#i feel like the 'they are the way he made them' thing is pretty self evident and understood but it's important to distinguish that it's not

[the-meme-monarch]

i do kinda have a little head canon for shrimpo in your verse

that I think shrimpo thinks everyone just hates him and maybe at garden view he tries to act nice to the kids but the kids don’t wanna talk or be near him because of how the show petrayed him and so becomes lonely he hates the other toons because they don’t get hated like he did or be ignored like him he also might not like deliliah because after watching her interaction with other toons he feels like she is just happy with them then with him

looking back this is not what you were saying i don’t think. but this was the idea this gave me NDJSJJD

but like yeah i kinda do think shrimpo has like. self image issues. ans legitimately has difficulty expressing anything other than his brand of anger. he can’t really help but act the way he does and he doesn’t really Like that he’s like that. like the character posters around his room COULD just be to cover holes in his walls or bc he’s full of himself but idk. why put up the same poster over and over with words implying nobody likes him. i think he’s got hardcore “why was i made like this” type feelings. iirc qwelver said he likes One Thing and like. if it were himself i think it would’ve just been said so bc that just feels like such an easy answer? (my idea for the one thing he likes is it’s something he can be bribed with. and that’s why in-game he’d be going on these runs at all. bc otherwise I don’t know why he’d participate HDHDJRJDJ)

so uh. maybe this is the eventual aftermath of my ‘shrimpo punching delilah in the face Immediately after being brought to life bc she scared him’ comic. shrimpo feels legitimately guilty about it bc He Didn’t Actually Mean To and thinks delilah really truly hates him over it. arthur Pried this information from him. and is trying to get delilah to reassure him. i think delilah doesn’t have much capacity for emotions Period so she got over getting punched to begin with pretty quickly. or she doesn’t even remember at this point bc of my ‘toon creation wears down your soul’ headcanon idk

last line is a reference to this post

[zoieru]

thoughts about parts of hsr men's bodies, and how they react to your attention on them (mostly cute, not quite nsfw)

Just sum thots I wanted to get down n share, perchance with some like-minded individualss. I sort of yap when I write, not written in perfect grammar or prose. Maybe spoilers for 3.0. no gender, not nsfw, but suggestions splatted about ♡

Aventurine, Sunday, Phainon, Mydei

Aventurine

His hands, fingers, the whole lot. They're so dextrous and slender and nimble, probably from playfully flicking chips between his fingers as a taunt to those at the table. The way the chips twirl between them effortlessly has you often watching in a momentary trance. You sort of chide yourself internally when your thoughts start to drift at how they move, how *able* they are, and the implications of such...

You know he pays a lot of attention to his appearance, so his nails are always seemingly perfect, softly rounded at the edges, clean. It's to an extent that seems kind of impossible, as you find yourself captivated by them when you play with his fingers as you sit together. They're just...pretty. "You got a thing for hands, or is it just me?" He teases, a little smirk tickling the edge of his lips as his eyes glint with that familiar spark of mischief. He's always playing it off, of course, but he can't deny the little flutter he feels in his chest when you kinda admire him like that. There's something different about the way you do it, makes him feel special and wanted. Which the boy deserves in bounds.

Plus he looooves touching you with them. He's just a sort of handsy person, but in a cheeky-reverent kind of way, especially once he notices your attention on them. He'll fiddle purposefully, that frustrating smirk on his mouth, he'll run his fingers over your skin gently, pinching and squeezing here and there, and trace your bottom lip with his thumb when he's got you a bit flustered.

Sunday

For Sunday my first thought was his head-wings, of course, but that would be boring since everyone talks about the way the lil things flutter and fluff up, so we're going for his hair.

Now, Sunday obviously paid attention to his appearance as the Bronze Melodia, and all of his positions. He had to look the part, after all, and his tendency for control seeped into this aspect of his life too. But I like to think he never really saw his hair as anything but a sort of tool, something on him to be viewed and consumed by other people, just as a lot of his life was. (Thinking about Sunday makes me so sad aaa). He looked after it, liked it, but didn't see the utility or pleasure of it outside of that use much.

But when he fell with broken wings, and ended up in the strangely soft and uncomfy-comfy laps of the astral express crew, and others, like you, he, along with other things, started to realise the pleasure and softness that could come from his hair. For instance, along with his wings, if you touch his hair, he's a goner. He's just so...sensitive, and it sends little shivers down his whole body, to where he's almost made docile and incoherent. His brain short circuits a little and he becomes like when you touch a shark on that part of their body where they just become all floppy.

He doesn't even have the energy to be self conscious about it much when you're lacing your fingers through the grey strands, and if he does he'll blush a bit, cutely, and avert his eyes almost grumpily as he just shifts in your lap so his face doesn't have to meet your gaze. Plus, he finds it's one of the only time his yappy brain quiets a little, the sensations like a soothing silk wrapping around the thoughts and making them a bit less intrusive. Basically he's cute as hell, it hurts my soul.

Phainon

Okay, so, I'm gonna go with the expected here but HEAR ME OUT. His eyes are so expressive, even ignoring how intensely blue they are to the point it feels as though a droplet of the sky had just plopped into their depths one day and decided to take up residence hello Satoru ♡.

They're always moving slightly, narrowing a touch when thinking along with that slight pout of his mouth, widening with a gentle spark when he gets an idea or sees something he finds cool (imagine him like...seeing a stupid meme and showing mydei, and mydei just like -_-). When his face lights up, eyes catching that spark of excitement, it's just so sweet and beautiful. You find yourself desperate to keep seeing that light flicker in his eyes, finding things that make him light up.

Then there's when they soften. Usually when he's looking at you. Or mydei stop. He'll be talking or into something and then turn to look at you half way through, his eyes instantly softening ever so slightly. It's enough to make your heart flutter, just that. It's pathetic really, but that's what this puppy will do to you.

If you ever comment on them he'll chuckle a little, maybe bring his hand to his nape, the classic, looking around like 'really? hehe'. He takes the compliment and thinks about it a bit during the day at intervals, feeling warmer inside.

ALSO WHEN HE TILTS HIS HEAD SUBTLY WHEN CONFUSED LIKE A PUPPY OKAY BYE

Mydei

Mydei is hard because (get your mind out of the gutter) I feel like he would be so enthralled and slightly confused by all of your touch, since he hasn't felt much soft and tender affection in his whole damn life. So let's go with his skin, namely, tracing soft and idle patterns on it, anywhere really.

I'm picturing it starting with like...you just idly drawing circles or swirls on his arm or hand while you're relaxing, maybe before sleeping, just at some point. It didn't even really cross your mind that you were doing it, it was just natural. But this man had his eyes locked onto your fingers as they moved, eyeing the movements and taking note of the sensations almost with suspicion, like -what the hell is this and why do I like it-. Basically bro is shook, it's cute.

