#it feels so weird not having any work to do aside from packing

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

*puts down some SAGAU fluff* come here i have a tasty meal for you :)

Childe often goes to the city to pick up supplies, as you can't wander into a crowd without getting accused of impersonation- he's seen the scars etched over your skin, the lines of starry blood from blades and burns. so even with the cloth mask you always wear, he doesn't push you to venture into any big cities or villages. you are the Creator, after all, and Childe- Ajax- wants you to be as happy as possible. besides, it's always the perfect opportunity to catch wind of any news floating around, both from his subordinates and chatter on the street. the Eleventh Harbinger is oddly quiet nowadays, completing his work in silence and deep thought, yet the agents of the Fatui swear they can see a faint sparkle in his deep blue eyes.

it's during one of his outings that Ajax notices that he has a shadow- a small, fuzzy shadow, a kitten trotting after him as he goes around doing his weekly errands. the tiny thing is determined keep following him, even though one of his steps is practically an entire journey to it, and after the kitten trails after him to every shop he visits, Ajax simply scoops it up in one hand and carries it with him. it clambers onto his shoulder and makes itself comfortable, periodically mewing and nudging his cheek. Foul Legacy is going mad trying to stay silent in the back of Ajax's head, trilling and chirping in delight at the new adorable friend.

you're equally as delighted when Ajax brings the kitten home, gasping and reaching out as he gently sets it in your hands- and just in time, as Foul Legacy takes over their shared body, nuzzling up to you and chittering very quietly so he doesn't scare the cat. he watches your every move and reaction, the warm smile on your face after all that you've suffered making his heart melt. your newfound friend meows, high pitched and squeaky, kneading biscuits against your scarred palms as Legacy gently pulls you into his lap and purrs deeply along with the tiny kitten's buzzing.

the Creator, an Abyssal monster, and their fluffy companion- now all you need to do is think of a name.

[gf2bellamy]

I have no idea if I hallucinated that requested this or smt, so totally ignore this if i've already asked.

But could you ever do a fic where spencer is at the hospital from that time he got shot at, and reader gets his belongings while he's in surgery and she sees a ring box in between them. (Engagement ring ofc) And she talks with spencer after and tells him that she saw it.

That's kinda the idea, love your work and thanks in advance if you decide to write it. 🥰

ring — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: spencer is in the hospital because of his neck injury , mention of a shooting, reader being worried / panicked , a/n: hii !! i loved this request so much that i ended up writing like 5 different versions of it - i hope you like this !! <33 ( also i definitely got carried away with this )

Blake had practically shoved you out of the hospital waiting room, insisting you go to Spencer’s apartment.

You didn’t want to leave—not when Spencer was still in surgery, not when every second felt like an eternity of uncertainty.

But Blake had been firm but kind. “He’s going to be okay, but he’ll need things when he wakes up.” 

You had resisted at first, your mind racing with worst-case scenarios. Garcia’s call hours earlier had sent your world spinning. “Spencer’s been shot,” she had said, her voice trembling.

You didn’t remember the drive to the hospital—only the blur of streetlights and the pounding of your heart. When you arrived, Blake had met you in the waiting room. She explained that a bullet had grazed Spencer’s neck, that it was serious but not life-threatening.

Still, the word “surgery” had lodged itself in your chest.

It wasn’t until the doctor emerged to tell you the surgery had gone well that you finally agreed to leave. Spencer was stable, but he wasn’t awake yet, and visiting hours were over. Blake had told you, “Go pack a bag for him. He’ll need clothes when he’s discharged.” 

Now, standing in the middle of Spencer’s apartment, you felt weird.

The space was so him—neatly organized bookshelves, a chessboard set up on the coffee table, and the faint scent of Earl Grey tea lingering in the air.

It was comforting, but it also made his absence feel more pronounced. You took a deep breath and got to work, pulling out a duffel bag from his closet and starting to pack. 

You began with the essentials: a few pairs of pants, sweaters , and socks. You couldn’t help but smile as you grabbed a handful of mismatched ones. But then you remembered his purple scarf, the one he always wore when the weather turned chilly. It was his favorite, and you knew he’d want it when he was discharged. 

The problem was, you couldn’t find it. 

 You opened drawer after drawer, your frustration growing with each one. Spencer was organized, but the scarf was nowhere to be found.

“Where is it?” you muttered under your breath, your hands moving faster as you rifled through his things. You checked the top shelf of the closet, the hooks by the door, even the laundry basket, but it wasn’t there. 

Finally, in a last-ditch effort, you pushed aside the row of clothes hanging in the closet, your fingers brushing against something soft and familiar.

There it was—tucked away in the very back, as if it had been hidden on purpose.

But as you pulled the scarf free, something else tumbled out, landing softly on the carpet at your feet.

A small, rectangular white box.

Your breath hitched as you stared at it, your mind racing.

You carefully placed the scarf in the duffel bag, your hands trembling slightly as you bent down to pick up the box. 

The box was too small, too specific to be anything ordinary. You held it in your palm.Slowly, almost hesitantly, you lifted the lid. 

 And there it was. 

A ring.

A beautiful, delicate ring with a diamond that caught the dim light of the room, scattering tiny rainbows across your hand. It wasn’t just any ring—it was an engagement ring.

The realization hit you like a tidal wave, knocking the air out of your lungs. You sat down heavily on the edge of Spencer’s bed, your legs suddenly unable to support you. 

 “Oh my God,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. Your eyes were wide, your mouth slightly open as you stared at the ring, unable to look away. The diamond sparkled, almost as if it were alive, and you reached out to touch it lightly, as if to confirm it was real. The metal was cool against your skin, the stone smooth and perfect.

Your mind raced, trying to process what this meant. You couldn’t help but already imagine the moment he might have planned—his nervous smile, his hands fidgeting, his voice soft as he asked the question. The image was so vivid it made your heart ache. 

You sat there for what felt like an eternity, the ring cradled in your hand, your thoughts spiraling. But then, like a jolt, you remembered where you were supposed to be.

The hospital. Spencer.

He was still there, still recovering, and you were sitting here staring at a ring. 

Carefully, you placed the ring back in its box and closed the lid. Your hands were still shaking as you tucked the box into the duffel bag, burying it beneath the clothes and the scarf. You stood up, slinging the bag over your shoulder, and took one last look around the apartment.

 As you locked the door behind you and headed back to your car, your mind was still spinning.

The drive to the hospital was a daze. The streets blurred together.

Before you knew it, you were pulling into the parking lot. You sat in the car for a moment, gripping the steering wheel tightly, trying to steady your breathing.

The ring. It was all you could think about. 

Finally, you forced yourself to move, grabbing the duffel bag and stepping out into the cool night air. The walk to the entrance felt surreal, like you were moving through a dream. The automatic doors slid open with a soft whoosh, and you made your way to the waiting room.

You sat down in one of the stiff chairs, the duffel bag resting heavily in your lap. Your thoughts were a swirling mess, replaying every moment, every interaction with Spencer over the past few weeks. Things that had seemed innocent at the time now took on a new meaning. 

A couple of weeks ago, he had dragged you into a jewelry store, casually asking what styles you liked. You had laughed it off, thinking he was just curious. Then there were the random dinners at different restaurants, him intently watching your reactions as you tried new dishes. “What kind of food do you like best?” he had asked, his tone light but his eyes serious.

At the time, you hadn’t thought much of it. Now it all made sense. 

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice Blake walking in. She sat down across from you. It wasn’t until she spoke that you snapped back to reality. 

 “Are you alright?” she asked, her voice gentle. 

You blinked, finally noticing her presence. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Thanks,” you mumbled, forcing an awkward smile.

Your voice sounded distant, even to yourself, and you could tell Blake wasn’t entirely convinced. She studied you for a moment, her gaze flickering to the bag in your lap. 

 “Did you get everything you needed?” she asked, her tone casual. 

You glanced down at the bag, your fingers tightening around the fabric. “Yeah, I got him some sweaters, pants, and just… clothes in general,” you said, your voice trailing off as your gaze drifted to the wall behind her. Your mind was already wandering again, back to Spencer, back to the ring, back to the unanswered questions that were swirling in your head. 

And then, almost casually, Blake added, “And scarves?” 

That got your attention. Your head snapped up, your eyes locking onto hers. She was smiling slightly, her gaze knowing. “You found it, didn’t you?” she asked. She took in your wide-eyed expression, the way your hands tightened around the duffel bag, and she didn’t need an answer.

She already knew. 

“He asked me for advice,” Blake continued, shaking her head as if recalling the memory. A soft laugh escaped her, and you could tell she was amused by the whole thing.

“He did?” you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper. Your heart was pounding, your mind racing to keep up with the conversation. 

“Yes,” Blake said, her smile widening. “He wanted to make sure he got it right. Spencer’s not the type to do anything halfway, you know that.” 

A smile tugged at your lips—maybe the first genuine one since Garcia’s call had shattered your world hours ago. You let out an emotional chuckle, the sound shaky. “It’s a beautiful ring,” you admitted, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

“It is,” Blake agreed, her voice warm. “He spent weeks looking for the perfect one. Even spent hours in one store, agonizing over the details. You should’ve seen him.” 

You had to brush a tear from your eye as another chuckle escaped you. “That sounds like him,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.

The thought of Spencer meticulously searching for the right ring, second-guessing himself, trying to make sure it was perfect—it was so him. So thoughtful, so Spencer. 

It was a lot to process and your mind was still spinning, when suddenly a nurse appeared in the doorway of the waiting room. 

 “Are you two here for Spencer Reid?” she asked.

You nodded immediately, jumping to your feet so quickly that the duffel bag slipped from your lap and landed on the floor with a soft thud. Blake reached down to pick it up, handing it to you with a small smile. “He’s awake,” the nurse continued. “You can see him now.” 

Your heart leapt into your throat, a mix of relief and nervousness flooding through you. You turned to Blake, expecting her to follow, but she stayed seated, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

“Are you not coming?” you asked, your voice tinged with confusion. 

Blake shook her head, her smile soft and knowing. “I’ll give you two a moment,” she said gently. Her tone left no room for argument, and you realized she understood. The emotions were about to be high, the moment intimate, and Blake was giving you the space you needed. 

You smiled, gratitude washing over you. “Thanks, Blake,” you said, your voice sincere. She nodded, her eyes warm, and with that, you turned and hurried after the nurse, the duffel bag clutched tightly in your hands. 

The walk to Spencer’s room felt both endless and far too short.

Your mind raced with a thousand thoughts, a thousand questions, but all of them faded into the background when the nurse stopped outside a door and gestured for you to go in. “Thanks,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible.

The nurse gave you a reassuring smile before walking away, leaving you standing there, your hand hovering over the door handle. 

 You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and then pushed the door open. The room was quiet, the only sound the soft beeping of the heart monitor. Spencer was lying in the bed, his eyes closed, his face pale. For a moment, you just stood there, taking him in, relief flooding through you at the sight of him alive and breathing. 

 And then his eyes fluttered open, as if he could sense your presence. “Hi,” he said, his voice hoarse. 

 “Hi, Spence,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you closed the door behind you and stepped closer to his bed. Your eyes scanned his face, taking in the faint lines of exhaustion and the bandage on his neck.

You set the duffel bag down on a nearby chair, your hands fidgeting nervously as you tried to find the right words.

But before you could say anything, Spencer’s lips curved into a small, tired smile. “You’re here,” he said, his voice soft.

“Of course I’m here,” you replied, your voice breaking slightly. The words felt inadequate, but they were all you could manage. Spencer watched you with a weak smile, his eyes soft but tired.

You weren’t entirely sure how to approach the situation. Your hands hovered awkwardly at your sides, unsure whether to touch him or keep your distance.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, your voice gentle as you stood right next to his bed, close but not quite touching. 

 “I’m okay,” Spencer said. He tried to sit up slightly, wincing as he shifted. You instinctively stepped forward, your hands reaching out but still not making contact. “You sure? Do you want me to get you something? Water? A pillow?” you offered, your voice tinged with worry. 

“No, no,” Spencer shook his head, managing a small smile as he finally settled against the raised bed. He glanced at you, his eyes searching yours, and then he whispered, “You can touch me.” 

The words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just stared at him. He had noticed—of course he had. Your hesitation and your fear of hurting him if you touched him.

You didn’t need to be told twice. You immediately rushed to sit down on the edge of the bed, where he had slightly patted the space beside him with as much energy as he could muster. Your hands found their way to his face, brushing the hair away from his forehead, your fingers trembling as they traced the lines of his face. 

“God, you scared me so much,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of everything you’d been holding in. Spencer closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as you continued to gently twist his hair between your fingers. Your hands eventually drifted down to his face, brushing over his cheekbones, your touch feather-light.

Spencer let out a soft sigh, his eyes still closed, his breathing steady but shallow. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

When he opened his eyes, you stared at him for a moment, trying to absorb the fact that he was really here, awake, and alive. The relief was overwhelming, but so was the flood of emotions you’d been holding back. You wanted to say so much, but the words felt tangled, caught somewhere between your heart and your throat. 

Instead, you forced a small smile and shifted the conversation to something lighter. “I got you some clothes,” you said, gesturing to the duffel bag. “I figured your hospital gown isn’t exactly comfortable.” 

“It’s not,” Spencer admitted, his voice still weak but with a hint of amusement. You set the bag on your lap and opened it slightly, pulling out a few items to show him. “I got you some books too,” you added, hoping to distract him—and maybe yourself—from the heaviness of the moment. 

