#im just so excited to write with you!!

[arcanaaa]

@seraphias asked: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

HER SMILE IS MIRRORED IN AN EXACT MANNER THAT PORTRAYED HER AMICIABLE NATURE. Now there's the face of a beauty that was unmistakable-- a memory of when and where she met this angelic beauty is hazy, but it's coming back to her in fragments. Still.

Couldn't hurt to start their reunion(?) off on a friendly note, right?

❝Sorano! Hey there-- s'been awhile, huh?❞ UNGUARDED, THE SEER GENTLY SWEPT THE WOMAN'S HAND UP FOR A QUICK GREETING, A CHASTE YET PLAYFUL KISS PLACED ATOP HER GLOVED APPENDAGE. The action might have been untoward and brash, especially given how new their acquaintmenship was, but if there was one thing Cana was known for, it was appreciating a woman's beauty-- and never being shy about showing it.

❝Heh...guess the cards were right all along, huh?❞

[hascious]

im struggling to balance writing and doodling but im managing nonetheless

also!! i just finished writing myself a little list of events that will happen for the last half of the au, so everythings basically plotted out i just gotta take the time to write it coherently. pray for me

the first half i got to fuck around but now ive gotta take it seriously, so sad </3 but its okay cause once its over i can just doodle silly things about everything and even redraw some of my old concepts

double also... i mightve had an idea a while ago for a small spinoff... i might talk more about it another time...

oh and heres a scuffed reference i made a little while ago for Henry's ability if anyone wanted to know what it looks like as of chapter 6

[fandomrose]

Sunday - Love Hypnosis

Sunday hypnotises you (consensually) to relax you.

No spoilers.

No description of reader or readers troubles so project what you are personally struggling with as you see fit.

No angst just fluff. I thought this concept would be cute. I've seen many a yandere Sunday hypnotises you, and that's great but consider - consent and fluff.

(This isn't a jab, I too enjoy a yandere fic from time to time but I also want to see fluff and I haven't seen this done in a fluffy way yet.)

I don't know why I'm mildly obsessed with this man but I am. (Cough Cough, I read maximum ride as a kid and now I automatically fall in love with winged characters. Cough Cough.) I need him to hypnotise me please and thank you.

(I have a few fics in the works that I need to finish but I'm struggling.)

As usual enjoy. Love ya 💙

"Darling?" Came the light and airy tone of your beloved. Though there was a hint of worry in his voice as he took in your face down, slumped form. "Are you alright?"

He could tell very well that you were not alright. But he would coax an answer out of you one way or another. Though the only answer he received was a groan.

"Darling." He sighs but chuckles at your obviously aggravated self. "Allow me to help you." 

Your body goes limp as you let him move you from a sofa to your shared bed. "My darling. Tell me what's gotten into you."

He chuckles as you groan out a single word relating to your issues. "Life."

"Oh, my darling. You'll let me soothe you for the night won't you?" He only felt it was right after the many nights you had soothed him. 

Patient, kind, understanding. Three words that when asked by others what you think about each other, you'd both say about each other. A pure give and take without a scoreboard, that's how you operated. You were both busy or stressed for one reason or another so that's how things had to be.

The simple love you shared was enough most days but sometimes things went wrong.

Sunday had performed hypnosis on you before so he knew it worked but he'd never engage unless you agreed. You knew the question he asked meant he wanted to soothe you via hypnosis, and with the state of your mind you would happily agree. 

"Please do." 

He wouldn't offer if he didn't have the energy you knew this, a rather large argument took care of that when he'd overworked himself then passed out after hypnotising you once and a medic had to be rushed in. Needless to say, you weren't happy with his carelessness. And seeing how upset you were he agreed to be more careful with his health.

You didn't want to think anymore so as you lay there looking up at him with your tired eyes and weary mind, he smiles. He caresses your face and hair before taking a deep breath and reciting that familiar chant.

"Oh triple faced soul, allow me to take hold of this one's mind and soothe them of all worries and burdens. The word Beloved will be the catalyst for control."

With that simple incantation your mind belonged to Sunday for a short while. Your mind felt fuzzy and slow but not unpleasantly, the way it would when you achieved complete relaxation. 

Like he had done before, he would take you through your nightly routine with this hypnosis.

"Beloved, follow me to to the bathroom." He helped you up while your body automatically followed his words and stood up. 

Walking was about the most complex task you could complete, he wasn't Xipe Themself, so his power only went so far. 

"Beloved, lift your arms." 

You do as told and he aids in stripping you, ready to be cleaned. 

"Beloved, sit on this stool and close your eyes." 

You again do as told his voice muffled through the layers of hypnosis, but soothing nonetheless. "I am going to wash your face first darling." He always narrates what he does before doing it as not to startle you.

You felt a cool, wet, cloth glide over your face and you can't help but sigh with satisfaction. You feel it gently caress your cheeks and softly rub your eyes tickle behind your ears. You hear the cloth being rinsed and wrung, the muffled sounds of the water soothing you further.

"I am going to wash your upper body now darling." And, as before, you feel the damp cloth glide over your neck and upper body, letting him move you has he sees fit. Soft humming coming from him lulls you deeper into his hypnosis. The cloth glides down and caresses your chest before moving to wash your back. You'd make sounds of relaxed satisfaction if you could but your exhausted body coupled with the hypnosis has made your brain devoid of any thought or control. Just how you want it. 

He moves back to the front of you with a new cloth. "Beloved, spread your legs, I need to clean you." 

Your body complies without hesitation and that's what he does, making sure to be extra gentle around this sensitive area. He is thorough but doesn't linger long this time, not wanting to spark anything in you this evening.

Standing to switch the cloth again, "I'm going to wash your legs and feet now darling." Still being as gentle as ever his hands and the cloth slowly makes their way down your legs massaging them as they go. A light massage is given to your feet as well before he finishes and pats you dry with a towel before he deems your body clean.

"Beloved, open your mouth wide." 

He orders next, your mind too fuzzy to think of what else could be doing. You hear more water then feel a hand on your chin. "I'm going to brush your teeth darling." Then light scrubbing of your teeth and tongue can be felt, he is thorough with this area too. Not wanting to be the reason you have cavities he takes his time. Not too long later he finishes with you. You can hear things being put away and muffled sounds of him walking around you, maybe inspecting you. Before he stops in front and, 

"Beloved, open your eyes and stand up. Its time to go to bed."

You're led back into the bedroom now that he is satisfied that you are clean. "Beloved, are you ready to sleep?" 

Compelled to answer, you do. "yes"

"Beloved, do you want to sleep with me?"