You'll catch him staring and be like ?? And he'll get a touch embarrassed, try to play it off a bit, grunt and look away a little, but after a bit he'll admit it feels kinda nice and you couldddd do it more if you wanted to. He wouldn't mind. Yknow. And he'll end up enjoying it a lot, anywhere you do it, letting you trace his skin more purposefully, the muscles rippling underneath it, his tattoos. He finds his muscles relax under your touch as if you're weaving some of Aglaea's golden thread over them, soothing them more than he's really felt before. And he'll give you a bit of a grumpy cat face when you stop, like...excuse me what? Keep going???

Anyway kinda thinking about doing more now but like, their reactions to each of these things individually, like playing with their hair or hands. Brainrot. Anyway make sure u ate something today or I'll haunt your dreams bye.

[starryylies]

What about Si with a reader who's giving him the silent treatment? I feel like at first he'd be like "fine whatever" but after like 10 minutes he begs his princess to talk to him

Silent treatment and Simon

Hii thank you sm for the ask! I loved writing it <33

Sorry if it got a bit self indulgent though.

It’s heavy on comfort so hope you enjoy!

You’ve been ‘off’ Simon could tell something’s going on but he couldn’t pin point why it’s going wrong.

Youve been ignoring him since he came home that night after his deployment, giving him short and curt greetings and replies a contrast to your sweet and elaborated ones.

He thought he’d let you deal with whatever you’re going through without butting in.

But no,

Just no

He couldn’t stand there and watch his baby look so down,

He couldn’t stand not hearing your sweet voice echo in the room.

He couldn’t stand the thought that you’re getting tired of him.

He was an overthinking wreck,

All possible ideas came to his mind as to why you’re ignoring him.

“Maybe she’s tired of me, ‘m a fucking mess aren’t I.”

“Maybe she found someone else, someone her own age. Nah fuck no, she wouldn’t do that. Would she..?”

His mind was going on overdrive and he broke down.

And now he found himself marching up to your shared room where you sat on your bed watching a movie.

He turned off the movie and put you on his lap.

“Love what’s happenin’ whys my baby ignoring me huh? Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

“Are ya tired of me?”

He croaked out the last question, tears welling up in his eyes.

You looked at Simon as if you’d seen a ghost

“You really think I’ll be tired of you? I’m here thinking yr’ gonna be tired of me” you confessed with tears welling up in your eyes now.

“It’s just that, I know I can be a piece of work sometimes. I probably just make life harder for ya so I thought maybe keeping my mouth shut wouldn’t annoy ya like I annoy others.”

Simon is hurt to hear you say that, how could you think you annoy him. He fights to come home so he can listen to your sweet voice and look at that pretty face.

And who the fuck told you you’re annoying?

He holds it in him to ask that later because he doesn’t want to stray from the conversation going on but he makes a mental note to give them a personal visit when you’re done

“I don’t even know why you’re with me there’s so many people out there who are better, prettier, more competent.”

“I’m nothing si,I’m not the girl you make me out to be. I’m so scared of the day you start seeing me the way I see myself”

Simon felt his heart break in pieces when he heard you say such cruel things about yourself.

How could he feel okay when the love of his life thought so badly about herself

How could he show you you’re the prettiest and the only woman that matters in his life

“Ya fucking stupid?”

He asked curtly, regretting his harsh words the second he spit them out.

“Excuse me?”

“No genuinely are ya fucking stupid, you fucking think I’ll get tired of you- the first and the only thing that’s ever mattered to me?”

“Fuckin’ hell lovie you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve seen and yr’ important person in my life.”

“Ya think you make life tougher for me? Ever since you’ve come in my life you’ve made it liveable, you made life seem something worth experiencing, I was just blood and guns before I met you, now I’m a person”

“Fuck id kill for you, die for you, do anything for you. You seriously believe I’ll ever get tired of ya? Because if you do I’m sorry to say you��re a fuckin’ idiot”

Tears prickle down your face as you hear his confession,

You’ve been feeling so insecure, so incapable and so unlovable these past months when simon was away, you’d forgotten how much he loves you.

You cried into his chest, gripping onto him and nestling yourself in his arms.

His beefy arms rubbed your back as he cood at you, telling you how much he loves ya and how he will never get tired of you.

[colorlessjay]

In season 16, whenever Dean remembers the whole “Cas was not truly happy for YEARS before he cashed in his deal” he goes a little feral and attempts to smotherspoil him with love and attention even tho Cas is like…? with most of the extra attempts (man’s pretty simple with his wants and needs at this point and Dean fulfills them all like all the time now)

But Cas has learned Dean cannot be dissuaded from his course of action when he gets all “my beautiful wife was secretly unhappy (and maybe still is secretly sometimes!!!) and I must make up for it 😭😭!!!”

Bonus: S16 KNOWS S6 Cas is hiding stuff and is stressed and unhappy for those reasons but he’s like 😢😢 u don’t even know u want hugs rn and aren’t getting them either way

Guilt is a powerful thing ya know? It may not make us do things, but it makes us think and feel in a way that provokes action, be it good or bad

Neither Dean nor Cas, or even Sam are absolved of their crimes. All three of them have said and done things they all feel guilty for, and that guilt has made them act. Castiel, for most of his time on earth, has only ever acted because he feels guilt.

Guilt for sitting by and doing nothing for centuries, guilt for his doubt, guilt for the angels he's killed, guilt for never trusting Sam and Dean with his angel problems. Guilt for the leviathans, Mary's death, the angels' fall, for letting Dean down...

And yet, I believe Cas is able to pull himself out of that guilt after everything ha subsided. I believe Cas is able to forgive himself because he's learned that punishment does not absolve you of crimes. Cas tries to make up for his transgressions not through self punishment and banishment, but through self improvement and aiding others. It's why I think he had such a hand in New Heaven's creation with Jack

I don't think Dean is able to forgive himself. I think many people have forgiven him. But I don't think Dean will ever be able to let that guilt go, cause he's shackled to it

I can forgive Cas, but he can't forgive himself

So I like to think think that my version of S16 Dean would spend his time making up for it. He may not be able to forgive himself, but he can damn well try. He has years ahead of him, an eternity in heaven with the people he loves to look forward to (Cas made sure he knew he was going upstairs when the lights go out), and people he loves to keep loving.

So yeah, long winded way of saying:

I think Dean has an underlining fear that his husband is unhappy, both past and present. I think Dean would make up for it instinctively, pouring his efforts into his love and making sure Cas knows that Dean is gonna stick by him, think and thin

In sickness and in health

Through heaven, hell, and purgatory

-----------

anyways, ka-chaw

[simonskitty]

cw: mentions of religion, self punishment, daddy issues (reader), and age gap (legal!)

john price starts going to church, and meets a pretty little thing like you to comfort :( i wanna write more of this because it ends sorta abruptly :3

After retirement, John Price began attending church in an effort to bring his life back to a more tranquil state, heal from past trauma, and escape the sinful thoughts and surroundings he had spent nearly his entire life in.

