#hang on to them for as long as they can. it's also definitely not accurate but i do my best

[ceaselessims]

Hey. I'm very sorry 911 was disappointing, but I really need to point out that there is a huge difference between queer coding and "queerbaiting," and the difference between those terms really matters when critiquing queer media.

The spn writers worked hard to get destiel across on screen in a way that got around network censors. The writers weren't "baiting" us; they weren't maliciously trying to trick us into watching the show just so they could rip the rug out from under us. They were genuinely trying to write a queer narrative amidst network censorship – by definition, that is queer coding, not queerbaiting.

(We've known all this for a long time, but Misha reiterated this point just this weekend when he talked about how the creatives were all consciously involved in making destiel happen – including Jensen.)

I know it's a low hanging joke to continuously call spn "the longest queerbait of all time" or whatever, but it really is not at all accurate and it's super dismissive of all the effort that went into writing that narrative. Also, not understanding the difference between queerbait and queer coding will hurt queer representation in media in the long run.

I stopped watching 911 after Bobby died so I can't really comment on that situation, except to say that Queer stories can be critiqued for being disappointing, or badly written, or censored, or falling into bad tropes like Bury Your Gays (like spn). But that doesn't automatically make them "queerbaiting." That's a very specific word with a specific meaning, and it gets thrown around inappropriately A LOT.

do not cite the deep magic to me, witch

[non-un-topo]

Trying to kick my art block by doing the opposite of an easy drawing

[daisymooonart]

May my Emperor live ten thousand years!

An (un)official painting of the Emperor and Empress of Huaxia. I would absolutely bow for Wu Zetian. Maybe not Qin Zheng, but he is hot and communist so I am tempted.

This took me around 15-20 hours to make and it was so worth it <3

Details under the cut!

First off: the faces.

Because of how obscured it was going to be, I wanted to get a good sense of what Zetian would look like before the makeup and the mask. I tried to give her a kind of average appearance, because I wanted to try and make her look like a normal person under all of that Empress garb (she's only 18... she should have been at the clurbbb). Her face is purposefully a little asymmetrical.

For makeup, I went for the blush-that-makes-you-look-drunk look that was apparently fashionable among Tang ladies. Her lips and yedian are pretty standard. I saved the xiehong on the wrong layer like a clown 😭 but it's still visible under the mask. Not entirely sure if her huadian would be accurate, but it's the one on the painting of Empress Wu that I see most often.

Would Qin Zheng have a stroke if he saw Zetian hang out with men wearing this mask? Absolutely. Am I Qin Zheng? Nope I'm an artist who spent wayyyyy too long drawing Zetian's face and didn't want to cover it up fully. Her haircomb is in the shape of an upside-down butterfly. The sharp bit on the collar is inspired by a shirt I saw in the Hunger Games once, it's a style that's supposed to force you into keeping good posture. I hc that Qin Zheng included it to piss her off, and it's definitely working...

Now for Qin Zheng's face. I tried to go for a simple, smooth-wing look. I never really envisioned him as twink-y when I read the book and tried to go for a hot-and-scary-man look whilst keeping it a little bit androgynous. He'd never ever have his hair down for a formal painting but I want to separate his face from the rest of the piece. His eye is weaker on his scarred side. He looks a little feverish and a little bit infuriated: he is probably wondering why the hell he needs to be painted when photographs now exist.

It's a very busy painting and I fully expect people to gloss over this, so here's a little zoom on Qin Zheng gripping Zetian's armour. He's a freak.

Now for the throne. I tried to do a dragon/phoenix piece but it didn't show very well in the actual painting, so here it is. You can really tell how much I love scribble art lol.

And here's the base of the throne, with two dragons to keep our lovely tyrants company

I opted for a double-seated throne because I accidentally drew them too close together and couldn't move them because of the layers because feminism <3

Now for clothing. I noticed that on the HT cover, Zetian has a white gem whilst Qin Zheng has a black gem, but the clothes underneath are the opposite colours. I made the details on Qin Zheng's armour white and Zetian's details black, but Qin Zheng's armour ends up being darker whilst Zetian's armour is a lot paler. Symbolism... or something... Also they both get a heart because its cute, like a friendship bracelet.

I really can't draw scales though so erm. Yeah.

If you notice any er,,,, imagery in their lower robes it was unintentional I swear

Even though Qin Zheng is very much the taller, dominant figure in the piece, I tried to actually put the focus on Zetian, by making her armour a different shade of gold to the throne and by keeping her closer to the centre. I don't know if it worked but my eyes think so. I think out of the entire piece though, Zetian took me the longest because I hadn't settled on what look I was trying to go for her. I redrew her armour about five times, but thankfully by the time it was done I had pretty much solidified where I was going with Qin Zheng's armour and I finished that in no time.

Again I absolutely loved making this painting, it was SO worth it. It might me my most detailed ever. I adore Heavenly Tyrant so so so much it might actually be my favourite book ever lol.

[dresshistorynerd]

The Morrisian case against fast fashion

Today I discovered that H&M made a William Morris collection some years ago. The heath death of the universe can't come quickly enough. We can stop now. Satire is dead and we killed her.

It's not just the whole concept of H&M using William Morris' designs for their fast fashion which is insanity inducing, but also the critical response it garnered. Like sure, people did realize this is insane and there was a lot of think pieces about it at the time, but I read several of them and they all seem to still miss the point in spectacular way.

The basic premise of these think pieces go along the lines of: "Would William Morris spin in his grave with a speed of light because of the H&M collection of his designs? A difficult question indeed. William Morris was a complicated man. He wanted art to be affordable to everyone. Isn't H&M affordable? That kinda fits. Though probably he would have some concerns about H&M's practices."

On the surface - yes - but like in reality - fuck no. There's no nuance in this particular issue. He talked about many times what he though of the H&Ms of his time, the retailers selling poor quality industrially produced "fashionable" bullshit. We know exactly what he would have thought of H&M. Here's couple of quotes from his 1884 lecture "Art and Socialism", which makes it very clear.

"It would be an instructive day's work for any one of us who is strong enough to walk through two or three of the principal streets of London on a week-day, and take accurate note of everything in the shop windows which is embarrassing or superfluous to the daily life of a serious man. Nay, the most of these things no one, serious or unserious, wants at all; only a foolish habit makes even the lightest-minded of us suppose that he wants them, and to many people even of those who buy them they are obvious encumbrances to real work, thought and pleasure. But I beg you to think of the enormous mass of men who are occupied with this miserable trumpery, from the engineers who have had to make the machines for making them, down to the hapless clerks who sit day-long year after year in the horrible dens wherein the wholesale exchange of them is transacted, and the shopmen, who not daring to call their souls their own, retail them amidst numberless insults which they must not resent, to the idle public which doesn't want them but buys them to be bored by them and sick to death of them."

He is describing the birth of consumerism, which was taking form during his lifetime in the late Victorian Era, which fast fashion is the extreme logical conclusion of, and he fucking hated it. He specifically railed against endless consumerist products, which H&M is the perfect representation of. It was definitely not the art and beauty he believed everyone required and deserved. He makes the distinction often.

"Now if we are to have popular Art, or indeed Art of any kind, we must at once and for all be done with this luxury; it is the supplanter, the changeling of Art; so much so that by those who know of nothing better it has even been taken for Art, the divine solace of human labour, the romance of each day's hard practice of the difficult art of living."

"And here furthermore is at least a little sign whereby to distinguish between a rag of fashion and a work of Art: whereas the toys of fashion when the first gloss is worn off them do become obviously worthless even to the frivolous—a work of Art, be it ever so humble, is long lived; we never tire of it; as long as a scrap hangs together it is valuable and instructive to each new generation. All works of Art in short have the property of becoming venerable amidst decay: and reason good, for from the first there was a soul in them, the thought of man, which will be visible in them so long as the body exists in which they were implanted."

When he thought of popular Art he thought of the craftsmanship of the common people. The art people have made from useful everyday objects with skillful handicrafts. This is what he means by "divine solace of human labour". It's not reverence of Puritanical work ethic, on the contrary, it's the reverence of creation, of the earnest joy people feel when they get to express themselves through their creative pursuits. He certainly didn't believe in work for work's sake, work needed to be worthwhile and enjoyable. He summarized his own position on what labour should be thusly:

"It is right and necessary that all men should have work to do which shall be worth doing, and be of itself pleasant to do; and which should he done under such conditions as would make it neither over-wearisome nor over-anxious."

He urged his middle class audience to reject consumerism (the lecture was for a very much middle class atheist society):

"For I say again that in buying these things: 'Tis the lives of men you buy! Will you from mere folly and thoughtlessness make yourselves partakers of the guilt of those who compel their fellow men to labour uselessly?"

I think it's glaringly obvious H&M and fast fashion in general is what he would consider luxury. Rags of fashion that are just churned out and discarded without thought and produced by compelling people to labour uselessly. It's not popular art that's made by workers and craftsmen, who are able to express themselves through it. There's no agency for the abused workers in H&M's sweatshops, they are not expressing their joy of creation, they are simply labouring uselessly.

Morris didn't shame workers for buying affortable things even if they weren't Art with big A, because that's the problem he despised the whole economic system for, for taking away the popular Art from people, making it inaccessible, and selling back mass produced products with very little practical or aesthetic value. So I don't think he would have problem with people who can only afford fast fashion today. They are the victims of capitalism too, because Art has been taken away from them. But the idea that some of these think pieces had that perhaps the H&M's Morris collection can be good actually if you squint, that H&M has the capacity to bring the art and beauty Morris advocated for for the people, is level of stupidity that's hard to express in words.

Morris didn't believe anything made with exploited labour could be truly beautiful, truly art. In his 1879 lecture "The Art of the People" he put it like this:

"That thing which I understand by real art is the expression by man of his pleasure in labour."

The way I understand this, is that art is communication. Through it we communicate feelings, ideas and thoughts, that is it's purpose. So for that communication to work, for it to be imbued with message, the person making it needs to feel passion and love for it's creation. How can there be love and passion if the hands making the garment belong to a tired exploited worker who has no agency what so ever in their work and can only think about survival to the next day?

Beyond the fundamental exploitativeness of H&M and fast fashion, this collection would still get zero points on aesthetic values from Morris even with his own designs. Because the work itself was such an important part of art for Morris, good design was nothing without good craftsmanship. Good design in his mind was always relative and dependent on it's purpose.

"For everything made by man’s hands has a form, which must be either beautiful or ugly; beautiful if it is in accord with Nature, and helps her; ugly if it is discordant with Nature, and thwarts her; it cannot be indifferent." (The Lesser Arts, 1877)

Here when he says nature, he means the nature of the thing that is made - basically it's purpose and function - and the nature of the materials it's made from. Basically, the design must always be made to bring out the function of the art and the qualities of the material it's made from, not fight against them. This is because he believed handicrafts were uniquely suitable for expressing the love of creation, therefore superior labour, and to really bring out the qualities of the craftsmanship and enjoy the creative process, the design should be suitable for that craft. The other side, which was the joy of using and experiencing art, required the craft to be selected for the suitable purpose. Using poorly functioning furniture for example is not very enjoyable, nor is using clothing that's made from materials that are not suitable for the climactic conditions it's supposed to be used in.

H&M of course utterly fails in this. They use Morris' designs in fully unsuitable ways. They print patterns made for example for wall papers on poor quality fabrics with synthetics dyes they weren't made for. This line from one blog post I came across really got me: "Therefore, without cheapening the artistic value of Morris’ designs, H&M’s collection offers an unparalleled potential for accessibility to them." No. Fuck no. They do in fact cheapen Morris' designs in every single way possible. Literally this is atrocious.

Despite the popular depiction, Morris wasn't in fact against industrial machinery or industrial art even, or at least he wasn't once his views on art and politics matured. He did think technology was useful, but he thought the people should use industrial methods for the benefit of all, not be enslaved by the industrial machine.