"Yes"

"Good, let's get to sleep then shall we." 

The sounds of fabric and draws is all you hear for a moment before he guides you into bed with him. 

"Beloved, lay down." 

When he's satisfied you are comfortable You feel his soft skin against yours, the wings on his head lightly brushing your face in reverence before he pulls them back. It isn't often he blesses you with his naked body, the vulnerability gets to him at times. 

Once you've laid down and he's pulled you close he asked one more question.

"Beloved, are you ready to be released from hypnosis?"

"Yes"

As the words leave your lips he begins the incantation to remove his influence on your mind. 

"Oh triple faced soul, this one has completed this ones tasks and can now be freed from the shackles of my control with no burden."

Everything goes still as your senses return slowly, reacclimating you to reality. A few minutes pass of him softly stroking your head and neck while you come back to him.

"Thank you Sunday" a soft whisper conveying how grateful you are before you promptly pass out the exhaustion and relaxation hitting you full force as you melt into the bed and his arms.

"Oh my beloved, I'd do anything to see you happy and relaxed like this more often. I am grateful for all you do for me so it's only natural. I love you, so much my beloved."

He whispers to your sleeping self, pressing small kisses to your forehead, cheeks and nose. Watching the small twitches at the contact makes his evening and he feels like he too can finally relax.

[theloveinc]

I also like the idea of Bakugo coming home from a long, overseas mission only for you to be surprised when you meet him at the airport cuz he’s twice as beefy and four times more scary looking.

[imaginethathaikyuu]

Em, you probably don't know this, but I actually have a huge weakness for streamer!Kenma. This might be kinda basic but what if streamer!Kenma and streamer!reader are both super popular, and everyone is always begging them to stream together, but what everyone DOESN'T know is that they're secretly dating and are afraid that if they stream together everyone will figure it out :') but it's just a thought so yeah no pressure. I hope you do get some inspo for streamer!Kenma though 💗 ily!

kris i love u and i wrote this just for u <333 it feels like me and u are playing ping pong with the writing brain cell recently. i love it we're so back

streamer!kenma x streamer!reader

featuring: secret relationship, kenma teaches u how to play chess on stream, loving banter, little bits of chess talk. i tried not to put too much streamer talk in this so it was actually readable and not cringe. gender neutral reader word count: 1882

-

Kenma was just about to end his stream when he noticed your name being typed in the chat. Someone linked a clip of you from your stream - which was currently live - so he clicked it. 

A text to speech message read out loud, “Are you going to be in Noya’s next event?” and as you were focusing on your gameplay, you took a second to reply. 

���Am I… No, I don’t think so.” 

Kenma laughed while you struggled your way through playing MineCraft. 

“I was invited but - chat, I don’t want to start any drama but I kind of don’t want to play in it if Kenma’s playing, and someone told me he was invited.” 

Kenma barked a laugh, a loud noise that was rarely heard from him, as you shrugged and struggled to hide your smile. 

“There, I said it! If it starts drama, so be it!” You put your hands up in defense, laughing at yourself. 

The clip ended, so he immediately opened your stream, and you were still talking about him. 

He couldn’t hide his smile if he tried - he only hoped none of his viewers noticed the fondness in his eyes. 

The two of you had been dating for at least a year, and it was the best kept secret of his career.

There was a joke online about the two of you not liking each other. It all started when you were openly avoiding him in a game lobby with other streamers - from there, it grew into a bit that you committed to full throttle. 

Everyone knew you and Kenma were friends in real life. You shared a friend group, and often streamed with the same people. Online, however, you made a spectacle of not liking him. 

Kenma found it hilarious, and so did your chat. 

“Do you guys know he cheats in like, every game he plays?” 

“That’s not true!” He was laughing and rolling his eyes at the same time. “Oh my god.” 

He typed his words in your chat, and he watched the messages flood with his name. 

Your eyes widened a little when you read, “Is he in chat? Kenma, go away. This stream isn’t for you.” 

He typed a simple, “no,” and you scoffed at it. 

“Every time I mention your name you show up - I know you love the drama.” 

A few seconds later a text to speech message read, “he’s such a theater kid,” and at the sound of your laughter, he closed your stream. 

“I’m not a theater kid.” He sank a little in his chair, watching his chat being filled with emotes. “I literally played sports in high school!” 

It was only a few days later when he was sent another clip from your stream, this time from a text to speech donation. 

“Kenma, I think you need to see this.” 

He clicked the link and saw you were once again playing MineCraft. 

It was a long clip - in the game, you jumped off your boat into the ocean and started swimming to the bottom. Everyone in your chat was telling you not to, but you didn’t listen. 

“I’m not going to die. Why would I die? This is the best run I’ve had. I’m not going to die.” 

That’s when he realized you were playing the hardcore version of the game, meaning if you died, the game was over. 

He watched as you swam down into a huge ravine, and he had a feeling he knew what would happen as your character’s air bubbles were slowly popping. 

“Do you want to make a bet? If I die here I will do anything you want. Anything. Because I’m not going to die!” 

As you said that, your character started taking damage. And you tried swimming back up to the surface of the water, but you weren’t fast enough. You almost made it, and then - game over!

Your head was in your hands as the chat on screen spammed, “stream with Kenma!” 

Three days later, you were forced to take your punishment. 

Your viewers had been asking you to stream with Kenma for a long time, and you always avoided it with a joke - never revealing the real reason you didn’t want to go live with him. 

It wasn’t the end of the world if your relationship became public, but you knew things would be much easier in private. It wasn’t something you were trying to hide, but you weren’t posting it proudly, either. 

You decided on streaming Kenma teaching you how to play chess. He’d been playing a lot online, and you hoped it wouldn’t take longer than an hour. You were too nervous to go any longer than that. 

Kenma was late to answering your call. When he finally answered, you immediately started berating him. 

“Have you ever been on time?” 

“I was just seeing how long you’d wait for me,” he said. 

“If you never showed up, I would have gotten out of doing this.” 

He pulled up your stream just so he could look at you - even though he’d seen you just a few minutes ago. You were just down the hall, but nobody watching knew that. 

“Have you been watching my stream this whole time?” 

He grinned, “No, I’ve never watched your stream.” 

“Then why are you always in my chat?” 

You sat with your legs crossed, playing with the necklace you always wore - the one he bought for you just a few months ago. He loved seeing you wear it. 

“Because you’re always talking about me, like you’re obsessed with me or something.” 

“Can we get to the game? You’ve kept me waiting long enough.” 