Surprisingly, things begin to improve. He feels more—holy, if you will. The pastor does not appear to be a total jackass, and he has even begun putting a small portion of his money to the tin tray when it is his turn. Basically, things are getting better.

Until he sees you for the first time and all of his newfound principles are thrown out the window. It's not like you're just any ordinary person attending church to grow closer to God or to recover from traumatic events that have left you damaged, like other visitors to Jesus' sacred sanctuary. You are the pastor's daughter. You attend church every Sunday and occasionally on Wednesday nights, whether you're religious or not, and eventually you run into John.

You two have a friendly meeting at first, you introducing yourself, informing him that your the pastors daughter. Though, you didn’t tell him that took on major responsibilities that you didn’t even know you could handle. That you were obligated to come to a place where you didn’t feel anything in your heart for. A conversation that you and your father had many times before that always ended in tears and a scratchy voice that needed chai spice tea to soothe before the night ended. So, the conversation ended at that.

That was until John overheard a conversation, or perhaps it was an argument between none other than you and your father, something that happened more frequently than when you were his good little girl that he used to tuck into bed with a kiss to the forehead.

And, as any decent human being would, John consoled you as you left the church's wooden doors that afternoon. Face still damp from tears, which inevitably fall when things like this happen. It began with a hug, warm and deep, like the fatherly love you had longed for years. Then, a trip to the downtown ice cream parlor, which your father used to take you to. Watching the sunset as you lapped your vanilla cone with a small bit of delight on your lips. And John found out that he liked that look on your face, and knowing that he made it happen made it all the more enjoyable to witness.

The feeling of a calloused thumb, grazing your bottom lip. John with a small smile of his own on his lips. “Got some ice cream on ya lips, love.” It’s low, and gravelly, his voice. Like he had done years of professional yelling all his life, which he probably had, considering his past profession. It’s like your heart was heavy, but in a good way. Like this man, though same age and the same wrinkles near his eyes has your father—the man that had made you cry more than laugh—was making your body warm and fuzzy. The feeling when your feet are cold as hell and your finally get to wrap them up in a blanket.

However, when you got home that evening, you experienced the identical emotion you had with your father—just a different man was to blame. Then followed the regretful thoughts. Maybe you shouldn’t have kissed John in the car. He was probably just doing something good because you were all sad—anyone would, wouldn’t they? You felt so fucking good while doing it, and you hated yourself for that fact. That you enjoyed the feeling of man’s lips on yours. And, before you got married? God, that had to be a sin, right?

Whatever thoughts that your father has put into your brain—even years ago when you were a mere child, doing something naughty like screaming to stay up late that night, just a a little bit after your bedtime—were still implanted safe and sound. That when you did something bad it was the devil’s work, that you needed Jesus. And before you knew it, your great grandmothers holy oil was being drawn into your forehead, the shape of the cross.

Punishing yourself had to be the only rightful option to do, for committing such cruelty while being just miles down the road of the home of God himself.

Did John feel it too? Could he feel the immense amount of remorse as you? Or did he decide from right then and there—when the words “We can’t,” fell from his lips, that it was a mistake. That you screwed something up again, with a man that was just trying to do a good deed?

John himself felt guilt, reasons separate from yours. Kissing a girl, someone so innocent and much younger than himself, was wrong. It was morally wrong in every way, especially a girl who followed the book of God. That didn’t keep him from enjoying it, and the nasty things he began to imagine—trying but failing to ignore—consumed him.

He’d just have to indulge from a far.

© simonskitty

[blueberrypancakesworld]

The grabbing surprise

Jason x fem!reader

warning: mutual feelings, mention of sex fantasies, groping (consensual, sort of) fluff, kiss

Summary : It should have been a normal watch, a few teenagers going canoeing, making bread on a stick over the campfire and telling scary stories. But when someone as cute as Jason met his co-leader and watchman, everything suddenly seemed to get a lot more...charged.

info : I popped my head out of my hole for a sec to say hi, have fun with that thing for Fred, bye, I'm going back to learning :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a hot summer when the teenagers were brought by their parents to this wonderful camp, a camp for outdoor activities.

A camp where it should actually be possible to do without electronics and not be full of cell phones. A small brochure in which a pretty new rustic-modern camp was advertised... a mistake.

The said camp had its peak in the sixties, now it was rather just a handful of huts with the bare necessities, bunk beds, naked light bulbs, an old couch and a valve television whose static flickering had to be the greatest joy instead of a nice movie.

But despite this 'disappointment', it was mainly Jason and his co-leader who wanted to try to make the best of it. Of course, the teenagers were not thrilled about the cell phone being taken away or being away from the small town where there was already little to do.

But it quickly became clear that behind the sullen faces and hormonal tension, there was a kind of cooperation, a cooperation in the form of stealing food, plundering the beer supply or smuggling cigarettes... small crimes that Jason didn't even really notice, his eyes were only on his colleague.

His opposite, she was the praying mantis and he the little man, a comparison that was immediately apparent in his mind from the moment she got out of her car. She was the complete opposite.

What he had in 'class', she had in money and self-confidence. She immediately connected with the kids, who were fascinated by her car, her makeup, her clothes, and especially the little rule-breaking she did.

,,You have to show them that everything is okay within reason,” she had explained to Jason when she put a small crate of beer outside the hut with a small note saying, ‘Don't overdo it ;)’ and her job was done.

It could be as easy as he had to determine, so easy to deal with the guests, so easy to fall in love with his colleague and so easy to get her no longer out of his head.

He was almost embarrassed by how much he couldn't get her out of his thoughts, how often he looked at her and walked next to her, the knowing glances of the teenagers only made it worse.

But well, he had never felt such an attraction before, it was just so nice, this feeling of love and nervousness, especially now that the kids were mostly keeping themselves busy, there was hardly anything for them to do.

They either prepared dinner together, made the beds or repaired a few things, but that only took a few days and not a week.

Which is why they both usually did their own thing for the rest of the day, although their own thing meant that Jason increasingly disappeared into the forest and came back completely covered in leaves and dirt, always with a smile on his lips when he looked around.

She herself took a book and read a bit, sunbathed or even tried to party with the teenagers and talk to them, which resulted in relatively profound conversations.

It was a positive experience... but even in the circle of teenagers, they noticed how she paid attention to Jason.

The comparison was more like a lion looking at its prey, the way she looked at Jason, but she dismissed it with a simple, ,,Well, he's a clumsy but cute little bear,” and she smiled and hear the talking of the teens.

The cheering and giggling of the kids had perhaps made her smile a little too, but it was true that he was just a cute little bear, a cuddly, scatterbrained furry man who would do anything for her.

He could hardly give her hand, he was so drunk, and his clothes from a different time only made him cuter. He was like a mama's boy, but less creepy, more like Winnie the Pooh than a creepy brown bear.

She had also lost her heart to him... but her intentions were clear, while he seemed unable to see them.

