#prompt sixteen: struggling

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Headlines

Day #16 - Struggling | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Substance Abuse, Addiction, Minor Mention of Pregnancy | POV: Gareth | Pairing: Gareth/Di (OC, Off-Screen), Minor Steddie | Tags: Clawing Your Way Out Of Rock Bottom, Tough Love, But Love

The headlines never stop coming, never relent, and if he dares to step foot out of his house there's a camera shoved in his face. Struggling, apparently, isn't allowed. The fall from grace must always be captured for the masses to gossip about.

His phone rings again, and again, and he lets it. He's not about to answer the phone and listen to anyone that's on the other end. He's heard it all before, and he doesn't have the energy for more of it. Not for Eddie's nagging or Steve's next plan of action. 

He's tried. They've all tried. It's useless.

He's useless.

Now, there's annoying banging on the door. He ignores that, too. 

"Hey, asshole, I know you're in there!" Goodie hollers through the door, and he's sure the next headline will read:

Former Drummer Evicted, Noise Complaints

Goodie can't actually get into the shitty apartment Gareth's been renting, so Gareth just props his feet up on the couch and ignores him. If he wants to yell through the door like an asshole, Gareth will let him. Gareth puts his headphones on, and blocks out the world. 

He's been good at that recently. Has had to be, if he hopes to survive this.

He closes his eyes and leans back.

Goodie lost the right to talk to him when he voted him out. All three of them, turning on him. Steve too, and Di. His own fucking wife. Giving him ultimatums that they all damn well knew he'd never be able to make good on.

Interventions that would never work, that he never wanted to work. He was fine. He was still showing up, drumming, and they thought they deserved more from him than his work. 

He can drum.

He can't stay sober. 

He jumps when the earphones are being plucked off of his head. 

"Jesus Christ, Goodie," Gareth snaps, but it isn't Goodie. At least, not just Goodie. 

It's Eddie, of course it is, who else could have picked the fucking locks? And of course, that means Steve, too, who is already gathering up the mess, shoving it into a trash bag by the handful.

Jeff standing there, holding it open for him.

They all wrote him off, months ago, and now here they are, harassing him further. It's bullshit. They wanted him gone? Great. Then they need to leave him alone, now. 

"Enough," Eddie says, "bender's over."

"Fuck you," Gareth snaps. He'll be done when he's good and ready, and he doesn't see that day coming anytime soon.

"Get up, let's go," Eddie says, and he pulls on Gareth's arms until he's standing, and then he's dragging him to the bathroom, Goodie kicking him on the ass the whole way, shoving him along.

"Stop it!" Gareth snaps, wheeling around on Goodie, only stopping because Eddie's restraining him.

"Goodie," Eddie warns, shutting the bathroom door, locking Goodie out, shaking his head in disapproval.

"Kid," Eddie says, meeting Gareth's eyes in the mirror. 

Gareth hasn't looked in a mirror in, well, a while. It isn't good. His eyes are dark, and purple underneath. This isn't what he should look like, and he knows it.

He's fucked it all up. His job, his band, his friendships, his goddamn marriage. 

His chance to be a dad in anything other than name.

"She had that baby?" Gareth asks, looking down at the floor.

"Not yet," Eddie answers, opening the shower door, "Here, get in."

And Gareth doesn't want to fight with him, so he does. Undresses and showers, and he feels a little better. Still awful. But a degree less, maybe.

"You can still turn this around," Eddie says from outside the shower door, "it's not too late. I'll help you."

It is too late. Di won't take him back. The band won't take him back. It is too late. Has been for a while.

"I can't fix this, I'm too far gone," Gareth mutters back.

"You're fucking not, shut up," Eddie snaps.

His own band kicked him out, replaced him. His wife left him, is having a baby that's he's not sure he'll have any parental rights to, or ability to see, and for good reason. He's a fuck-up. Unreliable. 

"Let me help you. We have all summer off."

Gareth looks at him, "You took the summer off? Why?"

Corroded Coffin never takes the summer off. They go, go, go during the summer. Five shows a week, at a flat run. That's what they're good at. Covering ground, entertaining crowds. 

"Because you're more important. I'm so sorry that we haven't gone about this right."

It's not Eddie's fault. Gareth knows that. Knows he only has himself to blame, even if most of the time he likes to lash out, and pretend otherwise. 

Down deep, he knows.

Down deep, he'd like to crawl out of this hole, but he can't really see daylight.

He's been digging too long.

"I don't think I can," Gareth whispers.

Eddie pulls him to his chest, hugging him tight, and it's been too long, and Gareth hugs back, "That's okay. I know you can."

And Gareth wants that to be true. Wants the trajectory to change. Wants his life back. All of it. Di, Eddie, the band. 

If he's making wishes, he's gonna wish big. 

"What do I do?" Gareth asks, face pressed into Eddie's neck. 

"Want it back," Eddie says, rubbing his back, "Take it back. Work for it."

Gareth lets Eddie hold him, then finally asks, "Have you talked to Di?"

"All the time," Eddie whispers, "she's wants it, too."

And that's when Gareth breaks, "She'll take me back?"

"Yeah, kid, I think she will if you can show her you're serious about turning this shitshow around."

"She's having a baby," Gareth says.

"You both are," Eddie says, "and wouldn't it be nice to be involved in that?"

It would, it really would.

"And Corroded Coffin?"

"Waiting. Always," Eddie says, and Gareth squeezes him, tight. "What do you say, kid? You in?"

Yeah. Gareth's in.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[corrodedcoffinfest]

Prompt #16 - Struggling

They're working their asses off, grinding it out, but they haven't hit the big time yet. Or they're struggling in other ways...

Get those submissions in by 11:59 PM EDT tonight!

Be sure to tag @corrodedcoffinfest and feel free to use the hashtag #corrodedcoffinfest.

This will blog will comment with a 🦇 when your fic has been checked for word count and queued for reblogging.

[rogueddie]

Warmth and Safety T | 808 words Prompt for @steddielovemonth: Love is the heartbeat I can feel when I hug him

Steve knows he should be in his own hospital room. Not only so other people can visit too, but because of how his head spins as he struggles to walk down the corridor.

The white walls are too clinical, too metalic. They look nothing like the Russians underground lair, but mixed with the sharp stench of bleach and medicine? It's mixing into a cruel cocktail that has his instincts screaming for Robin.

He pushes forward, gritting his teeth and- trying- to ignore the memories trying to haunt him.

"Steve," Eddie greets, when he finally makes it through the door into his room, sounding exhausted. "What the hell, man?"

