#hi i'm so excited to write with you!

[perfectioncursed]

@winchvsters ♥'d

❝bad things happen, but you can't get rid of your past because then you'd lose the good parts, too.❞

[veevil]

FALLOUT CHERIK AU!!

Since the fish fic is about to be finished, I started working on another cherik AU with the help of the christian minecraft server and got to smash my special interest together with my current hyperfixation!

Charles is a pre-war vault dweller who gets defrosted into the wasteland with no idea on what is going on and Erik is a mercenary, griefing his late wife and children.

Charles slowly loses his spark and faith in humanity after experiencing The Horrors and Erik finds something worth living for and learns how to love again.

The whole AU is basically just the I can fix him/I can make him worse meme.

[myiliterallyhavenolifegoals]

i'm unwell!!! because in stede's eyes, ned low was right!! ned says "he [ed] only likes you because of your bumbling amateur status" and calls stede blackbeard's "pet" just like izzy did in series 1

so stede steps up as a captain, kills the man who harmed his crew, and suddenly, for once in stede's life, he isn't a joke! the gentleman pirate is taken seriously and welcomed into the pirate community!

and what happens less than 24 hours later? ed calls their night together a mistake, AND LEAVES.

yes, obviously the situation is more nuanced, and these old men are once again struggling to communicate, but i 100% understand why stede went a bit of the rails at the end of episode 7. stede's been so focused on trying to help ed, that he's completely ignored his own ongoing identity crisis and trauma, and after the incident at the academy in series 1, this meltdown was long overdue.

[wildechildwrites]

Espresso

Gaz/Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: awkward main character, cliched writing <3

No use of Y/N

Gender neutral reader

Summary: You're a barista at a local coffee shop, and your newest regular is unbelievably, breathtakingly gorgeous

A/N: Not another fucking coffee shop au

AO3: Espresso

There's something comforting about the process of making coffee. Grind, tamp, pull, pour, repeat. it's mindless, muscle memory taking over, the smell of beans nestling into your clothes and hair. You easily lose yourself in it, the quiet hum of orders, the music playing throughout the small corner café you work at weaving in and out of your focus. 

You're cleaning up from the morning rush, refilling sauce bottles and restocking cups when the bell rings. You look up automatically, locking eyes with the most attractive man you've ever seen as he sails through the front door.

He’s boyishly handsome in a way that’s detrimental to your composure, his large dark eyes the same almost black as espresso. His features are strikingly symmetrical, but when he shoots you a careful smile, one side of his mouth tips slightly higher than the other, crooked and charming. Despite your best efforts, your gaze lingers on his full lips longer than what is socially acceptable.

A glance down to his broad shoulders and surprisingly muscular chest, straining against the shirt he wears, indicates that his warm eyes are really the safest place to look if you want to maintain any semblance of dignity through this interaction. 

“Hello,” you call, yanking your wandering thoughts back to heel. Your voice sounds alright to you, definitely shaky but passable. “Welcome in.”

His eyes flick to the menu. “Could I get a small hot honey latte, please?” His voice is smooth, almost silky, rich with an unexpected accent, and your pathetic efforts to pull yourself together are bashed to pieces. You need to be put down, apparently. One handsome man is enough to crush the semblance of sanity you had.

You clear your throat and your head, your voice coming out humiliatingly squeaky. “Name? For the order?” 

“Right,” he smiles, a genuine, friendly smile, and the flash of perfect white teeth makes your heart stutter off beat. “It's Gaz. With a z.”

“I'll have that right out for you, Gaz.” You beam at him, then duck your head, embarrassed at yourself. He’s probably used to it, someone this beautiful must have people falling stupid over them all the time, but you can’t quite shake the humiliation of succumbing so easily.

 You make sure to pull the perfect shot of espresso for him and contemplate writing your number on the side of the cup before immediately shutting yourself down. There’s no way this man is single. You settle for scribbling his name with a little smiley face, then scoff at yourself. A smiley face? He’s a grown man.

When you turn around, Gaz is surveying the pastries with an impressive amount of concentration. You gaze at him helplessly, your eyes dipping back to the muscular planes of his chest and arms. You bite back the instinct to whimper. When you glance back up, you get swept up in the depths of his warm brown eyes, drowning in pools of warm coffee. Is it possible to die of self consciousness? You wordlessly thrust his drink towards him. 

“Thanks, love,” he murmurs, and you wonder if his voice is an octave lower than it was before, or if you’ve just completely lost your mind. His long fingers brush against yours as he grabs the cup, warm and surprisingly calloused, and you feel such swift and complete kinship with Mr. Darcy in the hand scene™ that you look down to make sure you haven’t spontaneously spawned a cravat. 

“Have a nice day,” you muster out faintly, gripping the counter to keep yourself upright. Gaz shoots you another world shattering smile, his eyes lingering on your face, and slips out the door. 

You allow yourself a ten minute break to have a full fledged meltdown about it, babbling on the phone to your best friend incomprehensibly. “He was— And I just— Oh god his biceps—” 

She’s got the audacity to laugh at your agony and then ruin your day by telling you she’s talking to her ex again. You lecture her half-heartedly, too distracted by the memory of a dreamy pair of brown eyes to be truly effective. 