Because here experience met inexperience, composure met neediness and play met naivety. Two had found each other, but they couldn't have been more different, just one more reason for them to do something 'more' together.

Everything she had tried so far had been almost pornographic: taking a towel that was a little too short out of the shower and walking past him, bending down extra when looking for firewood, making a few too many distinct noises when bathing in the lake or licking ice cream, she always seemed to find his eyes – it would have been enough for a contract, but apparently it wasn't enough for Jason.

But none of her 'attempts or hints' seemed to work, but she would not give up. Just like that day when she stayed with the kids so Jason could go back into the forest.

She didn't know exactly what he was doing there, but as long as he was having fun, he should be allowed to play a little explorer.

A researcher whose hurried steps made her look up from her place, “You're back. How was it, my forest scout?” she asked, putting down the book and rising from the large log that was by the extinguished fire to meet him.

The smile on his lips seemed to grow even bigger when she pulled the leaves and sticks out of his hair and beard. Something she had done the last few times, a gesture that probably embarrassed him a little and flattered him at the same time.

,,Thank you,” he managed to say, his embarrassed gaze dropping slightly before he remembered what was between his fingers after a brief moment.

She saw a pink grasshopper sitting in his hands. She wasn't the biggest fan of insects, but her curiosity was piqued. “It's pink, how pretty,” she said, fascinated by the unusual color, which was unusual for these creatures.

He must have spent hours and days looking for it. “Yes! A rare mutation. I got it for you because... well, I-I know you like the color,” he admitted, and his interest and attention mixed with his insecurity the more he looked at his pretty praying mantis.

She wanted to take him into the army, tell him thank you, maybe give him a little kiss, but in doing so, the little pink insect would have been squashed... an insect that, however, had other plans and, with a single jump, landed from his hands in her decollete and disappeared under the fabric of her top.

Her surprised sound was drowned out by his scream as her hands were simply pushed away by his, as a panicked Jason suddenly almost hugged her, ,,Wait! Wait, I'll get it,” she said, and her bright eyes tried to make out the animal under the fabric.

So hastily he tried to get the insect back that he hardly noticed her calmness as his hands moved freely and shamelessly over her body, she wondered who was the insect here. Which of them was touching her more... but something she almost welcomed.

Rough, large hands that squeezed her breasts, probably more out of support and an attempt to get the animal out, fingers that shamelessly slid under her shirt.

Exposing her stomach and hips, and she tried to hold still, fingers gliding over skin, scratching a little as if he were pursuing something, something other than the insect.

A sight he had dreamt of, making him hard like a teenager discovering a porn magazine for the first time, a sight he had imagined too often in the shower, trying to prevent the almost embarrassing sounds that came over his lips.

His hand was nothing like hers; it would be softer, a little smaller, but probably tighter. Her lust-filled voice whispered the dirtiest words to him while he lost himself in her; he was sure that she would take him so well.

In the shower, his back against the cool wall while she knelt in front of him; in the cabin, she would ride him like a cowgirl. Thoughts that came to him not only when he was awake.

He hoped that the running water and the sounds of nature would drown out his lust, but how could he not get hard with her, such a pretty woman with him here. She always seemed so close to him and yet all the more distant.

But all these fantasies and dreams seemed unimportant as he continued to try to catch the animal, which was happily chirping and had now found its way up her torso to her hip and thigh.

Areas of her body that he particularly hoped to be able to touch in secret, now only a little under different circumstances. The grasshopper jumped away when Jason, saying ,,Finally!” and placed his hand firmly on her exposed thigh.

A hand that she felt knead her skin for a moment, the touch wanting to memorize the feel. Asking her if they should sleep together or if she could just move in on her own or if she took over everything.

Was she really a praying mantis and he just a little male?

,,Did you get what you wanted?” she asked the obvious question and her fingers laid on his, pressing them a little tighter to her body. They really were as big and rough as she had imagined, her fantasies and daydreams seemed so real now.

The bear just had to realize what he was missing in his cave when she was right here in front of him.

A question that made him blush, ,,Y-yes-no... no, I mean yes,” he stammered, not knowing what to say to get out of this situation.

She really was a praying mant that only had to snap once to turn his head. ,,I think we should go together next time, so you can protect me from touching insects.” She winked and took his hand before she headed towards the forest that was around the camp, but she did give him a kiss as a reward.

The brave naturalist had saved her, so a kiss was the least she could do.A gesture that only made him blush more and a smirk graced his lips as he followed her, as he always did.

A decision was a decision, and well, you know, praying mantises could wait a long time for another opportunity to strike and get their sweet prey.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[jo-harrington]

Corroded Coffin Fest Pop-Up: Birthday Boy Prompts: Gift, 21

Summary: Every year for his birthday, Eddie gets a special gift. When they stop coming, he feels an unexpected way about it.

Word Count: 1502

Rating: T

Warnings/Themes: No Upside Down AU, Friendship, Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Unseen Character Death

Notes: Thanks to @corrodedcoffinfest for another fantastic pop-up. I’m glad to be able to get back into these. I missed one and it was like I was missing a part of myself.

This entry is one that doesn’t make the most sense, logically, to a canon Eddie. But, like many other things, this is incredibly personal and something I’ve been wanting to write for a while. So I’m using this prompt as an excuse to do it for myself. It’s not my exact story, but it’s taking from both of my grandmothers. Nonna, who spoke English very well but couldn’t read or write it. And Babcia, who knew no English and I, of course, knew no polish. Still, she wrote novels in all of her cards to me. And my piece of shit father always refused to translate them. Eddie, you deserve all the love of a dearest grandparent, so I’m loaning you some of mine.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

He doesn’t know why he cares.

There are plenty of other things to think about today; it is his 21st birthday, after all.

But there are some things you just take for granted when you’re younger, and when they suddenly aren’t there anymore, you can’t help but realize the mistake you made. Hindsight is 20/20 and all that shit.

He used to only care about the crisp $20 bill that was tucked into the cards. A fresh note, straight from the bank. Used to buy toys, then candy, then books, then records. For birthdays and christmases and Easters.

Eventually he paid attention to the cards themselves. Pretty things with cartoons and pictures and, on birthdays, the numbers coinciding with the age he achieved. There were inscriptions inside, lengthy passages in fancy handwriting that he couldn’t read.

Not because they were illegible. He simply could not read them.

Dniu Urozdin. Wesołych Świąt.

Paragraphs upon paragraphs of words. And he wasn’t sure what they meant. Or the emotion that he was supposed to feel reading them.

“But who are they from?” He asked Wayne once when he was finally old enough for curiosity to spark.

“Your grandma,” was the simple response. But he knew no grandma, beyond old Nana Munson who passed right after his mom did. “I’ve told you that before.”

There was no return address for him to send a letter back to, no telephone number for him to call. Just a simple “Kocham cie, Busia” at the bottom of the novel his supposed-grandma wrote.

“Buss-ee-ah,” he pronounced slowly, and then looked to his uncle again. It felt wrong on his tongue. Not only in English but somehow also whatever that language was. He felt it in his gut. “Is that her name?”