Spencer’s interest was immediately piqued, his tired eyes lighting up just a little.

“Which ones did you—” he started to ask, but then he stopped mid-sentence. His gaze had landed on something in the bag, and his expression shifted.

You followed his eyes and realized what he was looking at: the purple scarf. It was peeking out from beneath the stack of clothes.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The room felt suddenly smaller, the air thicker.

Spencer’s mouth opened slightly, his eyes darting from the scarf to you and back again. You could see the realization dawning on his face, and your stomach dropped. 

“It was an accident,” you finally said nervously, breaking the silence. Your voice was rushed, almost apologetic. “I didn’t mean to find it. I was just grabbing your scarf because, you know, it’s freezing outside, and I thought you’d want it when you’re discharged, and—” You stopped yourself, realizing you were rambling. “I’m sorry,” you added, shaking your head and offering an awkward smile. 

Spencer, meanwhile, was full-on blushing, his pale cheeks now flushed with color. It was a stark contrast to how he’d looked just 20 seconds ago.

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, clearly at a loss for words. His cheeks were still flushed, his eyes darting nervously around the room before finally settling on the wall behind you. He looked completely lost in thought, his mind racing a mile a minute. 

“No—it’s… it’s okay,” Spencer finally managed to say, though his voice was quiet and hesitant. He still wasn’t looking at you, his gaze fixed on some distant point as if he were trying to gather his thoughts. 

“Spence?” you asked softly, your slightly trembling hand reaching up to gently cup his face again. Your touch seemed to pull him back to the present, and his eyes slowly met yours.

“I’ve been planning this for a long time,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. Your hand fell from his face, but he caught it before it could retreat, his fingers intertwining with yours. His grip was firm, almost as if he were afraid you might pull away. “I asked Blake for advice,” he admitted, his tone sheepish. 

“I know,” you whispered, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “She told me.” 

Spencer didn’t seem surprised that Blake had shared that with you. Instead, he nodded, his eyes dropping to your joined hands.

“I wanted it to be perfect,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration. “I had a speech prepared, and I—I was going to have this whole routine on how I would ask you.” He tightened his hold on your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’m sorry you found out like this,” he added, his voice hesitant.

He opened his mouth again, meeting your eyes for a brief second before looking away, as if he couldn’t bear to hold your gaze. 

The room fell silent. You could see the disappointment in his expression, the way he was beating himself up for not being able to execute his plan the way he’d envisioned. But to you, none of that mattered. What mattered was the love behind it, the thought and care he’d put into something so meaningful. 

After a beat of silence, you finally spoke, your voice soft.

“My answer is the same either way,” you whispered. 

Spencer’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, he just stared at you, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly.

“You want to…?” he started, but he didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. The hope in his eyes said it all. 

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yes,” you said, your voice firm despite the tears welling in your eyes. “Of course I do, Spencer. How could I not?” 

His breath hitched, and for a moment, he just looked at you, his expression a mix of disbelief and pure joy. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face—a real, genuine smile that lit up his entire being. He squeezed your hand tighter, his thumb brushing over your knuckles again.

You smiled, your own eyes slightly glossy as you looked at him. The room felt quieter now, the world narrowing down to just the two of you.

“Now you have to heal faster,” you whispered, your voice teasing but tender as you brushed your thumb over his fingers, “so we can get working on our wedding preparations.” 

Spencer’s eyes lit up at the word wedding, his lips curving into a smile that was equal parts shy and delighted.

For a moment, he just stared at you, as if he were trying to process the reality of what you’d just said. Then he let out a soft laugh, the sound warm and genuine despite the hoarseness in his voice. 

“Wedding preparations,” he repeated, his tone a mix of awe and amusement. “I… I hadn’t even gotten that far in my planning yet.” He paused, his smile turning sheepish. “I was so focused on the proposal that I didn’t think much about what would come after.” 

You chuckled. “Well, lucky for you, I’ve got plenty of ideas,” you said, your tone playful. “But first, you need to rest and get better. No more getting shot, okay? I can’t have my fiancé—” The word felt strange but wonderful on your tongue, and you paused, savoring it for a moment before continuing, “—running around getting himself hurt.” 

Spencer’s smile widened at the word fiancé, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Fiancé,” he murmured, as if testing out how it sounded. “I like the sound of that.” 

“Me too,” you admitted, your voice soft. You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, your lips lingering for a moment against his skin. When you pulled back, his eyes were closed, his expression peaceful. 

“I’ll heal faster,” he promised, his voice quiet. “I’ve got a wedding to plan now, after all.” 

[xiaq]

I want an AU where Steve is a werewolf and Eddie is a vampire except neither of them know about the other.

Eddie is the frontman of an up and coming band, but he's left his coven and surrounded himself with humans. They perform after sunset anyway so it's easy enough for him to hide his nature.

Steve has similarly left his toxic family pack and built his own pseudo-pack through the kids. He works as a park ranger. Or an ornithologist. Or something else nature-y/nerdy. But no one knows about his furry little secret.

Maybe Steve ends up attending a concert with one of the kids who has VIP passes and Eddie zeros in on Steve immediately at the meet and greet because he's pretty and preppy and delightfully out of place and also he smells good. And Steve is having similar thoughts, but he tries to play it off because there's no way an honest to god rock star would be interested in him and his polo and his boat shoes (also his hearing is temporarily fucked from the concert, so he doesn't register Eddie's lack of heartbeat).

After some light flirting, Eddie invites Steve back to his hotel and Steve is like, you know what? Yes. I am going to have a one night stand with the gorgeous front man of a metal band and I'll probably fall a little in love with him by the end of the night and it will break my heart when he kicks me out in the morning, but it will be an experience. Let me go drop off my kids and I'll be right back.

Except what he doesn't know is Eddie is planning to have a little snack while they're in the throes of passion––not enough to hurt Steve or anything, just enough that he'll have a pleasurable blackout and wake up tired but sated.

The only problem is that neck-biting (that breaks the skin) for wolves is the equivalent of marriage.

So when Eddie bites Steve, instead of a venom-drunk human, peacefully slipping into sleep in his arms, he gets a very horny, very confused, werewolf who is now insisting that they're married.

I can't decide if it would be funnier if Wolves/Vampires didn't know about each other, Ie:

"You're a Werewolf?" Eddie says, "What do you mean you're a werewolf? Werewolves exist? No. Shut up. Prove it."

And:

"Holy shit. A vampire. Vampires are real," Steve reaches for Eddie's face and Eddie is so baffled by the everything of this situation that he lets Steve pinch Eddie's top lip and peel it up off his fangs for a mortifyingly long moment. Eddie draws the line when he starts poking at Eddie's incisors, though.

"Why do I feel funny?" Steve mutters. "Will your venom kill me?"

"How should I know," Eddie hisses, only a little hysterical, "I didn't know wolves existed until two minutes ago, I've never bitten a wolf before."

"And you won't be biting any others, mister. Infidelity is not ok."

The other option is that wolves and vamps DO know about each other but stay so isolated in their covens and packs (and loners are super unusual) that they never interact. So Steve and Eddie are both like, dang, I'd been raised to think all of your kind were smelly/ugly/gross, but you uh, don't fit into that box at all. Weird.

Regardless, Steve (still naked, probably) crosses his arms all huffy, like, "well, we're married now, you're not going to bite me and then cast me aside like some harlot," and Eddie is like "...I'm weirdly ok with this, actually. No arguments here." And eventually they live happily ever after.

[revelboo]

I recently saw some transformers figures at target and couldn't help but laugh at how bad they were 😭. this pack was for tfone, but they just straight up put cyberverse starscream and g1 Megatron in the pack instead. and they gave optimus his g1 face, but tfone body??? idk what happened but they did my boys dirty, only b127 is from the correct universe lol. I'm definitely sticking to the blokees, they're way cuter anyways

🤣 oh those are awful.

Off to a great start- just accidentally traumatized a bunch of coworkers apparently. Someone brought in some plants from their greenhouse and my weird little brain zeroes in on a teeny jumping spider on one. So I’m just standing in an office with four other people letting it parkour over my fingers and making everyone else really uncomfortable. I was only halfway paying attention and it bungeed to freedom at some point. I’ve never seen any of them ever move as fast as when I said ‘oops.’

Everything Is Alright Pt 144

Starscream x Reader, Megatron x Reader, Soundwave x Reader

• Head resting against him, you can feel the thrum of his spark, that steady, familiar pulse sinking into you. And you don’t know what to make of the fact that he’d stopped. That he could have taken what he wanted and hadn’t. But then maybe that’s it. Maybe he doesn’t want you. Guilt twists through you when you think of it in that light, because he’d not bonded you because he’d loved you. Or even liked you. He’d been trying to save your life and had ended up trapping himself. Neither of you have really talked about it either aside from you awkwardly thanking him. He has to resent you for that. And for shoving Star’s sparkling off on him. By all rights, he should despise you. Which is why you can’t understand when he does stuff like this, holding you so gently.

• “You’re quiet,” Megatron grumbles, chin brushing the top of your head. Upset about Starscream being upset? And you shift against him, curling into him as if seeking his warmth. The back of one of your hands cool against his plating as he reaches up to capture it in his. “If you spend all your time trying to keep Starscream happy, you’ll never be happy yourself.” Because that seeker is too mercurial, his moods shifting too quickly driven by his ambitions.

• “What about you?” You ask, throat tight. Starting to piece together patterns in his behavior. If anyone else is around, he plays the warlord. But even when it’s only the two of you, you’re not sure that he’s actually happy. He just drops the mask because you’re no threat to him. And how could he be happy when he’d been saddled with you, all of his choices stripped away? “I’m so sorry.” For getting him involved in this mess without a say. For taking his choices away. Trapping him with you.

• Stiffening when your voice breaks, he looks down and grimaces. Again? Hasn’t even done anything and you’re leaking again. Primus help him understand strange, soft organics and the way their minds work. “Why am I always upsetting you without even doing anything?” He growls, gripping your chin and tipping your face up. And you offer him a watery smile to make him vent in frustration. What imagined slight is he guilty of now?

• Almost laughing at his expression even though it’s not really funny at all, you twist around in his lap to straddle him and lean forward to brush a kiss against his cheek. And he freezes completely making you sure you shouldn’t have done that. That he really isn’t interested and he’s only touched you to aggravate Star. That’s why he’d stopped so quickly, he didn’t want you, only to mess with Star. “I really didn’t mean to drag you into this,” you manage as he just stares at you. “And you shouldn’t have to deal with this. With me.” And Starscream. Can’t understand why he’d saved you to begin with. Why he’d bothered when you’re nothing to him. And he just tips his head back to stare at the ceiling, a big hand cupping the back of your neck. “I know you didn’t want this.”

• “You little fool,” he murmurs, tone affectionate. Jaw working, he huffs through his vents, trying to figure out what you’re thinking. So sick of misunderstandings. Do you think you somehow took advantage of him? Head ducking, his mouth brushes yours as his other hand slides to your hip and tightens on you. Tugs you more flush against him. And those soft hands cling to him as you make a soft noise. “I chose this,” he growls, head lifting so his lips barely ghost against yours.

• “What do you want?” Wings flaring aggressively, Starscream’s optics narrow as Shockwave stares him down, unintimidated by his bared denta. Hates that he has no idea what’s going through the scientist’s processor. No tells to what he’s thinking. Still aside from the soft sound of his cannon slowly tapping against his thigh as his head turns back toward the door. Like he knows you’re in there with Megatron. Like he knows everything.

• Head tipping as Shockwave’s attention slides from the closed door to Megatron’s habsuite to the Seeker, he tries to figure that out himself. Because he’s been fixating on this world even before they crashed here. Had seeded this world with energon millennia ago. Chose this world for his experiments, even though there were other worlds better suited to it. So why this world? Why does this one matter to him. There’s something there in the dark corners of his processor, a memory just out of reach that doesn’t even feel like it’s his. There’s a reason why he keeps getting drawn back here, but he can’t get ahold of it. And that missing piece hurts him, digs in with jagged edges when he tries to focus on it, tries to remember.

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[bittertasteofhoney]

Good Day Sunshine | Ch. 10

Fight a Little Harder

Summary: Roberta attempts to pull you out of your Joel-induced coma with a trip to the Tipsy Bison.

|| angst, jackson!joel, jackson!joel x f!reader, age gap (but legal!), reader is afab, physical violence, graphic language||

Notes: Oh boy did I make some peeps upset on my last update…so to continue to say I’m so sorry and grovel at your feet (like Joel really should), here is a super quick update! Thank you for sticking with this fic and showing support even though it is frustrating atm! I promise, more smut, banter and tension is coming your way lovelies.

(Also def still need to edit this so please ignore any typos or weird edits!)

The characters, names and characterizations belong to HBO Max and The Last of Us franchise. This work is my creative property and aside from re-blogs and shares, I do not give permission to share or copy my work without permission or consent.

Previous Chapter.

For days, you walked in a daze. You couldn’t get his empty words out of your mind. You knew he was lying to you, but whatever lie he was telling himself won out in the end.

You did the bare minimum - went to work and home. You didn’t stop by the mess hall or volunteer to deliver rations or welcome packs. The only people that really saw you were your coworkers. You were a shell and you kicked yourself daily for letting Joel make you feel this way.

Anger now filled your evenings. Where did he get off deciding when your age difference was a problem? He seemed just fine when he was buried between your legs and when you spent every single night together. He was happy. You saw it in his eyes. So why the hell did he do this?

