#i really don’t think anyone likes or cares about me

[girl4music]

That’s it. Anyone with the “me and my own” ideology will get clapped back.

People that actually care to help people without asking for anything in return will also get their due.

That’s just the way of the Universe.

When you’re already well off, why do you need to be accounted for? Harris specifically was talking about who wasn’t. She was addressing the poor because she knew that’s where things needed to change the most.

The people she didn’t address are not going to be impacted in any negative way. Their lives will stay relatively the same. She didn’t speak to you because she didn’t need to because you’re fine as you are.

On the other hand, Trump is also addressing the poor and minorities. Speaking directly to them. But not with love and care. With hatred and revenge. The opposite.’

He wants to make things worse for them and now he can. So if you voted for him or you didn’t even vote at all - it’s on you why things are going to be much worse from now on. And if you think you won’t be negatively impacted by it because Trump is on your side…

Think again. Because incompetency impacts everyone.

No Harris wasn’t promising the rich and the majorities something. But that didn’t mean she was out to get you. That didn’t mean that she wanted to hurt you.

She simply saw it as you already had what you needed.

There were many others that did not.

She chose to address them.

Look for EVERYONE to live comfortable lives, then everyone has also got to learn to share and to be a community. Giving and getting is a transaction between each other. This is normal. This is natural. This is the way it should be. Greed and hoarding wealth doesn’t really help anyone in the long run and that’s not well understood in America because they’ve lived an entire history through a culture of taking from others. From theft. They never question it not because they’re dumb but because they don’t realize it this is how it’s always been and how it’s always been has always being wrong.

Being afraid of community and socialism. Taught that it’s inherently bad for them and to always look out for themselves and their own first. It’s just not The Way.

Having a black woman as President for the first time would have been revolutionary for them. it would have been a start to setting things right because they’ve never been right. Keeping to tradition doesn’t always mean better because that tradition could be awful. All of this I’m writing right now only sounds so bad because it’s coming from someone that doesn’t live in America but still has lived through a Western culture that’s majorly the same and has never understood it.

See I’m a Westerner but I don’t understand Western culture and I never really have. It’s like I was born with the soul or someone Eastern. Someone whose worldview of philosophy is inherently non-dual because when I look at a person - regardless of what kind of person they are or might be - I don’t see a difference.

We all want to live and thrive and prosper but so many of us have an understanding that goes against that goal just by virtue of “well, what do I get out of it?”

You get what you’ve always had. The means to survive. If you believe that’s not enough then I don’t know what to tell you. It’s more than enough for those that don’t currently have it and are fucking desperate for it.

Bottom line is you’ve got to give a little - to sacrifice or compromise on something - to set the balance right.

Harris was the right person to lead to be able to do this. Or at least make the attempt to. What you have now - with Trump - is a lesson. And I hope you learn it well.

Hatred will never make anything better for anyone. All it does it makes it much much much worse for everyone.

You can call this “virtue-signalling” or being “morally superior” if you want. I don’t care. No, America is not my home. No, I couldn’t vote. It doesn’t matter to me.

But I still very much care about the situation because I am a human being. And I honestly think that’s all that’s needed to do the right thing at the end of the day. If you care about something or somebody other than yourself.

You know politics is whatever but people have forgotten how to be a fucking person and that’s very concerning.

You can play heroes vs villains to your dying day and see how much you’ve “gained” out of doing it then.

Rant over.

White conservative America will vote for whiteness and patriarchy.

White conservative America would rather have Putin in the White House before Kamala Harris.

[puckinghischier]

Dogtooth

jack hughes x fem!reader

WARNING - SMUT!!! minors, DNI. 18+. oral!female receiving, face riding

summary: just a lil jack thot inspired by the song dogtooth by tyler, the creator

notes: this is just a repost of the little jack blurb i posted last night, i just wanted to reformat it so it’d fit in my masterlist better. but!! this is probably my favorite jack thing i’ve ever written and i’m obsessed with this song so, hope you enjoy!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼

[2.3k]

dogtooth by tyler, the creator?? that song is soooooo jack coded.

it’s the right kind of cocky but also the perfect amount of loving his woman, which is exactly how i picture jack to be in a relationship.

he’s a pretty private guy, not enjoying being in the media too much and revealing a ton about his personal life. he hates media because he doesn’t like the feeling of people assuming they know everything about him. but his girl? she knows everything about this man and he basks in the fact she knows him better than anyone else.

and when he’s down for someone? oh he’s down baddddd. i mean, pining level shit. he always wants to be around her. always calling her. always texting her. he just wants her attention 24/7, no matter what he has to do to get it.

he loves to pleasure his girl. and that’s it, really. he loves any second he can spend making her feel good, any way she wants. he doesn’t even care about the reciprocation (though he does love when she returns the favor) because knowing he’s the one to satisfy her needs is enough to put him on cloud nine all by itself.

and the second jack hears this song for the first time? oh he’s got big plans for it. (and you)

you’d be sitting on the couch, waiting on jack to get home from a mid-day skate. he sent you a text telling you he was leaving the rink around thirty minutes ago, expecting him to walk through the door any second.

no sooner than the thought entered your mind, you heard the lock click, signaling his arrival. calling out a greeting, you’re met with silence. you turn your body to see why he’s ignoring you, noticing the small white ear buds stuck in each ear.

he sets his bag down at the door, no doubt filled with his sweat soiled clothes he wants you to wash. waiting on him to look up and acknowledge you, you lay your head on the plush cushions resting against the back of the couch. you watch him, never missing an opportunity to admire how pretty he is.

finally, he looks up and meets your gaze, smiling at your love-filled eyes. he pops one headphone out while walking towards you, rolling it around in his hand.

“hey, sweets,” he leans down to place a small kiss on your waiting lips.

you savor the taste of his lips, always loving their soft feel.

“tried to say hi when you walked in, but guess you couldn’t hear me,” you gesture to the one earbud still lodged in one of his ears.

he gives you a small, apologetic look. “sorry, found a new song i really like. think you will too, actually. made me think about you.”

grabbing his phone from his pocket with his free hand, the one that’s holding the small bluetooth device brushes your hair away from your own ear, comfortably resting the earbud there.

“here’s the thing though….i want you to ride my face while we listen,” he just casually tells you, not even looking up at your face, still fiddling with his phone.

you perk up, surprised at his casualness. “i- what?”

“you heard me, before i press play i want you to ride my face.”

said face in question is dead serious, not an ounce of mischief to be found.

“you…literally just walked through the front door. what happened to asking each other about our days? or discussing what we’re gonna eat for dinner?” you ask him, not knowing how to react to the sudden proposal.

he rolls his eyes playfully. “is this your way of telling me you don’t want to? because you don’t have to. just think it’d really add to the experience, s’all” he shrugs.

you still don’t know how to react to the pure casualness of it all. by the way he’s acting you’d think he’s suggesting watching a movie, not having you ride his face in the middle of the living room.

“i didn’t say i didn’t want to. it’s just a little wild for that to be one of the first things out of your mouth when you get home.”

jack snickers at your words, walking around the large sectional to occupy the spot next to you.

“not really. not for me, at least. been thinking about it all day,” he plops down beside of you, making himself comfortable.

his words shoot excitement down to your core. he’s been thinking about it all day?

before you can think of a response, you feel shuffling next to you on the plush couch. you look over to see jack laying flat on his back, head only slightly raised to look over at you expectantly.

“so, you gonna get rid of those shorts or what?” he asks, referencing your thin, cotton pajama bottoms.

“i swear to god, if i wasn’t turned on right now i’d slap you,” you grumble, standing and removing all clothing below your waist.

jack laughs a real, out loud, laugh this time, prideful in the fact that you’ve never really been able to (or wanted to) resist any of his offers.

he burrows his body further into the couch, making sure he’s in the middle of the large surface, ensuring there’s room for your knees to rest on either side of his head.

you climb to hover over his body, looking down at his hungry eyes that are glued to your bare pussy, following every movement of your body from that landmark.

“shirt off or on?” you ask him, sitting on his toned abdomen.

“off. wanna be able to play with your boobs, please,” he flicks his eyes up to your face, an innocent smile on his own as he bats his eyelashes.

“of course you do,” you remove your (his) t-shirt from your body, now completely bare as you sit on top of him.

“swear they get bigger every time i see them,” he says in awe, bringing a hand up to massage one of your full breasts. you moan as he kneads the flesh, stomach turning flips in anticipation of what’s about to take place.

“gonna press play so we can get started or you just gonna play with my tits all night?” you huff out, loving the feeling but growing needier by the second.

it takes jack a second to register what you’re saying, too lost in the feeling of the heavy skin in his hand.

“oh! yeah, almost forgot,” he reaches up to the back of the couch where he left his phone, picking it up long enough to press play.

you scoot yourself farther up his body, resting your eager core right above his chin. all you’d have to do is relax your thighs the slightest amount to make contact with his mouth. 

suddenly you hear a smooth beat ring out in one ear, assuming jack’s hearing the same.

the second you hear the lyrics “she could ride my face i don’t want nothing in return” pour out of the earbud, jack inched his face up, licking a long, deep stripe through your folds.

you allow yourself to relax, sliding your slick pussy back and forth gently, not wanting to rush.

jack’s nose brushes your clit with every movement. you sigh at the feeling, not realizing how much you needed the friction until now.

the melody in your ear continues, but none of the lyrics are registering anymore. the feeling of jack’s tongue working through you takes every ounce of your attention.

“god, fuck! jack, best idea ever,” you moan out, picking up your pace slightly.

jack groans, letting his tongue still for a moment, allowing you to work yourself over it as you please.

fighting through the bliss radiating throughout your body, you try to focus on the lyrics at least a little bit. the chorus starts repeating, but the lyrics that follow make your head fuzzy in the best way.

“she could ride my face i don’t want nothin’ in return, except for some her time and all her love, that’s my concern” is what you focus on, the words squeezing your heart and your cunt.

jack smirks into your pussy when he hears you moan, knowing exactly which lyrics elicited the reaction from your body. you’ve always been the type to get off on the sweet nothings he whispers in your ear while he fucks into you, so he knew that line in particular would be especially helpful while his mouth is otherwise occupied.

your pace increases again as the song continues on, already halfway to your release.

jack brings his hands up to hold you still, your hole mere centimeters from his waiting tongue. he guides you to lower yourself onto the muscle, encouraging a slight bobbing motion of your body.

with every depression of your cunt onto his tongue, your clit bumps onto the tip of his nose. the pressure is a delicious form of teasing, the sensation gone nearly as soon as it’s felt each time.

“please, touch me. need you to touch me, jack. so so close,” you pant out, feeling the familiar swirl of your climax forming already.

jack grunts in response, the vibrations sending waves all throughout your body and you’re convinced you can feel it in your toes.

his hands leave your hips, traveling up your body until they find your sensitive buds, pinching and playing with each pink, taut nipple.

you jolt a bit, the motion causing your clit to slam against his nose this time. you cry out at all of the various sensations all at once. full with his tongue, rough hands on your tits, and round nose scraping against your clit.

the pure stimulation of it all forces your orgasm out of you, slamming into your body with the force of a train.

“fuck!” you scream, quickly shooting a hand out to grip the back of the couch, trying to stop yourself from collapsing on jack’s face completely.

you can barely hear the words “she can ride my face i don’t want nothin’ in return, and will i ever fall in love again? i can’t confirm,” ring through your ear, the soundtrack to your release, literally.

jack continues to work his tongue in and out of your hole while you shake and convulse above him, having to chase your entrance as you move. he continues to knead your sensitive breasts, each squeeze sending small volts through your already spent nerves.

he can feel your release dripping onto his cheeks, chin, and nose. he tries to lap up as much as he can, not wanting to miss a drop of your liquid pleasure.

your taste alone was enough to form the wet spot on his grey sweats, not embarrassed in the slightest he’s literally leaking from how turned on he is. but when he looks up at you above him, skin damp and eyes half rolled into the back of your head, mixed with the feeling of your body tightening around his tongue so harshly he can’t even pull it out, he blows his load right then and there.

he can feel the last flutters of your walls around his tongue, not stopping his movements until you pull back, having half a mind to keep going and work another orgasm out of your sensitive state. he moans through his own unprompted release, the only thing keeping him from following his sudden impulse to overstimulate you.

once the tired muscles in your thighs stop shaking, and your breath evens out, you can hear the fading of the music in your ear, signaling the end of the song. you push up slightly on your knees, detaching yourself from jack’s mouth as he chases your now swollen cunt, a small whine escaping him at the action.

“jack…the song’s over,” you manage the words somehow, in awe that he made you come in only a single song’s length.

“i can hit replay,” he rushes out, already reaching to grab his phone again.

you squeak out a slightly panicked “no,” while shaking your head, worried if he started again you might actually explode. you let yourself relax fully, scooting back so you can rest yourself on his lower abdomen once again, but the feeling of something wet stops you.

jerking back up, you turn and look down, spotting the large, wet stain on his sweatpants. you can’t stop staring at it, wondering if you’re really looking at what you think you’re looking at.

“jack…did you…” you trail off, turning back around to look at him.

he smirks as he leans himself up on his elbows. “sure did, sweets. you have no clue how much i enjoyed that.”

you laugh at his pride filled face. “pretty sure i do, seeing as i just sat on the evidence.”

he simply shrugs, patting your bare ass lightly to signal you to stand. you swing your legs over his body, standing and bending over to pick up your discarded underwear and slide it back up your legs.

“so….about that dinner conversation,” you ask him as he stands, suddenly way hungrier than you were when he first got home.

it’s his turn to laugh at you, walking over and removing the now silent earbud from your ear.

“whatever you want is fine with me. i already ate,” he gives you a kiss on the forehead then turns to walk towards the bedroom.

“oh…not even right, you dick,” you huff, following it with telling him you’re ordering his least favorite take out, a punishment for his sass.

making your way to the kitchen to dig through the different take out menus, you hear jack shout your name once again.

“i was thinking, how do you feel about that being our wedding song?” he asks, poking his now shirtless, but clean sweats clad, figure out of the bedroom door.

“jack!” you shout, scolding him as his loud cackle rings out around you, causing your own amused smile to break out on your face.

[wonderjanga]

I Want My Money.

Billy likes money, he’s said this before, but nearly all the time, money is tight. So, it’s rare when he’ll lend someone a buck or two, and when he lends them a buck, he expects that buck paid back in full.

Marvel: “Ah, Flash! You haven’t paid me back yet. I kinda need my money.” *all kind and nice*

Flash: “Huh? Oh yeah. Don’t worry, man. I got ya.”

