#it is very therapeutic to write.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

i don't feel like i can/should reveal much, but just know that i am halfway done with a very very special treat for you all.........

[lescarnetsdehaku]

Hear the music, hear the pipers!

See how life is beautiful. When a life drifts away, a thousand more memories prevail. For a life that is lost, they'd live in thousand stories, and a thousand more hearts will tell them again !

[imalwaysaslutforthevoid]

The Summer Hikaru Died and onomatopoeia

I've wanted to gush about this topic for a while and i have no organized thoughts but a lot of feelings i need to get out. First and foremost being "Holy shit this manga is so damn loud" which is a weird feeling to have since manga is generally understood to be a silent medium.

And yet the Mangaka MokuMoku Ren has filled their work to the brim with sound. Now comics using onomatopoeia (words that echo a noise ie: crunch) is nothing new the sound of a fist hitting it's target and walls being wrecked is nothing new. But usually onomatopoeia is worked into whatever action is resulting in the noise

adding both a sense of motion as well as sound. Which is what makes The Summer Hikaru Died's use of it so unique and compelling. To utilize onomatopoiea you have to give up on space that could otherwise be going to deatil work in the background or foreground. Now this is fine with smaller unobtrusive effects like Wolverine's claw extending, and there's numerous example's where a sound will take up large portions of the page to show how loud something like a bomb going off is. But i've yet to see another comic western or otherwise so consistently use this facet of the medium to instill such claustrophobia and dread. As a slower paced horror manga The Summer Hikaru Died builds it's suspense mostly through atomosphere, the supernatural happenings weighing on the surrounding evironment until they break the surface

The use of sound is heavy, it's harsh, it's a vehicle to show how wrong things have gotten from the whisper of "it's coming" heard in the ringing bell of a train crossing to the omnipresent call of birds, bugs, and frogs that pushes in on the paneling shrinking the world with their cacophony.

the way sound shrinks the world making reader and character both feel suffocated by the drone is matched by how the manga uses silence as a way to make the characters feel exposed and vulnerable. the page is now empty of distraction the world of the story on full display and it still feels wrong it's agorophobic, at least amidst the din there was some sense of anonymity being just one voice among hundrends.

even the speech bubble feels out of place as it wanders off desperate to fill the space. The manga is full of these moments of sound and silence in some dance with eachother always too much or too little, never comfortable. It adds a lot to the horror of the manga, and is just one part of many that makes The Summer Hikaru Died such an excellent manga, every chapter I can feel my skin crawl as the setting becomes more hostile to the charactres while they uncover more of the truth of their circumstances.

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah

[active-mind-15]

[Art related to my fic, Accidental Siblings.]

Friendos! I'm back with more cute baby Bokushi fanart based on this headcanon of mine from my fic. I know Mibuchi has shorter hair in Extra/Last Game, but I like being in denial so I gave him back his inches. Anyway, hope you enjoy the fluffiness. 🤭

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

current editing moodboard, please send help

[swordsonnet]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Magnus Protocol (Podcast) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Characters: Needles (The Magnus Protocol), Original Male Character(s) Additional Tags: Episode: e006 Introductions (The Magnus Protocol), Angst, Needles, Body Horror, Murder, Blood, Original Character Death(s), Character Study, Sort Of, the M rating is for violence not sex but there's A LOT of homoerotic subtext, plus some bdsm vibes but that just comes with the territory i think, (the major character death warning is for the oc) Summary:

Needles finds a new victim - or rather, his victim finds him.

have you been listening to the magnus protocol and found yourself in dire need of a fanfic from the POV of this week’s cringefail tumblr sexyman antagonist? no? too bad, because i wrote one anyway! check it out if you’re a fan of homoerotic stabbing and/or failguys covered in needles.

[finderseeker]

HERE’S MORE. I GUESS

the, uh. Previous part, for context. Yeah and there’s a tag now. For stuff related to the actual… “plot” of this. It’s #seeker/tempus storyline (hopefully that works on mobile,,)

This was not supposed to turn into a thing. This cannot become a whole thing I need to get back to my actual fic—

*sigh* But. Here we are. 4000 words of,,, whatever this is. I namedrop the other skeletons and then it’s Tempus ruminating and then him and Seeker crying at each other

Papyrus and Sans were, as one might expect, surprised Seeker tried to leave suddenly, especially without saying goodbye. WD only had part of the story when he went to tell them, after dropping her and Tempus off at the house. (He may have omitted the part where he initially refused to help Tempus stop her from getting killed.)

When the brothers all return to their house, a couple hours later, Seeker is curled into Tempus’s chest on the couch, and there’s a small pile of crumpled tissues on the floor. She’s since fallen asleep from exhaustion, but as tired as he is, Tempus can’t find it in himself to sleep too.

She said she loves him. It made his entire SOUL feel bright to hear that returned. He wishes they had been able to tell each other under better circumstances, but it remains a truth regardless, doesn’t it? Still, the joy is muted by fear and hurt. Does it make sense why she wanted to leave? Yes. Did she actually intend to leave him behind forever without ever saying goodbye? No. But it keeps replaying in his mind, the look on her face when he burst in to plead with her: the way she tried to ignore him. Yes, alright, she was probably focusing on not getting hit, but— there was just something about her expression. Something that stung like rejection. Would she not have told him her intention, even then, if he hadn’t directly interfered? She later told him that she didn’t know if she’d be able to come back, had she made it to the surface. What did that mean? Was there a version of this where she left and couldn’t return and he would have just never known why?

He pushes the thought away best he can and tries to redirect his attention.

It feels good to be able to hold her like this. To comb his fingers through her hair. To experience all the weird things close-up, like her heartbeat, and swallowing, and stomach noises.