"I'm fine," Steve lies, hating how breathless he sounds. He sags into the chair next to Eddies bed, grimacing. "Just need a minute... catch my breath. There's, like, so many stairs."

Eddie is silent for a long moment, but Steve can feel his eyes boring into his head.

"What?"

"Wh- you shouldn't be here, man!" Eddie says. He sounds too exhausted for the stern tone to have any effect. "The nurses have told you already. You need to heal. You can't do that if you're dragging yourself around to... I don't know, check on us?"

"I need to make sure you're ok."

"We're in a hospital. We're as ok as we can get."

"I get that, but..."

The clock chimes, the earth rumbling as the town reads apart, Dustin's screams...

"Yeah, I know," Eddie sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I understand, alright? But you need to cut this shit out."

"I can't."

"Steve-"

"I need to know that you're alive. I need to know. It's not enough to hear that you're ok, I need to see it. I need to, Eds."

"Jesus Christ," he throws his head back, sighing heavy and dramatically.

But then he lifts his head, smirking a little as he opens an arm out towards him, beckoning him closer.

"Come here, big boy, let me give you a hug."

Steve rolls his eyes, but he does as he told, standing up so he was shuffle to the bed.

"You don't have to say it all creepy, man, you'll give me ideas."

"Promise?" Eddie wiggles his eyebrows. But his playfulness quickly morphs into exasperation again when he huffs out, "just sit down, Steve, come on, come here."

It takes a lot of gesturing and, eventually, slight man handling, but eventually Eddie gets Steve to lay down next to him. He tugs Steve's head down so his ear is resting on his chest and, with some hesitation, he curls an arm around Eddie's waist.

He can feel his heartbeat, thumping against his ear, matching the beeping of the monitor.

"There," Eddie mumbles, brushing his fingers down Steve's spine. "Better, right?"

"... yeah."

His heart is pounding, almost as much as Eddie's is. It's only a little reassuring that Eddie is just as nervous as him- he can only hope it's for the same reason.

"You need to take care of yourself too," Eddie continues. "Who's gonna run around after those brats of you don't heal right? Me? I'm a bad influence, Stevie, you know I'll make 'em worse."

"You'd do great, they love you."

"Noooo," he squeezes Steve a little tighter, whining as high as he can get his voice to go. "Please, I'm begging, I'll go insane if I have to deal with them alone!"

"Now you know how I feel."

"God, I wish I didn't," Eddie sighs, turning serious again so fast that Steve feels like he's getting whiplash. "This whole thing is fucked. Those kids are only, like, fifteen."

Steve hesitates for a moment, before whispering, "I was sixteen, when this all started. Back in 83.x

"Jesus."

"Yeah, it's... I don't know. Like, I know it's horrible, but I like it when it's like this. Everyone in one place, knowing that there's doctors and shit nearby."

"That's not horrible. You know they're being cared for."

"Yeah, but it's worse this time. Like... I keep thinking that one day I'll wake up and we won't have made it. This will be some stupid dream and you and Max..."

"We're still here," Eddie brings a hand up to his head, brushing his hair back. "You can feel it, right? I'm right here. We're not going anywhere."

Steve nods, closing his eyes so he can focus on Eddie's heartbeat.

"You know I love seeing you, right? Just... at least get a wheelchair or something. Please?"

Something is his chest cracks at how Eddie's voice breaks, how pained and desperate he sounds.

"Ok. I can do a wheelchair."

"Good. You start taking care of yourself and we can do this everyday."

"Promise?"

"Yeah," Eddie whispers, hand finally coming to a stop, cupping his cheek. "Yeah, I promise. Whenever and for however long you need. I'll be right here."

[jasmines-library]

Necrosis

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

WHUMPTOBER DAY SIXTEEN :Prompt: necrosis/wound cleaning.

Summary: Tim helps you with your wounds.

Warnings: mentions of injury. Necrosis.

Word count: 666

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER 2024

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Tim frowned as he watched you hobble across the room with a noticeable limp. You had been injured a few weeks ago; a nasty hit to the thigh with a knife. The would had been deep and painful and would more than likely leave a scar. You were supposed to be on crutches, but you had abandoned those after the first week and a half and were now resorting to limping through the manor now you weren’t on bed rest. 

“You shouldn’t be walking on that.” Tim chided as he glanced up at you from his computer screen. He had been staring at it for the last three hours, only leaving to go to the bathroom or to refill his coffee. 

“Yeah but I’m sick of staying in bed.” You said, continuing to limp towards the kitchen.  It was strange. After two or so weeks the wound should have healed up somewhat, but it seemed you were still struggling with it. And normally it wouldn’t have been a problem, but Tim often overthought and wanted to be safer than sorry. With a huff, Tim stood, walking over to you. He placed a gentle hand on your back and guided you to sit down. 

“Sit.” He said. It was practically an order as he gave you no choice but to. 

You let out a hiss as you sat, the pain in your leg twinging. Tim gave you a look. 

“How many times have you been told to stay off this leg.” He tutted. “If you want to get better you need to rest.” 

“I was just going to the kitchen.” You argued back. 

“You could have asked one of us” 

“There’s no point in asking one of you when it’s just easier to get there myself.” 

“Clearly you can’t. You’re still limping…..is it still bothering you that much?” 

“A little…” 

“That means yes then.” Tim rephrased. He knew you had a habit of downplaying your pain. He helps you straighten out your leg gently, taking a look at the bandages. “How long ago did you change these?” 

“Uh….two I think. Alfred did them for me.” He had been doing a good job of making sure your wound was clean and free from infection. 

Tim pursed his lips. “You mind if I take a look? They probably need changing anyway” 

“Go ahead.” 

“Alright.” Tim stood before going to get the medical kit. “Don’t move.” He pointed at you. “I mean it.” 

“Yes, Sir.” You mock saluted. 

Tim returned a minute later, and as much as you would have liked to have left you did stay in your place for him. Gingerly he took your leg between his hands and began to unwrap the bandages. There was no sign of blood, which was a good sign. However when he revealed the wound, he let out a hiss though his teeth.

Some of the skin around the wound had began to turn a nasty grey-ish colour. Necrosis. Likely a sign of infection or lack of blood to the cells which has caused them to die. 

“Well shit….. no wonder it’s been bothering you so much, sweetheart.”

“Necrosis?” You swallowed thickly. 

“Looks like it. It’s infected, kid.” 

“Shit.” 