Later…

Marvel: *a little more impatiently* “Flash? My twenty? You uh still haven’t gotten it for me.”

Flash: “Yeah dude. I’ll get it to you.”

Even more later…

Marvel: *annoyed* “Flash.” *speaking through grit teeth* “Flash get me my twenty dollars. Now.” *hands on Flash’s shoulders*

Flash: *kinda scared cause he hasn’t seen Marvel ever really show anger* “Dude, I said I’d get it for you.”

Marvel: “Yeah, now. Get it for me now. Please.”

Flash: “I- uh- I’ll be right back.” *zooms off and comes back with a twenty* “Here, man.”

Marvel: *super smiley and normal again* “Thanks, Flash.” *takes the money and walks off like nothing happened*

Flash: “No problem…” *whiplashed at the sudden change*

Wally had like no idea what to make of this interaction. The man was so generous. He didn’t think he’d be this pressed about twenty dollars. Like for example, they found space rock that could’ve been sold for millions apparently and he just gave it all to Wally like it was nothing. (Billy had no idea where to sell it. Bros never heard of eBay, not that he has an electronic device to use it on) But twenty dollars? Wow. Wally didn’t know if Marvel needed his priorities straight or what. All the speedster knew was that he was never gonna cross Marvel about money again. It’s honestly his bad anyways.

Then there was the one time Adam owed him five dollars. Don’t ask him why he lent him the money. Billy now recognizes it was a moment of weakness.

Black Adam and Marvel: *fighting*

Marvel: *stops fighting* “Dude, are you going to pay me back my money?”

Black Adam: *also stops fighting* “What are you talking about? What money?”

Marvel: “My money? Y’know, the five dollars I lent you?”

Black Adam: “Five dollars- I’m not paying you back for that!”

Marvel: “That’s common courtesy, man!”

Black Adam: “I don’t care! I’d rather die than repay you for anything!”

Black Adam didn’t really expect for this to backfire on him. As a result of not paying back a measly five dollars, Adam was met with Marvel appearing in his palace at the ass crack of dawn, demanding his money.

Black Adam: *honestly a little surprised Marvel came to Kahndaq because he’s never really came to the country before* “You do realize you’re breaching my country’s national security-”

Marvel: “I DON’T CARE. Teth, give me my money.”

Black Adam: “You’re willing to risk my country dissolving into war with your country over five dollars?”

Marvel: “Yes? Money. Now.” *makes grabby hands*

Black Adam: “Bumbling idiot…” *massages temples* “I’m not paying you back! How difficult is it to get that through your thick skull?!”

Billy did not like that answer. So now, the Justice League and everyone who had the pleasure of being online the day after this incident were met with a video of Marvel beating on Adam harsher than they, or anyone else for that matter had even seen before.

Marvel: “JUST GIVE ME MY MONEY!”

Black Adam: “NO!”

In the end, Billy still didn’t get his money. And this actually wasn’t because Adam didn’t want to pay, but rather Adam’s country doesn’t use American dollars so he went there, beat up their leader, and basically did it all for nothing. Honestly looking back at it, Billy didn’t really know what he was expecting. Neither his nor Adam suits have pockets, so he kind of doubts that he had a wallet to hold money in the first place. He was honestly just glad Adam, for whatever reason, didn’t follow through on his promise to go to war with America.

So yeah… in conclusion, Billy Batson can, and will crash out over five dollars.

[delirious-donna]

Hiromi couldn’t help himself.

He knew it was unfair of him, but the urge to keep poking at you crept over him like a fiendish manifestation of the frustration he often experienced in his own caseload.

He shouldn’t take it out on you. What a wicked man it made him. Hardly ideal for a man who claimed to lead the march for justice and equality.

You’re not someone to take lightly, confident in your abilities and rightly so. This wasn’t a rodeo you hadn’t ridden like a seasoned pro for years now, he should know better, and yet… he pushes back at every opportunity.

“Don’t you think you should…”

His words tailed off at the warning flash of your eyes, narrowing crossly on his looming figure whilst your nostrils flared. If anyone was a bull ready to charge, it was you.

“Don’t you think you should mind your own business, Higuruma?” Your voice remained cool despite the fire snapping and crackling in your gaze.

He stopped just shy of letting out a groan of pleasure.

Fuck…

He loved it when you held your ground. You weren’t meek like the other paralegals and legal secretaries in the office. Hiromi couldn’t recall a single insistence where you had allowed anyone to speak down to you. You treated everyone how you wanted to be treated, with kindness and respect, but the fact you didn’t suffer fools gladly was signposted well.

It made him wonder if you would be like this in other, far more intimate circumstances.

A workplace crush was frowned upon, not that he particularly cared for such arbitrary rules. You were both adults and who you dated, fucked, fantasised about whilst sat at their desk well after clocking off time stroking their—well, that was no one’s concern but his or your own.

“You don’t want my opinion?” he asked with a wry grin, already knowing the answer was a firm and resounding no. He was certain it would be preceded by a hissed ‘fuck’ if you weren’t being carefully watched by half of the office.

“… no. If I wanted your opinion, or even needed your assistance in any capacity, I would ask. Don’t you have a meeting in ten minutes?”

Hiromi chuckled. “They cancelled.”

“So, that’s why you’re pestering me. You’re bored and in need of distraction.”

Your voice warmed as you spoke, comprehension dawning on you that this little charade might hold more meaning than you had previously assumed. That thought was certainly more alluring than thinking him to be a menace simply for the hell of it.

His shrug neither confirmed nor denied your accusation, but the warmth colouring his neck right above the collar of his slightly rumpled shirt spoke volumes, as did the idle forefinger that drew a spiral atop your desk.

“Back to your little office, Higuruma, I am busy.”

He complied without further incident, whilst you watched his handsome, if not tired, profile disappear behind his office door. You smiled, no longer bothered by the tedious work task flashing in front of you for attention.

You really should take that man in hand a little more firmly, personally, perhaps…

That was your thought ten minutes later as you closed his door behind you, the lock snicking into place as his eyebrows shot into the dark of his hairline.

You couldn’t see his cock harden beneath his desk but you knew it was, and you couldn’t wait to make him beg you for the release he craved.

Hiromi couldn’t help himself.

[drunkinyourbenz]

ALWAYS THERE FOR YOU

☆ SYNOPSIS: your parents' excitment about the election results left you with a pit of dread in your stomach. luckliy for you, you had billie, who helped you through it all.

☆ RELATIONSHIP: billie eilish x fem!reader

☆ WARNINGS: angst, comfort, politics, right wing family, implied homophobic family, long distance relationship (during tour)

☆ REQUESTED? yes, anon

☆ NOTE: hi my loves, i saw this request and just had to write it right away (literally wrote it in half an hour lmao) for anyone needing comfort as well as the anon who requested this, i hope you're doing okay. i'm not from america, but i'm also deeply dissapointed about the election results, and i feel for all of you who are there. i hope i did this request justice, i don't have a family who's like super against my views so i hope this is okay <3 anyone with family celebrating like the readers is in this story, please imagine me giving you the biggest hug rn, i hope you're coping okay. my dms are always open if you want to talk about anything at all, i love you all, please stay safe <33

☆ WORD COUNT: 1.2k words

you and billie had been dating for a while now, and she made you happier than anyone ever had before. she was your other half, and without her you would feel incomplete. you weren’t on tour with her, much to both of your disappointments. but you’d had personal things that took up your time at the start of tour, so the plan was that you’d join her once she came on tour to your city, and you’d join her for the rest of tour. despite not being on tour with her, your mind always drifted back to her, she had a permanent residence in your heart. 

so naturally, on election night, you sat in your room thinking about her. you wanted nothing more than to be held by her in this moment, you’d slipped away from dinner as soon as you could, but you could still hear your family’s excited chatter coming from downstairs. the fact that they were happy about the way it was going, the way they wanted a future that was so drastically different from the one you had in your mind… it stung. your parents genuinely wanted a future that you weren’t sure whether you had a place in, and you didn’t really know what to do with that information.

you were trying to stay off social media, to stay away from the news, because you knew it wouldn’t help you—you couldn’t change a thing. but every few minutes, you’d end up switching back to the tab on your laptop with the live updates, feeling a sense of dread settling in your stomach. you couldn’t quite comprehend how so many more people had voted for him, the man who made you genuinely fear for your future. 

so finally, you texted billie. you needed her comfort, even though it would just be her voice over a call. you needed her. 

can i call you??

billie replied not long after, her text simple. 

bils: ofc baby

her contact calling you came up on your screen before you could even move to call her, and you automatically accepted the face time. her face popped up on your phone after a moment, and as well as the tiredness from tour you’d been seeing so much of lately, she looked just as crestfallen as you. the two of you shared the same opinions on this, and you knew how much billie cared about it. 

just as the call loaded properly, you heard a loud cheer from downstairs, and you couldn’t stop the grimace that appeared on your face. billie’s lips curved down in a soft, sympathetic frown, “oh, baby.” 

a sigh left your lips, the sound somewhat defeated, “i just… i don’t know how they want that. it feels like they want a future that i’m not safe in–” billie cut you off with an understanding sigh, she knew that if she let you keep talking, you’d simply spiral. she knew what you meant, you felt a rift between you and your parents, you felt unsure of what that meant for your relationship with them. billie herself had never experienced it, with her own family being supportive and sharing her views, but she had always been good at comforting you. 

“i’m so sorry, baby. you know that me and my family have always got you, no matter what, yeah? we’ve got your back, we’re always here for you. all of us.” 

your lips curled into a soft pout, her words lessening the sadness you were feeling. “i love your family.”

she smiled softly at you, “and we love you. always.” 

you cracked a small smile at her words, the disappointment behind your eyes still very much evident, but you felt an overwhelming feeling of love for the people in your life. even if your blood-related family didn’t understand, you had your chosen family. that small fact that you had your people, who agreed with you on these things, it helped to soften the blow of your parents wanting the country to go down such a different path than you did. only slightly, but it helped. you felt the pain dull slightly. 

the two of you stayed on the phone for a while, billie distracting you from your parents downstairs by telling you about the tour so far. obviously, she was also upset about everything going on, but she knew you needed this support and that was more important than talking about it. she just wanted you to feel okay. you could feel the emotions hanging around both of you even through the phone, but you appreciated that she wasn’t mentioning them right now. you’d have plenty of time to talk about the election later, once you didn’t feel so despairing about the future. 

after about half an hour of the two of you just talking, you decided to ask her something. 

“bils?” 

“hmm?” she hummed, looking up as if she could sense the importance of what you were about to say even through one word. 

“do you… do you think i could join you on tour a bit earlier than planned? i just don’t know if i can stay in this house for any longer, it’s just–”

“of course.” 

her instant, firm reply cut off your rambling and you sighed in relief, “thank you–”

“don’t thank me, darling. i just want you to feel safe.” she paused, thinking, “you could join us on the minnesota dates, if you want. there’s two days there, so it gives you more time to get here. i can book you a flight–” 

you smiled at her considerate words, the way she was taking everything into account. oh, how you loved her. “that sounds perfect. and don’t book first class this time, jesus. i can put up with an economy flight, i’m used to them. plus,  i get to see you at the end of it.” 

she smiled warmly, “mm, you do. and then i’m wrapping you up in a massive hug and never letting you go, because i love you.” 

you giggled softly at her words, “i think i’m looking forward to seeing maggie more, actually.” 

billie rolled her eyes fondly, her mother just adored you. “i don’t blame you.” 

the two of you talked into the night, and were still on the call when you woke up. you weren’t aware that you’d fallen asleep, and you probably wouldn’t have if it weren’t for her soothing voice.

it was now the early hours of the morning, soft sunlight streaming through the curtains you’d forgotten to shut. the house had gone silent by now, your parents finally asleep, and you felt a tiny bit of peace just laying there in the silence. you looked at the screen for a moment, simply admiring her pretty sleeping face, the way her eyelashes fluttered slightly and her chest rose and fell with each breath. this time in a few days, you’d be in her arms again. 

you let out a soft sigh. the country may be falling apart by the seams, but you had billie. you had her, so you’d be okay. 

[dadbodbuck]

does the swallow dream of flying?

Rating: G | WC: 1.6k | Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Summary:

Tommy calls Eddie after he breaks up with Buck. Eddie has some choice words for him. Coda for 8x06.

{ Read it here on Ao3! }

OR read below!

“Eddie,” Tommy says, voice hoarse on the other end of the line. He sounds—if not drunk, then so heartbroken it sounds like inebriation. “I wanted to—I’m calling to say goodbye.”

Eddie’s not quite sure if he means it the way he thinks he does, but his stomach almost falls out through the soles of his feet anyway. He sits bolt upright in bed, carefully extricating himself away from Buck, who’s doing his best impression of a endoparasite (“A parasite that lives on the skin of its host, Eddie, it’s really fascinating stuff—”) and somehow latched onto Eddie’s waist with an iron grip while also being dead asleep.

What little vestiges of sleep had been clinging to him fall completely away as he steps into his own hallway, quietly hissing, “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I mean—at home?” Tommy says, confused, and okay, yeah, he’s definitely slurring his words a little, “Where else would I be?”

Eddie sighs and drags a hand over his face. “Are you going to be safe? Do I need to call someone?”

“No! No, it’s not like that,” Tommy assures him, “Sorry, I should have clarified. I’ll be okay. This is just… this is it. For us. Since Ev—since Buck and I broke up.”

“From what I heard, you’re the one who broke up with him,” Eddie huffs, “Or did I just spend the last three hours getting snot on my nice white shirt for a mutual thing?”

“This is what I mean!” Tommy insists, “He’s your best friend. I’m—I know I don’t rank that high. I just… fuck, I really enjoyed spending time with you these past six months. It’ll—it’ll always be,” a rough, shaky breath, “I’ll remember it fondly.”

Eddie feels a shocking flare of irritation, and it leads him out onto his back patio, so he knows he won’t wake Buck up. “What the fuck happened, man?”

“I had—I had to end it,” Tommy says, with a shake in his voice like a motorcycle’s death wobble, “It wasn’t going to last. If I didn’t pull the plug it would have broken me. I didn’t want to—I didn’t want it to get to the point where either one of us would get our hearts broken.”