You knew he had to have heard something around town, but the obstacle that kept you in a roadblock was why he didn’t just come to you about it? Of course, you were bothered by the careless things people were saying but every night that he walked through your door and made you smile proved them wrong.

But now? Was it all true? Your inner demons were fighting each other for dominance, and it was leaving your mind in a fractured place.

After the fifth or sixth day watching you slumped over that week’s produce almost mute, Roberta finally lost all her patience. You were wrestling with a turnip plant when her shadow covered you.

“You’re really pissing me off.” You looked up at her in confusion, adjusting your hat to meet her eye. She was backlit by the midday sun, but even you could see the disappointed look on her face and those green eyes narrowed at you.

You shook your head in confusion as a response so she continued. “Don’t get me wrong. I want to wring Joel’s neck, but I’m also mad at you for letting a guy affect you like this. He isn’t worth all this moping if he was stupid enough to let you go.”

You sat back on your heels and released a deep sigh. “Trust me, I know. I hate who I’ve become but…what happened between us hurt, and I’m not ashamed to say my ego is bruised and I’m hurt and confused and…” Your voice caught and you took another intake of oxygen to steady yourself. “I don’t know. I guess I thought we were something special.”

She just stared at you, letting you speak. “And it just came out of nowhere. I know people were talking-”

“Fuck those morons.” A clipped laugh escaped your lips at her interjection.

“They didn’t know the whole story. I can see how it looked to the outside, but that night when everything changed. God, Roberta. I’ve never felt like that. It was…”

She held up a hand with a disgusted look on her face. “I really don't need the details. He made you happy. I got it. But he’s still an asshole for doing this. I don’t care about his reasoning.”

You nodded and dug a finger into the dirt, tracing a pattern.

“So, the only natural thing we can do to get you out of this funk? We gotta get you drunk, my friend. Andy is watching the kids tonight so I’m intending on drinking until I can’t feel my feet. ” Another laugh escaped you. “Your ass better be at the Tipsy Bison tonight at eight or so help me, I will drag you all the way to the bar top.”

She stomped away but for the first time in days, a small smile ghosted your lips.

Once eight rolled around, you already had a tumbler of whiskey in your hand and a gaggle of coworkers surrounding you in the warm-lit bar. You distractedly swirled the liquid in your glass when you felt a nudge and looked up to Roberta frowning at you. You flashed her a smile to appease her and spun around on your chair to motion to Tommy who was working the bar that night.

The second he caught your eye, he bounded over and gave you a wink. “How’s my favorite ray of sunshine doin’?”

You shrugged and swallowed what remained in your glass, sliding it his way. He grabbed a bottle from behind him and topped it off. “Just peachy. Thanks for asking.”

He leaned on the waxed wooden counter and you tentatively met his gaze. He looked at you for a long moment before simply saying, “He’s a goddamn idiot for hurtin’ the both of you.”

You barely had a chance to react or ask him more about what he meant when a rowdy group entered the bar. You took a healthy swallow of your refreshed glass when a whistle rang out across the crowded space.

“Sunshine! Just the girl I’ve been waiting to see.” Confused, you spun back around and wished you could take the action back when you met the searching eye of Roddy.

Roberta immediately grabbed your arm to move you away when you patted it to tell her you were fine. At least for now.

You felt Tommy stiffen behind you. He was the first to speak. “Roddy, you ain’t supposed to be in here and I suggest you turn your ass around before openin’ that big mouth of yours.”

Roddy threw his hands up, smirking to himself. “I mean no harm, Tommy. I promise. I just had a question I wanted to ask her.” You moved to stand, and he took a step toward you. Roberta shot him a murderous glance and he just laughed. “Why didn’t you tell me I had to basically be an octogenarian to even interest you? I didn’t realize soft dicks were your thing.”

You looked at your shoes, feeling your cheeks heat. Joel maybe wasn’t your favorite person at the moment, but his dick sure wasn’t soft.

The entire bar was watching your exchange. You felt Roberta’s hand on your shoulder.

“Roddy, get the fuck out of here. Nobody asked for your bullshit.”

Once again, Roddy pushed forward and Tommy hopped over the bar to put himself between the two of you. “You better not fuckin’ touch her.”

The asshole just kept laughing with his eyes glued on you. “Tell me, was it good? Did you enjoy that old man fucking you? Or was it him who enjoyed having you sit back riding his cock while you-”

Someone grabbed Roddy by the collar of his jacket, yanking him back and hauling him to the floor with a loud grunt. That someone was a person you didn’t even notice sitting in the corner of the bar accompanied by Maria while Tommy worked his shift for the night. You also somehow didn’t notice those chocolate brown eyes clocking your every movement from the moment you walked in.

Hell, you would’ve been surprised to see how long he held himself back before he just couldn’t take one more word out of that asshole’s mouth. And when your eyes clocked Joel on top of Roddy, the wave of deja vu that hit you was lethal.

His fists were flying at a rate that seemed humanly impossible, and you barely registered your choice to launch yourself toward the fray until you felt a strong pair of arms holding you back. You screamed his name and other townspeople in the bar tried to intervene, but no one could get close enough to stop those fists from connecting with Roddy’s cheek, ribs, mouth and nose. They just kept coming.

You screamed his name again, and for a brief moment, he paused but the sound of your scared voice only renewed his anger. You fought against Tommy and finally found a break in his grip. Instead of once again trying to intervene like many expected you to, you beelined for the door.

You ran outside and paused when your feet hit the packed mud, heaving in breaths. You leaned forward on your knees and tried to breathe deeply, but the tears finally came. The words Roddy said and seeing Joel for the first time since he broke things off hit you like a brick wall. The tears turned into soft sobs and you brought a hand to your chest as you heard another set of feet barrel outside.

You spun around and saw Joel standing there, panting and spotting yet another bloody lip. At least Roddy is consistent.

Your breaths came quicker and soon, you too were panting in anger. He opened his mouth to speak but you stole his moment away. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

You closed the space between you and shoved him. “Why are you doing this?!”

Joel’s eyes were dark and angry, and even he couldn’t keep that from his voice. “Like hell am I going to stand around and watch while he talks to you like that. That little shit has no business-”

“No! You have no business.” Your hands were flying in vague gestures as the adrenaline and anger flowed through you and demanded to be emoted. “How can you tell me you want nothing more to do with me? And that I make you feel dirty. Then, turn around and waltz in with your fucking white horse?”

He just looked at you with angry eyes and you couldn’t stand it. “Say something!”

He brought a hand to his mouth and rubbed it, trying to control his own emotions. He’d never seen you this angry. Hell, no one had.

“Why did you treat me like I didn’t matter to you if you’re going to continue using your fists every time someone is nasty to me?!” He still couldn’t speak.

“I’ll give you this, Joel. At least you're consistent in your bullshit. Because none of it makes any sense. In theory, you shouldn’t care if what we had together felt so wrong.”

He stepped forward without thinking and bracketed your shoulders with his hands. You shoved him away again.

“No. You don’t get to do that anymore. You don’t get to touch me.” Your tears were coming in streams and covering your face in a wet shine. You touched your chest again to still your breath and the hiccups that were puncturing your words. “None of it makes any sense. Unless you lied to me.” You hated that your voice cracked.

He took a step back and whispered your name. You shook your head angrily. “Did you lie to me?”

His eyes pleaded with you to do something but you didn’t know what because the coward couldn’t even speak a goddamn syllable other than your name. “Is it because of what people were saying? Does small-town talk really matter that much to you?”

He just shook his head.

“Well, whatever it was, it sure made that decision a quick one for you.”

Again, he whispered your name and tried to close the gap between you. You let him, briefly. You met his eyes and wanted to fall back into time before any of this happened. You just wanted your nights back with him. You wanted him back.

“I’m sure you’ll get over this quickly, too.” You tore his arms off you and stormed down the road and back to your home that was no longer a place he could escape to.

As soon as you were out of sight, Tommy slowly walked down the steps and turned to his brother with a hard look on his face.

“You deserved everythin’ she threw at you. You’re a goddamn coward, Joel. You don’t fuckin’ deserve her.”

Next Chapter.

Tag List :) @silksepia @hello-nah817 @longlivetheloneliness @keseqna @millers-girl @treacherqus @lemonboi @spnfic85 @secretlettersfromyourlove @nosebeers @boscogirlsworld @aleemendoza2425-blog @puppi-sonnenschein

[fryingpan1234567]

so what if the Bats were Spiders instead?

in a different universe, Bruce Wayne grew up with arachnophobia instead of chiroptophobia. he found secret experiments in a lab beneath their family estate, and it didn’t take him long to pick up the family business.

neurotoxin experiments. spiders.

in a different universe, Bruce Wayne became Spider-Man.

in a different universe, Dick Grayson didn’t need to be bitten by a spider to pick up the Spider-Man mantle. he grew up knowing how to do all the acrobatics and combat anyways— all B had to do was give him web shooters and a suit. but there couldn’t be two Spider-Man’s. so he became Nightwing. but with a blue spider on his chest instead of a bird!

Nightwing’s webs come from his escrima sticks. they’re packing some serious voltage, so sometimes in a pinch he’ll use them instead of his police-issued taser. his favorite part about the whole spider thing is that he can fully just… throw himself off of buildings. and not die. he’s an adrenaline junkie, what can he say?

in a different universe, Jason Todd did everything the same. tried to steal the wheels off the vehicle of the most famous vigilante in Gotham. B picked him up and let him choose the spider and gave him the power to do good.

Robin “giving him magic” didn’t stop the Green Goblin from caving in his skull. although spiders you thought you’d killed do have a way of disappearing.

and returning. in a different universe, the Red Hood took the black widow as his mascot and nobody could do anything in Gotham City without him knowing about it. he single-handedly put down all the arms dealers in the city.

in a different universe, Tim Drake made his own spider. he’d been a fan of Thomas and Bruce Wayne’s work for his whole life, or at least since he learned how to read— and he figured he could get Spider-Man’s attention if he was able to replicate the project as young as he did.

oh, he got Spidey’s attention all right. befriending and adopting an alien symbiote will do that. player 4 has joined the game.

in a different universe, Venom is co-piloted by Tim, who really does like aliens. B thinks it’s a tiny bit weird, but while Tim is tiny his alien companion is very much not. it’s extra armor.

Tim works at the Daily Bugle. nobody knows how exactly he gets the quality kind of photos he does of Gotham’s Spider-family situation, but who’s complaining? he’s just really good at his job.

in a different universe, Cassandra Cain was bitten by a spider before she even met Bruce Wayne. her mother had trained her for combat for her whole life. she couldn’t prepare her for superpowers.

B was happy to help. in a different universe, rather than Cass becoming Blackbat, she took on the alias Black Widow. watch your back for her, though. she’s got the same deadly instinct in every universe.

in a different universe, Stephanie Brown became the first Spider-Woman. of course, she wasn’t the only one, but there’s something about being the original, isn’t there?

she knows she’s funny. she thinks it’s part of the job; it feels right. she’s the closest to the average canon Spider-Man. she could’ve been recruited to the Society at any point in time. and there’s something about that too.

in a different universe, Damian Wayne was born with superpowers. he’d inherited Bruce’s from birth. Talia was quick to hand him off once she realized her baby could crawl on walls and ceilings. the Spider Cave was getting a bit crowded, but what’s one more dangerous, unpredictable, biologically enhanced child? bring it on.

aside from Hood, Tarantula is the only Spider willing to kill a man on the field. yeah, as in. bird-eating tarantula. Robin. get it?

of course, in a different universe, he still had his katana. wouldn’t be Damian Wayne without it. his favorite thing is to swing down from a skyscraper with his webs and run through bad guys like kebabs. B says it’s immoral, but who can be mad about stabbing Doc Ock’s goons?

in another universe, Duke Thomas is the most famous member of the family. he’s the other closest to canon Spider-Man. he takes the day jobs, he talks to the press, he’s the least-hated at the Daily Bugle.

his webs glow. that makes night ops harder. so he sticks to the sunlight. people started calling him the Spider-Signal. which doesn’t make a lot of sense? but Duke is the kinda guy to just kinda shrug it off, because he’s not gonna take on the entire city’s press on his own.

Miguel O’Hara stayed the bleeding hell away from this universe. this group of bats spiders were too unpredictable to have in the Spider Society at all. there were no missions there, but constant surveillance. (until. you know. Miles Morales rocked up with a proposition to take down a tyrannical system with horrible judgement and a corrupted leader. and then Miguel couldn’t ignore the Wayne family anymore.)

how I love the multiverse. endless possibilities, amirite?

(please ask me to write more for this au. drabbles. more characters. PLEASE)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Home Grown 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Cole Turner

This AU is called Watcher Anonymous and will include different series for different characters. This is our introduction to Cole and Eartha.

Summary: loneliness can drive one to desperate measures.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Cole is tired. He's never really not. He spends all day on his feet, cleaning up some clog in the drains or fending off the pests in the fields. There's not much going on aside from the constant battle with the earth for his livelihood. His family's too.

Ever since his dad had a stroke, it's been on him to balance it all. His sister if off who knows where with who knows his name and his mom is looking after his dad. So it's all up to him to keep this place going. And it's all on her to keep him going.

The shame used to make him squirm. His skin would burn and his blood would boil. He'd close his laptop and mope, feeling bad for himself, calling himself weak. Then he'd open it back up and keep doing it. His persistence became indifference, Not to her. No, he only ever thinks of her. He just doesn't care if it's wrong because it makes him feel right.