Wayne scratched his chin, and looked at him sadly, then explained that he had only met Elizabeth’s mother once. Twice, at most? A small, elderly woman who spoke English very well—if accented—but apparently couldn’t write it much. He couldn’t remember her name or address or anything that would be useful in contacting her.

Of course, Al would have been some kind of help, but a long lost grandmother wasn’t exactly the first—or last—thought on any of their minds when the eldest Munson deigned to come to town.

”I’m sorry Ed,” Wayne whispered and mashed a hand on top of Eddie’s buzzed curls. “Maybe one day she’ll put her phone number in.”

Of course, by that time Eddie had developed some degree of self-loathing, and he chalked it up to a grandma who felt obligated enough to send a card, but didn’t care enough to really want to know her only grandson.

That’s when the cards started getting put away. In a drawer. Out of sight, out of mind til the next one came. Then the $20 bill would be slid into a wallet and the card would join the rest.

“Thanks Busia,” Eddie would whisper and offer a stiff and sarcastic salute as he slid the drawer closed. It never really felt right, but his hardened heart couldn’t care much more than that.

Jeff had seen them once, the stack of cards in his nightstand. He’d stayed the night and had been snooping.

“What’re these?” He asked, a laugh partially escaping from his mouth. A dozen greeting cards with illegible stories inside.

“They’re my lore,” Eddie explained, only slightly sarcastically. “I just haven’t leveled up enough to read them yet.”

“Guess you need to find a better DM,” Jeff joked back. He took one more look at the gently written closing, then slid it back into its home.

More time passed, more $20 bills spent.

But now, it was Eddie’s 21st birthday. Nothing in the mailbox. Nothing waiting for him on the counter amidst the bills and circulars. Nothing.

He didn’t think much of it at first. Distantly, during lunch, he wondered if the snowstorm that had blown through the previous week had delayed the mail at all. Because Busia’s cards always came through on time. Always.

So that had to be it.

And he tried to make excuses. Because it was just a card. Just a $20 bill. They weren't important; he didn't know why he cared.

Beer was drunk, weed was smoked, fun was had with his friends, who gifted him with new cassettes and a leather-bound notebook for him to write his stories.

But the next day, the only birthday gift waiting for him was a hangover.

Nothing the next day. Or the next.

“Nothing for me?” He asked Wayne anxiously a week after his special day.

And Wayne knew what it was he was asking for, even though he hadn’t said it aloud.

A hand was clamped down on his shoulder.

“She was old,” Wayne whispered. “Same age as Nana Munson, I’ll bet.”

The words rang in Eddie’s ears, an uncomfortable ringing, even as Wayne tried to blame the lack of a card of forgetfulness.

Because there had been a Christmas Card. And Eddie’s birthday had only been a month later. She wouldn’t have forgotten. Not after she’d sent one for almost two whole decades.

He sat at home late that night, in the dim light of his bedroom, trying to decipher something from those cards. Some kind of hint that Busia would excuse the lack of a birthday card. Maybe in a language he didn't understand, she would explain that she was having surgery or going on a trip, and that her birthday gift would be late this year.

Deep down, as he saw her beautiful handwriting get messier as the years went by, he knew why there was no card.

And he sat there every night, for days, amidst the only thing he had from his grandmother, mourning something that he never really had at all.

Jeff stopped by on the third day, backpack clutched in his hand, and he pulled the comforter off of his supposedly sleeping friend.

"Wake up! Come on, we've got character sheets to write! Gah, it smells like stale Cheetos and farts in here." Jeff laughed, then stopped, as he spotted the stack of cards beside Eddie's supine form. "Oh no."

"I'm feeling human feelings, Jeffy," Eddie groaned and curled up on his side. "Avert your eyes."

Jeff huffed a sigh and plopped down on the edge of the bed. "If anyone knows how many human feelings you have, Ed, it's me."

He tried to reach for one of the cards and Eddie had the audacity to hiss at him.

"What if I said I had a present for you?"

Of course, that piqued the older boy's interest.

Jeff heaved his backpack over his shoulder and rooted through it, searching for small object that he'd been keeping for a while.

"I've had it for a while," he explained. "I didn't want to...listen Ed I know how much you keep things close to the chest sometimes. But Timmy Kaminski was my lab partner last year, before we graduated. I recognized something in that one Christmas card. He calls his grandma 'Busia' too."

Eddie groaned and ran a hand over his face.

"I don't call her Busia," Eddie scoffed. "I don't call her anything. I don't even have a grand--"

But Jeff shoved a book in Eddie's face. A small yellow paperback thing, edges a little worn from being tossed around Jeff's backpack, but otherwise relatively new.

Polish to English Dictionary.

Eddie hesitantly took the book from Jeff and stared at it.

"I'm not gonna pry," Jeff said softly. "But obviously...obviously something upset you. Because of these cards. And last time...last time they upset you, you said that you hadn't leveled up enough to know what they said yet. So I decided I would take over as DM...and Level 21 is enough to start unlocking basic translation as a skill."

"But--"

"You know enough Klingon and Sindarin, you might as well learn what your god damn birthday cards say! I'll even help you, damn it!"

Jeff stared at Eddie expectantly.

And Eddie felt the pit that had formed in his stomach over the past few days begin to close a bit.

There was a pang in his chest as he sat up and stared at all the cards surrounding him. The little yellow book might as well have been made of gold, how much it suddenly meant to him.

"Thanks Jeff," he muttered, holding back tears.

"Of course, man," the younger boy nodded and patted a hand on his shoulder. "And if you ever...ever want to talk...you know I'm here. God knows I've talked your ear off plenty."

"Yeah you have," Eddie snarked, earning a scoff.

He was about to pick up a card, ready to begin the slow process of translating it.

However, an idea struck him, and he began flipping through the book.

Not an idea. Words. Simple words that he'd read over and over for years, let alone the last few days.

He reached the page, and he felt his heart grow.

Kocham cie. I love you.

*a handful of cards I had gotten over the years. I (proxied by my mother when I was too young to know) kept them all. The oldest card I have is from my first birthday in 1995. I hope she knows how loved they are.

[irregularcollapse]

Something about your ‘limerance’ au has really stuck with me - all the little snippets you posted have me incredibly intrigued!

I think it’s the outsider POV to the Clegan relationship and how easily their dynamic can be misunderstood, because it’s truly only Gale and John who see each other clearly.

Would love another snippet if you’re still working on it, but otherwise just wanted to let you know that it is living in my head rent free (like all of your fics)!

I actually tried to work on this one the other day!! I got a bit self-conscious about it, but I still like the premise and every time I rewatch parts of MOTA with Curt in them, I’m reminded of how malleable an interpretation of his behaviour around the Buckies can be. I have particular thoughts about the bar scene (and it’s actually this scene that’s the basis for my ideas about past CurtBucky in ITIL).