Kenma wasn’t a good teacher - far from it - but he tried his best. After teaching you the names of all the pieces and how they moved, you were ready to play a game that he’d guide you through. You played white, he played black. 

“Can you just teach me the best opening in the game? I don’t need to know anything complicated.” 

“...Okay.” 

He took a second to decide. Once he made up his mind, he started giving his instructions. 

“The first move is pawn to f3.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“Do you see the pawns?” 

You laughed, because the way he said it sounded like he was talking to a kid. “Yes, I see the pawns!”

“Move the one on the F file up one square.” After a second you made your move, and it was his turn: pawn to e6. “Now pawn to g4.” 

“What’s this opening called?” 

He didn’t reply, instead, he was distracted by his chat. By now, everyone had already figured out what he was doing, and the messages they were sending made him laugh. 

“Kenma?” 

“It’s called the Fool’s Mate,” he said. 

“Why?” 

He had to push his microphone away from his face so you wouldn’t hear him laugh, but he pulled it back to say, “I think this is why.” 

He made his next move: queen to h4. And a window popped up on his screen, You Won! 

“What the fuck!” 

“Good game.”

“Kenma, what the fuck!” 

“You made it too easy.” 

“Kenma.” You were whining his name, sinking into your chair. “This is why I don’t like you.” 

“Everyone knew I would beat you, I just sped things up.” 

“That’s not true!” 

“You’re always such a sore loser,” he mumbled. 

“You’re always a cheater.” 

Twenty minutes later, you were in the middle of a real game - if Kenma telling you which moves to make could be considered real. And both of you had successful streams so far, your viewers none the wiser to the truth of your relationship. 

It was easy, he realized, and fun. He hated how funny you were, because you could make him laugh more than anyone, and he was sure he seemed completely lovesick. 

“I think you should move the bishop,” Kenma suggested when you took more than two minutes to offer your next move. 

“Uh…” 

“The bishop.” 

“I don’t remember which one that is!” 

Kenma waited for you to figure it out, and then you moved your queen. 

And he was truly disappointed, because that was the one move you shouldn’t have made. He couldn’t even laugh. 

“You just sacrificed your queen.” 

“I don’t even know what that means!” 

“Babe - that was a total blunder!” His queen captured yours, and he realized this may have been a complete waste of time. “You lost your most important piece!” 

“I thought that was the bishop, Ken!” 

He sighed, acting as dramatic as possible. “You haven’t learned a thing. It’s basically game over, now,” and he scanned the chess board on his screen, looking for the quickest way to end the game. 

He looked over at his chat to see it was being spammed with question marks, and then his phone vibrated with a message from you. 

It read, “you just let the cat out of the bag.” 

“Oh,” he said. He laughed, because he only just realized what he said - the nickname had slipped before he could catch himself - and something awkward started to settle. But he shrugged it off. “Oops.” 

He started texting you back until you said, “are you disappointed in me, babe?” 

“Oh my god.” He sat his phone down, ignoring your message completely. “Stop flirting with me.” 

“You said it first!” 

“It was an accident!” 

You texted him again. “Should we just tell them?” 

He typed back, “I think so.” 

“Okay, wait,” you said. “Everyone go look at Kenma’s stream. He’s going to do something really cool while I go to the bathroom.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He opened your stream in another tab and watched you get up from your seat. 

Everyone in your chat and his was confused - as was he. 

Then, his door opened, and you walked in. 

“What are you doing?” he laughed. 

“I wanted to come say hi.” You walked over to him, grabbing the back of his chair and turning it back and forth just to bother him. “Wait, are you streaming?” 

He scoffed, but it was all affectionate. “You’re so dumb.” 

You looked down at his screen and waved, “hi chat!” and then noticed he had your stream on his second monitor. “You’re watching my stream!” 

“Yeah, I’m a fan,” he joked. 

He knew the chat would be filled with questions and reactions, but he didn’t care at all. He found this entire thing hilarious, and judging by the smirk on your face, you did too. 

When you finally got back to your room, you sat down as if nothing had even happened. 

“Okay, can you teach me what a Queen’s Gambit is?” 

“No, because you can’t even tell me which piece is the queen.” 

Later that night when you had both ended your livestreams, both of you made your own posts on twitter acknowledging the announcement you’d made. Kenma posted a photo of you with his cat in your lap - the one that had been his phone wallpaper since he’d taken it. You posted the first selfie you’d taken together - both without captions, because there was no explanation required. 

And if you kept acting like you hated Kenma during your stream, he’d be the only one allowed to call your bluff.

-

send a request for a drabble and i might write it :)

[philosophiums]

jjk atla au fic in the works!!!!

title: Like the Moon Haunts the Sun

@hinamie and i have been feverishly working hand in unsleeping hand on this, and, after extensive plotting and scene ideas volleyed between us, i have finally started writing. i am being consumed by this au firstly, if you haven't seen hina's concept art for the AU yet, find them here: main trio, gojo/choso/nanami, mahito/geto/yuta, yuji/sukuna/karucchi

i don't have a nice clean summary right now, BUT the non-spoiler-y gist is that it's going to follow yuji on his journey around the atla map, mastering the elements and taking on his role as the avatar. megumi, nobara, and yuji's owltiger, karucchi, will be with him every step of the way. and if he has to stop the nefarious plans of a certain corpse-possessing spirit, well... he'll do that, too.

we're pulling from both jjk and atla/lok canon and making something that's a pretty solid balance of both instead of strictly being jjk characters shoved into designated roles a la atla/lok. there will be some bends and some breaks in the way the atla world works, but canon is, after all, just a sandbox, and we came equipped with a shovel >:)

my goal is to write the fic in four parts (i'm aiming for like 50k words but who knows!), and i will start posting to ao3 once part one is done, just to give myself breathing room for chapter updates !!!

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for— (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: it's time for some more ✨trauma✨ time to learn ur own backstory tehe <3 feel free to let me know what you think or any future... predictions... you think might be coming...

word count: 3.3k

synopsis: Azriel leaves for Velaris. You reflect on old choices and everything that you lead you to where you are now— and realise it's been awhile since you had anyone to miss. fem!reader, mulan-esque au

—CHAPTER THREE :: COMPANIONS

There's a girl screaming in the middle of camp.

Anguish, a pure guttural agony, litters her voice. She's shrieking, screaming herself hoarse, tortured cries piercing the air as a piece of her identity is ripped from her forcibly. The scream that you know only follows a wing clipping.

Fear rolls through your body, seizing every nerve til your limbs lock up. Your stomach lurches, nausea swimming and threatening to choke up your throat. The screams dive beneath your very skin and make a home there, unbidden.