“Hey. Don’t think like that. We’ll get you on some antibiotics and see how that helps and go from there, yeah? I’ll let B know. You’ll be fine, we’ll sort it, kid.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Now let’s get this bandaged for you, hm?” He said, reaching into the medical kit and pulling out a fresh bandage and some sterile wipes. Gently he cleaned the area, his touch gentle so as to not cause you any more harm, before he tossed the wipe away and began to re-wrap the wound. The bandage sat snug but not suffocating around your thigh. “There you go kid. 

 “Thank you.”

“Now get some rest while I go and talk to B.”

“Alright.”

“No walking on that leg.” Tim warned. “I mean it. No wandering off.”

“No promises.”

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

<- DAY FIFTEEN ⛧ DAY SEVENTEEN->

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

TAGS:

@hearts4robs @kingshitonly @alicedawitchbish @hell-o-kittys @azure-drag0ness @harleycao @thewhispersofthewaves @batfamsstuff @xxrougefangxx @rosecentury @noisymutantherelol @killxz @rhiodes @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @canthavetoomuchchaos

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Kinktober Day 15

Day Fourteen | 🌹Kinktober Masterlist🌹 | Day Sixteen

Pairing: Duke Leto Atreides x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting with ANY of these Kinktober prompts will be blocked

Warnings: Free use; semi-public sex; oral sex; fingering; unsafe sex; creampie

GIF by chelseasdagger

"I need you to keep quiet for me.” 

The insistence was chased by the press of his gloved fingers between your slack lips. You bit down, savoring the slip of the leather between your teeth as Leto thrust deeper into you. He pressed his face into your neck, struggling to quiet his hypocritical grunts. 

You could hear the clicking of heels echoing further down the hall, and you fought the urge to turn and see if anyone was nearing. You knew that the Duke’s trusted warmaster was nearby, shooting imposing looks at anyone who dared inch just a little too close to your clandestine meeting place. 

Leto had made the request earlier in the week, and while it had initially struck you as odd, he had explained:

"With preparations for the emperor's official order, I'll have several meetings, and little time." He had eyed you sincerely from beneath his heavy brow. "I'll need you at a moment's notice, if you consent."

You hadn't had to think twice.

In the past week, Leto had taken you in so many ways, in so many unexpected and, frankly, often inappropriate places. His office, the barracks, the orchards, in the tall grass by the beach. If he had a single moment, he sent for you.

You'd been given just as little lead time that afternoon. Gurney had handed you a slip of paper, and you'd recognized Leto's handwriting immediately. There hadn’t been any instructions, simply a place to meet. The alcove was familiar to you—one of the few places in Caladan Castle that had relatively low foot traffic. Leto often found you there, reading or gathering your thoughts. It had become a frequent haunt of his as he sought your council, or simply sought a quiet moment with you. You’d shared your first kiss there, and several other confidences and intimacies had followed. 

This was, however, a relatively new intimacy for so calm a meeting place.

Now, Leto pushed your thigh up, pressing your back more harshly against the cool wall as you slotted your foot up against the bench beside you. You slipped your tongue along the worn leather of his gloves, whining softly as Leto’s pace became more frantic. You tipped your head back against the wall, letting his fingers slip from your lips. 

“Quickly,” You whispered, “You’ve a meeting with Hawat soon.” 

Leto grasped your jaw, using his grip to force you to meet his gaze.

“Thufir serves at my pleasure,” Leto gritted out, “I serve at yours.” 

You choked back a whimper as he suddenly drew away. He pressed his hand to your thigh, keeping your legs spread wide as he lowered himself to his knees. He sucked your clit between his lips, flicking over the tender nub with almost punishing strokes. You sucked in stunned breath as you fisted your hand in his curls, hips rolling down against the stroke of his tongue and the brush of his beard. He slid his hand up, fingers brushing across your slick opening. The added bulk of the gloves pressing into you nearly made your knees buckle. As good as it felt, it wasn't enough. You reached down, pushing Leto's hand away before lowering yourself to the floor with him.

You straddled his lap, sinking onto his cock again, watching the flutter of his lashes as his eyes slid closed. You let him grip your hips, guiding your movements as he drove up into you. You grasped his hair, tugging it and nodding hurriedly as your orgasm swelled. Leto growled as you tightened up around him, his hips snapping against yours with such force that your breath caught in your throat. It was only a few moments before his hips pulsed, then slowed as he spilled into you.

You opened your eyes as Leto rested his forehead against yours. You raised your hands to gently cup his face, thumbs brushing the flushed apples of his cheeks. He tipped his head from one side to the other, and you smiled as the tip of his nose brushed yours. 

“May I see you tonight?” He murmured. You couldn’t help the bashful smile that grew on your lips. The man had a planet to govern, an army to command, an emperor to appease—but he still requested your time where he would be within every right to demand it. 

“Of course,” You nodded. You gently smoothed Leto’s hair back and pressed a tender kiss to his lips before you stood on shaky legs, holding a hand out to him. He grasped it gratefully, giving your hand a squeeze before letting go. You straightened your dress, stalwartly ignoring the throbbing between your thighs as you watched Leto put himself back together, pulling up his pants and fixing the fastenings.

You watched him draw his shoulders tight and tip his chin up, as if slipping on some mask to play a part. You reached out, gently swiping away a bit of dust from the sleeve of his jacket. He caught hold of your hand before you could draw away entirely, raising it and pressing a courteous kiss to your wrist. Then he left without another word. You sighed softly, lowering yourself onto the bench as you listened to the retreating thud of his boots.

--

"Should I ask how your day was?"

Leto chuckled softly at your careful hedging. Neither of you had spoken since he'd arrived at your bedroom and settled down with you. You'd simply sat there and waited, watching the day's tensions slowly drain from his body.

He shook his head slowly, tipping it from side to side where it rested atop your outstretched thighs.

"I'd rather you didn't," He admitted.

"Alright."

You reached down, smoothing your hand over his hair before gently tracing the line of his forehead, and over his nose. As you reached his lips, Leto puckered them, pressing a soft kiss to your fingertip. Your smile widened as he turned his head to look at you.

"And you?" He pressed softly. "How was your day?"

You feigned consideration, humming as you directed your eyes toward the ceiling.

"Nothing much to report."

"Nothing at all?"

"No, no. Very routine."

Lowering your gaze to Leto's, you found him smiling playfully, eyes sparkling with a light that you'd hardly seen in the past week.

"Routine," He repeated, pushing himself and sliding his hand up your leg, easing up the fabric of your nightdress as he did.

