nowhere to make sure you’re fed, warm, and alive. You didn’t ask for any of this and definitely don’t react, but that doesn’t stop him.

Need a blanket? It’s already on you before you even shiver. Water? Magically appears on your nightstand, as if hydration is suddenly Zenon’s personal crusade. He watches over you with a sort of quiet devotion that would be almost romantic if it weren’t so intensely unsettling. But, hey, romantic or not, he’s attentive. Is he creepy? Maybe. But he’s there, and he’s not going anywhere. Even if all he’s met with are your blank stares and silence, Zenon is prepared to keep trying, his version of an apology more action-based than a dozen heartfelt “I’m sorries” ever could be. Because while you might be numb, he’s going to make sure you’re not alone in that.

If Zenon was obsessed before, now it’s like he’s taken his fixation and turned it into a full-time job—complete with unpaid overtime and zero vacation days. He devotes himself to silent acts of penance, the kind that would make a monk say, “Take a day off, man.” He sits by your side, sometimes for hours, not saying a word, his usually cold eyes softer but more haunted, as if hoping his mere presence can stitch up the deep wounds that words can’t touch. It’s like he’s trying to will the shattered pieces of your spirit back together, one silent moment at a time.

Zenon’s aware that what Dante did left emotional scars so deep that even time itself might throw up its hands and say, “Sorry, this one’s beyond me.” But that doesn’t stop him. No, Zenon becomes obsessed with coaxing even the tiniest spark of emotion from you. A flinch, a sigh, even a glance that doesn’t feel like it’s staring straight through him—it would all mean progress to him. It’s an all-consuming mission, and he approaches it with the same deadly focus he uses in battle, only now, his enemy isn’t a person; it’s the void that’s swallowed you whole.

If it takes the rest of his life, so be it. Zenon’s not exactly the type to quit, and the idea of you staying numb, an unresponsive shell of the person you once were, gnaws at him—surprisingly. So he keeps trying, meticulously and obsessively. Because somewhere in the depths of his fractured, intense devotion, he believes that if anyone can reach you again, it’s him. And if it means spending the rest of his life searching for that lost light in your eyes? Well, Zenon figures he’s got time. Plenty of it. After all, he’s already given you his heart—what’s a lifetime in comparison?

[sukifoof]

My goodness this is such a captivating AU, my mind is racing with different possibilities. Flowey follows us all throughout the game, I'm not sure if Asriel would be able to do the same without attracting attention? His friendship with Papyrus might not come to pass. How would his reactions to our different actions in the Ruins change? Would he defend Toriel if we tried to kill her? What about Asgore. Would he even know his son woke up in the most recent reset or would he assume that he finally died? And how would Asriel's/Flowey's involvement in the Asgore boss fight change? Would he still kill him, and still take the Human SOULs? Or the True Pacifist ending, since he's still a Monster in this AU he wouldn't be able to take the SOULs of other Monsters to equate that 7th Human SOUL, completely changing how shattering the Barrier could work. Perhaps he would discover over the course of the fight or in the leadup to it that he still has Chara's SOUL, and then coming to accept that have to let go of it at the end to destroy the Barrier (and also free himself, more metaphorically)?

Or the entire Genocide Route, Asriel's involvement in it would be different from Flowey's, simply due to them having different forms. He would obviously have a greater capacity to fight back, would he be the final boss after sans? Or replacing the sans fight altogether?

Or even the simple question of what happens to him in the various Neutral endings?

This is an AU with such great potential for anything and everything to change, it deserves to be developed into a full thing

(Although the question of how Asgore's and Toriel's aging was affected during Asriel's coma would also have to be addressed, since Undertale as it is takes place at least 100 years after Chara's death)

HI I MEANT TO ANSWER THIS EARLIER but this week has been so busy </3 my General Thoughts on it is that it pretty much just stays the same and asriel is just an elusive guy.... like.. u know how the amalgamates are gooey?? he just kinda learns how to slip out of sight after who knows how many resets. so if it were to come down to papyrus or toriel or whoever else everything would pretty much have the same dialogue and scenes, except for Specifically Toriel who would probably be. really worried about asriel all the time. especially if u tried to kill her. she would probably be like "Oh God My Son Has Already Lost So Much Oh My Baby Boy" and then asriel would show up at the end of the ruins like "ok Wow u didnt even Try to spare her! u kind of remind me of myself ahaha" and then he follows u like flowey does via amalgamate goo. i think sans would probably be mildly worried about this Goat Friend papyrus talks about but overall i think he would be like "oh sick my brother has a pal. even if hes imaginary"

BUT as for the true lab i think some things would be different. asriel was kept there for a VERY long time and since he was on the verge of death he didnt take much Soul Power from his parents so they barely aged, just like him. toriel and asgore figured there wasnt much hope and everything goes pretty much the same way as it does in canon. but asriel wakes up alone in the lab and FREAKS OUT cuz hes like "oh my god how long have i been out where am i is chara dead what happened to their soul whats going ON" and when he sees asgore and feels numb he immediately thinks that there MUST be something wrong with his soul. that maybe he died and hes living off of charas soul and theyre gone because of him or that charas soul is gone and that Did something to him. he doesnt know but hes pretty much convinced that theres just something Wrong with him now. and thats when he realizes he can reset and he goes about all his resets and whatnot

i think what really happened is that after he went into a coma, charas soul stayed but they pretty much disappeared kinda similar to how chara "wakes up" when frisk falls, but asriel cant tell. i think he wouldnt find out about his soul until he kills asgore and absorbs the six souls and turns into an abomination and the six of them revolt... like he Knows charas soul is There Now but hes convinced that its frisk hes sensing, so he still ends up believing frisk is chara especially after frisk goes through the true lab. i think the true pacifist end would be different in like.. a way that he just uses his Various God Powers to isolate him and frisk like in the photoshop flowey fight. he breaks the barrier after accepting that chara is gone and he Literally has to let them go to break the barrier and hes just a Regular Monster now who is mildly fucked up and dripping cuz of the dt. at least those are my rough thoughts

im sure theres a lot of holes cuz im still trying to think of how i wanna go about it...... i might just have charas soul be gone if i think about it more but either way i wanna try to keep that idea of him having to let chara go to move on from his trauma... most of his issues with his parents would probably be a post game thing where he still avoids asgore but lives with toriel and frisk cuz of his time in the ruins with her. i hope my rambling makes sense i think about asriel so very much

[scoonsalicious]

Okay, I finally got around to reading the new parts as well as the asks and your responses, and first off, I just want to say I'm proud of you. Like truly. It takes so much strength to be able to fight through what you just experienced. Dealing with trauma will always be an uphill battle and it's going to be a bumpy road to say the least. but you're strong and brave so I have no doubt you'll get through it 🤍 I'm so glad you were able to find writing as a way to process things. It really does help us more than we think. I'm so so sorry that it happened. Sending you all the warm hugs i could give from the other side of the world 🤍

Now, onto the story which, is very heavy as you've warned us before. I mean things aren't in detail but still. You can just feel it. Sam being out of the picture was just so so bad. Obviously, he needed to because that is his nephew. And I know A.J. would be okay but God...not having him there is just, bad news. And it happened at the worst time possible too.

When I saw that Chloe has been "chosen" my heart literally ached. And I could feel Pocket's guilt because, how couldn't she be? They were in the same room together. They literally spoke with each other. You can't just stop the "what-if's" going through your head because there are so many things she could've done but didn't, and so many things she did that she shouldn't have that change the whole course. That's the killer part. So many possible outcomes going true your head and the would've, could've, should've's. But, unfortunately, there's not much she could do. She made a choice during the moment, a temporary solution which, unfortunately, didn't have the best outcome in the long run.

At first, I was hopeful that Chloe was going to be fine and that they'd just somehow taken her somewhere to be experimented on with Hydra wanting to make a new serum or something. So the way my heart literally dropped when I read the first part of Chapter 25. I just...I don't even have the right words. It's just horrible. And then I read her age? Fifteen? I had to put my phone down and take a deep breath. I just feel so devasted. Now if I'm already feeling all that, imagine what Pocket must've been feeling? She's literally living through it and she feels like she had a hand in what happened. It wasn't her fault, not at all. She could only control so much of that situation. She's a strong ass woman but she can't fight against those guys while fighting her own demons at the same time. There really wasn't much she could've done. But God, it's going to haunt her for the rest of her life. But the sad part is, no matter what she does, there's not much she can do to change things. She's just going to have to learn to live with that guilt. I know you really don't like Steve, but the line he said to Wanda in Civil War: "This job... we try to save as many people as we can. Sometimes that doesn't mean everybody. But if we can't find a way to live with that, next time... maybe nobody gets saved."

So her spiraling? It comes as no surprise. It's not healthy, but she's in too deep. She's just trying to find a way to numb everything and I can't blame her. Like, it's so easy for us to say oh just go through therapy, rehab etc. don't buy any drugs, don't to this, don't do that because were not the ones in it. But it's never that easy. I just...feel so sad and devasted by it all.