The screaming isn't stopping and you acutely notice that you're crying because of it, big fat tears rolling down your face as though you're the one in pain, unable to quieten her suffering, because... because...

Because the girl is you.

The girl is you and they had found out somehow and they had come, they had held you down and taken the knife between your wings and starting slicing through muscle and sinew and it fucking hurts, it hurts so much—

A ragged gasp rips from your throat at the slice down your back.

You wake you with a violent twitch.

Your dagger is in your hand in an instant, stored beneath your pillow, always within reach. The cool leather beneath it is a comfort as your senses search blindly for any threat. The rabbiting sound of your heart looms in your ears and you keenly strain your ears to try listen over it.

A threat? An intruder? You're looking for anything hidden in the darkness, while your senses are still swamped by your nightmare. The effects of it are melting away too slowly. Your breath comes too fast.

Shadows loom. You're not sure what is fear is still lingering from the dream and what is real instinct, kicking in to protect yourself.

Worse is, your suspicions are not at all unwarranted.

Around you, the space is still. Dead air trapped within your shelter.

Outside, the howl of the Mother's Kiss sounds again, the rattling wind against the windows somehow grounding you into your home. You're in your home. You're not out in the middle of camp, not held onto that horrid stained piece of earth where all the clippings take place.

You're tucked away in your space, hidden beneath your secret still.

Your chest heaves rapidly, dregs of panic still running through your system. You force yourself to inhale slowly, blinking slowly and letting your eyes adjust to the night. It's still dark.

It's nighttime and you've had a night terror and you're still safe, still just like any other male in the camp.

Behind you, you give your wings a little shiver, just to check.

Still there, still working in every capacity. The relief that pours through you soothes like a balm, heady and overwhelming. You release a shaky breath and curl your knees up to your chest, wings cocooning around yourself.

The nightmares, this nightmare, has been unrelenting for as many years as you can remember. Well, since...

Since twenty six years ago, when you had made a very difficult choice.

Perhaps the only time you'll ever be thankful for being a bastard in this camps is when it had granted you the privacy to make such a choice. Nobody cares if a bastard child dies, male or otherwise.

It had made you dispensable and therefore, unnoticeable.

Nobody noticed when one more begging child, one more hungry face, went missing. And certainly nobody paid any mind when one more turned up again — hair cut down to the scalp, bleeding in places from the shoddy cut, and a gritty determination in their eyes.

No, in fact, the only time people started noticing you was when you started tasting the mixture of blood and dirt, knocked down in a fight you knew you had no chance of winning.

You had started it. Pushed your way into the group of boys and shoved one, hard. Fought back as best you could with half formed fists that quickly got pushed into the mud and held there as the boy you shoved wailed on you, hit after hit after hit.

By the time he had been pulled off you, your mouth was a river of blood and your face ached in a way you had never felt before.

The very bone of your skull felt bruised. Your nose was definitely broken. You wanted to cry but even scrunching your face up hurt too much. It was impossible to think anything beyond pure pain.

The group of boys were sneering as they left you in a crumpled heap on the ground, kicking mud in your direction and hissing the word bastard.

But not one mention of you being anything other than that.

Just a bastard. No slighted comment at being a female, at not being worthy of a fight for that reason.

In the Illyrian Mountains, being a bastard gave you very little in the manner of food, things, and choices. If you managed to survive past childhood, that is.

If you could scrape around for food to fill a belly that never seemed to stop growling and manage not succumb to icy embrace of the winter in the mountains, there was very little waiting for you. Even less so, if you weren't a male.

Males, at the very least, could fight for a sliver of something better.

And wasn't that just the Illyrian way? If you can fight, if you can beat and claw your way to the top, it's worth something. It's the only way to gain respect. To earn it, even when you came from nothing.

For you? Living past childhood would mean getting your greatest love torn from you.

You had seen half a dozen clippings before the age of eight. It was said that other camps littered throughout Illyria tended to be more gracious. Did it in private. Healers on hand. No excessive force.

But you'd believe that when you saw it — clippings were brutal.

Females having experienced their first blood were dragged out into the middle of camp, some kicking and screaming, others a ghostly quiet. Everybody watched and nobody stepped in, no matter the pleas.

You, no older than eight years old, had stared at the bloody patch left on the ground til your vision had blurred. It was crimson, mixing with the dirt of the earth. Beneath it was this horrid scorched brown colour.

Old blood.

The final straw for you had been Adesi— Lord Mylind's own daughter. You're not sure when or why some part of your had become convinced that she might be spared. That because her father held rank and could bend certain rules, that she might escape the fate you so feared for yourself.

She hadn't. Lord Mylind had done the clipping himself.

And she hadn't cried or fussed. There hadn't been a struggle, just this soft weeping as she kept her eyes on the ground, every pained sound that passed her lips lined with a bitter resignation of knowing this was always coming.

It had stoked a simmering ember within you — a furiously upset flame that burned hotter and hotter, til you were trembling with the force of it. Forced to watch yet another girl stripped of her freedom. Polished up for breeding stock.

If Adesi wouldn't be spared, neither would you. The future, you could see, was growing impossibly bleaker and would continue down that path if nothing radical appeared to change its course.

You had cut your hair that same very night.

It was a shit job. Trying to get it as short as you could manage without a mirror or proper tools to do so proved incredibly difficult. The lack of proper shelter didn't help either.

Bandages you were stock-piling for Mother knows what were used to bind your chest. Then you spent the rest of the night time scouring the mountain-side for those bitter herbs on the mere hope that the rumour that they would keep you from bleeding held an inkling of truth.

The next day had been the day you got into your very first fight.

The first of many. Lord Mylind didn't take kindly to bastards, especially when you paled in comparison to the size of the other novices. You had been refused to be allowed to join training the first time you had tried, his cold eyes narrowed with a cruel curl of his upper lip.

But you had, perhaps, what no one else did.

No other way forward. No other choice.

Every part of you that yearned to keep your beautiful wings, to keep your freedom, your autonomy, was channeled into your intense drive. You would not be so easily dissuaded.

You trained day and night, working up weak muscles til they hardened beneath your skin. Without proper training, it was nowhere near as efficient as it could've been. There was no-one there to soothe the aches of your growing pains, nor the sores that came with hitting the ground time and time again as you honed the balance and fluidity of your body.

A season passed. Your drive did not falter— not when half a dozen more females got clipped in that same period. A wedge drove itself between your ribs, attempting to crack open your chest; a heavy guilt at what they experienced... what you could not yet prevent.

It pushed you to train harder than before.

