#n ill make it its own tag n everything

[seabugsbaby]

that moment when ur just being a silly little goose full of whimsy but ur mean teammates get mad at you for it 😔😔

( @7-ferrets-in-a-coat this is ur fault!!!!! 🫵🫵🫵 ur art is too good n ur storytelling is too compelling!!! jkjk 🫶🫶)

[luck-of-the-drawings]

OOH YEAH BABY ITS THE SURGERY EPISODE BABY!!! ME AND THE HOMIES NEED SOME NEW FACES FOR OUR NEW PLAN, AND WHO BETTER TO GET THE JOB DONE THAN THE TWO MOST EVIL PEOPLE WE'VE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE OF HAVING OUR LIVES VIOLATED BY? I MEAN IT WOULD BE FUNNY. IT WOULD BE FUNNY.

[reel-fear]

👁️👁️

You must tell 👀

*rubs my little hands together* sorry for taking a bit on answering this! My brain has not been braining lately but your ask couldn't have come at a better time bc Grant has been on the mind as of late and I am hyped at the excuse to infodump abt him- [this is gonna be long I am so sorry-]

now for quick disclaimers for anyone reading this that isnt the asker or me- we're not discussing canon Grant Cohen, we're talking my Grant, this black haired dude, that guy. Another fun disclaimer, I was HEAVILY, inspired by Grant's role/character in abomination for my Grant. Taking time to awknowledge every part of his character or story that was inspired by it would make this 10x longer so if similarities are spotted know its very likely I did that on purpose bc I just really love abomination KJHFSDGKJDHGSD-

Alright with that outta the way I'ma talk a lot abt what happens to Grant in the canon of Showtime to explain what I meant and also maybe a bit of me rambling about aus that explore Grants relationship with Sammy n Joey under a more romantic lens. Should be obvious but spoilers for It's Showtime down below~

So Grant in Showtime after he dies ends up joining the ink demon cult, becoming a lost one and earning the title of The Priest.

When the cult was all together him and Sammy worked together to run it. Sammy used his connection to the ink demon to recieve messages and learn more on how to survive in this new situation and Grant made sure the lost ones acted accordingly. [A role not so far off from the one he was forced to take when the studio started facing troubles before his death] Grant also took the job of dealing with sacrificing souls and sending them back to the dark puddles, which sometimes was members of the following chosen at random and sometimes whatever poor soul found themselves captured by them.

However when Malice rose from the puddles and made a deal with the Projectionist to seize a considerable amount of the studio as theirs, the cult was split up, Sammy and Jack forced to flee to the music department and Grant with the rest of the following being down in the area of Chapter 4. This put Grant in a very bad spot, the lost ones were very shaken by this event and since then Grant worries their faith in him has wavered.

An important thing with the ink demon cult was that it is meant to be a more realistic take on how a cult works. The Ink Demon runs the cult, he is the most powerful figure in it and yet the hardest to contact, so Grant and Sammy are little more than middlemen tasked with keeping things running or else they face the ink demon's wrath. Sammy is sadly very aware that the ink demon is not as benevolent as he or the lost ones would like the believe. Grant likes to think being the Priest will at the very least protect him if things go wrong, but he is sadly mistaken.

Grant is in a very dangerous spot, he knows the lost ones beneath him are getting angsty and worried about just how truthfully safe the cult is or if they should believe in the power of the ink demon. But he also knows if things fall apart the lost ones will come to tear him apart long before they go for the ink demon. Despite him merely being a puppet for their lord. A role Grant is not ready to acknowledge, not because he isn't smart enough to see he is just a pawn, but because he chooses not to think about it, less his paranoia eat him alive yet again... A very important thing to keep in mind with Grants character.

Grant did in fact play this role in life as well however, when things started going wrong in the studio, Joey was very quick to turn away from what was going on and continue asserting everything would be fine. Which while a lie he himself believed was a lie nonetheless. However Grant quickly became his right hand man as people like Thomas and Wally started noticing cracks forming all through out the studio. Staff going missing, the ink changing in the way it behaved and an eerie feeling the machine created in both of them.

Grant despite deep down being smart enough to know things were going poorly, parroted Joey's words, hanging off of them himself and doing whatever he could to shut down any attempts to bring to light the things going wrong. Of course, him and Joey both ended up paying the price for their lies, but so did everyone else around them. But unlike Sammy, Grant barely even seemed shaken to see that, like a conspiracy theorist seeing evidence their theory isn't true only makes them double down harder, Grant only seemed to double down on the idea that if he followed every order he was given. Surely things would turn out better this time.

So that's canon to the story of Showtime, but I do want to take a second to get some AU non canon ideas out of my brain centering around Grant and his relationship to both Joey n Sammy. In canon Grant's only romantic interest is Thomas, his literal husband and there is a lot of interesting conflict there, but I fucking love shipping so of course I have a million aus merely indulging in ships I think would also be interesting to explore in their own contexts. In this case, I'm gonna ramble a bit about Sammy x Grant and Grant x Joey and the interesting things I think there are to explore in their relationships in Showtime.

So you might've noticed that while not literally [as saying the ink demon is Joey in Showtime, while somewhat true, is not the entire truth of the situation and simplifies it quite a bit] Grant did end up following Joey to the grave... And then kept following him beyond it. Something that is objectively~ very queer of him.

There's just something so compelling about the idea of Grant yearning for Joey so much, being so close yet so far as his right hand man but not being brave enough to become his lover eventually drove Grant's love for Joey to become an outright obsession. The idea that Grant's feelings for Joey became so intense from how hard he pushed them down it blinded him from seeing the truth of the situation outside of the way Joey painted it. Then dying and his obsession turning into an outright worship of him.

The idea of Grant settling for just being Joey's favorite lackey, his most loyal pet and knowing that's his role but not caring bc at least it makes him stay by Joey's side. Ohh it's an interesting one to say the least. I even did a few sketches of them u can see-

They are doomed by the narrative to me and have been on my mind a lot lately can ya tell? KJDHSFGKJHDFSGKJHDFGSD

However when it comes to Sammy and Grant, I think there is a lot of interesting potential between them too. After all they share being the Ink Demon's henchmen in all of this and to see them both come to terms with that and try to find comfort in each other is such a fun idea to me.

An au where they both decide to ditch the cult and the ink demon and on their own try to figure out what happened to Joey and how to fix things is very compelling to me. I could see their relationship starting out as doing all these things for each other under the excuse they just need comfort until it starts to turn to actual feelings for each other. Both of them coming to terms with the fact Joey was not in fact a perfect person and maybe didn't even know how bad things were getting deep down himself but also finally letting themselves hold him accountable for the lies he told... It's a very fun healing narrative and very in line with a lot of the themes It's Showtime deals with.

Either way, I just really love what I've done with Grant's character in It's Showtime, he's for sure one of the most fascinating to me and the themes his story explores are ones that are important to the story as a whole and by extension me. Umm this turned out very long but I hope u enjoyed the read! Tysm for the excuse to infodump abt him, I was itching for one as u can see KDJHGKJDHFGKJDHFGSD.

[youreverydayfangirl]

BAD BLOOD

pairing: max verstappen x singer reader

summary: the one where a private phone call gets leaked, no one gets the full picture and people are quick to judge

warning: online hate, mentions of cheating

a/n: after two months its finally here for you guys

face claim: sabrina carpenter (just had to because shes gorgeous)

f1 masterlist

main masterilst

series masterlist

yourusername has posted

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes and 1, 485, 921 others

yourusername SUPRISE!!! I struggled to keep this secret but now i can announce it. the bad blood mv is out now with some very familiar faces

tagged: oliviarodrigo

alexandrasaintmleux AHHHH MY BEAUTIFUL BEST FRIEND

-> yourusername SAYSS YOUUUU

francisca.cgomes I STILL CANT BELIEVE I WAS IN A MUSIC VIDEO

-> yourusername ANYTHING FOR YOU QUEEN

oliviarodrigo is this what we call a slay?

-> yourusername you know it sweet thing

chappellroan IM OBSESSED WITH YOU

liked by creator

milliebobbibrown ICONIC MV

liked by creator

leahsavajeffries I WAS IN THIS

-> yourusername YEAH YOU WERE

user1 MOST ICONIC MV OF ALL TIME

user2 LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, HER

user3 anyone find it weird that exbsf wasn't in it

-> user4 I WAS THINKING THE SAME THING LIKE WHAT

-> user5 go touch grass people grow and change and no ones seen them together for like months now

y/ngossip

liked by exbsf and 31, 859 others

y/ngossip SPOTTED! yourusername and landonorris in what looks like a very heated public exchange, could this be the end?

user1 tagging them is so messy 😭

-> user2 RIGHT

user3 NOT MY PARENTS

user4 whatever happened IK its y/ns fault

user5 not exbsf liking this 👀

-> user6 RIGHT

user7 idk what anyone says exbsf liking this speaks SIDES

-> user8 right cause she wouldn't like it if y/n hadn't done anything wrong

-> user9 this is such a bold accusation to make

user10 exbsf TELL US YOUR SECRETS

user11 THEY WERE TOGETHER FOR FIVE YEARS OMG 😭

--------------------------------------

THE PHONE CALL

a few months prior - during a conversation

Ex Bsf: Can you just support me for once instead of making it about you

Y/n: Support you? You cheated on Jacob how can I support you Ex Bsf

Ex Bsf: By being my friend instead of being all high and mighty

Y/n: I'm sorry Ex bsf but its true and I don't know if I can support you with this

Ex Bsf: What would you say if it was you who cheated on Lando

Y/n: Hypothetically, I say I cheated on Lando and be upfront with him

Ex Bsf: So have you cheated on Lando

Y/n: Of course not, I love him so much and he means to much to me, I don't ever wanna lose him

Ex Bsf: If you did ever, your gonna own up to it right

Y/n: Yeah of course I have to, but this isn't about me

Ex Bsf: Well you kinda did make it about you

Y/n: No I didn't, You asked me about it Ex Bsf

--------------------------------------

yourusername has posted

Liked by alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes and 11, 274, 964 others

yourusername and that marks the end of the wonderland tour! i can't believe everything that has happened over these past couple of months and i am so grateful for all the support i received from you guys over the past couple of months. stay tuned guys and ill see you at the grammys 👀

alexandrasaintmleux obsessed with you omggg

francisca.cgomes grammys this year are going to pop off

user1 SHES STUNNING STOP

user2 NEW MUSICC???

user3 girl we saw the article....

-> user4 what article????

-> user3 she cheated on lando

-> user5 WHAT

-> user6 source???

-> user7 theirs legit a voice recording of her and exbsf

-------------------------

Y/N L/N AND LANDO NORRIS SPLIT

Yes. You heard us right.

Fan favourite f1 couple, superstar WAG Y/n L/n and Lando Norris have reportedly split after L/n cheated on him. A leaked phone call between L/n and a third party has been leaked.

AUDIO RECORDING HERE

Transcript

Y/n: I cheated on Lando

Ex Bsf: You cheated on Lando

Y/n: Of course, I love him so much and he means to much to me, I don't ever wanna lose him

Ex Bsf: Your gonna own up to it right

Y/n: Yeah of course I have to

CLICK HERE TO READ MORE

----------------------------

yourusername has posted

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes and 1, 293, 950 others

yourusername 3 GRAMMYS!!!!!!!!! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! TYSM GUYS FOR ALL OF THE SUPPORT AND FOR TAKING WONDERLAND AND TURNING IT INTO SOMETHING ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL, WORDS CANNOT EXPRESS HOW AMAZED AND GRATEFUL I AM..........

alexandrasaintmleux WELL DESERVED

liked by creator

francisca.cgomes YAYAYAYAY OMMGGGGGG

liked by creator

user1 i used to have so much respect for you

user2 i can't believe u cheated so dissapointing

user3 your setting such a bad example for you younger fans...

user4 CANCEL Y/N

-> user5 yep #cancely/n #y/nisoverparty

-> user6 #y/nisoverparty

-> user7 #y/nisoverparty

-> user8 #y/nisoverparty

-> user9 #y/nisoverparty

-> user10 #y/nisoverparty

user11 🐍🐍🐍

user12 #y/nisoverparty

user13 🐍🐍🐍

user14 Ex/bsf deserves better

-> user15 her and lando should get together tbh

--------------------------------

Hi guys, i'm really sorry i am going to start posting more often but things have just been really busy as im starting grade 12 work which is insanely dissicult and family drama has been going on and i've been working on writing a book which is pretty exciting

anyways i will try to post more often - maybe once everyweekend or second weekend

------------------------

taglist:

@lyannesworld

@pippyth3hippy

@scorpiomindfuck

@syddddddddddddd

@paigem00

@toldyouitwasamelodrama

@lilsiz

@chelle1306

@sired4urmama

@stinkyjax

@kiyomisan

@hotgirlslikemax

@itsjustkhaos

@sid-is-gr8

@mastermindbaby

@akkklys

@reidsworld

@tall-tanned-tattoo

@mrsmaybank24

@m1892

@taliya8346282844eliviahdgdajs

@midnights-lily

@skynel09

[ladamedusoif]

able

(Joel Miller x disabled F!Reader)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Disabled F!Reader

Summary: "I just don't think she'll be able for patrol". But then it's just you, Joel, and your trusty walking stick in the middle of nowhere...