…As happy as he is that she’s alive, and here, and loves him back, he’s a little upset at her, yeah. Yet how can he be? If he were in her shoes, wouldn’t he miss his family the same? And she wanted to help everyone. She wanted to help. It made sense to try to leave and come back—

But why was she so determined not to talk to him first? Maybe he wouldn’t have been happy about it, but…

And not only did she try to leave, not only did she try to ignore him when he came to find her, not only did she refuse to give any kind of explanation— she tricked him. Since the day they met, before he even knew her, he trusted her with his eyes. One of the first things she had learned about him was that he could hardly see more than blurred colors without his glasses. Sure, he took them off himself plenty of times, whether for his safety goggles, or to look cool in shades, or for some other reason, but that was different. She threw his glasses. She made him think she was relenting, coming to him in trust, and she tore them off his face.

Was everything else not enough without that on top?

She knew he wouldn’t stop otherwise. That was a correct assessment. She was convinced that what she was doing was necessary. That made her do things she otherwise would not have.

But did she have to twist the knife?

No amount of reasoning through it can pull out the seeds of doubt and fear that have begun to take root in his heart. No matter how long he spends sitting there absently stroking her hair and staring at the wall, no matter how much he reflects on what she told him, the thoughts of “she would leave if she could” play in perfect harmony with that background music in his soul that he rarely even notices anymore: a perpetual fear of abandonment.

And so when his cousins come home later, with Seeker asleep on his chest, he is sure the tracks of tears on his cheeks are still visible— as if the hollow expression on his face and equally hollow glowing of his eyelights isn’t enough to tell them he isn’t up for talking.

For once, no one tries to kick him off the couch for the night.

Papyrus brings them a blanket. At one point, without him noticing, Sans (presumably— since no one else can move that unnoticed) leaves a bag of takeout from Grillby’s next to the couch. Tempus eats his feelings in the form of then-cold fries. When he and WD catch each other’s eye at one point, Tempus looks away. Never one to push, WD leaves him alone.

In truth, he’s kind of pissed at his cousin. No, that’s not true. He’s livid. Sure: WD took him to the castle, and brought them home, and healed them. But he saw Seeker leave and wasn’t going to say anything? He knew full well what would have happened. He would have let her be killed. Even knowing how Tempus feels, even knowing she meant no harm, even knowing she thought of him as a friend! A human may be powerful, but not only is it blatantly obvious that Seeker would never kill, if WD had any doubt that Asgore would prevail, he would not have let her go.

He knew, he knew that he was letting her walk to her death. And then he tried to convince Tempus to let it happen.

WD is a nervous guy, and fears humans. As comfortable with Seeker as he had allowed himself to become in the last few months, none of the other skeletons were under the mistaken impression that he liked her very much. Even still, Tempus had thought it was more out of fear of being discovered or reported, out of fear for his reputation maybe, out of a lifetime of only focusing on humans’ potential for harm. Never, not once did Tempus think that WD, the cousin he was closest to, would just let someone die. And not just anyone— someone Tempus cares about.

In the end, is this how it really is? Not even the people you love care enough to tell you the truth unless you force it out of them. If it weren’t strictly necessary, would anyone actually tell him anything? Could he even trust them when they did?

Slapped in the face twice in one day.

…These fries taste awful cold.

- - -

Seeker wakes up late at night, when it’s dark in the house and everyone is quiet. Her head hurts like she got hit with a bat. …Why does it smell like fries? And what is she laying on? She sits up.

Oh.

Tempus.

Everything comes rushing back all at once and the guilt almost makes her vomit. He’s sleeping, but must not have fallen asleep too long ago because he looks like he’s been crying. It makes her heart twist so painfully that her eyes water a little. He was crying. And it was her fault. Gosh, he deserves so much better than her. When she thinks about everything he’s done for her, and how she’s repaid him…

A sharp, bitter laugh tears out of her before she can stop it. She still owes him $20.

Her stomach gurgles. She knows she’s hungry, and needs to eat, but the idea of eating is utterly repulsive with the nauseating guilt. Instead, she leans over Tempus again. He fell asleep with his glasses on. Wait, didn’t she have hers on too? It only takes a split second to locate them on the side table next to the arm of the couch where Tempus’s head rests. He must have taken them off for her. It’s never comfortable to sleep with them on, after all. She moves to do the same for him, but freezes just before. The scene from earlier plays in her head, so vivid it’s like it’s happening in front of her, and she flinches away to cover her face and claw at her hair.

“BAD bad bad bad—”

It’s a tendency— or perhaps a compulsion, because she can’t always stop herself— when unpleasant memories intrude like this, to hiss something at them in a frantic whisper. To make them go away.

“I’ll do better I’ll do better��!”

It’s not the first time. It won’t be the last. But usually it’s older memories, not fresh ones.

She doesn’t try again to remove his glasses.

As much as she enjoys the thought of cuddling with him, she doesn’t feel totally comfortable with the idea of sharing a sleeping space just yet. She fell asleep on him in her exhausted misery, and she doesn’t blame him for not wanting to leave her alone. He probably didn’t think she would sleep so long, or that he would fall asleep too. But now that she’s awake, the best thing to do would probably be to sleep elsewhere.

…She very much does not want to leave. It’s cold outside, even just to get to where she’s claimed a “room” in the shed. And there’s nowhere else in the house. Well, there’s the floor. The floor would be alright— she can fall asleep just about anywhere, truthfully. But she’ll need another blanket. And maybe a pillow, if she can find one.

Seeker slowly moves to get off the couch without disturbing Tempus. She’s fairly certain she’s successful, too, until she turns and makes to step away.

“Seeker—! Don’t leave,” comes his voice, pleading and scratchy with sleep and tears, as small as she’s ever heard it. “Please.”