I know everyone's mad at Bucky and rightfully so. But, I am so so glad he's going to be back because yeah, Pocket hates him but at least we have someone who'd stop at nothing to protect her and make sure she's okay. You can't deny he cares about her and that he knows her well. So if there's ANYONE (besides Tony) who could at least snap her out of it for a moment, it would be him. I mean, nobody can pull Pocket out of her spiral apart from herself, but I think Bucky would be helpful in that at least. They're going to butt heads when they meet again but with Pocket's current situation and her mindset, I'm at least grateful that there's someone there to stop her from going even deeper into this hole. She's already off the rails, so I'm grateful that now she's going to have someone who's going to try his damnest to pull her back. Drag her (lovingly) if he has to.

Sigh. We're getting so close to the truth unfolding. I can't wait to see it all. Also saw a snippet of Chapter 26 and honestly, I really do see Bucky's growth (hence why I'm calling him by his name this time) and I can't wait to see more of it. As always, you're amazing. Be kind to yourself and don't forget to always take care of yourself. Lots of love!

— Jnon 🤍

Thank you, Jnon <3 I gladly accept and return your warm hugs from half a world away. They mean so much! Sometimes it's hard to see myself as anything other than broken and weak when I'm in the midst of my feelings, so I appreciate the reminder that healing from this kind of thing is a journey.

I really didn't want Sam to leave, but I needed Pocket to be at her absolute worst point, and alone. I felt like that was the only way she was going to be willing to accept Bucky back into her life. She doesn't want Tony to know what's happening-- she doesn't want to disappoint him, not when he had so much faith in her, so she's kept everything that's been going on from him.

AJ's gonna be alright. Poor kid is just a plot device for me, here. I feel bad, lol. He doesn't deserve it. In my head, he's being spoiled with ice cream and video games while he recovers, lol.

Pocket's gonna feel Chloe's loss for a long time, even beyond this fic, I'm sure. She set out to save girls like her, but instead, because of her selfishness and her perceived weakness, she got a girl killed. In her own mind, she's just as bad as everyone who hurt her growing up. Chloe was her, in a way, and Pocket failed her, and thus herself. Pocket's gonna mention later that it's like this cycle never ends. She could spend the rest of her life working to save women from a similar fate, but it will never be enough. But if she can help save even one woman, well, that's one woman who didn't have hope before. Pocket needed to be at her absolute lowest point so she could get her head out of her ass and fix herself so she can help others.

Funny thing about Pocket and Bucky-- she never hates him. She might think she does, but would actually make her life a lot easier if she really did. She loves him too much, almost.

[faceglitchsworld]

It's the 26th of July here which means that today a baby not so baby chick is born.

Happy birthday, Leedo! 🥳

Please have a look to the collage I made for him and maybe try to not scream, I know it's risky this time

The difficulty I had with this because apparently my Google algorithm refuses to give me Leedo pics. I HATE YOU GOOGLE 😤

And yes, you don't have to tell me I'm biased towards short hair blonde (please circle the word blonde) Leedo.

Now that he came back to short hair again there as high possibility he might come back with this hair...or maybe not and he'll have a different colour. Idk, I hope he'll not come back with blonde hair or my moots' ears will ring because of me screaming.

I'm talking too much about hair here, maybe it's time to something better like, you know, his letter 😅

Oh boy, I think it's been ages since I talked about a rapper for this tradition of mine. And Leedo falls into the category of Idols-I-Immediately-Recognise-On-A-Song because of this. And also because because he has a deep voice. Double combination, immediate recognition.

I think he's also the main reason why I'm so invested into the WeUs family because I think that he made the third/fourth interaction which made my mind going CLICK and turning into a WeUs supporter. I still remember when Dongmyeong made a post on the fancafé saying that he ended a workout session with coach Leedo and my mind went numb for a sec and then went like "Oh...so he's his coach. Leedo is Dongmyeong's coach. The coach. Yeah...his coach" and then my mind exploded.

So yeah, I became a WeUs supporter thanks to a gym post. You can clown on me after hearing this.

Talking about him is not very simple tho. Leedo is someone where you should really dive into every thing he does or you might come up to the conclusion that he's just a random guy who ended up being into a K-Pop group because he was just there. OOOOr you need to open both your eyes and ears widely and pay attention to every gesture or word he says and finding little details about him that you might not notice.

Right now, while I'm writing this letter, the only detail that is coming to my mind is the way he pats the members. You know, the pat? The pat pat? Good. If you pay attention to this little gesture you'll notice how he gives the strongest (and, well, it's obvious, he has the muscles 🤣) but also the most...confident ones? Ok, maybe the adjective is wrong here but I feel that his pats give you the energy to start a new task or even try it again if you failed it the first time. I think that this gesture represents perfectly what Leedo is: an introverted big guy who, in the exact moment he gains some confidence, he'll start taking care of you through little gestures, whether they're little or not.

Oh, I want to take this occasion to talk about the personal tag I made for him for a second. Take this as a little story time, hehe.

So, if you followed me for a while, you probably know that Leedo is called The Artemis Hunter. The reason why I called him like this is because, well, I wanted to associate him to a moon deity and Artemis is the Greek God of the Moon. Also Artemis is very strict towards her rites and so is Leedo with his workout sessions so...you can come up with your own conclusions.

And I called him Hunter because Artemis is also the Greek God of Hunting. And I thought that giving him this title can give him much more protection from the goddess herself (even if he'll never do hunting for his entire life but it's better having the Goddess of the Moon's protection than nothing 🤣).

And, final note, I think the tag suits perfectly with the sense of protection he has towards the members. There are two things about Artemis that you should never touch or violate: one, herself, two, the animals she protect. Kill one of them and her revenge will be terrible. I think Leedo has somehow the same sense of protection, except the killing part. I highly doubt he'll kill someone who might hurt the members...maybe.

Dear Leedo, I've become a broken record at this point, since I'm just saying the same things to all Oneus members over and over again, but I'm sincerely happy about how you overcame last year's difficulties and look much happier now. I remember how last year you burst into tears during the tour's first concerts, becoming completely unable to speak, and how the members came at you, ready to console you. I think that moment is just a memory right now, even tho, it's better that I remind you that the members and ToMoons are always ready to help you, even if it's just for a moment of comfort.

My birthday wish to you is that in the future you'll be able to write AND compose more songs for Oneus. It's a very simple wish which is born in the exact moment I listened to Echo. I loved that song. A lot. And I really want to hear more from you, I think you're ready to show much more of your writing and composing style to us and that you have grown so much as an artist that your style can easily match with the rest of Oneus. I can't wait to listen to more from you.

Hope this day will be bright for you and that you'll celebrate this day with the members happily.

Happy birthday, Artemis Hunter 🌙

[she-karev]

Reconcile (Alex Karev's Sister Imagine)

Chapter: Two of Two

Age Rating: 12+

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy

AN: Hey guys so this chapter also has a little bit of angst and psychopath kids, so you’ve been warned before reading.

Summary: Alex and Amber continue to work together and finally talk things out.

Words: 2857

I sit in the Chief’s office next to Alex as we explain to the parents our concerns over Missy after running it by Bailey. She was disbelieving at first but after we told her what Missy was like when we talked to her including her fascination with Gia’s death and my attack. After convincing her we opted to talk to the parents in private while a security guard kept a close eye on Missy at the waiting room. She wanted us to talk to the parents before calling the police. Now the mom is sitting wiping her tears with a tissue and the dad is as cold as ever.

I stayed silent as Alex started to explain the situation to the parents, “I would never want to do anything to make this worse or more complicated but Missy…she’s showing some signs that is raising our concerns. Risk taking, fascination with death, and taboo behavior that are typically associated with juvenile sociopathy.”

I clear my throat and decide he shouldn’t be the one to tell them the worst. I started this and I should be the one to bear the weight, “We um had a conversation with her and the way she acts and the way she talks…we think Missy was involved in Gia’s stabbing.” The mom is taken back and the dad doesn’t move at all like he knew it was a possibility. My heart breaks for them both, their child is on life support possibly because of their other child I would be numb too.

“That…that’s crazy.” Sylvia laughs it off and turns to Matt, “Tell her she’s wrong.” Matt just sits there numb and staring blankly at the wall destroyed. Sylvia tries again, “Matt?” Sylvia gasps, “Say something damn it!”

Matt finally turns to her and asks in a broken voice, “Sylvia, how can you be this blind? She was there just like she was there when the dog went missing and she was there when we found rat pellets in the thanksgiving turkey.” I look away as my emotions start to get the better of me and take a deep breath to calm down as the couple argue. Alex notices and holds my hand and I hold it back because this all of this…is just like the night my brother attacked me. The parents don’t notice us though thankfully.

“No your-your just upset.” Sylvia says in tears.

“Missy may have killed our child.”

“Missy is our child.” Sylvia says with a hiss.