You spend every one of your shifts the next few days hoping Gaz will come back. Every time the front bell chimes you get your hopes up, only to be disappointed again and again. It’s either a testament to the indomitable human spirit or the final nail in the coffin of evidence that you’re a sad, pathetic loser. Another long day drips by like molasses, and you wonder if it’s reasonable to say a hot man ruined your life. Gaz isn't coming back, he was probably just in town visiting and now he's gone forever. Or he hated the latte you made him. Or you fully hallucinated him. All valid options.

The bells above the door tinkle and you immediately accept your place as the universe’s favorite, your dramatic spiral melting away like spring snow. Your heart does a backflip, a ridiculous smile settling on your face.

“You’re back!” You cry, then immediately realize how completely insane that sounds, but Gaz just looks pleased, his dark eyes sparkling, smiling just as brightly at you. It’s better than you remembered it being, perfectly crooked and sweet enough to be cavity inducing. All the borderline obsessive yearning you've done is immediately reaffirmed. You are so fucked. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, voice soft like he means it, and your knees get a little wobbly. “Couldn’t go through life without knowing the name of the person who made me the best latte I’ve ever had.” He leans against the counter, far too close to you for you to come with a comprehensible response, so you just smile at him like an idiot. He smells incredible, like one of those ridiculously described characters in a romance novel. No one smells like rain and leather and a warm day at the park when you were six. 

Except, apparently, this unbelievably handsome man leaning into your space, looking down at you with warm doe eyes, framed by unfairly long eyelashes. You hope you're in good enough shape for your heart not to give out with how it's palpitating.

You realize you’ve been staring at him with a stupid smile on your face for a beat to long and stutter out your name like it’s the first time you’ve ever said it out loud, mentally kicking yourself. He repeats it softly, his voice just a note deeper, a touch breathy, and you come to the conclusion he might actually be trying to kill you on purpose.

“Do you want me to make you another latte?” You ask, already turning around, trying to escape the siren spell the brunt of his attention has cast over you. He hums an affirmation, and you manage not to spill the milk this time, anticipating your hands shaking.

He's definitely not flirting with you. If you write your number on his cup and he never texts you, you’ll have to leave society and live in a cave somewhere. You draw a heart next to his name and immediately want to cross it out, but that seems somehow worse, so you take a grounding breath and turn around.

Gaz is looking down at the little cakes in the display case, a quirked sort of smile on his face. “Are these honey flavored?” 

Warmth rushes to your face. “Yeah, made them fresh this morning,” you try to shrug. Honey flavored for no particular reason, of course. Everything you’d made lately had been. No worries, handsome stranger. You’ve just been the focus of all the lame escapist daydreams I use to cope with life. Why are you running?

“You make them yourself?” He asks, astonishment clear in his voice. “They look delicious.” 

You smile shyly, ducking your head, soaking up the praise. If you could squeal and do a little dance without scaring Gaz, you probably would. “They’re alright.” 

“Will you split one with me?” He grabs his coffee out of your hands, warm fingers on your own, the full force of those brown eyes focused on you. You feel yourself slipping into their hypnotic pull.

“What?” If you wake up right now you’re going to be so mad.

Gaz bites his full bottom lip the way you’d like to, looking suddenly bashful, and your brain abandons you. “If you’re busy that’s alright but maybe–”

“I’d love to!” You squeak, and are instantly rewarded with a wide smile. He has dimples. How did you not notice the dimples until now? You are definitely so fucked. 

You make yourself a drink to try and get your palms to stop sweating, discreetly wiping your palms on your black apron as you sit an appropriate distance away from Gaz on one of the more comfortable couches. It's a disgusting plaid patterned relic of the 80s, the cushions sunken by years of usage, perfect for afternoon naps. He scoots closer to you, enveloping you in the smell of his cologne, balancing the plate on his knee. You’re treated with a perfect view of the way his extremely muscular thighs strain against the material of his pants, and have to mentally coax yourself to keep breathing. In. Out. In. Out. I need to be sent to a nunnery.

Gaz takes a bite of the cake and lets out a low hum of satisfaction, his eyes sliding closed in a blissful expression that has heat blooming low in your stomach. Your traitorous eyes flit back to his spread thighs.

“I was right,” he says, smiling softly, voice honey-sweet, blissfully unaware of his affect on you. “This is delicious.” 

“Thank you,” you say, cringing at how shaky your voice is. You clear your throat, trying to act normal. What do normal people talk about? “Uh, what do you do? For work?” 

His shrug is charmingly self deprecating and highlights just how deliciously broad his shoulders are. “Military. Special forces.” 

Any social commentary you have on the military is pushed down as he scoops up another forkful of cake, offering it to you. “Have a bite.” He coaxes. 

Your face is on fire but you obediently open your mouth, awkwardly letting him feed you. “Good,” he purrs, his eyes on your lips, and you forget how to swallow, the cake sticking to the roof of your mouth as your body flushes with inappropriate heat. You attempt to break the spell, grabbing your drink and taking a loud sip. 

“You've got some,” Gaz gestures to your face, and you self consciously swipe at your mouth with the back of your hand, feeling unbelievably childish. He flashes those dimples at you. “Do you mind if I?

Faster than you can react, Gaz's warm fingers are on your face, gently tipping your chin up, carefully brushing crumbs from the side of your mouth, leaning closer, eyes on your mouth. You’re stuck like this, mouth parted in an aborted attempt to object, frozen in his grasp.

You realize you haven't taken a breath in the last minute and inhale raggedly as he pulls his hand away from your face. The bell above the door jingles, one of your regulars walking in with a cheerful smile. You're not sure if you're grateful or borderline homicidal at the interruption.