"Quite."

"I think we can do better than that."

You shrieked with delight as Leto pounced over you, pressing you back onto the bed. Leto caught your lips in a kiss, the brush of his beard making your skin tingle. His fingers slipped between your thighs, brushing across your cunt. You pressed into the touch as you'd wanted to hours ago, sighing softly as his tongue plied gently between your lips. He drew away as the kiss broke, his hand settling against your thigh again to focus you. You opened your eyes as confusion washed over you and found Leto watching you with a gentle reverence.

"I know that I can be...Demanding," He offered, "But I have greatly appreciated your attentions over these past few days."

Your smile softened as you reached up, sweeping your knuckles across his cheekbone.

"I'll always come when you call."

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @phoenixhalliwell ; @wild-rose-35 ; @daisyslibrary ; @informally-liz ; @andrastesflamingtitties ; @muchacha-encabronada ; @nerdygirl0414 ; @elen-aranel ; @ohbee-whatcanyoube ; @kmc1989 ; @quietpainter ; @thedreadandthefugitivemind ; @kaletastrophes ; @nyx2021 ; @thatesqcrush ; @shanimallina87 ; @adarasforest ; @s-u-t ; @silversprings-mp3 ; @senawashere ; @foxilayde

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XVIII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here PART TWELVE is here PART THIRTEEN is here PART FOURTEEN is here PART FIFTEEN is here PART SIXTEEN is here PART SEVENTEEN is here..welcome to eighteen..

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Uh... *checks notes* UH... *flips frantically*...listen my laptop exploded and I lost the original version of this chapter gimme a break. I think it was the oatmeal ch. last off.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

So. Danny is halfway through his squeeze this, please exercises where he has a grippy thing the doctors give him where he tries to squeeze this until they make calm noises again when something bursts through the door.

He’s so distracted that he drops his squeezing machine. 

Everyone immediately gets terse and guarded— the lady who looks out for him the most actually pulls up in front of him? Like, protecting him? With her body?? It’s so far out of left field Danny has to wonder if they’re, like, keeping him for something important down the line instead of just treating him. 

The doctors take shelter behind medical equipment where they can, but whatever the assailant is, it’s too fast for them to put up their defenses. For a second, Danny is instinctually scared— the doctor in the periwinkle scrubs sees him almost every day, changing out his bag and fussing with his lower half under his blankets. The doctor in green makes him do the hand stretches he doesn’t want to do and sit up so that he can do it more often again. 

He’s used to them. He doesn't want that to change, or— Or for them to get hurt. 

The blur darts through the doors and past the doctors and is definitely aimed at Danny, so when the lady catches it (with one hand??) and hauls it up out of reach of Danny’s cot, Danny’s relieved wheeze is genuine and emphatic. Ohgodthatwasscary. 

On the other end of her arm is a teenager. A teenager in a…red…outfit, probably, unless he really likes gray and Danny’s eyes are actually working normally for once. Gray hair. Some kind of face, presumably. 

The teen’s legs keep spinning until he realizes how caught he is. Then he goes completely limp in defeat. 

“Cild Lihting se þridda,” the lady scolds, not unlike how Danny’s heard Vlad scold his cat for throwing paperwork off his desk. “Hwæt eart eow dydest?”

“...Naþing ,” the teenager lies, badly, and it sounds so much like Nothing, mom, wasn’t me, that Danny can’t help but choke out a laugh. 

It makes his chest muscles spasm and his throat sore, sure, but that’s not the point. The lady keeps scolding the teen she’s holding up midair, but the teen lights up at Danny’s choked out wheeze like the sun. Almost literally, actually— the green starts accumulating in Danny’s field of view as his body tries to compensate for whatever’s going on in the atmosphere around him. 

The doctors slowly let down their improvised shields, fetching Danny’s lost grippy tool (ugh) and putting it back in his hand (UGH). Danny gives one, pathetic squeeze of the tool, and then decides to visibly languish, because this sucks, obviously. The fact that no one can sympathize with his struggle isn’t new. Just watch him go limp about it. 

The next time the lady and the teen stop making scolding and scolded noises, Danny looks over; the teenager has been, apparently, wrangled into a hair net and face mask. Okay. So it’s not that Danny is off limits then— or maybe he is, but either way, it’s more about getting people into the right gear than about keeping them away from him. Once the teen’s been sprayed down with something that smells absolutely gross, forcibly gloved, and dropped unceremoniously onto the ground, the teen is back on his feet and hollering as he leaves the lady behind. “Þancie eow!!” 

“Slaw, lytel Lihting!” 

Slow, Danny understands, parsing out the weird words as they reach him. Lytel might as well mean little. This sucks. He can never tell if he’s right when he guesses, and he just gets lucky when people understand him back, or whether people are pretending to understand him more than they actually do. Lighting is a weird nickname for a kid though. 

—And then the teen is a foot away from his face and babbling at top speed, entirely at ease with their proximity and hands moving a mile a minute, and Danny has not been losing enough time for that to be anything other than either magic or a superpower. 

Oh, his brain corrects. The word clicks into place. Lightning. 

It’s probably some kind of magic, Danny’s guessing, because as he’s absolutely flabbergasted that someone is leaning into his face and trying to engage him that talk that isn’t happening, his ghost sense flares with a backwash of OMGHIHELLO!!MIS/SEDYOUMISSED//YOUPLAYING?? that. Uh. Is very…a lot? Very intense??

Very…welcoming?

The lady who minds him but isn’t a doctor sighs, picks the teenager up by the waist (??) and sets him a whole foot back. The teen doesn’t even stop chattering, his aura flaring alongside a story Danny is definitely missing, but not unappreciative of. 

He throws something onto Danny’s bed. Danny drops the grippy tool in order to grab it, to the doctor’s verbal dismay. 

But. 

Like Danny’s model shuttle, which never leaves his side, the thing on his bed is Danny’s. This is Danny’s weird, flimsy, squishy toy.

The teen practically vibrates with pride.

…Okay, then. He’s kind of confused, but like. You know. He’s not against this.

Danny picks the squishy, blue thing in his trembling fingers and shakes it around without any sense of fine motor control, and the thing leaps out of his fingers and lands on the floor pretty much instantaneously.

It makes a weird suction noise. Danny peeks over the bed to find it sitting upright, stuck to the floor.

The teen responds by throwing even more colorful, oddly-shaped toys on the bed.