“Really? Because from where I’m sitting, neither one of you sound especially put together right now,” Eddie positively seethes, “He’s fucking gutted, Kinard. He told me—” (“I didn’t know if I loved him this morning, and then he called me Buck and I felt sick. What—what else could it be?”) “—well, he told me a lot that, frankly, I don’t think you should hear from anyone but him. And you don’t even know what you did to him because you ran! You didn’t even try—”

“Please stop,” Tommy says, sounding smaller than Eddie has ever heard him, “It’s… it’s better this way.”

“Better for who?” Eddie snaps.

“For him!” Tommy insists, “For both of us, but especially for him. I’m not the forever guy. I’m not his forever guy, and I’m not yours, either. I just want… I want a clean break. I—I want—”

There’s a sniffle, a choked-off sob, and Tommy says, “I just want to be left alone. It would hurt less if people would just leave me the fuck alone.”

“That’s a shitty excuse, and you know it,” Eddie accuses, “Tommy, listen. I’m not saying this to make you feel bad, I’m saying this because—despite the fact that you’re apparently the biggest idiot I’ve ever met—I care about you. I care about you outside of your relationship to Buck. Or did you forget the fact that you were my friend before you were his boyfriend?”

“So, what,” Tommy says, irritation seeping into his voice, “You want to keep talking to me? I know how that goes. You’ll text me every once in a while, we won’t hang out if Buck’s going to be there, so you’ll lose interest and our fun trips and sparring sessions will be fewer and further between, and it’ll hurt. It’ll hurt worse than this. Why do you think I’m doing this, Eddie? I’m doing this because it’s the only way I can keep myself sane.

“You want to know why? You want to know why I broke up with him? Because I woke up the morning of our anniversary and realized I was falling in love with him. I haven’t been able to eat. I haven’t been able to sleep. I—I realized I would let him do anything to me, and that’s not something I ever want to feel again. So I couldn’t. There—there’s your fucking answer. I broke up with him because a little heartbreak is better than ever letting myself get hurt like that ever again.”

The words kind of prickle at some sense in the back of Eddie’s brain. The anger fades a little, and into something a lot more like concern. “Hurt like what, Tommy?”

“I don’t—I don’t know how to tell someone no once they’re in my life like that,” Tommy confesses through gritted teeth, “Maybe it’s my dad’s fault, maybe Don’t Ask Don’t Tell’s fault, maybe it’s just me. Every relationship I’ve ever been in has ended in me making the same mistake. I stayed too long, I let them—I let them believe I wanted to marry them, or I let them take out their anger on me, or I—I—other stuff. Evan—Buck doesn’t deserve that.”

“You’re right,” Eddie acquiesces, “He doesn’t. He deserves a partner who can communicate openly with him. Which you had been doing. You’re capable of being open, Tommy. You did it before.”

Tommy pauses on the other end of the line. “I—I don’t know what to do, Eddie.”

“Did you want to break up with him?” Eddie presses.

“No,” Tommy says, easy as breathing, “Of course not. I want him around for the rest of my life. But that’s… selfish.”

“And breaking up with him because you don’t want to talk through something difficult and scary is so altruistic,” Eddie counters, “You know, there’s this thing Buck says about love—you don’t find it, you make it. I think he heard it on a scene we were at years ago. From this old gay couple, been together for decades and decades.”

Tommy’s quiet on the other end, and then Eddie hears the hitch of his breath. Tommy is sobbing, silent and restrained, but so hard the exhalation of breath sounds nearly painful.

(“I’m starting to think the curse wasn’t just Billy Boils. Maybe it’s me—I mean, I move into Abby’s place, and she leaves me. I pick out an apartment with Ali, and she leaves me. Taylor moves in, and she leaves me. And now this? I can’t… Eddie, I can’t keep doing this. I’m—maybe I’m just the guy who’s good for a fun time, not a long time. I—what am I doing wrong?”

“Buck, you’re not doing anything wrong. I’m so sorry.”

“Do you think—do you think you could ever fall in love with me?”

“I think if I wasn’t this way, I already would have.”)

“I’m not going to tell you what to do, Tommy,” Eddie says, “But I really think you should talk to him. Tell him where your head’s at. Buck’s really good at—at understanding why you hurt him, and he’s even better at forgiving.”

“I—I—I can’t—”

“You can,” Eddie insists, “So pull yourself together, do some box breathing, get some sleep, and come over to my house tomorrow. I’ll make my hangover cure. I’ll lock the doors if I have to.”

Tommy’s quiet, which Eddie interprets as a fully-blown panic attack.

“If you don’t, I will call Athena Grant,” Eddie threatens, “You don’t want to know the things she’s willing to do for Buck. I’ve seen her break at least three laws with my own eyes.”

This, at least, gets a laugh out of Tommy. “Okay—Jesus, yeah. What time?”

“If you’re not over here by nine I’m sending the cavalry,” Eddie says primly, “And bring flowers. Nobody’s ever gotten Buck flowers before.”

Tommy takes a slow, shaky breath out. “Thanks, Eddie. You didn’t—you didn’t have to do all this for me.”

“Everyone always says Buck has a habit of worming his way into your heart, but nobody ever talks about me,” Eddie grins, “You’re stuck with me now, Kinard. Rain or shine. Even when you’re the stupidest motherfucker on the planet.”

“I’ll text you tomorrow when I’m on my way,” Tommy says, “I’ll—I should go eat some carbs and drink water now.”

“Take care of yourself, man,” Eddie says, “And don’t you ever call me to say goodbye again. Or break up with Buck like that. Also—call him Evan. It’s fucking weird to hear you call him Buck.”

“Okay,” Tommy acquiesces, quiet. “Damn. I was so worried about falling in love with Evan that I didn’t even realize I already loved you.”

“I’m sneaky like that,” Eddie says, “I’ll see you tomorrow—or else.”

(The next day, Tommy knocks on the door at nine sharp. He hasn’t changed out of his pajamas, his hair is a mess, he looks too gaunt and the bags under his eyes could fit a small country. But he’s holding a bouquet of wildflowers.

“I got this one because they’re the same color as your eyes,” Tommy says to Buck, who stands in the living room with his mouth ajar.

“What’s going on right now?” Buck says, eyes darting over to Eddie suspiciously.

“I’m going on a walk,” Eddie says, putting his sunglasses on his forehead and twisting at the hips to pop his back, “Don’t fuck on any of my furniture.”)

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for inkwell behind the cut; “Billy and Damian and the whole soulmate thing”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Like–except Robin, obviously. Robin doesn’t deserve him being spiteful. Robin deserves, like, a nice wedding with Nightwing as his best man and Red Robin, like, definitely invited but maybe seated at a table off to the side behind a tactically-placed floral arrangement or twelve and also whatever Robin likes to eat on the menu, which Billy admittedly doesn’t actually know yet and probably needs to figure out. Though then again, if he’s running away from the Justice League and/or Batman’s weird seventeen-bedroomed house until he’s eighteen, Robin’s tastes are probably gonna change a bit, so maybe he should just wait on that so he can be sure he’s getting it right and all? 

Ugh. Billy really doesn’t wanna have to run away from the Justice League until he’s eighteen. Especially not Batman. Batman’s really good at finding people, so he’s basically just gonna have to hide out at the Rock of Eternity for like the whole time, and that is so long and is gonna get so boring so quick. 

Ugh. Ughhh. Ugh. 

“Where was that? Laws about supplying alcohol to a minor vary significantly from state to state,” Batman says as Flash slithers to the floor with an actual moan. Billy glowers at him. He is still not forgiving him just ‘cuz he’s funny. “And felony charges can apply to repeat offenders."

. . . alright, Batman’s really funny. But still, dammit! 

“Bats, I really don’t think accidentally buying a drink for a magically-disguised minor three years ago is the relevant concern here,” Green Lantern says in exasperation. 

“You said you took him to multiple bars,” Batman says, just barely tilting his head. “Was that the only time any of you bought him a drink?” 

“I–you–he looks like forty!” Green Lantern protests. Flash just stays on the floor. 

Batman raises an eyebrow behind his mask, then looks over at Billy and looks him over; then looks back to Green Lantern with a very telling expression. Green Lantern sputters indignantly. 

“Stop being funny, asshole, I’m still gonna be mad even if you are,” Billy grumbles at Batman, who just makes the same little “hm” noise he always does when he’s feeling particularly smug about a joke he’s made. Billy scowls at him on principle. 

Asshole. Geez, like Billy’s new here or something. 

“Father, this is hardly professional behavior,” Robin says, giving Batman a withering look. 

“God, I will never understand what kids even think Bats is saying,” Green Arrow mutters under his breath, half-covering his face with a hand and eyeing Robin through his fingers. “Listen, Cap–Billy–” 

“Excuse you?” Billy asks, scowling at him instead. “You think we’re on a first-name basis while you guys are threatening me?” 

“Listen, brat, I am also a licensed foster parent, and Star is closer to Fawcett than Gotham is, so I in fact am threatening you,” Green Arrow retorts, narrowing his eyes at him. “And there’s eight bedrooms in my house.” 

“That is not a house!” Billy says. “That’s literally not a house, that’s like a hotel! Why do none of you just have houses?!” 

“A motel, perhaps,” Robin drawls, eyeing Green Arrow disdainfully. 

“I am not living with anyone, I’m fine,” Billy emphasizes with a glower. “I’ve been fine all this time, haven’t I?”

“. . . Billy,” Superman says, looking stressed. “How long have you been homeless, exactly?” 

“Since I was like seven,” Billy says, since he doesn’t count any of the in-and-out foster care nonsense as not being homeless, considering. That’d just been a bunch of shitty places he’d had to sneak out of or run away from, not actually anywhere he’d ever really lived. Mostly he’d slept in abandoned buildings or alleys or parks, ‘cuz it’d been safer. “So I’m fine, obviously.” 

“Since you were seven,” Superman repeats, looking stressed. 

“That’s what I said,” Billy says in exasperation, folding his arms again and glowering at him. “And I didn’t even have superpowers then and still took care of myself fine, so I’m double-fine now, actually.” 

Superman puts his face in his hands, for some reason. Black Canary pats his back sympathetically.

Billy does not think Superman deserves sympathy right now.

[eu-nicola]

her memory

summary: After Grace's death, you offer to take care of Charlie, Thomas, who lives tormented by his pain, accepts. As both spend more time together, both begin to develop something but neither you or him don't know how to accept it.

warnings: mention of death, nothing more i think

word counter: 7682

author's note: english is not my first language

The cold wind cut through the morning with a cruel indifference, as if the world kept turning without stopping for anyone's mourning. The tombstones stood as silent reminders of lives past, names etched in stone, stories that had ended. Among them all, one stood out: Grace Shelby. The letters were carved with precision, the name reflecting both love and tragedy.

You, Grace's younger sister, held a bouquet of white lilies with numb fingers. You had chosen those flowers because they were Grace's favorite, although now the detail seemed ironic. You couldn't remember the last time you had brought her flowers when she was alive. Maybe you had never done so. Guilt nibbled at the edges of your conscience as you walked down the gravel path.

In the distance, a familiar figure emerged from the mist: Thomas. He was dressed in strict black, his face impassive as always. His eyes, though, those blue eyes that always seemed to be calculating, now reflected something deeper. Pain. Or maybe just tiredness.

You hadn’t spoken to Thomas since Grace’s funeral, and before that, your interactions had been tense, at best. You’d made it clear from the start that you didn’t trust him. “He’s not a good man for you, Grace,” you’d warned him more than once, but Grace always found a way to justify it. “You don’t know him like I do,” she’d reply with a smile that was now just a painful memory.

Thomas stopped in his tracks when he saw you standing by the grave. There were no words of greeting or gestures of courtesy. Neither did they need them. You were both there for the same reason.

You carefully placed the flowers on the grave and knelt down, closing your eyes for a moment. The silence between you and Thomas was thick, heavy with everything that had never been said and everything that would never be said. Finally, you stood up, feeling Thomas’ gaze on you.

“She always talked about you,” Thomas said, his voice low and rough, like he hadn’t used it in days.

You looked at him, surprised by the comment. There was an honesty in his tone that was disarming, something rare about him.

“And what did she say?” you asked, not because you really wanted to know, but because you needed to fill the void.

Thomas lit a cigarette, letting the smoke mix with the cold air. His eyes never left the tombstone.

“She said you were strong. Stronger than you believed yourself. That you had always been her rock, even when you didn’t know it.” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “And that you were the only one who could tell her the truth, even if it hurt.”

You felt a lump in your throat. Grace had always been the mediator between you and the world, softening your harshest words, interpreting your silences. Now that she was gone, you felt disoriented, like you’d lost your compass.

“I always thought I was protecting her,” you admitted quietly, your gaze fixed on the grave. “But maybe I was just trying to protect myself. I didn’t want to see her suffer for someone who couldn’t give her what she deserved.”

Thomas didn’t answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice held a tone you’d never heard before: vulnerability.

“Grace gave me more than I deserved. And I gave her back less than I needed.” He stubbed out his cigarette in the dirt and looked up at you. “But I loved her. In my own way, I loved her.”

His words fell heavily in the air. For a moment, you wanted to respond as harshly as ever, to point out that his love hadn’t been enough, that his world of violence and power had dragged her to the grave. But something stopped you. Maybe it was the pain you saw reflected in his face. Or maybe you were just tired of fighting.

“Grace loved you too,” you said at last, almost in a whisper. “I never doubted that.”

Silence settled between you again. Thomas nodded slightly, as if that statement were enough. You both knew that the relationship between you and him would never be cordial, but at that moment, you shared something that transcended your differences: the loss of the woman who had been the center of your lives.

Finally, Thomas took a step back, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat.

“I’ll always be here if you need me,” he said, not looking directly at you. Then, without waiting for an answer, he turned and began walking toward the exit of the cemetery.

You watched his figure walk away until it disappeared into the fog. The fog slowly dissipated as you walked away, leaving the tombstone and the memories behind.

After that encounter, you knew that you didn’t want to part with what little was left of Grace. The decision didn’t come immediately, but rather as a persistent murmur in the back of your mind. The image of Grace, always smiling with her baby in her arms, was etched ever deeper into your memory. Charlie was the only part of her left in this world, a small piece of light in the midst of all the darkness her death had left. And you wanted, no, needed, to be a part of her life.

Days later, you found yourself in front of the door of the Shelby house. You hesitated for a moment, looking at the imposing facade. You hadn’t set foot in that place since Grace’s funeral. You sighed deeply and knocked on the door. It was Polly who opened it, her sharp gaze examining you immediately.

“What are you doing here?” she asked bluntly, her tone neither hostile nor friendly, just expectant.

“I need to talk to Thomas,” you said, straightening up.