“Be with you in a second Jan!” You call out. If you were braver you'd ask Gaz to stick around. “I should get back to it,” Coward. You rise with no small effort, wrenching yourself free of his magnetic pull.

“Thanks for taking the time,” Gaz’s voice is light, but his dark eyes are intense and focused. He stands, and you're subject to the unfortunate reminder that he’s tall, the force of his gaze magnified by how he towers over you. 

“Of course,” You respond, aiming for casual and missing it by about a mile; “Anytime.”

He smiles, crooked and perfect. “Do you work tomorrow?”

“Oh,” Your eyes widen, and you smile before you can stop yourself. “Yeah. Yes.” Eloquent response.

“See you tomorrow then.” Gaz flashes his dimples, setting off another swarm of butterflies in your stomach. 

“Kay.” Eloquent again. You know you're grinning like a moron, but you can't make yourself stop. He's coming back, coming back for you.

“Who was that handsome man?” Jan asks in a stage whisper once you get behind the counter. “My god, the accent? He seems quite taken with you.” 

“Don't say that!” You bury your face in your hands. You cannot be out here projecting your delusions on this poor man. He just likes the way you make coffee. “He's just being nice.” You mumble from behind your fingers. You can feel Jan's eye roll.

“Whatever you say, sweetie.” 

Gaz is back and he brought a friend. A slightly menacing looking friend, dressed in all black, sporting a mohawk, even taller than Gaz is, and built like a brick shit house. He looks around the shop, his face carefully blank, taking in the plants growing on every surface, the mismatched furniture filling the room. Any intimidation you feel is immediately neutralized when his eyes land on you and crinkle at the corners, his mouth splitting into a beaming grin, his loud voice bouncing off the walls of the shop.

“Nice tae make yer acquaintance a’m Johnny! Yae must be who Gaz haes bin gantin fir—” Gaz shoves his elbow into the Scotsman’s ribs and you unsuccessfully stifle a snort.

“Nice to meet you Johnny,” you smile at him warmly. “Can't say I really understood half of what you said so I hope it wasn't anything bad.” 

“All good things,” Gaz cuts in, a touch too loudly, and Johnny snickers. Gaz’s elbow shoots out lightning fast, but Johnny seems to anticipate it, stepping out of range with another laugh. 

You smile at Gaz, glad you’re not the only one on the back foot for once. “The usual?” 

“Yes please, love.” He replies, and heat rushes to your face at the term of endearment. So much for not being on the back foot.

It’s easier to ground yourself with someone else in the shop to focus on. “Anything for you Johnny?”

“Cannae get a hot latte with oot milk?”

You pinch your lips together to suppress a smile and look Johnny dead in the eyes, serious as a heart attack. “Can’t make a latte without milk, sorry.” 

Gaz snorts a laugh, and you let yourself grin at your own dumb joke. Johnny smiles, a mischievous look in his eyes, then turns to Gaz. “Caen tell why ya’ like this… place.”

You hear rather than see Gaz smack his friend as you turn back to make their drinks. “Got anything fun planned for today?” You ask over your shoulder.

“Not much, might get something to eat.” Gaz pauses awkwardly. “Do you eat?” 

Johnny’s laugh is loud, and you turn as he hunches over with the force of it, massive shoulders shaking. 

“Been known to, yeah,” you say with a smile. Gaz looks like he wants the ground to open up beneath him. On anyone else, it’d be adorable, but it's Gaz, so he kind of looks like a model trying out a new pout. Life is so unfair. “Do you want some recommendations?” 

Those brown eyes are steadfastly glued to the floor. “Yeah,” He finally mumbles lamely, looking up at you through his eyelashes. Johnny’s still wheezing but has regained some composure, his eyes sparkling as he claps a large hand on Gaz’s shoulder.

“There’s a few brunch places nearby, if you’re in the mood for that.” You set their drinks on their counter, trying to think of other spots. “If you like Thai, there’s a place right down the road that’s really good, and the owner’s a sweetheart.” 

“Gaz loves Thai food, right Gaz?” Johnny says, taking a loud sip of his latte and then cringing when it scalds his tongue. You suppress a snort, already borderline inappropriately fond of the Scotsman. You hope he starts coming in regularly too. 

Gaz makes no response, his gaze fixed on you, doe eyed and unfairly handsome. You stare at him. He stares at you. Your eyes dart down to watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows, then back up to his eyes, hyper aware of the seconds ticking by. Maybe you’ve got something on your face? Your eyes flick to Johnny, who's inexplicably grinning like a cat who got the cream.

“Well we’ve got a busy day,” Gaz blurts, quickly turning to his friend. “Best be going.” 

“But what aboot—” Johnny starts, but Gaz grabs his arm, practically dragging the other man away from the counter. You’re left standing there, completely bewildered.

“Good to see you!” Gaz throws over his shoulder, his voice a touch too loud again. The bell clangs with finality as the door slams shut behind them. 

“Bye,” you say to the empty shop.

You fiddle with the key in the lock, quietly cursing. It always sticks, and every day you vow to bring something to grease it with, and everyday you forget. When you finally get it to cooperate, you let out a loud sigh, turning around to walk to your car. Someone’s leaning against it, and you freeze momentarily, your heart dropping before you recognize the figure. 

