#pinned post says use tone tags for me for a reason

[dervampireprince]

Wild that someone I occasionally watch on YouTube got beamed to my Tumblr dashboard

uh well you didn't use a tone tag so i have no idea if this is an insult. but i've been using tumblr for over 10 years, this blog specifically for about 4 years and dervampireprince and all the audio content i make on youtube started here on tumblr first so... i mean i don't know if you were asking why i'm on tumblr... i don't understand what this ask means at all or why you sent it or if you're complaining that tumblr is recommending my posts to you or if you're just making a statement but if it's just a statement or observation i don't know why you'd message that to me like i needed to know so... i hope it's not annoying that i'm on your dashboard i guess. if you meant it just like woah cool didn't prince would be here on tumblr uh hi i guess you found me. /confused /nm

[frownyalfred]

Nearly all my AO3 bookmarks are unhinged (positive) comments for my organization system, and I need you to know that, unironically, a non zero numbers of my bookmarks of your stuff is stuff like, “No Alfred chopping wood, 6.5/10”, “Hal jumpscare. Have learned something about myself today. 8.43/10”, or “Is a WIP. Mean :( 4/10”

The number-crunching process is…intricate, lol.

My bookmarks are also entirely private. I only bookmark writing I love, but I don’t wanna accidentally upset someone when they reasonably interpret things differently, you know? Especially w/authors like you who have written enough for some serious variety and might be worried about people reacting immaturely to new kinds of fic.

I enjoy everything you put out, both for the stuff I found you for (SuperBat for days) and things I honestly used to consider a squick of mine (You have rewritten my brain with your A/B/O AUs)!

I appreciate both your rating system and your care in making sure it's private to prevent misunderstandings. I think I'd be 90% more chill about ratings in bookmarks if they gave an explanation like you described -- though I don't speak for all authors and sometimes the rating itself, even with context, is a slap in the face.

I do think you bring up an important thought here. So much of our tone online is context-dependent, and authors and bookmarkers are sometimes operating in very different circles. Meaning can get lost easily, and feelings can be hurt easily without that being the intention. Keeping things private unless we're certain the author won't be hurt makes the most sense to me right now, until we come up with a better system.

An example of this came to me as I was writing this reply. A few months ago I had someone reblogging my posts on here and tagging them "pedantic." And while yes, I agree that most of my posts are probably a little pedantic, that still stung. I mean, pedantic? You think I'm pedantic? That's all you have to say about it? Why are you reblogging it then?

So I went to their blog, read their pinned post, and realized they had a complex tagging system set up for archiving. "Pedantic" was their own tag for posts that were either longer than a paragraph, or that got into greater detail about certain topics. Their explanation/tag summary made perfect sense after that, but from my POV back on my own blog? All I get is the "pedantic" which again, didn't feel great.

That's all to say -- reader and writer relationships are a push and pull, a constant evaluation of ourselves and others, and we should seek to be kind and perhaps overly cautious when possible. Too many things already get lost in translation here on the internet.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐄𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐞. | TEASER

There's magic in everything.

Tags/Warnings: Royal Warlock!Jungkook, Maid!Cat Hybrid!Reader, Magic!AU, realistic Fantasy, sci-fi, Strangers to lovers, Fluff, Romance, Angst, mentions of war, Injury, Violence and blood, Smut

Length: ???

There is no taglist for this fic. This is a Patreon-Exclusive.

A/N: due to fantasy stories never doing very well here on tumblr, Exhale will be posted on Patreon only. I've also lost my job, so currently, Patreon is one of the only ways to make money right now. Please understand that I'm gonna advertise it more often due to that. Thank you for your understanding.

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

"You'll feel at home soon, Sir Jungkook." You say as you place the plate of his food in front of him, his dark eyes looking up at you.

They don't scare you. Neither does the fact that he draws his powers from.. well, not the light. He's shown by now that he still has a kind heart, even if it's a bit hidden and cluttered with other things he deems more important. "I do not need to feel welcome here." He denies, starts to eat quietly, averting his gaze from you.

"Sure, you do not." You respond, turning around to wash the other's dishes in the sink. Jungkook's eyes raise at that, focusing on the way your tail sways from side to side softly.

Your dress looks a lot more.. tailored to you, than he's used to see on maids. In fact, everyone appears to be dressed in clean, and well made clothes that still fit their status and job- but don't appear to be simply given from one to the next. Kim Seokjin knows every staff's name in fact, and does not seem to really draw a line in who he speaks to and who he does not.

Odd.

"But doesn't it feel better?" You ask, singing to yourself as you wash the plates.

Jungkook doesn't respond, simply thinks. He doesn't have to feel at home here. Once King Seokjin doesn't have any use for him any longer, he will be sent out once more. The less connections he makes here, the less he will be driven away from his path. He doesn't need friends, or a home.

He's learned that many times in his life. It'll only hurt.

"How long have you been working here?" Jungkook asks as he rips off a piece of bread to eat. You dry your hands, and sit at the table with him, stretching out your legs beneath if for a moment.

"Hm.. I was living here since Jin-.. King Seokjin was still a prince, Sir." You answer. "I was born in the nearby forest village. My mother became a maid when I was old enough to attend school." You remember.

"Explains your lack of respect for him in your tone." Jungkook says, not looking at you. You stiffen, ears pinning backwards.

"Ah- but I do have respect!" You almost whine. "It's just.. his crowning was years ago, I know. But.. on occasion, I forget the boundaries set by society." You sigh, leaning your chin on your hand. "Any other kingdom would've already had me beheaded." You giggle to yourself.

"Or at least exiled." He mumbles, biting another piece of bread.

It's good that you seem to be aware of the luxury you're experiencing inside this castle. As a mere hybrid maid, you're not much more in status than a dog- and yet, for some odd reasoning, the King himself treats you as much more, just like the other staff. The way he'd spoken to Jungkook, with such familiarity almost, had shown just how soft the King really is. He truly is in need of protection. God knows he probably has not fought a single time in his life.

Just as his food is finished, Jungkook notices your other hand that's not supporting your head. There's something on your palm he's not sure of, but the skin is clearly irritated. He motions for you to turn it over, and you do- scratches having reopened from washing the dishes earlier.

Either you're very dumb, or just very devoted to your purpose in this castle.

He's slow with his movements to give you a way to deny him- but you do not, instead even leaning forward a bit in curiosity to see what he's going to do, as he covers your hand in his own, silver rings bulky on his fingers. There's no glow, or anything really- not much is happening at all, apart from the tingling feeling underneath your skin, stinging from the cuts slowly ebbing away like it's dipped in cold water.

And when he removes his hands, your palm is covered in what looks like black soot almost.. but once you brush that off, the skin is healed- no scars remaining.

"Oh! There you guys are." Yoongi offers, walking closer into the kitchen, a hand on your shoulder as he stands behind you. "The king requests you, Jungkook. " He tells the warlock, who still feels oddly irritated by the man's lack of proper wording regarding him. "And you should clean up. It's late." He says much softer to you, and you nod.

"Look! sir Jungkook healed me!" You hold out your hand, and Yoongi clearly grows irritated, frustration clear on his face.

This is what Jungkook is used to. The anger, distaste, disgust even regarding his practices- this is what's comforting to him. He can work with that, knows that people like this man will not get unnecessarily attached to him and cause problems. He likes that-

"Yah, where'd you even get hurt again?!" Yoongi scolds you instead, however. "Be glad Jin didn't see, or he'd make you report to him daily again.. show me. Is it really healed.?" He mumbles, inspecting your hand, before he shakes his head at you, ears pinned back. "Thank you. She sometimes has the coordination of a dragon hatchling." He says towards Jungkook, and he's caught entirely off guard, eyes wide open and face clearly showing his surprise.

And you just laugh at that, happily so, before you tell him goodnight with a playful bow, running off after teasingly thanking Yoongi for washing Jungkook's dishes.

Which, yet again irritatingly enough, Yoongi indeed does do for you.

This castle is weird.

But fitting for its king, he thinks.

[retiredteabag]

sorry for informality but i was stalking reading your pinned post and you’re in grad school at twenty!??!!!

unless i’m tripping or misunderstanding something, academic weapon tips please because holy shit that’s insane! what’s ur field of study if you want to talk about it/don’t mind me asking? any application tips/things you wished you knew before getting there/habits you wished you’d formed sooner? independent research has always been difficult for me because of how much i depend on structure (adhd imposter syndrome anxiety lets go) so if you’re working on a thesis/something similar, how has the process been in your experience?

i’m in undergrad atm and heavily debating going further, so i’d love to hear from someone my age who’s actually doing it! also unrelated, but i’m a certified notion/goodnotes girlie if you vibe with those as study resources!

🎸 tagging with an emoji in case i pop back around, yk?

I'm sorry to say, but my tips might come off as sort of typical... but I hope they're at least a little helpful!

I am currently in a masters program within the analytics field. Research/independent studies vary widely depending on the area of specialization, however, my program has an intensive practicum that is similar in nature. I have not started it yet, but what I can say for sure when it comes to research: make sure you are picking a topic that you could speak about for hours/answer argumentative questions about.

For applications, I would say to narrow your options down as much as possible and look into each program before applying. Know the curriculum and standard outline and what stands out to you as you decide.

^ on this same note, you will likely need at least one interview in the application process. Speak slowly and enunciate. Taking a moment to think of the proper words will always be better than speaking quickly without much thought. Most people say to use "down-speak" in these interviews, but in my experience, matching the examiners tone and energy makes the whole thing much more comfortable.

For study tips, I have a large notebook that I keep on my desk where I write down every assignment and the date that it is due. This is just for organization purposes, I find a physical copy helpful for a few reasons but also because crossing them off feels rewarding :]

Time managment is incredibly important. Everyone says this because it is true. Prep everything, organizing your day into chunks. Since you also like structure, this probably wont be an issue. I would also get comfortable with being self-aware of your priorities. There will come a time when you will need to choose between academics/work and other areas of your life.

Keep your spaces clean. Dedicate a day or so to just organizing/doing a deep clean. It will help you stay focused and minimize external anxiety. It’s also much easier to keep a place clean if you have put in such an effort.

Participate in class. I cannot make this clear enough. I promise it is not embarrassing to ask questions or "try". You will learn far easier if you put effort into the classroom/lecture setting.

It is a pretty typical "tip" is to just ask questions. Even if you feel like you might understand, just ask to make sure. And in this same vein, go to office hours if you need to.

Prioritize sleep lol, that and mental rest. You can't always be studying. For me, it is a real challenge to work and be full time in school so it's important to carve out those sections of "you time".

Try not to be on your phone tooooooooo much, I know it’s hard but I make an effort to not be on my phone while eating. Don’t use entertainment as a distraction, I find that it just delays anxiety :(

Lastly, apply for scholarships and know that you absolutely can appeal for more money.

I hope this was useful. Do know that it REALLY depends on your area of study and 5-year-plan. I would recommend not going to grad school unless you're absolutely sure it is worth it.

Good luck!

[hivemuthur]

What was that? - Ch. 7.

viktorxfemale!OFC mature! (for now, I will mark later chapters as explicit when the time comes

friends to lovers, co-workers, sexual tension up to the wazoo, pinning and banter that got me frustrated when I was writing it, attempt at humour, some angst and a slow burn with a happy ending and a classic Viktor for once

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12. | Ch.13. | Ch.14. | Ch.15.

word count: 4,6K

tag: #what was that

summary: They go on a date! Sort of. Some exposition of Zaun, and of course, tension, tension, tension.

author’s note: Beta reader: @rennethen + I am slowly inching toward some conclusions here :) This was the most sweaty chapter to write for me, for reasons of Zaun dialogue sequences.

Cross-posted on AO3

—

Renly sighed, stepping out of the shower. The bathroom was thick with steam, and wet footprints followed her across the tiled floor. She wiped the mirror with her palm, leaning closer to study the reflection staring back at her. Her face betrayed her lack of sleep—she’d barely gotten two hours. The crease between her eyebrows was more pronounced, and her eyes were puffy from hours spent staring into the harsh light of the microscope. It didn’t matter. Her body was tired, but her mind was alight. She’d had a breakthrough.

Humming to herself, she took her time drying off and getting dressed, too consumed by her thoughts to notice the faint click of the lab’s main door unlocking or the rhythmic tapping of Viktor’s cane on the floor.

“Renly?”