But okay the limerance fic!! These are the first 500 words (under a cut), because I don’t actually know when I’m going to be finishing it:

The curveball is that this one is fucking blond.

Every other fuck-of-the-month that Bucky has brought round for as long as Curt’s known him—which is a long-ass time—has been a dark-haired slip of a thing. They’ve all without exception been brunette, sometimes curly, sometimes also with blue eyes, and it made good material for ribbing Bucky about his untold levels of narcissism. Curt would tease him, call his hookups The Other Bucky or Clone Kink instead of learning their actual name, and within a month they’d be gone anyway so it didn’t matter.

Then, a week or two later, there’d be another.

This one, though. This one is fucking blond, and though still not quite as tall as Bucky is definitely taller than Curt, and when he speaks he sounds like a cowboy and he moves with the ease of a dancer. They’re always pretty, of course they are, because Bucky has that face and that size and that powerful pull—pheromones, or something—but this one, well. It’s obscene, is what it is. People who go to book launch events aren’t supposed to look like that.

Bucky had asked if Curt wanted to go with him, that night. Curt remembers it, because it was a party at a bookstore for Bucky’s friend Alex and his first graphic novel, but Curt doesn’t know Alex and it honestly sounded like a bit of a drag, so he’d stayed in and played poker with his roommate’s buddies instead. It was only a couple days later, when Curt had asked Bucky if he wanted to grab a beer and see a movie, that Bucky had said, “Can’t. Got a date with a guy from the book party.”

And now, here he is: blond, and pouty-lipped, and golden-lashed, and angle-jawed; husky drawl and easy sprawl and legs long in his jeans. He had his arm spread over the back of a chair while Bucky got him a drink, and he leaves it there after Bucky sits down. The group has been talking around him, the way they’re used to talking around Bucky’s hookups (Curt had caught a raised eyebrow from Benny after they’d walked in together; he’s not the only one who thinks these things), and he hasn’t been making any effort to involve himself anyway. When Bucky sets the drink in front of him, his broad hand then drops to the guy’s thigh, spreading and squeezing. The smile he gives Bucky is a flicker. As Curt watches, Bucky leans in, and he can’t hear it over the noise of the bar from all the way across the table, but he swears that Bucky asks, “You okay?”

The guy smiles a bit wider then, nodding, and Curt’s tongue feels two sizes too big when Bucky smiles back and reaches up with his other hand to cup the guy’s chin. Maybe Curt only notices it because he’s looking, but it sends his ears buzzing when Bucky’s thumb rubs at that pink bottom lip, tracing the curve of it. Curt has never seen him do that before.

[lichbarry]

OKAY SO! WORKING BACKWARDS:

10. Loop/Mal du Pays. They're as far from the same person as you can possibly get. Loop is Changed into a whole new entity that is (initially) unrecognizeable as anyone other than themself. Mal du Pays is an embodiment of specifically Siffrin's Sadness. Regardless of if Mal du Pays actually represents all past Siffrins, Loop as they are would not be included among them, and we have no reason to believe they ever encountered Mal du Pays on their own. That's two different characters.

9. Loop/Comic. Closer, but still different characters on account of Loop's Change. Even more different considering they're in slightly different canons-- the differences between the Comic and Start Again are even more drastic than the differences between Start Again and ISAT. With the Comic as it is (especially since it wrapped itself up pretty nicely, making it explicitly a videogame and introducing NG+ Sif as their own entity), I don't think Loop would have ever come to exist in that canon, so they're pretty much as different as Loop and Mal are (with the exception of that extra layer of removal from the identity of Siffrin.)

8. Start Again/Mal du Pays. Like I said, we have no reason to believe Start Again ever encountered Mal du Pays, nor if they would have gotten to that point before Wishing out. Since Start Again is still Siffrin and Mal is still a projection of Siffrin, they're closer to being the same person than MDP and Loop, but it can still be understood to be not the same character.

7. Sif/Loop. There are plenty of comics and fanfictions that say everything there is to say about the discrepencies of personhood going on here. I'll just point again to Loop's change and their own rejection of Siffrin's identity and leave it there.

6. Comic/Mal du Pays. This one was almost switched with Sifloop, but my uncertainty about what exactly MDP is kept it a little higher up. The thing is that I'm including two other selves as Comic Siffrin-- Comic Sif and NG+ Sif as introduced in the last one. NG+ Sif is not distinct enough to be their own character as much as Loop is, but it's still a different perspective... more importantly, the way NG+ Sif is presented makes it the closest thing Comic Sif has to Mal du Pays. They were cast in the same role, just in two drastically different productions.

5. Sif/Mal du Pays. Again... it's not Sif, but it's the embodiment of their own grief & devastation. They are still distinct entities, but MDP is a direct shadow of them, is made in the negative of their image. I'd say this is even closer to the idea of fucking your evil clone than Sifloop is.

4. Sif/Comic. Now we're really getting into it. Is Comic actually called Siffrin? I don't know. I don't think so, and I don't care enough to scroll through the blog right now trying to find out. But... c'mon. Distinct canons or not, that is so recognizeably the same character. They're two different cosplayers getting called up for "Siffrin" at the photoshoot. They are more than close enough, and they would recognize each other as himself.

3. ISAT/Start Again. It's everything about Sifloop that makes Sifloop selfcest, but without the Loop. There is no Change here. This is, in some ways literally, the same Siffrin before and after clearing their cache. It's the exact same identity in (probably?) the exact same body.

2. Start Again/Comic... I'm actually changing my mind. I don't feel like redoing the tierlist and description but I'm changing my mind. ISAT/Start Again is 2 and Start Again/Comic is 3. Start Again is the Sif that strikes the perfect balance between Comic Sif and NG+ Sif. He's a prologue, he's self-aware to a point, he's becoming his own guide, he's trapped in the futility of it all. He bought into the lie of victory until he didn't but he had no choice but to keep trying. It's literally the same desperation art of him crying out for his Wish.

... But Comic is more of a prototype to Start Again. It's concept art. ISAT and Start again are literally the same canon, the same setting, the same timeline(ish), the same body. Switch these two.

1. Start Again/Loop. HEAR ME OUT. I KNOW WHAT I'VE BEEN SAYING. "Loop is Changed, Loop isn't Siffrin at all, Loop is a completely different character" AND I'M CORRECT!! HOWEVER. ISAT SIFFRIN IS STILL A NEW SIFFRIN. SAME BODY, DIFFERENT CONSCIOUSNESS. ITS LIKE TWO OF THE SAME FICTIVE.

START AGAIN IS LITERALLY LOOP'S PAST. IT'S NOT YOU ANYMORE BUT IT'S YOUR BACKSTORY, BABE. IT'D BE LIKE SHIPPING ISABEAU WITH HIS PRE-CHANGE SELF. LOOP HAS BEEN BURNED AND CONTORTED BEYOND RECOGNITION BUT START AGAIN IS STILL IN THERE, IN THEIR STARDUST, IN THE TASTE OF THEM THAT THE UNIVERSE REMEMBERS. THE MEMORY OF THEM FLICKERS FOR A SPLIT SECOND, WHEN THEY'RE LONGING, WHEN THEY'RE LOSING THEMSELF. THAT'S YOOOOOOOOOUUUUU!!!!