Content/warnings: Reader is disabled (she has rheumatoid disease/arthritis in addition to panic attacks, she uses a walking stick as necessary); Reader had a sister; Reader is an art teacher; strong violence; blood; description of panic attack; references to impact of chronic illness and disability; references to medication; references to disease and death; non-canon compliant; Jackson!Joel; strong language; ableist language and abusive language

Rating: Mature; 18+ MDNI

Word Count: ~3.7k

A/N: After making a plea earlier in the week for people to actually write disabled Reader fic, as opposed to forcing writers to feel they have to tag literally everything in an able-bodied Reader story, I knew I had to put my money where my mouth was as a disabled, neurodivergent writer with various mental health things going on here and there. And this one-shot is the result.

This one is a little personal. I was diagnosed with rheumatoid disease about ten years ago, and Reader’s experiences are informed by my own (though, thankfully, I haven’t had to contend with an apocalypse that meant I couldn’t access the medication that has kept me going). She’s also inspired by @agentjackdaniels, who acted as consultant extraordinaire on walking sticks and panic attacks, and suggested the Joel picture for the moodboard. Thank you, Luce, for this, for fighting the good fight for representation in fic - and for beta-ing the story. 

(A note on terminology: rheumatoid disease/arthritis are sometimes used interchangeably. ‘Arthritis’ often sounds like it’s ‘just’ osteoarthritis to people who don’t know the difference. Rheumatoid, unlike osteoarthritis (which is shitty in its own ways), is a systemic, lifelong, chronic illness and an auto-immune disorder that affects the entire body, not just bones and/or joints. So personally I use ‘rheumatoid disease’ as it conveys more of the impact of the condition. It's also often seen as an 'old person' disease but this simply isn't true - not that this stops mobility aids being modelled by people in their 80s all the time...)

Please follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to stay up to date with my work.

Dividers by @saradika - moodboard by me

You weren’t supposed to make it.

Twenty-odd years in the apocalypse with your fucked-up joints and no steady supply of the meds that kept you going, pushing through the cycles of fatigue, and fighting off your own goddamned immune system as much as you were fighting clickers and raiders. 

You really weren’t supposed to make it. But you had Annie.

You were sharing an apartment when the outbreak happened, a quirk of shitty personal circumstances - she’d just broken up with her long-term boyfriend - that probably helped save your life. Annie was the all-action sister - the kind of person who thinks there’s nothing weird about spending your weekends doing triathlons and “Tough Mudder” challenges, who had a perfect bill of health your entire lives, who bounced out of bed in the mornings while you cracked and creaked and stiffly manoeuvered yourself into being. 

The good days generally outweighed the bad in the years between your diagnosis with rheumatoid disease and the initial outbreak - or maybe you had just gotten used to the aches and pains and the occasional flare-ups of fatigue. You invested in a walking stick to help on those days when mobility was particularly bad: solid, heavy, and carved in a pale yellow wood. It felt like a comfort in your hand, more a sign of strength, to you, than of weakness. 

Annie helped you through the panic attack that consumed you on outbreak day, working with you to regulate your breathing and relax your tense muscles until you could finally say what was on your mind.

“My meds. What am I going to do without my meds?”

Nothing a quick smash and grab at the local pharmacy couldn’t fix. It was the first of many, stockpiling the little yellow tablets you relied on and taking as many packs of over-the-counter painkillers as you could carry. Useful currency in the apocalypse, as it turned out.

All-Action Annie was never going to cope with life in a QZ. She got the two of you out after months of planning, nights of whispered talk about a town out west that was normal - or something close to it, anyway. She hadn’t entertained your protestations about you slowing her down, holding her back.

“You think I’m leaving behind a girl who’s so handy with a weapon?” she’d teased, pointing to your walking stick. “Be real. We’re busting out together.”

The infection took hold in her about three days from Jackson. Fuckin’ barbed wire, tearing a jagged line through Annie’s hand and leaving behind an old-fashioned kind of threat to life, the kind penicillin had mostly dealt with. But that was then. This was now. 

She died in an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, you holding her hand until the end, talking to her about your childhoods and trying to keep smiling until she closed her beautiful eyes. 

It took all your strength to dig her grave. And then, somehow, you found more.

You weren’t supposed to make it. But you did. 

Jackson stands before you. 

He sees you for the first time in the community dining hall, talking animatedly to Maria as you hungrily devour the food set in front of you. Eyes wide, face grubby, clothes ragged. Half-wild, he thinks, like most of the new arrivals. Like him and Ellie, once upon a time. He returns to his bowl of soup and his own thoughts - at least, until he’s interrupted by Maria.

“Joel? Want to introduce a new member of the community, just arrived.”

He doesn’t quite know why he’s surprised when he realises you’re leaning on a sturdy hand-carved walking stick in a solid, light yellow wood. Maybe it’s because he knows how physically hard it is to get here. Maybe he just assumed folks who needed a stick wouldn’t have been able to manage the journey. 

For a second he can hear Sarah’s voice in his head, chiding him for focusing on what a disabled person can’t do instead of what they can. 

“Joel?”

He snaps out of his reverie and looks from Maria to you. “Uh, hi. Sorry, just…sorry. Forgot my manners.”

“I was just saying how glad we are to have someone who can offer some art education in the town, isn’t that right, Joel?”

Your eyes are warm and mischievous as you meet his gaze, silently conveying your amusement at Maria’s rather brusque manner. It’s all Joel can do not to laugh.

“Sure is. You’re an artist, then?”

You shake your head. “Not a real one. I was an art teacher, before. Long time since I created anything, though, so I hope I remember how.”

He smiles softly, his gruff exterior receding a little. “Bet it’s just like riding a bike,” he says, before his face falls as he looks at your walking stick. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean… Shit. Hope I didn’t offend.”

“As it happens, I can ride a bike, Joel. The apocalypse just doesn’t give me much cause to.”

You leave him with a smile and a wink as Maria ushers you to meet other townsfolk. He watches you as you walk away, the tap-tap-tapping of your stick beating out a new rhythm in the heart of Jackson.

You think of Annie every morning when you wake up in the little house you’d been assigned. Sometimes, as you potter around the kitchen, still revelling in the novelty of making yourself morning coffee for the first time in two decades, you even talk to her. You tell her about the town, the townsfolk, your work in the community vegetable garden, your art classes. 

“Honestly, An, you wouldn’t believe how popular they are,” you tell the Annie who, in an alternate universe, is sitting at the kitchen table with her own mug of coffee. “I’m setting up extra sessions to cater for demand.”

There’s something uplifting in how hungry the people of Jackson are to make art, no matter their experience or existing skill level. They’ll draw stuff from memory, they’ll dutifully work on a still life, they’ll even traipse outside with you, wooden sketching boards in hand, and make rapid-fire sketches of the goings-on on Main Street. 

Joel doesn’t join a class - but the teenage girl Maria refers to as “Joel’s kid” does, all potty-mouthed and enthusiastic and pretty damned talented, to boot. Ellie tells you how she’s pinned up the drawings she’s proudest of in their home, “like our own fuckin’ art gallery or some shit.” 

You pull up a tall stool and sit beside her, resting your stick over your thighs. “Joel’s got his guitar and those dumbass model figures he paints,” she continues, leaning around her easel and squinting at the woman who’d volunteered to act as a life model for this week’s classes. “But this shit? This is real art.” She adds a little highlight to the woman’s sweater and leans back to assess the work.

“You probably got exempt from patrols, I’m guessing. On account of the stick, an’ all.”

“Maria asked, and I signed up happily. I got all the way here, didn’t I? I’m sure I can manage patrols. And it’s the least I can do - they’ve even found me some of the medications I need.”

Ellie nods, somewhat convinced, and returns to sketching out the contours around the model’s jaw.

The day of your first patrol arrives. You bundle up and set out early for the stables, allowing extra time to get there on account of the flare-up you’d been experiencing the day before. 

You arrive early - just in time, in fact, to overhear a heated conversation between Joel and Maria.

“She’s doing enough, ain’t she? I just don’t think she’ll be able for patrol.”

“You’ve seen her out and about, Joel. She’s mobile. She’s competent. She’s good with the horses. She got all the way here, the last stretch on her own. What more proof do you need?”

“You’re seriously gonna send a woman with a walking stick out on patrol?”

“I seriously am. Sent you and your bad back out, didn’t we?”

“That ain’t the same and you know it.”

“Just saddle the horses, Joel. And, in case you’re wondering - yes, I paired you together deliberately, just until she gets settled.” You hear her footsteps recede as she leaves him.

You had misjudged how much your already-limited grip would be further impeded by the gloves you’re wearing. The stick clatters to the ground.

“Who’s there?”

You emerge from the shadows. “Me. Sorry.”

Joel rolls his eyes and gruffly points out the tack and supplies.

The first patrol passes in silence. You wonder what happened to the softer man you’d caught a glimpse of the first day you arrived.

On the second patrol, you ask him questions about himself. On the third patrol, he asks (fewer) questions about you. By the fourth, you’re having something approximating normal conversation. 

“Sarah loved to make all kinds of stuff,” he ventures, leading the way on his chestnut horse. “Those beaded bracelets, that girly Lego in the pink and purple, all of that. My girl had enough Magic Markers to supply a whole elementary school. Maybe two.”

You can hear him smile, even without seeing his face. His shoulders relax a little as he recalls the memory.

“So she was a creative kid?”

“Creative, sporty… she could do anything. Made the school soccer team, she was so proud. Just a…” He pauses. “A great kid.”

There’s a few beats of silence, punctuated only by the sound of the horses snickering and the steady rhythm of their hooves on the ground. 

“What about your sister, was she arty like you?”

You’d told him about Annie on the last patrol. This was the first time he’d asked about her explicitly.

“She was the sporty one. I think that’s why I survived so long, truth be told. She was so strong and fast and tough as fuck.”

He chuckles, the burr of his voice resonating in the cold air. “Sounds like a good balance, though.”

“It is - it was. Was.” Your voice grows quieter as you repeat the word to yourself, chest starting to tighten. The horse slows, responding to the tension of your body, as Joel continues to trot on, not realising you’ve come to a halt behind him. 

And then the tell-tale snapping of a twig, the sound of footsteps, and the realisation there’s someone else there, emerging out of the woods. Two someones. 

Raiders. 

The panic attack that has been building inside you gives way. An innate fight or flight response kicks in as you roar his name. 

Joel turns and charges back towards you, just in time to see you take out one raider with a crack shot from your pistol. He slows the horse and readies his rifle, staring at the other man who is now trying to haul you off your mount.

“Get the fuck off me, motherfucker!” You flail against him, desperately shifting your weight to the other side of the saddle to try to shake him off. 

Joel takes aim. 

You think you’ve kicked the raider off. And that’s when you hit the ground.

He can’t take the shot now, not with her half-hidden from his view and audibly fighting off the man who’s dragged her to the ground. Joel is still a little distance away, slightly too far to see exactly what’s happening. 