Polly arched an eyebrow, but didn’t ask any more questions. She waved you in and led you to the living room, where Thomas sat behind his desk, papers strewn in front of him, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

He looked up as you entered, his expression unfazed.

“Another telling off, then?” she asked sarcastically, though there was a hint of curiosity in her tone.

You shook your head, gently shaking your head as you sat across from him.

“I’m not here to fight, Thomas. I’m here for Charlie.”

He set the glass down on the table, his gaze fixed on you.

“What about Charlie?”

You took a moment before answering, your hands clenched in your lap.

“I want to help. I want to be in his life. I know this may sound strange, but I would like to be his nanny.” You hesitated for a second, but continued before he could interrupt. “I want to be close to him, to help raise him. I don’t want him to grow up without having a connection to his maternal family.”

Thomas watched you silently for a few moments. His face was a mask of calm, but his eyes betrayed that he was processing each word carefully.

“Why now?” he asked finally. “You don’t trust me, you never have. Why would you want to get more involved?”

You leaned forward a little, trying to convey the sincerity of your intentions.

“Grace loved Charlie more than anything. And if I can’t have her, I at least want to make sure her son grows up surrounded by love, by family. This isn’t about you, Thomas. This is about him.” You paused, letting your words sink in. “And because Grace would want us to be there for him.” Both of you.

Thomas leaned back in his chair, bringing his hands to his face for a moment before running them through his hair. Finally, he nodded slowly.

“Fine. If that’s what you want, you can start tomorrow. Polly will show you Charlie’s routines. But I warn you,” he said, his voice lower and more serious, “this world is dangerous. I don’t want you to go near it if you ever think you can’t handle it.”

You agreed with a slight nod, knowing there was no turning back.

The next morning, Polly greeted you with a mix of surprise and silent approval. She wasn’t a woman of many words, but she seemed to appreciate your willingness.

“Charlie is a calm boy, but he needs stability,” she said as she led you to the little boy’s room. “His mother was his refuge, and now it’s up to you to fill some of that void.”

When you entered Charlie’s room, your heart tightened. The boy, who couldn’t have been more than two years old, was sitting in his crib, playing with a teddy bear. His eyes were the spitting image of Grace: big, curious, and bright. Seeing you, he tilted his head in curiosity.

You slowly approached, smiling.

“Hey, little one,” you said quietly, feeling excitement fill your chest.

Charlie watched you for a moment before extending his arms to you, an immediate sign of trust that nearly brought tears to your eyes. You picked him up carefully, feeling his warmth against you. He rested his small head on your shoulder, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

The rest of the day passed in unexpected calm. You fed him, played with him, and took him for a walk in the garden. As you walked, you couldn’t help but notice that Charlie seemed more relaxed with you than you had anticipated. It was as if, somehow, he knew you were a part of his mother, a connection he still needed.

The passage of time hadn’t eased the void left by Grace, but caring for Charlie filled your days with a kind of purpose you’d never felt before. The little boy had a laugh that lit up even the gloomiest of rooms, and his small hands reached for yours with a trust that melted you. With each day you spent with him, you felt like you were helping keep a part of Grace alive.

Charlie followed you everywhere, whether it was in the garden, where he clung to your wobbly fingers as he tried to walk, or in the kitchen, where he babbled incomprehensible words as you prepared his food. What touched you most was the way he clung to you at night, his small hands tangled in your shirt as you rocked him to sleep.

You were aware that every smile you elicited from him was a silent defiance of the pain his mother’s death had left behind. Though you tried hard to stay strong, there were times when Grace’s absence was too much. On those nights, when Charlie finally fell asleep, you stayed by his side a little longer, whispering stories about his mother to him, wishing that, somehow, he could remember her.

One of those nights, after putting Charlie to bed, you went down to the kitchen in search of something warm to drink. The house was silent, save for the occasional creak of wood beneath your feet. The air was cold, and the light from the fireplace in the living room barely illuminated the hallway.

That was when you saw him. Thomas was sitting in one of the armchairs in front of the fire, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the table beside him. His eyes, normally sharp and watchful, were darkened by a deep sadness. His face, always controlled, now seemed vulnerable, almost unfamiliar.

For a moment, you hesitated. You had seen Thomas in many facets: calculating, furious, even protective. But never like this, broken.

“Thomas, are you okay?” you asked quietly, though the answer was obvious.

He looked up slowly, his blue eyes piercing through you, filled with a pain that seemed to have no end. He didn’t answer right away, instead taking another long sip from the bottle before setting it down on the table with a thud.

“I didn’t know you were awake,” he finally said, his voice hoarse.

You approached cautiously, sitting down on the armchair in front of him. The distance between you both seemed so short and, at the same time, infinite.

“I was thinking about Grace,” you murmured, trying to connect.

Thomas gave a bitter smile, but his eyes didn’t light up.

“There’s not a single moment when I don’t see her. Every corner of this damn house reminds me of her.”

The silence that followed was thick. You felt like any words you could say would be insufficient, but you couldn't just leave him in that state.

“Grace would never want to see you like this, Thomas,” you said softly. “She always saw the best in you, even when you didn’t.”

He let out a dry, humorless laugh.

“Grace was always better than I deserved. I brought her into this world, into danger, and it killed her.” His words came out laden with guilt. “Everything I touch breaks.”

You leaned forward, meeting his eyes.

“Grace chose to be with you. She knew who you were and what your world meant, but she still loved you. You can’t carry all the blame, Thomas.”

For the first time, Thomas seemed to truly hear you. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you both shared a pain only you could understand. He let out a heavy sigh, as if he’d been carrying too great a weight for years.

“Charlie gives me a reason to keep going,” he admitted quietly. “But I can’t help but think of everything he lost. What I took from him.”

The pain in his voice tore at you. Without thinking, you stood up and walked over to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You’re not alone in this, Thomas. Charlie has a lot of people who love him. And so do you.” You paused, measuring your words. “I’m here.”

Thomas lifted his head, surprised by the openness in your voice.

“Thank you,” he finally said, his whisper barely audible.

You stayed by his side as the night wore on, both of you silent, but this time it wasn’t an awkward silence. It was the kind of stillness that comes from sharing a common pain.

The days in the Shelby house followed a steady, almost predictable rhythm. The mornings were Charlie's: from the first light of day, the little boy filled the house with his laughter and babbling, and you were there for each of those moments. But the nights... the nights were different.

Since that first time you found Thomas broken in front of the fireplace, something had changed between the two of you. They didn't always talk, but the presence of each other was enough. So, every night after putting Charlie to bed, your steps inevitably led you to the living room, where Thomas waited for you, his silhouette illuminated by the flames of the fire.

The first few nights were a timid exchange of words. Thomas offered you a glass of whiskey, which you accepted although you barely touched it, and the two of you sat in silence, watching the flames dance. Every now and then, he shared fragments of memories about Grace, little anecdotes that made you smile or sometimes let out a stifled laugh.

“Grace always made fun of my smoking,” he commented one night, with a slight smile. “She said I looked like a cheap actor trying to look sophisticated.”

You laughed softly, imagining your sister with her sharp wit and love of little jokes.

“That sounds like Grace,” you said, your voice heavy with nostalgia.

Over time, conversations became more fluid, less restrained. You shared memories of your childhood with Grace, little secrets that only the two of you knew. Thomas listened intently, his eyes softening with each story, as if through your words he could feel his wife’s presence again.

“You know?” you said, staring into the fire. “I always thought you were Grace’s worst mistake.”

Thomas, who had been staring at his glass of whiskey, looked up slowly, one eyebrow arched.

“And now?” he asked, his tone neutral, but his eyes heavy with curiosity.

You sighed, playing with the rim of your glass.

“Now… I’m not so sure.” You looked at him, your words softer than you’d planned. “Grace was happy with you. And that’s what matters, isn’t it?”

Thomas didn’t answer right away. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched you closely.

“I’m not a good man,” he finally said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “I never have been. But with Grace… she made me want to be better.”

You nodded slowly, understanding the weight of his words.

“We all have our shadows, Thomas. But I’ve seen how you are with Charlie, how you talk about Grace. Maybe you’re not as bad as I always thought.”

He let out a dry laugh, but there was a glint of something else in his eyes, something that seemed like a mix of relief and gratitude.

“That’s the closest thing to a compliment I’ve heard from you,” he said, his tone mocking, though his smile was genuine.

“Don’t get used to it,” you replied, smiling back.

With each passing night, the relationship between the two of you transformed. The conversations became deeper, more sincere. Thomas showed you a side that few knew about: the man behind the boss, the husband, the father struggling to find balance in a world full of chaos.

One night, after a long silence, Thomas confessed something that surprised you.

“I didn’t think you could forgive me,” he said, his words laden with a weight he seemed to have been carrying for a long time. “Not after everything.”

You stared at him, sensing the sincerity in his voice.

“It’s not easy to forgive, Thomas. But I also know that life is too short to hold on to hate.”

For a moment, you thought you were going to see tears in his eyes, but Thomas just nodded, clenching his jaw as he looked away.

Even if everything was fine between you and Thomas, there was always something off. The next day, the sun was shining softly that afternoon, and a light breeze rustled the leaves, making everything seem almost calm, almost normal.

Charlie was swinging happily in a baby swing that Thomas had had installed months ago. You stood nearby, watching him with a smile as you gently pushed the swing, making sure it wasn’t too high.

Charlie giggled, and when the swing stopped, he raised his arms to you, asking to be pulled out. You picked him up easily, holding him against your hip as he wrapped his arms around your neck. He looked at you with those big, bright eyes that reminded you so much of Grace, and something in your chest tightened.

“I love you, little one,” you murmured, gently kissing his forehead.

The little boy stared at you for a moment, then rested his little head on your shoulder and, in a barely audible voice, whispered,

“Mommy.”

The world seemed to stop. The air became thick, and for an instant, you couldn’t move or breathe. Your heart skipped a beat as the weight of that word fell upon you. You didn’t know what to say. Charlie didn’t fully understand what he had just said, but to you, the meaning was overwhelming.

Before you could react, a deep, sharp voice broke the silence.

“What did you say?”

You turned around suddenly and saw Thomas standing a few feet away. His face was tense, his eyes dark and filled with a mix of surprise and suppressed fury. He had returned earlier than expected and had clearly heard his son’s words.

—Thomas… —you started to say, trying to calm him down.

—Why is he calling you "Mom"? —he interrupted, his voice low but full of intensity.

Charlie, oblivious to the tension, clung to you with an innocent smile, his small hands playing with your hair. The image must have been a shock to Thomas, a painful reminder of what he’d lost.

“He’s just a kid, Thomas,” you said calmly, setting Charlie down so he could play again. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying. I would never try to take Grace’s place.”

Thomas took a step forward, his posture rigid.

“But you are,” he said, his voice raspy. “You’re looking out for him, you’re comforting him, and now he thinks you—” He paused, as if the words were too painful to say out loud.

“I’m here because I wanted Charlie to have someone to look out for him, to love him. I’m not trying to replace Grace, Thomas. I never could,” you replied, trying to keep your composure.

“Oh, yeah?” he snapped, his tone bitter. “And what do you think is going to happen if you keep this up?” He’ll see you as his mother.

His words were like blades, and you felt a lump in your throat, but you weren’t going to back down.

“That’s not fair!” you exclaimed, raising your voice. “I’ve done everything you asked of me, Thomas. I’ve been here, taking care of Charlie, helping you keep this home standing. And now you’re blaming me for something I can’t even control?”

Thomas clenched his fists, his eyes burning with frustration.

“You don’t understand. This isn’t your place. You’re not his mother. You never will be.”

The words were like a blow, but you refused to let them affect you any more than necessary.

“You’re right, Thomas,” you said, your voice cold. “I’m not his mother. But at least I’m here for him. And you? Where are you when he needs you? Or do you prefer to hide behind your whiskey and your business, letting others deal with the pain?”

Thomas took a step closer, his face now just inches from yours.

“Be careful what you say.”

“Why?” you replied, challenging him with your gaze. “Because you don’t like hearing the truth?”

The silence that followed was sharp, both of you breathing heavily, the tension between you almost tangible. Finally, Thomas took a step back, his face hardening.

“If you can’t understand your place here, then maybe you shouldn’t be here.”

Those words were a final blow. You nodded slowly, your expression cold but hurt.

“Understood.”

Without saying anything else, you turned and walked into the house, leaving Thomas alone in the garden. You felt a mix of rage and sadness as you climbed the stairs to your room. Everything you had done, all the effort, seemed to have been in vain. You leaned against the closed door, trying to control the tears that threatened to spill out.

The days that followed that tense confrontation with Thomas were tinged with an awkward silence in the house. The air seemed heavier, as if the very walls held back unspoken words and hurt feelings. But the most noticeable change was in Charlie.

The little boy, who used to be an endless source of laughter and energy, now seemed to be caught in a cloud of restlessness. His demeanor changed dramatically; laughter had been replaced by sobs, and his usual enthusiasm for play had given way to an irritable, brooding attitude. Every little inconvenience, from a toy that didn't work the way he wanted it to the lack of his favorite snack, made him burst into tears.

It hurt to see him like this, but the worst thing was that you knew why. Charlie missed the closest thing he'd had to a mother in the last few months. And even though you'd tried to keep your distance after the argument with Thomas, you couldn't help but worry about the boy.

That afternoon, Charlie was sitting on the living room floor, tightly hugging a teddy bear that Grace had given him. Tears ran down his cheeks as he murmured between sobs:

"Mom..."

You knelt beside him, feeling a lump in your throat.

"I know, honey," you said softly, stroking his hair. "I know you miss her."

Charlie turned to you, his little eyes full of desperation.

"Mom," he said.

It was like a dagger straight to the heart. Your instinct was to hug him, but you stopped, remembering Thomas' words.

“Oh, little Charlie,” you said finally, your voice breaking.

The little boy didn’t understand, and you knew it. To him, absence was a void that was impossible to fill. His sobs increased, and in the end, you couldn’t hold back any longer. You lifted him into your arms, holding him tightly as he cried against your chest.

“I’m here now,” you murmured, trying to calm him down. “I’m not leaving, okay?”

At that moment, the door opened, and Thomas entered the room. His gaze hardened as he took in the scene before him: you holding Charlie, trying to comfort him like a mother would.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, his voice cold.

Charlie turned to his father, his little face still wet with tears.

“Dad… Mom.”

Thomas tensed his jaw, his gaze darkening even further. He took a step toward you, his eyes fixed on you.