Gaz makes your shitty beater look like a prop in a photoshoot, lounging against it, the light of the setting sun haloing him, making his skin glow and highlighting the sharpness of his cheekbones. He lifts his hand in a friendly wave, and you gawk at the way his arm muscle flexes with the casual motion. 

“Hey,” he calls, all signs of his previous awkwardness gone. “How was the rest of your shift?”

“It was good,” you say, reflexively glancing around. “Did Johnny ditch you?” 

“No, I ditched him,” he rubs the back of his neck, the bashfulness creeping back in. “Brought him for back up.” 

“What did you need back up for?” The confusion must be evident on your face, because Gaz’s mouth quirks to the side, one of his dimples popping. 

“Had to have someone there to blubber to in case you told me to fuck off,” you watch him set his shoulders back with a deliberate nonchalance. “Would you want to go out sometime?” 

You can hear your blood rushing in your ears, and quickly unlock your knees so you don’t pass out. “You thought you might need backup?” You say faintly. 

He shrugs, trying and failing to look casual. “Wasn’t sure you’d say yes.” 

You snort, and then immediately cover your mouth in embarrassment when he looks wounded. “I’m so sorry, I’m not laughing at you I just— I thought I’d been painfully obvious. I get all stupid and flustered everytime you speak to me.”

“I fluster you?” Gaz has the audacity to look shocked, and you wonder if it’d be a crime to give someone so beautiful shaking baby syndrome.

“Do they not have mirrors where you’re from?” You throw back, your voice sour. He barks a laugh and looks surprised at himself. 

The cocky smirk that settles on his face is new, and you have the good sense to be terrified by what it might mean, his gaze going molten as he takes a careful step towards you, closing the gap. You get a whiff of his cologne, your knees wobbly as he glances down at your lips, his own parting subconsciously. 

“Is this flustering you?” Gaz murmurs, his voice deliciously low. 

“Um…” you say articulately, and he grins triumphantly, melting back against your car, generously giving you space to breathe. 

“So you will go out with me?” He coaxes, cocking his head to the side.

You blink up at him, trying to clear the cotton balls out from in between your ears. “Did I not say yes? Yes. Please, yes.”

Gaz smiles, sweet and blinding, and you want to bottle it up in a jar and keep it forever. “Thai okay?”

[aquanutart]

She is offering water to any lost travelers! However, it's so hot that the water has become tea, so she's adjusted accordingly!

[varpusvaras]

-----

------

-----------

"Ah, Commander! I was waiting for you to call!"

"Chancellor Palpatine. I apologise for having to report to you in this manner. I'm sure you understand that we couldn't risk the Senate while the investigation was still going on."

"Of course, do not fret too much. This was a very surprising situation, for all of us. I'm assuming that the situation is under control now, yes?"

"Yes, Sir. We have made efforts to quarantine the area and monitor the levels of radiation present. The officers from Coruscant Security Forces have been a big help, with lending us their gear. I'm afraid that our scanners were not made to be able to detect this type of radiation, so it only got caught later on in a more controlled environment. I apologise deeply for this."

"Not to worry, we can all agree that this was not your fault in the slightest. Besides, the medical center the suspect was transferred to failed to inform you of the situation either. The Security Forces had no idea of the arrest that you had made, and so had no idea that something like this had happened when the doctors made the report to them. But, like you said, it is all under control now. How are your men, Commander?"

"Better. It seemed that the radiation did not cause too much harm, as our armors provided some protection from it. Still, we are keeping the ones who were present at the arrest monitored for a bit longer, just to make sure that there are no long-term effects."

"Good, good. Of course that means that you are now one Commander short, as I understood that one of them was the one making the arrest- oh, of course, how could've I forgot, you shouldn't even be working right now! How are you feeling, Commander?"

"I'm fine. I'll be confined to light duty for a couple of days more, per my Chief Medical Officer's orders, but I'll do my best to mitigate any issues that this incident might cause. Rest assured, the Guard will be providing for the Capital, as are our orders."

"Of course you will, I have all the faith in you, Commander. Now, please, do get some rest. I have other things I need still attend to, actually, and- oh, look at the time, I really should be going, I didn't even realise! The days have been very long, recently, haven't they? I'll see you later, Commander, once you have been cleared back for duty. Hopefully you'll have a bit less busy evening than I will. Farefell, now, and do take care!"

"Yes, Sir. Have a good night, Chancellor."

Call disconnected at 20.21.

----

------

---------

"Commander."

"Index. How are things in the medbay?"

"The same as an hour ago when you last asked. All the men are doing better. It seems that since we are far enough from the original source, there should be no reason for it to get worse. Decontamination and quarantine for anyone who works at the site is still recommended, of course."

"Of course. ......how is Thorn?"

"Better. I was slightly worried as he was in the group that were most in contact with the suspect and affected area, but it seems that his symptoms have remained mild. Do you wish to talk to him? I don't think he has fallen back asleep yet-"

"No, it's alright, he should be getting rest. I can talk to him tomorrow."

"Good, as you should be getting rest as well. I don't like any of you working while you are impaired, as it only leads to more injuries."

"I know, I know. Thank you, Index. I know that you can't really leave the medbay right now, but try not to extend your shift too much. What you just said applies to you as well."

"Very well, Commander. Have a good night."

"You too, Index."

Call disconnected at 21.03.

