#i might color some of these if i feel like it

[quarterlifekitty]

König and Domestic Silk Moth Hybrid!Reader

Due to popular demand (about 4 people)

Context: in this one, I’m having König stay human and having hybrids in a pet role. As an insect hybrid, I’m making her small AF (like 2-3 ft tall). I did consider making her Barbie sized tho 👀. So this is gonna have size kink bordering on micro/macro just so you know!

König is stuck on medical leave, and pretty damned miserable. He sustained a break that’s put him out of commission for a while. He’s never spent so long in his empty home, and it’s driving him insane. He’s spent basically his entire adult life married to his work, so he’s woefully unprepared to keep himself entertained.

And despite being something of a loner most times, he misses the noise. He misses the bodies and conversation. He and Horangi have a phone call every so often, and text as frequently as the work allows, but that only takes up so much time in the day.

And it’s Horangi that suggests a hybrid.

That’s something that he could throw himself into to keep occupied, as well as giving company. And unlike a pet, a hybrid would be able to be mostly self sufficient whenever he returned to work.

(Horangi doesn’t want to say if he returns. But König is not a young man, and has sustained a serious injury. There’s a chance that even if he heals, he won’t be the same as before. Combined with his rank, it won’t be huge surprise if he’s pressured or forced into retirement if his utility is limited.)

König is apprehensive— so he doesn’t want something quite as needy as a cat or dog hybrid, where he’d have to deal with heats and noise. And Horangi happens to have an old friend, retired, who raises domestic silk moth hybrids with his newfound free time. You’re picked to be offered up, freshly cut from your thick silk cocoon.

And for König, it’s love at first sight.

You’re very pretty. Fluffy white fur, big, dark, eyes. And so small. You barely come up to his hip, and raise your arms, asking to be lifted. It’s only then that he learns domesticated silk moths are flightless, their wings are pretty but unable to fly. It makes him feel a little bit of kinship with you. Restricted movement, denied purpose.

And basically his life revolves around you from that point. König doesn’t have many involved or expensive hobbies, so he has a lot of time and resources to devote to your care. You’re something of a niche pet, so it’s a little difficult to find things made for you. He resorts to commissions. Don’t fucking look at his Etsy purchase history.

You live your life perched on his shoulders or in his arms (you’re much too small to keep up with him). He’s a little afraid of letting you in his bed at night, he doesn’t want to roll over and crush you by accident, but you keep crawling under his covers anyways. You can’t help having cocooning behavior.

He’s constantly sitting you on ledges. On the sink while he shaves, on the counter when he cooks, on his desk when he works. You’ve always gotta be within arms reach for petting purposes.

And the petting, the kissing… he’s so addicted to the contact. He’s been alone for so long, and you’re so soft.

And that just leads to him getting more and more curious about your body. You don’t mind— you love him! And he loves his little Seidenmotte.

He’s beyond delicate with you. You’re so small— he has to work you up quite a bit before he can even fit a finger into your cute little pussy.

God it makes him hard how he can pin you down by the stomach with just one hand. And you make these little pips and squeaks when he fingers you— it’s just too cute for words. He totally shares some pictures with Horangi as thanks. (Which might lead to a couple of other colorful character asking to see pictures of you).

Usually he fucks your soft, fuzzy thighs to get off. He’s so warm and heavy against your clit, his cockhead practically reaching your chest. He paints your tits with white, pearly ribbons that glisten against the fuzz of your chest.

If you’re on top, he likes watching your useless wings beat while you slide your wet little cunt over him, the ridge of his head making you shiver when it bumps against your clit. You usually end up making yourself cum once or twice, and when you’re too tired and sensitive to move yourself he’ll grab your waist and grind you against him, using you like a toy to get himself off.

You don’t spread your wings often, but when you do, it leaves a little bit of moth dust behind from the tiny scales you shed. König thinks it’s so cute to see it against his bedsheets— it’s like glittery fresh snow, proof of how excited he made you.

[weepingchronicles]

Hi! I saw your requests are open, so could you please do a Jinx x fem! Reader where the reader gets hurt badly after a fight (maybe after episode 6?) and almost dies? How would Jinx react? And make it angsty and fluffy please. Thank you! 🩵

a/n: aaa i didn't know if you wanted yandere or not but i did it anyways, i am very sorry if you didn't want yan!jinx. i didn't know if you meant season one or two but to be honest i couldn't remember anything anyways so this is just a made up fight! hope you dont mind <3

❝yandere!jinx x fem!reader getting injured❞

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Believe it or not, Jinx drops everything once she notices you are hurt, especially if it is critical. Of course, if she is distracted by the fighting and adrenaline of a fight, it might take her awhile to notice until you collapse or the fight is over. I imagine pre-shimmer Jinx would be more attentive and notices if you are hurt even a bit.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 But basically, she drops everything and would rush to your side nonetheless. She will kneel by your side, assessing your injuries. Oh god, that is a lot of blood. Since when did you have so many wounds?

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Thousands of thoughts swarm around her head. She is so scared of losing you, she can't lose another person she loves. She just can't. Voices of her adoptive brother's voice ring through her head and even Silco's. Saying things like how she just hurts everyone around her, this was bound to happen eventually. No wonder Vi didn't want her to come on the mission. She's a jinx.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Thankfully, the marching and yells of incoming enforcers awakens her from her delusions. She scoops you in her arms pretty easily and rushes home to save you.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 But as she is racing away with you in tow, she looks down seeing your colored eyes begin to gloss over and droop, your skin getting colder and colder. No.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Without much thought she rushes you to Singed. He helped Silco save her, why couldn't he now?

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Once you fully awaken you are not the same. The surgery was a success but your mind feels almost split into two. Your mind conjured the most horrible memories and distorted them into something worse. But Jinx was beside you through all of it.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 You find your head laying in Jinx's lap, her painted nails twirling some strands of your hair between her fingers. She notices you, "Oh! You're awake!" She jumps and sit you upright. She is smiling but something in her face makes you believe she is worried, worried for you. Her motions are more jittery than usual.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 She brings you a small makeup compact excitedly and open it up, showing your reflection through the small mirror. Your eyes were not the same color anymore. Instead they were a magenta color, something unnatural and not you. It almost reminds you of— "Now we match!" Jinx exclaims excitedly, as if you'd be happy.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 "What did you do to me, Jinx?" You focus your gaze back onto her, feeling anger rising in your bones.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Jinx scrunches her face, "What did I do? I saved you!" she says, practically snarling at your accusatory tone. She stands, throwing the makeup compact harshly at you.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 "You were going to bleed out in my arms so quit looking me like I'm some.. some monster!" Her voice breaks on the last note, showing her insecurity. You knew all about Jinx's past, about Vi.. Vander. You promised to never do the same thing to her.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 You take a deep breath in. reassessing your situation. Yes, you were.. different but you were fine, right? Your wound were gone and in fact, you felt more alive than before. More hyper-aware, like you are a fresh eyed baby seeing the world new again.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 "I'm.. I'm sorry, Jinx. I just feel so confused.. and different." You hunch over, cradling your own head in your arms.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Jinx's look pities, all tension disappearing at the sight of your struggle. She knew exactly what it felt like, how violating it felt.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 She kneels down in front of you, looking up and gently removing your hands from your face. "I know, I know what you must feel. But I promise. . I wouldn't have done it if I didn't have no other choice. Please."

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 You lean down, pressing your forehead to Jinx's in an act of understanding and. . affection. "I believe you, thank you for saving me. We will get through this together, okay?" Jinx nods hurriedly, her eyes all wide and thankful.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 The rest of that day was spent with lots of cuddles and talking, maybe this new you wasn't that bad as long as you have Jinx.

a/n: why was this kind of a soft yandere for jinx? oh well. . it was really cute!! i hope you enjoyed :3

[kr-starz]

Actually never gonna stop thinking about the cut out scene where Jinx and Ekko where they’re fucking painting on each other and then Ekko tells Jinx about the alt universe,

Like I genuinely can’t stop thinking about who marked who first, this was probably Jinx deciding that everything on that air ship needed some decoration, and that included her and Ekko.

Just imagining how Jinx probably marked Ekko first with her blue and Ekko retaliated, turning into a whole thing, just imagining the brush trailing down to her waist and she’s never been ticklish but it feels stupid to let someone get so close to her, but he’s so enamored with getting the strokes of paint right; he doesn’t look anything more than an artist fawning over the blank canvas he could create just about anything with.

Holy shit the fact Ekko’s wearing a crop 😞😞

The X’s on their chest were definitely them js marking their territory im so sorry, they really wanted to show people that they were together, either in a partner in crime, or friendship or romantic sense they wanted to show that they had the other in one way or another and I can just imagine the little details. Jinx smearing an X on Ekko’s chest, and he draws out a big X on her chest in return. They giggle, and the paint gets smudged. But that’s just all the more color.

I also can imagine just how the marking each other in the other’s colors would go, Ekko would talk about how even if she doesn’t think she is, she’s one of Ekko’s people now, which means he has to do everything to protect her; and they both kind if just settle into the fact that they’re something worth fighting for, their community and what the other stands for is worth fighting for. Ekko smears his signature green on her, and he says it’s to show that she’s just as much as his as he is her partner in this getaway.

Not to mention Ekko pierces his ears, after Ekko manages to slide in how he knew Jinx in another universe, a girl who was happy and content with what she had, she was beautiful and smart, and kind. And she wasn’t any more Powder, or Jinx than the girl in front of him right then an there.

And then the conversation shifts, after Jinx probably realizes that she’s capable of being kind, she had Isha, she knows how kind and caring she can be. He might mention how they were together in that universe, how so beautiful it was to simply love something. And Jinx probably grins, asking why in the world would she be with him. And he snickers, shaking his head not knowing why either, but he goes on to mention the little details like the way his ears are pierced, the way his hair was done differently, the way he was an inventor.

Jinx pops her head up, leaning in close and Ekko feels his breath leave his lungs. She says that he would look good with piercings. He tilts his head, asks if she’s just trying to flatter him. She’s not one to give compliments so she grins and tells him if she was trying to flatter him she’d already have him at that point. They both chuckle, and Jinx mentions how she could pierce his ears for him. Nervous, Ekko isn’t sure if that’s the safest option, yet he nods anyway.