Why didn’t he hear her slowing? Why didn’t he realise she was further behind than she ought to be? Why did she slow in the fuckin’ first place?

Joel quickly dismounts, rifle in hand, moving closer so he can get a clearer shot at the guy who’s now standing over her. The horse’s elegant neck obscures the raider’s hands from Joel’s vision - he has no idea if he’s pointing a gun at her or not. 

He thinks he has a clear sight on the guy’s head, provided he stays in the same position. He readies the rifle. 

Suddenly, the raider disappears, letting out a primal roar before he hits the ground. 

“You fucking cunt!”

Joel can see she’s standing now, the man prone before her. As he rounds the horse he sees her lift her cane, hands securely gripping the pointed end of the stick. 

She brings the solid, weighty handle down on the raider’s leg with a sickening crunch. Even Joel recoils a little at the sight and the sound.

“F-f-fucking…c-c-cunt!”

Thwack. The other leg. 

Fuck. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

”Keep calling me that, and I’ll keep the blows coming.”

Holy fuck. Who is she?

”C-c-c-cripple.”

”Excuse me?”

The raider props himself up on his arms. “I said, cripple. Fucking crippled cunt.”

“You shut your fuckin’ mouth.” Joel cocks his rifle. 

The stranger sneers at Joel. “Awww, he’s actin’ the big man now. Weren’t too quick gettin’ back down here to save your cripple woman, were ya?”

Before Joel can react, she swings her stick over her head and brings it down on the man’s skull with a furious scream that seems to come from the very depths of her being. 

She screams and screams as she hits him, over and over, eyes wild in her blood-spattered face. Joel recognises this: in himself; hell, in Ellie. It’s the moment when the floodgates open and all those years of pain blend together and zone in on this convenient target, an avatar for everyone and everything who had forced loss and trauma upon you. 

He roars at her to stop, but knows she can’t hear him. It’s just her and the raider, now: her rage and fear and grief finding their expression through a walking stick turned cudgel.

A single shot ends it. She turns sharply, as if snapped out of a trance, and sees the smoke leaving Joel’s pistol. 

“Hey. Hey. You alright?” His broad hands grip your biceps as he looks into your eyes.

Yes, you tell him, yes. You’re fine. But Joel keeps asking. 

“Talk to me. Are you okay? I’m worried about you. Please, just talk to me.”

You are moving your mouth, but no sound is coming out. The familiar vice is tightening around your chest. You look down at your blood-stained hands and you struggle to breathe. 

“‘M dying, Joel. Can’t breathe. All the blood. So much. Why can’t I breathe?”

Oh, he realises with a pang. She gets these things too. And I know how to help.

“You’re okay, you hear?” He’s rubbing your arms gently, keeping his gaze on you. “You’re alright. Breathe along with me, okay?”

It’s difficult to find the rhythm, at first. Joel’s hands find yours and squeeze them in time with his breath.

”In through your nose, that’s it. Slow and steady. Now out through your mouth.”

He can see your muscles starting to visibly relax. A wave of relief courses over him.

”Yeah, that’s it - you got this. You got this, good girl, you’re just fine. Gonna be alright.”

When he’s confident your breathing has settled and the panic attack receded somewhat, he gently guides you away from the body of the dead raider, one hand holding your horse’s bridle and the other holding yours. 

“Why don’t you have a seat for a minute, huh?” Joel gestures to a long, low tree trunk lying near the forest’s edge and opens his saddlebags, rummaging until he finds a cloth, a battered hip flask and a bag of dried apple slices.

”Here.” He wipes the blood as best he can from your hands and proffers the flask, settling his substantial frame beside you on the log. “Have a sip or two, just to relax you a little bit more. Got a snack, here, too.”

You flinch at the taste of the liquor, but take a second sip regardless. The apple slices barely taste of anything in the afterburn of the moonshine. Joel nibbles on some jerky and stares into the middle distance. 

You take a break from patrol, agreed with Maria, and a few days off your art classes. It was tempting to keep going, to return to the light and airy studio and to your students. But you feared a relapse.

And your body needed to recover physically, too. You ached from head to toe, fingers and toes puffy and swollen and movement seriously restricted. You ration out the supply of medication you’ve secured since getting here, and use hot water bottles and plenty of rest to try to ride out the flare in your arthritis.

Three days after the incident, there’s a knock on the door. You hobble to answer it, leaning on your trusty stick for support.

”Came by to see how you were doing. Got you some things if you needed ‘em.”

Joel is standing on your front porch, holding a jute grocery bag. He pauses, as if waiting for you to give him permission to say more.

”That’s so very kind of you, Joel. Come in, won’t you? I was able to set a fire so it’s nice and cosy.”

He watches as you lead the way into the living room, noting how much slower you were today. Guilt laps at his conscience. He said she shouldn’t go on patrol. He knew.

”You want me to bring these into the kitchen for you?”

“That would be a great help. Thank you.” He’s glad to see you smile, after the trauma of the patrol. “If you want a drink, I’ve got some tea and coffee in the cupboard just to the left of the sink.”

He pops his head back into the living room. “What would you like?” 

“A tea would be perfect. Mugs are in the cupboard to the right.”

You wrap yourself back up in your blankets on the couch, making room for Joel when he returns with the drinks and a couple of cookies, sent over by Ellie as part of his care package for you. The mug feels like a comfort in your aching hands, its heat assuaging the inflammation ravaging your joints.

He sips his coffee and you sit in silence for a little bit, watching the flames dance over the firewood. 

“Have you, uh - you been okay, doing okay, since…”

Joel stares into his coffee cup and then looks at you, a little awkward. You smile, hoping to reassure him.

”I’ve been okay. Just the physical pain and exhaustion, mostly. And - well, you saw it. The panic. It can leave you drained.”

He nods and takes another swig of his drink. “I know. I - I’ve had times like that, too. Real fuckin’ scary, when you’ve never gone through it before.”

You study his face for a moment or two, noting the little scar on his temple, the lines on his face, the stern expression completely undermined by the warmth of his deep brown eyes. For an instant, he seems so vulnerable, this strong, tough man sitting on your little couch. 

“I haven’t had an attack like that in a while. But then, I hadn’t done anything like that in a while.”

This time Joel turns to look at you properly. “Not your first rodeo, huh?”

You giggle at the turn of phrase. “Not quite. Let’s just say my stick did a lot of work over the last twenty years. He wasn’t the first to feel the brunt of it.”

Joel nods, and you feel strangely relieved that he doesn’t seem surprised. “Doesn’t get easier, though, does it?”

“It does not. Which is why it’s better to avoid having to do it.”

”I agree. Gotta say, though, I - I was worried you wouldn’t be able for patrol, y’know?”

You arch an eyebrow at him. “I know. I overheard you, remember?”

He blushes. “Aw, shit. Yeah. I’m sorry about that. I just didn’t want anything happening to you, what with your - condition, and all.”

You sigh softly, not really noticing the affection in his voice. “Most of the time, I’m fine. Y’know? I’m slower, but I do okay. I get tired more easily, but I manage. I didn’t come here to be a drain on the community.”

”You aren’t.”

”I know, but I want to keep it that way. I want to pull my weight. I’m able, Joel.”

He huffs in agreement. “Not like I’m a perfect specimen these days, either. Knees, fuckin’ back, deaf in one ear…” 

You chuckle. “And you thought I wouldn’t manage patrol? Anyway, you’re not doing so bad, are you?”

He gives you a little smile, but that constant sadness still haunts his eyes. He stares at his coffee for a moment.

“You knew what you were doing, though.”

”I did. But I didn’t feel like I could stop.” You sip your tea, swallowing hard. “And I’m scared that makes me some kinda monster. You know?”

Oh, he knows. He knows it too well.

”You aren’t a monster.” Joel resists the urge to put an arm around you. “You just… something snapped, I guess. All that - well, all that hell you’ve gone through. It… it changes you. But it doesn’t make you a monster.”

He realises you’re crying before you do, spotting the fat tears that roll down your cheeks. He finds a clean handkerchief in his jeans and offers it to you. 

Fuck it. 

“Can I - can I put an arm round you? Just for some support?”

Your eyes light up, tears or no tears, and you nod enthusiastically. Joel is warm and comforting, his broad chest and strong arms a kind of anchor in the emotional storm. You nuzzle against him, and he gives you a little squeeze on the arm.

”You’re a really brave woman, you know that?”

His voice is quieter, more intentional. You look at him quizzically from under your lashes, unused to praise of this kind. For an instant you think about asking him what he means. But the safety you’ve found in the broad arm draped around you is all you need right now. 

You nuzzle a little against his chest, and watch the fire dancing for the rest of the night. 

[jazzyblusnowflake]

OMG hi…I really like your art and was wondering if you wanna be mutuals??????????? Also tell me about your MD ships :3c

honey we are dating- .....okay yknow what- HI PRETTY & TALENTED LADY- yess i will absolutely love toooo 🙈💕💕💕💕💕

also lets see uhhh okay this is an excuse for me to just... expload-

keep in mind not every ship is meant for all of you so dont badger me about stuff that ISNT CANON or YOU DONT SHIP. contrary to whatever you believe, when somone posts about THEIR ships, nobody wants to hear about you NOT shipping it on THAT EXACT post.

hang in there, this gon be a long one >:p

First off we are starting strong with Nuzi- Biscuitbites obviously thats a given- these two just have too much to be said about why and how they make eachother the best version of eachother, whether they ever became canon or not- they fit like puzzle pieces- they lessen eachothers negative traits by being their for eachother.

next is Vuzi- Violentviolet, they are my favorite kind of enemies to lovers 😔 but its also tragic smh. kinda pissed off at how V always does something good in Uzis favor only when she is LITERALLY PASSED OUT- either in the camp ep on the bus or in Alices lab. like damn ofFUCKINGcourse Uzi wouldnt know she cares about her 😭😭😭

envuzi- Violentbitingbiscuits, i love these goobers with all my heart- they deserve the best 😔💕💕💕💕

envy - [does this poor ship just NOT have an exclusive FINDABLE tag name??? im calling them GoldenMemories...], i like to think that if they were in the manor still, and nothing bad had ever happened, these two would be comforting eachother in the healthiest way possible. V needs someone like N and N is just adorable like that uwu

Next we have JxTessa/Jessa- [calling them Fancyblades cuz why not-] J deserves some closure for the shit shes gone through smhhh 😔, its a tragic yuri of J loving and wanting something she probably already accepted she couldnt have, and even then she gotta deal with Ns ass being the favorite one regardless of how hard she tries to be perfect... sighhh i wanna imagine them in a future where Tessa was spared as the only human and J could save her 😭😭😭😭 Tessa might have loved doing mechanical stuff or wore black to hide grease/oil stains on her clothes from her parents and wore gloves to hide her oily stained hands- i want her to have a scene of wiring drones back to life and saving them and saying something like "hey there, you made it! dont worry, ill take care of you, youre my friend now :3" or something //dies//, also before anyone says it- even if Tessa was a teen in the flashbacks- romance is not exclusive to ADULTS, teens can love eachother without having sexual stuff involved. no she was not their MOTHER figure, she was their FRIEND who liked to fix robots for herself to not be alone in a house where her own parents literally chain her up as punishment. i dont even know why im arguing about this, people headcanon or make aus about characters NOT being dead all the time and if Tessa was alive for as long as J thought she was, Tessa would have been a perfectly fine adult either way. so counting this, yes shes canonically considered an adult when Cyn tries to imitate an adult humans body 🙄 makes as much sense as everything else i guess-

next ones i got is NorixYeva/Neva- Solverlilies- i just think theyre neat 😭😭😭 and once again, like everything else in this franchise- they are tragic yuris 😔 damn liam im finding a pattern over here 🤨 anyway, i like to think they either got closer in the lab experimentations or were already close when they were working as WDs in the campsite area for the humans. obviously canonically they were probably straight or just not into eachother romantically- [Nori either u have the worst taste men or Khan just fucking lost it after you died-] but also on the other handddd.... they have 2 hands and they are robots, i want them to kiss like two barbie dolls and im gonna make them do just that-

DollxLizzy/Dizzy- Bloodypink, wost fucking ship names ever, i cant find shit on them with these tags and it makes me angry >:/ at this point 2/3s of my ships are just tragic yuris smh, Doll did not deserve any of the things handed to her, even if she went about doing some things the wrong way i wish Lizzy didnt just abandon her- but then again, Doll did kinda abuse Lizzys trust and Lizzy got scared of being close to a serial murderer so.... morality calls this a draw? 😭 im crying... i wish someone was there to help Doll... sigh... i like to think Lizzy would have waited for Doll to just come back at some point... oh well, thats why AUs exist :"3 //sobs in the corner//

DollxUzi/Dollzi- Bloodybats, this ship is so underrated to me... they could have been... so much more. but why weren't they? did Yeva abandon ever getting close to Uzi when she was a kid after Nori died? did Uzi and Doll just never play around together as kids when their mothers were so close? were they ever close and something went wrong as they grew older? at worst they could have been like sisters together, and at best maybe more than friends. i just dont know what happened here, like Yeva could have tried to keep an eye on Uzi, maybe Uzi could have found Dolls powers so cool before having them too- i dont know theres literally tons of possibilities- but if Doll deserved to be saved or cared for by anyone, at least one of them should have been Uzi... sigh.