She spins with a pang in her heart to see Tempus’s outstretched hand reaching for her, eyes burning hollow periwinkle and already brimming with tears.

“Stars, please, Seeker. Please—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she rushes to reassure, on her knees beside him in an instant with his hand in hers. “Just getting another blanket.”

He blinks at her, seemingly all the way awake now, then laughs bitterly and covers his face with his free hand, knees coming up as he curls. “Blanket.” He sighs, and smiles grimly through what she assumes is embarrassment. “Of course.”

“I’ll… be right back.” She squeezes his hand, then lets it go.

A moment later sees her return with a blanket and pillow. Tempus is sitting upright now, feet on the floor, with his face in his hands and his glasses pushed up to his forehead rather than taken off. Seeker slowly lowers to the couch beside him, pillow and blanket set to the side.

“I’m sorry,” she says, quietly. “I should have… done it differently.”

“You can get a blanket if you really want to,” Tempus mumbles, rubbing his sockets with the heels of his hands. “If that’s what you… But a heads-up woulda— Just, anything not to scare me so bad.”

She swallows. “I just… I don’t know if I could’ve…. still brought myself to get up, if I’d woken you up first.” She wrings her hands. “I would’ve felt awful, because I wanted you to be able to sleep. I thought I could go and get it with you being none the wiser. Okay maybe just… just a little colder for a minute, but then—”

“You really thought I’d be none the wiser!?” Tempus snaps suddenly, turning to look at her. “If you just disappeared!? With no explanation!?”

Seeker flinches away. With his lip curled in a snarl and his eyelights flared, he looks like a wounded animal. But it’s gone in an instant, and the anger gives way to hurt as he looks away again. But it’s done, and she’s retreated from him to the far side of the couch, curled in on herself and holding back tears again.

He’s right. (Because she knows he wasn’t talking about the blanket.) It was selfish. And she hurt him. Of course he’s upset. No matter what he said earlier, it was stupid to think he wouldn’t be, just because she was still here, and alive. He was just putting it aside for her sake. Because of course he’d do that, he’s Tempus. Lord, why was everything he did all for her?

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s a whimper. (‘Stop,’ she begs mentally, ‘my heart is going to break at this rate!’) She blinks back tears as she stares into his wide eyes, no longer flared periwinkle. “Didn’t mean to snap at you,” he rasps in apology, too fast, “y-you’re still…”

Seeker shakes her head and scoots closer. He turns his head away from her once again. “No,” she murmurs, “I should’ve handled it differently. It was— It was selfish.”

“You wanted to help everyone,” he counters, “that’s not selfish.”

“I shouldn’t have just left,” she presses, hoping the remorse is clear in her voice. “I should have talked with you guys.” She pauses. “With you.”

It’s quiet.

It’s quiet for a long time.

The blue darkness feels so big and so small; The whole entire world is somewhere in this dark, and at the same time there’s nothing in existence but this room and this janky green couch and the two of them. The empty fullness of it feels its own sort of alive.

“‘t’s hard to believe you,” Tempus murmurs after a while. After it’s been long enough that Seeker isn’t sure he’s talking about the same thing anymore.

She swallows nervously, afraid of the answer to what she’s about to ask. “That I regret how I handled it…?”

His head is still turned away from her, in the quiet. He doesn’t answer right away. The hesitation is palpable, the held-back energy full of so many reasons for being so. When he finally does answer, his voice shakes, shudders.

“That you love me.”

Seeker feels her heart break right in half.

“A-And I know, it’s not the time—!” Tempus throws a hand up as he continues, voice finally breaking as it all comes pouring out, and it’s so thick with tears and the same distressed smile he keeps forcing. He looks at the ceiling. The next part comes out with a laugh that’s trying very hard not to be a sob. “Ya just lost your family, this— this isn’t gonna be somethin’ you can deal with right now. I get it!”

She reaches toward him, hand hovering over his shoulder as he breaks down.

“But—”

Her hand curls around his arm, and he spins around to face her with an expression that shatters what’s left of her heart.

“—But to leave a-an’ then not even talk to me when I came runnin’! Ya kept your eyes shut every time I tried to getcha to look! And when I finally— When ya did, it—” He swallows a hiccup and shakes his head, looking somehow even more hurt. His eyes are lit again. “You tricked me,” he whispers. “Cuz y’know I can’t see.” He lets that hang in the air for a moment. “A-An’ then, when ya realized ya can’t leave, then,” he laughs, almost incredulously, “then y’tell me ya love me.”

Seeker can barely look at him, but he deserves to be looked in the eye. He shakes his head. “I-I wanna believe you so bad, Seeker, but what’m I s’posed to think?”

It does sound worse, like that. It was a given that he’d be upset, but she hadn’t thought about how confused he must be. How contradictory her actions must seem. And lord, it crushes her to see him hurting like this. She’s overwhelmed, unsure how to proceed, weighed down by her own grief and still processing the fact that she almost died today, on top of all of this with Tempus. She only wanted to reassure him when she told him that she felt the same, earlier, with all he had done for her. But instead all she did was make it worse. Lord, she always makes everything worse, no matter how she tries to make things better.

“I-I—” She’s utterly at a loss, searching his watery eyes with her own damp ones and wanting nothing more than to somehow clarify everything, fix everything, make him feel like he’s hers and she wants him and loves him and it’s real, it’s all real!

Not knowing what else to do, what she could possibly say, she reaches for his hands and intertwines their fingers as she leans closer. “I do,” she insists, urgently. Frantic, almost. “I’m so bad at everything about this and I did a really, really terrible job of showing it, but I do, I do!”

Her heart is in her throat and tears are burning her eyes and the longer she looks at him the more pieces her heart breaks into.