That night, he's addled. His dad isn't doing well, his mom is worried despite efforts to hide that, and he can't get an answer from his sister. She said she'd come see them so he could spend more time working. Not that he really wants to.

He slips his phone into the little plastic pocket to protect it from the water. He balances it on the rack that hangs around the showerhead and he cranks the faucet to a steaming spray. He stands under it as he lets it wash away the tension and waits for the stream to buffer. It's taking a bit today but sometimes it happens. Out here in the farm lands, reception is spotty.

It's not working. He's lathered up by the time the error shows. Disconnected... Strange. Why?

He gives up with a sigh. The one thing he has to look forward to and even that isn't going his way. He'll give Jensen a call when he's done.

He rubs dry his hair as the water drips down his legs onto the mat. He looks down at himself then moves to face his reflection in the mirror. He's not an ugly guy. He's not being a narcissist, he just doesn't think he's that bad. He shouldn't be alone. Still.

He huffs and wraps the towel around his waist. He grabs his phone from the show and closes the curtain. He walks down the hall and locks himself in his room. His bars are full. He shouldn't be having issues with a signal.

He dials out and waits for Jensen to pick up. He does right as Cole expects to go to voicemail. He's whisper.

"Hey, dude," Jensen scuffs around.

"Busy?" Cole asks.

"Eh, sorta, just..." he clears his throat. "All clear now, bud. What's up?"

"Mm, well... you remember... that... feed. So, er, it's not working."

"Hm, and it's just on her laptop?"

"Yeah," Cole sits on the bed and chews his thumb. "All of a sudden."

"Did the error have a code?"

"Uhhh yeah, I think," he recalls the numbers as best he can.

"Device is either off or broken. Could be both. You could give it a few days and see," Jensen suggests.

"Sure, but, er..." A few days is a long time especially when they're so slow. "Yeah, you're right. I'll wait her out."

"Dude, trust me, I get it. Boss went out of town last week and I saw her pack her favourite toy," he purrs grossly. "Anyway, it's about that time for me."

The line clicks. Good. Jake kinda weirds him out sometimes. He drops his phone.

He'll be cool about this. He can handle a few days without watching her. I mean, she's a stranger. They've never even met. She doesn't even know he exists. So he can log off and touch grass, so they say.

~

The days pass in a torturous slog of dirt, pollen, and lonely nights. Cole is wound tight, ready to snap as he has a thousand things pulling at him at once. His mom wants to hire a nurse, his dad is getting aggressive with everyone, and his sister just convinced his mom to send her money they don't have. Worst of all, he's alone. He's not sleeping because all he does is dream of her.

As he cuts away the rot from the tomato vine, he catches the tip of his glove, just enough to pinch himself good. He curses as a flash of rage swells in him. He whips the clippers into the dirt and snarls. Goddamn it!

He paces back and forth angrily. He rips off the gloves and tucks them into his workbelt. He combs his fingers through his hair and prowls like a wild beast. He can't take it anymore.

He takes his phone out and calls Jensen. It takes two tries but he gets an answer. Not a happy one.

"Dude, I had to leave a meeting--"

"Feed's down," Cole interrupts. "I'm having a real bad day and I need--- I need it."

"Jesus, you sound like it. Hm, okay, you know her email?"

"Uh, sure I do," Cole says.

"Right, you know everything," Jensen laughs. "Come on, guy, let's not pretend here. We're all a bit freaky. So, I'll send you something. Don't click on the link, got me? You take that template and forward it to her. I'll include instructions so you can dupe the sender... she'll think it's some bullshit coupon redemption or whatever. She clicks on it, you got full access again."

"Really? That easy?"

"Well it all depends on her, doesn't it?" He snorts. "Alright, I'll get that too you when I can. Gotta go."

The call ends. Cole leans against the fence and sighs. He better follow through. Better yet, it better work.

[kervetkaparanoid]

This year tearfully and tensely tried to draw backgrounds

maybe the most of you like it all, but i personally can't say that I'm content with the results, I still have a lot to learn. The real problem is that i don't have mental resource for learning, for drawing the so-called study-artworks. As i have said, I feel like a sour battery that can't work adequately and heats up wildly at the slightest effort.

Maybe I'm just making excuses that way. I don't know if I can't or don't want to do anything, or maybe it's all together

Besides somewhere in the middle of the year my ability to analyze... has gone awry, Idfk, and because of it when I look at my works in progress for me they become disproportionate, with dirty render, weird shadows, glares and so on And I get pretty upset about it

Also I never ventured to start actually take commissions adequately or at the very least to sell out the RW sticker packs stack that I have had since last year. Overall since the beginning of this year I only wanted to close myself off more and to not contact people any more than necessary, only rarely crossing paths with my close friends in chats and games. I am afraid of people and society and I am dejected about the fact that the time that I can live at my kinfolk's expense will be at it's end sooner or later, and I will never be ready to live on my own

alright, aside from my snotty mental splash

Of the positives in my art, I can still sort of praise myself for at least some improvements in the proportions of characters, there certainly were some artworks that I liked and that appealed new people, which warms my soul. My Tumblr hit it's first thousand, a good number of people also came to VK, even thought in the end I decided to leave that... creation

there were a few co-ops that I have unedited and maybe one day I will draw previews for them and will upload them on youtube so that people could laugh and get scared by my unstable voice, which at one particular moment ruptures the eardrums (I apologize for that)

Even despite the lack of snow outside the window, there is still an awe of the new year holidays and decorating my apartment and the christmas tree inside me. My inner child is still alive, as long as I am alive myself.

But I am also frightened by the sudden speed-up of time and, in general, by future years that seem to bring less and less positive things and more and more destruction, forbiddance, rot, bile and other excretions.

All in all, thank you for being here, following my art, writing kind words or just watching.

i am glad to be walking this path with you

i really hope that the future doesn't consist of radioactive ruins

[incomingalbatross]

So one thing that kind of drives me nuts about your writing is how great you are at capturing character voice. And now I've got to ask, is there any steps you take to study a character voice or do you just have a solid intuition?

First of all this is the nicest ask ever and I have been trying not to let it go to my head too much. :P Thank you!

I think the first step for me in fic character voice is definitely just... marinating in the Canon. xP If I'm at the stage of writing about characters, then I've already been revolving them in my head for a good while and absorbing their voices that way. But I do also like checking my work as I go, so I think I do have some steps for that...

General familiarity with canon obviously helps for big-picture things like "does this character use long words," "slanginess level," "type of slang," "level of honesty/directness/deflection," but I like to check back for specific points of reference whenever I start feeling shaky. Sometimes that's "can I find them talking about X topic and lift some phrases directly," and sometimes it's "how did they talk in this scene that is emotionally closest to what I'm trying to write here?"

This goes both for dialogue and for POV narration: books are more helpful here because you can pull word choices/stylistic tricks directly from the text, but TV is nice because you can mentally run the narration through their voice (and sometimes there are transcripts). I can grab little details like "Watson likes to not use dialogue tags" or "Ford mostly calls Stan 'Stanley' but is more likely to refer to him as 'Stan'" and use them to give more Canon Flavor to the overall piece. Then if I watch a scene of the show, I can use the audio refresher as a guide for things like "can I hear them saying this or are these words not in Stan's vocabulary?"

That said! Different media have different challenges because of how close to or far from my fic they are. Books with the same POV choices as me? I want to get that exactly right because the mismatch will show. Books in a different POV? I want to make the character's thoughts consistent with what we know of them, but because I don't have a definitive guide, it's harder for the reader to say I'm wrong. :P Different medium? I can't even copy the general diction/style of canon narration, because their isn't any. Manga?? No narration and everything is coming to me through translation. I can't even use definitive word choices or dialogue quirks because there are three different versions of everything!

(No one can say I'm wrong then, of course - but they can still feel I'm wrong if, for example, I give Zoro a bunch of five-dollar words that aren't even related to swords. There's no guide to what he's thinking, but we do know some things he ISN'T thinking.)

BUT. I think the thing that helps me the most, in any POV, is letting myself go on tangents and asides. It gives chances to pack in more canon references and jokes; it broadens the horizon from "what does the character think about this specific scene" to "what related canon-type things might they think of during this scene," meaning there's more chances to weave in Things We Actually Know; it lets the characters riff on things; and it generally gets in more Canon Character per Scene.

Bits like this that I'm proud of:

Dakota in my one Milo Murphy fic having "Cavendish words" that he learned specifically in order to describe Cavendish, like "huffily." That was also a leaky-pipe-to-water-fountain maneuver: I used the word, said "wait would Dakota use this word?" and then turned it into a Bit that felt in keeping with the tone of the show.

Stan considering the possibility of a vampire telemarketer in "Guiding Light." It makes the story feel more like Gravity Falls (where that kind of thing happens) and makes Stan's POV feel more like him (he comes up with weird hypotheticals sometimes!) and it only takes a single line that doesn't change the plot.

Sometimes Character Personality takes the conversation in the wrong direction for the plot and has to be pruned, but sometimes it's helpful. In "Wherever We Go" Stan tells Ford it's "literally a nightmare," and I went "wait Ford is a Known Grammar Stickler, if he doesn't instantly understand this then he's gonna complain about it." And complaining is better because A) it brings in more Canon Traits, B) it shows how much better his relationship with Stan is, C) it advances the plot by giving Stan a good opening to explain further, and D) it's silly and Gravity Falls is supposed to have silliness right next to the Feelings.

All Luffy POV I've written to date is at least a little like this. Luffy POV is terrifying because A) different medium B) translation C) even ODA avoids writing his internal thoughts. He has clear thoughts and convictions and conclusions but also his head is empty!! The only way I've found to write him is to just... throw his POV at a situation and let it bounce around until I find a sufficiently Luffy-like angle somewhere in there. You know, like a rubber ball. Then the in-character nonsense balances out the actually relevant but potentially less Luffy-sounding bits.

ANYWAY. I think the much shorter version of this post is that I do like using reference material for smaller, specific details of word choice/style/tone (I assume it's a lot like using references for art); letting the characters go off-topic actually helps me a lot in giving them more chances to sound like Them; AND the more you can blend in bits completely in agreement with canon, the more I think any departures from canon will be forgiven by readers. You build trust by getting everything you can right, and it makes the Unexplored Territory you have no reference for feel more plausible. ;P

[bradshawsvinyl]

Begin Again Part Three

As a first grade teacher, you couldn’t help but fall for your sweet student and her very attractive Navy fighter pilot father.

part one. part two.

Bradley woke up the next morning feeling hopeful. It had been a long time since he had felt so attracted to someone. He knew you were Tara’s teacher and that both put you in a weird spot but he couldn’t help himself.

After getting Tara ready for school and dropping her off, he made the drive to base. He wanted to talk to Phoenix about what he should do next. Pursuing you could put both him and Tara in an awkward position and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He was Tara’s father before anything else and if starting something with you would be harmful to Tara in any way, he would just have to push his feelings aside.

“Nat,” Bradley called out as he saw her across the hallway.

“Rooster. Hey,” Phoenix replied when she spotted him. “How are things going with the hot teacher?”

“I gave her my number yesterday. She’s helping me out with Tara after school until I get off work.” Bradley said, blushing.

“No way Bradshaw,” Phoenix said excitedly. Phoenix was Bradley’s best friend and at the end of the day, she wanted what was best for him. It had been so long since she had seen Bradley try to pursue a woman for more than one night. She knew his feelings were genuine.

“Yeah,” Bradley said smiling. “I’ve never felt this way before. I barely know her but I just feel a connection. I think she feels it too.”

“You should ask her out.” Phoenix thought out loud.

“No way,” Bradley said while running his fingers through his hair. “I can’t do that. What if she says no? I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.”

“You’ll never know if you don’t ask.” Phoenix said, staring at a distressed Bradley. “Just try. What’s the worst that could happen?”

After his conversation with Phoenix, Bradley started thinking to himself. What was the worst that could happen? If you said no to his advances, he could live with that. It wouldn’t be the end of the world.

As he went to pick up Tara from school, he decided to make a quick trip to the local grocery store to pick up some flowers. He figured it would be a nice gesture regardless of whether you chose to go out with him or not. He truly did appreciate all your help with Tara.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Tara asked as you both sat together and colored.

“No.” You said while coloring a picture of a butterfly.

“My daddy could be your boyfriend.” Tara replied not even looking up from the page she was covering. “He doesn’t have a girlfriend but he tells Aunt Phoenix that he wants one all the time.”

Just as Tara finished her sentence, Bradley knocked on your open door. “Hey ladies.” He said jokingly at the sight of you and Tara.

Tara did her usual routine of running up to Bradley and hugging him while excitedly telling him about her day. You sat back and began cleaning up your classroom and packing up your bag for the day.

Bradley told Tara to start grabbing her belongings while he walked over to you. “I wanted to give these to you.” He said, holding out the flowers he purchased for you earlier. “As a thank you for all your help with Tara. It means a lot.”

You grabbed the flowers and mumbled a quick thank you to Bradley while smiling and blushing.

“I wanted to ask you something too,” Bradley started. “I have a sitter for Tara on Saturday night. There’s a small bar by my house that we could hang out at if you’re interested.” Bradley let out a short breath. The ball was now in your court.

“I’d love to.” You replied a little too quickly.

“Great.” Bradley said. “I’ll text you the details. See you on Saturday,” he said while giving you a small wink. He held Tara’s hand and led her outside of your classroom.