ThadxV- Killingblonde, yall this is... the cutest shit... ever???? like from here on out we kinda go into the more or less crackship territory but these two are adorable- Dumbass yet wholesome jock boy that just wants to keep his queen happy 😔👌👌👌 He and Uzi would have so much to talk about on "crushing on literal murder bots that stabbed and almost ate us" its literally love at first stab smhhh 😫💕

ThadxSam- Smokyjock ???? for some fucking reason??? i dont know what my brain did here man- i just like the trope of someone getting under Thads skin- like pair up the healthy sports loving gym boy with the lazy but wholesome dumbass that does drugs or is always just sleep deprived and Thad is always trying to just... take care of his ass and make him take care of himself but he just WONT SMHHH-

okay some more or less crack ships down here:

ThadxN: it speaks for itself. its too adorable and youll go blind from the light of wholesomeness-

ThadxNxUzi: Uzi will die here from the overwhelming wholesomeness... oh bonus if its just a 4s polycule of ThadxNxUzixV i mean i know im pushing my luck but.... random crackships go brr- V and Uzi will complain but love their dumbass golden puppy partners-

ThadxUzi: i think they could have been close and Thad caring about her as a childhood friend turned crush sounds just too cute for me 😔

LizzyxUzi: another random ass rivals to lovers or some shit idk what this is, Lizzy would pay Uzi to kiss the fuck out of her i dont make the rules-

ThadxLizzy: in some cases where they are NOT headcanoned as siblings or cousins, i think they have a good energy of wholesome jock bf and girly queen cheerleader lol, Thad is just a good bf eitherway-

DollxUzixLizzy: the gals would not leave a single second of silence for the small gremlin i swear to God- [Uzi is gay as FUCK for her gfs, absolute girloser unit with her gorgeous but crazy gfs]

okay for the end i have some characters that arent ships but i wish they could have become closer as friends or work out their issues...

J and N- too much abuse and toxicity here, i wish they could talk together more and see they have a lot of things in common- maybe a full line of dialogue from J without threatning N in every sense of the manner would be nice for a change =_=

Doll and V- again, a bit morally ambiguous to ship a character with the murderer of your family, esp when said murderer hasnt expressed regret lmao, but i wish they could at least be friends... Dolls disdain for the murder drones pushed her to end up the way she did. maybe if she didnt do it alone she would have been alive by now. so i like to think what would have happened if she and V could have made up- not necessarily Doll forgiving her- but at least having the space to grow and understand why they did they things that happened.

Cyn and literally ANYONE- i want the solver to be SEPARATE from Cyn- i wish Cyn would have still existed somewhere down there and was savable- i wish this poor child AI had a happy ending to her by connecting with the others as ACTUAL siblings... goddamnit 😔

aaaand thats it for this fine ass day 🫡 yall are welcome to ask about any of these- boy the tags are gonna be.... a lot.

[willows-peak]

*･ﾟ✧ Choso Being Sensitive

tags: virgin! choso, fem! reader, very short ramble, crying (choso), nicknames (baby), squirting

MDNI

a/n: choso who cries when he cums inside you,,,,yeah,,, not very long but ill def write more of this in the future bc choso lives in my head 24/7

word count: 0.5k

⋆｡˚ ♡ Choso was incredibly inexperienced, something he never bothered to worry about before he got together with you.

It's not like he was clueless, of course, he knew the basics of sex and that a lot of the acts were learnt in the moment with your partner, and none of that knowledge ever mattered. Until right now.

Right now, where he was thrusting into you with a sloppy and shaking pace, groans and cries of your name almost being punched out of his gut with how good every thrust inside you felt. He was so ashamed, so embarrassed about how his body seemed to go against what he wanted. Trembling, making noises without his permission, unable to keep at the fast and hard pace he wanted to fuck you from how overwhelming your pussy felt.

"Oh- my god- baby, please, baby, i- oh god-" Every time he tried to speak, either whispering dirty talk into your ear or tell you how wonderful you were doing, all devolved into those filthy mashed together chants of your name and prayers to a God he hoped never met him. He didn't need anything more pure than what he had with you.

Your hands on his face was the only thing that could clear his mind, even for a moment so he could get a good look at you.

And Lord did you look delicious. With your hair splayed across the pillows, your perfect and bruise covered tits bouncing to the rhythm of his body against yours, and with your gorgeous eyes rolled back. With a sight like that, there was no hope he could last much longer.

His thumb lowered down to your clit, hurriedly stroking the underside of it while he felt your pussy be stretched taut from his cock. "C-close, close, please-" He scrambled out, lowering his head as his body lit with new found sensitivity. His abs felt like they were on fire from the constant movement, but there was no way he could stop. Even if he tried. He whimpered, feeling his eyes start burning as he got closer to his orgasm. Everything was so much, feeling your thighs shake against his waist and watching your hands cling onto anything that you could.

He could feel how close you were, your wetness flowing down to his balls like the tears forming and cascading down his cheeks. You were so good, so good, so so good, he couldn't, he needed to cum inside you, he needed you, more than he could ever hope to say aloud.

"Gon-na cum- fuck, oh god, yes, yes, just like that, fucking cum for me, please baby please yes yes yes yes-" He rambled out as he felt you rapidly throb around his cock, squirting against his thigh and the mattress beneath you two. He came almost immediately afterwards, a hand covering his mouth as he came hard and deep inside you. "Y-es, yes, yes yes, ohh goddd" he mumbled out, his voice acting on its own accord while he rested his heavy body down against you.

[sturniolo04]

Best Friends Brother M.S.

Fwb!Matt x Fwb!Fem!Reader

A/N: If you don't like the preadded name in my stories, you can either add your own name or not read it; it's up to you :)

you have been best friends with the triplets since you guys were in diapers really so for at least 21 years. you have been extremely close with Chris in particular just because he relates to me more than you thought he would.   

you always hang out with him literally. If you see him you see me vice versa and its nice having him around but growing up with them youve developed a huge crush on Matt and it shouldnt be that bad right.

 Then why cant you tell Chris about it? Maybe because its his own triplet brother you have a crush on and there is no to tell him that is the case you couldnt do that to them.

So, creating distance between you and matt was your only option in your eyes.

"are we going to target still"

Nick asks coming into the living room where chris and you were on your phones

"i dont know did you ask matt"

he replies to his older brother not taking his focus off of the screen in front of him

"ask me what"

Matt states walking out of his room into the living room area making direct eye contact with the pair sitting on the couch on their phones

"are we going to target still is what i was asking"

"i dont see why not are you guys down" 

"sure do you want to go to target  Cassie"

he asks the girl sitting next to him as Matt shifts his eye contact to you slightly

"i-i dont know  i can just stay here you know"

"what no if you stay ill stay then"

"oh my gosh no you should go ill be fine"

'Come on cass it will be fun"

he engages trying to persuade you to tag along. It wasnt that you didnt want to tag along you just didnt want that distant you were putting between you and matt creating any weirdness amongst them all knowing they would eventually notice especially in a setting like that.

"come on it would mean so much to chris" 

he states seeing how he brother is absolutely miserable without you by his side.

"fine"

you give in getting up to grab your shoes in matts room. Why did matt have your shoes a very not so long story that you were not willing to get into. Let's just say the distant you thought you were keeping with matt didnt last long.

~Flashback to 2 days ago~

Matt's pov: tonight was not a typical night  Nick was hanging out with Madi at her house  and Chris was hanging out with friends for the evening leaving me and the girl that honestly drives me insane in the house by ourselves.

I have always had somewhat of a close relationship Cassie and has gotten closer as i realized i wanted to be more with her but never did anything about it because she is literally my brothers best friend and chris would loose his shit if he  knew i liked her in this way.

Lately, though Cassie and i havent been as close almost as if she is avoiding me.

Deciding i was tired of hanging out in my room for most of the evening  i went into the kitchen to find just the person on my mind all evening.

"hi"

"oh hey"

"what are you doing"

i ask grabbing a root beer from the refrigerator

"um honestly just thinking"

the girl states as matt makes eye contact with the girl sitting on the counter as if she is almost stuck in a daydream.

"oh really about what.. penny for your thoughts"

i ask her hoping she would share something and actually have a conversation with me

"um just how im so stupid and crazy and everything in between"

she sighs out

"what how are stupid and crazy thats literally impossible"

"i mean i literally"

she stops mid-sentence as she looks at me 

"i cant tell you this"

she trails off hopping down from the counter

"see stupid"

she states again attempting to walk past me probably to head back down to chris' room which is where she had been hiding out to keep her so called distance from me.

"cassie wait what"

i reply quickly confused and frustrated with the space she keeps creating between us grabbing her hand bring her back to face me

"just tell me why are you avoiding me i thought we were friends Cass"

"matt come on you know we cant just be friends and thats the problem"

"okay and what wrong with being more than friends because i maybe want to be more than friends"

"chris is my best friend matt i cant do that to him you know that"

"so you dont ever want to be more than friends"

"thats not what said"

"then what do you want cass"

i ask her running my hands comfortingly on her arms as she makes eye contact  with me

"you"

she quietly states staring into my eyes as i lean in to connect our lips and bring her body closer to mine.

~End of flashback~

Chris' Pov: we have been in target for a good 45 minutes and Nick and I have lost track of Matt and Cassie.

Honestly both of them have been acting extremely weird lately. Its probably nothing and if it was something Cassie and Matt would have told me. Right?

"where the fuck would they have snuck off to its target for fucksake"

"is that them"

i question staring down an aisle that appeared to look like them but it couldnt be them because well Cassie and Matt are dating are they?

"Matt! Cassie!"

he exclaims as the pair turns around

"unbelievable"

he sighs out leaving the aisle probably to head back to the car.

"chris i can explain"

you trail off following after him leaving Nick and Matt inside target.

"chris wait!"

you exclaim as you catch up to him

"cassie my brother really!"

"im so sorry i was going to tell you.."

"when"

"i was when you got home from hanging out.."

you ramble as he cuts you off

"wait you kept this from me for two days cassie"

"i- yes chris i didnt mean to keep it a secret but i just knew you wouldn't like that i kissed your brother"

you sigh out trying not to let your tears fall

"yeah Cassie i wouldn't have liked it your supposed to be my best friend why would you keep that shit from me"

"Chris im so so sorry"

you state with tears in your eyes as he comes up to you and grabs your arms looking down at you

"cassie really"

he lightly chuckles out

"what im so sorry seriously i cant loose you as my best friend chris"

you continues to ramble

"cassie im not upset that you like him honestly i knew a while ago"

"what wait really"

"yeah its not a problem seriously"

"thank god"

you sigh out as he laughs a little bringing you into a hug

"so matt for real"

he questions rhetorically pulling away from you

"oh shut up"

you state rolling your eyes and shoving your shoulder into his

taglist

@mintsturniolo @emely9274 @stayingstromboli @spicymuffins03

@dirtylittleheart333 @wh0resstuff @ksturnz @emely9274 @ccxsturns

[mysticstarlightduck]

Seven Sentences Sunday! Writing Share Tag! <3

Thanks for the tag, @rickie-the-storyteller!!!! I know this is a 7 Sentence Tag but I am too lazy so I'm gonna treat it as a Writing Share tag lmao

I'll go with a snippet from Arrows of Nightfall for this one (:

Snow crunched underneath Asrius' worn out, heavy fur-lined boots, as he trudged through the frozen trail. The ground was covered in thick blankets of white, frost crawling up the treetrunks and tinging everything around him with cold. The trees were barren, their ashen branches creaking in the howling wind, their fallen leaves long since turned to wet mulch under the thick snow.