“Everything you do is for me, even though I’m oblivious, even though sometimes I’m crappy to be around, even though I’m so bad at being a good friend, even though you haven’t gotten anything back for it but hurt. I-I thought if I told you how I feel the same way, after everything you did for me today, th-then it would be reassuring that it wasn’t for nothing. But I made it worse!! I’m so sorry, Tempus, I’m sorry for all of it! But I meant it—” She sniffs and drops her head. It’s a small thing, but maybe it will mean something; she brings his knuckles to her lips.

“I do… do love you,” she insists, softly. “I’m bad at it, but I wanna- I wanna prove it.” A sniffle. “I just need… a little time. T-To grieve.”

Tempus sniffs too, and when she looks up he’s still crying but his cheeks are flushed. He nods a couple times before finding his words, between the occasional hiccup.

“That’s fair. ‘M… ‘m sorry, I didn’t want t’… bring all this up. B-But it…”

Seeker shakes her head. “No, you’re hurting too. That should get talked about.” Her fingers tighten around his. “I’m sorry your feelings keep getting put on the back burner.”

“They’re not as im—” He’s cut off by her head whipping up and the intensity in her eyes.

“Don’t say that! It makes me feel awful!” she cries. His mouth clicks shut. Seeker leans in close, one hand untangling from his to hover close to his face as she looks him over with so much heartache. “Everything about you is important. Just as important as anything about anyone else.” She swallows. “And— and more. Important. Than stuff about anyone else. T-To… To me.”

He stares at her in bewilderment, and then his eyes go periwinkle— solid, with white centers this time— as a fresh wave of tears hits. Another hitch in his breathing, and he leans his face into her hovering hand and presses over it with his own hand.

“You have every right to be mad at me,” Seeker murmurs, miserable at the idea despite knowing it’s her own fault. “But don’t think I did any of this because I don’t care. Or- Or because you’re not as important.”

His eyes search hers, and his mouth opens like he wants to say something, but he changes his mind, and as he turns his eyes away, they fade back to just white. Still, he holds her hand to his face, and she thumbs away some stray tears.

“Tempus,” Seeker begins again, her voice still wobbly, and he glances back up. She makes sure she’s looking at him. “I’m sorry I took your glasses. And I’m sorry I threw them. That was…” She gulps. “That was a really shitty thing to do.”

She doesn’t like to swear, but occasionally there really is no other word that fits. This is one of those times. Tempus doesn’t even flinch at hearing it from her.

“…Yeah,” he whispers back, looking down. “It was.”

All the guilt she feels is deserved, she reminds herself. He doesn’t owe her forgiveness, either. And there’s more to apologize for.

“A-And I’m sorry I tricked you.”

His face scrunches up painfully and he almost turns away.

“It’s not an excuse,” she continues, “but in the moment I really did think it was the only way. Doesn’t make it okay, or right, but at- at least know it’s not because I didn’t…”

Didn’t what? Didn’t care about his well-being or safety? Obviously she must not, if she did that! Didn’t want him there? She didn’t, though, or she would’ve told him her plan ahead of time. There wasn’t a single good reason. Everything about that action betrayed a lack of respect. What could she even say?

“L-Like I said, I… should’ve handled the entire thing differently. And I’m sorry. F-For everything it implies.”

“Y’know I can’t see,” he whispers, an echo from earlier. Still doesn’t look at her.

“Y-Yeah.” She won’t try to avoid taking responsibility. Her hand squeezes around his. “It was too far. Way too far.” Seeker’s chest aches and it comes out in her voice. “I will never do anything like that again.” He finally looks back up at her. “You deserve more respect than that. I’m sorry. It doesn’t feel like enough, but I am.”

Silence as he searches her eyes, silence as she hopes he sees her earnestness in her expression, in her tears. Silence as he lowers his gaze and her heart drops with it.

“Promise.” It’s more of a question, a request, than a demand. Spoken so quietly she can barely hear.

“I swear to you.” No hesitation.

He pulls away from her hand on his face but doesn’t let go of it, and instead turns further to face her, leg up on the couch, and drops his head to rest against her shoulder when she turns too. He holds her hand against his face once more. Seeker lets go of his other hand to wrap her arm around his back.

“Okay,” is all he murmurs.

Is it acceptance, or resignation?

She rubs his back, slowly, up and down, tracing over the flattened spines down the middle when she comes to them. His little tail, sticking out from the bottom of his shirt, sways back and forth in time. Rather than say anything more, Seeker closes her eyes and presses her face against the top of his head. She’s so fortunate that after everything, he’s still here. Maybe he won’t want to be, once everything settles. That’s well within his right. But he’s here right now, and he wants to be close despite it all, and for never having acted on their feelings before now, really, holding him feels so natural.

Undoubtedly, he can feel her teardrops on his skull, but he doesn’t say anything. Seeker reflects on the irony of the whole situation: in a bid to save everything, she lost almost all of it. No more family. No way home. Maybe she could have coped with those facts better if she’d known sooner, and had her skeleton friends’ support. But instead it went like this, and she betrayed all of them, almost lost her life, almost lost Tempus— might still lose Tempus.

But he’s here for now. And she deserves whatever he decides to do, but right now, she just wants him to know, more than anything, that while her well-intentioned attempts to do the right thing were very misguided, while she was (and still is, even) prepared to give up who she cares about for the greater good—

“I love you.”

Said right against his skull, like she could somehow whisper it into his very being. She feels his fingers curl in the back of her shirt.

“I don't think… I could be very good to you. Right now. But if…” She swallows. This a lot to ask. She can hardly so much as whisper it. “If you'd wait… I’ll get better.”

Silence.

“J-Just think about it.”