Danny knows enough about doctors to know that there were probably structured plans on how Danny was supposed to spend his time on specific exercises to target specific muscles and stretch specific parts of his hands, but the teen sits at his bedside and plays with toys Danny doesn’t remember with him, and no one stops them at all.

It’s nice.

For about an hour, until Danny truly tires, it's almost…normal.

[kinardsevan]

Okay, prompt. Tommy and Buck are having slow shifts and one of them decides to call the other.

consider this as existing in the same timeline as to can’t outdrive pain (someday it’s gonna take the wheel)

we survive

Tommy sighs, pushing a piece of paper across the table.

“Riley, you have to at least try to make your art not be derogatory,” he states in a gentle but firm tone. “Miss Sidney isn’t going to let this fly.”

Riley rolls his eyes, tossing a conte crayon onto the table. Charcoal scatters as it cracks in half, and the teenager crosses his arms. Tommy frowns, reaching out for the crayon and setting it back inside the box he’d brought with him.

He’s no stranger to Riley’s moods six months into this endeavor. What had begun as a way to fill some time after breaking his elbow and having to miss weeks of work has become part of his weekly ritual now, occasionally twice a week when he can swing the extra time. Evan has joined him a number of times when the time off has lined up, but today he’s alone.

Riley Collins was almost sixteen and had a rough background, one Tommy could relate to only too well. His mom had died when he was three, and he was left with an alcoholic father who cared so little that at seven, he’d been found digging in a neighbors trash can for food. That had begun the teen’s childhood in foster care, but it hadn’t been the end of it. He’d cycled through multiple foster homes with while struggling with attachment issues. There was a year-long period when Riley was eleven where his father had gotten sober, regained custody, and things seemed like they might get better. Except, Riley had been the ringer by that point. He’d lived in homes with emotional and verbal abuse. He’d seen parents hit each other, and occasionally hit the children. He’d seen sexual abuse through the tiny window of where his blankets didn’t completely cover his eyes when cries of his foster siblings woke him in the middle of the night. He’d faced some of those situations himself, and by the time he cycled back into his fathers home, he wasn’t the same little kid who had learned to become self-sufficient when his father was lost to the bottle.

Either way, Riley’s father made it six months before his sobriety with Riley back home went to hell. There was a DWI, and then an occurrence where Riley showed up to school with a black eye and bloodied nose. Then he was locked out of the house. CPS was still so involved at that point that he was quickly placed back in foster care, but the writing was on the wall at that point. Even though he’d been placed with a family with good values, he was a mess. There were stolen things, broken possessions, a flirtation with breaking the law. Ultimately though, it was a full-on brawl he got into with an uncle which led to his placement in the group home. And the thing was, he was a great student. He could stay invested in his school work and the routine it required without a problem. But when it came to people…he was a mess.

Tommy couldn’t help but reflect that back to his own childhood.

“This is so fucking lame anyway,” Riley bemoans.

Tommy raises an eyebrow at him. “Really? You seemed to think it was cool three days ago.”

“What the fuck do you know, old man,” Riley replies, scowling at him. He shoves away from the table, and Sidney is up out of her chair quickly, already calling after him, but Tommy raises a hand to her.

“Let me go,” he tells her softly. Their group is usually a bit bigger, but with school being back in session, half of them have signed up for extracurriculars, so there’s only three today, and Sidney has the other two pretty well covered with whatever they’re drawing.

She looks at him with a hint of apprehension, but then nods, settling back into her chair.

Tommy picks up his sketchbook and moves around the table, walks out the back door toward a picnic table where Riley is pushing a stick into the aged wood, trying to peel a piece of loose long grain with it. He dares a glance up at Tommy and then sighs, looking back down at the table.

“Hey kid. You wanna tell me what that was all about,” he asks, crossing the space between them but still staying a few feet away.

Riley huffs but doesn’t answer as he keeps pushing at the picnic table with the stick. Tommy frowns, taking a few more steps forward and sitting down on the opposite side of the table. He reaches into the pocket of his shirt and pulls out a tin of Altoid Sours. He pops one in his mouth and then offers one to Riley. When the kid doesn’t immediately take one, Tommy rests the tin on the table between them.

“You know, I used to make a lot of really violent art,” Tommy states. “Still have some of it. Drawings of people getting stabbed, gunshot wounds.”

“Bet Miss Sidney would love to hear that right now,” Riley states sarcastically.

Tommy shrugs. “Probably not. But it was how I dealt. Especially with the people who hurt me when I was your age.” He flips his sketchbook back to the front before setting in front of Riley on the table. The first few pages have older, yellowed paper taped in. It’s been crumpled and some of it is shredded, but Riley looks up at it, skims over the images. He sets the stick down and flips a page over as something that looks suspiciously like comic paneling tells the story of a child and his abusive father. He watches the way Riley runs his fingers over the paper, touches the images.

“What do you know about abuse anyway, old man,” Riley murmurs softly, anger still present in his voice.

“More than you’d think, kid,” Tommy replies. When the teen looks up at him, Tommy raises an eyebrow at him. “First of all, I wasn’t always this built or lean. And me at thirteen, on the huskier side and gay? That didn’t go over all that well in my home.”

Riley doesn’t let on his emotional response to Tommy’s explanation, but he keeps flipping through the pages in the sketchbook. A drawing of a war zone. Drawings of mass military graves. Dog tags. Bloodied fists with colored pastels.

“Least you got out,” Riley comments after a few minutes of silence. “Had someone to help.”

Tommy gives a haughty laugh. “I went to the military to get out. I didn’t have anyone waiting at home if I made it back from Iraq. Everything I’ve done, I’ve had to do on my own.”

There’s still a scowl on Riley’s face, but the ire seems to sink out of it as he listens to Tommy.

“I was not cool when I came back, either,” he adds. “I was really shitty to people I now consider friends. Spent a lot of years alone because I couldn’t figure out how to just connect with people.”

“Least you found people who wanted you around,” Riley grumbles, his voice still soft, like he doesn’t actually want Tommy to hear him. “I got two years.”

Tommy sighs. He’s not sure whether saying something is a good idea. There are still too many what ifs and probabilities for him to be sure.

“You know, Evan and I have been talking to Miss Sidney,” he states in a quiet tone. Riley finally reaches out and takes one of the altoids, pops it into his mouth. His eyes slowly raise, though he doesn’t look directly at Tommy. “But we can’t do anything if you keep showing this kind of attitude in program. They won’t consider it a good placement.”

Riley’s brown eyes meet his then, his sandy blonde hair half hanging in them. He stares at Tommy with a bewildered expression.

“Hailey is-..”