His voice startled her as he caught her in the corridor. She froze mid-step, completely off guard. The circumstances had given her secret away.

Shit.

“Viktor… hi?” she greeted him, waving awkwardly before continuing toward the kitchen as though there was nothing unusual to see. “Coffee?” she called over her shoulder nonchalantly, half to him, half to the space between them. She tried to shrug off the weight of yesterday—another misunderstanding, or disagreement rather, that they’d had. She already knew the question that was coming.

“Did you sleep here…?” Viktor asked. He tried to keep his tone neutral, but it came out more reproachful than he’d intended.

“Eh, spare me, please. It was worth it.”

“Care to enlighten me on how sleeping with the lab rats is worth more than a proper rest in the comfort of one’s own home?” He raised an eyebrow, following her to the kitchen, still wearing his coat. Traces of his exhaustion from last night still there.

“Well…” she teased, pulling out the coffee pot, milk, and sugar. “I think I’ve got something, Viktor. It’s not much yet, but it looks… promising.”

Viktor inhaled sharply, his mind racing. Could it be?

“I’m all ears,” he said, shrugging off his coat and tossing it over the back of a nearby chair.

“The cure technically worked, just a little bit… too well,” she began, her hands busy as she spoke. She explained how, during the initial tests, ‘Angus’ was far too aggressive to use the treatment safely on anything more severe than, well, a cold. “You understand, it was too nuclear to give to anyone with stronger symptoms. But I spoke to Jayce, and he gave me an idea.”

She started pacing the kitchen as she talked, describing how she’d studied the differences between healthy and corrupted cells. With some adjustments, she managed to ‘tag’ corrupted tissue, ensuring the medicine would only target what was diseased.

“Bear with me for a few moments before you say anything,” she added quickly, seeing Viktor’s expression shift as he prepared to ask a question. He nodded and braced himself, motioning for her to continue. There was a certain comfort in it—in the way all three of them were still able to sit down and talk ideas, even if some disagreement from before lingered unattended.

“In short, I’ve made it work only on corrupted tissue, thanks to Jayce,” she said, excitement creeping into her voice. “I saw it work last night—more than once,” she added, tracing her finger absently around the rim of a coffee mug. “I can show you—it’s amazing.”

He was silent, his gaze fixed on the floor as she continued.

“I’ll need more samples, though, from different people. So that means a trip to the Undercity for me. You could come with?” Her voice faltered as she ran out of things to say, the silence between them stretching.

Viktor exhaled slowly, adjusting his stance. She had no idea what this meant to him. Or perhaps she did and refused to entertain the thought. Either way, the weight of it pressed on his chest.

Tentatively, he stepped forward, closing the distance between them. His hand rose, and he placed it gently on the curve where her shoulder met her neck. Before she could react, he pulled her into an embrace, his eyes closing.

Renly stiffened in surprise, her mind racing, but she didn’t pull away.

“Viktor…?” she murmured, a quiet question hanging in the small space between them.

He didn’t answer. Slowly, she relaxed, her arms wrapping around him tightly. Her hand travelled to the nape of his neck, her fingers brushing through his hair. He inhaled deeply, overwhelmed by her—the scent of her soap, the warmth of her body, the quiet affection in her touch.

Unwanted heat began pooling low in his stomach, and he broke the hug slightly, his face still close to hers.

“I am… so proud of you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His lips brushed against her temple as he spoke, lingering for a moment before he pulled back a little, leaving a tiny space between them.

Renly remained under Viktor’s touch, still thrown slightly off guard by the embrace but unwilling to let the moment pass. She could feel the weight of his thoughts, the tension in his posture gradually dissolving as though surrendering to her presence.

"You’ve been carrying this alone, haven’t you?" she murmured against his shoulder, her voice soft but probing.

Viktor didn’t reply at first. Instead, his hand shifted slightly, his thumb brushing her shoulder as though grounding himself in the contact. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, measured, but threaded with something raw.

“I suppose… I have grown used to certain burdens,” he admitted. “But this… what you’ve done… it is remarkable.” His words held none of the guardedness she was used to; they felt unfiltered, vulnerable. “You amaze me, Renly.”

Her breath caught at the honesty in his tone, and she instinctively tightened her hold on him, her fingers curling lightly into his shirt. “You don’t have to bear everything on your own,” she said softly. “I hope you know that.”

Viktor pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. His amber eyes were softer now, touched with something she couldn’t quite name but felt down to her bones. “You make it… difficult not to hope,” he said quietly, his lips quirking in a fleeting, almost self-deprecating smile.

Renly felt her heart stutter, the weight of his words hanging between them. Without thinking, her hand drifted up, her fingertips brushing lightly against his temple before tracing down the line of his cheekbone. The same gesture she performed yesterday, today was more intentional. She let out a shaky laugh, trying to mask the way her pulse had quickened.

“Do you have any idea how unfair it is to be so brilliant and so…” she trailed off, catching herself.

Viktor’s brow lifted faintly, a hint of amusement breaking through his expression. “So… what?” he pressed, his voice softer now, tinged with curiosity.

Renly flushed slightly, her lips curving into a reluctant grin. “So—annoyingly good at throwing me off my game,” she deflected, though the warmth in her gaze betrayed her true meaning.

He chuckled lightly, the sound soft and low, before his expression turned contemplative again. “Perhaps,” he mused, “we are equally guilty of that crime.”

Her laughter bubbled up unexpectedly, a light and genuine sound that seemed to ease the last of the tension between them. She shook her head, stepping back slightly to give them both room to breathe, though the warmth of his presence lingered.

“Well,” she said, attempting to compose herself, “you’d better start getting used to sharing your burdens. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Viktor studied her for a moment, his gaze lingering as though trying to memorize every detail of the moment. Finally, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“I’ll… try,” he said, the words as much for himself as for her.

The moment hung in the air, delicate and unspoken, before Renly turned back toward the coffee pot, her movements more deliberate now, her mind still reeling from the unexpected intimacy of the exchange.

It fled completely with the loud thud of the main door—Jayce wasn’t nearly as subtle coming in as Viktor had been.

“Hello, lab family!” Jayce exclaimed, half-yawning and stretching in the doorway like he’d just woken up. His eyes fell on Renly, narrowing slightly in mock scrutiny. “Wait… Did you sleep here again?!”

“Oh, save it, Mama Jayce. Mama Viktor already gave me a hard time,” Renly groaned, flopping into her usual seat at the table.

“I can’t help myself. You children grow up so fast,” Jayce said dramatically, placing a hand over his chest and pretending to dab at imaginary tears.

Renly burst out laughing, while Viktor let out a low sigh, shaking his head.

“Renly, don’t you want to tell Jayce about your progress?” Viktor interjected; his voice laced with pride that he tried to keep understated. He wanted to shout her discovery from the rooftops of Piltover.

They all took their familiar places around the small table, each seat long since claimed and unofficially assigned. Renly launched into the story of her breakthrough once again, this time with even more enthusiasm, her hands gesturing wildly to illustrate her points. Viktor nodded along, interjecting here and there with sharp questions or clarifications, while Jayce leaned back, grinning at her energy.

Her momentum only faltered when, distracted by her explanation, she grabbed the wrong mug. She took one sip, and immediately froze. Then, almost choking, she sputtered, “What is this atrocity?!”

Jayce’s laughter erupted like thunder, his whole body shaking, as Viktor lifted his head, a faint flush creeping up his neck.

“Oh… that must be mine,” Viktor said with an apologetic shrug, trying to disguise his embarrassment with a sheepish grin.

Renly blinked at him, incredulous, before breaking into a disbelieving smile. “How… how much sugar is in this?!”

Viktor’s lips twitched, the corner of his mouth quirking up in subtle amusement. “Well, that… is my best-kept secret,” he replied with mock seriousness.

Renly’s grin widened as she held the mug up like evidence in a trial. “This? This is a crime, Viktor.” She shook her head, setting the offending beverage down firmly. “It’s like drinking syrup with a side of coffee.”

“Some of us require a little more sweetness to survive the day,” Viktor retorted, his tone light but the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’re lucky I’ve already had real coffee today, or we might have to renegotiate our entire working relationship,” Renly teased, her laughter infectious enough to even make Jayce laugh harder.

“I admit, I am feeling quite lucky today, indeed,” he said, picking up his cup and placing his lips exactly where Renly’s had touched it.

***

Viktor kept his promise and readily agreed to accompany Renly on the trip to the Undercity for sample collection.

“It’s a date!” Her words from earlier lingered in his mind, unbidden yet insistent.

The journey was familiar to Renly, yet today it felt different. Walking beside Viktor as they navigated the steep, winding streets toward Zaun's entrance, she found herself acutely aware of his quiet presence. The air carried the distinct tang of saltwater, its sharpness growing stronger the deeper they descended. The heavy mist that curled around them was a constant in these parts, but now it seemed to amplify the strange weight in the space between them.

Ekko had arranged to meet them at the docks.

The transition into the Undercity came gradually—its unique symphony of sounds filling the air. The hum of machinery blended with the metallic clatter of tools, street vendors shouted over each other to peddle scraps or gadgets, and somewhere distant, a child’s laughter cut through the haze. To most, it might seem chaotic, but to Renly, it was familiar—equal parts ingenuity and ruin.

“Renly! Viktor!” Ekko’s voice broke through the din, carrying an easy confidence. He emerged from the shadows, perched casually on the edge of a battered crate, fiddling with a small device that pulsed with soft blue light.

“Ekko,” Renly greeted warmly, stepping forward to give him a quick hug. “You’re looking well.”

“And you’re still dragging newcomers down here, huh?” Ekko teased, his sharp eyes darting toward Viktor.

Renly hesitated as Viktor shifted beside her, his posture slightly more rigid than usual. She caught the flicker of discomfort in his expression, though he said nothing.

“No,” she answered quickly, perhaps too quickly. “He’s—”

“From Piltover?” Ekko cut in, his tone suddenly sharper, his easy demeanour giving way to suspicion. “That it, Renly? You brought a Piltie down here?”

Renly winced, throwing Viktor an apologetic glance before turning back to Ekko. “No, Ekko,” she said firmly, her voice steady this time. “He’s from Zaun.”

Ekko blinked, visibly caught off guard. A beat of silence passed as he processed the new information, his sharp features softening slightly. Then, a sly grin spread across his face. “Oh, okay. That’s different. Should’ve guessed—Renly wouldn’t bring another Piltie around after that last hotshot.”

Renly frowned, but Viktor’s lips twitched in what might’ve been a faint smile. He chose not to comment, though Ekko’s earlier wariness seemed to dissipate, replaced by a measure of respect.

“Anyway,” Ekko said, clapping his hands together, his energy back in full force. “I’ve got the route planned out. We’ll hit a few docks and some streets in the Lanes to grab what you need. Hope you’re ready to get your hands dirty.”

Renly nodded, a flicker of excitement lighting her features. The goal of their trip was clear, but she couldn’t ignore the reminders all around her—of how survival in Zaun bred wariness and distrust.

Ekko led them through the twisting paths of the Undercity, weaving past narrow alleys and rusted barrels stacked high with scraps. The air grew heavier with the mingling scents of oil, metal, and decay.

“Things are still the same down here,” Ekko said, glancing over his shoulder as they walked. “A few new faces here and there, but you can’t change the Undercity that easy. People still fighting, still surviving. Ain’t much different from the last time you were here, Renly.”

Renly smiled faintly. “I’m down here enough to know that’s true.”

They reached a narrow dock near the water’s edge, where the brine and rust of the sea mixed into an almost overpowering scent. A man stepped out from the shadows; his posture stiff but deliberate. He carried a small container in his hands, his eyes flicking briefly to Viktor before settling on Renly.

“They’re with me,” Ekko said easily, stepping forward. “I told you—Renly’s working on that cure for the Gray.”

The man’s expression softened slightly. “That true? You’re onto something, young lady?” he asked, his voice gravelly but tinged with hope. As he stepped closer, the light revealed a face weathered with scars and marked by tattoos. Despite his rough exterior, his silver-toothed grin carried surprising gentleness.

“I am,” Renly replied, smiling as she reached out for the container. “Zaun will be the first to see it.”

His grin widened as he handed over the box. “It’s tough down here, but we managed to keep these clean. There’s an ice pack in there, too. Samples should still be good for what you need.”

Renly hesitated before asking, “Were they collected in… a safe area?” She tried to keep her tone neutral, hoping the question wouldn’t offend him.