He must be exhausted. Emotionally, mentally, physically. She feels his weight begin to sag against her– and while not especially so, he's heavier than she had once thought a skeleton would be. Maybe, maybe she can make an exception to her sleeping rule. These are extenuating circumstances.

“C’mere.”

With the pillow and blanket from earlier behind her, she shifts them around with one hand and holds Tempus close with the other. When it's sorted out, she leans back and pulls him with her. He doesn't fight it, instead adjusting himself as they move to better fit around her. Hesitantly, he finally removes his glasses, and reaches to set them on the arm of the couch behind her. It all ends with him half on his side, half on his stomach; half on her and half beside her. But the important thing is that his head is tucked under hers, and his arms are around her, and hers are around him. She pulls the blankets up over them.

One last little sniffle, and she squeezes him gently. “Get some sleep, Tem.”

He hums some sound at the nickname, but whether it's in approval or not, Seeker can't tell. In either case, he turns his face into her shoulder. She rests a hand on the back of his skull.

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

[boxwinebaddie]

feeling a little sentimental in this chilis so i just wanted to thank everyone on here ( specifically my girl gayng ) for supporting my weird creative style girl au endeavors no matter how strange or odd, my capricious posting and what is probably the constant chaotic presentation of what is intense bipolar and prolly undiagnosed adhd. not all heroes wear capes and thank you for your service. <3

[celestie0]

im really enjoying writing for ‘in holy matriphony’ the fake marriage trope is such a fuckin vibe

[jamietxrtt]

.

It wasn’t until the phone was already ringing that Roy thought through the logistics of his plan. Whether he should call Ted or not wasn’t even a question-- he had to get an explanation for this, right now-- but the time difference wasn’t something Roy had considered. It was probably around three in the morning in Kansas right now. Ted might not even pick up the phone at all-- and if he did, he’d be in bed, eyes blinking open and hair askew. The mental image of Ted being woken up by his call almost made Roy feel guilty for a second, but he was too fucking pissed off to feel bad for very long.

Eventually, Ted did pick up the phone, a croaked “Roy?” sounding tinny through Roy’s phone.

“What the fuck did you do?” Roy demanded immediately. “What did you say to him?”

“What’d I-- what?” Ted sounded bleary and unfocused, his voice still hoarse. “W’happened?”

“Jamie. You fucking said something to him.”

“I-- I did?”

Roy’s teeth ground together with an unpleasant squeak. “About his father.”

The line was silent for a moment.

“Oh.”

“You said something to him, about-- forgiveness?! Forgiveness, Ted?” Roy shook his head in disbelief, though he knew Ted couldn’t see it over the phone. “You fucking told him to forgive his father.”

“Yeah, well, I thought it might--”

“Fuck whatever you thought it might do,” Roy growled. “He’s fucking bleeding right now, because of you.”

“He-- what?!” Now Ted sounded more awake. “Wait, Jamie? What happened? Is he okay?”

“No thanks to you.” Roy squeezed the wooden railing of his porch, glaring into the night sky above. “Because of your little fucking pep talk, he ended up letting his father start fucking living with him, and now I’ve had to just spend the past hour talking him down from a fucking panic attack and cleaning the fucking blood off his fucking face and-- fuck, Ted! Did you even think at all about what you were fucking saying?” Roy shook his head again, trying his best to keep his volume under control-- Jamie was just on the other side of a glass door, after all. “Why would you fucking say that to him?”

“I…” There was an indistinct shuffling from the other side of the phone, like Ted was scrambling to get out of bed. “I didn’t tell him to do any of that, I just said--”

“You said to forgive him.”

“No-- well, I--”

“Yes. Jamie said that’s the word you used.”

“But that’s not what I meant.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you fucking meant, Lasso. Whatever you meant to say, what he got from it was that he has to bend over fucking backwards to accommodate his father, give him a second chance-- no, not a second chance, a fucking thousand-and-second chance-- or else Ted is going to be disappointed in him.”

There was another moment of quiet, where Ted let out a long, controlled breath. Part of Roy’s brain supplemented a memory of Ted before a game, closing his eyes and performing breathing exercises into cupped palms, but the rest of Roy rejected it outright. He was too fucking blazing mad to be feeling any sort of understanding for Ted at the moment.

“I do think forgiveness is a-- a virtue we should all strive towards,” Ted said finally, calmly, and Roy barked out a laugh.

“You think that fucking matters right now? Your fucking Lasso philosophy? He’s bleeding, Ted.”

“Well, I didn’t know that was how this would end up!” Ted’s voice shot back, suddenly defensive in a way Roy had never heard him before. “Everyone can change, Roy, you know I believe that--”

“Jesus, Ted, you weren’t thinking for a fucking second about the consequences of what you said to him, were you? You saw fucking Wembley! Jamie is terrified of that man! He’s sent him to the fucking hospital before! Sure, maybe he can fucking change, I don’t fucking know.” Roy ran his hands through his hair. “But you really think it’s worth the risk of letting Jamie get hurt again, on the off-chance that this is the time things are different? When that man sends him into hysterics every time he’s around? When Jamie’s still got scars from him? I mean, this is the man that had him fucking raped at fourteen, Jesus, Ted--”

“He-- what?!” Ted squawked over the line, but Roy was too fired up to stop.

“You think it’s worth the fucking risk just to-- just ‘cause he could change this time? What if he fucking doesn’t? Or doesn’t yet? Even if he does change, it’s not gonna be instantaneous. You willing to just let him keep hurting Jamie for another-- year, two years, ten years, until he’s finally changed? That’s worth it? Just ‘cause forgiveness is a fucking virtue?”

Roy stopped to breathe, his cheeks hot with anger as he heaved in one breath after another.