The familiar smell of burning wood from scattered campires was the only welcome he had as he neared the war camp once more. It would've been comforting, if it wasn't followed by the faint smell of roasted venison and the cheers of the older soldiers sharing their vast, filling portions in the main tent. None of that feast would ever make its way to him, or to his cousin.

That, the Commander had made damn well sure of.

All that Asrius had to keep him and Eirian from starving in these frozen wastes were small, dwindling stashes of dry meat and stale old bread, and whatever small critter - usually a hare or a phesant, though now, at this point in the winter, where the forests had turned into a deserted death trap, he wasn't above hunting for rats - he could manage to kill and smuggle into camp without being spotted by his so-called comrades. If he was lucky.

Today, he wasn't lucky.

His hunting escapade today had left him with nothing more than weary, frost-bitten bones and empty hands, his entire body protesting the unwanted effort after the grueling scouting missions the Commander had not-so-generously burdened him with. Nothing. He'd gotten nothing. And he knew what awaited him in their small, shared tent in the far edge of camp - Eirian, his cousin, barely eleven winters of age, and their tiny stash of supplies hidden under an old pack. Today it wouldn't be enough for half a meal for even one of them, let alone them both.

He'd have to take a risk. To steal from the more favored soldiers, the ones gathering around the main table. The ones who loved to beat him up, and whose cruel laughter seemed to be the backdrop of his life nowadays. He'd have to try. Maybe he could swipe a pastry or two from the feast the others shared, sneak it away under his cloak. He hoped they were drunken enough that such an act would go unnoticed.

Asrius tugged at his cloak so it wrapped more tightly around his shoulders, as if the rough hewn cloth could offer something akin to warmth in this weather, with the wind slashing at his skin like icy daggers. Each step he took closer to the main tent felt like a battle against his own instincts screaming at him to just stop. But he couldn't afford to stop. If he did, he and Eirian would be soon to become like those corpses that seemed to litter the edge of the roads, gaunt husks reaped by illness and hunger, drained of life.

He refused to let that be their fate.

My Taglist (-/+): @ray-writes-n-shit, @sarandipitywrites, @lassiesandiego, @smol-feralgremlin, @kaylinalexanderbooks,

@diabolical-blue @oh-no-another-idea

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Let me know if you'd like to be added!

[noturlondonboy]

We Lived Our Time // part one.

We Live in Time/Bishova crossover

Masterlist

SPOILER WARNING: the summary and tags for this fanficiton contain spoilers for We Live in Time. As does the actual fic, because yeah. Do not continue reading from this point if you haven’t seen the movie yet and don’t want spoilers.

Chapter summary: Kate and Yelena have their last conversation before it comes time to say goodbye.

Chapter warnings and tags: angst, terminal illness, death, sick Kate, coughing, choking, difficulty breathing, bad lungs, lung disease, established bishova, married bishova, baby Derek, grief

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: sad Bishova warning sorry gang

• • • • • • • •

The last few moments of Kate Bishop’s life were painful, but if she had the chance, she’s (mostly) sure she wouldn't change it.

“I’ve never actually gotten to say goodbye before.”

She tilts her head to the other side in a slow movement, where her wife is sitting next to her bed. They had officially put Kate on hospice a few weeks ago; being stuck in the hospital only made her feel like shit, more than usual, and the feeling was only amplified when her life expectancy shortened from six months to one.

Yelena’s expression is a careful mask, one that Kate has learned how to read through perfectly. Their hands tighten around each other from where they lay on the bed by Kate’s hip, finger tangled and palms flush. Kate’s breathing is deep and slow. Her chest rattles with each measured inhale, wheezes with each controlled exhale.

God, everything hurt.

Kate doesn’t quite know how to reply. She’s been feeling like that a lot lately- when she’s not up in the middle of the night with her face stuffed into her oxygen mask, or struggling to feed Derek his carefully chopped baby food with weak, trembling hands, there’s a tick in her jaw. So many words, so many thoughts and ideas and wants, and so little time for any of it.

This was probably the worst time for Kate’s usually constant flow of verbiage to suddenly dry up. She would be angry if she had the strength for it.

No words, English or Russian or otherwise, can ever make up for any of this.

“I love you,” is what Kate eventually comes up with. Her words are soft now, slower, like the languid draw of syrup in a straw. Her lungs feel like that these days. Thick and dripping with a rancid sludge that no amount of raw, painful coughing will ever dislodge.

Yelena’s lips tighten into a thin line, and she blinks harshly a few times in quick succession, but the frosted glass-like quality that had settled over her eyes the moment Kate received her diagnosis last year doesn’t dissolve.

The silence would be deafening if they weren’t both already so used to it.

Yelena is twisting the silver band on her finger- the only ring she can ever get herself to wear anymore- and her bottom lip is trapped between her teeth, threatening to stain pearly white with bright red. Kate weakly removes her hand from the blonde’s and brings it up to her cheek, which she finds no resistance in doing. Yelena always noticed the moment Kate’s psychicallity changed. For as lethal as she was, she was twice as attentive. Her fingers loosen and allow her wife to lift her arm from the bed before Kate seems to even realize what she herself is doing.

“Stop that,” Kate murmurs, her thumb pressing gently on Yelena’s lip until it's released from its confines. The brunette brushes over it with the pad of her thumb, wishing that her own failing body could soothe the pain in her wife’s eyes.

”I’ve never gotten to say goodbye before,” Yelena repeats again after a moment. Her face and voice are haunted, and Kate wants to scream from the knowledge that her beloved might never smile the way she used to again. Even if she did, Kate won’t be around to see it.

”I guess you’ll get to say goodbye this time around, then, huh?” Kate rasps, a cough slowly budding in her chest. She can always feel it as it grows, a ball that starts between her ribs and pushes and pushes and pushes its way through her organs and her bones and her blood until it can’t be contained any longer. This one is oozing through her at a low, creeping pace, taking its time to growl and prowl before it snatches her away.

Yelena finds her hand again, her collapsed palm over Kate’s knuckles as she holds both against her cheek and presses her lips to the pale skin of the brunette’s wrist. Kate’s pulse is thready and terrifyingly weak against the Cupid’s bow of her mouth. “I don’t- I don’t want to say goodbye, Kate Bishop. I don’t.”

”You don’t have to. I already know.” Kate wets her lips for what feels like the first, millionth, and last time, but as always, they stay cracked and dry. “Just be here with me. Stay here with me.”

Yelena notices her efforts and procures a water bottle from the bedside table, but Kate gives a wobbly shake of her head at the offered sip. As thirsty as she is, as she always is, she knows that swallowing anything would only worsen the cough that’s slowly getting bigger underneath her sternum.

There’s a dreadful sense of foreboding, of knowing, buried deep in her stomach, that this ragged choke of breath will be her last.

She had already said goodbye to the rest of her family. Clint and Laura and the kids had spent the week before in the city, with Natasha and Bucky popping in several times at random points. Wanda and Pietro and the twins had given her a massive, albeit very careful, Maximoff group hug. Agatha and Rio had delivered a freshly baked casserole under the cover of darkness- their best form of an apology for not being able to save Kate from the confines of her mortality.

When she had first gotten sick, Greer, Franny, and Charli had spent several days with her, cramming in as many activities as they possibly could before Kate became too ill to properly function on her own. She had hugged and kissed her best friends, nodding along to the promises of visitation, and had seen them a few times since, but those last few days had been her true parting with them, and she knew they felt it too.

Her parents weren’t difficult at all- all it took was a drive to the cemetery, where Kate laid herself over the cool surface of the Bishop joint headstone and murmured a vague promise to see them soon.

Derek was a different story, and Kate knew saying goodbye to her son had possibly been the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. It was only made worse by the fact that he didn’t understand the situation, and the knowledge that he could never truly know or remember the mother that had birthed him. It hurt more than the stabbing itch in her lungs ever possibly could.

And Yelena. Her Yelena. Her wife.

Her sweet, strong, good Yelena, who’s beautiful eyes were distant as she once again chewed on her lip, both of her hands holding onto one of Kate’s.

The cough is growing more prominent in her chest, and Kate feels a flare of panic, her fingers tightening around Yelena’s wrist. “Baby,” she rasps, eyes darting over the face she loved most. “Baby. Yelena. I love you so much.”

Yelena’s brow furrows, and she picks up on the note in Kate’s voice immediately. “Katie?” she whispers gutterly, every fiber of her body trembling. She shifts closer so that she’s sitting on the bed with her, their hips pressed together. Kate swears she can’t feel her legs.

She was supposed to have a few more days at best, another 24 hours at worst, but now? Now? She was leaving now?

Yelena was not ready to be a widow in more ways than one. She was not ready for any of this at all, and she wished she could rip the universe in half to fix it.

“Baby,” Kate says again, her voice tight, nearly a wail. She doesn't want it to be like this. She doesn’t want to be afraid.

Yelena, always two steps ahead, leans down to rest herself on Kate’s chest, her strong arms snaking around her body to hold onto her tightly. Never mind the fact that her squeezing restricts Kate’s lungs- Kate already can’t breathe for shit, and they both know it.

Yelena seems to have realized what Kate already knows to be true.

The cough erupts from Kate’s lips in a sharp, choked sputter of air, her eyes squeezing tightly shut. Yelena presses close and holds her and holds her and holds her, nearly crushing her to the bed because Kate is already dizzy and in pain and dying anyway, and the only way Yelena could possibly do anything to make it worse would be to leave Kate to do it on her own.

It hurts the way a dull blade hurts, aching and still sharp, stabbing through her body and making her blood fizzle and bubble up. She coughs and she coughs and she coughs, until the air stops coming and her heart stops screaming for it. Yelena is sobbing as she holds onto her, her face pressed into Kate’s neck as the pulse fluttering against her cheek starts to give out. Vaguely, she can hear Derek crying in his room across the hall, awoken by the sound of his parents in anguish. Oh god, why didn’t they have him staying with Laura and Clint? Or Agatha and Rio and Nicholas?

“Kate Bishop, I love you,” Yelena cries, every nerve ending in her body on fire as she holds the most important person in her life in her arms and watches the life drain from her face. “I love you. I love you.”

Kate clings to Yelena until her arms stop working, but the pain has faded by then, and even as her body continues to shake and struggle, she lets herself look. Just look. At Yelena, her wife. At their room, in their house. At the life they had built together, however short it had been.

Before her vision darkens for the last time, Kate swears she sees the glassiness lift from Yelena’s eyes, and the golden hazel she sees there is the color she hopes will greet her in death.

What Kate Bishop had not been expecting was to open her eyes again- especially not in the middle of an English countryside chicken coop.

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

Comment to be added to the tag list.

— Next >

[08melancholie]

Green Neckerchief; Red Blood. — Micah Bell/Reader

tags: Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicide Notes, Angst, Heavy Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt, Emotional Hurt, Death, Character Death, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, yeah this is just very sad, Micah Bell Being an Asshole, Soft Micah Bell, he cries btw, The Author Regrets Nothing, Not Beta Read, no beta we die like micah bell, and reader (again. sorry. not really sorry but oh well), Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Dark, Sad, Sad Ending, Unhappy Ending

summary: You don't realise just how much you miss something, before you suddenly lose it with no way to get it back. Everything goes quiet and you feel a sense of longing for the noise she used to make; don't you, Micah?

a/n: this is how i deal with depressive episodes; i write about people missing me—and by people i mean fictional characters that don't even know i exist.. its cheaper than therapy ever was

words: 3,160 | AO3 LINK

'Housing O'Driscolls must have become an everyday for Dutch; first that Kieran kid, now her?', Micah thinks to himself as he looks at you from across camp, whether you'd be helping one of the girls with laundry; going on a job with some of the men; talking to Dutch—one of the only people who actually went out of their way to speak to you; or just sat around, he would have a problem with it. With you.