Thank you for coming.

Hi, I made a silly tier list maker where you are given nearly every single possible Frin x Frin variant and you have to rank each pairing from being the most selfcest to the least selfcest through personal reasoning. You can adjust the tiers however you want or use it as is.

[apricitae-world]

BASHFUL DAWN

Xavier is exhausted after fighting against Soren and reliving his past. You try to help. [XAVIER X READER FLUFF]

THIS POST CONTAINS: Xavier X gender neutral reader, angst, fluff, Xavier is implied to have self-esteem issues, talking about feelings, cuddling and snuggling, my take on "Voyage of the Outcast" story chapter.

Enjoy.

BASHFUL DAWN

After the report of the college incident and the device left by Soren, Xavier had been missing from your life. The last day you two spoke seemed like a dream now, when he promised he would tell you everything.

Xavier always lies. Bile rises to your throat right after you wake up in the morning, plagued by the memories of your (boy)friend. Even though Xavier lived literally on the floor above yours, it seemed an invisible wall had been put between you.

You knocked on his door the following afternoon, but no response. You hadn't seem him in the Hunters Association for work either, Captain Jenna's brow furrowed in concern, but brushing it off like a "well earned rest". When you left the apartment to feed the stray cat, there was already a bowl of food in its telltale place. You visit Philos, inquiring poor Jeremiah to where his friend might have been. The man was sweating cold, saying he didn't know. Things reaching a breaking point when you visited your garden, the one you saved from a Wanderer oh so long ago.

It really felt like he was gone from your life, barely any signal of life to say he was there at all.

After a few days of trying to pick yourself up (Tara truly was a wonderful friend to hear your rants and watch your comfort movies), you see a familiar bedhead leaving a convenience store with five bowls of hotpot in hand.

"Xavier?" His lustrous blond hair was now matted and lifeless. His blue, shiny eyes did not reflect any light anymore, and his lovely white sweater, the one you stole and wore so many times, was almost falling from his shoulders.

He looked terrible.

"Hi." He says, still not meeting your gaze. You wanted to yell, scream, grab him by his arms and ask where the hell he has been. Even so, seeing him like this made your anger deflate like a sad balloon. "Are you okay?" You ask.

Xavier lifts his head, shocked. Guess he wasn't expecting that reaction either. "I was the one who ghosted you. I'm the one who is supposed to be making amends." He concludes and falls silent again. "I'm sorry. I keep messing up."

This version of your lover was nothing short of terrible. You had never seem him look so defeated. "Why didn't you reply to me texts? My calls? I dropped by your place so many times." Street lights and car honks were all around you, but you coudn't find yourself to care. In fact, your world seemed just too quiet.

"Let's go to my place. I guess I owe you an explanation." No more words were exchanged during the walk, and maybe you prefered it that way. The last thing you want is to make a fuss in front of the whole building.

The inside of Xavier's apartment was messy. Some dirty dishes here and there, unfinished books scattered around and no calm music playing. His trustworthy cleaning robot, the one he would not stop talking about a while back, layed gathering dust in a corner. The entire place seemed pretty much unrecognizable.

Xavier put some water to boil for his hotpots and sat beside you on the fluffly couch. "The first thing I should do is apologize. No one should go missing like that, especially after what we went through." You hum. A sign for him to keep going. "I tought things would be better if I tried to solve them by myself. No matter what, I want you to be safe. And happy."

"What makes you think I don't want to be part of this? Of finding things out with you?" You squish his face gently between your hands. He goes limp in your hold, content. "It's dangerous, and I don't even know if my plan will work at all."

"If you tell me what the plan is, then I can help you." You say matter-of-factly and raise a brow. Xavier's face scrunches and he laughs. His voice was a little hoarse, but beautiful as always. How you missed that.

"What do I have to say to make you understand we are in this together? Don't think you're getting rid of me so easily." He closes the distance between you, holding all of your body close against his. "I would never want to get rid of you."

Your lovely silence was interrupted by the sound of metal clanking against each other and the smell of something burning. "Xavier! The water for the hotpot!" You both look at each other with newfound horror before sprinting to the kitchen.

Some things never change.

-

The hotpots were delicious, even if you scolded him for eating instant food for a week straight. You both made a promise to clean the apartment on the following day and start putting things in order. Slowly.

"Thank you for being here. And not being mad." You think a little before replying. "I am mad, I won't deny. But I also like you a lot and don't want to lose what we have. If you promise me to be more open about what you want and what you need, we'll be alright."

"Okay. I'll try." Xavier takes a deep breath. "I love you." Thank goodness your boyfriend didn't have a phone right now, because your face was priceless: eyes open and mouth agape. "I love you too."

You two end up sharing a bed that night. His room was messy like the rest of the house, but you promised to fix it in the morning. As so, all the lights were turned off and you hugged Xavier from under the covers. Everything seemed alright in the world.

When the sun arrived the next morning, you two were still holding each other close. No matter how dark the night, there would always be stars to guide the way, and the morning would surely arrive. You hold Xavier a little tighter and drift back to sleep.

WOULD YOU LIKE TO REQUEST A FANFIC, DRABBLE OR FANART? TRY TIPPING ME ON KO-FI! IT HELPS ME BRING MORE CONTENT LIKE THIS IN THE FUTURE:

[xa3r1s]

✧⭑----⋆✩⋆-------⋆ 𝔾𝕌𝕀𝔻𝕀ℕ𝔾 𝕃𝕀𝔾ℍ𝕋 ♡ [l. mark]

⠀⠀ ☆ (⠀ 꽃⠀ ) ...

﹢﹒ ✦⊹﹒..𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗.: “ MARK LEE ; ✧ ”

✦⊹﹒synopsis:ㅤafter getting used to being self-reliant it was really hard to coax you out of your shell but mark's determination didn't wavered. ✦⊹﹒warnings: ㅤsfw, gentle!mark, non-idol!mark, comfort, idk angst?, fluff, skinship, closed off reader, depictions of anxiety and emotional distress, established relationship ✦⊹﹒word count: ㅤ0,9k

a/n.: hi guys! I'm doing a little bit of a self reflection here and I mostly wrote this for my own comfort but I'd like to share it with you all and providing something to help your feelings! I never actually wrote comfort, or something dedicated as that so I wanted to give it a try. Since Mark is a leader too and has a sibling I'm pretty sure he knows how to comfort really well and gosh it is just my dream to be comforted by him.