It took seven whole months of solitary training before Lord Mylind reluctantly allowed you to join the ranks— forced to when you disarmed and wiped the floor with Brudam in the ring to prove yourself.

By that time, the list of clipped females had climbed to nearly fifty. You kept track of every single one, forty-eight notches carved into your soul for every person you failed to protect from a terrible fate.

It killed you having to bide your time.

To train alongside the males of the camp who detested you as they did any such bastard. To hear their uncaring jeers of the clippings as they flaunted their own wings proudly. There was no shortage of things to stoke the fire within you, fury burning through every cell in your body. There was no distraction from the ultimate goal.

But between Lord Mylind's abysmal training, geared specifically at you, the purposeful way other warriors wouldn't hesitate to kick you while you were down, and having nobody else in your corner, you had no other choice.

Routines formed. Train. Eat. Train. Scrounge for ingredients, for knowledge, anything on healing tonics. Fail miserably at making anything. Chew the bitter herbs. Train. Sleep. Wake. Train.

Loneliness became a familiar companion.

Every creak in the dark was a potential threat that came looking to see if they could knock the unwelcome bastard out of the ranks. You learned to not just how to duel, but how to brawl and win. To fight dirty. To come out as unscathed as possible.

Your first bleed did eventually come, bitter leaves be damned.

They had done a decent job. They had given you a few crucial years to establish yourself as a worthy fighter, not to be messed with, and enough time to build the shelter you now called home.

It had been a saving grace. If you had been out and exposed, if any of the males in town came sniffing for a fight and felt entitled enough to challenge you, the lie that kept you safe would've come tumbling down like a house of cards.

All those years turned to ash. Wasted. For nothing.

And the only thing that terrified you more than that was... what you were certain they would inflict upon you if they ever found out.

In some of your worst nightmares, they do much worse than just clip you. They take them from you— saw them from your back, splintering bone and tearing muscle, not caring if you cry or scream — not caring if you die.

Around you, your wings give a shiver as if they could feel the ghost of pain that still lurked from your nightmare. You curl them up tighter around you. A blanket of softness, of warmth, finally breaks the chill on your skin.

Routine was easy. Your terror was manageable based on the familiarity of your life. The fact that you had nobody to lean on meant everything, every pillar of comfort, of tough love, of the extra push when you needed it, came from within.

Slipping away from training to deal with the excruciating agony of your cycle was a necessity, even if it pained you to do so. Avoidance of the Blood Rite was born from that too. It was too great a risk— too much time spent that you couldn't ever be sure wouldn't overlap with your cycle.

Besides, you already had the biggest target on your back — the label of bastard giving you more than your fair share of enemies.

They would hunt you down on the first night. That you had no doubt about. The killing would be slow and merciless. To you, the Blood Rite was just another brand of nightmares.

All this dread had become second-nature, stitched into the fabric of your angry and miserable life which seemed to exist against all odds. You were cursed with an ambition that would not let you rest. A compassion that drove you to keep training, to help others more than just yourself.

You were singular. A lone ranger who relied on nothing but your own instincts to keep getting you through the day.

You were solitary. You were lonely.

And yet, within the last month, something else had barrelling into your life and altered its course.

A Shadowsinger.

A Shadowsinger with hazel eyes that dance with mirth and a rueful smile that comes out far too easily for the battle-hardened soldier you know him to be. He's a conundrum. A mentor and a damn hard-ass when it came to training but also someone you could trust.

Calling him a friend felt too close.

A tenative ally, perhaps. A companion, even.

And the fact you can trust him — the fact that you do trust him — is perhaps the biggest change of them all.

All of your routines have been suddenly altered.

Because now, unlike ever before, there's someone there in the morning. Someone to notice your absences. To come looking when it takes longer to drag yourself out of fitful sleep. To comment on the circles under your eyes and roll back the punches accordingly.

He brings the things you need, a sudden plentiful stash of ingredients you wouldn't have dreamed of affording. The good stuff that makes a difference in the potency of a healing tonic. In turn, your feeble attempts at concocting have begun to produce far more useful results.

He brings food too.

No point in all this training if you look like your bones will snap. He had said, almost dismissively as he summoned the abundance of food from within that pocket in the shadow realm. You had been too startled by that alone to question how much he had brought with him.

A fucking feast. Enough food to last you at least half the year, if you stretched it.

Some withered, bitter part of you had shriveled up when you saw it. Your mouth watered and your stomach ached and yet still, you couldn't help how you snapped at him.

I don't want your pity.

Azriel had leveled you with a stare, his shadows roaming about his shoulders like wisps of smoke. He tilted his head to the side an inch, as if trying to pick apart the reasoning for you being so standoffish.

It's not a handout. It's part of our deal. Like I said, there's no point training you if you're starving all the while.

You bristled as his tone, even if there wasn't a hint of condescension to it. It was strong and sure.

When you still hadn't moved, Azriel had spoken once more. It's okay. To eat. I understand that generosity is not something you are familiar with but not eating will not help any of them. Getting stronger will.

He had spoken as if he knew that exact reservation on your mind — the sheer unfairness of having a platter served up to gorge yourself sick on, when so many others... So many others had nothing.

Eat. Azriel had murmured, turning for the door. He had paused just like he had on that first ever night, one scarred hand on the door. Please.

A particularly loud whirl of the Mother's Kiss outside shakes you from the memory.

You blink hard. Your wings twitch and curl in even closer as you realise you've been looking at the door. Looking at where he had stood all those nights ago.

That conversation had been in the first week of knowing Azriel. Back when you were still so wary it was impossible to not raise your hackles when he came knocking at your door, no matter how friendly he had seemed. Friendly, but not harmless you knew.

It took time to stop being constantly on guard around him. But if your lack of trust and general frostiness bothered Azriel, he never let you know.

And now... now you've known him for nearly a month.

A month of routine with him in it. With sparring in the morning, tiring yet rewarding drills beneath the winter sun, and quiet conversations in the evenings, his hazel eyes competing with the crackling fire with how they set your heart ablaze. A month of companionship.

A month, the first month in years, not spent entirely alone.

In the cool night air, knees pulled to your chest, something tugs at your throat at the knowledge he won't be back in the morning.

Last night, after an evening spent in comfortable company where you finally heard him laugh for the first time ever and nearly melted at the sound, he had told you he would be returning to Velaris.

Temporarily, he added on hastily at the flash of surprise in your eyes.

Business with the High Lord. Reports and assessments to deliver. I's to dot and t's to cross.

He assured you he would be back in a day or two, certainly no more than three. He had left ample food and generous tonic ingredients, with all the assurances to continue practicing during the evening.