I can’t be in here any longer and I get up from my chair, let go of Alex’s hand and walk out of the door calmly. It’s midnight so the hallway is pretty much empty. I try to make it to the bathroom but my stomach doesn’t let me and in a panic I open the red biohazard trash can and vomit my lunch inside. I don’t even realize someone is rubbing my back in comfort until I finally dry heave and wipe my mouth. I look and see that it was Glasses who rubbed my back and the idea that he saw me throw up makes me want to hurl again. But since I got my lunch and breakfast out of me I opt to pull away from him and go to the locker room to brush my teeth. He follows me.

“Are you okay?” Levi asks.

I hold my head up high so I don’t show weakness, “I’m fine tell anyone what you saw and I will perform a rectal exam on you without a lubricant.” He looks at me scared and backs off when we enter the lockers.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After I brushed my teeth I headed back to the Chief’s office and ran into Alex on the way. He looked wrecked and honestly who could blame him after what just happened.

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t stay it’s just I was-”

Alex shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it I get it this…this is triggering. A sibling tried to kill another sibling how can it not be?”

I groan at the comparison, “Yeah well, the only difference is Aaron was hallucinating and Missy was just having fun if she can feel that. It makes me sick.”

Alex rubs the back of his neck, “Yeah me too…are you okay?”

I sigh and rub my forehead as I feel a splitting headache, “I feel like taking a whole bottle of ibuprofen just to get away from this headspace.” Alex raises an eyebrow at my suicidal comment, “Don’t report me I’m being dramatic. How are the parents?”

“Mom stormed off and dad went back to Gia’s room, he’s trying to hold it in but this is wrecking him.” Alex rubs his tired eyes.

“And Missy? What are we gonna do about her? Have you called the cops?”

Alex looks back at me, “Yeah, we did but without a clear confession they can’t make an arrest. They suggested a wire and I offered to talk to her again and get her to say she stabbed Gia.”

“I’ll do it.” I suggest this crazy thing because I want to see this girl pay for what she did to her sister but Alex immediately shakes his head.

“No that is not a good idea. She’s dangerous and she already killed someone, I’m not letting you take that risk.”

“Alex I would be talking to her in the middle of the hospital full of security guards, doctor and nurses.” Those facts make me comfortable to do this, “And it’s not like she’s carrying and I took boxing for two years I can handle myself. The cops need a confession and I’m most likely to get it. I’m a girl, I’m around her age and she’s comfortable around me due to me satiating her psychopath side with the story of how I was attacked.” Alex sighs and still looks uncertain, “She could do this again and she might not come to the hospital next time where doctors will question her. I want to do this and I don’t need your permission.”

Alex looks at me worriedly and finally complies, “Fine but be careful.” I nod and we head back to the Chief’s office.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After the cops gave me instructions and placed the wire under my scrub along my diaphragm, I head out to find Missy. I walk around the hospital for a few minutes until I find her in the family waiting room sitting there on the table looking at her phone. I inhale and exhale because the sight of her knowing what she did makes me anxious but I told Alex I could do this and I will. I approach her and sit in front of her.

“Hey Missy.” I keep my tone calm and even as per my instructions and she looks at me surprised to see me, “I’m Dr. Karev I don’t know if you-”

“Right you’re the girl who got strangled and attacked I remember you.” She says it coldly and I continue.

“Yeah well I wanted to come by and talk to you and see how you were doing after Gia. I know when one of my brothers got hurt I would always worry about them.”

Missy shakes her head nonchalantly, “Gia was just a little baby she was always crying and begging me to play with her. She would always barge into my room and annoy me.” The way she chastises her sister is the first emotion she displayed and it’s anger.

“Yeah I had a little cousin who did that.” I lie to relate to Missy like the cops suggested and groan to play along, “It would drive me crazy.”

Missy nods, “I’m not gonna miss that.” That one sentence sends chills down my spine but I persist as I’m getting somewhere and decide to kick into high gear.

Remember when we were talking about the man who attacked me? and you said he probably did it to feel more powerful? Well it turns out you were wrong.” Missy looks at me offended, “The guy was my brother and he didn’t want to hurt me, he loved me, he took care of me and…he was just crazy and he lashed out. I don’t think he was thinking about what was gonna happen after to him or me but I don’t think he really wanted to kill me just for the fun of it.” Missy looks at me like I’m the one who’s crazy.

“Well maybe he did I mean you don’t know what he was thinking.”

I shrug, “I mean come on Missy why else would you kill someone?” I ask as genuine as I can to draw her in.

“To know if you could really do it.”

I shake my head at her terrifying comment, “No I don’t think so, I mean to actually feel the life slip away from someone else it’s…it’s way too scary for most sane people and for my brother it was-”

“No I know what he was feeling I mean I know exactly how he was feeling.” Missy says with a grin that is chilling before leaning in and whispering to me, “I was the one who stabbed Gia.” I look at her with a blank face even though my terror escalates as my fears come true, “And it wasn’t that scary. I knew what I wanted to do and I did it just like with your brother he must have felt like it was the coolest thing ever when he was trying to kill you.”

I shake my head in disgust and stand up and walk out the door as I see the cops entering and arresting Missy. I pass Alex on the way who looks at me in worry and I shake my head at him before saying bitterly, “Dysfunctional families am I right?” With that I walk to the lockers to take a hot scolding shower and leave this damn day behind me.

After my Silkwood shower, I put my clothes on and am just about to put my shoes on when Alex walks in looking as exhausted as me. I am so tired I’m not even mad at him, I’m just numb and I know that tomorrow when I see him again I’ll be mad again. It’s a vicious cycle and I have to escape before my psychosis causes me to lash out at him like Missy did to Gia. I know I don’t have sociopathic tendencies but the way I feel around him is degrading to me and the career I have worked hard to get. I need to get out before it’s too late.

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Alex stands there looking at Amber with the same level of tiredness and numbness that she feels only he feels slightly worse because of what he needs to do. He needs to apologize and get their issues out of the way for both of their sakes. He starts by clearing his throat.

“Are you okay?”

Amber packs her stuff in her backpack not looking at him, “Sure a night of arresting a teenage psycho is just what I needed before collapsing on my bed.” Alex nods sharing her pain and her next words catch him off guard, “I’m gonna look for another program tomorrow. This thing.” Amber motions to both of them, “It’s gonna end bad and I need to get out and find something that won’t remind me of the worst time of my life every five seconds or undermine me because of my past.”

Alex looks down in shame over accusing Amber of being paranoid due to their mom and starts his apology train, “I’m sorry Amber and not just for today for all of it. I’m just sorry and I wish I could do thing differently.”

Amber shakes her head and closes her locker, “Don’t Alex don’t even bother the damage is done.”

“I never meant to hurt you.” Alex says it with sincerity and pain.

Amber looks at him with a blank face, “I’m sure you didn’t. I’m sure you didn’t even think about me. You saw a way out and you took it just like me only difference is I didn’t leave anyone behind with no defenses. Hell even Uncle Lucas gave a more of a damn than you and he hates us. But whatever reasons he had I’m sure they were better than yours for leaving.” Amber sits on the bench to put her boots on.

Alex’s shame gets deeper before he confesses an 8 year long secret, “I told him to.”

Amber looks up and raises an eyebrow, “Told who to do what?”

“I told Uncle Lucas to take you in and let you recover at his place until you graduated.” Amber pauses her laces clearly effected by his words as he continues, “CPS was gonna send you into foster care, Aaron was at the hospital and mom wasn’t a good choice so I made him an option. I gave him 8 grand to take you in and I told him I would pay him another 8 after you graduated. The bastard almost skimmed me but I told him I would report him for drug use after I found a stash of meth at his place.”

“Great place to dump your baby sister after she had her jaw reconstructed.” She says sarcastically.

“Well it was either him or do the foster lottery and you land in some rundown home with five other kids who will rip out your wires. And I made sure he was checked on. I called a cop buddy of mine and made him spy on you and him at the house and make sure he was treating you right or at least ignoring you.”

Amber ties my laces, “He did, he ignored me and I avoided him so I was glad to have one less thing for me to deal with. But just because you forced our inattentive Uncle to take me in doesn’t mean I forgive you. I appreciate what you did but you didn’t do much when you were around. The only reason I know you were there was because the doctors told me after I woke up that you held my hand for 10 minutes and then left. I tried to call you but you wouldn’t answer and maybe this whole me getting a job here was a subconscious decision to confront you and figure out why you left and that’s on me.”

Alex shakes his head, “No it’s on me. I started this by leaving and I know that wasn’t fair to you.”

Amber puts her other shoe on, “Your damn right it wasn’t.” Amber says with a vicious tone as she ties her laces.