You were an ex-O'Driscoll, which in itself was giving you a horrible reputation in Dutch's gang, but it could somehow only get worse.

And that worse was the fact that you weren't just another O'Driscoll in his gang; but his own blood, a relative.

You were Colm's daughter, unfortunately.

You never understood quite how, but life always had to sabotage you, make every accomplishment extra hard to reach, and make sure you got minimal credit.

And you could never complain. Never.

Dutch, after a full week of thinking and contemplating what to do with you, seeing as you very easily ratted on Colm with truthful information that was very useful to him, decided he wouldn't have you killed nor just sent off wherever, and you were put on watch by another member for a while, to see how you did.

Dutch found you a fine addition to his gang, and urged everyone to treat you as such, even if it was hard to do for many. One of those who found it hard was Micah Bell.

He had a huge, undeniable hatred for Colm and all that followed him—which, in his eyes, included you. Sort-of rightfully, but still; you tried your damn hardest to make them all see differently, that you weren't like Colm O'Driscoll and his devoted followers, but it was all futile. People often form an opinion of you and stick to it, hardly ever changing.

Micah wasn't always horrible to you, though. He had his moments, sure—but he sometimes actually wasn't too bad. Maybe he was starting to see a little differently. At a very slow pace, but still.

Usually, you had no problem defending yourself against him or anyone else who spoke ill of you to others or straight in your face, like Dutch had urged you to many times, but today just hasn't been a good day.

You never had a fear of dying, nor did you really... enjoy living, so to say. This life felt forced and was unkind to you at almost any moment it had a chance to be, but it was getting almost ridiculous by now.

You were on the edge of breaking down at any moment, trying to take a moment for yourself and sitting down at one of the tables, just for Micah to seat himself opposite of you.

"There you are, O'Driscoll girl."

You were dreading the conversation he was about to initiate, as if there wasn't enough on your plate already.

Don't cry, yell, or be upset... stay calm.

"Micah..." You look up from the brim of your hat reluctantly, but instead of the usual annoyed or cocky look you always gave him, for the first time, there's something else etched into your facial expression; a deep sadness he's not ever noticed, a melancholy look to your eyes.

His look of annoyance and disgust slowly faded into mild surprise as he looked at your expression, not having ever seen it before. "What's got your panties in a twist, O'Driscoll?" He asks, leaning over the table slightly.

You sigh and rub your sore eyes with your thumb and index fingers. "Do we have to do this today?" You mumble weakly, your mood entirely different and visibly more down than ever. "I really just... don't have the energy for your antics right now."

Micah raised an eyebrow at your response, tilting his head slightly. "What? You tired of me already, girl? You think you have a choice here, little O'Driscoll scum? Because you don't—you're in this gang, but you're not part of it. "He then paused in his speech, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Tch, 'ya look like you're about to start crying."

"..Okay, Micah." You quietly reply back and just go back to what you were doing beforehand; sharpening your knife under the table.

He watched you with narrowed eyes, noticing the way you seemed to be taking your frustration out on the poor blade in your hands, sharpening away your emotions. He let out a scoff and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "Well, that is real nice of 'ya . Ignore me—veeery mature."

You slide the knife in your hand over the steel block in the other one, mumbling back before going silent again, no means of either protesting, denying or defending yourself today; not like it ever helped or stopped what the others did. "Sure."

And Micah just... goes silent. What the hell was up with you today? You usually always had a snarky response or quip back for him, and look at you now; just sitting there silently as you press your blade on that damn block of steel. He, for some reason, doesn't want to leave it there. Oh, no; he can't let you have this one. "You gon' ruin the edge of that knife soon." He comments after a moment of silence. "Should learn to take your frustration out another way, maybe something a little less destructive."

You stay silent for a brief moment before replying. "Believe me, this is the less destructive option." You mutter without thinking and pause, before you just continue sharpening the knife once again. That totally didn't sound weird. You start to silently hope he ignores the comment, but of course; life throws you another broken ladder to climb.

There it was—Micah gave a soft scoff at your reply, but the look on his face said he was at least happy you were finally talking like you usually did. "Oh? And what is the more destructive option, huh?" He asks curiously, catching on the weird wording in your response to him.

You exhale a little sharply before mumbling your reply; of course he had to say something, of course he noticed it. "I misspoke, is all." You excuse yourself, a little poorly.

Micah looked at you, his eyes flicking between you and the knife in your hand every now and then. "No, I don't think you did, girl. You meant exactly what you said, and now I ain't gonna let it go; I'm curious." Of course, he has to pry all the more.

You keep your eyes down on the steel block, dragging your blade a little quicker and harsher on it, until you can't take it anymore. "You're annoying, Micah," You stand while holstering your knife, putting the steel block into your saddlebag.

But Micah isn't having any of that.

He stands up with you, just as quickly. "Now, where do you think yer going?" He's swift to circle the table to your side and block out your exiting point. "I want to know."

You try to push past him when he puts his hand on you; grabbing you by the upper arm. You inhale sharply and try to rip your arm away, to no avail. "Micah, let go." You order, and he just tuts at you, like at a bad dog. "I'm serious, piss off already. I don't want to deal with you today, I've got enough to worry about already."

And Micah, like his usual self, doesn't let up. "Why you actin' like this recently? You ain't wanna go anywhere, you're all miserable—and now, you don't even wanna talk to me. Hells gotten into you, O'Driscoll?" He asks, only letting go of your arm when you go to smack it away.

"Nothing, I'm just.. feeling different, I don't know." You reply, you've been confused about your feelings yourself, just as much. "And since when do I gladly talk to you, anyhow?"

Micah takes a step back, but stays close enough so you can't weasel your way out of the conversation. "Not necessarily talk, but 'ya do like to argue with me. Where's all that energy gone, hm?" He asks, placing his hands on his gun belt.

You start to contemplate speaking up, you know you won't stop if you don't say something now—even if its to Micah of all people. And yet, your mouth stays shut, like it has for the past entire depressing month. "I'm tired, too tired for your usual bullshit." You reply defensively, like usually.

"We're all tired, sweetheart. We just don't whine and complain like you do." His words set you off, like never before. The gut feeling of saying something—the actual truth and the meaning behind 'tired'—gets worse, but so does the thought of him just using it as gossip and fuel for more arguments. And so, you don't say anything about it.

You push past him, and he doesn't stop you this time. He actually gives a small mock-laugh, assuming victory in the argument that ensued. Oh, he's won, alright.

Not fifteen minutes after walking into your tent, you walk right back out, making a b-line for your horse. Micah's not far back, back to his usual activity of standing around and doing absolutely nothing. And, funnily enough, he's the last person you see before you ride off.

Guilt. It's been an hour too long, and you're still to return. There it was, that foreign feeling Micah didn't remember feeling at any point in his life. He didn't know remorse; guilt; regret. None of it. And suddenly, it was all he was feeling. And against his better judgement, he got up out of his bedroll, left his tent and got on Baylock. And with the horse, he knew where to go to find you. That, in itself, should have been a sign—he hated you, but knew just where you were when upset? Yeah, explain us that one, Micah.

Apologies. Micah doesn't know how to form a sincere word of regret, and he knows a quick 'sorry' wouldn't fix this, not in a million years. Hell, he might just piss you off more if he comes up with a shitty apology. On his way down the path to the spot you were most-likely at, Micah starts to form a coherent, sincere and actually worthy apology. 'Sorry for everything' turns into 'sorry for targeting you with my torment, for all the weeks of it you endured. You didn't deserve that', and Micah tries to add as much as he can to it, to make it sound good. By the time he's at—huh?

Dread. Why is your horse hitched up just by the path, when there's still at least half a mile to your usual spot? Wait, no.. it isn't even hitched. The saddle bag is messily closed, ravaged through. But you're not there, not even around the area, not close-by or nothing. Just where are you, girl? And like the cruel God intended, Micah will always recognise your voice—no matter if it's your contagious laugh, your or your pained yelp, followed by sucking air in through your teeth. His blood runs cold and his hands already draw his revolvers, and he follows the noise. He expects to find you at the hands of a wild animal, or worse, a man. Not at the hands of your own self, and your hunting knife deep in your forearm.

Fear. Red. The color stains the knife next to you, the blade and the handle. The grass is red, so are your hands and wrists. All is painted in the color of your gore, even the nature gets to share you, with the lake getting a few drips itself, too. And you let them all share, like the thoughtful girl you always were. Micah panics; despite the usual instructions saying not to, he starts to panic. "What the hell did you do to yourself?" He sinks to his knees next to you, and suddenly he gets to share, too. His hand clasps around your opened arm, low curses leave his lips. "Baylock!" Micah whistles for the horse. "Come here, boy!" It's a crime scene, blood on your hands, and on his own—rhetorically and metaphorically, oddly enough. You had dry tear streaks going down your cheeks, and you were barely able to hold him back, your hands grabbing at his coat sleeves as you could only gasp and heave, death at your doorstep. And with every ounce of your leftover energy, you focus on clinging to this man. "Left saddlebag, number.. seven."

Denial. You're cold to the touch. Your skin is a paler color than it usually is, even with the moonlight painting your skin a beautiful shade, it is not your usual one, and that scares Micah. "Why the hell would you do this, 'ya moron?" He spits, and for the first time in so, so long in his life, there's water in his eyes. There's tears on his cheeks, going down to his jaw. He's angry. Oh, he's enraged. Never at the right person, however. Micah always struggled with that one emotion; rage, anger. And right now, he's mad at you. Oh, but you're just a kid. You're young and dumb, and he can't put all the blame on you. "Don't go yet, please." It's as if you can't hear him anymore, when your grip on him significantly loosens.

Acceptance. You go limp on him, your little irises stop moving, but your blood still pumps out of your arm. Oh, it's so unfair. He promised you a ride on Baylock once, to make up for another argument where he got too worked up and called you a bitch right to your face—along with a colourful array of other insults that stuck with you, until you started actually crying in front of him. He promised you that ride, but this wasn't what he meant. He saw you in behind him, holding onto his shoulders while Baylock took you wherever your little heart desired. Hell, it could have been Europe; he would have done it, if he weren't such a fool. He never imagined it'd be you, leaning on him while lifeless as blood seeped down over him, Baylock's saddle and Baylock himself, his black and write pattern getting stained; stained by you. He presses your face into his chest and makes Baylock walk forward, back to camp.

Left saddlebag, number seven.

Your words replayed in his head, over and over until he couldn't take it anymore. He had taken your horse with, and stopped both to check your bags. Notes. Oh, you were ready for this, you poor thing. You came to this prepared, knowing the outcome and knowing what to do, scarily enough.

He gets the horses to continue riding as he unwraps the note with the number seven on it, and he almost breaks down right then and there. It's not a very long note, but the impact it'll have on Micah will haunt him to his very grave; your writing in it making him grip the reins harder.

Micah, don't blame yourself. ever. i don't want you to blame yourself, and i'm telling you to never blade yourself—and yet i still feel you will always put yourself at fault for how things transpired. well, don't. it's not your fault, and if you need somebody to pass the blame onto, pass it onto my ever-beloved father. not onto yourself, Micah Bell. banter with you was always fun, and i'll miss it more than you'll ever be able to comprehend. i know you never wanted it to go this far, and i forgive you. i always will.

i may be an o'driscoll by name and blood, sadly, but i would have loved being a van der linde by your side, and will hope to do so in another universe one day. you and me, dear friend—we'd make it.

but you will have to make it on your own in this universe, without me to bother and argue with over the smallest of things. and i know that you can do it, Micah Bell.