“As clean as we could make it,” the man said with a small shrug, dusting off his pants. “Should do the job.”

Renly exhaled in relief, nodding her thanks. “This means a lot. Really.”

“Thanks, Ambrose. Come by later—we’ve got some supplies for your people,” Ekko turned to Ambrose with a quick nod. With goodbyes exchanged, they moved on.

“There’s been some shifts in the docks lately,” Ekko began, breaking the silence. “More traffickers pushing goods through. Nothing shocking, but... there’s talk of new alliances in the works.”

Renly glanced over; curiosity piqued. “Anything we should be worried about?”

Ekko shrugged; his expression carefully neutral. “Hard to say. Just means it’s tougher for people trying to stay off the radar. Same old song, really.”

Viktor adjusted the container he was carrying and let out a quiet hum of disapproval. “I would argue that ‘same old’ is becoming increasingly untenable. Every shift disrupts the fragile balance. Even here.”

Ekko smirked, though not unkindly. “Don’t start spiralling into one of your philosophical tangents, Viktor. The Undercity’s got its own rhythm. We keep moving forward. That’s how we survive.”

Viktor tilted his head slightly, his tone almost amused. “Philosophy is not spiralling—it is what allows us to endure, to make sense of chaos. Even here.” His words carried more weight than defiance, his voice soft but firm, as if speaking both to Ekko and himself.

Renly watched the interplay, intrigued by how seamlessly Viktor and Ekko navigated each other’s edges. It wasn’t camaraderie yet, but there was a quiet understanding forming between them.

As they wound their way through the docks, they approached a familiar landmark: the entrance to a cave, partially hidden behind creeping overgrowth. Its darkened maw was unmistakable, tugging at memories Viktor had long since tucked away.

“This is it,” Renly said, her voice low and thoughtful. She turned to Viktor, studying his face. “Do you think he’s still in there?”

Viktor hesitated; his expression unreadable. “Singed?” he asked, though he already knew. He let out a faint exhale before replying. “I would hope not. No one should remain in a cave unsupervised for... decades.” His attempt at humour was brittle, the weariness behind it betraying his unease.

The moment hung heavy in the air, the weight of shared history pressing against them. Ekko broke the tension with a sharp clap of his hands. “Alright, enough with the wistful staring contest. We’ve got a schedule to keep, Renly.”

Renly gave him a mock glare but followed as he led them forward. The streets of The Lanes were dark, the glow of neon signs casting eerie shadows. They met Ekko’s second contact near a cluttered workshop, and Renly’s heart skipped when she recognized the woman: Babette.

“Renly, darling!” Babette exclaimed, pulling her into a warm embrace. “And who’s this?” Her sharp eyes flicked to Viktor, and a knowing grin spread across her face. “Oh, you’ve done well, haven’t you? Handsome and clever, I bet.”

Renly flushed crimson. “Babette, stop. He’s just a friend.” Her voice was tight with embarrassment, but Babette only laughed, taking a long drag of her cigarette.

“Mm-hmm. Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. And him too, while you’re at it.” Babette’s gaze flicked to Viktor again. “Not that he looks like he’s fooled.”

Renly mumbled a rushed goodbye as Ekko emerged with the sample container, expertly avoiding eye contact with Viktor. If he had overheard anything, he gave no indication.

By the time they reached The Last Drop, the weight of the day had begun to settle in. The warm, golden glow of the tavern welcomed them, a striking contrast to the damp, cold streets outside.

Vander was at the bar, wiping down a mug with his broad, scarred hands. He glanced up, his deep voice resonating across the room. “Well, well. If it isn’t Renly. Back from the surface, I see. What’ll it be?”

Renly grinned as she slid into her usual spot at the bar. “Just a drink for now, Vander. Long day.”

Viktor hesitated for a moment before joining her, settling onto the stool beside hers. His sharp eyes scanned the room, taking in the lively hum of conversations, the clink of glasses, and the faint strains of music in the background.

The two sat in easy silence, their proximity speaking louder than words. Renly reached for her drink when it arrived, glancing sideways at Viktor. There was a quiet comfort in the shared space, a sense of connection that needed no explanation.

“So,” Ekko began, sliding onto the barstool beside Renly with a sly grin, “are you and Viktor a couple yet, or are we still in the ‘let’s pretend we’re not’ phase?”

Renly froze mid-sip, narrowly avoiding choking on her drink. “Excuse me?” she spluttered, her cheeks flushing as she set the glass down.

“You heard me,” Ekko said, leaning back casually with a knowing look. “You’re telling me you can’t get the guy you want? C’mon, Ren. What’s the holdup?”

Renly blinked, caught completely off guard by his audacity. “We’re not—” she began, but her voice faltered. She glanced at Viktor out of instinct, as if searching for backup. He was still, his fingers lightly curled around his glass, his golden eyes watching her with a gaze she couldn’t quite decipher.

Ekko smirked, shaking his head. “Uh-huh. Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

Renly exhaled sharply, finding her footing again. A teasing smile tugged at her lips. “Maybe I just enjoy keeping you guessing, Ekko.”

“Yeah, alright.” Ekko laughed and hopped off the stool with his usual ease. “But don’t keep him guessing for too long, yeah?” He nodded toward Viktor before giving Renly a light tap on the shoulder. “I’ll see you two around. You know the way to the back, don’t you?”

Renly shot him a look that was half-annoyed, half-amused. “We’ll manage.”

Ekko grinned one last time before heading toward the door. This wasn’t his territory, after all, and he had little interest in lingering.

As the door swung shut behind him, the silence between Renly and Viktor felt heavier. She risked a glance in his direction, but Viktor seemed entirely unbothered, taking a measured sip of his drink. If he had any thoughts about Ekko’s remarks, he wasn’t letting on.

Viktor’s gaze flicked toward the far side of the room, where a small sofa tucked into a quiet corner had just been vacated. He set down his glass, clearing his throat lightly. “There is a more comfortable spot,” he said, gesturing subtly with his chin. “We have had... quite the long day.”

Renly followed his glance and nodded, grateful for the suggestion. “Good idea. My feet will thank you.” She slid off the barstool, trailing behind Viktor as he weaved between the tables, his stride slightly uneven but confident as ever.

The sofa was worn but inviting, the upholstery faded from years of use but still soft enough to sink into. Renly sat first, stretching her legs out a little, while Viktor settled beside her, leaving just enough space to avoid crowding her but close enough that their knees almost brushed.

The change in seating seemed to shift the mood. The noise of the bar softened around them, muffled by the corner’s relative seclusion. Renly leaned back, exhaling slowly, and couldn’t help but glance sideways at Viktor. His shoulders, usually tense with focus or restraint, seemed more relaxed, his body at ease in a way she didn’t often see.

“Better?” he asked, turning to meet her eyes.

She smiled faintly. “Much better.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke, letting the ambient buzz of The Last Drop fill the space between them. Renly caught herself noticing small details: the way Viktor’s hair caught the low light, the way his fingers tapped lightly against his knee, the way his eyes lingered on her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

Her lips twitched into a smile. If it weren’t for the grim sample collection earlier, this could almost feel like a... She cut off the thought before it could fully form, but the idea lingered stubbornly.

Their hands brushed briefly as she adjusted her position, and though it was accidental, she felt his fingers hesitate before pulling away. The warmth of the contact sent a spark up her arm, and her pulse quickened. She risked a glance at him, only to find his gaze already on her. His eyes—softened, thoughtful—held hers for a beat longer than usual, enough to make her stomach twist.

“Maybe it’s this place,” she said, breaking the silence with a quiet laugh, “or the fact that we’re so far from our usual routine, but this feels... different.”

Viktor tilted his head, curious. “Different?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, glancing down at her hands. “It’s like... like I’m seeing you in a new light.” She immediately regretted how vulnerable it sounded and tried to backtrack. “Not that I— I mean—”

“I understand,” Viktor interrupted gently, saving her from spiralling further. His lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “The unfamiliar surroundings can have that effect.”

Renly was about to respond when her head dipped slightly, the weight of the day finally catching up to her. Her voice softened as she admitted, “I just feel it so much now. The pressure. All those people in Zaun... counting on us to make this cure happen. What if I can’t—”

“You will,” Viktor said firmly, cutting through her doubt. His tone was calm but resolute, like an anchor in the storm.

She lifted her eyes to his, and he leaned in slightly, his voice quieter but no less certain. “You are capable of more than you think, Renly. You have already proven that.”

The sincerity in his words struck something deep within her. Before she could stop herself, she whispered, “How can you be so sure?”

Viktor’s expression softened further, and without a word, he reached out, his hand cupping her cheek with a gentleness that made her heart stutter. His thumb brushed her skin lightly, his touch grounding and deliberate.

“I have seen it,” he said simply, his voice low and steady. “In the way you approach every challenge. In the way you care so deeply for others. You are stronger than you realize.”

The air between them grew heavy, the world around them fading into a distant hum. Renly’s breath hitched as she leaned slightly into his hand, her eyes searching his. Viktor’s face was closer now, his gaze flicking briefly to her lips before darting back up.

For a moment, Viktor’s thoughts were quiet, his focus entirely on her—the curve of her cheek under his palm, the way her breath hitched at his touch, the faint tremor in her lips as they parted. She was so close, so achingly close.

And yet, his mind wasn’t quiet at all.

A thousand thoughts spiralled at once, clashing with the tender pull of the moment. The what-ifs were relentless, sharp, and unforgiving. What if he misread this? What if he ruined everything—her trust, their fragile, growing connection—by overstepping?

But it was more than that. It was the weight of everything he carried, everything he hadn’t said. The scars of the past, etched deeper than flesh, whispered insidiously. He had spent his life building walls to shield himself from rejection, from the possibility of anyone looking too closely and deciding he wasn’t enough—not whole enough, not stable enough, not human enough.

And here was Renly, beautiful and brilliant and brave, letting her guard down, trusting him with her vulnerability. How could he justify risking that? How could he allow himself to be selfish enough to take this moment for what he wanted—what he desperately wanted—but might not deserve?

His thumb brushed her cheek again, a reflexive, lingering touch, before he let his hand drop. His chest ached with the effort it took to pull away.

“It is... getting late,” he murmured, his voice betraying the tension he tried to conceal. “We should get home.”

Her eyes opened, searching his face, and he saw the faint flicker of confusion there, the almost imperceptible hurt she tried to mask. Guilt twisted in his chest, and he hated himself for faltering. But better this, he thought, than risking something he wasn’t sure he could give her—not yet.

[sweet-drmzzz]

wowowowow I’m finally doing a pinned post

DO NOT SENT ME DONATION REQUESTS THEY WILL BE DELETED

i have my reasons for this, among them being that i am just not comfortable with it.

This post is super fucking outdated btw. We have a new host (me, Cal he/they/it) who is a Coil fictive and uhhh yeah basically there was an entire sys overhaul which is... a thing that happened lmao

Hiya!! My names are Z-Fey, and Faele (pronounced fey-elle)!! I am the host of a median collective, and this is my/our main blog. You can find our plural side blog here: @treehousearchive

I go by Fae/Zi/It/They pronouns, and idrc how the grammar around them works (so you could say “fae are a person with adhd” or “fae is a person with adhd.” Please use my neopronouns as much as, if not more than you use they/it

if you misgender me I’ll eat ur knees /hj

I am faekin and foxkin, and I’m absolutely amazing at it. Don’t try to disprove alterhuman shit. I won’t listen. Also keep any alterhuman discourse off this blog. All nonhumans are welcome here. Yes even physical ones. Yes even ones that truly believe they are an animal. Yes even mentally ill/delusional ones.

Collectively we are aspec and arospec. Afaik that goes for everyone in our collective but I could be wrong.

currently I don’t check my discord, if you need to reach me my asks and DMs on here are the fastest ways.

I use a lot of emoticons, abbreviations, and tone tags :3

tone tag key:

/lh- light hearted

/j- joking

/hj- half joking

/sarc- sarcasm

/nm- not mean

/nf- not forced

/gen- genuine

/aesth- aesthetic (used to describe aesthetic attraction. Ex. “He’s hot /aesth”

if I ever use one u don’t understand just ask! I’m more then willing to inform!

DNI:

Pedos. Like genuinely. Pedos maps etc fucking disgust me. Stay tf away from my blog

Zionist. Yeah nuhuh. If u support genocide I don’t want to talk to u.