"I have spoken of machinery being used freely for releasing people from the more mechanical and repulsive part of necessary labour; and I know that to some cultivated people, people of the artistic turn of mind, machinery is particularly distasteful, and they will be apt to say you will never get your surroundings pleasant so long as you are surrounded by machinery. I don't quite admit that; it is the allowing machines to be our masters and not our servants that so injures the beauty of life nowadays. In other words, it is the token of the terrible crime we have fallen into of using our control of the powers of Nature for the purpose of enslaving people, we care less meantime of how much happiness we rob their lives of." ("How we live and how we might live", 1887)

However, he thought that the designer should approach it the way they approached any craft, by designing for the strengths of the machine work.

"But if you have to design for machine-work, at least let your design show clearly what it is. Make it mechanical with a vengeance, at the same time as simple at possible. Don't try, for instance, to make a printed plate look like a hand-painted one: make it something which no one would try to do if he were painting by hand..." ("Art and the Beauty of the Earth", 1881)

He did use some machinery for fabric and wall paper printing, but he was very intentional about their use. Still his designs weren't made for the type of methods these modern H&M machinery uses and he did for example use natural dyes. Particularly insulting is that some of the H&M clothes are made from viscose, rayon made with viscose method. Viscose method is extremely toxic and is known to cause long term health consequences for the workers and the people in surrounding areas. This has been well proven knowledge for ages. William Morris' wall paper factory in the beginning used the typical method used at the time which involved arsenic, but once he learned this could pose risks for the workers, he changed the method. Many of the new synthetic dyes were toxic at the time, which is the major reason he so favoured natural dyes, known to not cause health issues for workers or pollute the environment.

The question many of these think pieces about the H&M Morris collection posed was, would Morris disapprove and should we care? The first part of that is very easy to answer. Yes. Of course Morris would disapprove. He is currently powering the whole of British Isles with purely the kinetic energy his grave-spinning produces. Should we care though? If you care about Morris' art, if you want to see more of that kind of art in this world, you should care. Morris' art is not about the superficial qualities. Copying his designs and aesthetics and styles, will only lead to hollow imitations, that are exactly what he described the rags of fashion to be; as the shininess of novelty wears off they will reveal themselves to be soulless, useless and utterly empty. This collection is just that. To see more of the kind of art that makes you feel like his art makes you feel, not just something that reminds you of that feeling, you should focus more on the way the art is made and less on the specific aesthetics. If his vision of labour and art was realised, all art produced of course wouldn't be loved by every person, but all of it would be loved by someone, even if that someone was just the maker. And that would be more worthwhile than every single rag of fast fashion.

I will stop William-Morris-posting now and return to my thesis.

The full texts I quoted here:

Art and Socialism The Art of the People The Lesser Arts How We Live and How We Might Live Art and the Beauty of the Earth

[strwberri-milk]

can i request the boys thinking mc is cheating bc she’s been acting off and hanging with other people, then they confront her but learn later that it’s something else that’s been going on (like her wanting to keep a problem hidden from them) angsty or fluffy ending it’s up to you im just craving angst 😓

Zayne doesn't want to directly confront you. He's terrified that somehow, he'll mess everything up and that right now, not knowing is better than confirming his fear. He'll just continue observing you for a bit, trying to figure out if there's something that can definitively point towards you actually having an affair. Your behaviour is strange but he won't feel too concerned until you start actively pulling affection away from him. That's when he's going to really start panicking. He doesn't know what he's done or said to make you take such a drastic step in your relationship and this is absolutely going to devastate him.

He'll talk to you one evening after you come home late. He tries to open it up by telling you that if it's something he's said or done to you then he's sorry and he promises he'll do whatever it takes to fix things between the two of you. It's you, and it's always been you. He can't even fathom being with anybody that isn't you. He'll ramble a little for once, not really able to accurately use his words as he tries to express how much he loves you.

You realise very quickly where he's going with all of this, immediately shutting him down as you tell him that you aren't seeing somebody else. He listens with bated breath to try and comprehend everything you're telling him, praying that you aren't lying to him because if you were, it'd definitely break him.

You'd probably have to ruin the surprise if you wanted him to feel fully secure after this conversation, especially since you also were hanging off of people when you normally don't seem to. He might feel a little insecure about your relationship for a while before settling into the routine again with you, but as long as you're wholly honest with him it'll pass fairly quickly.

Xavier wants to follow you around but he also knows it'd piss you off if he did. He'll just start paying more attention to events when the two of you are together and even more attention to things if it seems you're purposefully not inviting him to something. He's trying to understand why and what for, not wanting to directly accuse you but his jealousy definitely ramps up.

You'd have to talk to him as he slowly starts to escalate, becoming more pissy if you have plans with friends or when he responds poorly to you taking calls in his presence. He doesn't really say too much but he does make it very clear just how displeased he is with the look on his face or the way he practically grabs you whenever you're doing things with him.

He gets a little rougher with you overall - not in a painful way, in a distracted, irritated way. He doesn't want to hurt you on purpose and typically you don't really respond to this difference in pressure because it's nothing crazy but you can tell that he's starting to really internalise everything that's happening around him. When you do talk to him he listens with a furrow in his brow, trying to figure out if you're telling him the truth, or this is some elaborate lie for you to throw him off your scent.

He believes you pretty quickly but he is also going to be really skeevy about letting you do things without him for a bit. He just wants to spend time with you after all and after all this emotional turmoil you owe him a few stress-free dates.

Rafayel is not pleased. He makes it clear the second he thinks something is wrong by being colder and less affectionate with you. He isn't wholly above following you and figuring out who you're hanging out with, trying to figure out if there really is a chance that you are trying to have an affair.

You'd get some emotional whiplash from how differently he's acting, how he's making it clear that you've wronged him somehow but he isn't going to talk to you about it. He's avoidant, waiting for you to admit the truth. He's also patient, which means you could be iced out for weeks if you decide not to talk to him about what's happening.

He might spoil the surprise for himself if he goes fully into surveillance after which he'd just tell you that he figured out what you were hiding from him. You'd be a little disappointed but also more concerned as to how he managed to figure it out without tipping you off. He won't tell you at all about how he got the information - just that he did.

If he decides not to stalk you a little you'd have to ask him why he's so mad at you. He'd tell you that he's just treating you the same way you've been treating him, and that as far as he's concerned, this is deserved. You'd have to tell him the truth and why you've been hiding all this information from him - after which he will brighten up significantly. He'll say something about how he's never doubted you, yadda yadda yadda but he's definitely more clingy now than before from his nerves finally starting to settle.

Sylus doesn't want to monitor you either and decides to give you the benefit of the doubt. He's fairly secure in your relationship and knows that he hasn't done anything to make you want to cheat but he does feel himself faltering if you're becoming prone to laughing at your phone or trying to hide it from him. He won't ask for it but you can see that he's starting to get suspicious.

He would leave it alone until you reveal to him your surprise. By then he's still feeling fairly anxious but when you reveal that your behaviour was all just a result of you trying to plan something for him then he'll relax a little, thanking you for the effort you went through. You can tell that he's very glad that you've finally come clean when he holds your hand tightly, practically clinging to you as he thanks you.

He'll plan some more elaborate dates for you after the reveal, making it clear that he's missed your attention being solely on him. You don't really mind though since he's basically throwing money at you, spoiling you silly and reminding you just how much he's willing to do for you.

[sknyuz]

afterglow — oh beomseok

synopsis — when you meet beomseok again under glowing neon lights, an unspoken understanding still hangs between you. now playing — no one noticed - the marias, afterglow - taylor swift pairing — oh beomseok x reader genre — angst, hurt/comfort, ex-childhood friends, set before the boxing ring scene, when he started to hang out with the delinquents at school cw — mentions of past child abuse (implied), cptsd, underage substance use (vape, alcohol), lyrics are not in order do not mention it i did my best to use them to the best of my abilities wc — ~2.7k part of the “i can fix him!” trilogy

masterlist | join the taglist | 400 follower event

note: finally got my last fic out for the i can fix him series <3 DECIDED to make it part of my 400 follower special as well last minute, so i am so sorry if the lyrics are not super accurate to the scene, it was a last minute decision to add it in !! ugh this has been in my drafts for so long and i am so so happy to finally present this to my beomseok girlies and besties that just want our pookie 2 be happy </3

reblogs appreciated !!

you’re not even sure how you ended up at the club in the first place.

your friends had dragged you out, something about blowing off steam. a little rebellion. just some innocent fun—maybe not all legal, but not dangerous either. fake ids, a connection to a staff member, someone’s cousin’s cousin who knew the bouncer.

the bass hits like a second heartbeat. lights strobe overhead, too hot inside, drinks already sweating in flimsy plastic cups. you hang back by the edge of the crowd, eyes sweeping across the room, not expecting anything—

until you pause.

you think you recognize someone.

maybe i lost my mind

a lanky figure by the bar: jacket sleeves pushed up, fingers toying with a vape, flicking it up to his lips. he exhales slow, leans into the words of a girl nearby, all relaxed like he belongs here. and something about the way he moves catches you. familiar. almost.

but something’s missing.

you almost brush it off—but then he turns just enough, and your stomach twists.

no one noticed

oh beomseok?

no one but you

the boy who used to trail behind you with a book bag twice his size and bruises on his wrists. the one who hated loud noises and flinched too easily, glasses always slipping down his nose. his glasses, that’s what was missing. aside from that, this was definitely your beomseok.

but it also… isn’t.

oh beomseok is vaping, the cloud lingers near his lips as he nods along to whatever some guy’s saying beside him—loud, messy, clearly drunk. but he looks tired, worn-in, like a pair of shoes that don’t quite fit anymore. you watch him reach into his hoodie and pull out a wad of cash, handing it to one of the boys next to him. the kid beams and rushes off to the bar, probably to order another round for the whole group.

you’re already moving toward him, and before you know it, you’re grabbing onto his wrist.

he yanks back, eyes flashing. “what the fuck, man?” his voice is sharp, defensive. but you don’t falter.

may have lost it (i need a virtual connection) / i have lost it (be my video obsession)

you grab his wrist again—tighter this time. your grip says you’re not messing around. “cut the bullshit, beomseok,” you mutter, dragging him through the crowd before he can resist again. his steps stumble behind you, but he follows.

you find a quieter corner near the back wall, where the bass thuds dull and distant. red lights flicker overhead. the air smells like sweat and smoke and too-sweet liquor.

you shove him—not hard, just enough to get his back against the wall.

his eyes narrow, guarded. but you catch the flicker there. the hesitation. like something in him recognizes you.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, voice steady, jaw set. “what a reunion, beomseok-ah.” you add, sarcasm dripping from your tongue.

his eyes meet yours—and something in them falters. like recognition stumbles into him too fast, as if it knocks the wind out of him, his mouth parting just slightly.

“y/n…?” he says your name like a secret. like it’s been buried somewhere he didn’t think anyone would find, “w-what are you doing here?” hi s voice falters.

“don’t flip it on me,” you mutter, arms crossed. “i asked first.”

he hesitates, “i’m just—out with friends.”

“friends?” you scoff. “i just watched you pay for their second round of drinks. didn’t see them offering to chip in.”

he doesn’t reply, just shifts his weight from one foot to the other like the floor’s suddenly unstable.

you exhale through your nose and grab his wrist again. “come with me.”

if you believe me i guess i'll get on a plane / fly to your city excited to see your face

you take his hand, pulling him away from the pulsing speakers and sticky floors, past bodies pressed together and clouds of cigarette smoke, until you’re outside, his hand in yours, feeling the warmth of it despite the cold air surrounding you as you lead him out into the neon-lit streets. the city buzzes around you, but it feels like you’re in your own little bubble, just the two of you. the breeze hits you both, a sharp contrast to the heat of the club you left behind.

you walk for a while, not really knowing where you’re headed, but you’re not rushing. you don’t really want to leave him alone, not like this. somehow, you end up at a 7-eleven, the bright lights of the convenience store a welcome change from the chaos outside.

without thinking, you grab a hangover drink off the shelf—something to steady the night, to offer some kind of relief. you pop it open and walk over to him, pushing it into his hand.

his eyes avoid yours, his face turned away as if he’s trying to shut himself off from you. it’s painful to watch, but you’re not letting him slip away again. “here,” you say, voice softer than before, “you should drink it. you look like you need it.”

he doesn’t respond right away, the silence between you both stretches. beomseok doesn’t really push you away this time around, his fingers brush the bottle briefly, but it’s clear that something’s stopping him from facing you completely.

you watch as his fingers tighten around the can, but he still doesn’t look at you. the silence hangs heavy, and you can’t stand it anymore. you step a little closer, your voice a little more urgent.