He read every word slowly, and he read it in your voice—while he still had an idea of what it sounded like. He rubbed your back with his hand comfortingly, as if you were still with him and could feel it. Whether it was comforting you or him, that will stay a mystery. For now, he's getting you back home to your real family; to the Van Der Linde's, where you rightfully belonged all along.

He didn't deserve the privilege to talk so sweetly about you on that dreadful day—your well-deserved funeral, where they lowered you to rest, finally. And to preach about how wonderful you were and what a life you lead, that was the worst thing they could have done to him. And yet they still made him despite every protest. Maybe that was his punishment from God, for that day and for what he did to lead up to it.

The world didn't deserve to hear you through him—or anyone else for that matter. Not any of the people in camp, but especially him.

They deserved to experience you. The raw, unfiltered, unhinged you.

"She liked to go fishing, but always released the fish if they weren't fully grown."

He remembers how you used to throw them back, one time when Dutch had you both blow steam off after a heated argument. He came fishing with you two to ensure you wouldn't try to kill each other, and mostly stayed on his side to do his thing. Micah asked you why you threw so many back, and you, the sweet thing you were, always said you felt bad for separating the small fish that wouldn't even feed Jack from it's home and family.

"She liked going hunting, but could never bring herself to actually shoot the animals, worried she'd miss and make them suffer, bleed out on the ground slowly."

Just like how your end came, squirming and bleeding from your body, in an excruciating amount of pain and sorrow as life left your eyes; movement left your body; soul left the earth.

"And in the end, she bled red like the rest of us did."

And Micah didn't need an example for that last one, when it was all over his hands. When he was the one to call your time of death. When he was the one to hold you in your last moments. It was all him.

He watched the dirt get sprinkled over your pale face, holding back tears. Who would have thought that one day, Micah would cry over an O'Driscoll?

Well, that's wrong—you were a Van Der Linde in his eyes.

Amen and rest well, little angel. I'll miss you.

Kudos on AO3 appreciated, as always !!! Okaaay, wow. This is definitely something alright, probably my most depressing fic to date. If this isn't your cup of tea, since it is much darker and more detailed than my usual angst fics, thats fine! I have more lighter angst coming as well :) stay tuned for that and a few more <3

[jasntodds]

i’m not sure if this is the correct place to request something but i was wondering if you could write stiles stilinski x ocd!reader? maybe stiles notices her becoming overly anxious and sees her picking every one of her scabs back open or just picking at her skin repeatedly? sorry if that doesn’t make sense, it’s just something i do obsessively especially when things don’t “feel right”

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x OCD!Reader Words: 676 Warnings: OCD, mentions of panic attacks, a little bit of anxiety, mentions of picking skin and scabs, a little bit of fluff A/n: I’m sorry this took awhile but I was having issues thinking of plot 😭I hope you like it!!

masterlist | tag list | request info

Stiles has always been one of the most supportive people you have in your life. With his own history and battle with panic attacks, he gets how crippling any form of mental illness can be. It’s a constant war inside your head all the time, even when it doesn’t feel like a war. And he understands it and has been there to support you ever since you told him about your OCD.

He had questions, of course, because no one really, truly understands OCD until they have it. It’s not that you always just want your room to be clean or that you’re flipping a light switch three times. It’s more about something, very specific having very specific steps and if those steps aren’t done in the exact way your brain tells you, you have to repeat them and if you don’t, this terrible, awful thing will happen and you’ll have anxiety about it. The thought of redoing that thing will sit in the back of your head haunting you and taunting you until you just do it. But, the worst types if just when something just doesn’t feel “right”.

You haven’t necessarily done anything that goes against your compulsions, in fact, according to your recollection, you did everything “right”. But, something that is almost embedded into your bones, screams that something isn’t right. It’s a large flashing red light in the very front of your head telling you that something isn’t RIGHT. You don’t know exactly what thing is but it’s SOMETHING and it’s a vibration in your bones telling you to figure it out so you can fix that one thing to be right again. But, you can’t, not right now so instead, you’re stuck picking at your skin and scabs, reopening the wounds to try and ease the anxiety that wraps it’s self around your bones like selfish barbed wire.

Stiles, though, he’s always been attentive. It’s one of his best qualities, nothing really sneaks past him and he’s almost always right about everything. And he notices, everything, including the distant look in your eyes as you sit looking at the TV.

“Hey, are you okay?” Stiles asks, his voice calm as he looks over to you.

“Huh?” You raise your brows at him, the picking stopping for only a second.

Stiles glances to your hands and sees a small blood spot. “You’re picking, you only do that when it’s bothering you.” He refers to your OCD as it because sometimes, mentioning it by its name turns into this looming monster, like saying its name allows it to materialize in a way.

“Uh…” You stutter, the picking continuing. “I don’t know….something…feels…” You pause again because the other really annoying thing about OCD is that even sometimes talking about it not feeling right, is another trigger. If you acknowledge it, maybe something really bad will also happen.

“Doesn’t feel right?” Stiles finishes and earns a worried expression from you. “Alright, well,” Stiles takes your hands in his, resituating himself on the couch to face you. “I’m just gonna hold your hands for a little while, okay?” He asks and you nod at him. “Because picking isn’t gonna help and then we can try to figure out what isn’t right.” He gives you a warm and reassuring smile. “And if you can’t, that’s okay.”

“I feel like I did everything….ya know? But it just….” You pause again, growing annoyed at how everything stops in your throat even when you want to talk about it.

“I’m positive everything is fine.” Stiles gives you a reassuring nod. “But, if you think something might happen because it doesn’t feel right, then I guess you’re gonna have to deal with me all night cause I’m not going anywhere until you feel better.” His voice is airy but still holds this seriousness to it where you know he will not leave unless you’re okay. And you’re so thankful for him. He’s the only one that gets it.

“Thank you, Stiles.” It’s a weak smile that tugs at your lips, but a smile.

[creatively-cosmic]

dare i say that i love your art? I love it and im eating it up…

berserk cacao is so cool and just so sad and just so petrified :((( my poor baby i just wanna hols him in my arms or sit in his big hand and rub his face to let him know everything is going to be okay

i’m sorry i just like babying enormous creatures or killing machines. Or both.

also wondering if you’ve ever drawn young prince choco before?? If not, you should!! he’s really fun to do! and if so, do you have any photos?

(sorry for the long ask!)

ahh thank you so much!! im glad youve been enjoying it!

the big guys def been fun to think on and draw. and god i understand the sentiment i used to be exactly the same way with werewolf cookie LMAO you dont need to apologize (ill just find it a little funny bc this cacao is a 60 year old father. if anything he'd baby you)

as for the young prince... a few times, but not anything recent. we were way more into the cr franchise a while back which is when we did these

(+ a storybook thing we did on an old discontinued ask blog)

also hii under the cut just so this doesn't get too long, but i saw your tags under another post n wanted to clarify that yes its dark choco in front of cacao in our latest art! a. LOT of our designs of anyone from any media ever have a lot of discrepancies from the base design. we like to personalize each one to really make it our own as often, the characters we post are introjects in our system (also why we don't often maintag posts. don't take this as us saying we're uncomfortable with people enjoying our drawings and the characters- we like seeing people's takes and thoughts! the guys in our head are much different than the characters they take after)

all this a roundabout way of saying Yeah we've always drawn dark choco with longer hair. this went up the other day but this is the full design of the fella from that post

[korebringerofded]

The Truth- Steddie X F!Reader “Changes” part 4

A/N- This is part 4 to the changes series but could honestly be read on its own. I will be naming each part as I have a lot planned for this right now! Sorry this took so long I have been very ill.

Summary- After you find Steve and Eddie tangled up in each other the truth finally comes out followed by a great show of passion.

KIDS STAY OUT OF MY S W A M P

Warnings/tags-SMUT SMUT SMUT FILTHY SMUT, heavy steve smut, slight size kink, stomach bulging, Steve having a big dick, Eddie enjoying watching, Eddie is a mechanic because I think its hot though its not relevant for this part, unprotected sex, wrap it before you tap it please this is FICTION, multipart, slight angst, hurt/comfort.

A/N-If you enjoy please like, comment, reblog as it helps me keep going! I am worried this series will die and I have had lots of fun so if you guys want more and enjoy please let me know!

Eddie and Steve sat on opposite ends of the couch, faces burning crimson that only made their partially faded bruises appear darker.

You stood in front of them, arms linked over one another.

If there wasn’t pain etched across your face Eddie would have joked that you looked like a cross mother.

“I just don’t get it. The last time you two were alone you were LITERALLY fist fighting.” You sighed, eyebrows furrowed. “Eddie, you accused me of cheating on you with Steve.” You rubbed your arms. “And now you’re the one sucking face with him in our hallway.”

You had tried multiple times to get Eddie to talk about what had happened between him and Steve, or why he was gone for so long and where. Despite your efforts ever since Eddie and Steve appeared on your doorstep he had been unusually quiet about the entire situation. In fact, he avoided bringing up or talking about Steve as much as he could.

It had created a wave of tension between the two of you.

“It’s…hard to explain.” Eddie avoided your sharp gaze.

“You need to at least try, you owe me at least that.”

“Yeah…I know.” Eddie sighed. I thought that I hated him, but really…I was just jealous of him.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Afraid of how he made me feel, afraid he was going to take you away from me.” Eddie avoided looking at you or Steve. He couldn’t stop his hands from trembling.

Steve almost laughed at that, it was ridiculous to him.

When Eddie was there, Steve was painfully invisible to you. It was never a choice.

“Then I realized that what I was feeling was a lot more…complicated than I originally realized. I actually didn’t hate him at all.” Eddie glanced up, knee bouncing as his eyes locked with Steve’s.

The electricity that crackled between their gaze made the hair on the back of your neck stand on edge. Eddie’s eyes flickered between you and Steve who looked at him expectantly, each of you holding your breath.

“You…have feelings for each other” You whispered, feeling Steve and Eddie’s eyes burning into your skin.

The room was still after that, the tension building up a thick wall between you three.

Your mind was running in circles, lungs burning as you forgot to breathe.

“So…do you not love me anymore?” Your voice was soft, tears rolling down your cheeks. “Is…is that why you left?”

Fuck…What had they done? They never wanted to make you feel unloved.

Steve and Eddie pulled themselves from their spots on the couch to rush over to you in an instant, Eddie cupping your face in his hands while Steve sat beside you, taking your small hand in his.

“It's not that, princess. I love you so much that it makes me act like a fucking idiot. I…” He glanced at Steve. “I never planned on any of this, but nonetheless I love you both. In different ways but..both at the same time.”

“And…” Steve cleared his throat, trying to settle his drumming heart in his chest. “Y/N I have loved you since I saw you again that day at Scoops. Everything after has just been my awful way of trying to keep you in my life.” He couldn’t stop the words that slipped from his lips. “And somewhere along the way… I think I fell in love with you too, Eddie.”

You were shocked, frozen in place between the two men as the tension seemingly evaporated.

“So now what?” You were meek, face bright pink as you looked between the two men.

“That's up to you, sweetheart.” Eddie smiled. “I know what I want, but I’ll never force you into anything.”

You were quiet, chewing on your lip as you processed everything that had happened.

You loved Eddie, that was easy. Steve was and had been your best friend for a while, when you walked into Scoops Ahoy that day your life was forever changed, you were sucked into a russian elevator, you almost died, and Steve had saved your life countless times. You had a crush on him for so long before all that had ever happened. And being with Eddie you didn’t think about other people, it wouldn’t be true to say you never thought about Steve. Especially in those few weeks you were alone, while Steve comforted you and cared for you.

“What if we were all together, all three of us?” You blurted out, face burning even darker at the silence that fell over you three.

Steve and Eddie were simply shocked that out of the three of them, you were the one that said it first. The two men had certainly been thinking about just that for so long it felt like fiction but hearing it from your perfect lips, made it feel real for the first time.

“Is that-what you want?” Steve choked out, eyes wide. He still wasn’t sure how you felt about him, and to be honest you were just as confused but something deep in your stomach pushed you forward.