Homophobes/Transphobes. I’m gay asf. I don’t think you want to be here.

Zoophiles. No. Just no.

Anti furry/Anti alterhuman. Once again. I’m a therian. Y would u want to be here???

Sexual/kink blogs. Nothing against you, have ur fun. Idrc. I’m just not comfy w that.

Anti-endos. I don’t want that negativity on my blog. All good vibes here.

If you demonize mental illnesses (like schizophrenia or npd) fuck off. If you use “delulu” or treat serious mental illnesses as silly little things fuck off.

Anti aro/aspec. This shouldn’t even be a thing? Just let people exist?

if I don’t like u I’ll block u.

With all due respect, which is none, leave me alone.

Tags!!

#Happy Fox Hours

Foxkin euphoria and just generally happy foxkin related stuff

#Happy Fae Hours

Second verse, same as the first but w fae stuff this time.

#Zi speak!!

text posts and me ranting

#Soda Spill

My writing. Includes poetry and short stories/snippets from bigger stories. (Please note that since originally making this I have stopped using the name Soda, as that has gone to one of my headmates. This tag may change soon.)

#Faele agrees

Rebolgs!! I might forget to tag my rebolgs. I’ll try my best but if I do my apologies.

#Sad bitch time

vents n stuff. Me being depressed.

Boundaries: mostly im fine with anything.

pls don’t tag me in angelic/religious stuff, or send it to me. Especially if it has eyes featured prominently.

uhh i feel like this shouldn’t need to be said but just in case: foxes are a game animal where I live. I already see my kind’s hides enough. Don’t show me pics of that.

just yk… if i ask u to quit do so please. There’s nothing rly big other than those two things that I can think of. Be nice.

My filter tag list is here. If you are intentionally rude and disrespectful about it you will be blocked.

I have a side blog for Will wood stuff called @willwooddaily

member sideblogs are

@c3rb13 (cal)

@gravity-disrupting-sharks (grav)

@music-box-alien (ben)

@silass-skatepark (silas)

thank you for your time!!

(userbox by @/plural-userboxes)

[lostdrarryfics]

This is one of my favorite blogs, so I hope I'm phrasing this respectfully. As someone neurodivergent, I never make asks off anon because you occasionally dress down the asker for not following the rules or not asking kindly enough. I'm desperately afraid that's going to be me, and I realize I won't be tagged as a result if some of my remaining lost fics are found. Not asking you to make changes or accommodations; just saying that some of us are on anon for a reason, and it isn't to irritate you or because we're embarrassed by our taste in fic.

Thank you for what you do.

Hi anon! We believe you are referring to the statement in our pinned post, where we recommend people send asks off anon because it makes it easier for us to help you. That statement was added a long time ago (maybe two years ago?) when someone sent us an ask to let us know they were too embarrassed to send spicy and/or dark asks off anon. We wanted to make sure people knew that LDF is a no-judgement zone so we updated our pinned post. Send us excruciatingly detailed asks about a blow job scene! Describe a dark Harry AU and tell us all the messed up things he does! We really don't mind. There are mods on the team with differing likes and squicks, with some mods comfortable with searching for just about anything. In this way, we can work together to search for a wide range of requests.

From a team partially made up of neurodivergent folks, we're sorry to hear that you struggle with sending asks off anon! It will never be a requirement, only a suggestion. We typically ignore/delete asks that are rude or don't follow the rules. We will admit we've recently called out a couple people who didn't follow our guidelines around Reddit posts because it is a new and repetitive issue. It's very frustrating for our team when we spend so much time and effort on an ask just to find out that it was located on Reddit. It's a huge waste of our time but we've tried to roll with it anyways. We updated the rules and it still keeps happening. We try to be as kind as possible when calling out these asks, but we understand it's difficult to convey tone. We're not trying to embarrass anyone or make them feel bad, we're just saying "hey! Please don't do this in the future!".

We're all just people here and we try to give others the benefit of the doubt. Yet, we believe it is perfectly reasonable to give an appropriate response in a situation where you break our rules or are rude to us. This is a free service and we can choose to be firm about our rules when we find it necessary. Keep in mind that there is a reminder to read our guidelines before sending an ask in bold red letters on our pinned post. It's in our bio. You literally have to click a button that says "read the guidelines" when you send us an ask. The most important points in our guidelines are written in bold red letters. If you get that far and still send us rule-breaking asks, we may respond and ask you not to.

People tend to treat us like a search engine and not a team of real people. We help with a lot of asks that don't even include a simple "please" or "thank you". 99% of the rude or rule-breaking asks don't even see the light of day. We delete them and move on. It's very rare for us to respond! There really shouldn't be anything for you to worry about anon, it sounds like you have probably already read our guidelines. We understand if you'd still like to be anonymous in the future though! It doesn't irritate us, we just won't be able to send you updates about the fics you're trying to find.

[the-possum-writes]

[Day 7] Hate sex

Character: Scarab Tags: NSF/W, Coworkers, Hate sex, Unprotected sex, AFAB reader, Dominant Scarab, Choking, Dirty talk. Word count: 2188 Synopsis: No one in the company can stand Scarab's uptight personality, except for you. During a particular mission he strives to find out why you stay alongside him but ends up saying more than he intended. A/n: Sorry this one took longer to upload, became a bit longer than expected.

Five minutes for yourself, it's all you ask for. But it appears that you can't have that as long as you're Scarab's companion. You assume it's due to your exceptional skill that can match his, or  because you are the only one in the company who is less likely to try and kill him during a mission, either way you were the unfortunate one who was always partnered up with him. It's no secret that Scarab isn't popular at work due to his uptight attitude and the fact that he calls out at his coworkers for the most trivial of reasons while everyone just vibes together, so the fact that you can keep him from getting under your skin is a skill of itself. There's also a part of you that finds him attractive, but it doesn't override your frustration with his attitude. Yet.

He taps your feet off your desk with the tip of his walking stick and says, "We have an assignment, let's get moving."

You resist the urge to groan in annoyance. "We just got back from a previous mission, how about we take a quick break before heading out again?"

"Every second we're not capturing that criminal is a second they use to escape." He sharply reminds you in a condescending tone that he uses with practically everyone, and it appears that he won't be leaving you alone anytime soon, so you called it quits and rose up from your desk. 

"Let's get this over with."

It's your typical mission, where you and Scarab have to find a wanted criminal. Usually, Scarab will approach the culprit in disguise, and you will remain close by to stop them from getting away. You stay in your designated location, ready for anything, but when it came time to confront the criminal breaking through the windows above you, you met with a familiar face.

"Gregalon?" you ask in a confused voice, lowering your weapon at the sight of your former co-worker. He gasps at the sight of you as well, almost tempted to ask what you're doing here if it wasn't because he connected the dots himself, this was no time for friendly reunions. With a downward strike, Scarab lands on Gregalon, piercing his walking cane dangerously near his heart.

"Scarab stop!"

The look scarab gave you from underneath the bandages of his disguise was one that he took offence. "You're not one to make orders, may I remind you I'm you superior?"

"I have not forgotten. But we started in the same place, right? or did you forget how Gregalon would help us learn the ropes in our first few days? or how he'd always offer us pudding and cover for us when we needed a break?" you try to reason.

"He's a criminal now, he deserted from his post." His tone is cold, in stark contrast to your ferocious rage. 

"Cause he hasn't had a single vacation in a millennia! None of us have."  you raise your voice at him as if that were to get him to understand but apparently it's impossible with that thick exo-mask of his. "Can't you just cut him some slack?"

Scarab does not answer verbally, instead burrowing his spear deeper into the pavement, eliciting a painful cry from Greg as he effectively pins him to the ground as he walks calmly up to your face. "Do you want me to let him go? Because that would make you an accomplice to a crime, and I'd hate to turn in my partner." He pretends concerned, but you know it's all for show, especially with the faux caress your cheek with his index finger, preventing a response from you.

"I'm not asking you to let him go, I'm suggesting we capture him in a non-lethal manner." you stood your ground, there's still anger behind your tone but you try and keep it in check.

Just as you're having your conversation with Scrab, from behind him you see Gregalon remove the spear from his chest even if it meant gushing blood all over the place, you predicted his escape attempt and how Scarab was ready to deal the final blow- but before any of them could succeed you act on your own and flash your own weapon at him, but rather than kill him the flash encased Greg in an egg shaped crystal that reduced him to a pixelated sprite. As you fetch the glass egg from the ground you can already tell Scarab is right behind you, roughly grabbing you by the wrist before you could safely pocket the egg into your belt. "And what do you think you're doing?" his question is sharp, almost as his weapon.

"I'm securing our target without needlessly spill blood."

"You're not in position to make that decision, you respond to me." he just loves reminding you of his higher position even though you're not that too under him.

"Oh please, we both know the only reason you were assigned to this position is because no one can stand your ass back the headquarters, and I'm just here to babysit you because someone has to fill the reports without covering mistakes with whiteout." you scoff with a brief laugh, removing your wrist from his hold as you prepare your leave. "So if you have an issue with how i want to capture criminals we can discuss it with our manager. and let them decide-"

At first you believe that was enough to shut him up, but it was just wishful thinking. He pulled his weapon from the ground as he spoke. "I don't need your help. Hah, why... you can't even beat me in a fight." he challenges you.

This stops you in your tracks, slowly turning around to withdraw your weapon. "You sure about that, Scabby...?"

To any onlooker this would look like a fight to the death with how ruthless Scarab attacked you with the variety of shapes his walking cane would take, some would be a blade and other times it would be a laser but no matter what he threw your way he did so without holding back and neither did you, your fighting style was more on the melee side- with your weapon shapeshifting into weaponry you would use to power roundhouse kicks, punches and uppercuts he could full replicate with his own fighting style. But there was something thrilling about the whole thing, how he would grunt and curse whenever you landed a hit on him as well as the dubious whines he'd draw from you when his blade would make contact with your skin because you left yourself open, there was even a point where a droplet of your blood landed on his face and there was a 'blink and you'll miss it moment' where he lapped at it with his tongue.

"Getting tired yet?" you taunt, the duel leading the two of you into an abandoned factory of sorts.

"Was gonna ask you the same thing."

If there's one thing he has an advantage over you it's how, despite how stronger your punches are, they exhaust you faster. So it's in your best interest to end this soon or at least call a stalemate, but even if you managed to separate Scarab away from his main weapon he's still fast enough to keep up with you, so the second he trips backwards due to not paying attention to his surroundings you acted on impulse and straddle his hips landing punch after punch on the mask on his face even it it left your hands bloodied and didn't make a single dent on him. But you kept pressing on, even as he started laughing.

"While you try and continue with your futile attempts to break my mask, how about you indulge me a bit. Tell me, if I'm so unlikeable then why didn't you ask for a transfer?"

The question felt like it came out of left field, but you weren't gonna give him the satisfaction of knowing your true feelings. "Wouldn't you like to know? My momma didn't raise a quitter, besides I wouldn't have gotten the chance to beat your ass like i am doing now."

Scarab growls in annoyance, either because you're plummeting his face or because he didn't find your answer was satisfactory. He seized both of your wrists and rolled you to the side, toppling you. "Do not lie to me. You've stayed with me far too long for this to be a whim." there was something odd with the way he was responding to you now, but you tried to not let it change your taunting attitude.

"What do you want me to say Scarab? that I actually like being with you? hah! it would do wonders for your ego wouldn't it."

He responds by grabbing you by the neck and restricting your breathing, you struggle with him but he tightens his hold on your wrists with his single hand. It is then that you see him do something he doesn't usually do, he reveals his real face to you only so he could taunt you with the smirk on his sharp teeth and his pincers. "I don't need you to tell me, I can simply tell just by looking at you... and smelling you." he lowers himself to the side of your face, you pause on your struggling as you freeze at his words. "You reek of pheromones, not to mention the humidity down here." to prove his point he raises his knee to your crotch and you jump in surprise as you become painfully aware of the slick smearing onto your underwear, eliciting an embarrassingly audible moan from you.

"...and yet you don't look disgusted." you respond, now understanding why he wants to hear a confession from you.

You lick the side of his exposed face which has him shriek at the sudden feeling, taking the opportunity to over power him by pull his arms behind him, forcing him to lay stomach down against the ground and keeping him in place by pressing you knee to the middle of his back. "You could've done the same and order a replacement, but you never did. Is there something you wanna tell me Scabby?"