With no Azriel, you had no reason to avoid training with the rest of camp.

Maybe that was why this particular nightmare had plagued you tonight. Something curdled up in your gut at the thought of returning to your old routine— another part relishes in how you will get to stand your ground as a better, hardier warrior now. To prove yourself worthy of the specialty training you were receiving.

You huff out a small sigh in the dark.

There's no telling what time it is. You force yourself to sit back, easing back into your bed gently til you're lying back under the makeshift duvet you have. It's moth-eaten and seen better days. You snuggle beneath it anyway.

It's been a long time since you've missed anyone, you think forlornly.

The thought surprises you. Staring at the ceiling, your brows furrow and you close your eyes but the truth of it rings clear throughout your very being. Undeniable.

The Shadowsinger has somehow wiggled into your life, burrowed into your routine and has begun to mean something to you. And when he's gone, you... miss him.

Your eyes flash back open, glaring up at the ceiling, and you huff as if that will change that fact.

Rolling over, you pull the duvet in closer, your arms tucking into your chest snugly. Your bed is a bit too small for someone with wings and they ache because of it. Sleep trickles back into your system, dragging your lids down.

As you fall into sleep, some part of you realises, faintly, that you haven't had anyone to miss in a long, long, time.

This time when you dream, it’s of hazel eyes.

[NEXT PART: FRIENDS]

—

tags below!

@strangerstilinski @janebirkln @itsswritten @mischiefmanagers @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco @iamjimintrash @maeandering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka @cassianswh0reeee @viciane @astarlitsoul @mybestfriendmademe @archiveofcravings @reputaytionn-13 @bionic-donut @chessebookgirl @itseightbeats @littleblackcatinwonderland @twsssmlmaa

[buwheal]

Got anything fun on your to-do list? (Spamton buddy)

[demigod-of-the-agni]

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

(@/marvel hire me <3)

[emry-stars-art]

Are you still working on your aftg royal au because I'm so obsessed, and I think I might die without a full fic.

Yes and sort of!! I have absolutely not abandoned it if that's what you're asking!

It WILL be a fic on AO3 eventually 🫡 however I am not actively immediately working on it and it's unfortunately taking a long time, mostly for personal reasons lol. My mental bandwidth has not been high for a few months and I'm about on a shoestring with what personal projects I can work on atm 😅 hopefully that will change very soon tho! I'm still finishing chapters here and there but yeah it's just a slower pace.

That being said! Six chapters are sitting in the beta revision/almost-final draft as we speak, and.. if you're real curious... you can find six mid-draft chapters as well as a few other secret scenes/snippets scattered across my patreon for 5usd 👀 plenty of words for u there

But if you don't wanna spend that you can also have this exchange from the beta revision 😌

Find the royal au masterpost here 💕 (as of posting it is 100% up to date finally so pls enjoy!)

[team-118]

chemical override

2.4k words, buddie, buckley-diaz family, first kiss, getting together (for realsies this time!), rated t

With blonde curls and sparkling blue eyes over a criminally well-fitted red suit, he could almost be mistaken for Buck, if not for the way he takes Eddie in, slow and savoring it. When their eyes meet, Eddie’s mouth goes dry.

Two strangers meet at an LAFD celebration themed as a masquerade ball. They already know everything about each other.

read it on ao3.

for @prettysophist from the halloween prompt list for the prompt 'masks'

Despite what recent events might lead you to believe, Eddie does actually know that he's attractive. He's never really leaned into it, but he’s not unaware.

Unlike Buck, who is unaware. Buck who broke up with Tommy alarmingly quickly once Eddie quietly mentioned his sexuality at breakfast with the 118 two weeks ago. Who had dinner warm and waiting on the table when Eddie flew back from El Paso, Christopher in tow, one week ago. Who kissed Christopher's forehead and hugged him as tight as Eddie had as soon as he saw his son again, who met Eddie’s gaze over Chris's disgruntled head. For a split second, Eddie had almost let the thought in. Maybe Buck…him and Buck…and then the moment passed, and then a week passed, and nothing happened.

And listen, it's been two weeks. Actually, it's been at least six months. Well, if he's honest, it's probably been something like seven years, and if it isn't going to happen, Eddie will get over it. If Buck isn't attracted to him - if Buck doesn't want him - that doesn't actually change anything.

At least, that's what Eddie tells himself as he takes a razor to his mustache, gentle but vicious, and gets himself dressed. Sharp line of his shoulders, deep red shirt complementing his skin, and Carla even helps him out with his hair, because she's better than Eddie could ever compensate her for.

Stepping back to admire her handiwork, she holds her hand out for a high five from Christopher. “Not bad, hm?” she asks him.

Eddie poses with his hands out, eyebrows raised.

“Don't do that,” Christopher says immediately. He hands Eddie the masquerade mask that matches his suit. “And don't forget this.” Chris leans into Carla, returning her high five before fixing Eddie with a stern look. His smile gives him away, though. “Win something cool, Dad.”

“Yessir,” Eddie salutes, and then it's hugs and kisses and out the door.

🎭 • 🎭 • 🎭

Buck wishes Eddie were here. Doesn't matter how cool the staff events at the LAFD get (ha), they're always better with his best friend next to him. Buck got tickets way late, though, and he’s sure Eddie is busy with Chris tonight anyway. After Eddie came out, after El Paso, Buck didn't see the point in lying to himself anymore. He thought…well, if there was any time for them to finally fall together, it seemed like the right one. But Buck wasn't going to pressure Eddie into anything, especially on the heels of the summer they just had. And when Eddie didn't make a move, Buck tried to get it through his head: he doesn't want you. He doesn't.

But Buck wants Eddie. Buck wants Eddie smiling over dinner, wants him sitting across from Christopher, wants him next to Buck at staff events, wants him everywhere and every way he isn't.

So he slips into a suit he hasn't even seen since poker with Eddie, he spends entirely too much time on his hair, he pulls the masquerade mask over his eyes and challenges himself to thirty consecutive seconds of thinking about literally anything except Eddie for the night.

It's not going well.

🎭 • 🎭 • 🎭

It's almost impressive how quickly Eddie gets used to the mask. Then again - he contemplates the last twenty something years of his life and almost wants to laugh, morbidly - maybe it isn't. Unlike the one he's been wearing his whole life, though, this mask is freeing. He could be anybody, in a crowd of anybodies - but he's Eddie, and he knows it so well now, sees the full picture so clearly. He catches his reflection in the doorway, and he feels powerful.