You glanced between the two men, finding your confidence before you leaned forward, connecting your lips with Steve’s. You had never kissed before, the sparks spreading over your lips as they melded together, Steve wrapping his hand around the back of your neck to pull you closer against him.

Eddie’s mouth went dry as he watched, his dick growing embarrassingly hard in his sweats. He had thought about it so much it made his head spin and now it was inches away, your thighs rubbing together as Steve’s tongue took over your entire mouth. You both pulled away eyes low and sultry and a thin string of saliva connecting between your lips.

“Fuck, don’t stop now.” Eddie chuckled, adjusting to get a better view.

“Are you-sure?” You panted, feeling a bit guilty for leaving Eddie out.

“Yes, absolutely. I am more than fine with watching for a bit.” Eddie’s eyes were blown and huge like a predator honed in on his prey, the full outline of his dick only making your head spin.

That was all Steve and you needed to fall back into each other, Steve tugging you to straddle his lap where he pressed soft kisses down the side of your throat. You leaned into his touch, tilting your chin up to give him better access as his hands massaged your hips, running over your thighs.

You couldn’t help but whimper and squirm slightly when you glanced over at Eddie who pumped his dick over his sweats, his eyes hazy and locked onto you and Steve. Your sweet noises were music to Eddie’s ears and only sent him further over the edge.

Steve ran his hands over your clothed breasts, squeezing and running his thumb over your nipples as his lips continued trailing down your neck and chest, eventually nuzzling between your breasts and pressing breathy kisses to your chest. Your heart echoed in your chest, Eddie’s sharp gaze and Steve’s desperate deliberate touch was sending you over the edge, between your thighs was becoming unbearably hot even in your thin cotton shorts as your puffy clothed clit was pressed against Steve’s dick, your hips bucking against him as he tugged your shirt over your head, he groaned softly at the sight of your bare breasts. He hadn’t even noticed you weren't wearing a bra.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Eddie chuckled, now having snuck his hand under his sweats and boxers and was running his fist over the pink tip of his hardened dick, precum shimmering.

“More than I ever could have imagined…fucking perfect.” Steve rambled, twisting your hardened nipples between his fingers as you trembled under his touch.

You were becoming increasingly impatient and desperate, Steve’s fingers working expertly at your breasts while you grinded against his dick, you didn't need to see it to be intimidated, the curved shape even clothed made you twitch and mumble incoherently.

You were going to cum and soon if you kept this up, all the tension and stress had built up all in this moment.

Steve was reluctantly not far behind and knew he wouldn’t last long like this. It all felt like a dream to him. He wanted to take care of you, make you come undone and eyes roll back. He wanted to leave you breathless.

“Someone is a bit needy, huh?” Steve grinned, tilting his head to the side with a shimmer in his eye as he dropped one of his hands to your thigh, his thumb running over your inner thigh before they trailed over the soaked front of your thin shorts. All while he flipped your nipple back and forth, his long fingers pressing against your cunt and massaging your puffy clit through your clothes.

“Better give her what she wants, Stevie. Our girl gets impatient, likes to misbehave.” Eddie chuckled darkly.

Our girl.

Those words only made you feel more light headed as Steve gently moved you off his lap so he could tug your soaked shorts off, leaving you completely nude. This was all so foreign and strange and yet you fell into it with ease as Steve tugged off his clothes as well before he guided you back onto his lap, your back pressed against his chest this time as his hands trailed over your body, his hard dick pressing unavoidable against your puffy lips.

“Wanna give Eddie a good view, hm?” Steve mumbled in your hair as he brushed his teeth over the spongy part of your throat.

‘Y-yes…” You blushed, eyes locking with Eddie’s as you struggled to keep your composer. Steve slid his hand down your front before he pressed his fingers to your clit, grinding his dick against your slick cunt as he did. Your mouth fell agape slightly, legs trembling for a moment.

“Fuck…” Eddie threw his head back, jaw tight as he watched you both closely, he could hardly move. It was by far the hottest thing he had ever seen.

You felt your orgasm approach rapidly as Steve ground his dick along your cunt, the curve and bumps along his dick along sending sharp waves of hot pleasure over you. His long, precise fingers worked against your clit.

“Stevie…” You mumbled, drunk on his touch. “Please…fuck me.” You whimpered, glancing back at him with teary eyes.

“Think you can handle me, princess? I wouldn’t want to hurt a sweet little thing like you.”

“Yes, please.” You pouted a bit, shooting a glare at Eddie when he chuckled.

“Spoiled little princess, like I said.” Eddie snorted, though he desperately wanted to watch Steve fuck your perfect pussy.

Steve was bigger than you ever could’ve guessed and when he pressed his tip into your soaked cunt you were squirming and trembling as he held your hips still. You panted, chest rising and falling as he fucked you with just his tip, letting you adjust to his size for a moment.

Your walls tightened and closed around him, Steve having to prevent himself from painting your inner walls right there. Steve pressed his fingers against your clit as he fucked into you, his dick pressing deeper and deeper inside before he was fully in, a slight bulge from where his dick nestled inside of you, tears stinging your eyes at the fullness.

“Fuck you feel so good-fuck.” Steve rambled, almost drunkenly as he finally moved his hips, his dick pulling completely out of you before sliding fully back in, poking your belly and bulging the skin yet again.

Eddie was seconds from finishing, your belly enlarged from Steve’s dick fucking into you slow and steady at first before you brought your hips down to meet Steve’s and he knew you could handle more, he gripped your hips and matched your pace, his head leaning back as his dick pressed and stung your walls, that familiar heat building more and more rapidly before you were whimpering, mumbling and coming undone around Steve’s dick, the two men not far behind you as your walls tightened around Steve’s dick and he came with a start, grunting loudly and eyes squeezing shut as he fucked his cum deep into your cunt.

Eddie came in his hand and over his lap as he panted, eyes never leaving the sight on the couch in front of him.

“Think you can handle us both next time, sweetheart?” Eddie chuckled.

Requests are open!

Again, if you enjoyed please like, comment, or reblog.

It helps me feel like less of a loser.

Taglist-

@haylaansmi

@daddysfavoritesexkitten

@ilovecupcakesandtea

@kellysimagines

@paprikaquinn

@dylanmunson

@br66klynbaby

@sidthedollface2

@newshade

@wonderful-outcast

@bimbobaggins69

@thehuntresswolf

@harrys-tittie

[murcielagatito]

seeing astronomically wild dpxdc takes so i thought id share this as someone whos in both fandoms but HATES the crossovers n ill tell u why

danny is a good kid. but hes not gotham material. and yeah sure the HORRORS but the reality is his trauma just doest affect him mentally in the same way it does any of the robins. he hasnt lost himself he hasnt lost his support system hes got people that love him and care for him and he really just isnt some edgy dc teen sorry. he doesnt wanna be a hero and its an important plot point!!! he wants to have a semi normal high school experience and be noticed by the girl he likes. he literally has an ENTIRE episode abt not having time to be a teen and how much it sucks for him

danny is special BECAUSE of how unique his environment is and how unique HE is to his environment. by putting him in a world like dc everything special about him is diluted n he becomes another annoying boring tired unspecial nuisance that would just get mixed up with a million other white characters just like him:

dannys personality and attitude would cause for most if not all the batboys to wanna punch his gut and not get along with him. nobody wants another snarky angry stuck up boy (unfortunately bc the writers r racist assholes) damian is there already. hed never be good as a rich kid tim has that covered and danny has the moral backbone of cooked spaghetti the second money is involved. but what about coming back from the dead? jason is RIGHT there

“but hes got black hair and blue eyes” the dc fandom is SO fucking tired of more white boys with black hair and blue eyes. duke cass n all the other characters of color get pushed aside BY OUR OWN FANDOM as it is!

its just so annoying bc what yall actually want you could easily get from JUST reading any comics centering ANY of the three white boy robins that already exist stop tryna add wonderbread to the mix and call it a gourmet meal

and if this falls on deaf ears PLEASE at least stick to strictly crossover tags. dc AND dp fans are tired of looking thru tags to mostly find crossover stuff EVEN after blocking all the crossover tags and if you want your dp art to reach more of the dp fandom tagging it as dcxdp will most likely make sure most of the dp fandom WONT see it. also the show danny phantom itself is literally a parody and play on the superhero genre

[setoronini]

PLEASE READ IN FULL!!

Before making assumptions or stuff about me or what i like /gen

Would be appreciated!! ^.^

My name is Setoroni! He/Him + Neos that can be found in my Pronouns Page above

Actually all my info is in my Pronouns page. Well most of it

PLEASE TELL ME IF I DO SOMETHING WRONG I AM PROBABLY MISINFORMED OR STUPID

I talk too much. Or tyepe whateve

> TAGS

- Main Tags

#★ = Fav Posts, usually used for reblogs

#seto art = My art tag!

#seto translations = Mainly for @.expungedagalungagoo 's @.ask-unpleasant blog when I feel like being helpful

#backstage textposts = Explanatory. I talk.

#seto shitpost = similar to textpost but this is me doing whatever and acting like I'm talking to a close friend

#seto status = I update random people on the Internet on my wellbeing

- Misc Tags

#artfight creatives = Anything AF related

↓extra info under cut↓

My ssona..

His name is my name (seto) be nice

Why do i use chat and type in blue and white?

Because ican (scratches an itch in my brain and nice to look at)

Socials

Yah...

Only posting art on Artfight N Tumblr

↑ Yah if u see like 15 stars Thats Me Im Very Specific About It Being 15 Stars

I recommend good music trust. I have 1500 song playlist and their all vocaloid or old rock

Im mainly reposting on this becayse i post my art rarely.kinda. because im a BABY. But eh. usually repost infected art n stuff...

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RAT LIST

(friend list on tumblr in order of chaos or something)

(go follow them)

@.kinoko-draws

My rat child that i hate so much i have known them too long

@.expungedagalungagoo

I found them and now we are friends its called telekinesis i think or something like that its magic.

@.fymo-blogs

Translation stealer

Do not test me

/playful

TBA as i get to run around with free access to the world

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some things to note ≈∞≈

I'm not diagnosed with anything but Anxiety due to my current situation, but I don't care if you make jokes toward me about (an)other disorder(s) (trust me I am way too used to it to gaf and find it a bit funny)

I will usually be online most of the time, and if I'm not I'm probably asleep or doing chores

I have a Disabled uncle with Epilepsy and Intellectual Disability (plus other issues) that I take care of, please take that into account

I take behaviors from people around me/i interact with

I cannot pay attention to multiple fandoms at once and stay heavily focused at one at a time (currently that'd be Regretevator)

I'm a Minor, mid-late teens

I have writing issues so I might use tonetags and misspell often!!

My brain physically starts crashing sometimes be patient with my dumbass

Ill make a card one day with Patience....be patient...

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In reference to Ships :

I ship everything as long as it's legal and not weird as shit. If something exists i like it, if it doesn't i like it, most if not all ships will always be above "no opinion but i like it" or will be "never seen or havent thought much about it to have an opinion."

Plus im a really big polyam ship lover ← polyamorous person

WHERE THE HELL IS MY JEREMY X INFECTED X UNPLEASANT X LAMPERT X POOB X PEST ART. WHERE IT AT. WHERES MY TRASHED PARTY (™ (not really its fun to say)) AT.

I do enjoy ships with Infected more, but that's just because infected is my favorite and I project onto him too much.

^ any ship with the guys above this message is a win 4 me

In reference to my own Headcanons :

I dont push my hcs onto anyone, especially not with things like dynamics, sexualities, gender, etc. I'm the one who steals headcanons and projects onto my favs, and honestly a lot of people are super creative with their own headcanons.

Also I'm very fluid with my headcanons so I can't really state them? I do have genders and sexualities for some characters settled.

In reference to being Mutuals/Friends :

I literally classify anyone as a friend until proven otherwise*, If I am actually all friendly and comfy with you you are friend status. Which is everyone. Their mini-specifics in that but those aren't important everyone is a friend or higher if I interact/interacted with you

* proven otherwise in this situation meaning like basic dni criteria (?) (illegal stuff, in general being a weirdo /neg, not respecting other peoples boundaries). I am not good in agruments