“beomseok… talk to me. this just isn’t you.”

no one tried / to read my eyes

he finally turns his face towards you, his eyes avoiding yours, but his words hit harder than you expected. “it’s been years, yn. you don’t know who i am anymore…”

no one but you

you feel a pang in your chest, but you don’t back down. you step forward, placing a hand on his arm, more firmly this time, almost desperate.

“no,” you push, your voice strong and steady. “i do know you. the real you. and this—this isn’t it. you’re hiding behind all of this. i don’t care what’s changed. i care about who you are, beomseok.”

he flinches slightly at your words, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face before he quickly masks it again. it’s like he wants to fight back, but the weight of your words is enough to make him pause, just for a second.

come on, don't leave me it can't be that easy, babe

the silence stretches between you two, but you can’t let it hang there any longer. your voice softens, quieter now, like you’re afraid to speak the truth but know you need to.

“is it... is it your father again?” you finally cut through the quiet, your gaze searching his face for some sign, some clue.*

you see how he tenses, the tightness in his posture, and something inside you shifts. without thinking, you slide your arm over his shoulder, pulling him just a little closer to you. your hand gently rubs his arm, offering him a kind of grounding warmth that he hasn’t allowed himself in a long time.

hold me, console me and then i'll leave without a trace

“oh, beomseok…” you murmur, your voice full of quiet empathy. the words are more than just a sigh; they’re a soft acknowledgment of everything he’s carrying, of all the weight he’s been hiding behind that tough facade.

his body stiffens at first, but slowly, you feel him relax under your touch, just a little. the act is simple—just a touch—but it’s enough to make him stop pretending, if only for a moment. he doesn’t pull away.

beomseok breathes out shakily, and you can feel the weight of it, like he’s been holding his breath for far too long. he doesn’t say it out loud, but you can tell he needs this—needs you to be here with him.

i pinned your hands behind your back, oh / thought i had reason to attack, but no

slowly, almost as if he’s too exhausted to fight it, his head leans in to rest on your shoulder. his breath is warm against your neck as he buries his face there, gripping the hangover drink in his hand, the can trembling slightly as he exhales again, shaky and uneven.

you feel his breath against your skin, the tremor in his grip, and your heart tightens. there’s so much he’s been holding back, so much he’s been too afraid to show. but right here, in this quiet moment, you can feel the weight of his vulnerability.

it's so excruciating to see you low

you don’t pull away, just let him be, your hand still gently rubbing his shoulder, grounding him, offering the comfort he’s too scared to ask for.

just wanna lift you up and not let you go

and like for the first time that night, you finally recognize the beomseok you used to know, soft and unguarded, the one who used to cling to you when everything felt too heavy. the boy you always tried to protect. just like this.

“hey.” you let him pull back just a little, enough to lift his head. your hands find his shoulders gently, steady, coaxing him to face you. “look at me.”

his eyes meet yours, still guarded, still tired. but you hold his gaze like you mean it.

“i like when you’re like this,” you say, quiet but certain. “real. not all… tough. not pretending to be someone else.”

no one but you

your grip on his shoulders tightens just a little. grounding him.

“you’re kind,” you murmur. “maybe a little soft-hearted. but that’s not a bad thing, beomseok. don’t forget that.”

his breath catches, like he doesn’t know how to believe you yet. but he’s listening.

you pause, jaw tight, gaze unwavering. “the guy i saw back there? in the club?” you shake your head. “that’s not you.”

he doesn’t say anything right away. just stares down at his shoes, shoulders slightly hunched, like he’s bracing for something. you can see the way his fingers curl tighter around the bottle, the silence stretching between you.

then, slowly, his eyes flick up—not fully, just a glance from beneath his lashes. hesitant. almost like he’s scared of what he’ll find that he had already buried deep if he really looks at you.

like he doesn’t think he deserves to.

you feel your chest tighten a little. you keep your hands on his shoulders, steady.

i need to say, hey / it's all me, just don't go

“beomseok-ah,” you say, softer now. “it’s okay. i’m not going anywhere.”

you give his shoulders a light squeeze. not to rush him, just to remind him you’re still here. he still won’t meet your eyes all the way—just glances up at you from under his lashes, like holding eye contact would crack something open.

you let out a quiet breath. step a little closer.

“you don’t have to pretend now,” you murmur. and then—gently—you reach up and wrap your arms around him, loose at first, around his shoulders. your chin rests near his collarbone, the way it used to when things got bad.

“we can go through it again,” you whisper. “just like when we were kids.”

he doesn’t move right away. but he doesn’t pull away, either.

you shift your arm a little, meaning to hold him tighter—and that’s when you notice it. something hard presses faintly against your ribs, caught between you. your fingers reach down, curious, and brush against the edge of plastic.

you pull back slightly, just enough to glance down—and there they are. tucked halfway out of his hoodie pocket, half-crushed but unmistakable: his old glasses.

your chest tightens.

he brought them. he’s still carrying them, even if he refuses to wear them. like some part of him can’t let go.

you don’t say anything. you just ease them from his pocket with careful fingers, slow enough that he barely stirs. and then, without asking, you guide them gently onto his face. he flinches a little at the contact—like he thinks you’re going to push him away—but you don’t.

instead, you adjust them on the bridge of his nose, the way you used to when they always slid down. the frames sit slightly crooked, lenses already smudged.

your hand lingers at the side of his face for a beat longer than it should. then, quietly, like it’s second nature, you ruffle his hair.

“there,” you whisper, “now you look like my beomseok again.” pulling him back into your arms.

he doesn’t say anything.

chemistry 'til it blows up, 'til there's no us

and then—quietly, without meaning to—his vision starts to blur. tears prick at the corners of his eyes, sharp and sudden. he tries to blink them back, but it just makes everything worse. the glasses fog a little—like they remember him too, the edges of the world softening, slipping out of focus.

and all he can see is you. or maybe not even really you—just the curve of your shoulder, the messy strands of your hair, close and steady in front of him. the warmth of your body against his. you’re the only real thing in his whole line of sight.

he swallows hard, his throat tight. and then—slowly, like he’s scared to even do it—his hands come up, just barely brushing against your back. he holds you like you’ll slip through his fingers if he’s not careful. but then something snaps inside of him,

went off like sirens, just crying

his fingers twist into the fabric of your clothes, and suddenly he’s clutching you like you’re the only thing keeping him upright. his shoulders shake. the sob hits his chest first, then his throat, and then he’s just—crying. really crying. a full-body kind of ache, like he’s been holding it in for years. like he didn’t know he was allowed to fall apart until now.

it's on your face, don't walk away, i need to say

his shoulders tremble under your hands, full-body shakes like he can’t keep it in anymore. “god, y/n...” he whimpers, voice cracking as his thumbs dig into your back, desperate. like if he lets go even a little, he might fall apart for real this time. you lift one hand, slow and steady, and thread your fingers through his hair, brushing it back gently, soothing him the way you used to when you were kids. like muscle memory.

hey / it's all me in my head

“you’re okay,” you murmur, voice barely there. “you’re okay. i’ve got you.”

tell me that you're still mine / tell me that we'll be just fine / even when I lose my mind

and that night, beomseok doesn’t go home.

if you can even call it that—home.

he hesitates at the thought of it, like the word tastes wrong in his mouth. like it doesn’t quite belong to him. he doesn’t go back to that house—the one with slamming doors and cold hallways, where bruises are worn like silence and silence weighs heavier than words. the place that still smells like fear and waiting and things left unsaid.

instead, he goes with you.

i don't wanna lose, i don't wanna lose this with you

no questions. no second-guessing. just your hand holding his, steady and sure, like a lifeline he didn’t know he was allowed to take.

it’s quiet in your room. the kind of quiet that doesn’t feel heavy. beomseok lies on his side, curled up with his head pressed gently to your chest, right where he can feel the steady rise and fall of your breathing. like a grounding rhythm. like safety.

i need to say, hey / it's all me, just don't go

your arm stays wrapped around him, thumb tracing slow lines over the curve of his shoulder. his glasses are gone—left on your nightstand, lenses smudged and forgotten. his eyes are swollen and tired, puffy from all the crying, but they’re finally closed.

he doesn’t say anything. he just lets himself rest there, breathing in sync with you. after the blinding glow of the club and the alcohol, the neon lights and too many people who never looked close enough—this is what feels right.

meet me in the afterglow

and for once, beomseok feels like maybe he’s safe, maybe he’s allowed to stay, that he finally belongs somewhere—loved, protected, not needing to put up an act. that someone sees him.

if you liked this, i appreciate a reblog as well :3 it helps my works and writing spread to other ppl very effectively !!

💬 do u guys ever think that maybe, just maybe, if beomseok had this type of support system in the show, he wouldn’t have ended up that way? just someone to hold him, console him, and just see him, yk?

note: will be one of my last uploads before i go on a short break (to work and finish requests lol) so i will be back very soon, just no new fics released for a couple days ^^ i aim to be back by tuesday or wednesday next week (may 13 or 14) so thank u for giving the blog so much love and see u again soon !! and if ur still reading this, reblog with a photo of ur favorite whc boy <3 (hehe i might use it for something ;p)

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[devilmaymetalgear]

That was a long time ago

swap/evil au!Dante x childhood friend!Reader

Cw: a lot of exposition, dmc3 Dante, gn!reader, this is more of an intro post for the au so I could practice writing him, use of baby and sweetheart, next post WILL be smut with an older evil Dante where he actually is horrible, he's just a little mean in this ❤️

(THIS IS ANOTHER AU I DONT ACTUALLY THINK DANTE WOULD DO ANY OF THIS SHIT IN MAINLINE)

A/n: i have not played dmc5 in a while and forget what the fuck the area around their house looks like, so play along if there's not a forest nearby. I also like... i dont know what happened near the end, its not verg good

He remembered that fateful day. He was left alone, sparring outside. Vergil said he wanted to keep reading his dumb poetry. It was quiet, that familiar of bugs was missing. The chirping of birds gone silent. It was as if time went still.

He didn't notice it at first, that buzzing in the back of his mind that made him want to flee. He probably should of. At 8 years old his mother left him to die. Thrown to the wolves. Thrown to the demons, more accurately.

He watched as the house burned down to ash, the smoke high in the sky. Even as he fled, running for his life, he could see that smoke high in the sky.

And he remembered the days before that. Where he played with his brother and his friend. His secret friend. Mother and father were always worried about them, said they couldn't go too far off the property. But Dante never listened.

He saw another kid in the woods next to his house, plucking some of the wild flowers from the ground. Placing them into their little basket. They looked so excited with each little flower they plucked. And Dante never got to hang out with other kids his age. He crept into the forest, dodging every little leaf and twig that if crunched could scare them.

"Hii!" He shouted, watching them look up.

"Hi?" You waved back at him nervously, and he watched as you stood up straight from the ground.

"Who are those flowers for?" He pointed down at the basket, stepping in front of you.

"They're for my mom. She told me not to come over here but they're just so pretty. Look!" You held your hand up to his face, a small, red wildflower limp between your fingers.

"Can I pick some?" Reaching towards the ground, he grasped at the little flowers, squishing them in his hands. The delicate petals fell onto the ground, leaving partial, crumpled stems in his hands. He was about to give up and sulk, stomp off to go bother Vergil and hope that'll make him feel better.

But you reached out, gently picking up another flower of the ground. Setting into his hand as carefully as you can.