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you had always found a way to solve your own problems, on your own. after all, you were an adult.

you’d learned early on that your parents wouldn’t always be there, and as the years passed, the distance between you and them grew quietly, steadily. without complaint, you adapted. like most teenagers, you figured out how to take care of yourself and that went on to your adult life.

mark on the other hand, tried to shatter this type of image you built up in your own little bubble, yet still not forcing you to open up to him from one day to another so suddenly. with gentle and steady movements, moving the wall away from brick by brick you had forced around yourself.

still, it wasn’t enough unfortunately to always let your emotions free from the restrains you kept them securely in, making sure no one can access them. so instead, of course you bottled everything up, storing it deep down inside you but when that place filled, the glass cracked. that was when there wasn’t return anymore and the dam broke. when that happened, you distanced yourself further more not just from him but everyone and everything you could that ever tried to help you out and make things better for you.

‘what if he thinks it’s stupid?’

‘i’m probably just overreacting again.’

‘i shouldn’t even bother him with useless things like this’

these toxic thoughts swirled in your mind uncontrollably in the past times, surfacing again and again, making your chest tighten to the very point where your lungs felt like they could rip from between your ribs. breathing normally seeped into a complicated task and just gasping for air over and over to no avail. your throat tightening and burning with every sip of oxygen, ringing getting painfully loud in your ears and the word almost spun around you. your fingertips itched, your cheeks burned red, everything seemed so blurry and your eyes unfocused when the gentle scratch of his tone perked up your attention.

“stop that.” the voice came behind you, persistent yet smooth and velvety soothing your stiff and aching nerves, putting all the effort he could to not have you spiral further. snapping your head back in the matter of milliseconds, you met with firmness in his eyes, your own dilating at the small surprise he caused you just now.

clenched your fists on your sides, your feet felt like taking root in the kitchen’s hard and cold beige tiles.

his expression stoic as his intense gaze made you think he saw right into your soul, which in fact was true, he knew you more than himself by now, of course, when his main focus was rarely on himself anyway. with determination he reached out, taking both of your hands in his, his hold so gentle and caring. the sheer contrast in his behavior made you wonder about this man: how could he be so firm and still so caring. putting your well being above everything else that mattered for him, his pure focus was on you.

“your hands are trembling.” to his words, your eyes flicking down to the grasp as he held you in steadily, realizing that he was right. at this point you yourself was stunned at the reactions your body was giving out.

you opened your mouth in the intention of providing an answer for him but unfortunately nothing came out. your lips trembled as you did your best to stay composed, your head turned towards the floor, intently scanning the floor.

“you don’t have to say anything.” small steps. he took small steps towards you with quiet but reassuring words and actions, carefully approaching your closed away zone you were fearing from others. “don’t say anything, just look at me, okay? i’m right here..” he muttered, one of his hand making its way to the side of your face, resting gently against it, the pad of his thumb brushed back and forth on your smooth skin, writing down small circles in an attempt to soothe your further. in- and out exhale suddenly became easier, as if a heavy rock got lifted from your shoulders, everything becoming more clear and focused.

rewarding him with a small nod as he angled your head to gaze into his orbs, his eyebrows narrowed as he contemplated on what to say now.

“i’m here. you don’t need to tell me about anything if it’s something you don’t want to.. that’s all you need to know, i’ll always be here.” and in that second, he embraced you in a warm hug, guiding your head by placing a palm on your nape and your face coming to rest in the side of his neck, providing comfort.

“you don’t need too..” was all you could muster up as a response, voice faint and unsteady. just a small push was enough to make everything spill right now to the surface. it would have you messy and ugly, sobbing like a child.

“but I want to.” yeah, you’re right. iIt would be unappealing and very, very sloppy. but it would be his, just like your problems you thought you had to solve alone, he felt the overwhelming need to worry himself about it too. it was his mission to have you melt into his arms and comfort and hold you at any time you needed to be comforted and held. it wasn’t just you, all along. it was with him. and it will be you two tomorrow too and always.

▚▚ @xa3r1s ▚▚ my works belongs to me! do not translate them, copy them or publish them on another site.

[letteredlettered]

Away Childish things was fantastic! One part that wasn't focused on but intrigued me anyway was Dudley. He seemed genuinely concerned about Harry's well-being and I wonder how he would have reacted to child!Harry and how he would treat him if he had to look after him for a while.

Thanks, I'm glad you liked this fic.

I think that if the Dudley in this fic had to deal with child Harry, he'd work hard to make sure Harry was safe and cared for. That said, I don't think he's necessarily realized and dealt with everything that was done to Harry when Harry was a child. Some things he would realize once he has to take care of Harry (oh shit, my parents really kept him in a cupboard, didn't they?), but other things I don't think he would pick up on the way that Draco eventually picked up on them. I think that Draco understands more about accidental magic, how a child feels when they do extreme things with accidental magic, and he's also heard horror stories about how Muggles can treat children who are magical.

Meanwhile, Dudley would have some moments where he thinks Harry is being his really annoying childhood self. He'd also have moments where he thinks Harry is being his really annoying scaredy cat self for no reason, moments where he thinks Harry is being obtuse or dull on purpose. It would be hard for him to see that his mum and dad actually made Harry afraid.

But also, Harry himself would just be different. I think with kid!Harry in Away Childish Things, you get to see Harry be with a magical stranger who took him away from his horrible childhood. If the person who took him away from his horrible childhood was an adult version of someone who made his childhood horrible, I think Harry would be pretty difficult to handle. He'd probably try to run away a lot, and maybe Dudley would let him, and try to contact someone from the magical world who would be better suited to it.

[bitchthefuck1]

The thing that really kills me about Logan is that his kids are disappointing and ultimately unfit to be CEO, and it's not just that they're like that because he made them like that, but that they're like that because he wants them to be that way.

For all his talk about them being spoiled or coddled and his rant in the S3 finale that getting cut out of running Waystar is their chance to "be your own man" and build something themselves, he has spent the entire show actively undermining any attempt of theirs to do that. Shiv stays out and works in politics, but as soon as she joins a big campaign that could actually distinguish her from her family, he tells her he wants to make her CEO. He offers to buy Kendall out of his shares, but as soon as Kendall tries to take the offer and cut himself out, he refuses. He says he wants them out of the business and doing their own thing, and then as soon as they start actually doing that and buy Pierce, he tries to get Roman back.

The fact of the matter is that as much as he might claim to want a "real" heir, what he really wants is to never need one and for his children to stay children: incomplete, incapable, and under his thumb.

[angelsdean]

ruthlessly deleting old 2021/2022 posts (not by me) from my dean studies tag like *click* un-incorporating that from my beliefs system! also the way SO many posts have me like ok uh-huh good aaand then say one completely wrong thing that loses me. it's so many posts.

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Of my 2% capacity to be attracted to anyone, my type is like 90% women, 5% pretty men and 5% men you would swear are super fucking manly, and never questioned being straight and cis, but are now suddenly *stressed* that they can't figure out why their attraction to me [fully socially interpreted as a woman and labelled that way up until relatively recently] feels incredibly fucking gay

[sysig]

Physical media is forever (Patreon)