Alex sighs and continues, “I know you hate me and you have a good reason to. I left you with a schizo mom who barely kept up with her meds and a brother I didn’t was gonna inherit the crazy gene. When I got a job here, I saw it as my ticket out of Iowa but I also saw it as my ticket out of our family. I told myself that Aaron was enough for you, that you were fine with just one brother, I sent the checks to help out because it made me feel better for abandoning you. I told myself that I wasn’t your father, that you were better off without me but you weren’t, it was clear to me that night when you needed me the most.” Amber stops what she’s doing as Alex brings that moment up and he sees it safe to sit next to her, “I held you hand for ten minutes; you were only 16, you should’ve been having sleepovers and shopping for a prom dress not being in a hospital after your brother almost killed you. I held your hand for ten minutes and then I left, Aaron was committed and so was our mom, you needed me and I wasn’t there. I told myself that I couldn’t take care of you that you were better off without me, that Uncle Lucas could do what I couldn’t. I…I wasn’t there I was the ass that can’t stand to be there and I’m older now and I know better now.” Amber is quiet as she feels a single tear down her cheek and wipes it away, “I should’ve done more for you and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not being your brother when you needed me, I don’t know if it’s worth anything. But I just needed you to know how sorry I am.”

Alex says that with his eyes wet as he’s letting his feelings of shame and regret show to Amber who looks at him for the first time in appreciation and as her brother. She sniffles before saying, “It’s worth a lot but…we have a lot of work to do here.”

Alex nods, “Yeah…dysfunctional families am I right?” Amber sighs and puts her head on Alex’s shoulder looking to him as a source of comfort instead of a source of pain. It’s not magically fixed between them but that night is a starting point.

[ajsldf]

BASIC INFO

Full name: Phoebe Marie Baker

Nickname(s): Pheebs, P

Age: 23

Birthday: November 2, 1999

Hometown: Atlanta, Georgia

Zodiac big three: Scorpio Sun, Pisces Moon, Virgo Rising

Sexuality: Bicurious/still exploring

Residence: Coral Coast

Occupation: Waitress at Sunrise Diner/Content Creator on OnlyFans

PERSONALITY

Part bad bitch and part soft girl is the perfect way to describe Phoebe. The lack of a father figure in her life, combined with her mother who can’t seem to make it work with any man she meets, has caused serious problems regarding her relationships. She can be a tad bit needy and can get attached too quickly, but she means well. She is just desperate to find real love and has been burned way too many times in the past. She still has faith and is a true romantic at heart.

BIOGRAPHY

Trigger warning(s): Child neglect, alcoholism, toxic parent, sex work

Kelly Baker never had good luck when it came to love. She always got too attached quickly and most of her relationships plummeted to the ground. It was no surprise when she gave birth to two daughters, both by different men. Phoebe Baker was the second-born daughter. Her older sister had the luxury of being able to choose to live with her father at a certain age. A luxury Phoebe didn’t have access to, given that she never knew her own. She had no idea what his name could even be since she was the result of a one night stand with unprotected sex. With the long string of men her mother had seen over the years, it was easy for her to muddle their names together or forget them entirely. Her father’s name happened to be one of them. 

Phoebe's childhood wasn’t normal by any means. She became used to her mother’s various failed relationships from a young age. She would get a new boyfriend. Then he would be practically moved in and living there rent-free. Some stayed around longer than others, but they always left in the end. And when they did, Kelly would turn to alcohol to numb the pain. She would pass out on the couch with a bottle of bourbon in her hand, leaving Phoebe to fend for herself regarding her basic needs. By seven, she had fully learned how to operate the stove to make a basic grilled cheese, which was usually her food of choice since it was so easy to make. Her mother did manage to have moments of clarity where she swore she’d never have another drink again. And Phoebe being the young and naïve child she was, actually believed her. As she got older, she realized it was just a constant cycle. Her mom meets a guy and gets taken advantage of, he leaves her when he gets what he wants, and she turns to alcohol to numb the pain. She may have a brief clarity before the inevitable cycle starts again. 

The faces and names of the various men got lost and muddled inside her head, one generic, mediocre man after the next. But occasionally, a few would be nice to Phoebe and treat her as if she were their own daughter. It was nice to daydream that maybe after so many failed relationships, her mother finally got it right. Only for those fantasies to be crushed by the inevitable cycle kicking in. When she was a teenager, her mom started dating this one man who, for some reason, gave Phoebe the creeps. It was just something about his beady eyes and his awkward demeanor. It wasn’t until one evening when her mother wasn’t around he made some inappropriate comments and massaged her shoulder in a way that sent shivers down her spine. She began locking herself in the safe haven of her room just to ensure he never attempted anything again, which he never did since he was gone just as fast as he came. She started writing in her journal as a much-needed outlet to vent her feelings and frustrations surrounding her life. She wondered where her older sister was. They had lost touch after the few moves Kelly insisted upon for a “fresh start” after a really bad breakup. She imagined her sister was living a more stable and enjoyable life than she was and even began to grow envious of her. In her mind, she pictured her older sister having a picture-perfect life. She lived with her father, who eventually married a woman and had their own children. Meaning her sister could have other half-sisters that actually got the chance to know her. Even though Phoebe grew jealous from the made-up fantasies in her head, she longed for the presence of her older sister. They didn’t really ever have the chance to get to know one another. Phoebe was only a few years younger than her when she went to live with her father. Meaning the extent of their sisterly relationship had been spent fighting over Barbies and then again over whose Barbie gets to wear the prettier outfits. She knew wherever her sister was out there, she got to be the lucky one to escape a life of being raised by Kelly Baker and her string of men. She didn’t have to fend for herself when mom went a little too hard on the booze. For that, she would always be envious of her sister. 

By the start of high school, Kelly and Phoebe moved to Tennessee for yet another “fresh start”. Phoebe was determined to stay in town long enough to have the full high school experience. The last thing she wanted was for her mom to insist on packing them up and moving again. She just needed to make it four years, then she would be able to leave her mother’s toxicity behind. In the process of trying to avoid becoming her mother, it happened without her even realizing it. She entered her first relationship halfway through her sophomore year and quickly fell hopelessly in love with the boy. She lived for the feeling of butterflies in her stomach whenever he told her exactly what she needed to hear. When they finally decided to have sex, Phoebe hoped their relationship would grow even stronger. She became even more attached and needy to the point where her boyfriend broke up with her. Throughout her tears and her heartbreak, she was blind to all the similarities there were between her and her mother. She unknowingly entered a cycle of her own where she would crave the attention of guys and become heartbroken when they left her behind. 

The rest of high school was rough for Phoebe. She kept falling into the trap of running to men for validation. And it’s not like she had any close girlfriends to fall back on. She had fucked that up by going after the guys they liked or were dating. That just caused those girls to spread rumors, and a few of them even spread around photos she had privately sent to her ex to the rest of the school. All she had wanted was a regular high school experience. But the level of drama she was involved in made her understand her mother’s mindset a little more. The only thing she wanted to do was pack her bags and move to a different location where no one knew her or anything about her history. She just had her senior year to get through. She did her best to lay her head low and fly under the radar, though there always seemed to be some catty girl talking shit about her because of who she dated and how she was the easiest girl in school. Phoebe’s already low self-confidence plummeted further. She was so desperate for love and to be loved, yet she still kept the hope alive that her great romantic love was somewhere out there, just waiting for her. She continued scribbling her feelings down in her journals, having already filled a couple over the years. Every heartbreak she endured, she vented about. Though there were plenty of pages ripped out and even burned because the boys she wrote about on them were no longer worth her time or energy. She hoped to one day be able to fill the pages of her journals with love notes and silly little squiggles and hearts to emphasize how happy she was, though she wasn’t sure if that would ever really happen for her. 

The week after she graduated high school, Phoebe packed her bags to move to Los Angeles, California. It was an impulsive decision, but she had high hopes that it would be the turning point in her life and everything would become instantly better now that she was on her own. She picked up a part-time job as a barista at a coffee place near her apartment, but she soon realized the paychecks weren’t cutting it when it came to her bills. On a whim, she began auditioning for small parts in movies. She would get twenty bucks here or fifty bucks there, but it wasn’t anything that made it worthwhile for her to continue to pursue. By nineteen, she found herself on a casting couch for an audition in the porn industry. One thing led to another, and the next thing she knew, she was getting handed a check for hundreds of dollars and more opportunities being handed her way. The money she was making was not only enough to pay her rent, but it allowed her to have enough money to put off to the side in a savings account. For the first time in her life, she felt like she had become independent in a way her mother never was. Despite the industry she worked in, she felt she didn’t need a boyfriend to be happy. 

By the age of twenty-one, she left Los Angeles and the porn industry behind and settled in a small town in Washington named Fairford. She had gained quite a following while she was in the industry, so it was easy for her to transition into creating content for OnlyFans. She preferred it this way since she had complete control over the content she was making and putting out for the world to see. It wasn’t as if she was completely ashamed of her past, but being a few years older and wiser, there were certain things she would want to go back and do differently if she had the chance. Having more creative control was definitely one of those things. Phoebe picked up a part-time job at Sunrise Diner to have a normal job, so she didn’t have to tell everyone exactly what she did for a living. She knew how judgey people can get and it was something she tried to avoid as best as she could. 