Tommy shakes his head, cutting Riley off. Of course the kid would think they’d want a young child. “Hailey doesn’t fit in our home. She’s six. She needs a mom.”

“Dakota-“

“Doesn’t like fire trucks,” Tommy comments, in reference to another one of the younger kids.

Riley looks up at him, brow furrowed. “Shouldn’t you two want a baby?”

Tommy lets out a small laugh. “Do you know how long the adoption process is for an infant? Never mind surrogacy.” He can’t help the warmth in his chest at the fact that for all of Riley’s questions, the idea of living in a house with two men in a committed (carnal) relationship isn’t one of them.

Riley is quiet again for a few moments as he closes Tommy’s sketchbook and places it back on the table.

“I age out in 798 days,” he mutters.

Tommy takes a breath and shrugs again. “Well. I guess that leaves us roughly twenty-two thousand more to have you around with us, five of take a few thousand,” he states. “You know, if you want to.”

Riley looks up at him through his eyelashes with an expression that’s trying suspiciously not to reflect any kind of hope. Tommy recognizes it from the one he had when he’d been told he was going back to live with his father at thirteen. He narrows his gaze slightly as he reaches out for his sketchbook.

“You know, Evan makes a mean shepherd’s pie,” he comments, sliding the book back over. “I could probably get him to whip one up tonight. He’s supposed to be off shift soon.”

“T-tonight,” Riley stammers.

“Only if you want to,” Tommy replies. “And if you apologize in front of Miss Sidney. I kinda promised her you’d be a good fit and you’re making me look bad right now.”

The slightest bit of an upturn happens at the corners of Riley’s mouth. Tommy nods, reaching out for the altoids tin. He closes it and pops it back in his pocket.

. . .

Hours later, in the silence of their home, Evan rests his chin on Tommy’s shoulder as they stand in the doorway of what they expect to become Riley’s bedroom. The teen is sprawled across the Queen-sized bed and a pillow that Tommy finds to be suspiciously similar to one from his and Evan’s bed is wrapped tightly in the teen’s arms.

“Dare I say, he’s a little attached to us,” Evan whispers to Tommy.

Tommy chuckles, pointing up to the T-shirts tacked up to a cork board on the wall. “That was his idea.”

Both shirts are worn and faded, one from the 118 and the other from Harbor. The vinyl is half-peeled from the shirts, and only the outline of Tommy’s last name remains on the shirt that belonged to him from how much use it’s seen.

“Who would’ve thought he’d like us that much,” Evan jokes. He tilts his head, resting his cheek on Tommy’s shoulder.

“I think he feels seen. Understood,” Tommy murmurs back. He takes a breath, looking down at Evan. “He asked if he could take both last names.”

Evan smiles wearily at Tommy. “He can have whatever he wants.”

Tommy lets out a soft chuckle, although he stiffens when Riley moves on the bed, only to settle a few seconds later with a contented sigh.

“And this is why you’re not in charge of the budget right now,” he comments. “He’ll have you talked into a car and three gaming systems in under twenty-four hours.”

Evan scowls at Tommy, turns his head and bites his shoulder. Tommy grunts softly, turning toward him. He pushes Evan gently out of the room, across the hall into their bedroom, easing the door shut quietly.

“Let’s not traumatize the kid on his first night home,” he states, framing Evan’s face with his hands before he dives in for a heated kiss. Evan moans softly into his mouth, fisting Tommy’s shirt.

“Well then, I guess you’re just gonna have to drown me out with the shower,” Evan replies, tugging Tommy back towards the en-suite.

And he does.

[honeybeebytheseaa]

Cheese

A fun short story and piece for @encantober-official . I have two more prompts I plan to do, but due to my busy schedule I’m not sure if I’ll get them out on time. For now, enjoy these small pieces!

——

Bruno knew he’d get in trouble for having the rats inside of Casita. Technically, he was an adult now and could make his own decisions. But even at twenty, Bruno struggled to openly speak out against his mother.

Upon noticing their furry bodies along the windows, Bruno’s mama swooped in with her broom and demanded they leave her home. Which was frustrating, because if she didn’t want them inside Casita, mama could just ask them to leave. They are very intelligent creatures, despite what most of his family thinks.

Eventually, try as his mama might: they’d find a way inside Casita. Which was certainly the fault of Bruno. He may have scaled a few walls in the middle of the night (with Casita’s aid, of course) to shift the gutters in just the right direction so the rats could sneak into his room.

Although it might sound odd, Bruno was quite flattered that a few select rats often sought out his comfort. Granted, it was likely because he was the only person in the encanto who welcomed them inside his home with open arms, but it was nice to have some company during his particularly bad nights.

Bruno first met the rats when he was around sixteen. It was three or four in the morning. He was in the kitchen, shuffling through that night's leftovers. He reached out for a thinly sliced piece of mozzarella when he noticed a little ball of gray fur had already taken it.

Bruno wouldn’t lie: he screamed.

He then proceeded to fling the rat across the room. Which he did not mean to do! He meant to fling the cheese and the rat happened to latch onto it.

His reaction was somewhat justified. To his knowledge, they carried rabies and other fun diseases.

But when he realized the creature looked more frightened of him than he did… he felt really bad.

So, he did something that would quickly devolve into a bad habit.

He gently picked it up, set it by the window, and tried to usher it outside. It didn’t leave right away, so Bruno offered it the piece of mozzarella it had been chewing.

He took it from his fingers and quickly scurried into the night. It had worked.

Oh, he means for that one night. For that one night, it had worked. The rat brought back friends the next day.

And of course he fed them, he didn’t want to be a bad host.

Over time, the visits became more frequent. Sometimes they were subtle about it, only coming at night or into Bruno’s room specifically. Sometimes, they didn’t think it through and would visit in broad daylight where Pepa would let out a loud, shrill scream and their mama would come barreling through with her broom.

But as time went on, they’d often visit him during the colder months, seeking shelter from pelting rain storms or the extremely short-lived snowstorms always caused by Pepa. A few of them would show up randomly. As if they just wanted to say hello. Due to these frequent visits, Bruno found himself keeping a lot of cheese in his room. The rats loved cheese. Especially the cheese Julieta would make.

Bruno wished he could invite them into the kitchen for a more diverse palette of snacks, though Julieta would certainly lose her mind. So for now, they had to settle for the selection in Bruno’s room.

Bruno had to be careful about how much he brought inside, as Julieta kept track of her ingredients like a hawk. If she ever noticed something missing, she almost always tracked it back to him. Somehow. With her scary sibling powers or whatever.