He squirms like a little kid getting a shot, squeezing his eyes shut as he feels a pinch on his left, then another on his right, and before he knew it, there were pretty gems on both his ears. Jinx cheers, asking if he likes it, leaning on the back of the chair he’s sitting in, her grinning face peeking in through Ekko’s reflection and he feels himself smiling. He loves it.

[kentnaturaltribrid]

For one: I’d like to complete throughly the project with the red and black colors of the Timberwolves and with the last two pieces on the pile make maybe a Set of Wallets or Some other form of Holding essential items. Finished up most of the project with the pieces, but I have no clue as to where the rest of the pieces should fit in. I was thinking bags, but then realized that might be out of The Materials needed for a whole project, well except for the leftovers and everything in the pile. Then again still feeling the Containers in some way for essential things, but haven’t really dug into lately what to do with the remaining pieces since both of them need to find a place and there’s only until Next year of December to figure everything out. Mostly the goal is to get everything else finished before then. Especially the pile, which means still thinking of possibly 12 by well maybe 3 or 12. Still thinking on the size. Especially since one of the sides needs to be somewhere between a 4 and 6 for good space. Thinking of designing something with at least one core other color for a base, one that can handle either a red or white. As well as the Red/Black. Though, still thinking, might go with Purple or Blue if there’s any other colors left for the pile, possibly Green or Teal, but as far as the theme goes still got pieces that are already in need of some sort of themed area of color that sets the rest apart and the pieces themselves appear well enough balanced. Still thinking and it’s pretty tough considering the size is still needed to be less than much else in size, smaller than 15 in much regards but that’s about it. Though, thinking since it’s going to have to take up the space for at least a 12 inch long on one side and then for the pieces at least a good 4 inch that will take up maybe or even at least an inch tall well enough heightened pieces that they have to be in full about 3 inches roughly in height and Ontop of that wide about an inch or 2. Then again they’re supposed to be a decorative piece on the item, but visually appearing strong enough for that there’s no need for extra detail that I know of anyway.

Speaking of which, it needs to preface and preform its own visuals as to the context of the project and the process, that which meaning it must be visual appearance in the project itself and not overlooked in being a detail design wise and visual seeking style of at least a resolution.

reblog with one creative goal that you would like to pursue in 2025 in the tags

it doesn’t have to be ‘big’ and there is no pressure to complete said goal. but i’d love to hear from writers, artists, performers, academics, designers, coders, and so on! 🤍

if it’s a creative outlet, it’s included. let’s inspire each other ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

[not-rigel]

The color Blue

warnings: SAD, I cried writing this, sevika mourning isha, descriptions of grief

WC: 830

Sevika is sitting in her office, sifting through documents when theres a knock at her door. She grants whoever is there entry. They enter the room carrying a package, it's an expensive looking box and Sevika rolls her eyes at how gaudy it looks. Leave it to Piltover to make their packages fancy for no good reason.

"From the Kirraman estate,"  the delivery person tells her. She hasn't interacted with Caitlyn in months, not since they fought deep in the underground. The arrival of a package puzzles her. But she's had too a long day of failing to agree with the other councilmembers to care too much about anything right now.

Sevika nods to a chair, "Set it over there."

The delivery person sets the box onto the chair then hurriedly leaves the room. Sevika resumes reading over the documents until her eyes hurt and her head aches. She was questioning her strength, how much longer she could handle councilors barring her progress whenever they could. Everytime she felt she was making strides in securing Zaun's future, they'd band against her and dismiss her proposals. She could handle their looks of disgust, she could handle when they mentioned her past with Silco, but she couldn't handle the pressure. She has to do something right by her people or what was the point in being a councilor at all?

Sevika shoves all the papers from her desk, dispirited from all her recent failures. She was so alone and she was falling apart all over again, just like when Silco died. She shoves the emotion down, not allowing herself to feel it until she was ready to unbox it.

Sevika looks over at the package, thinking that she might need the distraction. She leaves her desk, walking over to the chair the box in sat in. She has some trouble getting it open, only having one arm. She can't wear her mechanical arm while up Topside, it's been considered a weapon and banned.

Eventually the package breaks open and what's inside breaks her. Her entire body is uncomfortably hot, like someone replaced all her blood with lightning. Inside the box was Isha's little hat. It was more tattered and torn than it was the last time she saw it. Gods, what did her little baby go through? Tucked next to her hat, was a letter. 

Sevika plucks the letter from the box, unfolding the paper to read the contents.

"I went back to where it happened. Not that I could change anything but just to remember. I ended up finding this and I couldn't just leave it there. I'm sorry I couldnt save her. I heard what she is to you so maybe you need this more than I do.

-Vi"

The note begins to blur then Sevika realizes she is crying. Her tears continue to obscure her vision and wet the letter, smudging the words. She tries to wipe them away with her wrist but new tears replace them immediately.

She can't do this right now, can't have these emotions. She can't breathe. Each word on the paper, each feeling she shoved below her chest came back without permission to choke her. They wrapped their fingers around her throat and wouldn't let go, no matter how much she scratched at then. She needs to fight this off, needs to survive the threat trying to kill her.

Sevika throws her body around, throws anything she can grab. There's no point in it, just run and push and shove until the grief releases its chokehold. But it's not letting go. She can't hear the bookshelf crashing onto the floor, just sees her hand shoving item after item. This usually worked, why wasn't it working this time?

The grief weakens her and she sinks into the floor, not able to stop the tears. It's the worst pain she's felt. But as soon as she lays on the floor, grabbing Isha's hat from where she left it and holds it to her chest, the grief stops choking her. Instead it hugs her back. Isha was too sweet, too beautiful.

Sevika reminisced the moments they had together. Where Isha would fall asleep in her arms, head resting on her shoulder. When Sevika would tease Isha for practically being Jinx's shadow. How Isha mimicked Sevika, making a little cardboard arm to fit over her own and they'd playfight.

Sevika is so proud of Isha but so angry that she was so familiar with violence. Sevika tried all she could to keep her away from it. But that little girl couldnt stay away. Or maybe violence couldnt stay away from her. Maybe violence chased Isha until peace took her.

Sevika forgets time as she remembers Isha for the first time, thinking of every beautiful thing that little girl was. Isha was the color blue. Isha was little rabbit ears. Isha was a head nuzzling into her shoulder. Isha was the reason Sevika fought. Isha is the reason Sevika fights.

[dreamsteddie]

Companion piece to my Stobin childhood friends au post because try as I might to resist it, the Steddie brain rot will take over.

Robin and Steve are thick as thieves from that first day of preschool. Their matching friendship bracelets don't fit anymore and have found homes in their "secret friendship treasure chest" which is a shoe box covered in construction paper decorations that lives under Robin's bed so Steve's parents don't throw away any of his "trash" again. They've started a tradition of making a new one for each other at the start of every year so everyone remembers they're best friends, though.

Halfway through first grade (Robin got to start school a year early like the Buckleys hoped) things are going great for Robin. She gets to bring books home from the library and their teacher complimented her drawing of a robin and she helped Steve pass his spelling test last week, so as far as she's concerned this is the best year ever.

Right up until Eddie Munson transfers to their school.

At first, Robin doesn't know that Eddie will be her arch-nemesis. When he's introduced to the class, all she really thinks about him is that he looks a little funny but seems nice. He's got really big eyes and he's taller than most of the other kids with long, gangly limbs. His hair is shaved down to his head, but there are other boys in class who are the same. He gets placed at the table group to the left of them in the chair closest to Steve's.

She very quickly forgets about him as the day continues as normal. Robin thinks math block is boring, she'd much rather read her books or play with Steve at recess but her parents said knowing your shapes is important, so she pays extra special attention. That's why she doesn't catch the little wave Steve, ever the social butterfly, gives to the boy across the way or the way Eddie's eyes go even bigger and a soft blush steals across his cheeks.

What she does notice is when Eddie comes up to them in the last few precious minutes of recess slightly sweaty and out of breath holding a little white daisy.

"Hi! I'm Eddie, I'm new!" he says, shouting really, looking directly at Steve.

"Oh, hi Eddie! I'm Steve, this is my bestest friend, Robin." Steve replies.

"Like the bird?" Eddie asks.

"Yeah! They're orange."

"And I hate orange!" Robin buts in, not willing to be left out of the conversation

"Yeah, it's really sad. They should be blue, that's Robin's favorite color." Steve says, real disappointment creeping into his voice. "Who's that for?" he asks, pointing to the forgotten daisy.

"Oh! It's for you! I was out all recess looking for the best one in the field. They kind of match your shirt!' Eddie says proudly, referencing Steve's polo with the yellow body and white sleeves. It's one of his favorites.

"Really? That's so nice, thank you!" Steve exclaims as he takes the little flower into his hands.

Robin's mom says that sometimes when you want to be someone's friend, it's good to start by giving them something nice. Robin's mom says that she should try and make more friends, maybe some girls instead of just Steve, but when Robin tries to talk to the other girls in class, she gets nervous and clams up. She thinks she might be allergic to them. Plus, why would she need more friends when she has Steve, who is worth at least three normal friends.

Steve gets along with everyone, he lends people erasers and pencils and shares his blocks with the other kids when he's allowed to bring them out of his cubby, but no one is his best friend like Robin is.

No one has ever given Steve flowers before, though. That feels like an extra special kind of gift that someone would give if they wanted to be really good friends, and Robin doesn't want that. Steve is her best friend, he doesn't need another one.

"Steve, we gotta go get in line before all the other kids! We don't want to be last!" she blurts out, grabbing Steve by the hand and dragging him across the asphalt to where the teachers are getting ready to call everyone to get in line before Eddie can catch up.

Once they've got their places, she looks back at Steve behind her to see he's turned around. She peaks her head around him and sees him smiling wide at an equally smiley Eddie who's about 5 kids behind them, each of them waving happily at each other.

Oh yeah, Robin is going to have to keep an eye on him.

[callsign-rogueone]

an unexpected visitor

cadet!Brennan Sorrengail x cadet!reader words: 1.6k 🏷: sfw (taking a break from the overdue kinktober stuff!), canon-typical injury, why do rider cadets always try to kill each other at 3am, you get stabbed, sorry, but Bren mends you up, no pronouns used for reader but you wear feminine pj's and smell like flowers <3, bren just met you but he's already down bad, naolin cameo, marbh is sassy, i just love writing lil cadet bren.

“Find Brennan Sorrengail.”