The boy clung to you, but was eventually led to his room by a maid. Once he was out of the room, Thomas turned to you.

“What part of ‘you can’t be his mother’ didn’t you understand?” he said, his voice low but filled with contained anger.

You stood up, crossing your arms.

“Thomas, don’t you see what’s happening? Charlie is hurting. He misses his mother, and for now, I’m the closest thing he has. Why can’t you just accept it?”

Thomas laughed, but there was no humor in his voice.

“Accept it? You want me to accept my son starting to call you mom while Grace is in her grave? Is that what you want?”

“No, what I want is for you to stop being so selfish,” you replied, raising your voice. “This isn’t about you, Thomas. It’s about Charles. He needs someone, and you can’t be everything to him.”

Thomas took a step closer, his presence imposing.

“You don’t decide what my son needs. I’m his father.”

“And I’m the only person who’s been here for him while you drown in your own pain,” you said, not backing down. “But it’s okay, Thomas. If that’s what you want, I’ll leave. But when Charlie keeps crying at night, when he asks you why I left him, you’ll be the one responsible.”

Thomas didn’t answer right away. His gaze was hard, but there was something else going on, too: an internal struggle, a battle between his pride and the reality that was hitting him harder and harder.

Finally, he took a step back, breaking eye contact.

“Do what you want,” he murmured, before exiting the room and leaving you alone.

The next few days were marked by an awkward silence between you and Thomas. Even though he had made it clear that he didn’t want you anywhere near Charlie, you couldn’t just walk away. Not when the little boy needed you more than ever. So, defying Thomas’ orders, you continued to look after the boy. After all, someone had to do it.

That night, the Shelby house was unusually quiet. Charlie had had a long day and was restless, his small body still shaking from time to time from residual sobs. You held him in your arms, gently rocking him as you walked around the room, whispering soothing words to him. Eventually, his eyes began to close, and his breathing became more rhythmic.

The house was empty. Thomas had gone out, as he often did lately, immersing himself in his business and affairs. Everything seemed calm, but there was an uneasiness in the air that you couldn’t shake.

Suddenly, a noise downstairs broke the silence. At first you thought maybe Thomas had returned, but a quick glance at the clock made you dismiss that idea. You clutched Charlie to your chest, your senses heightening. Another noise, this time clearer: the creaking of a door carefully opening.

Your heart began to pound, but you kept your cool. You couldn’t allow yourself to lose control. Slowly, you made your way to the bedroom door, making sure Charlie was safe in your arms.

The sound of footsteps ascending the stairs grew clearer and clearer. Then, a figure appeared in the doorway, a tall, burly man with a cold, cruel gaze. He held a gun, his face partially hidden by a handkerchief.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” the man said, his voice deep and full of mockery. “I didn’t expect to find a babysitter.”

You said nothing, your mind working quickly. The man pointed the gun at you, a gesture that made it clear he wasn’t there to talk.

“Where’s Shelby?” he asked, taking a step forward. “I know she’s not far away. But in the meantime…” his eyes fell on Charlie, who began to fidget in your arms, sensing danger. “Maybe we can send her a message, huh?”

“You don’t have to do this,” you said in a firm, yet calm voice. “Thomas will be back soon, and when he does, you won’t want to be here.”

The man laughed, a harsh, cruel sound.

“And what are you going to do?” he snapped. “Another empty threat? I’m here to settle a score, and if it means hurting the one you care about most…” He motioned to Charlie with a shake of his head.

Charlie began to cry, his small fists clinging to your shirt. Your instinct was to protect him, positioning him so that his body was out of reach of the gun. Despite the fear you felt, you kept your voice calm.

“You’re not going to touch him. If it’s Thomas you want, then he’s him you’ll face. But not a child.”

The man paused, considering your words, but his expression showed no sign of mercy.

“The world is not so kind, young lady.”

Before he could move, another noise echoed through the house. This time, the unmistakable thud of a door slamming shut. The man turned quickly, raising the gun, but before he could react, Thomas appeared in the doorway.

His gaze was deadly. In a quick, calculated move, he pulled out his pistol and fired without hesitation. The sound was deafening in the small room, and the man fell to the floor with a thud, the gun slipping from his hand.

Thomas moved forward slowly, his eyes fixed on the intruder’s body to make sure he posed no further threat. When he was sure, he turned his attention back to you and Charlie.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low but urgent.

Charlie was still crying, his tears soaking your shirt. You nodded, though your heart was still pounding.

“Yeah, we’re okay,” you murmured, trying to calm Charlie as you cradled him against you.

Thomas moved closer, placing a firm but gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Take him downstairs,” he said. “I’ll take care of this.”

You nodded again, walking out of the room with Charlie still in your arms. His sobs began to subside as you descended the stairs, the warmth of your embrace providing him with a modicum of comfort.

When you reached the living room, you sat down on the couch, holding Charlie close. Shortly after, Thomas came down, his steps slower, his expression hardened. He sat down in front of you, his gaze assessing you.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone with him,” he finally said, his voice heavy with a mix of guilt and concern.

“Thomas… it’s not your fault,” you replied, though you knew it wasn’t enough to ease his burden.

For the first time in days, his eyes showed something other than fury. There was fear there, fear of what could have happened if he had arrived a minute later.

As you rocked gently, Charlie’s little face buried in your chest, while you ran your fingers through his hair, murmuring soothing words.

Thomas sat across from you, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together, staring at the floor as if he was trapped in thought. The dim light from the lamp cast deep shadows on his face, highlighting the hardness of his features. But his eyes… his eyes showed something different that night: vulnerability.

“I shouldn’t have taken you away from Charlie,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence with a low tone, almost a whisper. He wasn’t looking at you, but his voice was heavy with remorse. “It was a mistake.”

You look up, surprised by his words. You had expected many things from Thomas Shelby, but not an apology.

“Thomas…” you began, but he held up a hand, indicating that he wasn’t finished yet.

“Ever since Grace died, I’ve tried to protect him, protect us both. But in doing so, all I’ve done is fail him. I can’t give him what he needs.” He finally looked up, his eyes meeting yours. “But you can.”

The words hit you with a mix of relief and pain. You knew how much it had cost him to admit that, how much it meant to him to acknowledge that he couldn’t do everything alone.

“Charlie needs you, more than I wanted to admit. I’ve seen you with him, how he calms down in your arms, how he trusts you.” Thomas ran a hand over his face, sighing deeply. “And I was an idiot to try to push you away from him.”

You looked down at Charlie, who was breathing easier now, his fingers gently clinging to your shirt. A feeling of warmth and relief settled in your chest. You had been willing to do anything for that little boy, even if it meant facing Thomas Shelby.

“Thank you for saying it, Thomas,” you finally said, your voice soft but firm. “But I need you to trust me, to understand that I would never do anything to hurt him.”

Thomas nodded slowly, his eyes still locked with yours. There was a weight in his gaze, but also a sort of unspoken truce.

“I know,” he admitted. “And I’m grateful. More than I can express.”

He leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees as he watched Charlie with a mix of tenderness and pain.

“I never wanted him to grow up without a mother. And I know you’ll never be able to replace Grace, but what you do for him… that’s the closest thing to a home I can offer him now.”

The lump in your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your composure.

“I’ll do everything I can for him, Thomas. Always.”

For the first time in what seemed like weeks, Thomas smiled, albeit a weak, tired smile.

“I know,” he said simply.

Silence fell between you again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. It was a silence of understanding, of acceptance. Charlie had fallen asleep, his little rhythmic sighs filling the room.

Thomas stood up, walking towards you with slow steps. He leaned down slightly, placing a hand on Charlie’s head and stroking his hair gently. Then, his eyes met yours again.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, but loaded with meaning.

You simply nodded, no need for words.

The next few days were quieter in the house. Thomas allowed you to care for Charlie without interference, and even began to participate more in the moments you shared with the little one. There was a routine that was beginning to feel, if not normal, at least less tense.

You and Thomas also began to talk more. At first, it was practical conversations, about Charlie or about how to reinforce the security of the house. But little by little, those dialogues transformed into something more personal. Moments when, for a brief moment, Thomas Shelby wasn’t the ruthless leader of the Peaky Blinders, but simply a man trying to navigate loss.

One night, after you’d put Charlie to bed, you found Thomas in the living room, a glass of whiskey in his hand. The soft light from the table lamp illuminated the room, creating a warm, almost intimate atmosphere. He was sitting in the armchair by the fireplace, his gaze lost in the flames.

“Everything okay?” you asked, carefully entering the room.

Thomas looked up, his expression relaxing at the sight of you.

“Yeah,” he replied, though his tone said otherwise. “Just… thinking.”

You walked over and sat on the couch across from him. You didn’t want to push him, but there was something in his gaze that night that worried you.

“About Grace?” you asked softly.

He nodded, taking a sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down on the table beside him.

“Always Grace,” he murmured. “There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about her. What could have been if…” He paused, his jaw tightening.

You didn’t say anything, allowing him space to speak if he needed to. You knew that, as hard as it was for him, these moments of vulnerability were important.

“Sometimes I think I’m losing her,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper. “Her face, her voice… it’s all fading away, and that scares me more than anything.”

Your heart clenched at his confession. Thomas, the man who always seemed so strong, was pouring his soul out in front of you. Without thinking too hard, you stood up and walked over, standing next to him.

“You won’t lose her, Thomas,” you said softly. “She’ll always be a part of you, of Charlie. Nothing will change that.”

He looked at you, his blue eyes shining in the firelight. There was something in his gaze, a mix of pain, gratitude, and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Without thinking, he raised a hand and gently brushed it against your cheek.

The gesture took you by surprise, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you found yourself leaning slightly into him, until his lips met yours in a soft kiss, laden with repressed emotion. It was a brief moment, but it was intense, as if both of you were allowing yourselves to feel something you’d been denying for far too long.

But as soon as it was over, Thomas pulled away, his expression changing from vulnerability to guilt in an instant.

“This shouldn’t have happened,” he said, his voice hard and laden with regret. He stood up quickly, moving away from you as if the contact had burned. “I can’t… I can’t do this to Grace.”

The pain in his voice was palpable, but it didn’t hurt any less that his words were hurting you, too. You stayed on the couch, trying to process what had just happened.

“Thomas…” you tried to speak, but he held up a hand to stop you.

“No. I can’t,” he repeated, his tone harsher. “It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have…”

You stood up, the lump in your throat getting tighter with each word he said.

“A mistake?” you asked, your voice shaking slightly.

He didn’t answer, but his silence was enough to confirm it. You felt your eyes begin to fill with tears, but you refused to let them fall in front of him.

“I understand,” you finally said, your voice firmer than you expected. “Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed so long.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, you turned and walked out of the room, your heart pounding in your chest. You climbed the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last, until you reached your room. You closed the door behind you, letting the tears finally fall.

The days following the kiss and the rejection were unbearably tense. You and Thomas had gone back to barely speaking beyond what was necessary. Conversations were limited to the basics: directions for Charlie, changes around the house, or simple mechanical greetings. Any vestige of the connection you had begun to build seemed to have faded, leaving an awkward chasm between you.

It hurt, more than you wanted to admit. You had accepted that Thomas still carried Grace in his heart, but you hadn’t expected the kiss you shared, brief but full of meaning, to become a wall between you.

Finally, one night, after you had put Charlie to sleep, you found yourself unable to bear the coldness any longer. You knew you couldn’t continue living in the same house, taking care of Charlie, and pretending everything was okay when it wasn’t.

You found him in the living room, as always, with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He barely looked up when you entered, but you didn’t say anything right away. You closed the door behind you and stood there, watching him.

“How long are we going to keep this up, Thomas?” you finally asked, breaking the silence with a voice filled with frustration.

Thomas didn’t even flinch. He took a sip of his whiskey before answering, his tone indifferent.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Your jaw tightened, and you took a step forward.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. This. Us. Pretending like nothing happened, when we both know it did.”

Thomas finally looked up, his blue eyes cold and calculating.

“There is no ‘us,’” he said harshly. “There can’t be.”

His words were like a punch to the gut, but you didn’t back down.

“And that’s it?” you replied, your voice rising slightly. “Are you going to keep hiding behind Grace’s memory, using your guilt as an excuse to keep everyone at a distance?”

Thomas’ expression hardened, and he set his glass down with a thud.

“Be careful what you say,” he warned, his voice low but dangerous.

But you were too furious to stop yourself. The pressure of the past few days, the built-up tension, it all came crashing down.

“Careful?” you repeated, taking a step closer. “I’m tired of walking on eggshells around you, Thomas. What’s wrong with you? Why do you insist on pushing everyone away?”

Thomas stood up suddenly, his imposing presence filling the room.

“Because that’s what I do,” he snapped. Because the people I care about always end up hurt or dead.

“And that’s an excuse to treat me like that?” You took a step closer, your eyes flashing with fury. “I’m not Grace! You can’t keep punishing me for something I can’t change.”

The tension in the room was palpable, each word a sharp dart. Before you could think, you grabbed an empty glass from the table and threw it hard. The glass crashed into the wall behind him, shattering into pieces.

Thomas reacted immediately, crossing the distance between you in a matter of seconds. Before you could move, he roughly grabbed you by the arms, his grip firm but not painful. His eyes burned with an intensity that took your breath away.

“Enough!” he growled, his voice hoarse and heavy with repressed emotion.

You were about to retort, to fight against his hold, when suddenly, without warning, his lips crashed against yours. It was a desperate, hungry kiss, as if both of them were trying to drown all the pain, frustration, and guilt in that moment.

You resisted for a moment, surprised by the abruptness, but quickly gave in, kissing him back with equal intensity. His hands, which had previously held you tightly, slid down to your waist, pulling you closer.

The world around you disappeared. There was no more arguing, no more awkward silences. Just the warmth of his lips, the frantic beat of your heart, and the feeling of being, for the first time in days, completely alive.

His lips left yours for an instant, moving down to your neck, as his hands eagerly explored. Everything about him was urgency, need held back for too long. There were no words between you, just the ragged sound of breaths and the steady throb of a dormant desire that had finally exploded.

“Tommy…” you murmured in whispers, your fingers getting lost in his dark hair as he lifted you slightly, leaning you against the nearby wall.

He responded with a growl, capturing your lips again, as if afraid that moving away for a second might break the connection. It was a forbidden moment, but you were both too far away to stop.

The room seemed to fill with heat as every barrier crumbled. Thomas was all fire, and you consumed yourself with it without remorse.