Occasionally, Bruno convinces her to slip him a few treats under the excuse of being a ‘growing boy.’ Every time he nearly gets called out on his bluff. Julieta knows he eats like a bird.

Though she won’t turn her little brother down. Bruno knows that.

It all works out. He can bring something nice for his furry friends, and Julieta doesn’t have to waste as much food.

And to be fair, it wasn’t Julieta he had to worry about.

Finding them around Casita was bad enough, but if his mama found he had them in his room of all places she’d likely ground him til’ he was thirty.

And she’d also be able to track the rat infestation back to him. Which would then further his grounding til he is forty.

So for now, they’d stay in his room and only his room. With all the cheese they could ask for.

———

[666anxiety666]

May I ask for a Pressure tickle fic? Where the player / y/n is a 16 year old (In my country if your 15 ur legally go to jail, and the 16 yr old committed a crime in self defence) and Sebastian noticing the anxiety, pressure (pun inteended) and paranoia he decides to cheer the kiddo up to make em feel like a child again and just melt away their worries? So basically Lee 16 yr old Y/n and a Big Ler snake that gives off HUGE older brother vibes

That's such a cute prompt, omg 😭

Tickle monster

Sebastian and TEEN reader

LEE: Y/N LER: Sebastian

Warnings: none :)

♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎

Ever since you had been sent down here, Sebastian hasn't let you leave his shop without him. You don't blame him. You wouldn't go out on your own anyway. A sixteen year old should never have been in a place like this to begin with.

Sure, it got boring, and yeah, maybe at first Sebastian claimed he was only protecting you cause, "he had to." But over time, you and him have become quite close, like a sibling kind of way...

However, as of recently, your anxiety and paranoia has gotten worse. Ever small nosie made you jump. You always hid behind Sebastian when a new expendable came down. You were never away from Sebastian, always clinging to him.

Currently, you and Sebastian were getting ready for bed. You always slept with Sebastians tail curled around you. But on this "night," you couldn't sleep.

Your eyes darted all over the place, your heart rate picking up as you head what must have been one of the anglers, banging on a wall in the distance. Sebastian opened one of his three eyes and glanced at you.

"Don't worry, kid. They do that all the time... just try to drown it out, yeah?"

But you couldn't. every noise made you jump. You were scared. You shouldn't even be here to begin with. You wanted to go home... Sebastian noticed your fear and worry.

"Come on, kid. You've got nothing to worry about..."

But Sebastian's words did little to ease your fear. Sebastian sighed. He turned around to face you fully. His tail is still wrapped around you.

"What can I do to help you calm down?"

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. You shrugged shyly. Sebastian sighed again. He rested his cheek in the palm of his hand as he thought of what to do.

"Come on, kid. There's gotta be something..."

Sebastian poked your side as he said this. You jumped at the poke. Letting out a small squeak. Sebastian paused, raising an eyebrow. Then, it hit him. A massive grin spreading on his face

Yours blood ran cold, and you instantly tried to get up to run. But Sebastian's tail kept you down. You struggled. But it was too late.

"Oh no, kid. You ain't escaping... the tickle monster!"

Sebastian cackled. Latching onto your sides, raking his claws up and down. You squealed, kicking your legs desperately.

You grabbed at his wrists and tried to shove him off. But it was no use. Sebastian moved his third hand to your tummy. You squealed louder.

"Look at you, squealing like a little school girl~"

Sebastian teased. You tried to pull your way out of Sebastian's grasp, but it was useless.

"Aw, how cute! You think you can stop me? You think the tickle monster shows mercy to kids like you?"

Sebastian exaggerated. Moving his hands up to your ribs. Your laughter got louder. kicking your legs harder against the floor.

"Say... im quite hungry... how many ribs do kids like you have, hm?"

Your heart dropped. You tried to push him away, but it was no use. You begged, but your pleas fell of deaf ears.

"One..~ two..~ three..~"

Sebastian started to "count." Wiggling his fingers at each rib as he did. It tickled so badly. You kicked and squirmed harder.

"Come on, kid! You made me lose count! Now I have to start all over!"

Sebastian exclamied before starting his "counting" from the beginning. This went on for what felt like forever. Your squeals and belly laughter filling the shop as Sebastian would restart at every struggle you made.

"Ugh, you know.. if I can't have get at your tasty ribs... maybe I'll have to try something else...!"

Sebastian then pretended to start "eating" your stomach. Blowing raspberries and making munching sounds.

Your face flushed. This was so childish. But you couldn't escape. You were stuck. You kicked and squealed. Shoving at Sebastian's head.

Soon, after what felt like an eternity. Sebastian backed off.

"Man... I think I've had my fill..."

Sebastian grinned as he backed off. Leaving you panting and giggling. You hugged your stomach slightly. You're face bright red for laughing. Sebastian chuckled, ruffling your hair gently.

"You good kid?"

Sebastian asked. You nodded. Pushing your hair out of your face. Sebastian chuckled once more.

"See? Told you everything was fine. You just need a good tickle every now and then."

Sebastian joked as he poked your side one last time. You yelped and giggled. Sebastian smirked and lay back down.

"Okay, okay, I'm done.."

Sebastian mumbled. You also lay back down. Resting against Sebastians tail. Sebastian pulled a blanket over you before wrapping his third arm over your shoulder.

You felt your eyes droop. You were tired. Not only from today's work, but all that tickling you went through. Sebastian smiled slightly.

"I've got you, kid..."

♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎

Thank yall for the requests‼️ I have two more fics coming🙌

[skibasyndrome]

💜 wilmon;

"I mean.. you make me feel like I'm worth something."

CW: underage drinking (depending on how you define that I guesss... they're sixteen and drinking wine)

"I mean.. you make me feel like I'm worth something," Wille says, almost just a sigh in the silence of the night.

Simon isn't quite sure how that would be physically possible, but he feels something inside of his chest shatter at the confession. Who the fuck hurt this sweet, sweet teenage boy enough to make him say something like that, he thinks, then, kicking his slowed down brain into gear, goes, right, because. Right. Something about him never quite being good enough. Which is ridiculous. Absolutely fucking ridiculous to think about, because in all his sixteen years on this earth Simon's never met anyone who's quite as good as his best friend.

"Fuck...," Wille sighs next to him, then huffs a laugh, using his legs to, a little clumsily, put his swing back into motion. "Too much, wasn't it?" he asks, then lets out a giggle that's more bitter than amused.