It takes you a second to place the name -- the boy in your year with the mending signet. The general’s son. He’s not in your squad, or even in your wing, so he has every right to put you out of your misery — but something is screaming at you that you can trust him, that he’ll help you. He wouldn’t have become a mender if he didn’t have a good heart, right? Surely he wouldn’t leave you to die, or finish you off himself to thin the herd.

You’ll die without his help anyway, so it’s worth a shot.

“You are not dying today. I will not allow it.”

“How exactly are you going to—”

The door swings open, and you thank the gods that you remembered which room was his. 

He’s visibly confused, probably because he doesn’t even know your name, and you’re knocking on his door at three in the morning in neglige��. He blinks at you once, twice, about to ask why you’re here — and then he spots the knife currently sticking out of your ribcage.

“Please,” you rasp, clinging to the doorway with a bloodied hand. “Wasn’t gonna make it to the healers…” 

He doesn’t hesitate, tossing his own blade aside, yanking a towel down from the hook by the door and throwing it over the bedspread, guiding you to lay down with a gentle hand on your elbow. 

You cry softly as the movement shifts the knife, and he murmurs an apology as you lay back, helping lower you down. Your eyes lock with his, and for a moment you’re entranced by the flickers of emotion in them, the minute movements of his pupils as he takes you in… you've never seen anyone with irises that color, such a warm, rich amber.

He pulls away first, focusing back on the issue at hand. “Can I tear this? I’ll fix it later.”

It takes a second for you to realize that he’s talking about your shirt. “Sure,” you wheeze. 

He hooks his fingers into the split from the knife and pulls, the fabric ripping easily. He’s quick to drape another towel over your chest, letting you keep some decency. 

You really should have chosen better clothing — you’re a little embarrassed to be laying on his bed in a now-shredded pink satin teddy and a tiny pair of shorts, but in your defense, when you got out of bed to relieve yourself, you didn’t think you’d be getting into a knife fight, and then knocking on a near-stranger’s door to ask him to save your life. 

He doesn’t seem to care at all, more worried about the wound than anything else. He’s not telling you anything, but the crease between his eyebrows and the tone of his voice as he mutters a few colorful words gives it all away. 

“Is it bad?” you rasp.

“The blood is bubbling. That means the knife went through your lung.”

“Oh,” you say hollowly. Talking is agonizing, but you feel the need to fill the silence, to make this interaction any less awkward. “This is my first time being stabbed, so…”

He huffs out a laugh. “You’re doing great. It’s serrated, so it’s going to do more damage coming out than it did going in, but I should be able to fix it. It might scar, though. I’m not that good yet.”

“I’ll take those odds.”

“I need two hands for this, so I can’t block the pain.”

“Just do it,” you beg, tears already flowing down your cheeks. “Please.”

He settles a warm hand on your side, wrapping the other around the hilt. “Ready?” 

“Yes, please just get it over with—” you try to muffle your scream with your hand, but it still slips out into the air as he starts to ease the knife back out, the jagged edges ripping your skin further.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he soothes, his thumb stroking over your rib as he continues to pull slowly, slowly… then there’s a clatter of metal hitting the floor. “It’s out.”

You almost regret asking him to remove it. The cold air of the room hitting the inside of the wound feels like your skin has been lit on fire, and somehow breathing is even more difficult than it was before; the blade was plugging the hole in your lung, and now it feels like you’d just accidentally inhaled half a glass of water. You bring an elbow up to cough into, your eyes widening as you realize that the metallic taste in your mouth is blood — and the warmth pouring down your side, too.

“Fuck, okay… I’m gonna try to fix it now. Just hold on for me. Try to relax.”

You sob in relief as the pain dulls, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to focus on anything other than the burning feeling in your lungs, and not being able to breathe. 

Layer by layer, the wound joins itself back together, leaving only a pink scar behind. Your breaths even out, your eyes fluttering shut and your posture relaxing.  “That’s it,” he soothes. “I’m almost done.”

You don’t respond, and he realizes you’re unconscious. Not an abnormal reaction to having such a serious wound, but a slightly inconvenient one: he can’t ask you what happened, or if you have any other serious injuries. 

The fabric slowly stitches itself back together, the bloodied patches disappearing along with the dried blood coating your skin. The stained towel and the red under his fingernails are the only evidence that anything had happened. That, and the bruise on your arm — though that looks to be a few days old. 

Whoever attacked you must have snuck up on you, thinking one quick stab would finish the job. If they were coward enough to take such a cheap shot at someone in the middle of the night, they’re probably dumb enough to think that would kill you. He wonders if they met their demise, and they’re currently laying dead in the hallway, or if they made an escape. You probably didn’t let them get away with this. You don’t seem like the type to run away from a fight, especially when the other person struck first, and when you’d shown up at his door it didn’t look like you were being chased, either. 

He fades away the bruise and a papercut on your finger, admiring the softness of your skin against his. You’re warm, which is a good sign that you didn't lose too much blood. 

You look quite comfortable laid out on the side of his bed, your head resting on your arm and your legs tucked up toward your chest. You probably aren’t going to wake up any time soon. It’s nearly four in the morning, anyway, and you need as much sleep as you can get after tonight’s events. 

He carefully climbs in on the other side, giving you plenty of room, and pulls the blankets over the pair of you. You stir, burrowing down into the warmth with a soft, content sound. 

He watches you for a moment, comforted by the steadiness of your breathing. Might as well get some sleep, he decides — formation is in less than three hours.

———————————————————-

Thankfully you’re an early riser. The only thing that could make this any more awkward would be if he had to wake you up. 

You yawn and stretch, cracking an eye open to see that his face is only a foot away from yours. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he replies, a light blush covering his cheeks. “How are you feeling?”

“Well, I don’t have a knife sticking out of me anymore, so pretty good.”

He exhales in relief. “I was worried that you wouldn’t remember, and then this would be super awkward.”

You laugh, sitting up. “Thank you for saving my life and letting me crash — and I’m sorry. It was pretty dumb of me to walk down the hall without a knife or anything. I thought we were safe now that we’re bonded, but I guess not.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault, it’s theirs.” He pauses. “Did you…”

“No,” you answer. “I didn’t kill him. Just knocked him out.”

Him? Brennan’s jaw clenches. “Was it that prick from third wing?”

“How did you know?”

“Lucky guess. He seems like the type to go after someone unarmed and unaware. Especially someone half his size.”

You snort. “Seeing the look on his face at formation is going to be so fun.”

He blinks at you, questioning how calm you’re being about this. You take advantage of his stunned silence, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you. I owe you one. Two, really.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he manages. 

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, making a graceful drop to the floor and bending down to pick up your slippers -- he’d straightened them up for you. How sweet. You spot the knife on his desk, nodding toward it. “Do you want this, or can I keep it as a souvenir?”

“You can keep it. You earned it, after all.”

“Good point. Thanks.”

He keeps his eyes on the wall as you slip out the door, trying to look at anything except the amount of skin that shows in that little pajama set you’re wearing.

As the door closes behind you, he can hear you greeting someone -- not embarrassed at all to be walking down the hall in your pajamas, your slippers in one hand and the dagger in the other.

He flops back down onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling and replaying the interaction in his head, analyzing every word for any hint of deeper meaning. 

“Good morning.”

He jolts upright, snapped out of his thoughts. “Gods above, Marbh,” he pants, recovering from the shock. 

“You’re going to be late.”

Is it possible for a dragon to sound smug?

There’s a knock at the door before it opens -- Naolin. “Why aren’t you dressed?” He sniffs once, twice, his eyebrows creasing in confusion. “And why does it smell like rose petals in here?”

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Oops, my hand slipped.

Even at his absolute lowest, the points in his life where he could barely meet his own eyes in the mirror, the days when he thought he would choke on the self-loathing that enveloped him…he'd never actually believed God hated him. He wasn't sure he believed in God at all, honestly, ‘no atheists in a foxhole’ jokes aside. But if there was a God, he didn't believe that He was wasting time hating on Thomas Kinard for liking dick, no matter what hellfire rhetoric his father and grandmother spewed at him before disowning him. 

Looking at the person the incident commander, in their infinite wisdom, directed him to pair up with on scene, he decided that, no. No. There was a God. 

And he fucking hated Tommy Kinard. 

Evan–Buck. Buck was not supposed to be on shift tonight. He'd requested the time off months ago, had made elaborate plans with his sister to host a Thanksgiving feast at the Buckley-Han house for everyone at the 118 who could swing the holiday. There had been color coded charts in his kitchen, menus, recipe cards, and schedules that were more complex than some war plans Tommy had seen in his day. It was going to be a goddamn Michelin star experience. Even if it somehow wasn't, it would have been amazing.

It would have been the first big holiday gathering they'd attended together. Their first big family holiday as a couple. 

“Tommy!” Evan–Buck. Buck, damn it. He'd done this, he'd made the choice, he had to live with it. He didn't have the right to call him Evan anymore. Buck looks startled. 

Then for just a moment, just a moment he lit up. The bright, open happiness that Tommy had been stupid enough to get used to, stupid enough to get addicted to, stupid enough to start wondering if he might get to keep, washed through Buck's face. His eyes, still as blue as the clearest summer skies Tommy had ever flown through, sparkled, his lips quirked into the sunshine-bright grin that always made Tommy want to kiss him, feel that warmth against his mouth. For just a moment, he looked as happy as he always did to see Tommy. 

Then it was over. 

Between one heartbeat and the next, the happiness disappeared like the sun vanishing behind a cloud. A cold, professional mask slammed down over Buck's face. His eyes went flat and hard as ice, and his whole posture seemed to…change. Without moving an inch, Buck withdrew completely from him. It was what he was expecting. What he wanted, he reminded himself. It fucking hurt. 

“I thought you were off tonight,” Buck said, his voice completely neutral. Completely polite. Completely professional. 

Tommy hated it. 

“Uh…thought you were too,” he said lamely. 

The mask slipped, and for just an instant, Tommy was treated to a Buck who just looked…sad. Weighed down by the kind of sadness that made minutes feel like hours, and hours feel like years. The kind of sadness that pulled at you, always dragging you down, down, down, made you feel heavy and tired, no matter how much you slept, how much you rested. Tommy was familiar with the look. It stared back at him from his mirror every day. 

“Danziger’s mom went into hospice last week. Probably isn’t going to make it to Christmas…Bobby put out a call for anyone willing to trade him shifts so he can get as much time with the family as possible.” Buck shrugged. “And I wasn’t really in the mood to–” His mouth shut with an audible click, and the cold, professional mask wobbled a little. “Anyway.” 