----

-------

-----------

"....Cody. I have looked over some of the battle reports we have received from your latest campaign. The news have been slow to come in, per Separatist interference and having it be bounced around by different officials and all that, but....I hope that you are well. I know that you aren't expecting me to message you, and I do not wish to distract you in any way while you are still at the front, but before we left Kamino, I remember that you once asked me to tell you what kind of posting Coruscant would be, and I thought....

......I'm now thinking that perhaps you were just being polite, as being sent to the Capital is a lot different than being actually on the battlefield, and our assignments most likely seemed not equal to each other, and maybe you simply wished to make it sound like we were still equal. I- I'm sorry, I am putting a lot of words and thoughts onto you that you did not say, and probably did not actually even consider. You have always been a good soldier. Likeable, as it is. You were probably simply being polite.

....

It isn't like I even know what to tell you. I don't think-

...forget that, please. Coruscant has been an interesting place to be stationed in. I don't claim to understand the people in here any better now than I did six months ago, and I'm not sure if I ever will, truly. Not that it matters. It is not exactly required of any of us to understand what they are thinking and what drives their behavior in their daily lives. I don't think they even want us to understand. The better we simply shut up and do what they say, the better it is for all of us. Interesting seems to be the correct word for that, yes. It is not in my privileges to give any judgement on the people living here.

.......

............

....do you think that I'm still.....nevermind. I don't even know what I'm saying. I have a concussion. A pretty bad one, actually. It's been a long day, and I should very much be sleeping, as I've been pushing it. I'm definitely feeling it now.

........

........what am I even doing. I'm not gonna send this over, Cody has better things to think about than me rambling at him in half sentences. Stupid. I'll....I'll send the message once this is all sorted out and I can think straight.

................................

...I should go to sleep. It's just...a bit hard. Coruscant is not quiet, and neither was Kamino, and I do not miss Kamino, but I.....sometimes I wished that I could still hear it. The ocean.

.....okay, shut up now. Right. Right...Thire marked a few more files that seemed to take place around the area that we are investigating. I hasn't read them yet, and he is busy takin over some of my other duties, so I'll look them over. If there's nothing, we don't need to bother with them.

...this doesn't feel like something a soldier should be doing.

....whatever."

Audio message saved at 22.47.

[nakaremfarlei]

Was just thinking about the amount of animals Obi-Wan interacts with compared to literally everyone else and in the Clone Wars episode where Kamino gets attacked he literally gets saved twice by the same ray-like animal and just...

The growth from judging Qui-Gon for the 'pathetic lifeforms' he picks up to whatever he has going on during the Clone Wars era. He must have gotten that from Qui-Gon though, right?

And because it's my brain and it's rotting with all the star wars stuff I am consuming I was thinking of Obi-Wan saving all these creatures and the 212th having to deal with that. Surely they made one of the rooms pet proof in case one of them needs a new home. There also have to be clones who love that because of course Obi-Wan can't really take care of rescues on top of all his duties.

After the first few times this happens Cody learns to order animal food and other necessities. And if the Republic doesn't fulfill these requests or asks too many questions he'll just have to make sure to organize them on planet during the campaigns.

[thetomorrowshow]

when you had nothing to say ch. 5

more of my fic where Jimmy is Deaf! this time featuring the bad boys

~

The Bad Boys become, and that is really, really nice.

It’s early yet in the game. They share one bed on the roof of the woodland mansion, though they each tend to roll out at some point during the night, the space as limited as their lives.

They don’t even need a blanket, despite the chill of the nights. They’re so close that they’re practically wrapped around each other. Usually Jimmy’s on the right side (also the side closest to the edge), and Joel squishes himself onto the left side and grumbles at him all the while, his legs entwined with Jimmy’s and his arm over his chest, and Grian just sort of flops on top of both of them, his elbows jabbing into Jimmy’s stomach and his head shoved between theirs where there isn’t room.

It’s sweaty and suffocating and uncomfortable, and Jimmy wouldn’t trade it for the world.

The only problem with such close and exposed quarters is that Jimmy doesn’t really feel safe with putting his hearing aids anywhere. They’re liable to get crushed in the cuddle pile, but he doesn’t want to put them on the mansion roof in case it gets windy or rains or something and they break.

These are only temporary conditions, thankfully, so soon enough he’ll have a bedside table or any surface at all and he can put them there. Until then?

Well, until then he just isn’t taking them out.

That’s not the best idea ever. For the most part, wearing his hearing aids for an entire day will leave them kind of sore, let alone several days and nights in a row. But other than the soreness, it’s actually kind of convenient—he usually forgets to turn them off, and Joel and Grian like to randomly say stuff as they’re trying to fall asleep, so Jimmy isn’t left out, which is nice.

And then when Grian starts to snore, the right window-rattler that he is, Jimmy can turn them off and imagine that the vibration of his snores is a cat purring.

Sure, his ears hurt. Every so often when he’s alone and collecting resources or something, he’ll turn them off and put them in his pocket to give his ears a break, but he’s rarely alone without getting paranoid that someone might come up on him without him noticing. The last thing he wants is to be caught by a boogeyman without his ears on.

Which brings him to tonight.

Jimmy’s ears hurt.

This should be their last night in the shared bed. They’ve been living on the mansion roof for over half a week now, but they’re sending Jimmy out tomorrow to steal wool from someone (probably Scott, seeing as he always has his life together) so that they can have actual individual beds.

Secretly, Jimmy hopes they’ll push the beds together anyhow.