The two of you go back and forth with this for a while, one physically attempting to overpower the other in hopes of gaining a confession all the while there's blatant grinding and groping that only further spurs the two of you with a sexual tension so thick you could cut it with a butter knife. It all reaches a final point when Scarab bends you over a crate and licks the blood dripping from your bloodied nose onto your lips but not outright kissing you, instead his hands roam your body from behind as he confesses what you were dying to hear. "You're a nuisance, a scheming little harlot. With the way you'd lean on someone's else's desk as you flirted with them, You have no idea how many times I've considered dragging you to the nearest utility closet and fuck you right then and there, not even giving you the time to clean up so you'd have no choice but to walk around with my cum sliding down your thighs." Scarab's voice was now a lower tone that was almost feral, it led you to realize how badly you want him, maybe as much as he wants you.

It cathartic to hear him admit his attraction to you, how you've unconsciously been driving him mad without actively trying. He always portrays himself to be so above everyone else

"You don't have the guts." you snap back, even if it probably makes you look like a brat. "That would go against company policy, and you're too tight up to break the rules." you almost wanted to laugh with how he immediately shut up, proving you right.

"Then I'll fuck you right here, and let you walk back with shaky legs and covered in my scent."

The combination of his appealing voice and vulgar language was driving you nuts. "Less talk, more action," you told him, which prompted him to turn you onto your back and yank the bottom half of your suit, your slick glistening in the dim light as he slipped your underwear, revealing your drenched pussy. Scarab positioned himself above you with one hand and used the other to shove his cock into your eager insides while grabbing at him. He repeatedly but gradually drove himself into you until you accommodated him and the base of his carapace made contact with the pubic hair of your intimate area, allowing him to ravish you with the same brutal strength he used to fight you. His growls, along with your mewls and the loud squelching of your cunt, burned into your ears causing you to cum fast and hard, but that didn't stop Scarab from pistoning into you again, this time playing with your already sensitive clit. "I expected more from you, especially given how long you've fought me," he chuckles, raising your legs higher, essentially placing them on his big shoulders.

"Just give me five minutes-" you pant heavily, you're a bit tired but you still have some fight in you, that's why you were partnered with him in the first place.

[spinnysocks]

Boundaries!

For my pinned.

Last updated: 14/08

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Basic things I do not want to see / I will block over:

-Anything in the DNI in my bio.

-ANY sui / sh mentions or jokes, even “lighthearted” or fictional. Includes general off mentions of hurting oneself on purpose.

-ANY mention / talk of hurt or deceased small pets or animals, especially: rabbits, hamsters, rodents, fish, etc. (If you are mourning a lost pet, that is obviously fine, but I have seen way too much about small animal ab^se and de@th as if it is funny.)

-Pictures of anything deceased (Does not include art, just tag correctly please.)

-Reblog bait (It causes me paranoia. Please tag as “#reblog bait” or the such.)

Please correctly tag these.

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Filter tag list:

I filter a lot of stuff, but sometimes non-tagged things slip through, so I am adding a “filtering out of my feed” list. This is basically things that I kindly ask my mutuals to tag.

-Insects

-Clowns

More to add but can't think of them at this moment.

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I usually won't Follow Back those who post/have:

I have nothing against those who post such content, this is just for my own comfort!

-Vivziepop/anything to do with her media such as Hazbin Hotel or Helluva Boss

-MLP content

-Most anime media

-Any other fandoms I do not wish to see content of (too many to list, but they're all in the Blacklist of my moodboard blog.)

-Heavy clown content

-Heavy blood/gore content

-Heavy horror media

-K!nk posting

-Omegaverse

-Yandere of any kind

-Empty blogs / without a clear pinned

-Generally no shared fandoms etc

There are exceptions, such as those who have things tagged. Don't worry if you're my mutual!

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General info:

-IMPORTANT: I love to interact most of the time, but I struggle to due to a multitude of reasons stemming from neurodivergence and mental illness - I am anxious and forgetful. Sometimes I will take seconds to respond, and sometimes I will take hours, days or weeks. This is not against you but rather something I personally struggle with, so please don't take my lack of response to heart and please don't hold it against me because I cannot control it. I ask you please not to pressure me in any way about responding quicker.

Also, just to note, I don't usually like “*bites you*” even in a platonic or silly way so please don't unless I say it's okay!

-Tone tags! I appreciate the use of tone tags! I think most of my mutuals use them so it's usually not an issue, but sometimes I can misunderstand things. Usually I just don't interact if I don't understand tbh.

-Tag / ask games! I love these and feel very honoured when I am tagged! I often join in on chains I'm not tagged in too. If I do not respond to a tag, don't worry about it, some of them just don't take my fancy plus I'm often forgetful! I probably won't respond to furry tag games as I am not one for example. ^^

-Asks! I love getting asks (provided they are appropriate, which has been the case thus far)! I may take a bit to respond to them (see 'Important' above) but I see them! :D

-Mentions! Feel free to mention me in anything, as long as it is appropriate ofc. :)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

This will be updated as I am forgetful. ^^

[farmergirlimagines]

Chapter 15 : Searches and Secrets

Masterlist ~ Through Static and Shock

>>>Thank you for reading! Please comment and let me know if you want to be tagged in future updates of this story. I post a new chapter each Monday, Wednesday and Friday!

 See you all next update!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hallways of Hawkins High are alive with noise, the chatter of students mixing with the echo of hurried footsteps. Nancy and Barb weave through the crowd, Barb’s voice cutting through the chatter as she holds up a set of flashcards.

"When alpha particles go through gold foil, they become...?" Barb’s eyes glimmer with the anticipation of a correct answer.

"Unoccupied space," Nancy replies, her voice steady, but her gaze darting around the chaos of students rushing by.

Barb flips to the next card. "A molecule that can—"

Before she can finish, the cards are ripped from her hands, the abrupt motion startling them both.

"Hey!" Barb protests, reaching out instinctively.

Nancy’s eyes flick to the interrupter. Steve Harrington, flanked by his usual entourage, Carol and Tommy H, grins down at them with that smug, ‘king of the school’ air.

“I don’t know, Nance,” Steve says, tossing the flashcards casually from hand to hand. “I think you’ve studied enough. You’ve got this in the bag.”

He leans in, his grin widening. “But now, onto more important matters. My dad’s out of town for a conference, and my mom’s gone with him. You know—because, uh, she doesn’t trust him.”

Tommy chimes in with a mock-serious tone. "Good call."

Steve continues without missing a beat, “So… are you in?”

"In for what?" Nancy blinks, unsure of what he means. 

“No parents,” Steve adds, leaning in a little closer. “Big house. You get the idea.” 

Carol lingers behind him, her voice full of playful tease. “A party?”

Nancy blinks again, her mind trying to catch up. “A party?” she repeats, eyebrows knitting together.

"Ding ding ding!" Carol mocks, and Tommy and Steve erupt into laughter.

Nancy shakes her head, confused. "It’s Tuesday?"

Tommy laughs loudly, tapping his chest. "It’s Tuesday! Oh my God." Steve and Carol join in, their laughter carrying across the hallway, filling the space around them.

Nancy glances at Barb, whose expression is a mixture of skepticism and exhaustion. "C’mon, it’ll be low-key," Steve says, his tone shifting to persuasive. "Just us. What do you say? Are you in or are you out?"

Nancy hesitates, unsure. She opens her mouth, but the words seem to catch in her throat. Carol scoffs, clearly impatient. “Oh, God. Look.”

Nancy’s gaze shifts to where Carol’s pointing—Jonathan, standing by a bulletin board, pinning up posters in a way that feels almost… methodical. He doesn’t seem to notice them, lost in his task.

Steve snorts. “Oh, God. That’s depressing.”

“Shouldn’t we say something?” Nancy’s voice falters, her heart twisting at the sight of Jonathan, isolated.

Carol rolls her eyes, her tone dismissive. “I don’t think he speaks.”

Tommy laughs darkly. “How much you wanna bet he killed him?”

“Dude, shut up.” Steve glares, his jaw tightening as he notices how uncomfortable Nancy and Barb look. 

Nancy takes a deep breath, brushing off the tension that hangs in the air. She walks over to Jonathan, her footsteps tentative.

“Hey,” she says softly, her voice carrying just enough to break through the noise.

Jonathan looks up, his face lighting up with a brief, surprised smile. “Oh, hey.”

Nancy hesitates, searching for the right words, but they feel too heavy to say. “I just… I heard about Will. Donna told me she came by to see you guys.” Her words stumble as she tries to explain. “I would’ve come too, but my mom’s got me on lockdown with everything that’s going on.”

Jonathan nods, his expression softening, as if understanding. “That seems reasonable.”

Nancy’s heart aches at his quiet, restrained tone. She clears her throat, feeling the weight of the moment. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. About everything.”

Jonathan’s gaze flickers to the group behind her, their eyes locked on the two of them, and he seems to shrink inwardly. Nancy follows his look, her gaze softening with sympathy. She turns back to Jonathan. “Everyone’s thinking about you. It sucks.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan replies, his voice low.

Nancy looks at him for a long beat, then forces a reassuring smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m sure he’s fine. He’s a smart kid.”

The bell rings, cutting through the moment. Nancy glances at her watch, the urgency in her voice rising. “I have to go. Chemistry test.”

“Yeah, uh… thanks again,” Jonathan says, his voice trailing off as he shuffles awkwardly. The students around them begin to move, and Jonathan turns toward the front doors instead of heading to class, disappearing into the hallway.

Joanna’s footsteps falter as she watches her brother walk out of the school. He doesn’t hesitate, just keeps moving, his shoulders slightly hunched as if the weight of the world is pulling him down. She knows that look well—the one he gets when he’s trying to escape everything, even if it’s just for a moment.

For a heartbeat, she wonders if she should stay in the hall, and try to carry on with her own day. The other students are beginning to scatter, heading to their next classes, their voices fading as the bell rings once more. But something tugs at her. Her gaze shifts back to Jonathan’s retreating figure, the way his hands are shoved deep in his pockets, his pace slow but purposeful. He’s leaving, and she can’t let him disappear like this, not today.

She glances toward the doors where the cold air spills through, and for a moment, her heart pounds in her chest. She doesn’t know what she’s going to say, or if she’ll even be able to say anything, but she can’t let him be alone out there.

Joanna steps forward, her sneakers scuffing against the linoleum floor as she slips past the group of students still gathered around Steve and the others. They barely notice her, too caught up in their own chatter. Her mind is elsewhere, focused entirely on Jonathan.

The doors to the outside swing open, the wind sharp against her skin as she steps into the open parking lot. The scent of damp asphalt and the hum of distant car engines fills her senses. She spots Jonathan near the edge of the lot, his back still to her, and without thinking, she moves toward him, her pace quickening.

“Jonathan!” she calls, her voice cutting through the stillness of the parking lot.

He doesn’t turn right away, but she sees his shoulders tense. He heard her. After a beat, he stops and slowly turns to face her. His expression is guarded, like he’s not sure if he wants to deal with anyone, let alone his younger sister.

“What are you doing out here?” Joanna asks, trying to keep her voice steady. Her breath comes out in a small puff of mist in the cool air, but she doesn’t mind. She’s too focused on him.

Jonathan hesitates, his eyes darting to the ground before he meets her gaze. “I just… I needed to get out of there.”

She nods, understanding all too well. He’s always been someone who retreats into himself when things get too heavy. It’s something she’s seen before—something she’s afraid of, too. But this time, she isn’t going to let him walk away without at least trying.

“Yeah, I get that.” Joanna shifts on her feet, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her leather jacket. “But you can’t just run away, Jonathan. You know that, right?”

He lets out a short, bitter laugh, the sound hollow. “Right. It’s not like I have a choice. I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine. Not with Will…” His voice falters, and the crack in it makes her chest tighten.

“I’m not asking you to pretend,” Joanna says softly, her gaze fixed on him. She steps a little closer, the distance between them still wide but not as far as before. 

This far out in the school parking lot is mostly empty, except for a few beat-up cars and a stray bike leaning against an abandoned rusted rack. The wind blows softly, carrying with it the faint scent of damp leaves and asphalt. Jonathan leans against his car, arms crossed, his face tense. Joanna stands a few feet away, pacing back and forth, her hands now buried deep in the pockets of her jacket.

“We shouldn’t even be here,” Joanna mutters, more to herself than to Jonathan. “Sitting in class while Will’s out there? What’s the point?”