Once he had left, you silently celebrated. Bradley and you were going on a date. You had never felt so excited.

[sociopathicartist]

Hey! I was wondering if you could do both fluff and some suggestive or more mature relationship headcanons with Sans?

tysm for requesting! all the suggestive/mature ones will be below the cut

Classic!Sans x reader (Fluff and Suggestive) headcanons.

Not that Sans would be extremely clingy per se, but he is very attached to you. I feel like he’d for sure like to just show up to your work quite often with a lunch or snack for you that he made, always packed with a silly joke written on your napkin inside. He kinda works various jobs and works around town since he’s not a big fan of the boring, same daily routine with his life, so whenever he’s off from work and he doesn’t have really anything to do since almost all his time goes to you, he’ll just show up to surprise you anyways. He likes to just spawn in behind you, sometimes he’ll tap your shoulder and give you a little kiss on your neck as he stands on his tiptoes to let you know he’s there, other times he’ll send you a photo of yourself to be silly. He likes the most though to just stand behind you and wait for you to turn around and notice he’s there, followed by a short scream from the Sans jumpscare. Is that weird? Probably. He doesn’t care.

“Sans! Where the fuck did you come from?”

‘whaaat? babe, it’s just me.’

-

He’s gotten into the habit recently of bringing you things every time he sees you. The gifts rotate out, and they range in extreme variation, but most of them are just silly things he saw when he was out and he bought it because he thought of you. Sans has found that he doesn’t like showing up empty-handed when he sees you anymore, he always has something to slip into your pocket or tuck in your hair. It’s one of his favorite ways of showing you how much he appreciates you. The gifts range anywhere from your favorite flowers, to a smooth rock he found that he drew a face on for you, and to a little ring he saw at the store that he saved up for and waited until he was able to bring it to you at a fancy dinner together. He just really likes bringing you little things to show that he loves you, and it makes him happy to see you wearing a bracelet he got for you or seeing the flowers he gifted you resting nicely in a vase on your coffee table. Even whenever you’ve been dating for years and you both have moved in together, you’ll wake up some mornings to him tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and slowly bringing up something he cooked for you to rest on your lap.

‘hey there, gorgeous. you want these waffles? made them just for you.’

-

Sans didn’t have much interest in dating before you and him became best friends, he was always a bit too lazy, a bit too tired, and a bit too occupied with other things. Those and the fact that nobody really suited him well enough for him to be interested romantically. It makes sense for him to be a virgin, sex is never really something he thought he’d be interested in ever trying with anyone at any point. Sure, the jokes are funny to make, and he hears from his coworkers about who got a piece of what last night, but the subject rang pretty deaf on him and he never had many thoughts of ever having sex with someone. It’s a good piece of effort for him too since he’s a skeleton and he’d have to use magic to conjure anything if that’s what his partner wanted. The topic never really was brought up whenever the two of you started dating, so he just pushed the idea aside.

Then when you were both cuddling on the couch like any other night, and your hand that was under his shirt mindlessly tracing along the vertebrae on his spine trailed a little bit too low, your skin felt just a little bit too soft, too nice. You saw his startled reaction, apologized, and pulled your hand away, but the feeling was still implanted in his mind.

He’s awkward to bring it up to you since he hasn’t talked about this with anyone before other than melee jokes and snickers, so whenever he awkwardly suggested that you both should get a bit more intimate, he wasn’t sure how to think on what was happening whenever you tugged him along to the bedroom. Needless to say, he doesn’t become as awkward on the subject or initiating anything around you, but you might have to be the one to tag him in for more a lot of the time since he still gets a bit too awkward to say or ask for anything.

-

He gets very vocal, which he wasn’t aware that some people don’t like that. It doesn’t make sense to him why you would want someone to be quiet with their noises, doesn’t that tell them what a good job they’re doing? He’s always mumbling something, always telling you how good he feels, how good you’re doing, how much he loves you. It’s a bit weird to see him so focused and into something, since he’s usually pretty nonchalant about 90% of things around him, but it’s definitely a nice sight to see.

‘fuck, sweetheart, i can't-‘

‘wait- do that again, like that, i like that.’

‘holy shit, i love you so much.’

The only time he ever really shuts up is whenever he’s passed out afterward, looking folded over himself in a weird position since he just tumbled onto the pillows in exhaustion before dragging you down to sink into the bed with him.

-

He always wants to have his hands on you, all the time. This ties in with just him being physically affectionate, but to just be with you like this, getting to admire you and listen to you as you’re over him, he can’t help but keep his hands on you the whole time. They are either wrapped snugly around your waist, running through your hair, or tracing up and down your sides. Sans just can’t help it, his full and loving attention is just on you.

-

I also just don’t feel like he’d be much into PDA or any exhibitionism. I know there are a lot of fanfics out there where he gets freaky in public with the reader, and this is no diss to them, but I just don’t feel like Sans would be one for that. That doesn’t mean he shuns you in public or anything because his arm is always wrapped around yours, and he’s always bumping into you and giving you little kisses on your knuckles whenever you’re around other people. He’s just not interested in making out or getting frisky in a public setting. He likes to be alone with you, somewhere nice and private where he feels safe just being able to relax, not masked in an alleyway or bathroom somewhere. Sans also just isn’t very open about his personal life or interests with people (other than you after a bit), so it doesn’t make logical sense for him to be so willing to have one of the most vulnerable sides of him able for show of being caught or seen.

[violasghost]

The Exes and Oh’s of Chenford-The Rookie 7x06 Review

So, they went there! I wasn’t sure if they would. With past history, was kind of thinking it would be a tease and maybe there would be a kiss and then one of them would get cold feet and poof, we’d have to be tortured for a while longer. But guess now that they did cross that bridge, I’m kind of experiencing mixed emotions as a result.

On the one hand, Chenford is sizzling! I mean c’mon, everyone can see it. Hell, even my mom who is a casual viewer walked in the room when the gala scene was on and happened to notice Chenford and questioned off handedly when she saw them acting awkwardly around one another, ‘I thought they were a couple?’ in reference to Lucy and Tim.

And honestly, that said, Exes aside, they really do act like a couple, do they not? If a casual bystander were to observe them leaning in speaking to one another or intimately gazing across the room, they would likely assume they were an item or at the very minimum, very close. So, packing that little observation aside—we still have our purple elephant in the room. The thing they dare never to speak of the big reason for the breakup. Don’t know why its so taboo. I’m hoping this will be explored down the line, and the writers have not decided to gloss over everything and just treat them like two horny exes, since we still don’t have any answers as to really—why? (Other than, perhaps it may have brought it more ratings because it creates more drama and added bonus-drives the Chenford fans nuts.)

I think what frustrates me (and it’s not just this episode, this has been building slowly over time) and don't get me wrong, I did appreciate the many lovely intimate moments between Lucy and Tim and Melissa and Eric did not disappoint in the slightest (they did phenomenal with the material they were given), but the part that is missing, that has always been missing, is communication. They had a few opportunities to open up and maybe even dive a bit into the postmortem of their relationship. Like at the ‘Turn in your Ex’ booth. The writers could have easily cut out one of the many ‘grumpy Tim’ clips in lieu of one heartfelt admission from either Lucy or Tim about something they were feeling they felt short on when they were a couple, even if it was something funny/annoying about what they thought about the other. Then they get to the surveillance van, another close intimate moment—and another opportunity missed for some kind of personal admission of true feelings; and when Lucy is sipping the glass of wine at the Gala and they have a moment to kind of reflect and pause and still, nada about their personal feelings, and then lastly it’s the morning after and they both walk away awkwardly—yeah I get it was weird and they are both afraid to go there, but someone’s gotta crack (my money’s on Tim doing it first btw).

There were heaps and tons of longing looks, angst, all that. So much I almost wonder where was this Tim and Lucy in S6 when they were quarrelling all the time? S7E6 version of Tim and Lucy was flirty, sexy, and had chemistry off the charts (chemistry has never been their problem), but as far as talking about their feelings go, I’m sorry but Chenford gets a big fat ‘F’ from moia. There has been no improvement since their breakup and really no resolution or growth shown to prove they are ready for Chenford 2.0. (SPOLER CHAT: Wasn’t there an interview awhile ago from Eric saying Tim was doing the work and going to therapy or something?) Maybe that’s still coming up, but this really needs to be shown, and I think this needs to 100% be his focus if he ever wants to have a chance of getting back with Lucy. And honestly, I think our girl Lucy needs to own up to her feelings too and stop hiding behind what’s comfortable and safe and confront it head on. I still have hope for our star-crossed duo, but I think they have to get their sh*t together first. They can both pretend that they are focusing on their careers or whatever, but they both have some growing up to do emotionally and mentally if they ever want to be in a real adult partnership and relationship.

Taking a step back, I truthfully go back and forth on the better scenario, because although I do like the other characters, I’m sorry but Nolan and Bailey got married what less than a year ago and their romantic scenes are pretty much non-existent at this point, so perhaps allowing Lucy and Tim to play in the kiddie pool is a good thing, for now? I mean some of what they are doing appears pretty immature for where they were couple-wise, but they are getting a lot more action and screen time this way. I guess we as the Chenford-nation can’t always get everything we want. But we are getting lots of sexy time and angst. And when we want more, we just turn to fan fiction, right? 😉

For the other characters, my heart went out to Miles. He really did try his best to be honorable and be there for his girl. I hope he finds someone soon. Actually, I kind of saw a small spark between Miles and Celina, not sure if anyone else saw that but they might be kind of cute together, no?

I did like Nolan and Bailey having a rare fight. It was refreshing to see the perfect couple with flaws. Kinda feel for Nolan on that one though, but also Bailey since she was the one who had to deal with her psychopathic ex. I think Nolan was smothering her though, making her stay at Lucy’s place and all. It was her way of having her own power, so it was understandable. And yey-Jason’s dead, end of that storyline, so even better. Thanks Malvado!

I love Wesley and Angela but Wesley dude, needed to relax a bit about the detective, man Wesley was really obsessed with that guy. Yeah, he admitted he had sexual fantasies about Wesley’s wife but it was in the confidence of his therapist and Wesley has to trust Angela to know she wouldn’t act on it and Angela is totally capable of defending herself. Anyhow, stupid macho behavior IMO.

Looking forward to next week. Also really hope when Tim tells Nolan “Don’t screw up like I did with Lucy,” that maybe not right away but at some point, Nolan tells Tim back that, “It’s never too late.”

And just cause I couldn’t resist, leaving the below gif here too because Viva la Chenford! <3

[summer-nights19]

Good for business part 2 - Moonlit Walks

Balor x fem reader

Part 1

Part 3

The morning after you got up to the sound of a rooster. Still half asleep, you slipped on some clothes and headed outside to start ploughing the fields and planting. It didn't take you long to run out of seeds, and, as soon as you did, you decided you'd explore the village and meet its inhabitants. After all, your experiences so far had been nothing but positive. As you walked down the footpath that led from your farm to town, you caught a flash of blue with a corner of you eye.

"Hey Y/N ! Come over here," how Balor had so much energy even this early in the morning was completely beyond you. You smiled to yourself and walked up to his wagon.

"Have you already met everyone ?"

"No, only you and my neighbours," you'd adored meeting them both, particularly Celine, who had been so kind to you.

"Then you absolutely should. Before you go though, check out my wagon. I've got everything you vould ever want in here. Anything catch your eye ?" Balor winked at you and you grinned at his exaggerate salesman persona as you began to look at the goods on display. There really was everything - furniture, food, crafting material, seeds, and weird artifacts. Sighing, you looked down at your boots, which were incredibley worn down after yesterday's travels. The fact that the soles had not broken yet was a miracle.

"Well, some new boots might be nice, but I don't really have much money for now," As you said that, you noticed that all the prices listed were already weirdly low.

"Not to worry. I'll give them to you half price. You know, since you're new and all," Balor looked at you with a knowing smile and you felt butterflies stir up in your stomach

"You won't do anything of the sort. I'll earn the money myself and then buy them at the current price," you'd never been one to accept handouts, preferring to rely on your own strengths. Balor sighed in mock exasperation.

"OK Miss Independent. Will you at least let me keep them aside for you until then ?"

"That would be great. Thank you, Balor. " You met his smile with one of your own. You weren't sure why he was so keen to help out, but you just put it down to the entire city being almost overly friendly. This morning, for example, Celine and Hayden had offered you free seeds to get you started on farming. It was ... nice, living in a place where everyone seemed to care about each other so much.

"I should head off now. I have the entire town to get acquainted with after all,"

Balor grinned. "I'll see you around, Y/N. Come by the inn sometime, yeah ? I enjoy our chats,"

***

It had been a long day. You'd walked around the whole city and its neighbouring fields, learning where everything was and how the town worked. As expected, everyone else had been lovely. You'd felt particularly close to Celine and Reina, who you'd vowed to invite to your house for a picnic or something once it was looking a little less... unkempt. Only March had seemed not to like you, but you didn't let that bother you too much - his brother Olric had told you that was just the way he was. And then there was Balor, who seemed to be living rent free in your head ever since you'd first met at the bridge.

As you brushed your hair and freshened up before going off to the inn, you thought back to all the other men you'd been close to. None of them had provoked feelings that were even similar to these. Did that mean .... no, impossible ! You were business partners, and hopefully with time you'd become friends. Slamming your hairbrush down decisively, you walked out of your front door, attempting to live any and all inappropriate thoughts on the doorstep.