Tommy could guess the rest of the sentence well enough. The sickeningly familiar mixture of guilt and want washed through him. Guilt because he’d done this. He’d made this sweet, incredible man feel like being around his family for Thanksgiving would hurt so much that he’d gone looking for extra shifts. Want because it was supposed to be different. 

He should’ve spent the day watching Ev–Buck run around his kitchen like a madman, stepping in to distract him in the best ways possible when it looked like he was starting to take the flakiness of the pie crust too seriously. He should’ve been cracking jokes about his contribution being the wine and the eye candy, should’ve been exchanging knowing looks with Howie over the heads of their respective Buckleys when they inevitably started arguing about the placement of napkins or the height of the centerpieces or something, should’ve been watching Ev–Buck demonstrate how completely his little niece had him wrapped around her finger, should’ve been sitting down to the kind of family dinner that he’d been sure was only ever going to exist for him in hazy memories of the time before his mom died, surrounded by people he’d thought were starting to become more than just casual friends he used to work with and a beautiful man he could so easily fall in love with, should’ve, should’ve, should’ve…

The wanting was the problem. 

The wanting was always the problem. 

It was dangerous to want those things when he knew just how fucking fragile they really were…especially in his hands. 

It hurt now, but Evan Buckley wasn’t going to be lonely for long. He wasn’t made to be lonely for long. In the long run, he’d understand that Tommy really had had his best interests at heart. Had had both their best interests at heart. Better a little heartache now than a huge one later, when he inevitably realized how much better he could do. 

“That’s–that’s good of you,” he said. 

Buck didn’t reply, just hefted the medical kit he was carrying a little higher. “Captain Nichols sent you to me, I take it?” 

Straight to business, then. Probably for the best. 

“Yeah. Assess and assist. The 57 has the heavy rescue, we’re just tagging anyone who needs paramedics.” 

“All right. Well. Let’s get to work.” 

He turned away and started walking towards the scene, back ramrod straight, wearing the professionalism like armor. Tommy watched him go, the ache that hadn’t left the space behind his ribs since he walked out of the loft for the last time pulsing dully. For the best, he told himself for the hundredth, the thousandth, the millionth time. It was all for the best. 

If he kept saying it, maybe he’d eventually be able to believe it. 

buck and tommy both wanting to not spend thanksgiving without the other because they were supposed to be together at the buckley-hans', so they each take an extra shift to distract themselves and wind up working the same scene. send tweet.

[moonpie016]

*Check watch*

And it's the 26th, cool.

>:]

---

---

I love this so much. The colors, the poses, just :]

You might (possibly) be wondering, "why did I set a specific date for me to post this?" And because.... it's now been a year since I listened to The Mind Electric and The Soul Eclectic!!

Is this some grand spectacle ? Is something amazing going to happen?

No. But it's special to me. Playing these songs on repeat without ANY knowledge of what it was, or even understanding what was going on. I treated it as any other cover of a song I'd listen to.

Could somewhat understand it at points, but I never really knew there was a story to these songs. Just make little animatics in my head with whatever I was interested in before.

And I only listened to the audio versions of them. I didn't know The Heart Acoustic existed, (and kinda not enjoying it at first.) But it grew on me. Then I saw a video talking about similar music people, then discovered there were music videos??? :0 And a story?? Double gasp.

The feeling of listening to these for the first time can never be replicated, the unknown of it all. Just jamming. I've already rambled about trying to find a new interest after the old one died off. Then finding the TME and TSE, and basically finding motivation to do something passionate again. (Between toying with ocs while doing so.)

And drawing these three embodiments of inner workings (cus I can't think of a proper term) kinda helped in some aspects. Not all, but trying to understand how my own inner workings work. What traits I do or whatever. This isn't about that.

But yay! Enough of the backstory! :]

Here's some alternate versions of the drawing, (like without the words and the background). And some doodles. >:]

---

⬇️

I made some random character with the lasso tool (kinda). Fixed some of it sooooo.. mostly the lasso tool. Imma call them Rascal. Idk.

And a scene I wanted to draw of the story thingy I made weeks ago with Soul and Whole.

But that's all! Surprisingly.

Hope you enjoy!

---

[buckiverse]

☆--- summary: you went out to a club, and it took an unexpected turn when you spotted athlete!sylus, the man you can't seem to avoid. Is it a coincidence, or is he just everywhere you go?

☆--- a/n: athlete!sylus is taking over my brain...

You shouldn’t be going out tonight, but you couldn’t say no when Tara invited you. It was the first time in forever that someone had pulled you away from your constant grind of training, case studies, and class. The local club near campus was always buzzing on a Friday night, and here you were, questioning why you had agreed to come instead of staying in to catch up on everything you had to do.

"I know it’s not really your thing, but try to have fun with me!" Tara shouted over the music, her excitement infectious.

You managed a smile. "Girl, of course! Let’s have fun."

The club was exactly what you expected—dark, slightly dingy, with bright strobing lights that made the sticky floors and faint smell of spilled drinks a little more bearable. People crowded around more than they danced, but it was still early, barely midnight.

Tara led the way to the bar, effortlessly weaving through the group of people. She ordered something colorful and sweet, and you opted for a shot to shake off the weird, anxious feeling you couldn’t pinpoint.

Maybe it was the week catching up to you—training, school, and the guy who had somehow taken up space in your mind.

Sylus.

You hadn’t even spoken to him beyond that moment—a quick, half-snarky exchange in the law building after you accidentally collided with him. But you couldn’t help how your eyes searched for him every time you walked in as if you might spot him again.

So, when you saw him across the room, leaning against a table with his usual calm, unbothered air, you nearly choked.

He stood out even here. It wasn’t just his height, though that was hard to miss. It was how he seemed completely at ease as if this crowded, chaotic club was just another room he’d decided to occupy for a while. Two men, maybe twins, surrounded him if their matching outfits were anything to go by.

"Okay, I’m heading to the dance floor! Join me when you’re done!" Tara’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. She winked before disappearing into the sea of people, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and the view of Sylus.

You told yourself to look away, to mind your own business, but it was like some magnetic pull kept your gaze on him. What was he even doing here? He didn’t strike you as the guy who hit up clubs on the weekend.

Or maybe you didn’t know him at all.

The shot must’ve hit you harder than expected because, before you realized it, you were walking toward him. It wasn’t a decision you made—it was instinct or maybe a lapse in judgment.

By the time you reached him, Sylus had already noticed you. His sharp red eyes flicked to yours, a hint of recognition sparking in his expression.

"Hey," you said, your voice raised to be heard over the music, though your nerves threatened to betray you.

His smirk was instant, crooked, and a little too knowing. "Didn’t think I’d see you here," he said, his tone teasing.

You folded your arms, suddenly feeling defensive. "Why’s that?"

"Thought you’d be too busy watching where you’re going," he joked, the grin spreading just enough to make you want to wipe it off his face—and maybe laugh at the same time.

Your jaw dropped. "You’re seriously still on about that?"

He shrugged, leaning casually against the table. "It was a memorable first impression."

"Well, I don’t even know your name," you shot back, trying to regain some ground.

He tilted his head, clearly amused. "Sylus," he said smoothly. "But I was starting to think you’d never ask."

You rolled your eyes, trying not to let his charm get under your skin. "Y/N," you replied, crossing your arms. "So, what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?"

Sylus chuckled, his gaze flicking briefly to the two men beside him. "Apparently, letting my teammates drag me out for ‘team bonding.’ Not sure this is what they meant."

His words caught you off guard, and you laughed before you could stop yourself. Standing there with him, bantering like this, was easier than you thought it’d be.

"Well," you said, your confidence returning, "don’t let me stop you from bonding."

He didn’t look away, his smirk softening into something almost unreadable. "Maybe I won’t."

The crowd seemed to blur around you for a moment, and you swore his eyes lingered on you just a second too long.

[eldritch-spouse]

I'd like to send a formal apology to Morell, Obie and Zizz for how quickly and effortlessly Tristalis was able to steal their spots in my heart.

Like low-key, Tristalis sounds like the best choice out of all your characters regarding like romantic situations. It could be because we haven't been exposed to his darker traits, but it just seems so far like he's just so sweet but confused regarding like human customs. I just want to cuddle up with him and smother all three of his heads with love and affection.

and the fact that he makes stuffed animals? My biggest comfort item and like just a big love language of mine? As soon as he gives me that stuffed animal on that bus I'm here blushing and crushing immediately.

How would Tristalis react to a romantic interest who gets all giddy and flustered when he gifted them the stuffed animal. Like they're immediately smiling all wide and hugging the stuffed animal to their chest? Just absolutely fawning over it, even tho he can't understand anything they're saying he can practically see the hearts in their eyes.

He's my husband now, he's got no choice- he's gonna be walking down the aisle in a wedding dress by next week. >:(

[Imagine getting mogged by Tristalis rsrsrs. He can be decidedly scary, but he's more permissive than a few of the monsters here.]

Tristalis has had positive reactions to people who see his plushies. Many have come up to him to buy them without the monster even having to do much of anything except rearrange them in public. He's flexible with prices, but not someone who can be scammed easily- Because, even if he's not well-versed in surface customs, he knows the basics of plenty of currencies. Sometimes a child will try to trade a plush for something rather inadequate, and if Tristalis is in a good mood, he'll just give a plush away for a bag of candies.

The only adult Tristalis has ever given plushies to is you. And Lords, does your reaction have him glowing.

He'd been scheming which one you might like best, mostly based on what you were wearing or the color of your eyes and hair. To know that he hit the nail right on the head has him sighing audibly. The Starbeast may not be fluent in your language, but the beam of your smile and the shine of your eyes is all the answer he needs to clap to himself in happiness.

The problem here is that Tristalis is excitable.

He sees you hugging the stuffed plush to yourself and suddenly wants to ramble, mixing words up in an attempt to talk, to let you know more about his crafts.

At some point he just gives up on words altogether, all three heads bobbing occasionally with glee as he shows you other plushies, gives you skeins of yarn to feel and even requests your opinion on possible designs he poorly sketched (drawing is not in his deck of skills, for sure).

Depending on how receptive you are to Tristalis' attention, he may get immediately sidetracked and just follow you around like a lovesick puppy. He can even make smaller things if it guarantees you'll look at him with the same amount of awe you did before.