Finally, when the intensity subsided, you both lay still, breathing hard, still entwined. His eyes searched you, and for an instant, you saw something more than desire. It was a vulnerability he rarely showed, an acknowledgement that he needed you more than he was willing to admit.

He didn’t apologize this time. There was no room for words; the silence between you spoke for itself. And in that moment, you knew nothing would ever be the same again.

[eddwardharrison]

Since you've been making fusions, shall we be allowed to see a Nexus and Ruin fusion? Please?

I gotta say, I'm loving your fusions and their designs they're so silly and pretty!

…can you tell I was excited for this one…?

I’ve already had this fusion in my head for a WHILE. The entire time I’ve just been thinking about Lapis and Jasper’s super toxic fusion and giggling to myself. THE ONLY REASON I LOVE IT SO MUCH IS BECAUSE OF LAPIS’ DECISION TO KEEP JASPER DOWN IN AN ACT OF REVENGE. I LOVE DESERVED REVENGE. I thought it totally fit Ruin and Nexus because of all the harm Nexus inflicts on Ruin.

Ruin has always put morals first and kills anyone who threatens harm against people he cares about. He has nothing left to lose, but gives everything.

Not a ship!! I really like the idea that Solar and Ruin have a “we could’ve been friends” type of relationship that allows a shred of sympathy for one another, but thats basically it.

There’s a lot of SU references here, the first quote is a quote from Lapis herself!! The second dialogue, though, is my own writing!

OTHER CONCEPTS

• Nexus and Ruin are an incomplete fusion, this means they share a fused body, but their minds are still separated. This is very harmful for fusions and highly irregular.

• This fusion would help Nexus avoid his canon death.

• Ruin keeps Nexus hostage instead of letting him die in canon because he holds sympathy for Solar who would not live with himself if Nexus died before he could reach him. He also believes suffering in life is more of a punishment than death is.

• This is based off of complete revenge on Nexus and protection for Solar and the other celestials. Ruin doesn’t believe they deserve a harmful brother like Nexus.

• Ruin, as the fusion, flies off somewhere isolated to stay and focus on suppressing Nexus.

• Nexus has far less power when it comes to controlling the body from the mind while Ruin has all of the experience. Nexus didn’t ever have to face that mind-space suppression while Ruin knows how to take control from both sides.

• Nexus can still torment Ruin psychologically from his position and slowly break Ruin’s spirit. They both now have full access to his own memories, unadulterated.

Look at these two clips and tell me they don’t hold some resemblance.

[sunnysidesevenup]

“I’m not the type to beg someone else to grant my wishes.”

When I stumbled across @angelwishess fairy tale themed event I knew immediately I had to draw something for it, so I flipped a coin to decide which oc to draw lmao. Arlo it is!

And his outfit colors are suspiciously familiar, haha…. There’s definitely no significance behind that.

Voice lines, notes, and the background image under the cut!

Home, login: Usually I’d be upset waking up somewhere I didn’t go to sleep, but I suppose I can forgive if it’s for a party.

Home transition 1: Vil and Floyd are here too, so at least I won’t be bored.

Home transition 2: I wish I had my camera, the plants—I mean, the architecture would make a good picture. Or the people, I guess. If I had to.

Home transition 3: I’m good at dancing when it comes to being at home, but land dancing is different. It’s a bit annoying having Vil judge me, so I don’t think I’ll even try tonight.

Home Tap 1: What would I wish for? I don’t believe in wishes magically coming true, so nothing. You think I’m lying so I don’t have to tell you? Ha! Maybe.

Home Tap 2: Neige is here? Why would I care about that? You might need to get checked for brain damage.

Home Tap 3: I don’t really trust fae party food, so I forced Floyd to eat some first. He’s not enslaved or anything, so I guess it’s fine.

Home Tap 4: This outfit is nice, but it’s a little form fitting. I prefer looser clothing—but it’s alright to mix it up every now and again.

Home Tap 5: Begging someone else to grant my wish? Like I’d do something so pathetic.

Set to Home Screen: Mysterious parties and wish granting fae… yeah, this might be fun.

Notes!!

okay yes the outfit is inspired by snow white’s colors. can you blame me? I had to

I mayyyyyyy draw a card for neige too. possibly. it would be fun and I’m motivated entirely by my own amusement at all times, so

I tried drawing the outfit in lighter pastels first, but Arlo is definitely a darker color kind of guy. It just works better with his hair!! why’d I give him hair like that!!!

my boy is loving the accessories on this outfit SO MUCH. he won’t tell anyone that though

Finally, here’s the background image!!! I drew it myself, so if anyone likes it I give permission to use it lmao. backgrounds aren’t my strong suit but I can’t get better if I don’t at least practice—so I think it’s decent?? maybe???

[opiopal]

You guys wanna know a silly silly idea of Luci and mc talking I think abt often? Ofc you do,

(THIS IS A PLATONIC READ!!) (mc uses the word “love” though not in a romantic sense, also GN mc as always, any “she” and “he” used is in relation to luci and Lilith, NOT mc,)

I can’t help but imagine mc struggling with being related to Lilith, they can’t really help it. After belphie had… you know. And the truth came out, it just felt like everyone cared so much more all of a sudden. sure they all cared about mc before, but they feel like being related to her is the only reason they were missed so much..

so here they are, standing Infront of a portrait of her. she seemed so.. familiar. Maybe it was something about her jaw- or maybe her nose? Or the way her eyes seemed to be rested shut in a calm wise smile.. in their chest they know it’s probably because they see themselves in her. Or.. see her in themself. It’s odd to see her with similar features as mc’s own mother/father, sure liliths genes most likely had been watered down over all the years, but a small part of her seemed to still stand out. mc tugs at the bottom of their night shirt. They couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to bother anyone. So they found themself here, staring and wondering. They’ve come here more often as of late, and it’s really not doing well for their self imagine. Would things have been different if they weren’t related to her? Would the brothers have even given a second thought to mc after they left? Even though they know these thoughts are ridiculous, they can’t help but think about it.

eventually the sound of footsteps ring through their ears, a familiar heel clicking as the eldest approaches. They hear his footsteps pause as he notices them, they don’t bother turning their head to address him, secretly hoping he’ll just continue walking. though of course, he doesn’t. his footsteps grow louder and closer until he is standing right next to them, staring at their face for a moment before looking at the portrait as well. and it stays like that for a while, the two just silently standing together and staring at the painting. Eventually mc just can’t bite their tongue, and speaks up a bit involuntarily.

“would you have still loved me if you never knew?”

they bite their bottom lip almost the moment it leaves their mouth, regret and anxiety immediately makes their chest feel heavy and cold. They hardly even have to glance over to see his shocked expression, before it softens slightly.

“what?”

“I-i mean….”

they take a deep breath. Might as well get it over now..

“… would you guys have still cared if I wasn’t related to Lilith?”

they stare at the painting, waiting for him to speak, though the shock from mc asking such a thing is shutting him up. So they continue,

“sometimes.. when you look at me, it feels like you aren’t look at me like I’m.. well me… it feels like you’re looking at someone else. whenever I hear anything about her, it’s always so much good, about how amazing and kind and sweet she was. But I don’t know her. I’ve only ever seen her once and that was when I died. And then everyone including myself learned I was related to her, and it suddenly felt like everyone immediately cared a lot more about me.”

without thinking much of it they just keep talking, part of them wants to shut up but they just can’t.

“I’m my own person, I know I am. I’ve spent my whole life figuring myself out, struggling and fighting to be a good person, going through school, going through my life. But, now it feels like every move I make is being silently compared. I just…”

they finally shut up before they find themselves going around in circles, though they feel a heavy tinge of regret.

“…I’m sorry..”

their voice comes out small and ashamed. finally the eldest is able to regain his words and inhales,

“yes.”

“what?”

“Of course we would still love you Mc, I would still love you. Even before we discovered it, I could tell my brothers began to care deeply about you, and part of myself felt frustrated that I could understand why. you are smart, and determined, and kind, and extremely lovable. And quite frankly, I couldn’t imagine what life would be like if you hadn’t wormed your way into our hearts. i miss my sister, we all miss her. But we accepted her death a long time ago. Though the grief still hangs heavy on us, we know that you aren’t her. That would be cruel to not just us, but you.”

he reaches an arm out, mc stares silently, finally turning their head to look at him as tears start to well up in their eyes. They lunge forwards and wraps their arms around him in a tight hug in which he reciprocates.

“You have nothing to be sorry about Mc, myself on the other hand..”

he inhales,

“I am sorry.”

[webslingingslasher]

i hope work gets better<3 how's frat!peter doing today😚

frat!peter is struggling today and here’s why::

peter isn’t sure what went down tonight but you’re in his bed. any other time it would be a celebration but since it’s been a few months since you’ve been there, his head is spinning.

‘um, hello?’ it goes unanswered. it’s not surprising, it’s almost three in the morning and you look asleep.

peter doesn’t know what to do but he’s tired. you wouldn’t sleep in his room without knowing there was a chance of him finding you and crawling in next to you, right?

right?

‘i’m gonna sleep in here too so if you have a problem with it…’

fuck it. he strips to his boxers and gets into bed as quietly as he can, molding around you and doing his best to keep his own space. it’s hard when he joined you while you’re star fishing.

peter gently tugs at the blanket, keeping an eye on your face for any changes. escaping into the warmth, peter hears you let out a quiet hum. he’s scared to breathe, scooting until his back is barely hanging over the edge of the bed.

you hitch your side of the blanket over your shoulder and roll to your back. peter wasn’t quick enough and you land on his arm, your face scrunches and it’s all over. licking your lips, you reach under you- the second you touch his skin, your eyes open and peter throws his hand over your mouth. he can hear the scream before you let it out.

‘it’s just me, it’s just me. you’re fine.’

you have an opposite reaction, flying up and scurrying away from him, pulling the blankets with you.

‘what the fuck are you doing here?’ peter could ask you the same thing but you might take that as a complaint and trust him, he’s not complaining.

‘you’re in my bed.’ you look around like you’ve been pranked, or like you’ve woken up at three am in a panic. ‘because you weren’t supposed to be here!’

‘i-‘ it’s peter’s turn to be confused, he knows why he wasn’t going to be there. but why do you? ‘how did you know that?’

‘ethan said you were at may’s! i wanted to have a sleepover but his white noise machine was too loud.’ ethan set up a really nice bed for you, he splurged on the best air mattress he could find but you couldn’t deal with rainforest sounds. water? fine. birds chirping? you left an hour in.

‘so you stole my bed?’ out of all the couches, you picked his bed. there might be hope after all. ‘you weren’t supposed to come back, you were supposed to sleep at may’s!’

‘i came back early, sorry to ruin your plan.’ you look out his windows, all you can see is the glow of light posts. you look for your phone and baulk at the time.

‘why the hell are you making that trek at three in the morning?’ peter smiles, you notice where you messed up. ‘nope. don’t care, go sleep in ethan’s room.’

‘what? no way, you go sleep in ethan’s room.’ you tried. and failed. ‘i can’t. i tried turning it off and he got mad at me.’

‘and you think he’d be nice to me? yeah, right.’ you pout, ‘no but you’re nice to me and you’ll take my place for me.’

adorable. and it’s not gonna happen.

‘no. either you go back in there and tough it out or you accept defeat and sleep next to me.’

you have a staring contest. if this was anything else, peter would do it to make you happy but he’s got a chance at the best sleep he’s had in months and he’s not letting it go.

you cross your arms and huff, peter uses the opportunity to claim his space. he might bully you into sleeping next to him but he won’t force you into a cuddle. but if you want one… he’ll make it the best one you’ve ever had.

‘peter!’ you whine and he won. you slump next to him and make a point to shuffle away. ‘you better not touch me.’

‘you’re in my bed.’

you sit up to grab a pillow, ‘i’ll sleep on your floor and never shut up about it.’ peter backs down real fast, there’s no way he’d let you hang that over his head.

‘no touching. got it.’ you make sure there’s nothing else- no grin or shiny eyes to give away he’s lying.

‘oh, and if anyone asks, you snuck in. i didn’t allow this.’

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Cold ~ Part 2

MAIN MASTERLIST / MARVEL MASTERLIST / CHRONIC ILLNESS MASTERLIST

Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Word Count: 2,020ish

Summary: Logan becomes overprotective of you.

Notes: I hope this part makes some sense… I got sick yet again so I'm really craving someone to take care of me.

Cold ~ Part 1

Logan became a master at taking care of you during an arthritic flare-up. The consequence of that was that he also became a master at doing everything he could to make sure that you didn’t flare up. When is why he was marching towards you, with a clear look of anger.

“What are you doing?” He asked as you were stretching in the Danger Room.

“Uh, stretching,” you responded, continuing your movements. “I have a training session with Scott in a few minutes.”

“Not anymore. You’re not training.”

“Logan, I can’t gain more strength in my powers without training.”

“You’ve trained twice already this week.”

“And my current goal is three times.”

“You’re not ready for it yet.”

“I think I know what I’m ready for, Logan.”

“No. You don’t. I can sense that you’re overdoing it.”

“I’m feeling fine. I’m going to train.”

“Everything okay here?” Scott asked, feeling the tension as he entered the room.

“Yes.” / “No.”

“Okay, then,” Scott said, slowly backing up. 

“I’m training, Logan,” you argued, standing your ground. 

“Like hell you are,” he grumbled. 

The two of you stared each other down, trying to see which one of you would break first, though you both knew the answer. With a scoff and a stop of your foot, you grabbed your training bag and threw it at Logan.

“Since I’m so weak, carry that back to my locker,” you huffed, marching off.