About a year later, she was working an overnight shift at the diner. Business was quite slow, considering it was the middle of the night on a Wednesday, but there were a few night owls lingering around. A man that came in alone was seated in her section, and something about the way he gawked at her sent chills down her spine. She faked a smile and proceeded to take his order. It wasn’t until she was bringing him the food that he let it slip and told her how big of a fan of hers he was. She played dumb and pretended not to know what he was talking about, but he instead described a video from her past in detail. She assured him he was mistaken and denied that it was her. The last thing she wanted was for her past to catch up with her and potentially ruin her reputation in the town she was cozily settling into. That encounter was the last time she ever saw him, but she continues to be afraid of spotting him around town again. Especially since he knows exactly where she works. 

[bakerpheebs]

PERSONALITY

Part bad bitch and part soft girl is the perfect way to describe Phoebe. The lack of a father figure in her life, combined with her mother who can’t seem to make it work with any man she meets, has caused serious problems regarding her relationships. She can be a tad bit needy and can get attached too quickly, but she means well. She is just desperate to find real love and has been burned way too many times in the past. She still has faith and is a true romantic at heart.

BIOGRAPHY

Trigger warning(s): Child neglect, alcoholism, toxic parent, sex work

Kelly Baker never had good luck when it came to love. She always got too attached quickly and most of her relationships plummeted to the ground. It was no surprise when she gave birth to two daughters, both by different men. Phoebe Baker was the second-born daughter. Her older sister had the luxury of being able to choose to live with her father at a certain age. A luxury Phoebe didn’t have access to, given that she never knew her own. She had no idea what his name could even be since she was the result of a one night stand with unprotected sex. With the long string of men her mother had seen over the years, it was easy for her to muddle their names together or forget them entirely. Her father’s name happened to be one of them. 

Phoebe's childhood wasn’t normal by any means. She became used to her mother’s various failed relationships from a young age. She would get a new boyfriend. Then he would be practically moved in and living there rent-free. Some stayed around longer than others, but they always left in the end. And when they did, Kelly would turn to alcohol to numb the pain. She would pass out on the couch with a bottle of bourbon in her hand, leaving Phoebe to fend for herself regarding her basic needs. By seven, she had fully learned how to operate the stove to make a basic grilled cheese, which was usually her food of choice since it was so easy to make. Her mother did manage to have moments of clarity where she swore she’d never have another drink again. And Phoebe being the young and naïve child she was, actually believed her. As she got older, she realized it was just a constant cycle. Her mom meets a guy and gets taken advantage of, he leaves her when he gets what he wants, and she turns to alcohol to numb the pain. She may have a brief clarity before the inevitable cycle starts again. 

The faces and names of the various men got lost and muddled inside her head, one generic, mediocre man after the next. But occasionally, a few would be nice to Phoebe and treat her as if she were their own daughter. It was nice to daydream that maybe after so many failed relationships, her mother finally got it right. Only for those fantasies to be crushed by the inevitable cycle kicking in. When she was a teenager, her mom started dating this one man who, for some reason, gave Phoebe the creeps. It was just something about his beady eyes and his awkward demeanor. It wasn’t until one evening when her mother wasn’t around he made some inappropriate comments and massaged her shoulder in a way that sent shivers down her spine. She began locking herself in the safe haven of her room just to ensure he never attempted anything again, which he never did since he was gone just as fast as he came. She started writing in her journal as a much-needed outlet to vent her feelings and frustrations surrounding her life. She wondered where her older sister was. They had lost touch after the few moves Kelly insisted upon for a “fresh start” after a really bad breakup. She imagined her sister was living a more stable and enjoyable life than she was and even began to grow envious of her. In her mind, she pictured her older sister having a picture-perfect life. She lived with her father, who eventually married a woman and had their own children. Meaning her sister could have other half-sisters that actually got the chance to know her. Even though Phoebe grew jealous from the made-up fantasies in her head, she longed for the presence of her older sister. They didn’t really ever have the chance to get to know one another. Phoebe was only a few years younger than her when she went to live with her father. Meaning the extent of their sisterly relationship had been spent fighting over Barbies and then again over whose Barbie gets to wear the prettier outfits. She knew wherever her sister was out there, she got to be the lucky one to escape a life of being raised by Kelly Baker and her string of men. She didn’t have to fend for herself when mom went a little too hard on the booze. For that, she would always be envious of her sister. 

By the start of high school, Kelly and Phoebe moved to Tennessee for yet another “fresh start”. Phoebe was determined to stay in town long enough to have the full high school experience. The last thing she wanted was for her mom to insist on packing them up and moving again. She just needed to make it four years, then she would be able to leave her mother’s toxicity behind. In the process of trying to avoid becoming her mother, it happened without her even realizing it. She entered her first relationship halfway through her sophomore year and quickly fell hopelessly in love with the boy. She lived for the feeling of butterflies in her stomach whenever he told her exactly what she needed to hear. When they finally decided to have sex, Phoebe hoped their relationship would grow even stronger. She became even more attached and needy to the point where her boyfriend broke up with her. Throughout her tears and her heartbreak, she was blind to all the similarities there were between her and her mother. She unknowingly entered a cycle of her own where she would crave the attention of guys and become heartbroken when they left her behind. 

The rest of high school was rough for Phoebe. She kept falling into the trap of running to men for validation. And it’s not like she had any close girlfriends to fall back on. She had fucked that up by going after the guys they liked or were dating. That just caused those girls to spread rumors, and a few of them even spread around photos she had privately sent to her ex to the rest of the school. All she had wanted was a regular high school experience. But the level of drama she was involved in made her understand her mother’s mindset a little more. The only thing she wanted to do was pack her bags and move to a different location where no one knew her or anything about her history. She just had her senior year to get through. She did her best to lay her head low and fly under the radar, though there always seemed to be some catty girl talking shit about her because of who she dated and how she was the easiest girl in school. Phoebe’s already low self-confidence plummeted further. She was so desperate for love and to be loved, yet she still kept the hope alive that her great romantic love was somewhere out there, just waiting for her. She continued scribbling her feelings down in her journals, having already filled a couple over the years. Every heartbreak she endured, she vented about. Though there were plenty of pages ripped out and even burned because the boys she wrote about on them were no longer worth her time or energy. She hoped to one day be able to fill the pages of her journals with love notes and silly little squiggles and hearts to emphasize how happy she was, though she wasn’t sure if that would ever really happen for her. 

The week after she graduated high school, Phoebe packed her bags to move to Los Angeles, California. It was an impulsive decision, but she had high hopes that it would be the turning point in her life and everything would become instantly better now that she was on her own. She picked up a part-time job as a barista at a coffee place near her apartment, but she soon realized the paychecks weren’t cutting it when it came to her bills. On a whim, she began auditioning for small parts in movies. She would get twenty bucks here or fifty bucks there, but it wasn’t anything that made it worthwhile for her to continue to pursue. By nineteen, she found herself on a casting couch for an audition in the porn industry. One thing led to another, and the next thing she knew, she was getting handed a check for hundreds of dollars and more opportunities being handed her way. The money she was making was not only enough to pay her rent, but it allowed her to have enough money to put off to the side in a savings account. For the first time in her life, she felt like she had become independent in a way her mother never was. Despite the industry she worked in, she felt she didn’t need a boyfriend to be happy. 

By the age of twenty-one, she left Los Angeles and the porn industry behind and settled in a small town in Washington named Fairford. She had gained quite a following while she was in the industry, so it was easy for her to transition into creating content for OnlyFans. She preferred it this way since she had complete control over the content she was making and putting out for the world to see. It wasn’t as if she was completely ashamed of her past, but being a few years older and wiser, there were certain things she would want to go back and do differently if she had the chance. Having more creative control was definitely one of those things. Phoebe picked up a part-time job at Sunrise Diner to have a normal job, so she didn’t have to tell everyone exactly what she did for a living. She knew how judgey people can get and it was something she tried to avoid as best as she could. 

A couple of year later, she was working an overnight shift at the diner. Business was quite slow, considering it was the middle of the night on a Wednesday, but there were a few night owls lingering around. A man that came in alone was seated in her section, and something about the way he gawked at her sent chills down her spine. She faked a smile and proceeded to take his order. It wasn’t until she was bringing him the food that he let it slip and told her how big of a fan of hers he was. She played dumb and pretended not to know what he was talking about, but he instead described a video from her past in detail. She assured him he was mistaken and denied that it was her. The last thing she wanted was for her past to catch up with her and potentially ruin her reputation in the town she was cozily settling into. That encounter was the last time she ever saw him, but she continued looking over her shoulder everywhere she went, knowing he was lurking around town somewhere. An uneasy feeling stayed in the pit of her stomach until she decided to make the move from the small town and into Seattle, which was just far enough away to put her mind at ease.