[starheavenly]

hiii!!! loving your locket comics!!!!!! just wanted to ask a few questions about your process, if you dont mind :D

whats your general process like?

do you do thumbnails, how do they look like?

roughly how long does it take you to complete a comic panel or page?

how detailed are your sketches? do you do multiple?

do you have any specific techniques for lineart?

do you typically use references for your comics?

generally, how much effort and focus do you put into your comics?

do you have any advice for drawing comics?

sorry for for the absolute bombardment of questions, lmao. just really enjoy your art and comics and very interested in the behind the scenes!! feel free to skip any questions (or this whole ask) well wishes and salutations!!! :D

Hello! I'm so glad you enjoy my comics, and I totally don't mind breaking down the process!

For a normal comic page, I would likely actually write a script since it's much easier to keep track of dialogue and actions. But since these are short, I just write it into my thumbnails.

Step 1: Thumbnails. Easily one of my favorite parts, since I get to throw all my ideas down. I do these comics on a 2-panel grid, so I don't have to worry about actual paneling, and it allows me to focus more on the setup of each shot. Think of it like storyboarding!

Step 2: Add cleaner thumbs if needed. I actually made 3D models of Deadlock and Ratchet's chest in Blockbench, so I often trace them to save myself some time! (It might look insane, but I promise, for me, it's not.)

Step 3: Lettering! I actually like to get the lettering out of the way right away since it can take a while. Ever since I started treating lettering as its own form of art, my skills have gotten better, but it also takes much longer.

Step 4: Clean sketch! I'm just now finding out that people think I’m doing lineart for these? I am not… these are all just clean sketches. Maybe doing the blackwork gives the illusion of lineart?

Step 5: Color! Most of these comics are in black and white to save time, but it also lets me focus on values and shot framing again. I add my glow overlay to the eyes, and boom, done!

Roughly how long does it take you to complete a comic panel or page?

It really depends on how complicated the panels are. I like to step out of my comfort zone. I know the Grimlock and Misfire one took longer because of how many panels there were and the fact that I was drawing characters I’d never drawn before, but I’d say it usually takes around 5-8 hours for a whole page.

Do you typically use references for your comics?

I'm literally the reference GOD- we all know this. But yes, I love using references and doing character studies. I have yet to do a study on LL Drift, but I have a few references of him that I’ve made.

Generally, how much effort and focus do you put into your comics?

I mean, I wouldn't say I don't put in a lot of effort? I put in enough. I don't know… there's a point in the clean sketch process where you can kind of just turn off your brain. I'm passionate about comics, but we can all agree there's a point in a drawing where you just zone out.

Do you have any advice for drawing comics?

I think being able to balance dialogue and visuals is super important. I don't know if you guys have picked up a graphic novel from Barnes & Noble recently, but if you open a page, you'll see a character sitting with the biggest bubble you've ever seen, filled with paragraphs of text. While I get it—being a novel as much as it's graphic—I personally like to visualize emotions more. If it means adding two more panels to make an interesting dialogue setup, I don't mind doing it. Another thing to remember is that not all panels need to have details or 100% effort. Sometimes you need to simplify and move on, and that's okay! Those two extra panels that are giving you a better stage setup might be the ones that need fewer details and less time. I would consider my comic page work and my 4-panel work very different. One is about paneling, setup, and visuals, while the other is very much like storyboarding. Both are skills you learn with practice and study.

[thepossummoldypasta]

I Lost Myself to Find You

Tw! a character thinks he's been drugged, strong depictions of someone feeling ill

Steve knew, he knew, it was a bad idea to come to school today. He had thought (ignorantly, stupidly,) that the effects of having his face beaten in and the horrors of almost dying to a fucked up paper-fortune-teller-monster would have faded away over the weekend. Apparently not. Of course not.

Stupid.

Now everything aches. It hurts more than Steve thinks it should. It hurts like he’s a walking livewire bruise. Like every muscle has torn apart and hurled itself back together with no care. He doesn't remember being so absolutely fucked yesterday.

It's pretty obvious that he’s in a bad way. Steve’s shuffling down the hallway like a zombie, arms curled around a suffering stomach that he doesn't even remember Johnathan socking. Not to mention the smell. Steve’s set to present as a beta and even he can smell how absolutely pathetic he is right now.

It's only second period and he longs to be back home with the covers pulled over his head.

Fuck it.

Steve turns around. O’Donnell can fuck herself; Steve’s insides are falling out and he's got priorities. His internal organs trying to eat each other has got to be more important than English class.

It's a long trek to his car parked at the far, desolate, corner of the lot. What stupid mountain was Nancy’s little brother going on about the last time he saw him? Card-something? Steve feels like that. Like he’s crawling lamb-like across some epic snowy mountain, about to collapse.

Where's his car?

Steve knows where he parked his car, but he doesn't see it in the lot. Or he thinks he doesn't; Steve can't see much of anything through the spots dancing in his vision. Maybe the swirling is making it harder to see than the spots are? Either way Steve’s got no idea how far away he is from the bimmer, lost amongst a swimming sea of metal.

He needs to sit down; to yell at his thoughts until they regroup.

Is he even in the parking lot anymore? fuck is he even in the parking lot? The swirling feeling is worse, now it's like he’s swaying on a giant seesaw crossed with a carrousel. Steve’s head feels heavy, like there is cotton and sand thumping around in there instead of brains and rational thoughts.

At least the spots in his vision are gone. If Steve focuses enough--despite his eyes mimicking a fuzzy camera lens zooming in and out—he can see boldly colored evergreen leaves and icy moss. Yep, not in the parking lot.

Probably not a good idea to wander around in the snow blanketed woods with no jacket. The weather is cold enough that Steve could freeze!

Well…

He could freeze if it didn't feel like a fire had been lit in his stomach and across his shoulders.

It's almost near dark, Hawkins is firmly in that time of year when the sun disappears early, but the sky remains dully lit. The shade cast by the trees Steve is trudging between dims the earth even further but everything seems so vivid to him that it almost doesn't matter.

It shouldn't still be this easy to see. It's almost like the preternatural senses that he’s heard come after presentation. Even Betas gain heightened senses, but Steve hasn't presented as one yet, so why is it so bright?

Suddenly it occurs to Steve that he might have been drugged.

Tommy did say he would get back at Steve for abandoning him; The really sad thing is that Steve can picture his used-to-be best friend slipping him something as payback. What would this even be? God, he hopes its not acid.

Steve knows what he has to do now, where he has to go.

Eddie can help

When you think about it, at first the idea seems utterly absurd, but Steve knows Eddie. Sure, the alpha is a major freak, but he’s also Hawkins High’s most prominent (only) drug dealer. He’s bought from Eddie. Every time Steve picked up the “party favors” his friends pressured him into getting, Eddie would get this look on his face and tell Steve that he was always there if he had a bad trip.

And that’s what this is right? It's just a bad trip—even if it was potentially caused by the one guy he used to trust more than anybody else in the world—but now Steve actually has a plan! He just has to make it to Eddie!

Shockingly that might be easier to do than one might think. Very luckily Steve knows these woods and knows them well. In abrupt clarity Steve realizes the route he must have taken to get here and therefore the route he needs to take to get to Eddie.

If he’s in the woods he must have wandered south out of the Highschool parking lot, weaved between houses and the thin tree line, and eventually got himself into the woods proper. He doesn't think he took any turns, so if he just heads west, he’ll either head straight to Forest Hills or pop back out on a road he can follow to get there.

After a small setback—because he can’t follow the sun to find west—Steve is on his way.

The hike through the frost and snow is still oddly easier than it should be. Steve feels like his body is running on fever and instinct. As he walks Steve absentmindedly starts to hum “Over the River and Through the Woods” under his breath, hoping familiar music will speed up the flow of time.

He can still see fairly well; well enough to see (and attempt to ignore) what seems like a little girl following him from close behind. Steve knows it’s probably just the ghosts of his foggy mind coming to haunt him but the idea of a young pup all alone in the woods makes something in him, ache.

Soon enough, she slips back into the shrouds of trees. The pup won’t answer when Steve calls for her; and though it hurts—oh how it hurts—Steve reasons he cannot stop and weep over the spirits conjured by his drug addled brain. He’s almost there.

It should be startling how direct the path Steve took is but he doesn't care about that. He’s almost there. Lights shimmer in the distance, if he listens closely, it's almost like he can hear the soft thrum of distant music permeating the forest floor.

Metallica.

Eddie.

The Munson trailer seems to rise from the freezing mist, welcoming and safe. Steve sees Eddie’s window aglow in the evening and a sigh of relief breaks free from his troubled chest. Steve knows Eddie’s trailer, his window (Eddie refused to sell anything worse than weed anywhere but at home), the certainty is a comfort.

Eddie promised he would help him, here Steve will be safe. Quickly but clumsily Steve flies like a moth to the soft window-light. All sense has left him now; Steve claws and whimpers at the window pathetically until it opens.

“Harrington?” Eddie sticks his head out to greet him, “What are you doing?” Steve whines at the harshness of the whisper. He knows it wasn't meant to be mean but it still feels upsetting somehow.

“Eddie, I need help” the plea is pitchy and sad even to his own ears but still Steve presses on. “Eddie, you promised!”

The poor alpha startles, sucks in a breath and leaps to settle the boy crying at his window.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Eddie flounders. “Steve, calm down, we can sort this out.” no matter how Eddie tries to sooth him Steve does not get a hold of himself. It takes several, long, anxious, moments before Eddie retreats back from the window.

Steve wails.

Why would Eddie leave? why when he said Steve could always come to him?

Steve has never felt so fragile before, He doesn't remember feeling this heartbreaking lonesomeness since maybe before high school. It could be just a culmination of every emotion he's felt and locked away because of the hell he was pulled into. it could be that this was just the last straw. Either way for some stupid reason he feels a small twinge of abandonment in his bruised heart.

All of a sudden arms envelop him in warmth and care.

"Hey, lets get you inside, okay Steve?" Eddie murmurs by his ear. "Jesus man, what are ya a space heater or something? You have your own vapor cloud." Steve doesn't think he was actually supposed to hear that part, but when he turns around, sure enough, a fine mist rises from his shoulders and trails after him like a sorrowful miasma.

how did that happen? When did that happen?

The Munson trailer is warmer and more comforting the anywhere else Steve has been in his entire life. Something rumbles deep contentedly in his chest; its so nice.

Eddie leads him over to a small couch covered in more through pillows on it than a couch thrice its size would need and Steve is glad to rest there.