"Now you have one to give to your mom."

Thats all he can remember. His head aches if he thinks about it anymore. That's all he needs to remember anyway.

Why would he ever sit and daydream about the eight year old you, when he's got the smoking hot adult you?

"Dante.." You mutter, gazing down at the rubble and gore beneath temen ni gru. Hundreds dead or injured, the squeals of demons feasting ringing out loud enough for the next city over to hear. His hand tightened around your hip, pulling you close.

"Yeah, baby?" He snaps out of whatever place his mind was, a sharp grin on his face. He looked a little too delighted staring at the gore below him. Like a king on his throne. You wouldn't be surprised if he saw himself as one. "You like what you see, right?"

"It's... definitely something!" His hand drifts lower, resting right on your ass. As much as the urge to swat his hand away rises in you, staring at all the viscera makes you rethink that. "A little... excessive, don't you think? Couldn't we have done this somewhere more... rural? Not right in the middle of the busiest part of town?"

He snickered, leaning into you and glancing over. "I forget how stupid you are when it comes to hellgates and stuff. We can't just move a hell gate, baby. That's where it is so that's where it comes up. Not my fault that I killed a few people."

"You're the one who raised the hellgate! If you didn't raise it then those people wouldn't have died!"

He went quiet, snarling a little. He dipped his head a little lower, his nails digging into your skin.

"If you talk back like that again, I'll throw you down there with them since you pity them so much. You humans are so fragile, any time someone dies you just have to whine about it." He rolled his eyes, as if you were complaining about spilt milk.

He adjusted his grip on you, grabbing your wrist and walking away from the edge.

"Enough of this anyways, I've got a reunion party to plan."

Intro to the au next post WILL be sloppy pervert sex leave me recommendations for what he should do pls ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

[moonshapedbox]

modern!au truck driver arthur headcanons

fluff, elements of arthur morgan x fem reader, very brief suggestiveness

a/n: AHHH i'm nervous ok i’ve written fics and drabbles & stuff before but i have never posted them…so this is my first time posting. big shout out to @rdr2enjoyer for her scrumptious modern au fic that started this idea in first place !!!! and to @cassievanlauritzen for even more ideas and inspiration, i’ve written this with her in mind <3 haven't written in so long so it feels like warming up. pouring my all of trucker knowledge into this + did tons of research just in case. sorry in advance if it's not super accurate or accidentally out of character. enjoy!

- he’d be a snack lover. when he stops at gas stations fuel up he stocks up on a ton of snacks, chips, candy, jerky, you name it. also drinks lots of coffee, sodas, really anything to keep him energized.

- additionally I feel like he’d be big on Buc-ee's. loves how clean the bathrooms are, he’d go in get washed up a bit (wash his face and forearms, combs his hair, etc). then he’d get a huge bbq brisket sandwich and a dr. pepper and eat it in his cab. probably has a small Buc-ee’s cup or thermos.

- on the same note abt eating habits-- would hands down eat while he's driving. type of guy to dip in his fries in a milkshake and devour it, his unwavering attention still on the road.

- would definitely have one of those hanging rear view mirror ornaments of a like deer or a horse.

- collects little trinkets from all the states he’s been to (keychains, shot glasses etc.) would buy you a small plushie and surprises you with it when he gets home.

- the type to call you on late nights and puts you on speaker phone when he’s tired. makes you to talk to him to keep him up until he can get to his next rest stop, “darlin’ you gotta keep me up for a lil while longer…tell me ‘bout ur day”

- the only phone he's got is a flip phone. he runs out of minutes a lot and he can’t get service most the time bc of rural areas he’s traveling thru, so he calls from a pay phone. he leans against the pay phone and pulls a drag from his cigarette while he listens you on the phone, “i’m okay hon, cellphone died again i’m sorry” he flicks the ash and waits for your response, “...what’s wrong baby?…. you ain��t gotta worry ‘bout me i’m fine. i can take care of myself don’t worry….”

- if there’s not a payphone available he’ll stop by a diner and use the landline, fidgeting with the cord while he talks to you, he hums and sighs to himself listening to you talk, “mhm, I know baby I miss you too…just wanted to hear that sweet voice of yours…been thinkin’ ‘bout you a lot…” he smiles to himself and looks down at his boots. “don’t cry sweet girl i’ll be home soon…in a couple days, ok?”

- when he finally does get home he’s handsy. he’s grabbing you every chance he can, he holds you in his big arms and pulls you close, snuggling into your neck and shoulders. “you have no idea how lonely it gets out how there sweetheart...” he pants into your neck, pressing warm open mouthed kisses on the underside of your jaw. “if only i could take you with me, you’d look so pretty sittin' in my passenger seat”

- he's a patient guy so he's not the type to road rage but i think he’d be a vocal complainer with the stupid ppl on the road. he's out on the road for so long that he can't help that his patience runs out sometimes. will throw up his hand in annoyance when ppl cut him off. he rests his temple against his hands in irritation, leans up to the wheel to get a better view “what the hell are we doin’...you gettin' over or not?” he grumbles to himself, “use you’re damn signal!”

- but it's quiet in the cab for the most part, it's just him and the soft hum of the road-- aside from answering the calls on the CB radio frequently.

- although it’s lonely out on the road, he gets homesick and he thinks about you a lot. the nights are even longer and more painful. some nights he doesn't mind the quiet but other nights it makes his soul ache a bit.

- the song “wichita lineman” by glen campbell….yeah it’s like that

- when he sleeps in his cab he’ll look out at the stars, it's really his only moment of the day he can truly zone out for a moment. he never gets tired of looking up at them. sometimes he'll allow himself one smoke before bed, he'll stand outside at night and breathe the fresh air, looking up at the night sky.

- similarly he loves all the scenery. one of the best parts of driving to him is traveling around, seeing how the sun sets and rises differently in every part of the country--but still equally as beautiful. it makes his heart soften, but he'd never tell anyone that

- always keeps his journal with him, writes down things that interest him. places he's been, people he's met, and so on.

- he’s always changing radio stations when it fades into static as he crosses county lines, has lots of CDs or cassettes just in case the radio doesn’t have anything good on or he can’t get rid of the static

- as for the CDs and cassettes— definitely classic rock guy and like old country/folk music (you know johnny cash, willie nelson, john denver type of stuff). is a sucker for ballads bc they express emotions he feels yet can’t explain in his own words :’)

── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

if there's anything u think i should add let me know and i might make a part 2 !!! thank u sm for reading :)

[midnightshindig]

What about Ruby and Amanda with a kid super reader

Of course being platonic, the reader is only comfortable being around them since they don't know that they're basically adults trapped in a kids body

Which leads to maybe them helping the reader get out of their shell more with the rest of the guardians, and they help mentor them and such, tho they do still have fun with their brutally honest antics

Just thought this would be adorable in a way

Monster Girl, Robot & Child!Superhero!Reader!! (platonic)

euhghghfsgarweip this is SUCH a cute idea omg

side note but it is SO funny to me that Amanda's va was so clearly told to do a childlike voice (within reason) and Rudy's va is just. Some dude. Also. Fascinated by the implication that despite having Rex's vocal cords, even grown up Rudy sounds like Robot and NOT Rex. At all. It's wild I love it

hcs under the cut!!

Rudy is AWFUL with children

I'd say you're around Oliver's age, maybe a smidge older

Definitely no older than 12

And Rudy just can't get a fucking grip

He has a hard time speaking in terms REX would understand, let alone you

But to be fair you're a good deal smarter than Rex, you actually received an education.

Amanda, on the other hand, is pretty good with kids

she seems like the type of person who is a nonchalant aunt

Probably doesn't see her nieces/nephews anymore due to her....condition(?)

So she's super child about things when you start clinging to her during GotG meetings

She's pretty used to handling Rudy's social incompetence, err, more accurately his anxieties and rough-around-the-edge nature

You yourself are a pretty anxious child

Socially, that is

It's a little funny?

Kicking MAJOR ass on the battlefield, but Bulletproof asks what you think about mushrooms on the pizza he's ordering for dinner and you're like "hhhhhhhidunnomushroomssoundfine"

and you're allergic to mushrooms but wtv

Amanda and Rudy are such a unit by the time you join the GotG (around the end of s2, i'd say) that Amanda taking you under her wing means spending ample time with Rudy as well

As hard as it is for him to interact with you on your level, he finds your quietness and curiosity about the world endearing

Amanda will leave to use the restroom and come back to find you staring at Rudy while he does some weird engineering shit, just absolutely awestruck

After long enough you begin to ask question

"Uhm- Rudy..? Why are you connecting those wires like that? I've never seen you do it that way."

"Oh. This method is more efficient for...." blah blah blah blah blah

and you're paying CLOSE attention

The three of you form a tight little unit

lowkey Amanda's having just a great time fucking braiding your hair and talking to Rudy like you're their kid

not like you're THEIR KID but like

They have a responsibility to look out for you

and that's a comfortable kind of weight to carry when you care about someone

and she loves you

isn't that just the best?

Once you've found a home base in Rudy and Amanda, it becomes easier for you to interact with the other guardians

it's slow work, Rex joining you for movies here and there, occasionally Rae will ask you a question about your day or your thoughts on something and you'll choke out a real response

You finally tell everyone you're allergic to mushroom so please can we get just normal pepperoni please

and they do

I hc Amanda is the kind of person to find harmless pranks HILARIOUS

Like she will whoopie cushion your ass and crack up while Rudy explains he tried to stop her

It makes you kinda raw when they go on dates and you're not invited

but surprisingly, it's less scary with them gone than it used to be

you'll be playing video games or crocheting or working out or something and Black Samson will just.... come hang out with you?

Just to have some company

Or Shapesmith will ask you questions about what human childhood is like

which is difficult to answer because you've never experienced NOT being a child

but it's a valuable experience either way

"So.... do you really lose teeth?"

"mhm!! Here look-" You opened your mouth and prodded at an empty space in your teeth with your tongue "This one finally came out after that fight on Monday, it's gonna take a few weeks for the adult one to grow in"

"Thats..... upsetting."

You grinned an awkward smile, full display of your weirdly small teeth

It made Shapesmith grateful he never experienced baby teeth

After becoming closer with you, it starts stressing Rudy out during fights

He KNOWS logically you're capable

but Amanda is right, he's responsible for you by virtue of being "the adult" and more importantly, being your adult

He starts pulling double duty to make protective wear for you

this man over her like "The padding in your knees, elbows, and skull all need to be reinforced, you could sprain your wrist, Y/n!"

"....Rudy I've had my femur snapped in half before...."

Don't remind him

He cried about it, it was so distressing to have to send an empty robot suit to fly you to the GDA hospital

Rudy never cries

but also he's a little proud you remembered what a femur was

Amanda calls you "Kiddo" but for humorous effect, its hilarious coming from her Loud House ass voice

Rudy calls your by your name, but refers to you as "the child" when talking to other people, or even a "young Y/n"

he just talks weird it isn't his fault!!

Amanda won't throw birthday parties for herself

she has a problem letting her life go well

BUT, she thinks they're important for a kid to experience

your first birthday at a Guardian is incredible

the entire HQ is DECKED in decorations

Rae and Rex team up to try and make your favorite food plus a cake

Black Samson is trying to figure out how to hook his Spotify up to the speakers

Zandale is somewhere explaining birthday parties to Shapesmith

Rudy is using empty robots to continue hanging party streamers in the rafters

and Amanda is holding a big box with your gift in it, beaming with pride as she-- solely-- yells

"Surprise!!! Open your gift!!"

She pushes it into your arms as you stumble under the weight of it

Obviously you rip into it, pulling out some vague but emotionally impactful gift

Probably some childish shit like an easy bake oven (but one Rudy tricked out) or a board game you loved or something

Padding the bottom are miscellaneous articles of clothing

You pull them out and marvel at them, but...

"Amanda these are way too big, these are like.... clothes for a teenager or an adult."

Amanda just shrugs casually "yeah, they were mine but... yknow, not like I'm gonna need them anytime soon."