Jonathan watches her for a moment, his jaw tight. “You think I don’t know that?” His voice is quiet but heavy. “Every second I’m in that building, I’m thinking about him.”

Joanna stops pacing and turns to face him. “Then why are we here? Why are we wasting time?”

Jonathan sighs, running a hand through his hair. “What else are we supposed to do, Jo? We went to the cops, we’ve searched everywhere we can think of in this godforsaken town. What’s left?”

Joanna’s gaze drops to the ground, her hands balling into fists. “Dad,” she says after a beat, her voice low.

Jonathan stiffens, his brows knitting together. “Jo…”

“No,” she cuts him off, her eyes snapping up to meet his. “Think about it, Jonathan. He’s the only one we haven’t talked to. What if he knows something? What if Will tried to call him?”

Jonathan shakes his head, his expression hardening. “Dad doesn’t care, Jo. He didn’t care when he left us, and he doesn’t care now. He’s not gonna help.”

Joanna steps closer, her voice rising with frustration. “How do you know that? Have you even tried calling him?”

Jonathan hesitates, the answer written all over his face. Joanna scoffs, throwing her hands up. “Exactly. You haven’t. Because you’re too mad at him to even consider it.”

“That’s not fair,” Jonathan snaps, his voice louder now. “You think I don’t want answers? You think I don’t want him back just as much as you do? But he’s not the answer, Jo. He’s just… a dead end.”

Joanna stares at him, her chest rising and falling with angry breaths. “Maybe he is,” she says quietly, her tone soft but cutting. “But what if he’s not? What if we skip asking him and miss something important? Could you live with that?”

Jonathan looks away, his jaw clenching. For a moment, neither of them speaks. The wind picks up, rustling the leaves scattered across the pavement.

Finally, he exhales sharply, digging the car keys out of his pocket. “Fine,” he mutters. “But I’m driving.”

A flicker of relief crosses Joanna’s face, but she quickly hides it, nodding instead. “Fine by me.”

The two of them climb into the car, the doors slamming shut in unison. Jonathan grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white as he starts the engine. Joanna sits beside him, her arms crossed, staring out the window.

As they pull out of the parking lot, the school fades into the distance behind them. The tension in the car is palpable, but beneath it is a shared determination—one last hope that their estranged father might hold the answers they’re desperate to find.

Back at the Wheeler residence, there were only new questions waiting to be discovered.

Mike’s voice broke the silence, but El barely registered it. “His name is Yoda. He can use the Force to move things with his mind. Like this.” He gave a slight shove, and a cluster of action figures tumbled off the side table, scattering across the floor with a soft clink.

“You wanna try?” Mike asked, but his words faded into the background as El drifted further into the room, her attention absorbed by the small universe around her.

Her fingers grazed the corner of his desk, the rough edge of it grounding her for just a moment before she moved on. She let her hand hover near a torn corner of a Star Wars poster pinned to the wall, the edges curling slightly as if it had been there for years. A set of scattered Dungeons & Dragons miniatures lay carelessly on the floor, figures in various poses frozen mid-battle, caught in the moment before something grand had begun. El’s eyes traced each figure, lingering on each one like she was piecing together a story without words.

She moved as if in a dream, stepping lightly across Mike’s room, an explorer discovering a new world. The sights, the sounds, even the stillness felt unfamiliar yet fascinating. The room felt like a living thing to her, each detail urging her to take it in, to understand it, to make sense of the chaos.

Mike swallowed hard, the offer still hanging in the air, but forgotten in an instant. He couldn’t stop watching her, his gaze softening as she wandered further.

El crouched down beside a shelf, her eyes falling on the gold trophies lining the surface. Her fingers hovered near them for a moment before she leaned in closer, her reflection distorted in the gleaming metal.

Mike stepped forward, clearing his throat, as if suddenly aware of his place in the room. “These are my science fair trophies,” he said, his voice a little quieter now. “We got first every year. Well, except last year... we got third. Mr. Clarke said it was totally political, but—” His words faded as he saw El’s unfocused stare, as though she wasn’t really seeing him, but something else altogether.

Her gaze shifted again, landing on a framed photo hanging on the wall. It was a picture of Mike, Will, Lucas, and Dustin—four boys, grinning wide in front of a massive, cardboard volcano, the kind you make in middle school science class. Their faces were bright with pride, their arms draped casually around each other, caught in a moment of perfect, unspoken camaraderie.

El studied the photo for a long time, the quiet hum of the room around her fading into a distant background noise. She wasn’t looking at Mike. She was looking at the lives these boys had built, the history they shared, the memories that were unfolding behind the smiles in the picture.

Her heart thudded in her chest, and she couldn't help but wonder what it might be like to belong to a world like this.

Her fingers hover for a moment before lightly brushing over the glass, tracing Will’s face in the framed photo. Her touch is slow, almost reverent, as though she’s trying to pull something from the image itself.

Mike’s breath catches, his heart skipping a beat. His eyes widen, a spark of realization breaking through his confusion. “Will?” he blurts out, his voice laced with both hope and disbelief. “You know Will?”

The thought vanished as the crunch of gravel against tires echoed sharply through the stillness of the room. Mike’s head snapped toward the sound, and in an instant, he was at the window. He pushed the curtain aside, his breath catching as he spotted Karen’s station wagon rolling up the cul-de-sac and into their driveway.

His pulse quickened. “We gotta go,” he muttered, urgency tightening his voice.

Without waiting for a reply, Mike grabbed El’s hand, tugging her toward the door. They bolted down the stairs, their footsteps a frantic rhythm against the creaking wood, just as the metallic click of Karen’s key turning in the lock filled the air. Panic surged through him.

“Back up, back up!” he hissed, spinning them around. They dashed back up the stairs two at a time, his grip firm on her wrist. His heart pounded in his chest as they reached his room.

The front door swung open, and Karen’s voice rang out, sharp and curious. “Ted? Is that you?”

Mike froze, his mind racing. “Just me, Mom!” he called, his voice trembling slightly as he pushed El further into the room.

“Mike?” Karen’s voice grew closer, her footsteps falling in steady, deliberate strides up the stairs.

He turned to El, his eyes wide. “In here!” he whispered urgently, yanking open the closet door. The small space was dark and cramped, its contents spilling out in the form of crumpled clothes and scattered toys. El hesitated, her expression unreadable as she lingered on the threshold.

“Mike?” Karen’s voice was closer now, sharp with suspicion. “What are you doing home?”

“One second!” Mike yelled over his shoulder, his tone bordering on desperation. He turned back to El, his voice dropping to a whisper as he pleaded, “Please, you have to get in. My mom—she’ll find you if you don’t. Do you understand? I’ll come back for you in 10 minutes, I promise.”

El’s gaze flicked to the closet, then back to him, uncertainty clouding her features. “Promise?” she asked, her voice soft but steady.

The word stopped him in his tracks. He nodded, his tone earnest as he said, “A promise means something you can’t break. Ever.”

Karen’s voice cut through the air again, sharper now. “Michael!”

Mike’s eyes darted toward the door before landing back on El. “Please,” he whispered. The urgency in his voice finally pushed her to move.

El stepped into the closet, her movements deliberate but hesitant. Mike closed the door behind her, shutting her in darkness. For a moment, he stood there, his hand lingering on the doorknob, the muffled sound of his mother’s approaching footsteps pulling him back to reality. He swallowed hard, straightened, and turned to face the inevitable.

While Jonathan and Joanna were preparing to pull off a similar bandaid.

The afternoon sun filters through a thin layer of clouds, painting the Indiana countryside in muted hues of gold and gray. Jonathan Byers grips the steering wheel of his old car, his knuckles pale from the tension. Beside him, Joanna stares out the passenger window, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The soft hum of the car engine is the only sound between them, broken occasionally by the crunch of gravel as they pass over patches of uneven road.

Jonathan breaks the silence, “You know he’s going to lie to us.” Jonathan doesn’t look at her, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

 “Probably.” Joanna replies, scanning through different tapes in the car.

Jonathan looks at her. “Then why are we even bothering, Joanna? He’s not going to help. He doesn’t care about us. He never has.”

Joanna exhales sharply, leaning her head back against the seat. “Because if there’s even the slightest chance he knows something about Will, I have to take it. I’m not just gonna sit around and wait for the cops to do something.”

“It’s just like him to leave us to clean up the mess. He was never good at showing up when it mattered.” Jonathan replies, bitterly.

Joanna nods in agreement and then replies,  “Yeah. But this isn’t about him. It’s about Will. We’re doing this for him.”

For a moment, the weight of their shared frustration settles between them like an unspoken truth. Joanna reaches into her jacket pocket, pulling out the mixtape Scott gave her. She leans forward, sliding it into the cassette player, and a familiar track begins to play: “Heroes” by David Bowie.

“Remember when Will got obsessed with this song? He played it on repeat for weeks.” Joanna half smirks as the memory floods into both of their minds.

A faint smile tugs at Jonathan's lips, “He said it made him feel brave. Like he could do anything.”

“He used to hum it while drawing in his room. Drove Dad crazy.” Joanna chuckles.

They both laugh softly, though the sound feels heavy with nostalgia. The song fills the car, creating a bittersweet soundtrack for their journey.

“You think he’s scared?” Joanna asks after a pause.

“I know he is.” Jonathan replies, his voice tight.

Joanna stares out the window again. “When I was his age, I thought you and I could handle anything. You always looked out for me. But Will… he’s not like us. He’s…”

“Softer.” Jonathan finishes and Joanna nods, “Yeah. And Lonnie hated that about him. Remember how he used to mock him for being sensitive? Like it was some kind of crime.”

The memory plays out in her mind like a grainy film reel, warped at the edges but sharp where it matters most. The Byers’ living room comes into focus first—small, cluttered, and dimly lit, the flicker of a static-filled TV throwing restless shadows across the walls. She remembers the way Lonnie sat slouched on the couch, a beer perpetually in hand, his feet propped carelessly on the coffee table like he owned the world. The sour stench of cheap alcohol clung to him, mingling with the faint hum of the television.

Joanna can almost hear the snap of his fingers again, sharp and cutting, aimed at Will like a whip. “Hey, Picasso. You’ve been drawing that crap all day. How about doing something useful for once, huh?”

Her brother—no older than nine, his small frame hunched over the carpet—froze mid-sketch. 

She remembers the way he hesitated, as if weighing whether it was worth answering, and the way he finally mumbled, "I—I like drawing," so quietly it barely reached Lonnie’s ears.

She grips the edge of the memory, her jaw tightening at the echo of Lonnie’s sneer. “Yeah, well, it’s not going to put food on the table, is it? Maybe you should try something normal for once. Go throw a ball around or something. Be a boy.”

The words hang heavy, venomous and familiar. Joanna remembers exchanging a glance with Jonathan in the corner. Her brother had looked at her, his eyes a silent plea. Don’t. Just let it go. 

But how could she?

Lonnie’s voice cut through the tense silence again, his tone sharper, meaner. “You hear me, William? Don’t just sit there like a mute. I’m talking to you.”

Will had shrunk under the weight of those words, clutching his sketchbook to his chest like a shield. The shame in his eyes still burns in Joanna’s mind—shame no kid should ever feel for being himself. She remembers the tears welling up, the way his small voice cracked as he whispered, “I’m sorry…”

That was the breaking point. Even now, Joanna can feel the anger that surged through her veins, hot and uncontrollable. “Leave him alone, Dad! He can draw if he wants to. He’s just a kid.” she snapped, her voice shaking but strong.

Lonnie’s glare had hit her like a slap. “Stay out of this, Joanna. You think you’re so wise, huh? Always mouthing off like your mother. Maybe that’s why you never shut your damn mouth.”

The words still sting, years later. But at that moment, her anger burned brighter than the hurt. “I’d rather be like her than you,” she had shot back, defiant and unflinching.

The memory speeds up here, her father’s face hardening, Jonathan’s hand on her arm trying to hold her back, his quiet, “Joanna, stop,” a desperate whisper. 

Lonnie’s voice rising, barking orders, scattering them like roaches under a glaring light.

She remembers the way Will had bolted, clutching his sketchbook like it was the only thing tethering him to this world. She can still hear the soft thud of his bedroom door slamming shut, the faint sound of his muffled sobs.

“I’m going after him,” she had said, shaking off Jonathan’s grip.

“He just needs space,” Jonathan had replied, tired and resigned. But space wasn’t what Will needed. Not then.