"Okay man, what do you need?" Eddie questions when the other boy is settled in, "What can I do?"

Steve can't muster actual words but somehow the alpha understands. Swiftly Steve finds himself under a bundle of blankets to situate any way he wants while Eddie steps away once more. This time it isn't so bad; Steve still feels unhappy that Eddie isn't with him, however unlike last time Eddie had told Steve where he was going and was still in his line of sight as the Alpha goes to call his uncle.

"Hey Wayne" Steve hears Eddie greet his uncle. There is a brief back and forth about why Eddie is calling, and how "yes it is suspicious for you to call this late", before Eddie admits defeat. "look, You really cant get mad about this okay?" Eddie stresses into the phone. "I picked up another stray."

Another? but could that mean--

"I-I know Wayne," Eddie interrupts Steve's train of thought, "but I really gotta help my friend out okay? He's in heat."

The conversation continues at a steady murmur, but Steve can barely hear it, let alone make sense of the yeses and i-knows being passed back and forth.

Steve can't stay. He should have known taking advantage of someone's hospitality would have consequences. Here he is, a pathetic lump, on Eddies couch when he should be focusing on his omega! His omega in heat no less!

Steve struggles to free himself from the blankets and pillows he hadn't realized were completely surrounding him. Distantly he hears Eddie frantically tell his uncle he has to go and slam the handset back into the cradle as Steve almost tumbles to the floor.

"Hey! Hey! Steve what's wrong man?" Eddie manages to catch Steve by the shoulders holding him in place.

"No! Let me go!" Steve cries, thrashing in Eddies hold "You should be taking care of your omega!"

Steve nearly breaks free but Eddie wraps around him. now he's trapped in a hold more like a hug than a trap pushing him back into place.

"Well I don't know if we're quite there yet big boy, but that is what I'm trying to do!" The Alpha huffs.

"No you should be with him! He's the one in heat!" the cry pierces into the night, Its so sharp Steve is almost shocked it cam from his own mouth. Eddie makes a confused noise--that might have been a word if Steve was paying attention--he shifts his hold once more, putting Steve at arms length so he can look in his eyes.

"Steve!"

"What!" he shouts in return, Eddie looks deep in his eyes despite Steve's best efforts to look away.

"You're in heat." Eddie says it with such conviction it's startling. In fact Steve is so caught off guard that he goes limp enough to be laid back against the couch.

What--

Eddie coos at him softly, Tucking the blankets back around Steve, even going so far as to fluff a few of the pillows.

"oh honey," Eddie says sweetly as he brushes a hand along Steve's hair in a way he would normally despise, "You really didn't know? is this your first one?"

Steve nods against the alphas careful hand, taking it to nuzzle. Literally three hours ago--heck five minutes ago--if anyone had asked Steve if he was in heat he would have laughed in their face. Now the low, thrumming, ache has settled back in his gut and inclines him to think differently.

What else could this be really? well, he thought drugs, but hindsight and a safe place to rest vanishes the thought. looking back on the day all the cramps, the post-presentation senses, the fire that's settled within him, it all seems to make sense.

(a distant part of his brain--the one that will be embarrassed in a couple days time--tells him that the emotional sensitivity was also probably the result of his surprise presentation. That it was the natural, sudden shift, in hormones and pheromones effecting his already slightly addled brain)

"I don't want to leave, Eddie." Steve eventually sniffles against the warmth of the alpha. He reaches up to hold him gently and Eddie sinks into the hug.

"You don't have to go anywhere sweetheart. I'll look after you, I promise."

Later, after many cuddles and complaints from the new omega about how he "thought heats were supposed to be sexy", Steve will reflect on this week as probably the best one of his entire life. Up until that point of course. After all he has the rest of his life with the most caring alpha he's ever known ahead of him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------Yay It's Done! Feel free to come check this out on Ao3 as well because I've decided to cross post as many of my works as I can =]

[really-bibi]

【ｓｔｒｉｎｇｓ　ｏｆ　ｍｙ　ｈｅａｒｔ】

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚pairing: han jisung x reader ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖summary: your boyfriend and his guitar mesmerizingly capture your heart, yet again. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚warnings/genre: fluff. that's literally it. its very cheesy though i warn you. ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖notes: ive been working on this one for a bit and like omg guys wait i actually like this one.. improvement??? i hope u guys like it, english isnt my first language so there might be some grammar issues,, anw enjoy!! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

the late afternoon sun filtered softly through the windows of jisung's room, casting a warm glow across the scattered sheets of lyrics and music notes. you were sitting cross-legged on the floor, your back leaning against his desk, watching him intently as he adjusted the strings on his guitar.

it wasn't the first time you had watched him with that guitar, but each time felt like a new experience. there was something so captivating about the way he handled it, the way his fingers moved so effortlessly over the strings, each note he played creating its own world.

"you know, you're like a rockstar when you play" "a rockstar, huh? you really think so?" "definitely."

he laughed, but there was a flicker of genuine pride in his eyes as he strummed a few chords. "i don't know about that", he said, "but i've been working on something new. wanna hear it?"

"of course! 'm all ears."

jisung's eyes sparkled as he fixed his posture, the guitar resting comfortably on his lap. he gave you a quick glance, and then he started playing, his fingers dancing across the fretboard with practiced ease. the melody was light at first, almost like a gentle breeze, but then it deepened, the rhythm picking up as if telling a story of its own.

it was mesmerizing. the way his fingers moved, the way his focus was entirely on the guitar, but still somehow aware of you watching. it felt like a private concert, just for you.

the music flowed through the room, and with every strum, you couldn't help but smile. it wasn't just the melody that was beautiful, but the way he made it sound so effortless.

"what do you think?"

"i think you're amazing, even if i do tell you that, like, every day", you said honestly, your heart fluttering a little. "that was perfect."

jisung chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "baby... you're making me blush."

"good. you deserve to blush", you teased, moving over to sit next to him on the bed. "but seriously, how do you make it look so easy? i’ve seen you play this guitar a million times, and it always sounds so good."

he shrugged, his lips curving into a soft smile. "it's all about feeling the music. when you're really in the moment, everything just falls into place."

you watched as he gently caressed the strings of the guitar, his fingers moving with a kind of reverence. there was something magnetic about his passion. it wasn't just the guitar or the music, but the way he could lose himself in it.

"i've been working on another song for a while now", he said, his voice suddenly quieter, almost hesitant. "i haven't shared it with anyone yet. maybe… i could play it for you?"

you could hear the uncertainty in his voice, and it made your heart warm. "i'd love to hear it, baby. i’m sure it's incredible."

he smiled, but it was a little shy, before he started playing again. this time, the melody was slower, more soulful. it was deep, full of emotion. like each note was carefully chosen, each chord a reflection of something personal. it was the kind of song that made you feel something in your chest, even if you couldn’t quite put it into words.

when he finished, you could tell he was waiting for your reaction, the air between you thick with anticipation.

"that was beautiful", you said softly, your voice almost a whisper. "you really put your everything into that song, didn't you?"

jisung nodded, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. "i guess i did. it's.. kind of personal. i wasn't sure if anyone would understand it."

you reached out, gently placing your hand over his. "i understand it, jisung. its exactly what makes you, you. and i'm so lucky to get to hear it."

he looked down at your hand, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. then, he let out a soft laugh, as if he was finally letting out a breath he'd been holding in for a while.

"you're the best" he said, looking up at you with that sincere, slightly bashful smile. "i'm glad you like it.", "you know, i think i've officially fallen for this guitar… and its owner. yet again."

jisung raised an eyebrow playfully, his grin widening. "oh? you’re saying it's not just me you’re in love with?"

you smirked back. "i'm still deciding… but you've got some stiff competition" you teased.

he laughed, his eyes shining with amusement. "guess i'll have to win you over again."

"good luck", you said, giving him a wink. "but i think you're already halfway there."

jisung chuckled softly, setting the guitar down on the bed. he turned to face you, his gaze softening. "well, it looks like i've got my work cut out for me. but i'm not giving up anytime soon."

and just like that, with the sweet sound of his music still lingering in the air, you knew one thing for sure. there was no one else you'd rather spend this moment with than han jisung. the guy, the musician, the heartthrob who’d already played his way into your heart. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ a/n: im actually proud of this one!! i used a little bit different formatting than my other fics but i like how this turned out

[wrathofrats]

Seeing Blind (you’re too good to be all mine)

Chapter 6, 4.3k , mature, read under cut or on ao3

(Part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5)

A thank you to the ever wonderful @divine-misfortune for being my cowriter

“Swiss, I,” Dew opened his mouth with the partial intent of coming clean but Swiss fixed him with those big brown eyes and his heart cracked. “He seems to get all weak in the knees when you’re bold,” he offered instead and resisted the urge to cringe at his own cowardice with a feigned nonchalance, tossing the crust of his sandwich to a sparrow, “so why don’t you go be bold and tell him how you feel before he’s gone for good. Win him back or get yourself an answer then and there. Get yourself out of this limbo.”

Rain doesn’t leave the house for several days after his talk with Dew. Can’t bring himself to - doesn’t want to face any of them, let alone Swiss.

Hardly manages to leave his room. The dark circles under his eyes are not lost on any of them.

His dad reluctantly knocks on the door periodically through the days, gruff voice gone surprisingly gentle asking if he needs anything. He brings him dinner when Rain is absent from the table. His mother sweeps into his room and opens the drawn curtains in the mornings despite the fact she knows Rain will close them again not long after, always asking hopefully if he’d like to help her in town or baking or something else benign. It’s hard to see her smile falter when he makes up an excuse about needing to read a few chapters of some book or some essay to stay on track with his classes for when he returns to school.

School came more into focus as he wallowed, it was something he could blindly throw himself into. The upcoming semester was steadily approaching and coming to terms with leaving his home, and everyone, behind again was no easy task. Maybe getting away from the mess he’d made was best for him, and everyone else. He was never meant for farm life anyways - his mom always joked that he was born to be a city boy all his life, there seemed to be some truth to that now.

And as his sudden and abrupt absence dragged on, Swiss only grew more confused. It was almost like the few days Rain had avoided him after their first kiss but worse. The farmer’s son had plucked out his heart and ran off with it for real this time, and he wasn’t coming back.