Logan sighed, shoulders slumping. He didn’t want to be the bad guy in your life; he was just worried. He also simply cared deeply for you in a way he hadn’t cared for anyone in far too long. He hated seeing you in pain and would do anything to prevent the pain you were forced into constantly. Logan had even talked to Hank about somehow using his healing mutation to help you. Hank said it was impossible. So Logan was forced to keep a careful eye on you, no matter if that meant you were often mad at him. 

~~~

You did your best to avoid Logan for the next few days. But no matter how hard you tried, Logan was there, stopping you from training, or carrying heavy items, or using your mutation. The anger was festering inside of you, and it all came to a boiling point when you were called into a mission briefing. Everyone was already in the briefing room when you slipped in. You hung back by the door, trying to prevent Logan from seeing you just yet.

“The base that you will be infiltrating is in an interesting location,” Charles explained. The table everyone was surrounding changed to show the base. “It is several hundred feet down in the Atlantic Ocean, off the coast of Long Island. Due to their security system, there is only one way to reach it.” Charles’ eyes fell on you, causing the rest of the team to turn and look.

“No,” Logan immediately said. “No fucking way.”

“Logan, Y/N has been training for this. She has known about this mission for weeks now and is prepared.”

“Don’t care. She’s not a part of this. Find a different way.”

“Do I get any say in this?” You piped up.

“No,” Logan quickly responded, still focusing on Charles. “She’s not going. It’s too dangerous.”

You were growing angrier and angrier, forcing yourself to clench your fists as you felt the water pipes in the wall begin to tremble. Jean noticed and came over to your side, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Why don’t we take a break and reconvene later?” Ororo suggested.

“Later or not, Y/N is not going,” Logan argued.

“It’s not your choice!” You yelled. “It’s mine! I can do what needs to be done.”

“No, you can’t! You are too weak.”

A few gasps were heard throughout the room.

“Weak?” You repeated, both hurt and angered. “That’s what you think of me?” Suddenly, the pipes burst in the walls.

“Enough!” Charles commanded. “Y/N will be participating in the mission. And you will all be leaving at nightfall.”

You rushed out of the room, trying to hide the tears threatening to fall. You could hear loud footsteps behind you, already knowing who it was. A large hand caught your wrist, forcing you to stop, but you didn’t turn around.

“You can’t go,” Logan’s voice was stern but slightly wavered at the end. 

“You’re not in charge of me, Logan,” you replied, trying not to let him know how you were feeling. “I am going on this mission, no matter if you think I’m weak or not.” You tried to pull your wrist out of his grip, but his grip only tightened. “Let me go, Logan.”

“Not until you drop out of the mission.”

You finally looked at him, anger replacing hurt. “Let. Me. Go.”

“Y/N—“

With a flick of your free hand, the pipes in the hallway walls broke. The water shot out of the walls and pummeled Logan, throwing him back and away from you. You were breathing heavily as you stopped the water. Not wanting Logan to see how hard that was for you, you quickly left.

~~~

The jet ride was completely silent. You grabbed the pilot seat next to Scott so that you didn’t have to look at Logan. You could feel Logan’s eyes staring daggers into you.

“We’re here,” Scott announced, having the jet hover over where the base was located. He looked over at you. “You ready?”

“Yes,” you responded, determined.

“Great.” Scott stood. “Everyone get tethered up, then Y/N will clear a channel once everyone is ready.”

“I’m not going down,” Logan said. “I’m staying with Y/N.”

“We need you down there, Logan,” Jean said. “We’ll all be connected through the comms.”

“I can handle myself,” you added. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

You could see Logan’s jaw clench tighter. He let out a grunt before focusing on getting tethered up. Once you were sure they were all ready, you opened the bottom of the jet up. You took a deep breath before stretching your arms towards the ocean water and creating an open circular channel.

“Let’s go!” Scott said, jumping down first. Jean and Ororo quickly followed, with Logan lingering behind, watching you.

“Go, Logan!” You shouted. 

He watched you for a few more seconds before jumping down with the rest. You ground your teeth together as you began to feel the strain of using your mutation like this.

“Alright, Y/N,” Scott said over the comms. “We’re in. We’ll let you know when we need the channel opened.”

“Got it,” you responded.

As you let the water go, you stumbled back, falling to the ground. You could feel the achiness start to set into your joints. Maybe Logan was right. Maybe you were weak. The jet suddenly shook as it was hit. You fumbled over to the pilot’s seat, trying to steer the jet away.

“Guys!” You shouted into the comms. “We have a situation up here. I’m being fired on!”

“What?!” A chorus of voices yelled over the comms.

“It looks like they got a few of their own jets in the sky.” The jet rocked as it got hit again. “Shit!”

“Y/N?!” Logan’s worried voice flooded through the speakers. 

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” You quickly punched a few buttons. “I’ve gone into stealth mode. Hopefully, that holds them for a little bit, but that means you have to free those mutants fast.”

It was another ten minutes before Scott gave you the signal to reopen the channel. You reopened the bottom doors and focused all your energy on opening the channel. Unfortunately, that also meant that the opposing side could find the jet. The jet shook yet again with another hit.

“Hurry!” You urged. “We’re open for hits!”

Scott and Jean came up the tethered lines first, each with a mutant with them. Ororo was next, two mutants with her, and then Logan with the last one. He could immediately sense that you were hurting more than the strain on your face was giving away. Untethering himself, Logan headed for you, but the jet shook once again before he could get to you. You released the hold you had on the water as you flew up and rammed into the ceiling. You let out a cry of pain. Logan moved fast, sliding as he barely caught you before you hit the floor.

“I’ve got you, I've got you,” he whispered, holding you tightly against him.

“Hang on!” Scott shouted. “We’re going to get out of here!”

Everything hurt inside. You couldn’t even hold onto Logan, just laying against him limply as you cried. Logan did his best to hold you steady as Scott flew the jet every which way to avoid getting completely shot down. Jean ended up using her powers to keep Logan and you still as everyone’s hearts were breaking at the cries and whimpers of pain coming out of you.

It took far too long for Logan’s liking for Scott to lose the other jets and return to the mansion. As gently as Logan could manage, he carried you out of the jet and to your room. He laid you down before moving around the room to grab a heating pad, medication, and a change of clothes for you.

“You were right,” you whispered. If Logan didn’t have enhanced hearing, he would have missed it.

“About what?” He responded, bringing all the items over to you.

“I’m weak…”

“No, I— I didn’t mean it that way, sweetheart.”

“Yes, you did… and yes, I am… I shouldn’t even be on the team. I can’t even handle one mission.”

Logan sighed, trying to get his thoughts together before he spoke. You took it as a sign that he let you win. With a whine, you sat up.

“You can go,” you told him. “I can take care of myself.”

“No,” he responded gruffly.

“Logan,” you sighed. “I’ve taken care of myself before… flare-ups can’t stop me. I’ve got to keep living.”

“There. Right there. That’s why you’re the strongest person I have ever met.”

“But you said—“

“I know what I said, and I… I’m sorry. You are not weak. I just… I, God, I’m terrible at this.” His hand raked through his hair. “I—Sweetheart, I care so much about you. I am constantly worried about you, but it’s out of…”

“Out of what, Lo?”

He gave you a knowing look. “I think you know what.”

“I think you need to say it so I don’t go assuming things.”

“I… I love you, sweetheart. And I just hate to see you in pain. I wish that I could take it from you, and trust me, I asked Hank about it, and I—”

You winced as you placed your hand on top of Logan’s mouth to stop his rambling. “I love you, too. And I know that I haven’t said it enough, but thank you for taking care of me.”

His hand carefully wrapped around your wrist as he kissed your hand and moved it down to your lap. “Always.” He looked at you, wanting to kiss you, but he could sense the pain you were in. “What do you need?”

You looked away. “I… I can’t change.”

“Alright.”

“I need some heat.”

“I grabbed your heating pad.” He held it up.

“Could you hold me?”

“Are you sure? I’m a lot heavier than you and I—“

“And your body is my personal heating pad. Please, Logan.”

“How do you want me?”

You winced as you moved to lie down. Logan’s hand hovered over your body, not knowing exactly what to do to help. You moved onto your side, back facing Logan. He got the hint and carefully maneuvered around you so that he was the big spoon and you were the little spoon.

“Like this?” He muttered nervously.

“It’s perfect,” you replied.

“You sure. I can—“

“Logan. Just hold me.”

“Okay.” He leaned in and kissed the back of your neck before resting his head there. “I’ll hold you as long as you need, sweetheart.”

[hearts4werka]

NNN day 7 | Underground Secrets

summary: your boss has set up a dangerous mission for you—to take down the intel of the notorious rival gang, The Vipers. Your boyfriend, a drug dealer of a rival organization, Chris is advising you not to go through with the plan because of how dangerous it is for someone like you, will you listen to your boyfriend or value your reputation over the risk of life and go through with the plan?

warnings: ANGST, gang membership, drug dealing, strong language, mentions of committing murder, arguing, a dangerous mission, the risk of life or death, illegal possession of firearm, illegal underground gangs, viewers advisory is supervised! Proceed to read with caution

authors note: and the one week mark finally arrived! Tysm for all of the love and support I’ve received during this whole week and I’m proud to announce that week one has been done, there’s still a lot of steps to take before reaching the end but we’ll get through it! Luv y’all so much & hope y’all enjoy this one

no nut november | masterlist | guestlist

The city's dim lights flickered like a heart in distress, throwing long shadows that danced over the crumbling warehouse walls. I slumped against a rusted pillar, arms crossed, determination etched on my face. Chris, the infamous drug dealer from the rival gang, stood before me. His messy hair showed the exact replica of the tension in the air. Our eyes met, his glare sharp, frustration carving lines into his hardened features.

“Are you fucking insane?” Chris exclaimed, running his fingers through his messy locks in pure frustration with my stubbornness. “You’re seriously thinking about going through with this? Killing that intel guy for the Vipers? That’s a one-way ticket to getting yourself killed!” I straightened my posture, breaking the heavy silence between us like hammer on glass. “This is my job, Chris. I’m backed into a corner. My boss demands results, and if I fail, I’ll be the one buried in a ditch.”

“Do you really think I want to see you six feet underground for some bullshit mission?” He closed the gap between our bodies, his voice filled with urgency. “Listen, I’ve seen how these Vipers play. You’re walking into a total trap. They’ll have their eyes on you, and the moment you walk in, you’ll be history.” I stood my ground, not letting his shooting fire walk all over my resolve. “What did you just say? It’s just a job, I’m good at what I do. I can handle myself for once.”

"‘Handle yourself?’ Chris scoffed, a bitter laugh rumbling in his throat before escaping past his lips. “This ain’t some amateur shit, this is the Vipers we’re talking about! They don’t play nice, and this intel guy, he’s not your average rat. He’s got layers of protection, and I promise you, they’ll be ready to take you down.” His words hit hard, a mix of care and frustration mixed together. But I couldn’t show any signs of vulnerability. ‘I get it, but you can’t decide for me. I’m no damsel in distress, Chris. I can fight my own battles.’"

“Fighting and getting yourself killed are two different things,” he retorted, fists clenched together and almost threatening to do unspeakable acts. “And what do you think will happen if you go in there and fail? You think they’ll just let you go? No! They’ll take you out, and I won’t sit around and wait for news that you’re dead.” “You’re trying so hard to act like you give a shit about me,” I shot back, my anger rising to higher levels. “When have you ever given a shit about anyone but yourself? This is my life! If anyone’s making the final choice, it’s going to be me.”

“Damn it, you’re right,” he murmured, his voice barely a breath. “I can’t afford to care about everyone. But you…” He rubbed his face, laying the vulnerability I never saw coming. “You matter. I don’t want another goddamn funeral to attend because of this war.” For a minute, the walls between us felt like broken glass, and I noticed a spark of connection. But that spark couldn't wipe the weight of the mission on my back. I stepped back, shaking my head. “This deep in, I can’t back down. It shows weakness, you know how they treat that in this game.”

Chris's blue eyes blazed with intensity. “And if you have to sacrifice your life to prove a point, then what does that make you? Some fucking plaything for a bloodsucking boss? You deserve better than this!” A sharp stab pierced through my heart, a mix of rage and something deeper like fear. Fear for my life. Fear for this weird connection that felt like a chain. “This isn’t up for discussion, Chris. I’ve got a job to do here.”

His tone softened, becoming almost desperate. “I’m not asking you to quit. All I’m asking is for you to think. We can come up with a better plan. We can…” he paused, then added, “we can work together.” I become blindsided by his heartfelt sentence but I couldn’t let him get anywhere near danger this high of a lever, even though he is a strong ally to have on your side, I can’t bear the idea of him stepping into the wicked battlefield against the Vipers with not enough experience with them beforehand.

“I’m not letting you get anywhere near danger like this, it’s The Vipers. Without any experience with them in the past, there’s no way you’ll make it out of there.” The weigh of my decision hung above me like a noose, knowing how desperate he’s already got to make me stay and to what levels he could climb to make me think I have no other choice. “I’ll be fine, you can’t do this shit alone.” He pleads, the look in his eyes almost begging me to let him go with me, the vulnerable side of him is starting to show that rarely anyone gets to see.

While in the middle of the conversation mix between stubbornness and desperation, my phone rings inside of the pocket of my jeans, alerting me of an incoming call. Pausing for a moment before answering the call, finding out it’s coming from my boss with a demand to get the job done as fast as possible since if the Vipers figure out our plan they’ll be on the move immediately. He hangs up the phone, it beeping which indicates the call has reached an end.

“I have to go, don’t follow me.” I provide, shoving my phone back into its spot while picking up the black hand gun sitting on a nearby old crate. “Don’t dare to argue with me about this further, I have to get it done before the Vipers catch on.” He slumps over to me, rolling his eyes at how idiotic my decision is. Delivering a soft kiss on my forehead before letting go of me completely, glancing down at my face with sorrow etched into the features of his face. “Just don’t die on me, okay?” “I won’t, I promise.” With the last words placed on the table, I take off and walk towards the exit. Slipping on my helmet for protection before hopping onto a black motorcycle, sparing Chris one last glance before taking off into the dark dangerous night with determination to prove my worth and end the Vipers for good.

Guestlist!

| - @strnzzvsp - @sturnsxplr-25 - @luvvs4chriss - @sturniolosweetheart33 - @choclatestarfishwithahat - @venusxsturnio - @bagsbyclair0 - @sturnstvs - @dykes4chris - @hoe4matt - @cayleeuhithinknot - @strnilolover - @marrykisskilled - @phone4pills - @emely9274 - @cupiidk1lls - @lily-strnlo - @nicksgirlfriend - |

[darlingdaisyfarm]

hurt/comfort with mullet!Stan

You’re leaning into him, practically melting in the warmth of his arms, but the weight on your heart isn’t lifting. Stan shifts beside you, so undeniably present, like he’s willing to be your anchor, even if he doesn’t know how to say it. The old couch creaks under you both, the whole shack silent except for the soft crackling of the cigarette you share between fingers, trading embers and breaths.

Stan’s brow furrows as he takes a slow drag, glancing over at you. You know his eyes are watching, obviously he’s studying you.

Finally, he shifts and says bluntly, “you’re wound up tighter than a cheap watch, ya know? somethin’ gnawin’ at you, huh?”

You exhale, watching the thin line of smoke spiral up. “Yeah. . . you could say that.” the ache in your chest tightens. Everything you’re carrying feels so complicated, like tangled threads you can’t even begin to sort through.