The inn was packed. It felt like the whole town was there, which honestly wasn't too improbable. Celine had told you Fridays were the official day for everyone to gather and socialise at the inn, but it seemed like several people did it everyday. Not that you minded. Quite the opposite in fact.

"Y/N, over here !" Reina waved at you cheerfully. It appeared she'd saved you a seat and a plate if daily soup. You went up to her and Celine, sitting down with a smile.

"Have you met everyone ?" Reina asked as you dug in.

"Yup. I even got you'd about the project to fix the bridge," you replied in between spoonfuls.

"That's so great," Reina's expression was one of total excitement.

"Y/N," A deep voice from behind you called your name, and you turned around to see Ryis, the charming carpenter you'd met earlier that day.

"Hi Ryis, how can I help ?" You asked, feeling both Celine and Reina shift their gazes onto you.

"I just wanted to tell you that if you ever need anything crafted for you farm, you can rely onl me. I'd be more than happy to teach you how it's done or to do it for you," Ryis grinned at you. "And I'm sure that despite what he says, March would also be happy to help."

At hearing his name mentioned, March turned towards you, his face slightly flushed.

"You wanna hear a secret, Y/N. You aren't actually so bad ! Oh wait - what am I saying ?"

You tried not to smile to yourself. It appeared that the closed off, sassy blacksmith was a completely different guy when drunk.

"Well, thank you both," you smiled at them. Surprisingly, even March grinned back.

"Of course. I've got to head off now, but I'll see you around," Ryis gave you a nod before leaving, and you swore you saw a red tint blooming across his cheeks.

"I think he likes you," Celine whispered as soon as he'd left the inn. You looked at her, you eyes wide.

"No, he's just being helpful because I'm new to town. Like everyone else,"

"Be serious, Y/N. Did you see the look on his face ? He barely even breathed a word to Celine and I," Reina said looking at you with both eyebrows raised. Celine nodded.

"I think you're both reading too much into it. Let's just have dinner and talk about something else,"

***

Balor's POV

Balor had watched the entire scene play out from one of the tables at the back of the inn, feeling irrational pangs of jealousy as he did so.

He'd meant to intercept you first, but Celine and Reina had beaten him to it. Oh well. It was good that you were making friends. However, his feelings quickly soured as he saw Ryis blushing and smiling while talking to you as you smiled back. Damn it, he wanted to be the guy to make you smile like that ! And now March was looking at you too ? He wasn't sure why it was affecting him so deeply when it had nothing to do with him. It was probably just the alcohol, and the fact he hadn't been with a woman in quite a while. All his last dates had felt empty and boring, so he'd simply stopped going.

The sound of your voice broke his yrain of thought.

"Well, it's been lovely, guys but I must head back," you were smiling at Reina and Celine, a gesture that made your face look like it was radiating sunlight from within. Before he'd Tully processed what he was doing, Balor walked up to you.

"I'll walk you home," he grinned confidently.

"Oh... thank you so much, but there's no need. I live so close," you cheeks were turning light pink as you spoke, a detail that pleased him more than he cared to admit.

"I insist," as soon as he'd said that, you hadn't hesitated in following him out of the hotel.

You'd walked most of the way in companionable silence before he spoke up.

"You sure scrub up nicely,". You met his gaze, eyes shining in the darkness.

"You do too,". The wind blew a stray strand of hair on your face, and he felt compelled to tuck it behind your ear with his hand. He controlled himself, settling for just walking you to your door.

"Sweet dreams, Y/N. I look forward to working with you,"

You smiled at him, your face lighting up in that way that took his breath away.

"Good night Balor, and me too,"

Masterlist

[hotmessmaxpress]

Mate pleaseeee dont stop writing ever about marc and marco like they areee sososo ughh idk!!!! like it just works so good yk

so thats why i say pretty please with a cherry onntop to give me another snippet of them interacting in anyway🤞🙏

Here is my Bezz x Marc friendship thesis! Which is maybe not what you're looking for but I don't have the brainpower to write an entire scene. I did have the brainpower to dump all of my thoughts about them though!

Okay so in this au there are two main things that I think change Bezz’s view of Marc from enemy to bestie. One is that Bezz has a meltdown about the whole thing and Vale puts him in his place. (I wrote more of this that I might post when I like it!)

The more compelling part to me that I sort of glossed over in the first part of this au is that Bezz has a moment of realization that he and Marc are both omegas. As Marc has noticed, Bezz really doesn’t think too hard about his role as the pack omega. He just is. When Luca first tells Bezz about Marc’s bite and just how badly Vale fucked it up, it sends Bezz into a bit of a crisis that takes him a long time to really confront head on. He sort of just shoves it aside until he has had time to adjust to Marc being in the pack.

Bezz then realizes that no matter what happens, he will always understand Marc better than any other member of the pack because they share the unique experience of being an omega and everything that comes with that. While Bezz’s pack don’t treat him really any differently (at least not in a bad way– if anything they spoil him) than they would if he was an alpha, that doesn’t change the fact that they could. They could take advantage of him, especially during his heats. They could treat him like he’s lesser-than. And none of that ever really occurred to him until he found out about what happened to Marc. And at first, that scared him. The idea that his pack would ever do that to him was terrifying. Pretty quickly, though, he realized that they wouldn’t actually ever do that. Still, that knowledge remained. He and Marc are the only two people in their pack that have to cope with everything that comes with being an omega.

So when it comes to welcoming Marc to the pack (even though it takes Bezz the longest of any of the other pack members) once Bezz decides to love him he loves him. Marc is already a pro at codependent relationships (lol love you Alex) and he and Bezz pretty much latch onto each other.

Marc is who Bezz goes to when he doesn’t feel well. He goes to Marc when he’s tired. He goes to Marc when he needs attention. And on the flip side, Marc goes to Bezz as well. When he needs someone to help him be calm and clear his thoughts, he goes to Bezz.

Marc loves Vale’s room, and he loves that it becomes their room together (he even loves that Vale has a bike in there, a fact which has changed my brain chemistry). He loves the way that Vale has his little pack who all love him and listen to him and look to him for advice. But sometimes he still isn’t sure where he fits into that– he’s closer in age to most of the pack members than he is to Vale, and he really doesn’t feel comfortable giving them unsolicited advice in the way Vale does. He goes to Bezz for reassurance, and he finds himself in Bezz’s room often. There’s something comforting about having a room to go to that doesn’t smell like alpha. Bezz is always happy to have him, too. He lets Marc join him in whatever he’s doing, even if it means Marc silently pressing up against him in bed while Bezz plays video games. Bezz doesn’t even question it. Marc is always allowed in his nests or in his arms.

Maybe they’ve just had a long day of training at the ranch, and Marc’s nerves are frayed because training at the ranch always brings up weird emotions about his first breakup with Vale. And Marc could go to Vale but he doesn’t really want to talk about it and he knows that if he goes to Vale, his mate is going to get all sad-eyed and feel guilty and Marc doesn’t want that! So instead he showers and goes to Bezz’s room, where it smells comfortingly of omega and safety and calm. And Bezz has just showered and his hair is sort of fluffy the way it gets when he allows it to air dry.

Maybe Bezz is even expecting it because he knows Marc gets weird about training at the ranch sometimes (maybe this is even their routine!). So he’s ready and is happy to let Marc curl up next to him in bed. Marc is wearing a sweatshirt that belongs to Vale and he just watches, silently, as Bezz plays video games. He doesn’t join in because he’s tired and emotionally wiped out, but he keeps his chin planted firmly on Bezz’s shoulder. He feels Bezz tense every time he struggles with a battle and feels him relax when he wins. There’s no pressure to talk or explain himself or entertain the other man. They sit in comfortable silence, cuddled together.

Vale comes to check on him usually, and bring them snacks, sometimes, but Marc always stays with the other omega until he feels okay again.

[johnathancanines]

On A Foam-White Horse: Chapter 3

Story Rating: M / Chapter Rating: PG ? Warnings: there's some obtuse talk/references to sexual exploitation in the entertainment industry and a miscontrued comment which is resolved safely. Nothing happens. Word count: 4,948 Notes: Giving into my low impulse control since it's friday and I finished chapter 5. Almost had a heartattack when I thought I'd hit the text limit but I had NOT thank fuck, tumblr's system is just weird as fuck. I'm torn on how ic I feel Polly and Tommy are in this, my confidence in my capacity to write them varies day to day lol.

Niamh is pronounced NEEve. Sadhbh is pronounced SIGH-ve like five. Dairmuid is pronounced DEERmud. Tadhg is pronounced TIE-g.

[MASTERLIST]

Taglist: @evita-shelby (please lmk if you'd like to be added!)

Polly stood at the door of Niamh’s house, it was one of the ones just on the line between the houses of the poor and the middle class, nicer and neater then the houses on Watery Lane but still humble compared to even her new one. The girl had money, she could get something nicer if she’d wanted, Polly supposed it must have been a desire to stay near family or not spend too much on rent or property. She knocked and waited, you could hear the sounds of little children playing right through the door. She smiled. Then there was the sound of steps and a woman.

“Boys please try to play a little cleaner!” A woman called, her voice getting louder as she came towards the door.

Then the door was opening and Polly was greeted with a pretty blonde woman — a fake blonde judging by the brown showing by the scalp. She was pretty, and visually the total opposite of Grace — or any woman she’d seen turn Tommy’s head — besides that blonde hair which she supposed was a kind of comfort. She was dressed well but practically with none of the flair Polly had half expected from a movie star, looking more like a middle class woman than a celebrity. What probably shocked her the most was how small she was, Polly herself wasn’t exactly a tall woman herself but even with them both having heels on she had a noticeable advantage. After seeing an actor on a big screen you expect someone larger than life when you see them in person, but Niamh Brennan was astoundingly ordinary. She was beautiful and put together yes, but she was far more human in reality than the silvery double that lived on theatre screens. It didn’t make her anymore trustworthy, but it did make her more touchable, easier to handle.

“Can I help you?” Niamh asked with a polite smile, her voice was nicer in person without the side effects of recording, smooth with a medium pitch even if her accent was jarringly foreign.

Polly smiled back just as politely. “Niamh Brennan? I’m Polly Gray. It’s about time we met don’t you think?”

Niamh smiled like she’d eaten a lemon and moved aside and Polly strode in like it was her house and not the other woman’s.

“Sorry if I’m a bit rushed.” Niamh said as she closed the door behind them. “I’ve gotta get to London by three so I can get to rehearsal on time.”

Polly looked at her surprised. “Do you have to do that everyday?”

“No, thank God.” Niamh replied. “I only bother with London on the weekends when it pays out the most. I head down on Fridays and get back on Mondays, the rest of the week I either do shows in the area or work on something else.”

“And the boys?” Polly looked down at the two little boys playing on the floor of the parlor, neither could be older than 5. She smiled reflexively at their little faces looking up at her with innocent curiosity.

“My cousin Aisling lives with us and helps out with the boys. She takes care of them while I’m gone and just generally keeps a lid on the place.”

Polly turned her attention to Niamh who had a hand on her hip and another to her brow looking as if she were running through about a hundred lists for the hundredth time.

“How much packing do you still need to get done?”

“Oh, not too much I don’t think? I just always feel like I’m forgetting something and when I do think I have plenty of time I’m late so I tend to panic early then sit anxiously.”

Niamh laughed at herself and seemed to shake herself out of her mental rut, turning her attention to Polly with a bit more composure. Polly had some sympathy, she’d had two children that age and no man to help support her. It was a hard life and to have to travel every week to work couldn’t make it any easier.

“Well then, how about you finish up getting ready to go and we can chat before you head out?”

“Oh it’s fine, we can talk now. I don’t want to make you wait on me when you came all the way here.”

“Oh no it’s no trouble. I can play with the boys, time’ll fly by.”

Niamh hesitated briefly, weighing things out before she relented and led them through the open parlor room door where her nephews were avidly watching them, toy trains and blocks laying forgotten.

“Boys, this is Mrs Polly Gray, she’s the nice lady who’s been helping your cousin Sadhbh with her troubles. Why don’t you say hello?”

“Hello Mrs Gray.” The older one said in that way small children recited well learned thing.

“Hi…” the little one said, turning his head shyly and fiddling with the train in front of him.

Niamh pointed to the larger boy with dark hair and eyes and a long face. “That’s Ray,” she pointed to the smaller shy boy who was fairer than his brother with sandy brown hair and hazel green eyes. He reminded her so much of her little Michael at that age it twisted her heart into pieces. “That’s Ollie. Boys can you do me a big favor and keep Mrs Gray company while I finish getting ready to go on my work trip?”

The boys nodded with different levels of excitement and Niamh took what she could get, fussed for a last moment then went up the stairs to finish whatever needed finishing. Polly took the opportunity without her there to take a good look around the room. She didn’t expect to see some damning bit of evidence just laying about but you could tell a lot about a person from their home if you knew how to look. The entryway had been clean and minimally but nicely decorated, a whole wall of it dedicated to nothing but coats, boots and umbrellas — an attempt to keep small children from tracking mud and rain all over the house no doubt. The parlor was also nicely put together but save for small signs of life like the boys mess, books left on end tables, and family photos on the walls there was little to make it homey. It was clear that Niamh hadn’t settled in yet, perhaps had no intention to, but she had at least tried to make it look like something. There was even an open toy chest by the fireplace filled to the brim with everything a little boy could dream of.

Polly knelt down with the boys on the carpet and placed her bag on the couch, smiling.

“Hello Ray, Ollie. That’s a very nice train, where does it go?”