[acim-ed-ortsac]

Blessed Creatures

 How long has it been for you, walking on this mortal world endlessly, watching every age, every evolution, every human race, every species of animal, every type of plant, you watched it all be born, grow, then fall. The humans deduced that the Earth is around a thousand years old, but you knew the truth since you’ve been walking on it for millions of years.

        You’ve had many friends whom you watched die from old age or from wounds too great or who have been unlucky and caught an illness with no cure. You’ve had many loved ones, all of who decayed with only you left standing. You wonder when is it your time to die since your life refuses to falter.

        You watched the last rays of the bright morning star that was bursting with light and heat before it cooled on the cold darkening waters that entail evening has arrived, now a wash of cool cobalt blue soon to turn its midnight shade. You took a bite of a corn cob you brought from one of the vendors in today’s farmer's market, “ Humans are very stubborn creatures, aren’t they?”

        Nothing responded to you, only a gust of wind decided to blow onto your skin and give you the shivers, despite the jacket you wore. The building you sat on was high enough to give you a great view of the land, it was a mural of little people and buildings that bustled with life, ready to turn in for the night.

        Suddenly, from one of the many shadows that the building formed, came a clawed hand stretched out to you, dark tattoo marks decorated it like warrior paint. From the grey clouds, the moon makes its appearance as it decided to reveal the intruder in your peace, 

        “Indeed, my little lamb,”

        You glanced at the now unveiled man, his mischievous smile of teeth laced with cruelty, his skin flickering from different skin tones; one moment he was of African color before it changed to a golden tan, finally, he decided on the ivory skin tone that only highlighted his black marks. They curled around him like snakes climbing a tree, swirls and swirls of it surrounding his body until it stopped past mid-neck, where a dark choker with the demonic pentagon was snuggly wrapped around.

        His blood-red eyes flickered in amusement as his stance was relaxed, shifting most of his weight on one foot. Pale blond strands tied into a small ponytail that flitted around in the wind. His dark grey muscle tee wasn’t thick enough for the cold, yet he seemed unbothered.

        “It’s been a good while, snake,” you said, patting beside you for him to sit.

        He took your offer.

        “Why the same look? I thought the Europeans were trying to make amends with the Indigenous. Or is it the Americans who made the African people into slaves?” you asked.

        “Well, there’s not a major evil running around right now. And any race can be evil at this point, also I like this look,” he said, grinning a bit.

        “They're not bad enough,”

        “Yet it’s those people who are shown on media, especially that Donald Trump guy.”

        “Touche,” you directed your eyes to the silver moon, shining whatever borrowed light it can have from the sun, “ Although, the world has become mixed in intentions, hasn’t it?”

        “It sure has,” his eyes glazed over to you,” How about you? Being the living representation of what’s good, your appearance hasn’t changed from centuries ago.”

        True, you haven’t changed your appearance since the last race that has been in need and were innocent, which were the native people of the colonized countries. You let a small smile lift your lips, you took the hand that was beside yours and lift it to your lips, “Well, representation of what’s evil, walking on this Earth for all these millenniums have made me somewhat. . .”

        A hand cupped your face, tilting it until you face his own that was unusually filled with love, something that no evil thing should feel, “What, my lamb.”

        “. . .Numb, I feel numb.”

        He pulled you to him, wrapping an arm around you and into his side, an embrace if you will. His breath tickled the hair that was there on your head, spreading warmth to your forehead, “I don’t blame you, walking this Earth for so long only to watch the rise and fall of every human race can be boring.”

        “. . . It makes me quite envious, actually,” you tilted your head into his neck, “ While they get to rest when their mortal bodies decay, we are made to walk on this Earth, not knowing when our time is.”

        “ I suppose,” he kissed your forehead, “Human, stubborn but blessed creatures.”

        You looked at your arms, seeing the white tattoos that littered your arms. When will you rest?

note: i made this while listening to digital dagger's 'still here'

[penmansparadise]

Eddie Munson ~ Sonnet 18

*I DO NOT OWN THIS GIF* *CREDIT TO THE GIF OWNER*

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Tall Male!Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Mild language

a/n: If I told you about the kind of week I've been having you would probably not believe me.  But before I get into that, here it is, the Eddie Munson x Male!Reader requested from my Wattpad.  As you all know, I was traveling.  Well, the good news is I arrived safely.  The bad news is literally days after arriving, I get COVID.  I mean, it has been a whole whirlwind.  So, now I'm going through the worst part of this and have been feeling like I got hit by a train.  So, in short, I'm fighting for my life.  Anyway, I hope that everyone enjoys this one and can forgive me for taking so damn long to post it.  My next post will be a Steve Harrington oneshot!  As always, thank you all for the support!!!

§

Ms. O’Donnell droned on about Shakespeare and his impact on literature as you twirled your pencil between your fingers. Usually, you paid attention. In every class, you were an A+ student and were even projected to graduate in the top ten percent of your class. But when you got to Ms. O’Donnell’s class, things were different. Although you enjoyed Shakespeare’s works, your attention was captured by something much more interesting – a head full of perfectly sculpted ringlets and a denim vest that looked like it had been to war and back. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and propped your head in your hand. Sitting just a few seats in front of you was Eddie Munson, the kind of man that would make anyone want to write poetry.

Since elementary school, you had shared at least one class with Eddie. Which meant that your crush on the boy started at a very young age. But he never gave you a second glance. You had always assumed that, just like everyone else, he believed you to be the quiet weird kid simply because you had good grades and paid attention in school. But he didn’t know the real you. The guy who drove a little too fast while blasting hard rock through the speakers of your beat-up Honda CRV. Eddie didn’t know the guy who spent an hour every day after school lifting weights to sculpt his body into that of the Greek Gods. Eddie didn’t know a thing. And instead of embarrassing yourself and making the first move, you resorted to side-long glances while passing the boy in the halls. That would just have to do. Because despite your confidence, you just couldn’t bring yourself to ask Eddie on a date, let alone tell him how you felt about him.

You continued twirling your pencil as you stared at Eddie. It didn’t matter how many times you saw the boy; you always found something new. It was like a game. And you were so invested in discovering something new about Eddie that you almost missed Ms. O’Donnell’s statement.

“You will have the week to complete the project before presenting it next Monday.”

Everyone let out a collective sigh that earned a chuckle from Ms. O’Donnell.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she said, waving the class off. “But, lucky for all of you, this is a partner’s project.”

At that statement, you groaned while the rest of the class perked up in their seats. You were used to doing group projects by yourself, but that didn’t mean you enjoyed it. Ms. O’Donnell smirked.

“But you don’t get to choose your buddy. I do.”

The hushed chatter silenced as everyone stared at Ms. O’Donnell. She walked to her desk and picked up a piece of paper. Then, slowly but surely, she began to work her way around the classroom, pairing people together. Here and there, a student would grumble in disdain at their partner while you waited in anticipation. Then, finally, Ms. O’Donnell looked up from her paper and looked right at you.

“Mr. Y/N, you’ll be paired with Mr. Munson.”

It was as if time had stopped. Your heart began to beat like a race horse, and your body felt numb. In all the years you two had been in school together, you had never been paired to work together. Eddie had never even asked you for help on an assignment. You turned to face him, only to be met with his big brown eyes. He gave you a small smile, and you were a goner. You knew that there was no way you could work with Eddie. You could hardly pay attention in the classroom, and there was absolutely no way you’d be able to focus when it was just the two of you.

“Now,” Ms. O’Donnell began regaining your attention, “you’ll be discussing a piece of Shakespeare’s work. It can be a play or a poem. I don’t care. All I ask is that you make it interesting and have fun.”

With that, students began to rise from their seats to move by their assigned partners. But you didn’t move. Instead, you were trying to figure out a way to get around working one on one with Eddie. But while you were trying to formulate a plan, Eddie had already made his way to your desk. Your eyes were trained on the tile floor in front of you until a pair of beat-up white Reebok sneakers came into view.

“Y/N, right?” He asked.

You raised your head to look at him and had to reel in your emotions. For years you admired the boy from afar, and now he was standing directly in front of you. He was even more amazing up close. You could see little beauty marks on his fair skin that you never saw before. You were able to see the messy stitching on his denim vest and knew for a fact now that he did it himself. His lips were turned upward as he waited for you to answer him, but all you did was nod, unable to create a sentence. Eddie chuckled nervously as he grabbed a chair and pulled it up to your desk.

“I don’t think we’ve ever really been introduced before. I’m Eddie,” he said, straddling the chair.

You stared at him for a split second before finally gathering your wits and squaring your shoulders, your normal confidence returning.

“We’ve had at least one class together since elementary school,” you said, leaning in a little with a playful smirk. “I know who you are.”

Your sudden change of demeanor surprised Eddie, and you could see his cheeks turn a bright crimson.

“Right,” he said, nodding a little too furiously, “right.”

Neither of you said anything for a minute. Instead, you shared nervous glances and awkward giggles.