Joanna remembers the quiet as she pushed open the door to Will’s room, the emptiness that greeted her, and then the slight creak of the closet door ajar. She remembers kneeling, opening the door, and finding him there, curled up in the corner like a wounded bird.

“Hey,” she had whispered, sliding into the tiny space beside him. “It’s okay. He’s just an idiot. He doesn’t mean it.”

Will’s voice had been barely audible. “He always means it.”

Joanna wraps herself in that memory like a second skin. The way she had put her arm around him, the weight of his small body leaning against hers. The determination in her voice as she told him, “He’s wrong. You’re amazing, Will. Don’t ever let him make you feel like you’re not.”

And she’d meant every word. She still does. “Whenever he gets like that,” she had added, her voice softening, “just do what you do best. Hide. Okay?”

Will had nodded, his face still buried in his sketchbook. She had held him there in the quiet, in the safety of that tiny closet, promising herself that she’d always be there to protect him.

Now, years later, the weight of that promise feels heavier than ever. Because Will isn’t here, and no matter how hard she tries, she can’t shake the gnawing fear that this time, hiding won’t be enough to bring him back.

Jonathan grips the wheel tighter. “That’s why I don’t care if Lonnie doesn’t want to talk to us. He doesn’t get to treat Will like that anymore. Not after everything.”

The intensity in Jonathan’s voice surprises Joanna. She looks at him for a moment, noticing the shadows under his eyes and the determination in his expression. “You’re a good brother, Jonathan.” She acknowledges and Jonathan glances at her, “So are you.”

Joanna snorts.  “I don’t think that’s how that works, but thanks.”

 “You know what I mean.” Jonathan grins faintly 

They drive in silence for a few more miles, the city slowly coming into view on the horizon. Joanna fiddles with the hem of her jacket, her mind racing with memories of Lonnie’s dismissiveness, his cruel words, and the way he always seemed to care more about himself than his family...

The Byers’ small kitchen is dimly lit, the overhead bulb flickering faintly. Joanna sits at the kitchen table, hunched over her homework. Jonathan is on the couch nearby, strumming his guitar softly. Will is playing with his action figures on the floor. It’s a quiet, fragile moment of normalcy—until the front door swings open and slams shut.

“Damn door’s sticking again. You ever think about fixing that, Joyce?” Lonnie grumbles.

Joyce looks up from where she’s washing dishes, her shoulders tensing immediately. “Maybe if you found another job like you’re supposed to, I could afford to fix it.”

Lonnie snorts, throwing his jacket over a chair. “Here we go again. Do you ever get tired of nagging? It’s like all you do anymore.”

“Nagging? You think asking you to be a father to your kids is nagging?” Joyce spins around

Jonathan sets his guitar down, his body stiffening. Joanna glances at him, silently asking if they should do something. Will looks up, wide-eyed, sensing the rising tension.

Lonnie ignores his kids and continues on pestering Joyce. “Oh, don’t start. I came here to see them, not get another lecture from you.”

“See them? You show up whenever it’s convenient for you, Lonnie. You don’t care about these kids. You just breeze in, disrupt everything, and then leave us to clean up the mess!” Joyce's voice rises and Lonnie pushes past her grabbing a beer from the fridge, twisting the cap off with unnecessary force. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You think it’s easy, working my ass off every day? At least I’m trying, which is more than I can say for you.”

Joyce snaps, “Trying? Trying to do what, Lonnie? Drink yourself into oblivion? Waste your money on stupid schemes instead of helping your family?”

The fight escalates as Lonnie slams the beer bottle onto the counter, the sound making Will flinch. Joanna stands and slowly pulls him up from the floor leading him into her bedroom as their parents continue to escalate. Lonnie's voice radiates down the hall,  “You’re unbelievable, you know that? Always playing the victim. Maybe if you weren’t so damn controlling, things wouldn’t have fallen apart!”

 “Fallen apart? You’re the one who walked out, Lonnie! You’re the one who abandoned us!” Joyce screams back. As her voice echoes through the house, Lonnie picks up a plate from the counter and hurls it into the sink, shattering it. The crash makes everyone jump, the kids stopping in their steps in the hallway. Jonathan hesitates between following his siblings and or going to check on their mother.

 “Why are they yelling?” Will whispers, his big eyes staring up at Joanna. She quickly pushes open her bedroom door and moves to Will inside, pulling him into her lap.  “It’s okay, Will. Don’t listen to them. Just… just stay here with me.”

Jonathan watches the scene with a mix of anger and helplessness, his fists clenching at his sides. He closes the door to Joanna's room and then makes his way down the hall into the doorway. 

“Why don’t you just leave if all you’re going to do is fight with Mom?” He snaps sharply at Lonnie. He turns to Jonathan, his face darkening. “Watch your tone, kid. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Joyce steps between them, her voice trembling with fury. “Don’t you dare talk to him like that. Get out, Lonnie. Now.”

For a moment, Lonnie looks like he might argue, but then he shakes his head, grabbing his jacket.

“This place is a damn circus. No wonder you’re all screwed up.” Lonnie grumbles, grabbing his jacket. The door slams shut behind him, leaving a heavy silence in his wake. Joanna rocks Will gently, whispering soothing words, while Jonathan picks up the broken pieces of the plate from the sink. Joyce stands frozen, her back to the kids, gripping the edge of the counter.

“He’s gone now. It’s okay. We’re okay.” Joanna mutters to Will softly.

But none of them really believe it. Moments like this, even when they ended, left cracks that were hard to mend.

“Do you ever think Mom should’ve left him sooner?” Joanna asks quietly.

Jonathan replies, without hesitation. “Yeah. But it’s not that simple, Jo. You know that.”

“I know. I just wish…”Joanna hesitates and assures,  “We all do.”

As they near Lonnie’s neighborhood, the atmosphere in the car grows heavier. Joanna leans forward, turning the music down.

Jonathan takes a deep breath. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

“Yeah. Let’s.” Joanna replies, grimly.

The car pulls into the driveway of Lonnie’s small, run-down house. The paint is peeling, and the lawn is overgrown—a reflection of the man who lives inside. Joanna and Jonathan exchange a glance, bracing themselves for whatever comes next. 

[violentdick]

Rules and Blog Synopsis

So, I realized my rules don't show up on Mobile, so I'm making this post to pin for mobile users' reference and adding a synopsis of this blog's purpose:

This blog was made due to three main reasons: 1) The operator of the blog absolutely loves Dick Grayson as a character, 2) The operator absolutely despises Tom Taylor and Devin Greyson and got sick and tired of seeing their garbage run rampant to the detriment of the character, even if I will begrudgingly admit they had at rare instances interesting ideas, but due to my hatred of them, I cannot stomach any of their published hcs and 3) I have a love/hate relationship with the DC fandom, especially in regards to the Batfam. I got annoyed with seeing a large amount of people just say blatant untruths about the characters and I don't remember the exact post, but there was one about Dick that made me go, "Nope, I'm done with this. I'm being petty." So while this blog was made with the pettiest of intentions, it is a place to appreciate the varied history of the original sidekick and just how chaotic he could get. This will primarily be a blog celebrating what he will do to villains, but it is also just to appreciate weird panels with context of the time, his relationships with other characters and just some random panels I come across that are just fun to look at.

No sexualizing Dick, even when I start to post Nightwing. If you want to sexualize him, please do it on other blogs because I do check the tags and it bothers me greatly when I see it.

I will tag ships if they are in the panel or in the weapon of choice section. That said I will not do anything related to Batcest (and yes this includes Dickbabs, you will not see it here and please don't tag anything with it from here).

Submissions are welcome. But please source the item you submitted. GIFs, images, etc. must be sourced on who made them. Please do not upload edited comic panels, nor fanart, nor panels from fan comics. The latter is due to it stealing engagement from the actual creators.

Don't be a dick to others or the operator of this blog. And remember there are different ways to read things and there is a great ability in understanding how other people can read things differently from you.

Please don't use tone indicators. jk is fine, but there is no reason the one for positive is /pos.

If I think you're actively being malicious, I will block you and remove any reply you may have left. There's accidentally being a jerk and then there's just being a jerk.

Also adding tags for certain types of posts: 1: "acrobatic!dick" for an acrobatic sequence. 2: "nice to meet you" for single panels (with some exceptions) of Dick entering a room with violence. 3: "spotlight thief" for when it's someone who isn't Dick making the post. 4: "ace!detective" for the asexual Dick panels. 5: "vroom vroom" for Dick driving or vehicle based. 6: "give him pants" for defenestrations. Yes this will stay even after he gets pants.

Let me know if you would like tags for similar groups of panels for searching or blocking.

Also because sadly this apparently has to be put out there, this blog inherently respects everyone regardless of sexuality, gender, sex, race, etc. and recognizes transmen as men, transwomen as women, gender fluid and non binaries as whatever they wish, asexuals, pansexuals, demisexuals, etc. So yeah, don’t be a dick to others and follow the above rules and we’re all good.

[phillippadgettwrites]

Fun Run

Rated X / 1656 words / posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

CW for dubcon/SA

It’s warm but overcast—perfect weather for running. Scully synchronizes the strike of her heels against the pavement to her measured breaths, falling into a kind of trance that allows her to forget about the energy she’s exerting. The lakeside path is mostly deserted, which makes her immediately notice the sound of a second pair of sneakers pounding rhythmically several yards behind her.

The hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention—alerting her to a threat that her higher reasoning does not yet have evidence for—and she feels the absence of her backup weapon strapped around her ankle. She knows she should always wear it, but the continued jostle on her long runs tends to rub the skin raw over her lateral malleolus, so in practice it typically remains stashed in the glovebox of her car.

The hollow echo of the other runner grows closer, and Scully picks up speed. She doesn’t dare break into a full sprint that she won’t be able to maintain long enough to get back to her car, but she pushes herself to the limit of a sustainable pace. Still, the footsteps grow louder. Whoever is behind her likely has much longer legs. They are likely male. They are likely aware that this park isn’t heavily populated on a weekday at this time. She looks across the lake at the parking lot on the other side. She estimates that it will take her three to five minutes to get there. A lot can happen in three to five minutes

Her lungs are burning and the muscles in her legs have lost sensation. The footsteps draw closer and fade towards her left, and she can now hear the labored breaths of the other runner as they close the last few yards between themselves and Scully. With absolutely no plan, she abruptly veers off the path, muting the slap of her shoes against the pavement as she sets off across a grassy field. When the second set of sneakers also falls silent, her heart springs into her ears, cutting out her hearing. Before she has a split second to think about her next steps, one strong arm winds its way around her waist. She yelps, then uses all the strength she can muster to push her heels into the ground and throw her weight back, knocking both herself and her assailant off-kilter.

She falls backward and lands against his chest, and they both grunt as the force of the fall knocks the respective wind out of their lungs. Scully rolls to the side and feels the brush of grass against her knees and palms. She begins to push herself up off the ground, but a hand on her shoulder quickly twists her around and she is suddenly on her back with the weight of a grown man pinning her down by the hips.

“Hey,” he says insistently, trying to catch her hands as she swings at him aimlessly and thrashes around, her eyes squeezed shut tight. “Scully, stop!”

At the sound of her name, she opens her eyes and blinks rapidly at the sweat-damp face of the man above her. He’s panting, his plush bottom lip hanging open and his eyebrows knit with concern. Now that she is no longer taking swings at him, he plants his hands on the ground on either side of her head and suspends himself over her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says breathlessly. “I thought you knew it was me.”

She stares at him, disoriented, as the spike of cortisol coursing through her veins gradually begins to subside. She becomes aware of the press of his pelvis against her own, and the amount of skin that is exposed around her running shorts and sports bra. Mulder is shirtless, bronzed and shimmering. His toned belly flexes each time he sucks in a new breath, and she watches as a bead of sweat gathers in his belly button and then runs down the trail of hair beneath it to dampen his waistband.

When her eyes make their way back to his face, she finds that he is making a similar assessment of her body. She feels herself blush under his scrutiny as he examines her cleavage, but she also feels an anticipatory throb between her legs. She flexes her glutes, which pushes her pelvis up into his just slightly, and he makes a little noise in the back of his throat that sends her hips up again of their own volition. They lock eyes and hang there, suspended between before and after with heaving chests. Scully flashes her eyes down to his lap, to the protrusion at the front of his shorts, then pushes her hips up against him once more.