Time really did fly while she played with the boys. They were very sweet and friendly, even shy little Ollie had warmed up to her and babbled happily about his trains and stuffed bear. Healthy, happy, well adjusted children were good sign of character in her book when it came to those who rose them. The family was very protective of information about their origins, and she and Tommy had used every trick they knew to find out. She could never quite get a straight answer about the boys other than they were her twin brother Dairmuid's boys and Niamh had taken them in out of necessity. But Polly could sniff out the likely truth from between the lines. The boys were likely bastards. She’d heard a bit about the man and known enough men like Dairmuid, performers with good looks and the easy charm he showed on screen, they tended to leave a child or two in their wake. And with him gone it’d fallen on Niamh to deal with the consequences of his indiscretions. It was good of her to protect them from that stigma, to take them in and raise them. She knew many who wouldn’t.

It was clear that if nothing else, Niamh was a dedicated guardian to her nephews. Polly could respect that.

The only thing she couldn’t shake was the sense that there was something else in the house with them. The sense of a man standing in the room with her, his presence solid in her mind even though she could see nothing was there. And there was the sense of a wake, of a place tinged with dead. Perhaps it was the family’s lingering grief and the knowledge that Dairmuid Brennan was dead playing tricks, perhaps it was his spirit unable to rest with so much undone. It was hard to say as the sensation seemed to dissipate just as she tried to place it.

There were footsteps on the stairs as Niamh returned lugging a suitcase that she left by the end of the staircase before joining them.

“There, done! Sorry about that.” She said a bit breathless.

“Oh no, I’m the one who dropped in with no warning, I would’ve come a different day if I’d known you’d be so busy.”

“It’s fine really. Like I said, I panic early and then sit around waiting to leave.” Niamh sat in a chair opposite where Polly still sat with the boys by the couch. “So what brings you here?”

Her accent was thicker than Polly’d expected, though she wasn’t an expert in American accents. But it had a quality to it that was rough around the edges. It didn’t sound like something you’d hear on a record with all it’s dropped “R”s and “T”s turning to “D”s.

“I just wanted to chat a bit about Sadhbh, I got a new home in the suburbs recently and I think it would be best for her and Moira to come live with me for a while.”

Niamh looked surprised then thoughtful. “You’re probably right. Mary’s a good person but well…” She hunted for a diplomatic term. “She’s prone to negative thinking. They’ve known you longer than I have and they’ve both got good heads on their shoulders so I won’t get in the way. The girls are both old enough to make that kind of decision so really, if they’re good with it I am too.”

Polly smiled, and it was a bright genuine one. She hadn’t known what the response would be and had been ready for a fight just in case. “I’m glad to hear it —” she turned to get her purse and pulled out a slip of paper. “ — This is the address of the new home and the telephone subscriber number for your records.”

She leaned out and Niamh met her in the middle taking it, she opened it and looked at the address with a small nod. Then reflexively checked her watch.

“Great. I’ll let Aisling know before I head out and ask her to put it in the address book.”

“Do you need to be heading off soon?”

“In a bit, yeah. Things were a bit slower today getting out the gate.” Polly got up and smoothed out her skirt. “Well then how about you get ready and I’ll walk out with you?”

Niamh raised an eyebrow but nodded before coming over to her nephews for hugs, kisses, goodbyes and promises to be back as soon as she could. Then she headed to the kitchen to let her cousin who’d been making the boys’ lunch know she was off and about Polly’s new address before she picked up her suitcase and gave everything another compulsive sweep of the eyes.

It was a short walk from the front door to where Niamh’s car was parked, again it was a sensible thing, while still reasonably attractive it didn’t stand out and seemed mainly designed with function in mind, with a large back seat and well enclosed passenger area. Perfect for someone who travelled a lot, sometimes with small children. More and more it was seeming like Niamh Brennan was a fairly practical person for a performer, which made her getting into all this IRA business even more odd.

“Tommy told me you’d come to talk to him.”

“Ah, this is what I was waiting for.” Niamh said as she put her suitcase in the back. “How much did he tell you?”

“Not much. Enough to make me wonder about why you’d be involved in all of this and why you’d want to help him. He says you’re doing it as a thank you to me.”

Niamh leaned against the car door, arms crossed.

“I’m involved because for me it’s not just politics, it’s family business. I’ve got family and friends who’s lives are in the balance with this war. Of course I’m going to do something about it. As for Tommy,” she sighed. “Yes it’s mainly as a thanks to you for being so kind to the girls. When Sadhbh got attacked she was looked at by doctors of course, but they said in the long run we’d want to talk to doctors in Europe — with the war and all there was all kinds of guys who needed even more work than she did and all the guys who’re the best at this stuff are here. So we came here and it made sense for her to stay with family instead of just staying in London because it was closer to the doctors. But while we got her in okay for a consultation… well…” Niamh’s face fell. “There’s just more guys out there who’re higher priorities. I mean, no jaw trumps big scar and some muscle issues — I can’t get mad at em for that but still… It’s been hard on her and I fucked off for a whole year so I wasn’t a help when she needed it. You were. Thanks doesn’t seem like much and money feels cheap. I’m already all tangled up in this shit, the least I can do is try to give him some cover.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment and Polly looked at her, looked into her in that way she could. She’d give the girl one thing, she had a much more open face than Grace ever had. Her instincts were that the girl was harmless to them, maybe in the long run a potential investment as they “diversified the portfolio”. The chill of death she’d felt in the house still lingered around Niamh, maybe even more strongly than it was in there. Twins were odd creatures, with one dead and one alive there was bound to be some kind of link to the grave in her. If she had anything to hide it wasn’t related to this business with Tommy and that was good enough for Polly.

“You give your word this isn’t some trick or double-cross? That you’re honest about doing what you can to help Tommy?”

Niamh looked at her incredulously. “I just effectively gave you two hostages and you know what my nephews look like now.”

Polly understood the implications but didn’t acknowledge them, instead she waited to hear the words aloud.

Niamh sighed. “I give my word.”

“Good. And I give mine to do whatever I can for the children, regardless of however this shakes out they’ll feel no ill will nor any negative effects. This all stays between the adults.”

Polly spit on her palm and held it out to shake. Niamh looked at it for a moment with the only flicker of concern she’d seen in her. Was some kind of superstitious then? Or just not keen on making a sealed agreement. Hesitantly Niamh spat on her own palm and they shook. Polly smiled.

“Safe trip dear.” Polly said.

“Thanks.” She replied uncertainly.                                                                                                      The last civil conversation Tommy had with Pol before he told her about her children had been her confirming that, at least when it came to the Irish business, Niamh was being honest and that she seemed to be an overall sensible person. Tommy would argue that anyone who worked in the arts was incapable of being sensible but it was good to know at least she wouldn’t be actively plotting his death. If there was anything else he wanted to know about her visit or talk over it would have to wait until Polly was willing to even look at him again. Regardless of Polly’s distress business had to continue on and so he had ensured that Ms Brennan would be invited to the reopening of the Garrison so that they could talk without being too obvious. Campbell was still having him followed and he wasn’t interested in giving the man any more leverage.

The party was in full swing when she made her appearance looking more like the movie star people expected her to be with her cousin Tadhg as an escort. A sensible woman not to walk through Small Heath alone dressed like that. She wasn’t overdressed but he could tell her dress was the most expensive there and made to fit her perfectly. She was inarguably beautiful, with a face more like a grown cherubs than Grace’s aristocratic features. There he went again, comparing her to Grace. It was impossible for him not to with how the situations mirrored themselves so powerfully. He had to work to keep his feelings about Grace and her actions off of Niamh, if he was going to mistrust her it should be on her own lack of merits, not the wrongs of a woman on the other side. There was a lot of cheering and chatter as people caught sight of her, to Tommy’s surprise she actually seemed bashful in the face of everyone’s excitement to see a minor celebrity in their midst. He’d have thought she’d be used to it by now with how long she’d been at it.

It took a while before he could spirit her away to the back but he managed it, settling them without thinking at the same table where he’d burned Grace’s letter. Its ashes mocked him.

“Sorry I took so long, the boys didn’t want to go to bed once they knew there was a party and—” she said as she sat.

Tommy cleared his throat. “No, no it’s fine, it’s alright.”

She didn’t beat around the bush. “I heard about your letter to Churchhill asking for an export license.”

“Oh you did?” He replied with a raised brow and a glance, yes a cigarette would be needed for this.

“It’s a good move. I know it’s for whatever you’re doing to make this whole thing work for you but it was good. So far Churchill’s only known you through Campbell’s words, now he’s got your own in there too. Not much of it sure, but it’s something for me to work with.”

“I see.” He said as he lit up.

“I’ve gotten a meeting with him.” She said in a rush.

He looked at her, brows raised in surprise. “You do now?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t pretty but I guess I made enough noise to get people’s attention.”

“You didn’t have your friends help you with it?”

She made a face and shifted awkwardly, she suddenly seemed to realize what she as doing and tamped down, smoothing the action into a readjustment of her dress.

“They’ve got so much going on I didn’t want to bother them.”

If he didn’t know she was a spy, wasn’t actively picking apart her every move, he wouldn’t have noticed any of it. But he had, and it was damning. He was struck suddenly by the idea that Niamh was maybe not the most confident woman. Grace had been the opposite, assured of herself even when, perhaps, she didn’t have any right to be. Niamh however was a successful actress and spy — she’d certainly never been caught and he had some suspicions on what she’d helped achieve — but it seemed like it all sat uncomfortably on her. He’d worry about putting his life in the hand of someone so unsure in themselves if she hadn’t already gone and wrung a fucking meeting out of Winston fucking Churchill on his behalf. Jesus fucking Christ. This woman was nothing like Grace at all. Grace had killed for him yes, but as time had passed and her true identity had been revealed, he wondered how much of that had really been for him, and how much because she simply loathed the IRA. There had also been the IRA man mysteriously murdered and blamed on him, that he thought now was Grace too. She had come here to fight the IRA and gotten to kill at least one, that it helped him as well he was sure was just a happy addition for her. She had sold him out in the end after all. Niamh did not know him from fucking Adam but she had said she would help him, given her word, and was acting on it even when she clearly didn’t want to be. No matter how he had run the numbers after their last meeting he couldn’t see a clear path into how her involvement in this operation would benefit her beyond the explanation she’d given herself.

So she was, if anything, an insecure fool.

He cleared his throat, looking at the remains of Grace’s letter in the ash tray.

“When this conversation is over and we go back out there people will expect that I take you home or that we’ve already had our fun back here.” He looked into her large green eyes. “Would you like to make that assumption accurate?”

She stilled, her face going carefully blank, almost like a soldier gauging how many guns were on him, and he knew he’d made a mistake. Grace’s ghost had sent him off balance and he had thoughtlessly made this woman feel threatened. Had other British soldiers said similar things to her in Dublin? Gangsters in New York? Managers and club owners? He knew how some girls supplemented their earnings, or were pressed into unwanted acts to keep their careers. He’d thought only drowning out another woman, he hadn’t thought about her.

“If not, I can make sure no one gets the wrong idea. I own establishments here and I am planning an expansion into London where I will need to hire performers. Clean, legal establishments that normal folk go to after a long day to drink and dance, nothing untoward.”

She was silent still for a long horrible moment and he could not meet her gaze, his eyes caught somewhere between the cruel ashes of Grace and his tightly interlaced hands. Tommy was not a good man, not by a mile, but he had his limits and the shame and self disgust that a woman might think he’d take advantage was hot in him. Gently her hand came to rest on his forearm, her touch warm like sunlight.

“I know you meant nothing untoward Mr Shelby, I can see you’re not that kind of man, and if I were a different kind of girl I’d give it a real hard think. But I’m not interested in anything like that with anyone. I’ve had plenty of men chase me and enough play games and leave me hanging. I told myself when I was a girl I’d wait for a man who loved me and for marriage. But I don’t hold it against you for shooting your shot.”

He nodded, still unable to meet her eyes. “Still, Ms Brennan, my apologies. I’ll remember for the future.”

She gave his forearm a gentle squeeze.

“All’s forgiven Thomas.”

Fuck.

He cleared his throat. “Ms Brennan very soon the association between us, however tenuous, will be noted by other men in my line of business, men who own some of the establishments you currently do shows at. I will supply you with a list of these establishments and which it would be wise for you to avoid for the foreseeable future. Once our expansion is complete I will hire you to do shows at those on the list that have shifted ownership to us.”

She removed her hand from his arm.

“Thanks for the heads up, I’ll be sure to memorize it.”

He nodded and made himself look at her, to really see if she was alright.

Near as he could see she was, arms rested comfortably on the table, head tilted slightly as she observed him in return. The crystal beads of her dress and the gems of her jewelry twinkling in the dim light. He wondered how could she possibly be so calm after how strongly she’d reacted before, was it an act? Then it occurred to him, the letter. While it was barely identifiable beyond having formerly been a letter in an envelope there was a corner of one of the stamps that hadn’t completely burned. She was an American, she’d recognized the design, added it to his behavior and made a very accurate guess as to who it was from. She held nothing against him because she knew he wasn’t thinking — or that he was but not clearly.

His sources had said she’d been abandoned by her fiancé after the war and before her brother died, he supposed she understood his pain even if she didn’t share his methods of curing it.

“You should head out first, go talk to Ada and see little Karl. I’ll come out after and make sure no one thinks anything improper happened. We were just talking business and came in here so we could hear ourselves think.”