Stan just watches you, thinking, then he takes another drag and hands the cigarette back to you, nodding toward it. “Ain’t gonna solve a damn thing if you’re just gonna sit there and look miserable, sweetheart. Might as well get it off your chest.”

You manage a small laugh, bitterness slipping into the sound. “It’s. . . it’s just a lot, Stan. I don’t know where to start.”

Stan pulls you closer, resting his arm along the back of the couch. “Look, I ain’t no therapist, but sittin’ here mopin’ like a lost puppy ain’t gonna do jack. Spill it. Even if I’m a crap listener, you’re gettin’ it out, yeah?”

You look at him, into his dark brown eyes and find nothing, but pure worry here, even if his rough voice doesn’t match his care, somehow that’s still exactly what you need. A presence, even if he’s not exactly gentle about it. It’s the only kind of reassurance he knows how to give.

“I just. . . keep feeling like nothing I do is ever enough. No matter how hard I try, everything just feels like it’s slipping out of my control,” you confess, voice a little shaky.

Stan’s thumb brushes along your shoulder as he pulls you in tighter. His voice, when he speaks, is softer but laced with his usual rough honesty. “Well, first off, quit thinkin’ you gotta have it all together. Life ain’t a freakin’ checklist. You’re allowed to screw up, you’re allowed to be a mess. Hell, look at me, if I can keep goin’ after all the crap I’ve pulled, you’re more than allowed to trip over your own feet once in a while.”

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead and it feels like a promise. He may not have all the answers, but he’s here and that matters.

Your voice is small when you say, “but I don’t wanna screw up, I feel like I’m letting everyone down.”

Stan grunts, his tone turning a little sharper. “Listen, you’re human. People who care about you ain’t gonna ditch ya just ‘cause you’re strugglin’. And if they do, fuck ‘em. They’re the ones missin’ out on the best damn person I know. Hell, you’re more than enough just as you are.”

A warmth blossoms in your chest, breaking through the ache, his words unexpectedly softening the edges of your pain. You look at him, really look, and see the sincerity buried beneath that gruff exterior.

His hand comes up to brush along your cheek, thumb grazing your skin. “You got a good heart, sweetheart. Don’t let anyone, including yourself, tell ya otherwise. If you keep beatin’ yourself up for not bein’ perfect, you’re just gonna make yourself miserable.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the two of you and the soft glow of his affection wraps around you like a blanket. You lean in, resting your head on his shoulder, feeling his steady heartbeat against you. Stanley sighs, letting his hand drift down your back in slow, comforting strokes.

You’re quiet, breathing him in, the warmth of his skin, the smoky scent of his clothes. And then, in a low murmur, he adds, “You think life’s about havin’ it all figured out? Pfft. Life’s about fallin’ on your ass, pickin’ yourself up, and keepin’ goin’ ‘cause that’s what makes you strong. The way I see it? You’ve already got that part down.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the sound a bit wet with unshed tears. “You make it sound so. . . simple.”

Stan chuckles. “Ain’t sayin’ it’s easy, kid. Just sayin’ you’re tougher than you think. And if ya ever forget that, I’ll be right here to remind ya.”

Stanley leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cheek, his hand cradling the back of your head. You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the moment, his roughness somehow grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

“You’re somethin’ special, don’t let anyone, including yourself, make ya think otherwise.”

and then Stan grins, tipping your chin up to meet his gaze. “And if anyone’s got a problem with that, they can answer to me.”

[quinnysnursery]

could you write something with reader and cg!Matt where she has accidentally hurt herself (broken bone or something) and it triggers her (abusive household filled with times she has broken bones in the past) to regress to an age of around 2 or 3 and she's terrified to regress while at the hospital and then eventually she's still regressed while Matt takes her home and then maybe its just super fluffy and cute and with lots of physical touch and nicknames?

[🩹] sticks and stones can break my bones, but you would never hurt me | matt sturniolo one-shot

paring : cg!matt sturniolo x fem!little!reader

summary : an unfortunate incident leaves you and your caregiver struggling with the ghosts of your past

warning/extra tid-bits : ANGST FOLLOWED BY FLUFF, injuries, blood, stitches, talk of abusive/neglectful childhood, hospital trips, matt and y/n are dating outside of regression- this does not make age regression nsfw, ptsd, i think that's all!! plz let me know if there is anymore!!

word count : 1,979 + not proofread

divider credit : umm i found all the photos on pinterest :3 (line from @mikeykuns)

a/n : kinda strayed from the request just a bit but i hope you still enjoy it :)

Matt cursed under his breath as he slammed his foot on the gas- much too full of adrenaline to care about traffic laws. 

Your cries and sniffles echoed throughout the car, your shoulders racking as you attempted to muffle your cries.

He’d been preoccupied on something that, in hindsight, was not important at all. Blissfully unaware of his little’s attempt to cut an apple in the kitchen. He felt absolutely terrible- like he was the scum of all caregivers. 

Beside him in the passenger seat, you were trying to focus on keeping the dish cloth wrapped tightly around your bleeding hand. Your caregiver was talking, but you couldn’t hear him- flashbacks of your childhood had already wrapped around your brain, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything else.

Your childhood was far from a happy one; filled with constant yelling, crying and on occasion, injuries. 

It wasn’t rare that your younger self got into something you shouldn’t- whether that be by climbing a tree to escape your screaming parents or accidentally burning yourself while attempting to make dinner for you and your younger siblings.

It was safe to say you’d had your fair share of hospital visits in your youth. It’d been years since you had to be driven to the emergency room, it wasn’t really something you, or anyone, enjoyed.

Now though, you were sitting in the passenger seat of Matt’s van with a blood-stained dishcloth wrapped tightly around your hand. You’d asked Matt to slice up an apple, but he’d responded with a simple “in a moment.”

To anybody else, it would’ve been easy to wait but you had been regressed in the moment and it was not easy to wait. Nor did your regressed-self believe it would be a “moment”. Your parents had always said they’d cook dinner, “in a moment”- only to fall asleep and leave you and your siblings hungry.

The injury occurred when you, in the haze of littlespace, had decided you could slice your own apple. The pulsing pain in your hand tauntingly reminded you that you could not.

God, you were such an idiot. You knew Matt was better than your parents, that’s the whole reason you entrusted him with the responsibility of being your caregiver. If you had just listened, you wouldn’t be in this position right now. 

You still couldn’t process what Matt was saying, but in the midst of trauma-response plagued thoughts; you spoke. 

“I’m sorry, I…I don’t even know what I was thinking.” You stammered, voice hoarse from crying. Matt furrowed his brows as he exited the freeway, turning to face you for a split second.

“What?” He asked, baffled at the fact you were sorry. He was sorry! He was the one who’d neglected his responsibilities as a caregiver for some stupid social media thing.

“I’m sorry. I…I know it was…it was a stupid thing to do.” You admitted, fresh hot tears burning your eyes- the sensory only adds to the stinging pain from the injury on your hand. 

Matt couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He hadn’t just met you yesterday, of course he knew of your past and the habits you still carried from your trauma- but it had been months since you apologized for something that was so blatantly not your fault.

“Sweetheart, I’m not mad.” Matt said, his words continuing to fall on deaf ears. 

The brunette man didn’t have much time to continue to reassure you, as he’d just pulled into the nearest parking spot he could in front of the emergency room.

Matt jumped out of the van, rushing over to your side door and helping you out. His heart broke at how lifeless you appeared. There were no small smiles, no commenting on the flowers planted outside the emergency room- nothing.

Just you, shuffling beside Matt trying to make yourself as quiet as possible.

It broke him that he’d caused this for you. If he’d simply held off on trying to find photos for Nick’s stupid photo dump, you’d be happily at home munching away on your apple slices.

“Sir?” The receptionist asked, snapping Matt out of his self-pitying thoughts. “She uhm- she…she needs stitches.” Matt explained, motioning to the dish towel he’d panicky-wrapped around your hand before rushing you into the car.

The receptionist nodded diligently, asking for your name and Matt’s relation to you. 

“Y/n L/n…and he’s my boyfriend.” You spoke up, earning another nod. Matt anxiously looked around, adrenaline still pumping through his veins.

“You two can follow Nurse Buckley to an exam room,” The receptionist pointed to a female nurse dressed in sage-green scrubs, smiling toothily at the couple.

“C’mon sweetheart, we’ll get you stitched up in no time.” Nurse Buckley promised, leading you two to a secluded exam room- Matt helped you onto the uncomfortable bed, you mumbled out a “thanks”.

You weren’t mad at him, not at all. It had been your own stupid decision to attempt welding a knife while regressed, not Matt’s. You didn’t really understand why you felt so…small.

Not in the regression way though, you wouldn’t dare regress in a hospital- terrified of what your little-self would think. 

You felt small in a completely different sense, like your words carried little weight on the world. Despite Nurse Buckley and Matt being in the room with you, you felt shunned away from everyone.

It was then that it dawned on you, you’d triggered some sort of PTSD haze. A trauma response.

Sadly, the realization didn’t fix it- it only made you feel deeper shame. 

“Y/n?” Nurse Buckley called out, grasping your attention. “D’you feel okay hun? You don’t appear to have lost too much blood but if you feel dizzy-” 

You shook your head, “I don’t like hospitals.” You told the nurse, earning an understanding nod. “I understand.” Nurse Buckley looked towards Matt before meeting your eyes once again, “If you want your boyfriend to sit with you on the bed, I won’t tell.” She smiled cheekily.

You flashed her a small inauthentic smile. Matt noticed- the nurse didn’t.

“I’ll be right back, need to grab gloves.” Nurse Buckley told Matt, who nodded.

After the nurse left the room, Matt went straight back to apologizing.

“Hey…baby, look at me.” Matt cooed, carefully sitting in front of you on the stiff hospital bed. Your eyes shot up to meet Matt’s, you hated that.

That wasn’t how you behaved around Matt. With Matt you were playful and softhearted- right now, your stupid brain was forcing you to act like a scared child.

“Can you take a breath for me? You’re shaking.” The brunette boy’s voice was soft as silk as he brushed his fingertips against your tear-stained cheek. Those words broke the dam. 

Your face wrinkled up as you began crying once more, painful memories playing on repeat in the back of your mind. 

Matt’s heart broke for you, “Oh sweetheart…can I hug you?” He asked, you nodded quickly- wanting nothing more than for this awful haze to go away. As soon as permission was given, Matt’s arms wrapped around you tightly- careful to avoid your injured hand.

Your caregiver shushed you, rubbing soothing circles into your back. “I know, this must be so scary for you- right?” Matt cooed, you nodded into his neck. 

The fact your brain had decided to cope with a scary-situation in an unhealthy way combined with Matt’s soothing touch and voice, you felt a familiar safe, fuzzy, headspace lingering near. 

No.

You couldn’t regress. Not in a hospital. Maybe you would consider it if your littlespace wasn’t as young as it was- but sadly, that wasn’t the case.

Matt had been your caregiver for the better half of a year and in that year, he’d come to recognize the signs of an upcoming regression. The way you melted into a hug like a small child would, how you hid your face deeper into the crook of his neck- trying to bury yourself into his skin. 

“Feelin’ tiny?” Matt asked, lowering his already soft voice. You shook your head, trying to convince yourself that you weren’t. Matt frowned, pulling away from the hug and gently lifting your chin to make your eyes meet his.

“Sweetheart…what’s goin’ on? It’s okay to be tiny, I’ll keep you safe.” Your carer cooed, rubbing the pad of his thumb against your cheek. You whined, feeling the fuzziness grow over your mind more. 

“Alright! Let’s get you sewn up and on your way!” Nurse Buckley’s words washed a whole new wave of anxiety over you.

The stitches were not a fun experience. Even if Nurse Buckley had given you a local anesthetic, just the thought of a needle going in and out your skin was enough to make you bury your face into Matt’s sweater. 

Now though, you were both home with strict instructions to “take it easy”. 

And take it easy you would, because you were currently sitting atop the couch- various fluffy blankets surrounding you as Gravity Falls played on the television. 

You smiled gently- feeling much better than you had earlier- as Matt came back to the living room, a small pink bowl full of apple slices. Your heart warmed as the sight, eyes watering with love.

“Hey…what’s going on?” Matt asked, quickly setting the small bowl onto the coffee table and crouching in front of you. You shook your head, wiping your eyes with your uninjured hand. Matt frowned softly, still feeling guilty from the incidents that took place earlier in the day.

“Do you not want apples anymore? I…I can get you something else? Or, order something?” Matt offered frantically, causing you to shake your head once again. “No…Matt this is…you’re so sweet.” Your voice broke as you launch yourself into your carer’s arms, wrapping your arms around him tightly.

Matt sat in shock for a moment before latching onto you, pressing gentle kisses to the top of your head. 

“I’m so sorry, I should’ve cut up the apple when you asked.” Matt said, ashamed of his actions. You furrow your brows, pulling away from the hug- “What? No, I’m sorry. It…it was a stupid decision.” You said, ashamed of your actions.

Matt’s brows mimicked yours, knitting together in confusion. “No. I’m…I’m your caregiver, I’m supposed to look after you and I failed that. I’m sorry.” Matt explained firmly.

You smiled at your caregiver, feeling the scared little girl inside of you heal.

Matt pulled you back into a hug, running a reassuring hand up and down your back. You felt the familiar fuzzy feeling from earlier return, but this time- you were more than happy to welcome it, especially after this stressful day.

Matt realized this instantly, his smile growing. “C’mon sweet girl, I think this show is too big for you.” The brunette cooed, grabbing the remote off of the coffee table and finding a much more age appropriate cartoon for you. 

You hummed excitedly, resting against your caregiver’s chest- eyes heavy with sleep. 

Matt hummed along to the theme-song of the cartoon, earning soft giggles from you. The two of you sat tangled together, a pile of fluffy blankets keeping both of you cozy, warm and safe.

You whined softly, rubbing your tired eyes with a balled fist. Matt cooed softly, pressing gentle kisses to the top of your head- pulling you closer. 

“How’s your hand feeling?” Matt asked, earning a soft shrug from you. You lifted up your hand, pout on your lips.

“Dada ‘ss it.” You murmured, giving your caregiver your award-winning puppy dog eyes. Matt’s lips curled upwards at your words, pressing a gentle kiss to your hand- hoping his caregiver-magic would help the wound heal faster.

“I’m really sorry sweet girl,” Matt apologized for a final time. You thought for a moment before snuggling further into Matt’s chest, “...’s okay. Still’da best dada ever.” You smiled.

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