There's a heaviness in the air before Black Samson yells out

"I GOT IT!!"

and music floods the HQ

A few hours later, all birthday rituals were successfully fulfilled

Most of the Guardians have trickled off back to their own lives, leaving you, Rudy, and Amanda on the couch, watching one of your favorite movies

It doesn't matter though, you're passed out curled up against the arm of the couch

Amanda sits next to you, her head leaning onto Rudy on her other side, himself leaning into her as a counterweight

it's an idyllic scene to be certain

what a great birthday ^^

[transformers-spike]

Being that I’m sick, I just had a thought. In no shape or form do I think this is any bit accurate lol, but it was a fun thought for me.

So transformers are seen as robots (because they are), but I think it’s more important to look at the alien aspect of them. They are huge mechanical beings. Living machines. Being that they are living machines they don’t exactly get sick like most biological creatures such as humans.

Cybertronian’s suffer more from wounds and other injuries than they do sickness. A Cybertronian getting sick is nearly always a death sentence. This is completely different when it comes to humans. Unlike the giant robots, we get sick often, our bodies constantly healing itself. Cybertronian’s are more equipped to handle fatal wounds than we are. What a small scrap is to them can be deadly to humans.

That being said, transformers kind of are shocked when we can survive a mild fever. Our technology to heal the sick is much more advanced than theirs. Watching a small human get something like a mild flu is really fascinating to them. In a strange way they like seeing the whole healing process of humans getting sick and then better. Our bodies are so much frailer than theirs, yet we can fight of an infection that could potentially wipe out large numbers for them.

When you are sick, expect a lot of touching for no reason. Your body is weak from whatever sickness you have, yet they can’t stop poking and feeling. Your movements are slower and you’re less aware now, in a way it’s cute to them. Strangely enough they’d probably also like the smell of sickness on a human…strange but they’d most likely find it fascinating.

There are some bots I can also see getting turned on by this. More funny than anything especially if it’s someone like Shockwave who finds these biological findings too much for his scientific brain and now wants to jerk his spike over your sleeping body. He’s thinking about how much work your body is putting in to heal itself and just gets a boner or something.

Curious to if you think any other bot would feel about it. Anyway I’ll probably forget I typed any of this up later, sorry for any inaccuracies, im too sick to think correctly 😭😭

goddamn this is so good I am a sucker for a good bot helping their human through their sickness scenario I for one am most interested in them getting a kick for taking care of their human in such an extremely fragile state. While bots like Knock Out will vehemently refuse to hang around you more than he needs to (at least you can call/text him tho) - others are a lot more willing as long as they have the time. TFP Starscream keeps complaining about how long it takes for you to recover, but you still catch him holding you in his servos when he could just as easily leave you in bed. Keeps poking/holding you in this state. Dude, you are making the recovery so much worse Optimus and Soundwave are definitely normal about it - just focusing on keeping you company during your recovery. While others want to drive you around even if you're halfway dead (looking at you Wheeljack)

[spiderlilydreams]

I just wrote this today. I was inspired because a comment asked for more real-life AU's for Feitan x Reader, I'm pretty sure. Both of my recent fics are definitely more American based for the setting. It was interesting trying to write real-life AU's, but it's really fun. Also, this fic definitely needs more parts, I think. I don't own the fanart. Also, I try my best to write characters' personalities accurately, but of course, setting can change personalities a bit. ^^

Warning: Mentions of sex, sexual themes, mentions of alcohol, Feitans friends kind of bully him T_T lol, mostly fluff story though ❤️ Minors do not interact!

-----------‐-----‐--------‐------------------------------------------

Meeting Feitan At The Mall - Date

-----------------‐--------‐---------------------

You were going to the mall with your friends. Young adult women, exploring the near abandoned mall, wondering how to spend their money; it was going to be a peaceful, normal day. So you thought.

You wore your favorite outfit and were looking nice. You entered Victoria's Secret with your friends Machi, Shizuku and Pakunada. You had issues deciding what to get, trying on a variety of lingerie. As you left the store, in the corner of your eye you could see some guys around your age hanging out. There was a taller one with tattoos, piercings and slicked back hair. There was a blonde taller one in a tracksuit with a grumpy expression. There was another tall blonde, but with a somewhat innocent look about him, drinking Boba, and then there was a much shorter guy, with black hair and a black face mask. He had piercings, and a unique presence that drew you in. Even with his height, he exuded a kind of confidence that pulled you in, making you stare. As you left the store, you saw him look your way for a couple seconds, eyebrows raised slightly. You looked away blushing, knowing you'd probably never see him again. He'd just be the hot emo guy you saw at the mall... And so you thought.

Next your friends and you entered Spencer's. You all explored the shirts, merch, and random decorative items. In the back where the sexual toys were, you saw the hot emo guy from earlier, with the same three friends. They were laughing, pointing at the toys, being obnoxious.

"Feitan, you might need to buy this strap on. I don't know how you please a woman with your small-" The innocent, now mischievous looking blonde teased, causing Feitan to glare at him.

"How would you know?" Feitan snarled, crossing his arms over his chest. You felt bad for staring, but it was hard not to. You wondered what... size... He could be due to his height, knowing it doesn't have much to do with dick size. His friends were being dicks to him.

"Your height, there's no way bro." The blonde laughed, the others snickering with him as they teased Feitan.

"I'll prove it. A girls been staring at me all day." Feitan said determined, looking over to where you were looking at him. You blushed, turning away, trying to act like you weren't just staring at him.

"Nah, no way you'd pull her. How'd you prove it anyways? I don't want to see your dick." The blonde said with a judgemental look on his face.

"From the sound of it, you really wanted to see my dick. I'll pull her easily." Feitan laughed, walking towards you. Your heart raced as you felt his presence behind you, his body heat radiating off him.

"Hey, sorry about them. Do you want to go on a date with me?" Feitan asked from behind you. You turned around with a blush, looking into his eyes which were more relaxed. You knew you had to get back to your friends, but also knew they wouldn't mind you going on a date with a hot emo guy, as long as you'd be safe.

"S-Sure." You stuttered shyly, making Feitan smile from under his mask. He grabbed your hand, making you gasp, pulling you out of the store with urgency. Before doing so, for a split second he flipped off his friends, yelling "see?" When you left the store, he continued to drag you along, to what seemed to be the food court. His slender hand was surprisingly warm, and your skin tingled where he was touching you.

"Get whatever you want. On me." Feitan said. You tried refusing, but Feitan insisted. You grabbed some of your favorite food, and sat with him near the window. You texted your friends quickly about what happened, beginning to eat as Feitan just looked at you, making you nervous. He seemed the quiet type, unlike his friends. "You're cute." He suddenly said, making your heart skip a beat and blush.

"Thank you.. I caught that your name is Feitan, right? I like it." You responded, still eating your food.

"Yeah.. What's your name?" Feitan asked, eyes staring at you intensely.

"Uhm, it's y/n. Are you in college?" You asked, trying to get a conversation going.

"A few classes, I mostly work.." Feitan continued the conversation, never leaving his eyes from you. "How about you?"

You explain your situation, Feitan nodding. "Do you live with friends?" You asked, finishing your food.

"Yeah, with those assholes. You can come over, if you want..." Feitan says, making your eyes grow wide. A house full of guys sounded a bit scary, and you thought about what would be the best idea. You couldn't help but blush and feel a warm desire at the idea of being in Feitans room, possibly doing things with him.

"Will it be just us? I'd have to tell my friends..." You asked, biting your lip.

"Just us. Those assholes will be out for a while. I also drove here alone." Feitan responded, getting out his car keys and eyeing you as if to ask if you'd want to join him. Your heart raced as you quickly texted your friends, nodding at Feitan. He grabbed your hand again, walking with you to his car. It was a nice black car, the kind of car that was a bit intimidating. Like the kind of car where you'd avoid guys like the driver of it. And here you were, sliding into the passenger seat, Feitan looking way too attractive, one hand on the wheel, the other on your thigh. You noticed his black fingernails pretty early on. He was giving signs of being a fuck boy, but you let yourself let go of worries, as you were enjoying yourself the most you have in a while. Feitans hand rubbed your thigh gently, every so often roughly squeezing it, as he drove.

When you arrived, you got a good look at the large house, a couple of other cars in the driveway. The inside was cleaner then you thought, considering it was all males living there. You wondered if they had women over a lot, or if any of them had girlfriends. You hoped to yourself that Feitan wasn't too much of a fuck boy, but felt that it was too likely to be true. Feitan took off his mask for the first time of the day, your eyes going wide seeing his attractive, sharp features. He smirked, catching you staring at him.

"Can I get you something?" Feitan asked, opening the fridge. There was an ungodly amount of alcohol inside, making you panic a bit, because you realized how much they must all party here.

"W-Water..." You answered nervously. Feitan threw you a water bottle, motioning you towards what you guessed would be his room. There were four rooms. His room was decently sized, posters from bands all over the walls, some figures from horror movies and games sitting on shelves. You noticed he had books that didn't seem to be textbooks, shocking you a bit. He seemed to have a queen sized mattress, it soft as you sat on it. He had a PC setup with a desk and chair in front of his bed. He turned it on, throwing off his sweatshirt on the chair, making you feel hot in the core of your stomach. His undershirt lifted for half a second when he took the sweatshirt off, but you got to see his well sculpted abs. His build was lean, but toned, and you blushed a deep red.

"Movie? You like horror?" Feitan asked, looking back at your blushing face. His eyebrow perked up, but he was smirking. You nodded your head quickly, and soon Feitan had a movie on his PC, joining you on his bed. He sat a little distanced from you at first, but then he turned around to face you as the movie was going. "You can come here if you want." Feitan said, opening up his arms. His back was against the upright pillows. You inched your way towards him, resting your head on his chest. Even his chest felt toned, and he was warm. You could hear his steady, strong heartbeat. You watched the movie, Feitan beginning to run his fingers through your hair, it comforting you. Surprisingly, you fell asleep, the movie still playing.

When you woke up, you were under Feitans blankets, and it was dark in the room. You could hear laughing and talking in what you guessed to be the living room outside. It seemed his friends were back. You wondered how long you were asleep, and cursed at yourself for falling asleep on your first date with him. You grabbed your phone, texting your friends again about what was happening.

"There's no way all you guys did was watch a movie, man." One of the guys who wasn't Feitan said disappointingly.

"We did. She fell asleep." Feitan responded, sounding annoyed. Your ears could make out the sound of a video game.

"That's surprising. Most girls find you too creepy to even be around, let alone sleeping. She must really like you." Another one of the guys said, laughter erupting.

"She's cute. I'm going to see if she has woken up. Don't you dare fucking bother us." Feitan laughed out, the sounds of his footsteps approaching his door. You sat up in his bed, rubbing your eyes.

"She can stay the night if she wants. See if she has friends though, man. It's been a while since I've been with anyone. We need more women over." One of the guys yelled to Feitan. Feitan opened his door ajar, light pooling into the dark room. Feitan smiled seeing you sitting up.

"You want to go get food, and then stay over?" Feitan asked you, walking in and turning on the light. You rubbed your eyes adjusting to the light.

"S-Sure." You responded, blushing as Feitan sat on the bed with his car keys ready, reaching his hand out to pat your head.

[kiefromgingerland]

LINGER (p.1)

outlaw!lottie matthews x farmersdaughter!reader

summary: after weeks mourning the recent death of her father, y/n decides it’s time for her to take responsibility and fix the family farm her father left her. just when she’s about to give up and go home, she ends up housing—and hiding—the infamous outlaw of the west.

warning(s): not historically accurate, mentions of crime, mentions of death, mourning, angst, slow burn, secret romance, cursing, possibly ooc!lottie

a/n: this is supposed to be set around the 1890s, but if women and poc actually had rights bc like why not 🥲 also they’ll be using somewhat modern language bc idk how people in the west spoke

word count: 705

you should be at home, tucked away in bed with plenty more time left to sleep. you should at least have been rising peacefully by now, waking up to the sound of chirping birds and the rumbling of distant trains and the quiet stirring of street wagons. but no, you’re not home, and there is no exciting city ambience. where you are is slouched in a small run down saloon. you move the damp slabs of ham around with your fork and poke at the cold scrambled eggs. you finally spot the busy saloon waitress, a short woman around your age with shaggy dark hair. she has the striking hazel green eyes and arched dark brows. she had served you your eggs and ham, and offered some strong alcoholic drink, which you turned down. looking back on it, maybe you should’ve taken the offer.