“So, do you-”

“I was thinking-”

Both you and Eddie spoke at the same time before falling into a fit of laughter. The sound was something you could never get used to, but you wanted to hear it over and over again. Eddie ran a hand through his curls and gestured toward you.

“You go first.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said with a light chuckle, “go ahead.”

You leaned back in your chair and folded your hands behind your head, stretching a little. Eddie’s eyes fell onto your toned arms, and you smirked.

“I was just gonna say I think we should do a poem.” You shrugged and sat up straight again. “It’ll be a little easier.”

“Okay,” Eddie said, his stare finally moving to meet yours. “Do you have one in mind?”

You chuckled.

“No, I don’t.”

Eddie looked down at his tapping foot before finally looking up at you and saying, “What about Sonnet 18?”

You froze for a second.

“You read poetry?”

Eddie didn’t cross you as the poetry reading type. He liked loud music and played the guitar in a metal band, and smoked marijuana. He wasn’t soft. He was hard and a little rough around the edges. Yet, he was suggesting a Shakespeare poem for your project. Eddie scratched his head and nodded.

“Yeah,” he began, “my uncle he, um, he has a few…poetry books?”

You raised your eyebrows in question.

“Poetry books?”

Eddie shook his head.

“Just, never mind. What do you think? Sonnet 18? You know, ‘shall I compare thee to a summer’s day’?”

You couldn’t help the way your heart swelled just slightly as you examined the boy in front of you. His head was dipped down a little, his messy curls covering most of the blush that graced his cheeks. He looked at you with eyes as innocent as a child, and all you could do was smile.

“Okay,” you said softly. “We can meet up today at my house if you want.”

You could almost visibly see Eddie relax at your suggestion. A wide grin spread across his face as he sat up a little straighter.

“Sounds perfect.”

It was cute how nervous he was around you. You wanted to make him blush almost as much as you wanted to hear him laugh again. Anything to see his bright brown eyes light up. So, you wrote down your address on a piece of paper, ripped it from your notebook, and handed it to Eddie. Your fingers just barely brushed over his as you gave him the paper. You could feel your heart jolt a little in your chest, and when you looked at Eddie, that beautiful blush was back on his cheeks, and you chuckled. The bell rang, and you gathered your things before turning to Eddie.

“I’ll see you later,” you said with a wink, then showed yourself out of the classroom.

The rest of the day went by in a blur. All you could think about was how later that day, you’d be alone with Eddie. There wouldn’t be a teacher or a class full of bored teenagers to act as a buffer. It would just be the two of you and the nagging urge to kiss is very plump lips. When the final bell of the day rang, you were nearly running to your car. Nervous energy was running through you like blood pumping through your veins. When you reached your car, you got in, turned it on, and turned up the radio. AC/DC’s “Shoot to Thrill” began blasting through the speakers just as you started to back out. People turned toward the sound of the music, and you managed to ignore most of their gawking until you turned and locked eyes with Eddie from across the parking lot. He was standing next to his van, and even from where you were, you could see his jaw a little slack as he stared at you while AC/DC thundered through your speakers. A smile tugged at your lips, and you just turned away before driving off toward your house.

By the time you reached your house, your anxiety was almost eating you alive. Despite your best efforts at relaxing on your drive home, nothing worked. So, you did the only other thing you could do. You changed into a pair of gym shorts, opened up your garage, flicked on your radio, and began lifting your weights. It was the only mind-numbing activity you could think to do to stop yourself from going crazy while you waited. After the first set of reps, you ended up pulling your top over your head, leaving you in just your shorts. Sweat glistened on your bare chest as you continued your workout. “The Number of the Beast” by Iron Maiden began to blare through the tiny speakers on your boombox, pushing you even harder than before. You went rep after rep until suddenly you heard the sound of a car door shutting. When you turned toward the sound, you were greeted by Eddie’s wide eyes. You grabbed a towel and wiped off your torso as you approached him.

“Holy fuck,” Eddie whispered a little too loudly, earning a light chuckle from you.

A smirk pulled at your lips. What you would do to hear him whisper that very same phrase into your ear over and over again. You wrapped the towel around your neck and held an end with each hand.

“What was that?” You asked, cocking your head to the side.

Eddie’s eyes snapped up to meet yours. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally said, “Nothing.”

He shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I, uh, I didn’t say anything.”

You stood in front of Eddie for another moment, letting the late afternoon sun and sweat on your chest create a shimmer effect on your skin. Eddie’s eyes traveled down the length of your body again, taking their time as they carefully examined every inch of exposed skin. You smiled as he deliberately checked you out.

“You want to head inside?” You asked, gaining Eddie’s full attention again.

He nodded before you turned and led him to your room. When you reached your small space, you walked straight to your dresser, leaving Eddie to gawk in the doorway.

“You can sit wherever,” you said, but Eddie didn’t make a move to sit. Instead, he did tiny circles as he took in his surroundings.

You didn’t lead on at school that you were anything but a good student. You didn’t advertise your music taste or show off your body, so by just looking at you, no one would know that you were a metalhead who took pride in his appearance. But once they walked into your bedroom, it would become evident. Hanging on your walls were posters ranging from Motley Crüe to Judas Priest, and sitting on your desk was a paper detailing a pretty strict workout regimen. After you grabbed a shirt from your dresser and your textbook from your desk, you turned and found Eddie sitting on the edge of your bed.

“I didn’t know you were into this kind of music,” he said, turning to watch you pull the shirt over your head. “Or that you were like,” he gestured toward you, “in great shape.”

You laughed, took a seat next to him, and leaned in a little.

“You also never asked.”

Eddie dipped his head, and that cute blush crept back onto his cheeks, making you smile. You so badly wanted to just grab him and kiss every inch of his red face, but you didn’t. Instead, you opened your textbook to Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18.

“Okay,” you began reaching down into your backpack for your notebook and pencil, “so I went ahead and began the analysis of the poem. I figured I’d just do the analysis, and maybe you could worry about the poster board? Or whatever way we’re going to present the poem.”

You put your pencil between your teeth and began flipping through your notes when Eddie chuckled.

“What?” You said, the word barely coming out audible with your pencil still in your mouth.

Eddie reached forward and placed a cautious hand on yours, and your breath caught in your throat, the pencil falling between you two. It was as if time stopped altogether as a series of shocks ran through your body. His hand was warm, and his fingers were rough, but he was soft and gentle. Every nerve ending in your body was on high alert as you stared into his eyes, brown like the sunlit bark of an oak tree. You could have stayed that way forever. Just sitting there in a comfortable silence with Eddie’s thumb drawing lazy circles on your hand. It didn’t matter that you had a project to do. All you wanted was to be with Eddie in every way imaginable. Eddie’s thumb stilled, and he gave your hand a light squeeze.

“I know you’re used to doing all the work by yourself, but I actually did some of the analysis too.”

You couldn’t remove your eyes from his face. He was so close. All you wanted to do was trace his every feature from the arch of his brow to the curve of his lips. Eddie never let go of your hand as he reached into his bag and pulled out a ratty notebook. He flipped a few pages before finally releasing his light hold on you and picked up the notebook with both hands. Eddie cleared his throat, and you could feel a shift in the air. His throat bobbled as he swallowed several times, and his hands looked as if they were shaking just slightly. He looked at you briefly before returning his eyes to his notebook.

“Sonnet 18 compares a young man to a summer day,” he said before swallowing again and looking up at you.

Your eyebrows raised, and a playful smirk pulled at your lips.

“You don’t say.”

Eddie gave you a knowing look.

“I wasn’t done.”

You chuckled and put your hands up in defense.

“Sorry,” you said, crossing your arms, “by all means, please continue.”

Eddie gripped his notebook a little tighter and squared his shoulders.

“Shakespeare wrote this poem to describe this, uh, this guy he likes. It was kind of like a,” he tilted his head back and forth, “confession of sorts. He doesn’t just say this guy he likes is handsome because that would be too boring. So, he says he’s beautiful like a summer day.”

Eddie shook his head, his curls bouncing around his face.

“No,” he said firmly before placing his notebook down and looking directly at you. “This guy is more beautiful than that. He glows brighter than the sun and lights up any room. He hides from everyone even though he’s actually really cool and hardcore. This guy, he doesn’t let things or people strip him of his beauty despite what they may say.”

Your lips parted as your heart began to beat so rapidly that you were almost certain it was going to beat right out of your chest. But you couldn’t say anything because Eddie huffed a sigh and continued.

“This guy is someone you can watch from afar for years because you’re too scared to make your move. You’re too scared to even say two words to him, but you secretly hope every day that he’ll look your way. He’s someone you can fall in love with before you even know a single thread of information about him.”

Your stomach was doing somersaults as you stared at Eddie. He was fidgeting with a frayed edge of his denim vest. You couldn’t help yourself as you reached forward and placed your hand over his to still his busy fingers.

“May I interject?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie nodded.

“He’s also incredibly adorable, especially when he’s nervous. You know, this guy that Shakespeare is talking about.”