That’s tomorrow, though, and right now his ears hurt worse than they have in years��which isn’t too bad, sure. He isn’t screaming in pain, or even making any noise, and it isn’t like it’s the only thing he can think about, but it is bad enough that he can’t get himself to close his eyes, afraid that it’ll leave him with nothing to distract him.

They’ve kind of been hurting the whole time, but it really started to ramp up last night, and it’s been getting worse all day today. He wants to go to sleep, but it feels impossible.

Jimmy’s usually the kind of guy to sleep on his side, but he hasn’t been doing that with his hearing aids in, so he’s been on his back most nights. Tonight is no different; he’s staring up at the starry night sky, Joel’s ankle hooked over his legs and his head on his shoulder, Grian starfished atop the both of them with his head resting on the inside of Jimmy’s right arm.

He’s pretty sure they’re both asleep, but Grian’s a fairly light sleeper, so Jimmy moves with the utmost care.

He shifts—just slightly—to tilt his head to the side, his nose buried in Joel’s hair. For a moment, the position feels better, but soon enough, the burning ache in his ears grows, stronger now in the left ear.

Jimmy bites his lip as a wave of pain washes through his head, waits it out, then shifts again, turning his head to the other side.

The same sensation—momentary relief, followed by worsened pain in the right ear.

He wants to get up—but then again, he really doesn’t want to get up. He doesn’t want to leave his Bad Boys.

Jimmy’s been basking in the casual touch of his two close friends all week. He gets hugs from other friends, sure, and the occasional handshake, but between these games there aren’t a lot of opportunities for prolonged contact. In fact, this is the first time it’s been this intense: sure, he and Scott spent a lot of time together, and there was that one sleepover pile in the Southlands, and Tango isn’t shy about lifting him up and spinning him around, but there hasn’t been anything quite like this before.

This week, Jimmy’s discovered that he really likes cuddling. This week, Jimmy’s discovered that he would rather suffer in silence than disrupt their cuddle pile. There’s no way of knowing how long this will last. Maybe next week, they’ll build separate bases. Maybe tomorrow, Grian and Joel will each claim rooms in the mansion and he’ll be on his own again. 

So can anyone really blame him if he just ignores the pain in exchange for this one last night?

He moves again, slower than slow, carefully twisting his body to the side but leaving his head staring straight up. This position has been his favorite, letting him sort of sleep on his side while maintaining the cuddling, but he already rolled to his back tonight when the pain got to be too much and he doesn’t have high hopes that—

Someone not-so-gently pats his head. Less of a pat, really, more of a pat-pat-pat, like a cat smacking a toy. Jimmy opens his eyes (he’d closed them, trying to trick himself into sleep) to find that Grian has lifted his head, leveling a sleepy glare at him.

With a bit of maneuvering to get his right hand free, Jimmy clicks on a hearing aid, wincing as the moment of feedback feels even spikier than normal. What? he mouths.

“Stop moving,” Grian whispers. “You’re gonna throw me off the bed.”

“Sorry,” Jimmy whispers back. Grian rests his head again.

Then Jimmy tries to stop moving.

And promptly forgets about it, because a gust of wind feels and sounds way too loud with his hearing aid now on and he shifts, trying to press his head closer to Joel and use what little bit of the pillow he can to block his ear.

“Dude, stop.”

“I’m trying,” whispers Jimmy. “I can’t sleep.”

“Close your eyes and stop moving. That’s the first step.”

“I already tried that. Didn’t work.”

Grian lifts his head again. Even in the dark, it’s clear that he’s scrutinizing Jimmy’s face. “Are you all right?” he asks.

Jimmy grimaces. “I’m fine,” he whispers. “My ears are sore, is all.”

Grian’s brow furrows. “Wait, you’re wearing your hearing aids,” he says slowly, as if he’s just realizing it. “Aren’t you supposed to take those off at night?”

Jimmy shrugs. “Don’t have anywhere to put them.”

“Dude.”

Grian rolls off of him and out of bed, dusting his knees off. Joel snorts awake, eyes squinted shut.

“Oi, Grian, you kicked me,” he grumbles. “Is somethin’ happenin’? Do we need weapons?”

“Jimmy’s an idiot, is all,” Grian says. “Sit up, Tim.”

Jimmy clicks on his other hearing aid and obeys, biting the inside of his cheek when his ears throb. Joel sits up as well, then stumbles to his feet on the other side of the bed, scratching his side and yawning.

“Joel, get me a torch, would you?” Grian asks absently. He takes Jimmy’s head between his warm hands and tilts it to the side, brushing his hair out of the way.

“What’s happening?” Joel pops open their chest and pulls out a torch, then a flint and steel to light it. He stumps over to the bed, the torch spilling flickering yellow light over their bed.

“Closer.”

“I’m fine,” Jimmy tries to say, then flinches away when Grian touches his ear. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, but he definitely doesn’t want anyone touching it.

“Take out your hearing aids,” Grian commands, his left hand held out.

That seems unnecessary, and Jimmy folds his arms. “I’m fine,” he says again. He really doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it on their last night sharing a bed, especially since there wasn’t another option.

Joel comes around to Jimmy’s front, frowning. “What?”

Grian’s still waiting, one hand on Jimmy’s head, the other outstretched.