When Ted spoke again, he sounded terrified. “I didn’t-- now, Roy, a lot of that stuff I didn’t even know about--”

“Bullshit,” Roy spat. “Bullshit, bullshit. You were there at Wembley. You saw enough. You saw.” Roy dug his fingernails into the wooden railing. The wood was soft from the rain last night. “And even if you’re right-- even if that man could change, did change-- even if he never hurt Jamie again, you still think-- you know what he said to me? He said, ‘I thought it’s what I had to do to be a good person.’ That’s what he said. Because of what you fucking told him, he thought he’d be a bad person if he just deleted his dad’s fucking number and went the fuck on with his life like I told him to do.”

“That’s not what I said to him. I was just giving advice, I didn’t say that not following it would make him a bad person--”

“Jesus, Ted, that doesn’t fucking matter! The boys look up to you, they--” Roy growled, slamming his fist down on the railing. “How many times have you given me this exact same fucking talk? ‘Careful what you say to them, Roy, you know how they look up to you. You say jump, they say how high.’ Yeah? Didn’t you fucking say that to me?”

“Roy--”

“You tell them that something is the right thing to do, of course they’re gonna assume it’s the fucking-- universal truth of it. Of course they’re gonna wanna do what you say, ‘cause Ted’s the best person, so if he says this is what’s right then it must be what I have to do to be good too, yeah? Of course they’re gonna fucking listen to you. Christ, Ted. Surely you know the effect you have on people.”

Ted was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice wasn’t shrill or defensive-- it was just soft. “Well, I didn’t mean…”

“Yeah, whatever,” Roy huffed. He turned to peer through the glass door back into the house, but Jamie wasn’t in his line of sight. He should probably get back in there-- Jamie had been alone for a while now. But he turned back toward the backyard, back toward the night sky, to address Ted one last time. “I’m fucking pissed at you, Ted. I’m pissed that you fucked this up so massively and then just fucking left. I’m pissed that it’s my job now to pick up the pieces of the thing you broke. Why do I have to be the one to clean up your fucking mess?”

Ted said nothing.

“Whatever. I have to go take care of my fucking player.”

“Hold on, now. Roy--”

Roy hung up.

After tucking his phone back into his pocket with shaking hands, Roy gripped the railing tight, bending forward to shut his eyes and breathe down into the floor. He couldn’t go back in there like this, still flushed red and shaking with rage, not when Jamie was still so fragile. He gave himself a minute to breathe, counting to ten and taking deep breaths and thinking of Phoebe and all the things Fieldstone had told him to do when he got too angry. And he tried not to feel any kind of way about the fact that his phone in his pocket hadn’t buzzed again once.

Eventually, he was calm enough to go back inside.

[artistcheez]

Working on a short story series centered around Hobo Heart, in which Slenderman doesn’t exist but the pastas somehow end up clustering together as a community. Mainly features OCs and is an excuse to use up the random horror story ideas I wrote down but could never use for a longer form stand alone original story. It’s called “Freaks of Bear County” on AO3.

Anyway this is Toby as a middle aged man and resident redneck. He is for the most part stable but still has some feral raccoon energy in him and will throw down with god if he looked at his “family” wrong.

[ender1821]

no longer a danger to herself or others

It was always going to be one lone victor. They craved entertainment, They were always going to sever the ties between the final pair and watch as the two fight, after everything they’ve been through. They wanted heartbreak. They wanted betrayal. They wanted the prized winner to realise in horror, what they had just done.

In the end, Pearl shields herself from the blast of a lit dynamite.

(Gem isn’t supposed to use her powers like this, but this is the one exception.)

[townofcrosshollow]

Low res screenshot of what feels like the first thing I've drawn in 50 years. Hopefully I will, in fact, render this. Also don't worry, it's consensual! Actually maybe that fact should worry you a little...

[therosebunpost]

Fruity Domino Belt

Steve isn’t very artistic, but maybe that didn’t matter.

CW: An absolutely heinous pizza combo, and Steve being self deprecating about his art skills. Reader is often referred to with Fem pronouns and is called Bunny as a nickname. Her style is very distinctive, but other then that, she is written as inclusive as possible!

————

The next Saturday, Steve is over at the Munson trailer. A six pack in one hand, and a notepad in the other. It took him a while to come up with something he could make, something useful, but then he remembered your notepads. He's been able to communicate verbally just fine, but with his hearing going down the drain by the year and his migraines making it hard to think, let alone talk, he figured he might as well.

You open Eddie's door with a flourish. Your eyes were big, and shiny while pulling him inside where Eddie was already stretched out in the living room. He's got a tiny figurine in one hand and the world's smallest paint brush in the other.

"Geeze, Munson. Careful or else you'll start wearing glasses like me." Steve snarks to avoid focusing too much on the furrowed brow of concentration on Eddie's face. The delicate way he paints the tiny shield of the figurine. Something Steve hadn't thought Eddie could do.

"Look who finally showed up, and with beer! You're worming right into my heart here, Harrington." Eddie jokes, reaching over to grab a can before taking a guzzling sip. You have Steve sit in the middle of you and Eddie, so he's boxed in, not that he minds all that much. Sure, the floor wasn't all that comfortable, but he was too distracted by the two of you to care.

You have your project spread out before you. You had paint at the ready, the beads and dominos carefully laid out as well. There’s some wire and some other tools that he didn’t know the name of.

“So…your making a..?” Steve trails off, knowing that Eddie told him but forgetting all the while. Even before everything, he had a hard time remembering things, but now a days he found himself forgetting more then usual.

You didn’t seem to mind, though. ‘A fruit belt! Its based off my favorite fruits.’ He admired the doodle you made. “It’s cute.” He admits, wondering if he’ll ever see you wearing it. “Though…how are you gonna get it to go through the loops of your pants..?” He asked, eyeing the tiny metal eyelets dubiously.