You gave a playful smile that Eddie reciprocated.

“Right, of course.”

You leaned in a little.

“He’s also creative and funny and smarter than he gives himself credit for.”

A hint of red blanketed Eddie’s face, and he looked down. You placed a finger under his chin and forced him to look up at you. The two of you just held the other’s gaze. You moved your hand to brush his hair behind his ear and let your hand linger for a split second longer than necessary. Your eyes darted down to look at his perfectly rounded lips. His tongue slid over the bottom one, and a tiny rush of electricity zinged through you.

“Are you gonna kiss me?” Eddie asked, causing you to look back into his eyes.

“W-what?”

“Because,” Eddie began, scooting a smidgen closer, making the gap between you two almost nonexistent, “if you’re second guessing yourself, just know I really want to kiss you right now.”

Your body felt numb at his words. For years you had dreamt of being in this exact position. Your hand on his and his face mere inches from yours. It was surreal, and you didn’t want to wait any longer. So, you leaned down and pressed your lips onto Eddie’s. He froze, body going rigid with surprise before melting into the kiss. Your lips moved against Eddie’s slow, but the kiss progressively grew urgent. Your hands traveled down the length of Eddie’s back until you were pulling him onto your lap. His legs straddled you, and his hands gripped your toned shoulders. Eddie’s arms snaked their way around your neck, deepening the kiss.

Every part of you was buzzing, and every place Eddie’s fingers grazed was lit aflame. You wrapped your arms around Eddie’s torso and, without breaking the kiss, fell back onto your bed. Eddie let out a small yelp and released your lips. You moved your hands to cup the back of his thighs, and he hovered over you on his elbows.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” you said, a little out of breath.

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed, “that makes two of us.”

A burst of confidence zipped through you, and you squeezed his legs.

“Oh, really?”

Eddie dropped his head into the crook of your neck, chuckling lightly before lifting it again to look at you.

“Uh, yeah. I’ve had a crush on you for a long time. I always thought you were cute, but today when,” he motioned to your walls, “I realized we have a lot more in common than I thought, the feelings only grew.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you.

“I’m glad you only like me because of my music taste.”

A smile spread across Eddie’s face.

“Hey,” he said, poking your chest playfully, “music has a lot more pull than you think.”

The two of you started to laugh again. The sight of Eddie straddling you and the low rumble of his laugh against your chest was that of a dream. You could stay in that position for a thousand lifetimes if possible. But you knew you had a project to do. So, you nodded toward your discarded notebooks.

“Should we get back to work?”

“Actually,” Eddie said, drawing the word out, “I was hoping we could go get dinner.” He tilted his head to the side. “Like on a date.”

“Oh!” You exclaimed.

Within a matter of a day, you were kissing the boy you had a crush on and getting asked out on a date by him. Eddie bit his bottom lip and shrugged nonchalantly.

“If you want, you know?”

You knew that he was trying to play off his anxiety, and you couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your lips. You brushed his hair behind his ear again and cupped his cheek.

“I’d love to, Eddie.”

You planted a sweet kiss on his nose before he peeled himself off you. Neither of you bothered to clean up your notebooks, leaving them strewn on the floor. Instead, you followed Eddie out to his van and jumped into the passenger seat. Eddie got behind the wheel and started digging through his pockets for his keys. You looked over at him and furrowed your eyebrows.

“So, do you actually read poetry, or was this whole thing planned?”

Eddie pulled his keys out and shoved them into the ignition with a laugh.

“Oh, yeah, no. I don’t know shit about Shakespeare. I was just trying to be romantic.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, nonetheless. Eddie leaned toward you with a smirk.

“Did it work?”

You tilted your head back and forth with an “Ehhh.”

Eddie threw his arms up but joined you when you started to laugh. You cupped his cheek and forced him to look at you again.

“I was joking. It was definitely very romantic.”

Eddie smiled so wide his eyes crinkled, and your heart jumped in your chest. You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his for a long kiss before pulling back and allowing Eddie to drive off. Neither of you knew where you were going, but you didn’t care. As long as you were with Eddie, that’s all that mattered.  

Tag List: @violetrainbow412-blog @tellmehows @pastel-abyss-x @lilliandanelle @ilovereadingfanfics​ @thatnerdana​

[iguessweallcrazyithinktho]

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞

SUMMARY: jack wants something else in his life.

GENRE: angst

WARNING: angst, light arguing, curse words

AUTHOR NOTE: aha

Don't repost my content anywhere. It's a crime

Jack stared at the drink in front of him. He felt numb as he stared at it. Your Seven years relationship just came to an end due to being on different paths. It was his own fault but it still hurt him, but not as much as it hurt you.

Jack remembered meeting you in high school. You had just transferred from another school to his. The second he laid eyes on you he knew he had to make you his.

“jack go talk to her” urban said to jack at the lunch table. Jack who was eyeing you from across the room turned to his best friend. “I don't know man. What if she says no?”

Urban looked at him. “How do you know she's going to say no if you haven't asked her? Just go up to her.”

Jack sighed. “Fine.” He stood up, walking over to you. You were sitting in the back of the cafeteria by yourself reading a book.

“hey.”

You looked up to see a curly haired, blue eyed boy with a cute smile looking at you. “Hi.” You replied back shyly. “Hey I'm jack. I.. I just wanted to come over and say hi.” Jack stumbled a bit but got all the words he needed out.. finally. You smiled at him. “Hi Jack, nice to meet you. I'm y/n.”

Jack nodded. In the inside he was fucking screaming with joy. He finally got to talk to you after days of putting it off.

“do you wanna come and sit with me and my friends over there?” Jack pointed to the group of boys sitting at the table that were watching you both. “Hm sure. Why not.” you giggled grabbing your things and moved over to the table with him and the guys.

From that moment on jack spent with you. After a few weeks of being friends jack had asked you out and eventually asked you to be his girlfriend.

You both grew through the years together as a pair. You supported Jack's passion at being a rapper and he supported your passion at being a model. You both navigated the world together as you both grew famous. Everything was going great in your relationship until a month ago.

Jack had noticed he was missing out on a lot of things guys his age was missing out on. Partying, having lots of chicks, hookups. Having a girlfriend meant he couldn't party like the single guys or have many girls around him like the others. There was always going to be someone watching to make sure he wasn't cheating on you or messing with another girl. It made him feel left out from the fun. Jack loved you, but his stupid self wanted to get away from you to experience the fuck boy life while he was still young and had the spark he has. So the only thing he could think about was calling it quit with you.

You had just walked into the house you and jack shared. you could see him sitting there on the couch staring into space.

“hi baby!” You walked around the couch looking at jack. He said nothing, not even looked at you. you knew something was up.

“what's wrong, jack?”

Jack looked up at you finally. His blue eyes filled with no emotion as he said a few words. “Y/n, we need to talk?”

You frowned, confused as to what was going on but nodded. “Ok, what's going on?” You sat down beside Jack and looked at him. You watched as he sighed and turned on the couch slightly towards you.

“y/n, we need to break up.”

The frown that was on your face soon changed to shock. “W- what? Where the fuck is this coming from?”

Jack ran his hand over his face. “I think we're on different paths. You with your modeling and me with my rapping. Wanna be young and explore my options. Being tied down isn't for me.”

You stared at jack, you couldn't believe the words coming from his mouth at the moment.

“are you fucking joking me? Is it April 1st or something, what the fuck is going on? Explore your options? What does that mean?”

“y/n, this isn't a joke. I really want to see other people and see what I could have. I've been with you for years. I think I need a change.” Jack looked at you. The seriousness on his face gave you a good indication he wasn't playing around. You felt tears grow in your eyes as you tore them away from his face.

“Well…um if that's what you want then fine. Go explore your options.” you stood up and swallowed the walnut that was growing in your throat. “I hope every woman is worth it.”

Jack watched as you walked out of the house. He didn't miss the sound your cry as he walked out the door. He knew he was an idiot. He strung you along all these years only to break up with you. Fucking pathetic.

He stood up and walked to the kitchen. He slammed open the cabinet door and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. He never drunk, but he couldn't help himself now. He brought the bottle to his lips and drunk it. He winched at the taste, but the burn felt so good.

A hour went by as jack got wasted. The more he drunk the more he realized he was empty with you. He already missed your laugh, your smile, your voice. You haunted him without even trying. guess it's what you gets for being a douchebag he thought to himself.

Jack was about to take another swing at the drink when his phone rung.

He picked it up and answered with a slurred voice. “Jack, what did you do?” He soon realized it was Neelam. “Why'd you break up with y/n?”

“Neelam.. we're on different paths. I neeed other women. Can't have other women with her.” Jack slurred out. Neelam scoffed on the other end. “Jack you're a fucking idiot.”

Unbeknown to jack you were about to break some news to him. Some news that would change both your lives but you didn't get the chance. You didn't want to tell him anymore. He didn't deserve to be in your kid life.