After a moment’s standoff, Jimmy acquiesces—he always does. With a roll of his eyes, he turns off his left hearing aid and eases it out of his ear, gasping as it feels like his very eardrum pulses in pain. He doesn’t hand it to Grian, though, just keeps it clutched in his closed fist.

Grian motions Joel to come around to Jimmy’s left side. “Hold the torch—not quite—there, yeah. All right, let’s . . . look. . . .”

Jimmy tries not to move as Grian tugs at his ear, holding it as open as possible, but it hurts. It really hurts, enough that he bites his lip to keep from making some embarrassing noise.

There’s a couple of muffled sentences said at his side, then Grian lets go and moves to the right side, Joel following. Reluctantly, Jimmy removes that hearing aid too.

They spend longer on that side. Jimmy watches out across the world, trying to think about anything but the pounding pain in his ears.

When Grian comes back to his front, it’s with a grim expression on his face. Jimmy moves to put his hearing aids back in, but Grian stops him with a hand on his wrist and a shake of his head.

He stands there for a moment, typing out a message on his communicator, which he then turns around and shows Jimmy.

Ear infections.

Jimmy’s heart sinks.

Right. That’s why he wasn’t supposed to sleep with his hearing aids in.

He’s got to be the biggest idiot on the server. Of course leaving his hearing aids in 24/7 would lead to ear infections, why wouldn’t he think of that?

“Last time I got an ear infection, I lost most of my hearing,” Jimmy tries to joke, sure that it falls flat.

The other two don’t respond. Well, Grian might, he’s moved around to be behind him. Jimmy just can’t hear it.

Joel’s staring at him, utter confusion written across his face. Jimmy checks behind himself—Grian is digging through the chest—and returns his hearing aids to their proper place in his ears.

It really does hurt way more than just some soreness. How did he not notice that something was wrong? He’s usually so careful about any kind of sickness.

“I didn’t know you were Deaf,” Joel says incredulously.

Jimmy blinks.

Okay, he deliberately didn’t tell Martyn. And Scott was just chance. Tango was weird, sure, but not impossible.

But Joel?

How does Joel not know?

“We’ve been friends for years,” Jimmy says, just as incredulous. “How did you not know?”

“I—you never told me!” Joel accuses. “How am I supposed to know things about you if you don’t tell me? Like, I’ve never told you about the mole on my right shoulder—wouldn’t it be absolutely ridiculous to expect you to know about it?”

Jimmy stares back, increasingly bewildered. “I do know about it. I saw it when we went swimming together. Actually, I took my hearing aids out to swim. I asked Gem to put them with my stuff. You were there.”

“Gem knew before me?!”

“Jimmy, hearing aids out,” Grian admonishes, moving to stand in front of him again, tossing Jimmy’s shoes onto the bed. “I’m calling a pause and taking you to get antibiotics. Come on, let’s go.”

“I want to come, too,” Joel says loudly. “Our conversation isn’t over. Did everyone know about Jimmy being Deaf except me?”

“You’ll have to have it over text, then. Get your shoes on, let’s go.”

An ear infection is pretty scary, but after hours at a hospital, the doctor doesn’t seem concerned that Jimmy will lose more of his hearing. He’s prescribed a ten-day round of antibiotics and he isn’t allowed to wear his hearing aids until day seven, and even then only in incremental stages. Joel is awkward about the whole thing, clearly not entirely sure how to interact with a Deaf person.

But when they fall into bed the following night, Joel holds him even tighter than before.

The stars above are bright and beautiful. Some nights they take him far away, to smokey battlefields and achy nights in trenches, but tonight they don’t.

Tonight he feels safer than he ever has, Joel and Grian wrapped so firmly around him.

Tonight he looks up at the stars and smiles.

[demigod-of-the-agni]

A little special something for something even more special. Hint: it's about love and fears and birthdays and new beginnings

(@/marvel hire me <3)

[the-one-who-lambs]

I am conflicted

Chapter 15 is getting massive. Like... probably 14k in this chapter massive. More than typical readers would realistically want to read in one sitting without the sheer word count overwhelming them type massive.

I decided like a YEAR ago that this chapter would be the climatic point of the fic and sets Narinder + Lambert's final character arcs into motion (or, well, straps a rocket to them and sends them flying into character development at 100 miles an hour), and that for pacing reasons and to give the chapter the impact I really want it to have, I would put it all in the same chapter that I'd release all at once. I've written two of the three scenes I want to get to, and the last one is the apex of tension of the entire narrative, so I really don't want to end on the (relatively) lower stakes at the end of the second scene.

Actually you know what I was going to wonder if I should break up this chapter, but I think I just reasoned myself out of it. An update this big is getting difficult, but the last scene is where the REALLY JUICY and EXCITING shit happens and I feel like once I get into the swing of it it's gonna come out a lot more easily. Starting the last scene is what's giving me trouble because it has a fight scene and urgh.

I'll tell the story the way I've been setting it up to work, and not let the temporary struggle distract me from that. It'll be hard, but I can do hard things!