Shaking your head, you flip to the next page. He watches the way the little puffball on your pen sways with the vigor of your writing. You probably had great essays, he thinks.

‘I have a lot of baggy shirts, and I thought this would cinch them in a bit. Plus, the idea is just cool!’

He nods, not really having any reason to disagree even if it wasn’t how he normally wore a belt. Though, fashion in general didn’t really make much sense to him. Most of his fashion advice just came from what his parents wanted, or what girls said he looked nice in.

A tap on the shoulder startles Steve. The former jock whirling around to look at Eddie, who jumps as well. “Shit! Hey, I just…did you hear me? Just now?” He asked, brows lifting as Steve stares at him blankly.

“I just…what did you bring to work on?” Eddie pointed out Steve’s little pad of paper. Steve hesitated, lightly drumming his fingers on the cardboard cover.

"...I..thought I could…color this. And stuff." He taps at the book. "I've been um, forgetting things a lot. Having a hard time…hearing." It felt weird to admit this to the couple, but then again, he might as well be truthful.

You perked up, scooping up your book and making a vague gesture towards his. You were smiling, and Steve's face was burning as you put two and two together.

"Yeah, it seemed to be really helping you, so…" He shrugged and Eddie's lips turned up into a slow smile. "Cool. What are you gonna paint on it?"

Steve paused, now faced uncertainty. "I…didn't get that far. This stuff isn't really my…wheelhouse?" He gazed at the cover, his artistic career over before it even began. Though it seems you weren't ready for that yet.

'well, what do you like?' You ask, turning towards him with raised eyebrows. 'that's what inspires me, along with my outfits or an accessory.'

Steve bites the inside of his cheek. He knew the answer, but was mindful of the company he was keeping right now. Eddie, 'throwing balls into laundry baskets' Munson was right next to him. But Eddie was eyeing him curiously, and you looked so eager to hear the answer…

“Maybe…some baseball, or basketball?” Steve admitted, ignoring the faint fizzle of disappointment when Eddie scoffed. You leaned over, shoving Eddie on the shoulder, much to the metalhead’s protest. You gave your boyfriend a glare, hands on your hips.

“Fine, fine, christ. What were you thinking exactly? Like, a hoop? Or a bunch of balls?” Eddie asked, gesturing with his hand while trying his best to not roll his eyes again. Steve shrugged, tapping at the cover. “Was thinking about a bat actually. Or maybe something water related?”

‘I think either of those sound really cool. I have stencils in case you wanna add one of the balls to it?’ You hand over the floppy plastic, and Steve chalked it up to the light but he was sure your cheeks tinged pink when your hands brushed his. You also handed him rulers, pens, and paint.

Vaguely he remembers going over colors in art class. Red and blue make purple, red and yellow make orange, blue and yellow make green. He looks at the paint in both your pallets, the colors swirled and mixed into a rainbow of shades and hues. He starts with blue first. His glob of paint was a bit too big, and it only got worse when he tried adding white to make it lighter.

Shifting to look between you two, his puddle of blue doesn’t seem to phase either of you, so he just starts painting. He loads his brush with tons of paint, slathering the front of his notebook with it until the entire thing was covered and oh no, why was it bending, shit, yours didn’t bend like this-

“Uh, you want me to grab a hair dryer? That’s gonna take years to dry otherwise.” Eddie cuts in, eyeing the globs of blue on the paint. The paint wasn’t even fully mixed, so streaks of white marbled the over saturated cardboard. It was kind of pretty, but not what Steve had planned. “Uh, sure, yeah. Thanks.”

Shifting in his spot, Steve stared at the mess with a sinking feeling. Honestly, he knew it probably wasn’t going to look great. Art really wasn’t his thing. He liked it, but he didn’t usually stare at a painting and feel some sort of desire to do the same thing. Usually it was just him trying to find the ‘meaning’ that Robin told him about. What meaning was there to find in a bowl of fruit other than pretty colors? The guy was probably hungry when painting it, maybe?

He felt a tap to his shoulder, his head shifting over to look at you. At the paintbrush in your hands. Your notebook is laid there, the length of your previous conversation with him growing and growing.

‘Paint goes a long way! Though trust me, I’ve also had that happen a ton of times. While you wait for it to dry, do you wanna paint some dominos with me? I have the paint mixed already. :)’

“Oh, yeah.”

Picking up the brush once again, Steve eyed the way you scooped up the paint. A much smaller blob then his previous one, and smoothed it over the ivory plastic. He follows your lead, frowning slightly as it doesnt come out as smooth as yours. Little bumps and lines of paint that looked similar to his old elementary projects. Still, it was kind of nice. Watching the color cover the once blank canvas. “How do you get yours so smooth?” He muttered, looking between your pieces.

You reach for your pad, pause at the paint on your fingers, before shaking your head and turning towards him fully. Gesturing with your hand for him to watch how you do it. He turns, shifting a bit as his knee bumps into yours. You grab another domino, your paintbrush dipping and grabbing a frankly minuscule amount of paint in his opinion. You slide the brush across the domino, and it makes those same bumpy ridges that were annoying him before. You smooth it out with your brush, laying it out with the others before grabbing yet another domino.

This time you scrape the sides of the brush, and the paint glides on smoothly this time, like it was dyed instead of painted. You smile and show him again, and again until you encourage him to pick up his brush and try it out. Honestly, he could understand the appeal once he managed to get that smooth stroke down. Kind of like when he really perfected his baseball swing to get that strong, nearly effortless looking glide.

You reacted a lot nicer than his coaches, though. Beaming at him, and nodding in praise as he kept painting. It wasn’t perfect and there were moments where the paint still beaded up or looked patchy, but you were proud of him. That counted for something. You didn’t remark on how he should have picked it up faster, or how this was easy shit and everybody else could have done it. Didn’t say he was stupid, or dumb. It was nice, really nice. Still, it’s not long before he remembers you’re going to be wearing this, whatever it came to be.