Swiss had gotten a small glimpse of him one afternoon as he was washing the tractor, elbow deep in soapy water with half his shirt soaked. He hadn’t taken his lunch. He hadn’t been taking them for a while, too worried to eat and too guilty to continue the routine he and Rain had fallen into; splitting two lunches between them in the shade of the grain silo, Rain bringing him a cold drink daily and a sliver of whatever his mother might’ve baked on Fridays. The silo was out on the far side of the front yard, far enough from the house Swiss feared he might just miss catching a glimpse of him.

Judging by the slow creak of the back screen door two things were evident; Dew hadn’t oiled the hinges like he’d been asked to last week, and Rain had been counting on Swiss’ absence.

He looked worse for wear. Uncomfortable having to simply exist, but most of all, Rain looked tired. Dead on his feet. Like he’d simultaneously just woken up and skipped sleeping the last few nights. Practically dragged himself across the gravel driveway to the barn where he fought with the heavy wood doors.

Swiss wasn’t sure if Rain was pointedly avoiding looking at him or simply hadn’t noticed the farmhand peeking at him from beside the tire but either way he couldn’t take his eyes off Rain if he tried. Even as he continued to wipe the body down, mindlessly scrubbing the sponge over the same scuffed bit of paint. Seeing Rain hurt but looking away might’ve just killed him.

But Rain did eventually grow wise to the hopelessly yearning gaze cast in his direction. He froze like a deer in headlight, the color draining from his face - Swiss had never seen him paled like that, that soft pink flush had never left his cheeks when they were together. Neither of them spoke. Swiss didn’t call his name, as badly as he wanted to, and Rain didn’t say his in turn. No apology, no explanation, not even offering Swiss rejection. A range of emotions flitted across his face instead, the most prominent being grief and guilt, before he was retreating back to the cage he’d made for himself in that house. Going where Swiss could not follow.

The entire situation plays on repeat in Swiss’ mind. Over and over. He should have just gotten over his nerves, the stupid gentleman complex he had, and fucked him. It wasn’t like he didn’t want Rain, he did. He really did, bad. After all the weeks of constant teasing only to be pushed away and outright denied it only made sense that Rain was avoiding him now - in Rain’s mind, Swiss was either leading him on and playing with his innocent emotions or he didn’t want him at all.

It begins to eat away at him. Wearing guilt like a uniform as he drags himself through the overly long and unfulfilling days. He swallows it down for as long as he can until he simply can’t. Mountain unknowingly puts the crack in the dam, his concern hitting right at the weakest spot. It spills out of him before he even comprehends the words. For the first time, out loud, Swiss admits to his feelings. He’s more honest to him than he’d been ever since he and Rain first kissed. Confesses to just how much time they’ve spent together, and reluctantly tells them about the night that hadn’t left his mind.

”And I kissed him, and it just…We got carried away,” Swiss fidgets with a loose thread on his flannel, one of the buttons barely hanging on. Only when he glances down to the offending button does he realize it’s the dark green flannel he’d draped around Rain’s shoulders to keep him warm once upon a time. It felt like months ago. “Went pretty far and I knew he wanted to take it further but I stopped him.”

”You…Stopped him?” Dew paused, having been fiddling with the tab of his empty coke can as Swiss practically word-vomited on them. ”Why?”

”I don’t really know.” He laughed nervously, an involuntary sound that came out hollow. “He looked like a kicked puppy when I told him I didn’t think we were ready, that I didn’t think he was ready. Fucking hell, I’m pretty sure it sounded like I was handling him with kid gloves or some shit. Probably sounded like I didn’t want him.”

Mountain frowned. ‘The worried mom look’ as they all called it. He glanced sideways at Dew who’d popped the tab off his can finally, and Dew’s stomach sank. He knew exactly what Mountain was thinking - that he’d been right about Rain from the beginning. Nothing but a priss who barely tolerated the lot of them. Someone they should have protected Swiss from more proactively. It made his skin start to itch. Dew needed Mountain to stop looking at him. He needed Swiss to stop looking absolutely devastated.

He’d assumed the worst of Rain and his intentions. That Rain was using Swiss but how could he be using him if they’d never gotten that far? It’s not like he knew at the time - at least, that’s how Dew attempts to justify everything he said but it really doesn’t help. Fuck. Would Swiss understand if he told him? No, no Swiss wouldn’t forgive him for ruining something that affected him this deeply.

Jaw aching, he could feel his anxiety driven heartbeat in his clenched teeth. His molars might just crack, or he would. Something had to give.

Dew stared into his lap and shifted the food packed in his lunchbox like he was looking for something in particular despite the way his appetite had curled up and died. Swiss and Mountain continued to discuss, trying to find the root of the problem unknowingly sat uncharacteristically quiet three feet away. Every heartbroken word from Swiss was another nail in the coffin Dew dug for himself. The path to hell was always paved with good intention.

“You did what you thought was best, maybe you weren’t ready either.” Mountain flicked Swiss’ hand away from his flannel before he could actually tear the button off. “If he’s truly that upset then he needs to talk to you about it, not lock himself away. He will realize what he’s lost at some point.”

A chip fell out of the bag Dew was holding before he finally sighed and threw the rest to the birds. Salt and grease wouldn’t help him swallow this any easier, truth be told, everything was just helping to turn his stomach further. The truth sat like a lump in his throat, begging to be released. He just couldn’t decide if it was better to come forward and confess or pray Rain never divulged the things he’d said to him. Neither would play out well for him, he was more than aware. Dew was also aware of the fact Mountain wouldn’t save him from the consequences of these particular actions, might even turn a blind eye when Swiss inevitably jumps him with every ounce of bottled up hurt behind his closed fist.

“Swiss, I,” Dew opened his mouth with the partial intent of coming clean but Swiss fixed him with those big brown eyes and his heart cracked. “He seems to get all weak in the knees when you’re bold,” he offered instead and resisted the urge to cringe at his own cowardice with a feigned nonchalance, tossing the crust of his sandwich to a sparrow, “so why don’t you go be bold and tell him how you feel before he’s gone for good. Win him back or get yourself an answer then and there. Get yourself out of this limbo.”

He was trying to be a good friend now, he had been trying to be a good friend when he confronted Rain. Seems like he’s not very good at it. Swiss deserved better friends than him and that fact goes down just about as smooth as cough syrup. Dew couldn’t stand that sad expression much longer, and as much as it might just kill him to have Swiss learn the truth, maybe he could at least get Rain back in the process. Sugar to help Swiss swallow the bitter medicine of Dew’s indiscretion.

“But I don’t want to overwhelm him. You should have seen how he turned tail when he saw me the other day, I don’t want to chase him away.” Swiss sighed and rubbed both hands over his face.

Dew handed his now crustless, semi flattened sandwich to Mountain instead of tossing it to the birds. Chicken salad was bad for birds. ‘Borderline cannibalism’ Mountain had stressed to him in the middle of a lecture when he was caught throwing pieces of a different sandwich to some ducks one time. He’d had his fair share of guilt for the day.

“You really like him that much?”

“So much, Dew…More than I’ve ever liked anyone or anything.”

A pit opened in Dew’s stomach but he fought to grin. The smile Dew typically fixed him with before doing something mischievous.

“Go tell him that then.”

With a shallow breath Swiss nodded and hopped to his feet, Mountain following behind as he made his way to the barn leaving Dew to sit in contemplation.

Bold.

One of two things would come of this; Rain slips away and he walks away looking like a fool with wounded pride or Rain returns his affections. What did he have to lose? Either way, Rain would leave for college by the end of the summer and he couldn’t let him go without being truly honest with him, Rain deserved that much.

Fate was on his side, the stars had aligned. Wednesday was the one day of the week where he could count on Rain’s father being gone, restock day. He and the other farmhands dreaded it, usually left with aching backs and knees by the end of it after having to carry in countless bags of feed before they were allowed to clock off for the day. A routine they all knew well. Mountain went with. Big, strong, known favorite employee Mountain. It gave him a few hours to work with.

Like always, Mountain waved goodbye from the passenger side window and Swiss watched the truck disappear down the winding driveway with held breath. He counted to ten before turning and mumbling something to Dew about covering his ass. If the work wasn’t done by the time they got back they’d all get chewed out but Swiss needed to do this.

The house sat quiet aside from the buzz of the television as Rain sits on the edge of the couch folding towels, one of the few chores his parents could talk him into without much pushback as it didn’t involve stepping foot outside. The knock on the door came suddenly and urgently, and Rain nearly sent his neat stack of linen to the floor when he flinched. He fumbled over himself to get to his feet and hurry to the door. More often than not, if someone came to the door after his father left something was wrong, and fearing an emergency Rain swung the door open without so much as checking who was out there.

His heart swelled and sunk all at once. Gripping the doorknob Rain was frozen. He can’t retreat. Can’t bring himself to close the door in Swiss’ face even if he wanted to. Only with him standing there in front of him did Rain truly realize just how much he missed him. He fucking missed Swiss. It had been the loneliest he’d felt in years without him around. His eyes stung, the threat of tears barely kept at bay by a few rapid blinks.

”Hey…” Swiss started and Rain seemed to jolt out of his stupor, he put his hand on the door to stop him from closing it before he’d even made any move to do so. He knew it was a desperate, pushy thing to do. “Can I come in?”

“M-My dad will be back soon,” Rain tried to keep his voice level and his face neutral but the words came out whispered and wobbled. He swallowed thickly.

“No he won’t, he and Mountain just left. Please, I need to talk to you.” His gaze flicked away, catching Phantom and Cirrus both blatantly staring the two of them down from across the yard. He quickly tacked on a softer, “privately.”

Hesitantly, Rain stepped to the side and allowed Swiss in. Swiss’ shoulders sagged with a breath of relief as he crossed the threshold. Standing in his kitchen felt familiar but wrong at the same time, like he didn’t belong there. Rain quietly shut the door and retreated further into the kitchen to sit at the table, the plates from breakfast still laid out. He sits stiffly, hands folded in his lap. The tears collecting in his lashes betray his neutrality.

Neither of them spoke for a stretch of time that lasted far too long, both too stubborn and guilt ridden to break the palpable silence until it was too heavy to bear a moment longer.

“I’m sorry Rain, it wasn’t you I just was so wrapped up in-“

”I’m sorry, I never meant to make it feel like I thought poorly of you-“

The two blurted out in unison and ultimately trailed off into another widening gap between them. Swiss’ frown settled deeper and Rain bit his lower lip in some vain attempt to stop himself from crying but the tears spilled despite his efforts. All the lonely nights with only a growing numbness as his company had done well enough to bottle up everything, but with Swiss there in front of him, he couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“What…?” Swiss’ brow furrowed, moving from the chair across the table from him to the one directly beside him when he began to cry. “Rain, what are you talking about?” He pulled his hands from his lap, squeezing them gently.