“ehm, excuse me, ma’am? uh.. could i get that drink, actually?” you chuckle hesitantly. your friends back home would most definitely judge you for drinking this early in the day.

“the food that bad?” the woman asks sarcastically, with a charming smile. “coming right up.”

“no, the food’s.. great! i just got a lot on my mind.” you stutter nervously with a tight lipped smile, trying to be polite. “and thank you, ma’am.”

the woman slides the glass mug of liquor over to you from across the bar. “it’s no problem. and you don’t need to call me ‘ma’am’.” she says matter-of-fact-ly, with a raised brow. “‘name’s natalie. you can call me nat.”

“oh. thank you, nat.” you smile, offering out your hand, which she takes in a firm handshake. “y/n.”

“well? what are you here for?” natalie asks, crossing her arms and leaning on the counter.

“i’m visiting my dad’s farm.”

“hm. fun.” natalie says sarcastically.

“why do you say it like that?” you chuckle.

“why would you want to be hanging around some old man?” natalie scoffs.

“oh, uh.. i won’t be around him, actually.”

“yeah? why, where will he be?”

“uh, he’s dead.”

“oh!”

“yeah.”

“shit, sorry—“

“nah, no worries, it’s no problem. really.”

you take a long sip of beer, quieting down after the awkward encounter. nat continues cleaning the bar, serving customers. one of the guys at the bar points at a poster hung up by the door.

“what’s that about?” the man asks.

“hm? oh, yeah, the sheriff is making everyone hang up those wanted posters.” nat scoffs. “some felon on the run, i dunno what she did, but she’s a big deal apparently.”

“‘she’?” he questions.

“fuck yeah, ‘she’. women can be criminals too, y’know.”

the further you traveled through the quaint little town, you more Wanted posters you saw. a few of them were of old criminals, dating back from a few years to a few weeks old. however, you saw a lot of these new ones from the saloon, of that woman. the road began to get dirtier and the buildings started to lessen. soon enough, you ended on a dirt road with short, thin trees.

you can see a few farms in the distance, but keep on your track. after a while, you can see the house. increasing your pace a bit, you jog over. the house looks bigger now than it did when you left. you, your parents, and your siblings seemed so crowded, but now it’s looks so lonely. nobody bothered to come around after your dad died. there are still farm animals lazily stumbling around.

you take the time to lay out some food for the birds in the chicken coop, pile some hay and put out water for the horses, and toss some grains out into a pile for the goats and the pigs, all of the animals having run slim due to only having grass around.

when the sun begins to set, you decide it’s best to go inside. as you lie beneath the weight of the heavy quilts, the flickering candlelight casts warm shadows on the old wallpaper. the night is silent, except for the occasional bleat of a goat or low rumble of a cow in the yard below you. each breath hurts, your heart aching. outside, the wind picks up, howling through the trees, and in the distance, you hear the faintest sound of hooves. you begin to fall asleep, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion.

what you don’t know is that a dangerous woman is drawing nearer, her intentions as shadowed as the night itself, and soon, the quiet of your father’s cabin will be disrupted.

[ethereal-blossom]

Ikevil in an amusement park!

Includes general headcanons and romantic ones at the end.

General headcanons:

- Victor is the parent. He carries the heaviest and biggest backpack which is truly the emergency kit. Harry is showing withdrawal symptoms due to lack of sugar? Elbert forgot to put on sunscreen and is now at risk of looking like a walking lobster? You forgot your water bottle? No worries, Victor anticipated everything! He knows his beloved children so well.

- He walks with the map as well and if you split into groups, he becomes the one who you need to call if something happens. Also the one who plans where and when to meet, mostly at eating places so you can refill your stomaches together.

- William is the backup parent. He enjoys to mostly silently observe and is quick to notice the things like Harry being low on sugar and Elbert having forgotten to put on sunscreen. If you split up and it's time to meet but a group isn't back yet, his guesses of why are extremely accurate. Like hm, the ride Elbert and Alfons went to is fairly popular so the line must have been long, and isn't there a souvenir shop on its way here? Elbie must have gotten distracted by it.

- Elbert refuses to go in the big roller-coasters. He goes into visual focused rides and will often be seen in the souvenir stores. Does not care about the ridiculously expensive price tags and tires himself out by carrying so much bought stuff. If you happen to be someone who doesn't like roller coasters that much, Elbert is the one to hang around with and he'll surely buy you any souvenir you want.

- Alfons is everywhere and nowhere. One moment he is with Elbie telling him that the mouse ears aren't beautiful but overrated money grabbers, then he is joining Liam in thrilling roller coasters, and at times even Will shrugs when asked where he thinks Al is. Seriously, he has Victor panicking when it's time to go home and Al is nowhere to be found.

- Victor will bother/manipulate/pester/whatever works/does it really matter when you're that attractive Roger into using his ability to see if he can hear his beloved boys and robin from time to time.

- If you like to ride the wildest roller coasters, Liam is your guy. This man has no fear; only curiosity begged to be satisfied. Might actually get high on it and is tempted to use his ability to cut the line. It's his mission to ride the fastest and highest roller coasters this park has to offer.

- Some of the crown members are great at making friends in lines! Liam's enthusiasm is contagious and he's so easy to love. With his charisma and excitement, he easily starts a conversation which is needed with such long lines. Ellis is very gentle and caring, so when he sees someone needs help in the line or appears nervous he does what he can. Victor is a social butterfly with a joyful grin so that man will definitely start small talk. All three would entertain the kids who are in front or behind them if it's a long line, especially when the kids are getting annoying and the parents look tired. Victor is immediately in his element by performing magic tricks, Ellis would play with them, and Liam would start making the kids laugh with his acting. But this makes them immediately beloved by the people around them.

- Imagine Jude in the line with annoying kids who are bumping into him... The only reason he's there is because Victor promised him a good sum of money and he's either getting convinced by Ellis or you to go into rides or it was part of the deal with Victor, and then these kids keep bumping into his back. Doesn't yell at the children but sends a few nasty glances and let out some damn loud tch's directed to the parents who are too busy with their phones before he snaps. Will demand payment from the parents as compensation for this public disturbance.

- William will randomly walk up to people he sees are surpressing their desires to try a ride. Free Willam therapy sessions don't pause for no amusement park.

- Roger isn't interested in the visual rides; he doesn't find them exciting so you'll find him in roller coasters a lot. But also is a little bit like Victor and makes sure everyone stays hydrated and gets to rest when they need to. Like oh I see, the lil' lady wants to go to the next roller coaster even though her legs hurt from standing too long. He threatens to throw you over his shoulder if you don't comply, which he actually does and then sits you on a bench to treat you with a snack despite being a disobedient girl.

- Ellis, Victor, and William are everywhere too. They are in for every ride!

- Harry is the chillest. He mostly follows Liam and makes sure the curious cat takes a break every now and then. He doesn't join Liam in the extreme rides but will grab his Sherlock book and read while waiting. Will ask for a lot of sit breaks.

Romantical headcanons:

- William could not care less what rides you two are riding as long as you want to be in them. He has a fantastic time discovering which rides you prefer and will absolutely convince you to go into ones you want to but are also scared of. Same with finding snacks and good places to eat. It's a wonderful experience where you get to know each other even better, making this amusement trip feel weirdly intimate. I can see Will having a content and happy smile on for the entire day, and when you walk through the park together, I don't think he has his arm wrapped around you but he does have his hand on your farthest shoulder in a way that feels loving, supportive, and encouraging. When buying matching accessories, you both choose each an item after a minute of "What do you want, my little robin?" "I want what you want! " "Oh, what a coincidence. I want what you want" "... Well, I want what you want me to want-"

- It's so chill being with Harry. There are some rides that secretly excite him but he got to say, this amusement park is more amusing with you next to him. He'll complain sometimes about how you're dragging him through the park, but when you ask if that's really how he feels he'll say he doesn't mind (translation: he enjoys it). Whenever you see a food place and it sells something sweet, you two are on it! "Let's get matching accessoires!" "Whatever, if that's what you want" (translation: he's flustered). Harry would like to simply hold your hand and stroll through the park, talking about everything and nothing. So simple but so serene. On the way home you'll ask him how it was to explore the amusement park together to which he answers, "not bad." (translation: he ducking loved it.)

- It really doesn't matter how curious about a roller coaster Liam is, if you don't join him this clingy cat will not go in it either. Being around you calms down his curiosity for thrill a lot. So don't worry if you're not into thrill because there is still so much to be curious about! You'll not be bored for a single second and because of that, his touches are very versatile. One time he'll hold your hand to excitedly lead you to a cool souvenir shop, then he'll wrap his arm around your shoulders as you walk through the park, your waist when it's crowded, your arm during rides... Almost the entirety of your upper body will have been touched by him. Very much in a similar boat as Will when getting matches accessoires so you both choose an item each :)

- Nobody takes matching accessoires as seriously as Elbert. You'll have visited every. single. accessoire store at the end of the day. Your eyes could have lingered on a wristband for one second and your man goes "Do you think that's beautiful? It'll look beautiful on you. I will buy it-" It's so much worse when Alfons makes his cameo cause he'll point at anything and be like "now this, my dear Elbie, this is beautiful" all to tease you. Elbert enjoys going into the visual rides with you! And I bet you could convince him to go into the tamer roller coasters. Has a hand on your lower back the entire time (at one point you guys had too many bags and Elbert was ready to leave three behind purely so he could keep touching you).

- Now Alfons is turning this into a freaking game. He makes you chase him through the entire park, slightly out of your reach but you know he's there. Why he enjoys you stubbornly following him throughout the park? He doesn't even have a clear answer himself... or so he likes to think. But, Al leads you to all places he thinks you will enjoy and he always stay at a place long enough for you to find him and enjoy the ride, shop, café, or whatever he thought you'd like together. During the times Alfons and you walk side by side he'll place his hand on your back which will slowly move lower and lower. Another man who pretents like he doesn't care about matching accesoires but once he wears it he'll randomly touch it with a hard-to-read expression (cat pretending like he's not THAT attached to his owner). Guys I swear this is not me but I'm 99,9% Al will try to finger you in a ride at least once even if it's only to get a reaction out of you no but if a ride scares you he'll definitely try to distract you in whatever way works.

- "Is this ride going to be scary?" "I promise it's not, Lil lady." Spoiler alert: it was scary and now Roger is saying how cute you look with teary eyes. He's not a fan of visual rides but will go into them for you and you know what, turns out he quite likes them because of your reactions and how easy it is to touch your thighs. The type to put his arm around or behind you in roller coasters! He definitely checks up on your heartbeat regularly to see how nervous you are for a roller coaster. If he thinks you got peer pressured into riding a roller coaster he'll get you out of there. Now, Roger's hand is either in your back pocket, on your ass, your hips, or your lower back. Roger didn't think he'd be into matching accessoires but again finds himself quite liking something because it's you. Love makes things glitter.

- Jude will be like "tch, look at how these people are bunched up together and... Lil' birdie where do ya think ya standin'?" *Proceeds to wrap an arm around your hips to pull you into him*. Jude only goes into a ride when you go into it. Literally, he doesn't leave you alone and will follow you everywhere except the bathrooms. You're the only who makes this trip bearable. If another crown member tries to sit next to you in a ride, let alone a stranger, Jude is like I ain't on this ride for nothing except my woman. Move or give me everythin' that's on ya bank account. Especially if it's Victor that bill will be through the roof. Also another man who pretends to not care about matching accessoires but funny how you'd have to rip it off of his dead body. Jude would walk with his hand on your lower back and maybe on your hips or waist.