“Hey, if you uh…need to re-do any of mine, it’s fine, Y’know? I get it.” He murmurs after a few dominos. “They’re kinda patchy. Don’t look as good as yours.” And after all, it really was fine. He couldn’t blame you for it. You were probably just trying to give him something to do after he basically fucked up his notepad. There was no way that was going to dry with that much paint on it, he realizes that now. Now he was going to have to go home with it, probably ruined.

There was a moment where you looked between the two growing piles before shaking your head. ‘They look good, Steve. Once they dry, do you want to help me put on a second coat? I need to do the same for mine. Usually these need a few coats before they really look good.’

He glances at your work, and doesn’t really see what you mean, but hey, he kind of liked this painting thing. Might as well keep it going, even if he sucked. “Sure.”

Eddie finally came back with the dryer in hand. It’s an old, clunky thing that rattles when the metalhead moves. The plastic coating that protects the wire is worn in a few spots, but it roars to life when Eddie plugs it in. “Let’s leave it in the kitchen, yeah?” He offers, scooping up the gloopy book carefully. “While m’ in here, you hungry?? Could order pizza? What’ya say baby?” He calls, turning the dryer on before popping his head out to look at you.

Steve ignores the faint heat on his face at the thought of Eddie talking to him, like that. To the both of you really. Being his baby, your baby.

“Hey, Steve?”

Blinking, Steve snapped his head up. You both were staring at him, expectantly. He blinks again and Eddie makes a snorting noise. “Are you hungry, man? What do you like on your pizza?”

“Oh! Uh, anything. Whatever you guys want, don’t really care.”

"Anchovies with pineapple and mustard it is!"

Steve retched before he could stop himself. "What?"

"What, you said whatever we wanted? Felt like getting our special, right baby?" He grins over at you, and despite your wrinkling nose you nod with a smile. Though Steve rolled his eyes.

"There is no fucking way you actually eat that." Steve deadpanned, stabbing towards him with the end of his paint brush. "Hell, ten bucks says you'll both puke."

"You're on!"

You sit up in your seat, suddenly a lot less amused. You hold your finger up to Steve, indicating you needed a minute before hurrying after your boyfriend. Steve can't help the smile crossing his lips as he hears Eddie laughing and apologizing in the kitchen. Not even trying to hide it.

"I was just calling his bluff Bun, I'll eat it, okay?"

Eddie's voice dipped softer to where Steve couldn't hear him anymore. He hesitated before slowly leaning over to peer at the couple.

Eddie has his hands cupped over your cheeks, thumbs brushing the soft skin. He has such a soft smile, and his eyes are like liquid chocolate when it comes to looking at you. You're brushing his hair away from his face, caressing his temple, adorable pout still on your face even with the tender gesture.

God, Steve didn't know who he wanted to be more at that moment. Get to feel your sweet touch, or to feel Eddie's? Or maybe he could get both, be boxed in between you two again.

Steve startles when Eddie catches his eye. There's a glint in his and Steve leans back with a panicked grunt. Oh fuck, he hadn't gotten caught as of yet, and he wasn't sure what would happen if they did. Could he handle it?

"Alright, pizza's ordered Steve!" Eddie called from the kitchen, leaving the jock to let out a sigh.

-

Three pizza's ended up coming to the munson trailer. The anchovy and pineapple was at the top, looking just as gross. Eddie made a point to squeeze the mustard upon it artfully, a gleeful grin on his lips upon seeing Steve's mouth turn down in displeasure.

"Don't worry, we got some others too, in case you truly don't want this masterpiece." Eddie teases, nodding towards the boxes. You were already digging into one of the boxes, a gleeful smile on your face. Steve settles on the third box, pepperoni and cheese.

"Okay, I'm changing the bet, twenty five bucks says you won't make it through the first slice." Steve shoots back, narrowing his eyes.

"Seventy five, and I'll eat half in one sitting."

"A hundred if you eat that whole thing."

Eddie's eyes widened for a moment before he let out a small scoff before offering a hand. "Deal, hope you got that sweet dough in the pocket of those tight jeans of yours."

Feeling heat crawling up his neck, Steve reaches out and clasps Eddie's hand. "Don't worry about that, man. Just focus on that shit you call pizza."

The doorbell rings a second time, and Robin steps in with a rush of apologies. “I’m so sorry, I got side tracked, and I didn’t know what to bring- Oh my god what is that-“

While you’re explaining to Robin the unfortunate bet, Steve offers a wave before going back to painting. Slowly dragging the color across until it was smoothly covered. He watched the way Eddie gobbled at his pizza, suppressing his laugh the entire time.

Robin soon plopped down across from him, and maybe you were just as opportunistic as Eddie, because you also eagerly suggested she help paint the dominos. “Sure! Though, it probably won’t end up good. Whenever I paint, I either use too much paint or too little and it looks patchy..”

“I can help, here.”

Steve wasn’t sure why he offered, but soon ended up showing her the technique you had. Robin caught on pretty quick, which he expected, and soon it was a small circle of painting.

“Didn’t know you painted, Dingus.” Robin comments with a smile, gently nudging him and Steve shrugs. “Not really, had a good teacher.” He turns to look over at you, and he adores the bashful look on your face. He could absolutely get used to seeing it more often.

——-

-

Taglist: @ali-r3n (DM if you wanna be added!)

[sweetybaty]

I think my fic is not good but somehow people like it, so to cope I call it Flippaky Twilighty fanfic

Maybe it doesnt make any sense, but it takes me out of the thought

"This is the skin of a killer Flakyyy😭😭✨✨✨"