The LAFD's Recognition of Excellence awards are held in some lavish building in downtown LA this fall. Eddie thinks the masquerade ball theme is kind of cheesy, but he does have to admit that the crowd showed up and showed out. Light refracts through crystal and bounces off the metallic masks packed into the massive ballroom, making everything feel brighter.

“Damn, if I'd known the competition was this steep, I'd have tried a little harder,” a voice drawls from behind him.

Eddie turns, looks the man up and down. With blonde curls and sparkling blue eyes over a criminally well-fitted red suit, he could almost be mistaken for Buck, if not for the way he takes Eddie in, slow and savoring it. When their eyes meet, Eddie’s mouth goes dry.

“No competition here,” Eddie replies evenly. Then he takes a deep breath, lets himself say what he's thinking. “And if this is low effort for you, I'm in trouble.”

Red Suit's smile turns a little wicked. “You can have as much effort as you'd like.”

Fucking hell. Eddie clears his throat. “You're a firefighter?”

“What, you think I snuck in?”

Even his laugh sounds like Buck’s, but darker, coloured by whatever the hell is happening between them right now. Eddie’s so fucked. “Just trying to judge how hard I'll need to work to impress you.”

Red suit gets closer. “Stick with me tonight, let's find out.”

What the hell. Eddie grabs his hand and pulls him to the bar.

🎭 • 🎭 • 🎭

Buck spotted the guy the second he walked in - the lethal cut of his pants, shoulders set with the easy confidence of someone who knows he belongs. When he turns at Buck's words, Buck blinks away the image of Eddie. He drinks in the warm brown eyes and feels himself slipping into a comfortable, old stance. Someone Eddie never had the chance to meet. Thirty fucking seconds, he reminds himself, and lets himself be dragged to the bar.

Brown Eyes is a remarkably good distraction, so long as Buck doesn't let himself think about why the first guy who caught his attention could be Eddie’s identical twin. He keeps pace with Buck, pushes and pulls deliciously until all Buck can feel is the warmth of the lights, the crowd, the brown eyes on his body. He pops another button loose. Sue him.

“Craziest call,” he challenges, leaning forward to keep that warm gaze on him.

He's met with a huff, an exasperated kind of laugh. It sounds like Eddie’s. Buck loves it. “There was that plane landing on the highway last month.”

“No shit?” Buck asks. “We were there, too.”

“Yeah? Maybe we passed each other by.”

“Talk about fate.”

Brown Eyes snorts. “Half the LAFD was there.”

“And you're the only one here now.”

“Arguably, half the LAFD is here, too.”

This guy. Buck laughs, despite himself. “Let me have this, man.”

“Oh, sure,” his new friend smirks, and Buck wants to bite the corner of it. “Take what you want.”

“Dangerous words.”

When the stranger looks up, his eyes are dark and a little wild under his mask. His cheeks are flushed, and it matches the mask so well. Buck wants to know if it extends under the mask. If it extends anywhere else. There's a little mole under his eye. Fuck, when did they get so close? They're nose to nose. Buck can hear his own heartbeat.

“I'll risk it,” the stranger breathes, and he hesitates for a second longer, opening his mouth to speak.

Buck kisses his next words right off his tongue.

🎭 • 🎭 • 🎭

Eddie’s already pushing Red Suit up against the pristine marble bathroom counter by the time his brain comes back online.

As far as ideas go, he's had better - making out with a colleague whose name he hasn't bothered to learn at the edge of a staff event probably doesn't make the top ten. But then broad hands are covering his shoulders, pulling him close, and when long legs hook around Eddie’s hips he kind of forgets to worry about it.

The man under him gives as good as he gets. Eddie pulls back to study his partner’s face, black masquerade mask striking against the thin ring of blue surrounding his blown irises. His lips are spit-slick and shiny, panting. He looks so much like Buck - the thought appears again - and Eddie’s stomach does a fucking somersault. Eddie pulls him in closer by the sides of his face, brushing the fluffy curls off his forehead briefly. He catches a tiny glimpse of pink.

“Take this off,” Red Suit groans, tugging at Eddie's buttons.

Eddie laughs. “Easy, tiger,” he placates, reaching up to get his partner's suit off first. He pulls the jacket off, revealing a tight black shirt to match the mask, sleeves rolled to the forearms. Red Suit reaches for Eddie, gets his shirt unbuttoned enough for the chain around his neck to slip out.

And then three things happen in quick succession.

“Wait,” Eddie says, hands going still as he recognizes the black band tattooed on the arm under him.

“Oh, fuck me,” Buck breathes as Eddie’s St. Christopher pendant lands on his half-bare chest.

“...for extraordinary partnership and exceptional teamwork in times of duress, Eddie Diaz and Evan Buckley!” Chief Simpson’s voice booms over a microphone in the distance. There's a smattering of applause, fading into confused silence.

Eddie stares into his best friend’s wide eyes - his best friend, whose tongue was just recently down his fucking throat - and his mouth drops open. “I,” he starts.

Buck gapes back at him. “You shaved your fucking mustache?”

“Buck,” Eddie tries again. He can't remember how to make words form.

“Without telling me?” Buck screeches.

“Eddie Diaz and Evan Buckley,” Chief Simpson calls over the microphone again. “That's weird, I have them both RSVP’d,” comes quieter.

Eddie reboots. “Oh my god,” he gasps. He pulls at Buck’s jacket helplessly, trying to tug it back over his shoulders. “Oh my god, Buck, we have to get out there.”

Buck’s still frozen. “But when did you…?”

“Buck!” Eddie grabs his face, looks him square in the eyes. Buck’s breath stutters. Eddie releases him just as quickly, cheeks burning. “Put your jacket on. I am not facing half the department like this.”

He watches Buck’s vision clear, sees him come back online. “Oh, shit.”

As they stumble out the door, Eddie catches a glimpse of them in the bathroom mirror. Hair wild, eyes wilder, shirts rucked up and wearing matching blushes, there's nothing inconspicuous about them.

Eddie grins so wide his cheeks hurt as he pushes his best friend onstage.

🎭 • 🎭 • 🎭

Buck bites the inside of his cheek to make sure he isn't having some kind of fucked up hallucination-nightmare-dream, and then there's a mic in his face and a spotlight in his eyes.

“Thank you, Chief Simpson,” he says like his heart isn't in his throat. “Eddie and I have spent years building and strengthening our partnership. We are forever grateful to our LAFD family for their part in…”

Honestly, he blacks out a little, after that. He adds some stuff about the 118, pulls something out of his ass about taking pride in their work, and tries not to make his heart eyes too obvious. He doesn't look at Eddie, but he is so incredibly aware of him.