Mulder drops from his hands to his elbows, and her neck is already extending to meet him when he presses his mouth against hers. He tastes like salt and metal, like raw elements and animal instincts. He bites at her bottom lip tenderly, and she whimpers as she slips her hands under his shorts on either side of his hips. His skin is damp with sweat, hot and smooth as she first squeezes his ass cheeks and then runs one hand around to the front to take hold of his erection. Mulder sucks in a surprised breath, then groans.

He sits up abruptly, grabbing her running shorts by the waist and shucking them off her hips, along with her panties. He moves off of her and peels the fabric down her legs as she watches with fascinated excitement, and then he pushes one of her knees to the side and rakes his eyes over her cunt. She feels herself water under his watch, and the swell of her clit throbbing behind her pubic bone. Mulder reaches into his shorts and pulls his cock free, giving himself several slow strokes as he stares between her legs. Scully feels like she’s on fire, like she’s overloaded with an electrical current that her body cannot contain. Reaching out, she wraps her hand around the head of his cock and squeezes, breaking him from his trance. He moves over her, his shorts still bunched up under his erection, and pushes inside.

Scully’s back arches up off the grass, her mouth hanging open but not producing a sound. Mulder stays still for a moment, lowering his head and kissing the corner of her mouth while she adjusts to his size. When she has the wherewithal to kiss him back, he takes this as his indication that she is ready to continue, and draws his hips back before he slams into her again.

“Oh my god,” she says on a gasp, digging her fingernails into the solid muscles of his back.

Mulder sighs with satisfaction, grinding his hips in delicious little figure-eights. She feels it all, every inch of his skin pressed against hers and the spiky scratch of his pubic hair. He kisses her sweetly and then pulls back a bit, shifting his weight for a better angle. When he resumes, it’s with sharp staccato thrusts that slam against her cervix, contorting her face into a mask of pleasure and pain. After a few minutes, he reaches up and pulls one of her hands from around his neck, guiding it down to where they are joined. Scully blushes, which strikes her as absurd, but complies with his implicit demand. Mulder watches her fumble in the tight space between their bodies until her middle finger is wedged snugly against her clit. Satisfied that she’s in position, he begins a slow, deep grind that pushes her finger even more firmly into her flesh. She feels herself clench around him as he nudges her closer to the edge, and he grunts at the sensation, but doesn’t slow down.

She watches his face as he watches the twitch of his own hips against her, and the flexing muscles in her forearm as she teases a telltale tingle out of her clit. She knows she’s close, but she doesn’t want to tell him. She wants to see his face when he feels it. She wants to see him fall apart. Warmth spreads from her pelvis down her legs, and she fights to keep her eyes open as it slowly overtakes her. She peaks, and his mouth falls open as his eyes slam closed, a low guttural moan rumbling up from his chest.

“Oh, fuck,” he hisses, then starts pumping into her rapidfire, doubling and extending the force of her orgasm. She floats on a sea of pleasure until she feels the heat of him inside her, and the hot rush of his cum spilling out onto the grass.

His head falls into the crook of her neck as they both bask in it, and slowly she becomes aware of the world around her. Chirping birds, the hum and rumble of traffic nearby. She recognizes the murmur of voices steadily growing louder.

“Mulder,” she hisses, pushing at his bare hip. “Someone’s coming, get up!”

Mulder lifts his head with a familiar smirk that tells her he has a joke at the ready, but when he looks beyond her to the trail, his eyes go big. As discreetly as possible, he slides off her and tucks his slippery cock back into his shorts before finding hers and helping her into them. Just as the other pair of runners passes by, he extends his legs and begins to stretch his hamstrings.

“Beautiful day,” he says casually, and the two runners nod in greeting, then disappear around a bend in the trail.

Scully stands and Mulder looks up at her, confused.

“I wasn’t finished with my run,” she says lightly, then begins a slow trot across the grass and back onto the pavement.

She smiles as she hears Mulder scurry to catch up with her, his cum running down the inside of her thigh.

[travellers-log-lawrence]

Contact established with Space Anomaly.

Personal Broadcasts enabled.

Broadcasts may be received at any time, and responded to via the Recording Feature in your Exosuit.

Welcome, Iteration: Archer.

Blog info below cut.

Hello!! I'm the mod behind this account, thank you for taking an interest in my story! In celebration of Archer finally reaching the Space Anomaly, I wanted to say hello and pin a post explaining some things!

Since Archer has reached the Space Anomaly, he can receive Asks (Personal Broadcasts) now!

-I love all interaction! Bear in mind that asks that don't fit the current tone may be set aside for a while, until they do. I never ignore asks unless they're spam or you want me to!

- For those interested, please keep in mind that I'm playing this for the first time alongside Archer! Please don't spoil plot stuff. Vague allusions are 100% okay with me.

- (Added July 2 2024) If you are interested in adapting this story for another platform (by reading it aloud on YouTube, for example), please ask first.

-I highly encourage roleplaying as a Traveller yourself in asks if you like! Not identifying yourself as anything in-universe is also perfectly fine! If you wanna check out asks from others, look at the #transmissions tag. (Added it to this post for a quick jump)

-In reference to the above--I work off the assumption that the events of the game repeat infinitely. Archer isn't the first Traveller to encounter Artemis's tragedy, and they won't be the last.

I am playing almost completely blind from here on out, and the people I get lore help from are not all-knowing or perfectly up-to-date. Aside from the liberties I take for creative/story/timing reasons, I may get some things wrong. This is also my first time ever having a presence on Tumblr. Trying my best to learn etiquette!

Here's a link to read all the logs from the beginning! (Browser only)

To end this, some Archer and Mod facts:

Archer uses he/they pronouns (As do I, he literally gave me a gender crisis)

They are very queer! Like me!

Archer's favorite color is red!

I commissioned my Archer pfp from inkubus_04 on Instagram!

I adore seeing people spam like my posts! I've heard some people don't, but it fills me with glee! Same with replies!

I am autistic! By extension Archer probably is too, since that tends to happen with my characters

I am over 18! 👍

I would quite like some Tumblr friends! I love being bothered and will very happily talk with anyone who pops up. So if you want to make a friend.. hello! My DMs are open!

Wishing you lots of aloneness. I'll see you among the stars!

[director-yomi-hellsmile]

Cube joke (pinned post)

If you know me from @/growling or @/seth-burroughs then you get a krówka. Personal blog of Yomi Hellsmile, so just call me by that name. Serious metaphysical fictionkind & fictive, I'm actually fine with treated as literal Blorbo From Your Games it makes me feel sane and slightly better than just having it ignored. Please poke me around and bombard me with questions as much as you like I thrive off of attention and require constant enrichment in my containment chamber. Just no being weirdly invasive/rude with questions like ''what is the exact mechanism of how you tried to kill your girlfriend that one time'' or otherwise not saying shit to me I know you wouldn't say to literally anyone else please I'm trying to be so nice every day

Fine with source talk / Rain Code discussion (if you're cool with me getting a bit weird about it), fine with all sourcemates if you are respectful/nice in turn, I don't have anything against doubles and I'm waving at you same hat style but I'll probably just nonjudgmentally block you for my own comfort, sorryyyy I gotta take care of my shitty heart rate.

I'm very often not good at articulating myself and a lot of things I end up writing end up kind of incomprehensible or weird, I can't really do anything about it so don't point this out unless you absolutely need to have something clarified. Sometimes I get confused and either not really get what you're saying or can't reply to you for quite some time whether because of that or my perpetual low energy, if you @'d me or sent me an ask and I don't respond within a week then I'm not purposefully ignoring you; either need to take longer time with writing, or I don't really have an answer. Don't blow up at me for asking you to clarify something in simpler terms. My tone might be off either due to those, my brain just working differently, or english not being my first language.

Other info + disclaimers/warnings:

Trans man + outherine bigender, masculine or neutral terms only - and no, "girl" is not gender neutral and I do not care if you use it that way. If you'd like to perceive me perhaps refer to me even: he/him, it/its or xe/xem/xir, and only those; do not call me by they. Also don't call me a "boy" I am a grown ass man.

Loveless aroace (and a fagdyke if you unlock my easter egg), aplatonic, afamilial, posting about those pretty often. Or I think. I'm trying.

Semiverbal MSN autistic + schizophrenic and refuses to shut up about it, which is the main reason some posts may be worded weirdly.

NPD, ASPD and AvPD, I also like talking about those. My brain's valiant mission to collect every heavily stigmatized disorder in order to craft the most fucked up individual in Poland. Follow me in order to fulfill your mutual list diversity quota /joking that was a /joke

Do not insult me as a "joke", or approach me with any sort of overly familiar playful rudeness. I kind of hate how normalized just being ~ironically~ straight up mean to people is on here. No I probably won't read your sarcasm unless I've already memorized all your speech patterns or something

Mainly into: Rain Code (lol. lmao, even), Warriors, Akuma Kun, Mouthwashing, Henry Stickmin, birds, cat genetics and scraping pretty rocks off of sidewalks

Plural, we are not interested in assigning roles to each other or specifying our "origin" or how it all happened as it's not currently relevant to us nor is it any of your business like why do you care. Anyway this blog is safe for endos or like, any other type of plural.

Occasional nsfw posts under the #nsft tag, which will contain a bunch of hard kinks like torture rape violence etcetera, so, block that if you don't want to see those. That's also the only tag I consistently use on this blog.

[hoodiecave]

pinned post time!!!

ello!! i'm hoodie/hood! local nerdy artist and enjoyer of many things. very normal about those things. definitely. /j

she/her pronouns :)

🇺🇸 unfortunately I'm american lmao

i am a minor! don't be weird, I don't mind silly stuff but please don't send me anything obscenely lewd I will block you <3

I'm in many fandoms but the main ones at the time of writing this are The Magnus Archives, The Life Series and The Hatchetfield Trilogy/Nightmare Time. Again, very normal about all of them ahahahghgrhdfg

There's a high likelihood I have adhd and I use tone tags on the occasion so keep that in mind ig

Handy dandy stuff:

My carrd! This has links to all my other social media and other silly stuff like that.

some tags:

#hood's art! : My art! All of the stuff I've posted to tumblr, anyways.

#hoodie rambles : stupid shit i say. not sure how often I'll use this but it sure is there. if you saw me saying I'd use another tag for this no you didn't.

#banger art : Art I really like and want to save for one reason or another :) aka tag for me reblogging stuff from cool people that I might want to look back on for inspiration

i tagged this post with all the tags just for convenience lolll

will probably add to this/change stuff later :)

[s0lar-ch3ri]

fixing the pinned post (actually making it usable)

alright, since my normal one isnt usable mostly, its going bye bye (you can see what it was supposed to look like here if your interested)

hey there, im the sapphic bigender slut running this blog! i use any pronouns, though i prefer he/her. idk why but i feel like im the "me and the bad bitch i pulled by being autistic" meme if it applied both ways (adhd up in here too wooooooooo)

what to expect: once very blue moon an art post, a lot of jrwi rambles and comedy, some crazy theories, but lots of reblogs. i do try to do like a post that i wrote a day but with school, scroll qand reblog is the life lol

-i mostly use parenthesises and shit instead of tone tags (if needed, ill use them both)

-misspells i keep if theyre funny enough, but if unreadbale ill clarify (example: unreadable)

-the words with gender are gender neutral here. ill say girlie and my homeboy because its fun to ruin the gender concept

fandoms i post about now: scrolling back youd probs find some of my toh posts, but ive been more so on a riptide and mythborne grind. i do sometimes post on scu though! i also got my own characters lol

dni list: honestly anything for drama. of course no pedos and racsists and all that cause ill beat you on sight, just dont be a dick lol

-for asks, dont ask too personal shit or anything thatd fall under the dni list

-since im being kinda general with it, heres some specific ones for dni: those people who made weird sexualities (i mean like fucking figdetsexual and shit), politics (i may reblog on political stuff, im just spreading the message), things like that

if you wanna share more on interests, i have a card with some of my current interests and a couple places to find me maybe

asks are heavily encouraged and if you like any of my art, credit me if you get inspired and shit (dont trace please and if for whatever reason ai wants to use my art: no.)

now for what tags i use:

#jrwi by non-jrwi enjoyer = im talking to my non just roll with it friend on just roll with it

#not my usual content = might be more serious, just something i dont normally talk about (example: something that happened to me)

#silli promo = im probs promoing my fics or smth

#cheri's insane again = theories >:)