[nocturnalnewsiestrash]

Charles being left handed is something that can actually be so special to me

[spacetimeaccordionfolder]

I just realized an important thing to consider in any aurora/ malevolent crossovers I ever write or draw is that Arthur "i will kill cultists on sight- well, hearing" Lester would probably get dropped into a world where there are city gods, nature gods, Concept Gods, the Twins, and the Primordials. Everyone worships or belongs to at least one god or refers to gods in conversation all the time. He would love the term "godless" though. Yeah I don't belong to a god. I don't live in a city with a god. I'm godless. And John's there like hey I don't know if that's true at this point.

but also. the main cast of Aurora are: 1. The second occupant of a city god's vessel (demigod? godling? divine blade?) who is going to rescue the god he came from; 2. Life Mage, who is also Life the Primordial's vessel and is blessed by them, but who herself otherwise is godless as she isn't from a city with a god; 3. The Elemental Magus, from a city with a fledgling god, who is like the only one we see on comic saying things like "Wys give me patience," is the vessel of the Void Dragon, a Primordial intent on destroying the world and who occasionally takes over his body; 4. Falst a former thief who possibly has a connection to another Primordial; 5. a Crucible who is wanted as a weapon/tool by at least two gods, one of whom is the god of his people; 6. a Stormbreaker who was given free will by Lightning (another Primordial who likely isn't awake and was just unconsciously being dead and striking people with lightning). And they talk to gods basically every day. Or at least Kendal does.

Arthur's realizing just how full of gods this world is. And how many people worship/ belong to/ live with gods. They're just a thing in Aurora. think about a concept enough? there's a god for it. John's having a good time talking with Kendal about being kind of an offshoot of an established god, having his memories, but being your own thing. Arthur's thinking through every interaction he's ever had with a god and their followers and going "uh oh." He's astounded by some of the chill people here and is starting to settle into that fact when he finds out about the Paladins and how Tam tried to kill Erin.

[leaf-miner]

Can't believe they just went and Stepford Wifed Belinda like that.

[skyerocketing-anxiety]

When I say that is now my favorite episode of the season if not the show I am being entirely serious like I didn't know how badly I needed this episode until I got it god bless this beautiful holiday. hallow be thy ween

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

not spop-related but i can't post this on my main blog so.

i do find it funny how most of the fan depictions of belos were far more interesting and detailed than s3 belos. i've seen fanart and fanfics of him where he's a complex villain struggling with religious guilt and then the canon is just like.. lmao yeah he's pure evil. kill him.

[yujeong]

Time was at a standstill. Vegas was holding his breath without noticing, and continued to hold it when he did - he was afraid of what would happen if he exhaled loudly enough to draw attention to himself. His gaze was shifting between Pete and the man who was standing before them in the doorway, blocking their entrance. Vegas had never seen him before, but even so, he recognized Pete in him enough to know who he was. A dangerous aura surrounded him. There was an edge to his presence that Vegas would only come across people of certain circles. He was a fighter. A muay khao. Pete's father. Shame coursed through Vegas' body, smearing his skin, settling in his lungs, rendering him speechless. I thought he was dead, he wanted to tell Pete if he could. He wanted to scream at him, I thought you killed him. Pete was the one who broke the stillness. As if awakened by something, he took a half-step back and made a motion with his arms, almost raising them to his chest, but not quite. In an instant, Pete reverted into the pet Vegas had been keeping at the safehouse, bound by handcuffs and afraid of his belt hitting flesh and drawing blood. A lump formed in Vegas' throat. "Have you stopped practicing? Your form is off." The uncanny similarities between Pete and his father appearance-wise didn't mean a thing when it came to their voices. Vegas shivered. Was this what Pete would sound like in a few decades? (Were these the condescending words he'd choose to spew? Was Pete going to embody his father? Was Vegas embodying his?) "What are you doing here?" Pete whispered. "They let me out for a few days, so I came here to collect some money. Imagine my surprise when I found out my offspring left the job someone found him worthy enough of doing to... do what exactly? Yaai didn't want to tell me." He crossed his arms, waiting for an answer. Vegas didn't know what he was allowed to say. If he was allowed to say anything at all. "It's none of your business." "I'd say it very much is my business, as well as yaai's business who was dependent on the money you were making being some rich asshole's human shield." A choked sound scratched Vegas' throat. He didn't like getting reminded of Pete being the main family's bodyguard, even though he stopped being one mere months ago. Especially like this. That was the first time Pete's father stopped looking at his son and turned his head to look at Vegas. For a moment, there seemed to be recognition in his eyes. Did he know who Vegas was? Did he care? A snort came out of his mouth. He leaned on the door. "Oh, I see how it is." He laughed, scratched his neck. "I never expected you to whore yourself out for money. Tell me, is it preferable to the path I carved out for you?" Vegas could sense the disgust in his voice. He could also see it on Pete's face. He was too astonished to share it, but not enough to be unable to speak. "Khun, there has been some misunderstanding-" "Don't bother. I can recognize a faggot when I see one." Pete's movements were too fast for Vegas to stop him. A direct jab to the nose; his father fell like a pack of cards, groaning like a wounded animal. Surprisingly, no blood - Pete held back. Vegas didn't know what to think about that. "That was a pathetic attack, even for you." "Get up." "We're not in the ring, son." Pete growled. Vegas could see his hands trembling as he was keeping them in the air, maintaining an offensive stance. "That never stopped you before." "You were too young to understand what I was doing back then. What I was preparing you for." Pete was silent. "The world isn't kind. It'll fuck you over one way or another." He got up, spat on the ground. "You still haven't learned a thing. You're too old to afford being naive." He turned around, and without sparing a look at Pete again, said: "Now get the fuck out of my house." (For @musictooth, whose posts about Pete's father have reignited my passion for this specific concept and for @wretchedamaranth, whose comments on my writing are always lovely and precious ❤️)