- Ellis will let you take the lead and often ask what you want to do next. As long as he gets to hold your hand, he's happy. Really, Ellis is going to hold your hand the entire time. Especially when it gets crowded you feel his grip tighten. You two have the biggest fun trying all of the food and you immediately make recommendations for the other guys. "I want what you want" (matching accessories version part 3). Please he'd look so cute in matching accessoires, having a mischievous smile on his face cause he definitely sees this as a way for other people to see you belong together. He feels slightly bad for letting his selfishness get the better of him but that melts like snow in the sun when he sees how happy you are. Also secretly enjoys when you get scared in a ride because he loves it makes you clingy and depending on him, and it's an excuse to hold you tight in his arms.

- If Victor doesn't have an arm around your shoulders he's holding your hand and you'll be skipping to the next ride. He's also very flexible in what you'll be doing but he does like the occasional thrill of a roller coaster! But your comfort is his number one priority. Victor loves to see you so carefree with a child-like spark in your eyes as you explore the park together and he'll do anything to protect it. One time you accidentally bumped into someone and when they turned around annoyed and ready to shoot with words, Victor went "whoopsie daisy! I am so clumsy. Please forgive me." And when you want to tell him he shouldn't have, Victor picks you up and twirls you around, kissing you on the nose and ask what you should do next, unless you have something naughty in mind...? What a dirty mind his darling has, he's obviously talking about eating snacks that'll make your teeth rot with the amount of sugar that's in it. Loves the idea of matching accesoires so much that he can't choose and approaches you with 12 different items; it's a live-or-die situation for him. He dealt with loneliness before he met you and so wearing matching accesoires is a physical sign you're connected. Plus, he loves giving and could not care less about the price tag.

[emo-gremlin]

Okay, I know you’re stance, but hear me out, Mr. Puzzles beating the fuck out of a child abuser? As graphic as you’re comfortable with?

Aight ill do it.

Mr. Puzzles beating the shit out of a Child abuser!

Trigger warnings: glass going places glass should never go, attempted hanging.

I fucking love extreme horror so I definitely pulled from that. Also watching videos on 8 passengers provided motivation to do this, so thank you Anon.

🖥 He's angry, and it's clear to see on his face. Flickering red, with eyes all over his screen, which bursts from overheating anger.

🖥 "You shouldn't have done that you know." He says calmly, picking up one of the shards of his screen. "Not. Around. Me."

🖥 He lunges on them, slashing across their face with the shard of glass, popping one of their eyeballs; it's insides mixing with the blood spitting out of their face.

🖥 His other hand around their throat, adrenaline courses through the showman's veins as he stands, lifting the predator high, who claws at Mr. Puzzles' gloved hand.

🖥 "You know, I've always wondered how accurate the guts and gore were in horror films." He brings them close, whispering, "Why don't we find out, hm?" A crazed giddiness in his voice as he throws them across the concrete.

🖥 A sickening crack is heard as they landed, Mr. Puzzles' stalking closer to them like a cat hunting it's prey.

🖥 The seat-taker tries to crawl away, a feeble attempt to escape as the Showman's foot slams down on their hand, hard enough to shatter bone. He stomps again, bone now sticking out of their skin.

🖥 They sob as Mr. Puzzles crouches down, pinching their chin and tilting their face up to see him. "Vermin like you shouldn't be allowed to live this long. Guess I have to play exterminator."

🖥 Mr. Puzzles pulls them up by their shirt, an action which ends up pulling down their drawers. He chuckles. "Perfect." He grips the shard in his other hand, slamming the glass into their rectum without hesitation. He cackles at their screams, throwing them back on the ground and using his foot to push the glass even further into the Abuser.

🖥 He kicks them over, "Don't run off just yet! We still have the grand finale!" He giggles, going to grab the rest of the shards of glass from his screen.

🖥 They tried to back away, their broken hand not doing them any favors. The blood flowing from their behind making it too slippery to go anywhere fast.

🖥 "Catch!" Mr. Puzzles throws a handful of smaller pieces at them, cutting through their clothes and hitting skin.

🖥 He crouches down again, ripping apart the shirt they were wearing, exposing their chest. "Now then, why don't we take a look inside and see what they got right in the movies, hm?"

🖥 A shard of glass is stuck deep, hitting quite possibly the encashment of the smaller intestines, as Mr. Puzzles drives the makeshift blade up to their collarbone. Their screams left unheard and prayers for mercy unanswered.

🖥 Mr. Puzzles' joints whirred as he tore apart the flesh away from their organs inside, still caged by their ribs. "Hmmm....I'd say they got it...mostly right. I think 1,000 ways to die should've taken notes though.

🖥 He could see the light starting to fade, so he gave them a shock. "Nuh uh! Not yet, Vermin."

🖥 The Vermin was crying, begging for him to stop. "You didn't stop when the young begged you to, so why should I?" Mr. Puzzles replies condescendingly.

🖥 He breaks open their ribcage, their beating heart now open to the elements. "Ah...the heart. Such a powerful thing. Capable of love, strong enough to withstand the harshest heartbreak and pull itself back together....No wonder yours is so withered. You never cared at all."

🖥 He dove a hand into their intestines, pulling out the large organ and looping it around their neck. "Let's see how strong these really can be."

🖥 He lugs them over his shoulder, bringing them to a nearby tree. He's able to hook their intestines around the branch, pulling them up slowly until finally making one last tug. The organ couldn't handle their weight, ripping and sending them falling to the ground.

🖥 He bows to no one, except the dark clouds over the parking lot. He smiles as it begins to rain, washing his TV clean of the blood splatter as he starts his way back home, whistling a happy tune.

I hope this helps anyone who ever had to deal with abuse with finding a bit of catharsis. I know writing this helped me. ^^

[sometimesoliloquy]

Y’all I had the most wonderful shower thought earlier thinking about Nick and June and “the choice” and “The End”. Wild mind palace speculation below the cut cause spoilers for episode 9(?)

So the hanging/execution/battle scene, which I think we think is in episode 9? We have the photos of the masked guardian from filming that could (or could not) be Nick. Still torn on that because it’s easy to get caught up overthinking but I’m leaning toward “yes, undercover Nick” because there’s just no way he’d sit at home twiddling his thumbs while the love of his life gets a noose put around her neck, even if it was a fake out plan and he knew that, he’d still want to be there to make sure nothing goes wrong—or maybe more accurately to help if something does go wrong.

And we keep seeing Nick back in his old driver/guardian garb, which I don’t believe we’ve seen since he was promoted to commander. Even when he could have, like when he goes to see June in 4x09, 5x09, 5x10: he’s driving himself, he’s outside of Gilead doing non-Gilead-sanctioned stuff, he could have been in “incognito” mode but no he wore his full-ass commander suit getup. Now his wardrobe in 6x03 when he’s with June has reverted to the old days and it looks like will again in the next ep 6x06. I can’t help feeling like it’s not on accident, that it’s gotta be signifying a coming turning point. And maybe foreshadowing of an incognito guardian cameo at the hanging as well???

So if he IS there, and shit is going down and he’s like “Hi I’m turning on Gilead now!”, what if maybe he gets shot? What if maybe he AND Luke BOTH get shot in the battle? At the same time? And she sees both of them go down? And SHE RUNS TO NICK? (I would be deceased) Ok, not like she would just let Luke DIE, like I’m thinking Moira or Rita or someone would be there and she’d catch their eye and be like “go to Luke!!!” but SHE’D go to Nick. I mean, how peak melodrama would that be. There’s your elevated soap opera right there. It’s been a long standing wish of mine to have Nick in trouble/danger and June be the one to help/save him, it would be such a great narrative turning of the tables. And I MEAN how much more definitive could you get about her making a choice?? The “my two lovers are in imminent danger, which one do I run to” trope? It’s not even just “if it came down to it, who could I not lose”, but also “if they didn’t survive who could I not live without having one last tearful goodbye with.” Sigh.

Anyway, fat chance it’ll actually go down like that but if not, can one of you wonderfully talented writers please pen this fanfic anyway? Pretty please?😂🥺😬🙏

[mediumgayitalian]

When Nico asks him out, there is vomit on his scrubs. His hair is disgusting. The bags under his eyes are actually the size of Texas, and he was born there so he says it in good confidence.

Also, it goes right over his head.

“Gods, yeah,” Will sighs, relieved. “Yeah, I could —” He laughs, a little hysterically, scrubbing his hand over his face and trying to blink the sudden onslaught of dizzy away. “I’m starving. I am — tired of this stupid room. I could use dinner out.”

“Great,” Nico says, rocking back on his heels. He twists his skull ring around his finger, like he does when he’s nervous, but there’s a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth that Will has learned, in the past few weeks of his help in the infirmary, is a smile. “I’ll — um, I’ll pick you up at seven?”

Will glances down at the rapidly-drying splatter of vomit spreading from his right shoulder all the way down to his belly button. The nasty brown-yellow colour of it clashes so violently with the mint-green of his scrubs that it might be a felony, actually. The one whole spaghetti noodle smack in the middle of it does not help.

“Yeah, I’ll need at least that long in the shower.”

Nico’s face goes through a very complicated string of emotions. “I think you look nice,” he offers.

“You and I have very different definitions of ‘nice’, di Angelo,” Will snorts. He gestures behind him. “Bye, Nico. I’ll see you in a few hours?”

“Right. Bye, Will.”

“Hey, first name status!”

“Shut up, Solace. Go change your shirt.”

Will snickers, jogging down the Big House stairs with a backwards wave. He hustles past campers jogging towards their daily activities, ducking into the Apollo cabin before someone can ask him for something.

It’s been a busy few weeks.

The Giant War was…well. It’s over, now, is the point, but it was not without casualties, and it was not without injury, and injury, and injury. Plus the flu that just had to hit right before the Romans were about to head back to California. Will has spent more nights in the infirmary in the last few weeks than he ever has, including after the Titan War. Understaffed does not begin to cover it. He had to beg Cecil for his secret Redbull stash after his third straight day on his feet, praying to his father, his aunt, and any other god who was listening to keep his hands from shaking. Without Nico’s help — well, he doesn’t want to think about how things would have gone without Nico’s help.

He’d slept through his promised three days in the infirmary. Will had restitched his werewolf scratching (—his werewolf scratches his fucking werewolf scratches his fucking shitting goddamn werewolf scratches that he stitched with sewing thread and left for gods know how many days and Will is going to quit his job, he is, he is going to live in a hut in the Florida Everglades and chase questers away with a fucking broom—) as he slept on the first day, then spent the next days glaring at him in seething jealousy.

He had wanted to sleep. He had wanted to sleep so godsdamn badly. And yet. He was plastering salve on the translucent fingers of a dumbass who pushed himself too hard.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Will had mocked, ignoring the yelled you’re losing it, Willy! from Kayla as she passed by. “Nyeh nyeh nyeh. I can shadow travel wherever I want. Nyeh nyeh nyeh. Catch me I’m about to pass out. Nyeh nyeh nyeh.”

“I never asked you to catch me,” muttered Nico, groggily, and Will had screamed.

Not his best moment.

Luckily, his string of colourful cursing had killed any idea that Will was scared of him, or something, and the list of chores he’d doled out the second he made sure Nico could walk had put the idea in the grave.

He still can’t quite believe that Nico actually, like…listened. But he’s a good bandage cutter (very accurate) and, as a super fun bonus, the Romans were all scared of him, so when they tried to get out of their cots while their limbs were literally hanging onto them by a thread, Will just had Nico stand behind him and glare at them until they sat their asses back down.

(“You are without a doubt the best nurse I’ve ever had,” Will had grumbled, sticking his tongue out at Austin, who lazily tried to trip him. Nico had rolled his eyes, huffing as if he thought Will was joking.)

“Wow,” says Cecil, sitting in Will’s bed for some reason. He rakes his eyes up and down his body, whistling appreciatively at the towel around his waist. Will rolls his eyes and starts digging through his dresser drawers. “Look at you! So human-like! No zombie eyebags to be seen!”