Buck stumbles off the stage, who knows how many minutes later, and by the time he’s outside the venue he's dizzy. He looks around, but he can't find-

“Buck.”

He whirls around. “Eddie.”

They sit heavily on the cold stone steps in front of the building. Their shoulders are inches apart. Buck’s never felt further from Eddie.

“Listen,” he starts. “We can just- I'll Uber home, and we don't have to talk about it again, I'll just-”

“Buck,” Eddie says, soft but firm. He turns, goes to put his hand on Buck's shoulder, then keeps reaching up.

“Man,” he laughs lightly. “Can I take this thing off?”

When Buck nods, Eddie lifts Buck’s mask over his eyes until it rests on top of his head. Eddie tugs his own mask off, too.

“Come home with me,” Eddie tells him.

“Eds-”

“It wasn't an accident, Buck. I mean, if I'd known…” he trails off. “I just didn't think you were interested.”

Buck laughs incredulously. “‘Cause I've been so casual about it?”

Eddie's smile is wry. “You've never been as forward as you were tonight.”

“I was trying to give you time,” Buck says weakly, pulling his knees under his chin. “I didn't want to scare you off.”

“You could never. Buck, you could never.” Eddie promises. “Not after this long.”

“I just - I thought you wanted -”

Eddie gets his finger under Buck’s chin, tilts it up towards him, and Buck loses his breath again. Framed by the stars and the sparkling building behind them, cheeks flushed from the cold, Eddie’s so fucking beautiful. He’s Buck's best friend. He’s Buck’s whole life. “What do you want?” Eddie asks.

“This,�� Buck whispers. “This, forever.”

Eddie smiles. He's everything, he's fucking everything.

“What about you?” Buck says, braver. “What do you want?”

And oh, that's easy. “You,” Eddie grins.

When Eddie leans in again, Buck watches his brown eyes melt until his own flutter closed. Without the masks in the way, the kiss burns Buck to his core, warmth spreading through him like hot chocolate. Eddie’s in his veins.

It takes them ten minutes longer than it should to get home, because Buck keeps kissing Eddie senseless at the red lights.

🎭 • 🎭 • 🎭

Carla greets Eddie with a hug and Buck with a kiss on the cheek.

“Come by more often,” she insists, and Buck grins.

“I think I will,” he tells her.

“You two stayed out of trouble?” She asks Eddie on her way out.

“Don't we always?” He replies, innocent as ever. She laughs all the way down the driveway.

Eddie kisses Buck once more, chaste, just to see him turn pink. He laces their fingers together and pulls him towards Chris's room.

When Chris says to come in, he's already in bed, lights dimmed and Percy Jackson book hastily pushed under his pillow.

“Better not be reading ahead without me,” Buck says, kissing his forehead and pulling the book away.

“Hey, Buck,” Chris smiles. He doesn't look surprised to see Buck, but then again, why would he? “I was rereading, I swear.”

“Uh huh.”

“Did you win something cool, Dad?”

Eddie laughs, kneeling next to Buck. “Sure did, bud.”

“Good,” Chris yawns. “Tell me tomorrow.”

“I will.”

“Night, Dad. Night, Buck,” Chris manages, and then he's out like a light.

Eddie steps out and closes the door behind them. Buck starts for the couch, but Eddie grabs his hand.

“Come on,” Eddie insists. He pulls them into his bedroom, Buck trailing behind.

Eddie stops in his tracks. “Shit, wait,” he says, and Buck freezes.

Eddie reaches into Buck’s jacket pocket and pulls out their two masquerade masks. “Okay, all set,” he smiles brightly.

“Oh my god,” Buck pushes him into the bedroom, muffling his laughter in the nape of Eddie’s neck. He kisses the giggles and half-baked defenses out of Eddie’s mouth - and then he spends the rest of the night figuring out what else he can elicit from Eddie.

[sehrgefaelltmir]

taylor swift - midnight rain // besoccer // the analyst // imiasanmia // esmuellert

[ilyfynn]

you guys had better be prepared. in two months prepare for the ultimate mcsr au, featuring slightly-crazy-and-unhinged!fruitberries, sadly-clueless!feinberg and what-is-going-on!couriway.

THIS is 5 days' progress. please ignore how 80% of the doc is 'planning'. that's my bad. but as a part of the mcytblr aufest me and @im-bored-so-i-draw are collabing to produce an HBG boxing au that consists the most GORGEOUS art EVER (kier you goat) plus also a fynn!written fanfic which is so much longer than usual. it's coming. i'm just putting it out there. i need you to share my excitement. it's coming.

frequenters of the HBG Arena will gather in a THOUROUGHLY UNSCUFFED (in terms of logistics) (we started planning this before event-that-i-know-you're-still-thinking-of btw) Twitch Rivals tournament to compete for money in their natural element; boxing. for some reason, something else is askew, but that's coming in two months when we reveal our work to the world :3

[dearpyramus]

just like you did: a lip gallagher x reader story

Opposite sides of the same coin, that’s how most would describe the relationship between you and Lip Gallagher. This would simultaneously be the cause of the highest highs and lowest lows between you two.

“Just Like You Did” is a story about two troubled and impoverished teens trying to make it in the Southside trying to pull each other out of the same storm. Is love truly enough to conquer even the deepest of troubles?

(more btc)

Tropes: friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt comfort, angst and hurt comfort, (eventual) second chance romance, angst with a happy ending, autistic!reader, gender neutral!reader, afab!reader, goth!reader, no use of y/n, some smut (none as minors)

triggers: alcoholism (both lip and reader), untreated mental illness (both lip and reader), grief and mourning, terminal illness of a minor character, mommy issues, daddy issues, religious trauma and imagery, ableism (not perpetrated by lip), references to past emotional and physical abuse, past implied/referenced sexual abuse (not with reader and lip ofc), references to hypersexuality, apologies if ooc

notes: this is gonna be very heavy and self indulgent so im not looking for constructive criticism. because this story is gonna be in the characters heads, there may be scenes that don’t align with my views due to it being in their pov (if that makes sense). my last intention is to romanticize any of these themes, however it may seem glamorous at first (until it isn’t) because that is unfortunately a reality. title is derived from the song “break” by alex g!

I try to be as ambiguous as I can regarding readers appearance but it is important to note that they’re goth and have piercings and tattoos. everything else isn’t described.

Chapters:

Prologue- coming soon!

[acoraxia]

‘Erlang’s coming to LMK!’

[deoidesign]

Allowing myself to work on this comic. A LITTLE. Please....... I'm making comics all day every day please let me chase my bliss a little........... With a different comic...........