“I’m not like that, I never thought I was, was,” he hiccuped and dropped his head to stare at how Swiss held him instead of meeting his eyes “I never thought I was better than any of you, I’m sorry. Fuck. I’m so sorry, Swiss. Never wanted you to think that, or that this was some little fling. This wasn’t just a play for attention or anything, I swear.”

Every word felt like another knife in his ribs, urging him to curl in on himself like a sobbing child. He just couldn’t stop the words from pouring out, a proverbial waterfall of admission. He could see just how bad it must have looked - Swiss didn’t fuck him so he turns his nose up at him and the other farmhands after the princess didn’t get what he wanted. It could have only served to cement the idea of all of this being for his own gain and entertainment.

“Tadpole, what are you talking about?”

”Dew, he, he-“ Another hitch in his voice, “talked to me…Told me to stop messing around with you, and that you all thought I was uptight and snobby and that I was using you.” His head snapped up and he’s suddenly holding Swiss that much tighter, like he might pull away. “Swiss, I’m not. I promise I’m not, would never. I love you more than the attention or sex or-“ Rain was beyond the point of babbling, probably didn’t even realize he’d dropped the L-word.

If not for the sentence it was set in, his heart might’ve stuttered in his chest, but something hot and sharp began creeping up his throat instead. Anger and betrayal tasted sour in his mouth. Barely tempered.

“Dew told you what?”

The silence was beyond damning. More than enough confirmation. If not for how tight Rain held him or the tears pouring freely down his face he might have gotten up and stalked out to the fields to wring the truth from his skinny little neck. But Rain had been out of reach for so long, he wouldn’t dream of leaving him. Dew was what pulled them apart, he wouldn’t let it happen again. Rain was his priority.

“I- oh darling. I never thought that about you. Not even for a second. Figured you were sticking around for more than just my good looks when you willingly subjected yourself to sleeping in hay on more than one occasion.”

Rain gave a small laugh, grabbing a napkin from the center of the table to wipe his eyes. It was something at least.

“Dew is just, er…He’s suspicious of people he doesn’t know, and over protective of the ones he does. Doesn’t know you like I do though, none of them do. Couldn’t hope to understand how I feel about you.” The anger becomes easier to shove down with every soft stroke of his thumb over the back of Rain’s hands.

He has Rain again. He has Rain and there was nothing wrong between them anymore and he has Rain.

The tension leaves both of their postures, the quiet was easier to sit in without so much pressing down on them.

“Swiss…” Rain started somewhat shyly. “How do you feel about me?

It’s a question that should have a simple answer, ‘I love you’, but it didn’t quite answer it fully. Conceptually, yes. He loved Rain. But it didn’t feel like enough. Words didn’t feel like enough. Swiss had meant it, he’d never liked anyone the way he liked Rain.

“Askin’ the hard hitting questions there, Rainy.” He chuckled, meeting Rain’s expectant gaze. If only he could just lay his heart out there for Rain to see, it’d be easier. “…Do you remember the night we laid in the bed of my truck instead of the loft?”

“When we watched the stars?”

”Yeah, yeah. Remember how absolutely fascinated you were by them? Just in awe of how the constellations told stories, how you could tell the time, the season, the direction, all just by looking at them?”

”Of course I do, it was beautiful out there.”

“You couldn’t stop staring at them all night, watched you struggle not to fall asleep so you could savor them a little bit longer. Wonderstruck by each and every little dot in the sky, really seeing them for the first time.”

He tipped his head, “what does this have to do with how you feel about me?”

“Well, raindrop,” Swiss brought one of his hands up and kissed his knuckles. “That’s how you make me feel…Hopelessly in awe of you.”

His mouth opened but all he managed was a weak laugh while shaking his head, looking anywhere but Swiss’ face. Bashful. Beautiful. “You don’t mean that.”

Swiss turned him back towards him, cheek heating up underneath his palm. There it was. The only way he could possibly describe the way Swiss looked at him - nothing short of adoration.

“Barely looked at the sky that night, I couldn’t stop looking at you. Every night, every time I had you in my arms all I wanted was to look at you.” He chuckled nervously. Nobody warned him of how nerve wracking this would be. The movies made it look so easy. “You drive me fucking crazy Rainy. Got me feeling like a lovestruck fool when you’re around and a lost puppy when you’re not.”

Rain was a new shade of red. Nothing like the pinks he’d seen before, even when he had his mouth latched onto his throat and Rain was singing like a canary.

“C’mon…Say something.” His confidence wavered without any sort of response. “Tell me I’m not stupid.” It felt like he was begging for confirmation he wasn’t positively delusional. ”Tell me you feel something for me.”

”I do,” he rested his hand over Swiss’, leaning his cheek into his palm. “I never knew I could like someone so much.”

Air rushed back into his lungs as Swiss remembered to breathe, that he even knew he could breathe to begin with. A real lovestruck fucking fool.

“Fuck - you just, you make me feel alive. Swiss, all I’ve done during every break since I started college is come home and read. Stay in my room and study, wait to be told what to do, do the bare minimum to help out around the farm, and wait. I wait to go back to my dorm where I sit and I study and I wait to be told what I need to do before I drive hours home to do it all over again.” His face had almost become a grimace, recounting the routine he’d repeated for years out loud, but it softened out again when he refocused on Swiss. “Don’t think I’ve had fun like this in…I don’t know, like, forever. Haven’t felt hopeful about anything in even longer.”

Somehow, he managed to sit still despite the giddy excitement blooming and bursting inside him. He was pretty sure he could pass out. For the last two summers Swiss had been making heart eyes at Rain from afar, hoping for a chance he never thought would come. Before this summer, they’d had their small interactions. Not a whole lot of anything but it was something - a little banter here, a snide comment from either of them there, brief run ins that he’d been certain Rain brushed off and forgotten directly after parting. Swiss had loved every second of it, it always got his heart beating a little faster, he just didn’t know how deep his love for Rain really ran at the time.

“You were my first kiss y’know…” Rain admitted quietly like it was some shameful secret but the nervous, near bumbling reaction had given Rain’s innocence away within the first three seconds. Swiss decided not to tell him that, focusing instead on the little rush of pride that came with it.

“Yeah..? Was I memorable?” His grin is dopey, he knows it is. Can’t help it.

Flushing all the way to the tips of his ears, Rain made a little annoyed sound that turned into a laugh as he shoved Swiss’ hands away. He got up and Swiss did the same. His hands don’t stay away long, not when Swiss had every reason to possibly touch him.

“Maybe. Could have been, dunno. It’s been a while.”

”Need me to jog your memory then, darling?”

“Mm…Might have to.”

Whatever impossibly heavy and strange fog had drifted over them was finally dissipating. Waved away. He felt lighter, they felt lighter. More at ease, more so with each other. Rain hands don’t even shake as they slide up Swiss’s chest to wrap his arms around his neck, only letting out a surprised little ‘oh!’ as Swiss drew him to his chest. Eager to be close to him. He’d quietly yearned to feel him again from the second he’d slipped out of bed that morning, not entirely in a physical sense, aching for the pure intimacy of it.

Kissing him felt like dreaming. Slow, sweet, like they had all the time in the world even though the clock was steadily ticking on from its place above the stove. It didn’t matter. Their lips had always seemed to fit together so easily. Even easier was the way Rain’s fingers started to sneak into his locs. A silent plea for more, to be closer, to never let him go.

But they had to come up for air sometime. Swiss was the one to break apart, allowing him to catch Rain with his eyes still closed, bliss woven in his face. He wanted to keep him like that forever. His eyes flutter open and his delicate expression turns into the cutest pout that manages to tug on his heartstrings ever so slightly.

“Heeey…” He whined, rocking up onto his toes to steal another. All he gets is a peck.

”Gotta go before your dad gets back, lover boy.” Swiss grinned down at him, tapping him on the nose as he slipped from his arms. “You still remember where you can find me, princess?”

For that, Swiss earned a little shove against his chest and a proper fitting laugh. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling if he tried.

[radical-revolution]

What Can You Really See? Let’s Talk About Your Vision

“In fact the whole field of vision that you believe to be "out there in front" is nothing more than sensations in the lower back of your head, where the optical centers of the brain are located. What you see out there is, immediately, how the inside of your head "looks" or "feels."

So, too, everything that you hear, touch, taste, and smell is some kind of vibration interacting with your brain, which translates that vibration into what you know as light, color, sound, hardness, roughness, saltiness, heaviness, or pungence.

Apart from your brain, all these vibrations would be like the sound of one hand clapping, or of sticks playing on a skinless drum. Apart from your brain, or some brain, the world is devoid of light, heat, weight, solidity, motion, space, time, or any other imaginable feature. All these phenomena are interactions, or transactions, of vibrations with a certain arrangement of neurons. Thus vibrations of light and heat from the sun do not actually become light or heat until they interact with a living organism...

One might almost say that the magic of the brain is to evoke these marvels from the universe, as a harpist evokes melody from the silent strings...

There is nothing in the least unreasonable about this. We have not had to drag in any such spooks as mind, soul, or spirit. We have simply been talking of an interaction between physical vibrations and the brain with its various organs of sense, saying only that creatures with brains are an integral feature of the pattern which also includes the solid earth and the stars...

Our resistance to this reasoning is psychological. It makes us feel insecure because it unsettles a familiar image of the world in which rocks, above all, are symbols of hard, unshakeable reality... The fact that every organism evokes its own environment must be corrected with the polar or opposite fact that the total environment evokes the organism...

I repeat that the difficulty of understanding the organism/environment polarity is psychological...

We have lacked the real humility of recognizing that we are members of the biosphere, the 'harmony of contained conflicts' in which we cannot exist at all without the cooperation of plants, insects, fish, cattle, and bacteria. In the same measure, we have lacked the proper self-respect of recognizing that I, the individual organism, am a structure of such fabulous ingenuity that it calls the whole universe into being. In the act of putting everything at a distance so as to describe and control it, we have orphaned ourselves both from the surrounding world and from our own bodies--leaving "I" as a discontented and alienated spook, anxious, guilty, unrelated, and alone."

~ Alan Watts, The Book