She nodded, picked up her purse from her lap and tucked her chair back in after herself.

“I’ll let you know how it goes with Churchill, and if I don’t get to see you again before I head out it was nice seeing you again Mr Shelby —”

“— Tommy, please, Tommy—”

She smiled coyly, she smiled and he felt a bit better about himself. “Tommy — If I don’t see you later, It was nice seeing you again and congratulations on the reopening. The gold is just the right level of gaudy to be fashionable.”

The small jolt of a chuckle that squeeze out of him came as a surprise. He motioned her on as he took a drag of his cigarette.

“Go on then, mingle. If people know movie stars are coming to our pub we’ll make more money.”

Niamh laughed and headed back out into the main room. Tommy hung back for moment to collect himself and make sure Grace’s letter was completely obliterated. There might be some validity to worrying about the similarities of their roles in his life but Polly had been right, he’d let Grace taint his view of every woman around him. Tonight Grace’s sway over him had caused him to make a woman feel unsafe to be alone with him. It needed to end. Not for Niamh, or Polly or anyone else, but for him. He wasn’t a good man but he had his limits and if people didn’t know what those limits were then who was he?

When he came back out he headed straight to the bar next to Lizzie and John and asked Arthur for a whiskey. He drank it down in one. John grinned at him. “Had a good time back there with miss Hollywood, ay? Good way to christen the pub.”

Lizzie raised her brow over her drink as she sipped. Arthur looked over with interest while still trying to pour drinks.

Tommy shook his head. “No. We talked business. I want her to preform in our London clubs after the expansion is finished.”

John didn’t look impressed. “Yeah sure, and you took her back there to do ask her that?”

“Easier to hear each other in there than out here.”

John gave him a look which said “bullshit”, Lizzie did too. He hung his head and put both hands on the bar as if relenting before he turned to John and Lizzie. He could put on an act too, when he needed.

“I did ask but she said no. Apparently she’s saving herself for marriage.”

John and Arthur broke out into incredulous laughter.

“Now that had to be line!” John said.

“Yeah don’t all those types get up to things?” Arthur said. “They talk all about it in the papers, marryin’ and divorcin’, marryin’ and divorcin’.”

“Well judging by her reaction I’d say it was genuine.” Tommy replied. “What she screech and clutch her pearls? Call you a bad, dirty man?”

John joked and Arthur laughed with him.

He looked at them with mournful eyes, embellishing the act.

“Worse. She put her hand on my arm and said that while she thought I was a nice man she was waiting for her future husband.”

John crowed in pain, fist to his mouth as Arthur shook his head in sympathy as he went back to filling pints, muttering about it being a “bloody shame”. Lizzie gave him a look that was a question and he gave her a blink and a slight nod that was an answer. An understanding passed between them and her lips quirked in a small smile, patting him on the back. It made him almost feel gallant and not like he was atoning for his earlier crime.

By the end of the night any gossip about a potential tryst between them was dead, excitement that they might get to see her some night in their end of Birmingham was up, and Ms Niamh Brennan’s reputation as a decent sort of woman was solidified. And all it took was a small amount of embarrassment and John and Arthur taking the mickey out of him for a while.

[writing-whump]

Migraine

Fallout with Arnie and Hector. Arnie gets sick at night.

Hector was dead tired when he got back home.

It was already dark and Isaiah had a work appointment in the city, otherwise Hector suspected he would have come too, basically seeing him off to the tram stop. Like he was worried Hector wouldn't make it without help.

After the performance he made at the mole, Hector couldn't really blame him.

His head was still spinning from all the revelations, his stomach was tied in knots over the emotional roller coaster. If he stopped to think about it too much, he would find new things to angst over.

For now he just felt raw and hollowed out and strangely...relieved.

Things weren't all solved and Isaiah skillfully sidestepped any comments about the chest pain that happened the other day. There were years of secrets and hurts and whatever weird things Isaiah got into his head.

But Hector was going to figure it out. Secret by secret if he had to. Isaiah was not getting rid of him that easy anymore.

Arnie was in an anxious spiral, even though he told Hector himself to go out of the apartment. Turned out he didn't really believe he would manage.

Hector gave him a run down of all the new details he figured out. Arnie was on his best way to draw a timeline to figure out when exactly dad's shadow went mad, when Isaiah's training started, then his missions and what other weird things happened on the way.

It was weird investigating someone who was alive and could answer questions.

Hector found the idea of the pack not noticing their leader was mad and how the hell that could happen the most alarming. A pack was there to hold up their members, cover for what one couldn't do alone. This was out of proportions worst case scenario he never even heard of before.

Arnie was more hung upon the idea of nobody being powerful enough to challange, not to mention defeat dad, aside from Isaiah. Even uncle Grayson, just a few years younger than dad, couldn't defeat him in a one-on-one fight.

Waiting for Isaiah to do that for him? Arnie was complaining about that non stop, even willing to return for a few days to see Grayson on his own. Which was a miracle, cause since coming to see Isaiah, Hector couldn't tear Arnie away from the city.

Of course, Arnie didn't have such a strong pack instinct as a human, but the way he could ignore everyone else when focused on his own goals was incomprehensible to Hector.

Then again, Arnie wasn't all that well treated by the wolves either, so maybe he should stop with the shock.

They talked almost until midnight.

Hector's eyes were falling shut insistently while sitting up. He was exhausted after feeling and purging himself of so many things the day.

When it happened the third time, Arnie made the executive decision to go to sleep.

Hector was out before his head hit the pillow, relieved his stomach was finally steady, even if it sore like he gave it a thorough workout.

...

Hector woke up to a weird keening noise.

A quiet but insistent little sound, reminding him of a hurt animal.

He slid his legs from the bed, rubbing at his eyes. Sleep was sticking to him because of the exhaustion and he didn't feel any danger, nothing alarming him to a foreign or hostile presence.

Stumbling out, he followed the source of the noise to the bathroom. The door was slightly open, but there was no light.

He pushed the door open, switching the light on. The sight hit like a bucket of cold water.

Arnie was curled up around the toilet, elbows on the seat, pressing his hands against his temples in a vice grip. He was white as a sheet, covered in sweat and there was vomit on his chin.

Even worse, when he lifted his eyes to Hector, squinting, they were bloodshot and red, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Arnie groaned as the light hit him, bowing down to wrap his hands around his head.

Hector cursed, switching the light off again, skidding to his knees beside him.

"Pipsqueak, hey, hey. When did this hit?" The sensitivity to light, the pain written all over his face...

Hector was well acquainted with Arnie's migraines. They weren't that frequent anymore, but there was a time when he was around 15 that Arnie would get them every two weeks, like on clock. Hector never felt so helpless as when Arnie cried himself to sleep in a little ball, moaning even when he wasn't aware, against a pain Hector couldn't see, couldn't heal and do nothing against.

Their best bet was usually looking out for the triggers to prevent one coming in the first place. Depending on what it was the meds worked differently. There could be too little sleep, too much sitting, stressed out, food that didn't sit well, some flues even ended with migraines on top.

Hector didn't understand where the hell they came from with a healthy teenage kid. Except now that he had seen Isaiah at the event and thought back about their crappy childhoods...yeah, probably not so weird they both carried something out of it.

It was still frustrating as hell.

"S-sorry, didn't mean to wake you..." Arnie's voice was quiet, careful of his own volume, but Hector could hear the pain and tears written in it loud and clear.

"Dumbass. You should have," Hector chastised in the softest voice he could manage, shifting to sit behind Arnie.

His eyes were adjusting to the dark quickly, but he wasn't suprised to find a puddle of vomit where Arnie's probably didn't.

Hector put his hands gently on Arnie's shoulders. "Did you try your meds? Paralen or muscle relaxants-"

"W-on't stay down," Arnie whimpered.

Yeah, then they were fucked until he could stop vomiting.

"God, Hex. It hurts so much," Arnie whined, slumping forward, all but breaking Hector's heart.

"I know, buddy. Shhhh, try to take deep breaths. We should lie you dow-"

Arnie interrupted the suggestion with a heave, but only a loud wet burp came up. The sudden quick movement made him moan though, shoulders locking up under Hector's hands.

Arnie's stomach gurgled and then swirling sound shot up his throat. The heave brought up a wave of chunky vomiting, Arnie yelping as it jostled his spine.

Hector held his shoulders, helping him aim over the center of the toilet bowl. The vomit splattered loudly into the water.

Arnie hitched, new wave of tears running down his cheeks as he curled up from the pain. "Hhhhurts..."

"Shhhhhh," Hector shushed him, wrapping up toilet paper around his hand to gently mop Arnie's face and chin from behind. "I know this sucks, bud, but you gotta stop crying. It's making you sicker."

When he puked, the pain would spike, making him puke more. It was a viscous cycle hard to break.

Arnie sobbed instead, hands gripping the rim with all their strength. "...God, God, God...we messed it up so badly....

"What?" Hector squashed himself between the wall and Arnie to get a look at him, cupping his chin. "What are you talking about, kiddo?"

"Zaya- did-" he hiccuped, "I'm ssosssorry." More tears sprang up and Arnie choked up another sob, the keening noise joining the scene. "Sosorrry."

Hector cringed, abruptly knowing perfectly well what Arnie meant.

He mentally kicked himself for not realizing sooner.

What, did Hector think only he would be affected? That only he would blame himself for not noticing, for breaking contact with Isaiah, for forcing him to handle everything on his own?

He should have called Isaiah the moment they found out. Just like Arnie said. Hell, he should have dragged Isaiah to Arnie, let them talk it out.

Arnie jerked out of Hector's hold to heave again, crying loudly as he puked up another gush, then almost choking as it came out of his nose too.

He was panting for breath, chest hitching with sobs and little moans and goddammit this was awful.

Hector shifted out of the way, changing tactics.

He sat down against the wall right behind his kid brother, then scooped him up gently to sit him in his lap. He fixed Arnie gently to lean against Hector's chest, neck straight and head against him so he didn't have to hold his weight.

"Hexxxx, oww, Ifeelsick-"

"Shhhh, lean back and try to breathe. Just breathe."

Arnie was shaking against him, heaving, but Hector stayed put, braced for it. Important was fixing Arnie's back so he wouldn't be rolling his whole spine and neck as he gagged.

A splash of warm liquid dribbled past Arnie's lips and onto Hector's hands circled around his chest.

"Shhhhhh. It's okay, everything's fine. Focus on breathing and not crying. I got you."

Arnie whined, but then sagged against Hector in exhaustion.

Hector set himself to ignore the sensation of awful smelling liquid drying on his fingers, holding Arnie's shoulder from the back with one large hand, thumb rubbing up and down.

"Breathing, remember. Just breathe. Close your eyes and don't think about anything else."

Arnie whimpered, but obeyed, taking deeper breaths. His throat was bobbing nervously against the nausea, but the immobile position and leaning against something helped steady him.

"There you go. You are doing great."

Hector waited for a bit longer, until Arnie's breathing came semi-regularly before he dared to reach for the roll of toilet paper.

Without jostling Arnie and moving with incredibly deliberate slowness, he teared a bit of the paper to clean Arnie's face and neck, then taking more to wipe his sticky fingers.

He threw it all the toilet, but he was too worried the sound of flushing would upset the fragile balance, so opted against it.

They waited silently in the bathroom, Arnie leaning his head even more back against Hector's shoulder, breathing through his mouth.

Hector dared to put his hand on Arnie's forehead, cold and clammy. Arnie sighed contendly, finally not crying.

"I'm so sorry, pipsqueak," Hector whispered. "I should have realized this would affect you too."

Arnie swallowed heavily, not saying anything. Then he made a soft throaty sound, that got Hector scrambling up in alarm.

It was a laugh. Strained and small, but real.

"What a historical moment. You apologising to me."

Hector grunted. "You are a cheeky little bastard. Worrying the hell out of me. Jesus fucking Christ."

Arnie laughed once more, dissolving into a cough at the end. His head lolled under Hector's chin. "Uhmmm. I'm cold."

"You feeling better? Not gonna be sick again?"

Arnie's hand went to Hector's hand on his shoulder, patting it lightly. "Not feeling pukey right now."

"Alright. Let's get you lying down." Hector moved slowly, carefully, but his heart was leaping at Arnie responding and being calmer. He unceremoniously picked his brother up, scrawny as he was, carrying him to the sofa.

"Here. Lie down straight." Hector pushed the pillows away so Arnie could do just that, flat on his back, neck on the same level as his back.

Arnie squirmed a little, but when Hector touched his shoulder again, he stretched his legs and rolled his shoulders tentatively.

Hector could feel the stress knots between his shoulder and neck.

Thank shadow it was deep in the night, the light being no problem.

He brought a glass of cold water, but Arnie made a disgusted grimace at it, so Hector left it on the table. He sat down on on the ground next to him with a good view on Arnie's face.

His forehead was wrinkled and eyes squinting, but he was breathing more calmly now.

Hector gently stroked his thumb over the crease between Arnie's eyebrows. "Wanna try the meds? Would a massage help? Or do you think you could manage some sleep?"

"Uhmmm. This feels a bit better," he said softly. "Think I could fall asleep. Just...stay?"

"Right here and not moving," Hector reassured, voice rough, resting his forehead on the sofa next to Arnie's ear.

Neither of them mentioned the crying again, for which he was grateful. He hated seeing Arnie cry and any reason that would cause him to do so.

"I'm gonna fix this," Hector promised quietly as Arnie's breathing evened out. "Just you wait."