“Showers don’t erase eyebags, dick for brains.”

“True, but you’re so hot when you’re not covered in blood and vomit that I can overlook them.”

“Kiss my ass, Cecil.”

“Really? Is that permission?”

Will laughs, admitting defeat. He tugs on a pair of boxers, then tosses a few clothing options on his bed.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s good to be out, Zeus’ beard. Nico’s taking me to dinner; d’you know if it’s cold in the city? And I should probably wear real shoes, right, Annabeth mentioned something about New York bacteria —”

“Woah, woah, hold on, William, pause there for a second.”

Will looks up, frowning. “What?”

“Nico’s taking you to dinner?”

Cecil’s eyes are wide. Reflexively, Will pats his chin, paranoid he’s got something on his face.

“…Yes? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing! Nothing, nothing.” Quickly, Cecil schools his face back to its usual smirk, leaning casually against the bedpost. (He misses. Mercifully, Will decides to let it slide and wait for him to straighten himself. He’s a good friend, like that.)

“Well, obviously something.”

“Nope! I’m just —” He softens. “I’m glad you’re taking a break, Willy. We’ve been worried about you. Remind me to send him a lock pick set.”

“Most people send fruit,” Will suggests gently. He cuffs Cecil playfully on the jaw, rolling his eyes when Cecil catches his hand and presses a loudly exaggerated kiss to it. “Or flowers. Also, don’t call me Willy.”

“Sorry, Willy.”

“Gods, you’re infuriating.”

“Mhm. And yet you adore me. Oou, wear the grey plaid shirt, it makes your eyes look bluer. And for the love of Hermes, do not wear shorts.”

———

At seven o’clock sharp, there’s a knock on the doorframe.

“Uh, hi?”

“Nico!” Will says brightly. “Hi! You don’t have to wait by the door, dorkus. Come in.”

With a second of hesitation, Nico steps in. The usually creaky floorboards are silent under his black Chucks. Will chooses to believe that’s on purpose, because it’s cooler.

“You can sit if you want! Unless we gotta leave right away. I wasn’t actually sure, are we just going to McDonald’s or something? Also, I told Cecil he couldn’t come, I figured three would make it a party or something but lemme know if we’re bringing friends along and —”

“We’re not,” Nico interrupts.

“—tell them.” Will blinks at him, then smiles. “Just you and me, then.”

Nico clears his throat. “Yeah.” He glances up at Will, and away again, like he can’t hold his gaze for too long. He looks a little flushed. “You, uh. You braided your hair.”

“What? Oh!” Will touches the French braids on either side of his head, smiling. “Yeah, I finally had the time. Keeps my hair back better than much else. Hey, Nico, you good? You looked flushed, maybe you should —”

Nico catches his hand. He smiles.

“I’m fine, Solace. You just look nice, is all.”

Will snorts. “No kidding. Anything’s better than the vomit shirt.”

———

Nico refuses to answer any of his questions about where they’re going.

Or, well. Will asks him and endless string of questions and receives only hums or nods in response, except for the odd huff of laughter when Will pouts.

“C’mon! Can’t I just know where we’re going?”

“You’re about to.”

“I mean now, Death Breath.”

“Well, now I’m definitely not telling you.”

“Ugh.”

Nico places a fleeting hand on his elbow as they reach the base of Half-Blood Hill, stalling him.

“Wait.”

Will pauses, listening. His heartbeat picks up. Monster? Monsters?

He glances over at Nico, noticing the tension in his face, the twist to his mouth, the —

Oh, no he doesn’t.

“Hold it, Gerard Way!”

Nico startles.

“What?”

“I know that face! You are not shadow-travelling us to the city, no way, no how, do you want to dissolve —”

“Will,” Nico interrupts, laughing softly, “Will, trust me for a second. Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

Nico blinks. Will flushes.

“That was fast.”

“Well! Well.”

“I’m not shadow-travelling,” Nico promises, changing the subject when it’s clear Will has nothing to say. “I’m just summoning our ride. I promise it won’t drain me.”

“…Fine.”

Rolling his eyes fondly, Nico screws up his face again. The tiny freckles on the bridge of his nose are more obvious when he wrinkles it. Will has to shove his hands in his pockets to keep from touching them.

One moment, there’s nothing but empty road in front of them. The next, there’s a massive fucking limo, driven by what Will can only describe as a ghoul.

“There,” Nico says happily. “Our ride!”

He jogs over to the sleek black limo, leaving Will gaping. With a quick hand to keep the driver from getting up, he opens the back door, gesturing broadly.

“C’mon, Sunshine.”

Will recovers quickly. He’s never been in a limo before — hell, he’s hardly ever been in cars. He slides into the black leather seats, gaping, barely noticing Nico ducking in and closing the door behind him.

“Cleveland and Merrick, please, Jules-Albert.”

Limos are crazy.

If hotel mini bars were, like, physical places rather than tiny bottles in mini fridges, they would look like limos. The windows are tinted, so the interior is dark, illuminated a softly glowing red by strips of LEDs. There is an actual TV screen, although it’s not on. Will feels like James Bond.

“Gift from my dad,” Nico explains. “He knows he can’t always be there to drive me around, so he got Jules-Albert to take me places. He’s cool. He even answers to me, technically, and not my dad, so if anything happens back here he won’t snitch.” Nico gets so violently red he damn near goes invisible under the LEDs. “Not that — I mean, it’s more like —”

“That is so cool,” Will breathes. “Oh my gods, Nico, you are literally the coolest demigod in the world.”

“Hah,” says Nico weakly. The limo (!!) slows to a stop. “We are — here, let’s go!”

Nico practically throws himself out of the limo. Will takes one last look, thanks Jules-Albert, and hurries out after him.

———

“You gotta be kidding me.”

“What?” Nico looks at him defensively. The corner of his mouth twitches. “I thought it was pretty funny.”

Apollo Restaurant Diner, reads the garish, flashing yellow sign. Seniors half-off!

Will nudges Nico’s side as they walk in. “You should ask for the discount.”

“Keep it up and you’re paying for yourself, Solace.”

Nico guides them into a booth by the window before he can say anything. In seconds, a server is strolling up to them, popping their bubblegum and grinning.

“Welcome to Apollo’s, where if we don’t predict your order, it’s free! I’ll get you guys some sodas, and…hm. Fries to share, I think.”

They’re off, ponytail bouncing, before either of them can say anything.

“Well,” says Nico after a moment. “I guess we’re having fries.”

Will snorts. “You love fries. You love anything fried and battered, because there is nothing you love more than poor decision making.”

“Caught me, Solace.”

“Aw. I thought —”

Their server pops back in with their sodas, nodding as they thank them.

“— I thought I was bumped up to first name status! You called me Will earlier.”

Nico slurps obnoxiously at his cherry coke.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Did too!”

“Not a jury in the world will believe you, Solace.”

Will blows his straw wrapper at him. Nico barely dodges, laughing — a real, open laugh, where some of the guard drops from his shoulders, where his smile is wide enough to show his teeth, where his dark eyes cringe near shut.

“You’re so lame. Get your stupid straw wrapper away from me.”

Will feels like he doesn’t respond for ages, mesmerized by the crooked curve of Nico’s smile. There’s mischief in that smile, and oddly it makes shyness bloom in Will’s chest, it makes the tips of his ears red, makes him duck his head.

Will’s saved from trying to come up with a comment by the massive — truly gigantic — platter of fries set between them.

“Holy shit,” breathes Will, alarmed.

“Holy shit,” breathes Nico, eyes wide. The smile grows wider. “Holy shit!”

Will’s stomach growls. He’s reminded how truly hungry he is, and without another word, the two of them dig in.

They end up ordering another platter. Will theorizes that, in total, they eat at least seven whole potatoes.

“How many fries do you think is in one potato?”

“A yukon?” says Will. “Like, twenty-five, at least. Wait, hold on, pass me your napkin, lemme do the math.”

“Gods, you are such a nerd.”

Will loses count of how many times they refill their sodas. Too many. Camp food is usually very healthy — as head medic, Will has to set an example, but it’s just Nico, here. Will eats himself into a minor food coma and relishes in it. When Nico asks if he wants to order one of the giant milkshakes, he doesn’t hesitate.

“Duh. Strawberry.”

“Gross, Solace. Vanilla or nothing.”

“Basic ass bitch.”

“At least I’m not vying for strawberry!”

By the time Nico gets up to go get their bill, the sun has long since set. Will realises he forgot to put his watch back on after his shower, and has no idea what time it actually is.

“Nine-thirty ish,” Nico says, opening the limo door for him. “We’ll be back at camp at ten.”

Will grimaces. “Fuck. Will Jules-Albert chill overnight? If we try to go back to our cabins, the curfew harpies are gonna eat us.”

“Scared, Solace?”

Nico’s eyes are bright and teasing. Will wonders how the hell other campers find him so frightening — the little twitches of his mouth are so obvious. Some people are just oblivious.

“Of course I’m scared, you dickhead. What am I gonna do, sing a hymn until they go away?”

Nico snorts. “You worry too much. They’re afraid of me, you know. They’ll steer clear.”

“You have a lot of confidence in how much you scare people, which is crazy for someone who’s five eight.”

“Oh, piss off.”

Will grins. “Never.”

The drive back to camp feels shorter than it is. The limo’s seats are stupid comfortable, and Nico is a warm presence beside him, and more than anything, Will is exhausted. Last time he slept was — Thursday? He’s pretty sure? He definitely slept on Wednesday, and he’s pretty sure Kayla locked him in the back office with a pillow on Thursday. But maybe that was this morning.

“Will, hey.” A cool, calloused hand brushes over his forehead, and he leans into it, humming. “Get up, you loser. We’re here.”

Will groans. “Five more minutes.”

The soft, gravelly chuckles are the most musical things he’s ever heard. “Up you get, Sunshine, or I’ll let the harpies eat you.”

That gets Will up fast. He shoves Nico away, who’s still snickering at him, grumbling as he crawls out of the limo.

“It’s like you want me to die of stress.”

“Nah.”

They wave goodbye to Jules-Albert, who disappears in a blink. Halfway up the hill, a hand closes around his. Will glances over to Nico in surprise, but he looks resolutely ahead.

“I can feel you freaking out.” He clears his throat. “I told you, Solace. I’ll protect you.”

“That’s not what you said,” Will grumbles, but it’s hard to get his attitude across when his cheeks ache from smiling.

Nico ends up being right — the harpies steer clear of them. He looks very smug about being right, smirking all the way up to the Apollo Cabin door. He walks him up the creaking steps, pausing at the door. He lets go of Will’s hand, which is kind of a bummer. Will had liked holding his hand — physical proof that Nico was becoming more comfortable with him.

“So,” Nico says, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“So,” Will parrots, grinning. He grins wider at Nico’s scowl, gently illuminated by the soft glow of the Apollo cabin. “I had fun tonight, Nico. I needed that.”

Nico’s whole face softens. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Will smiles at him again. “Thank you.”

For a second, Nico’s slight smile melts into a more serious expression. Will finds himself lingering, searching Nico’s face. Waiting.

Quick as a dart, Nico leans up and presses a kiss to Will’s cheek.

“Oh,” Will breathes, eyes wide. His fingers come up and brush the spot Nico kissed, skin tingling.

Nico looks at him nervously. “Was that okay?”

It takes Will a solid few seconds to answer. Even then, it’s not any recognizable words — more of an embarrassing hnnnnngh wha.

Nico grins. “Goodnight, Sunshine.”

“Nico — wait.”

“Harpies, Sunshine.”

Will could swear he sees Nico’s shoulders shaking with laughter as he walks away. Which — huh! Pardon! Excuse.

“Nico! Was! Was this a date!”

“I’ll see you in the morning, Will.”

“Nico!”

Nico disappears down the bend without answering. Will manages to catch the curve of his smile before he goes.

He doesn’t sleep a wink.