It sends another pang through Simon and he feels the urge to take another sip out of their by now almost empty wine bottle. Maybe he needs to reach Wille's level of tipsy to have this kind of an uncomfortable conversation.

"It's okay," Simon says, and, instead of taking a swig, lowers the bottle to the ground, moving to set his own swing into motion. Which is maybe the second best thing to show Wille... what, exactly? Solidarity? To tell him, hey, I'm here, you're fine, I'm not leaving, you're so good that I can't believe anyone let you think otherwise?

When Simon kicks his feet harder to gain momentum he hears Wille let out a more genuine laugh from the swing next to him, a sound so soothing and bubbly and warm that Simon has to join in.

After a few moments of struggling Wille manages to also pick up speed and synchronize his motions with those of Simon and fuck, that victorious laugh of his feels like it could cure all the needle-pricks of pain and anger Simon feels about his Wille not being treated the way he deserves to be treated. Maybe they'll be okay, maybe Wille will be okay. Maybe Simon can help him after all.

When they swing forward, slowing at the highest point, Wille reaches out, an uncoordinated arm shooting into the space between their swings, and without having to think about it, Simon grabs it, squeezing Wille's warm palm as hard as he can. The seat of his swing sways dangerously, but he grabs onto the chain harder and doesn't let go of Wille either, because Wille is giggling again and Simon needs to keep him giggling, because otherwise he himself might cry, and also because there's a very egotistical thought in his mind that tells him if he lets go now, Wille might not allow this again. And Simon can't let that happen.

sjjsnsnsksmsksosmndndjd we gave up on the 5 sentence-ness of it all a long time ago....... but hey, have some... kinda sad-but-hopeful-ish wilmon childhood best friends to lovers!! Thank you so so so much for the prompt, dearesr anon!!! 💜💜💜

Send me "Wilmon" + a sentence and I'll write you the next 5 (or more, lmao)

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

The Jeep

Eli’s sixteen and Stiles wants to give him the Jeep, Derek might need some persuading.

[AO3]

 “I’m just saying—” Stiles said, sitting back against the velvet covered bedhead. “He’s sixteen now, he’s got his licence, he’s going to need a car.”

“Then we’ll get him a car,” Derek replied from the ensuite.

“Why not just give him the Jeep?” Stiles pressed.

Derek peered his head around the corner of the doorframe. “Because that thing is held together by duct tape and prayers.”

“Then we’ll get it fixed up,” Stiles suggested.

“Or we just get him a new car,” Derek countered, stepping out of the ensuite. He turned the light off behind him and climbed into bed beside Stiles. “One with better safety ratings, GPS, Bluetooth, and all that. A car that’s not going to break down or fall to pieces every time he reverses out of the driveway.”

“A car that crumples like a paper ball at the smallest dent? I mean, I hit Jackson with that Jeep and it barely made a dent.”

Derek huffed out a breath, struggling to smother his laughter and trying to keep a serious face.

“We’ve been through a lot, and – for better or worse – that Jeep has survived everything we have,” Stiles continued. “It may not have Bluetooth or GPS, but it still works after all these years.”

Derek sighed.

He had to admit: Stiles had a point. That Jeep, despite all the damage and duct tape, had held together over decades.

But there was something else; something Stiles wasn’t saying.

Derek leant back against the pillows, turning his head to look at Stiles.

“And…?” he prompted.

“It’s going to sound stupid,” Stiles started slowly, “but it was my mum’s car. My dad gave it to me as a way of holding onto her. I always felt like… it felt like she was watching over me. And as silly as it sounds, the thought that she’d be watching over Eli gives me some comfort.”

Derek reached over and took Stiles’ hand in his. He laced their fingers together and gave Stiles’ hand a gentle squeeze.

Stiles blinked back the glistening tears that welled in his eyes.

Derek brushed the ball of his thumb over the back of Stiles’ hand.

“Okay,” he relented. “You can give him the Jeep.”

Stiles straightened, looking at Derek with a mix of shock and joy.

“On one condition,” Derek added quickly. “We get a complete refit: new engine, brakes, airbags, full service—all of it. And we’re taking the police scanner out.”

“You can replace it with one of those fancy radios with Bluetooth and GPS,” Stiles offered, leaning his head against Derek’s shoulder.

A small smile turned up the corners of Derek’s lips.

“Deal,” he whispered, turning his head and pressing a soft kiss to the crown of Stiles’ head.

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

 “Eli?” Derek called out from where he stood by the front door.

He heard the footsteps on the wooden floorboards as Eli emerged from his room. “Yeah?”

“You got a minute?” Derek asked.

“Am I in trouble?” he asked as he made his way down the stairs and over to his dad’s side.

“Should you be?” Derek asked as he held the front door open, letting his son step out onto the front porch where Stiles stood waiting for them.

He paused for a moment, his eyes darting about as he searched his memories for anything he might have done that would get him in trouble.

“No,” he answered, but there was an upward infliction at the end of the word that made it sound like a question rather than a statement.

“You’re not in trouble,” Stiles reassured him.

“So, what’s up?” Eli asked.

“Well,” Stiles started. “You’re sixteen now and you have your license, and since your dad and I need the cars all the time—”

“And since you’ve proven you can be responsible and trustworthy,” Derek added.

“—we’re giving you a car.”

Eli’s eyes opened wide, his jaw hanging open. “Seriously?”

Derek nodded.

Stiles dug into his pocket and pulled out the key, holding it out in front of him for Eli to take.

Eli recognised the key.

He stared at it in stunned silence.

When he found his voice again, his words were barely a whisper.

“The Jeep?” His voice broke around the word, his eyes glistening with tears of joy as he looked from the key to his dads’ faces. “You’re giving me the Jeep?”

“It’s all yours,” Stiles told him.

Eli reached out and look the key from his dad.

“It’s been fully serviced,” Derek told him. “It has a new engine and everything.”

Eli glanced over his shoulder at the dusty-blue Jeep. “Can I…?”

Stiles nodded.

He leapt off the porch and bounded over to the Jeep, pulling open the driver’s side door and sliding into the seat. He didn’t turn it on; he just sat in the driver’s seat, bouncing up and down slightly with uncontainable happiness. He couldn’t help but laugh with excitement as he let his hands grip the soft, worn leather of the steering wheel.  

Stiles and Derek stepped over to the car.

Eli bolted upright, his eyes widening as he remembered something.

“Does it still have the—?” His words died off as he answered his own question: he pulled down the sun visor to see the photo of Stiles wrapped in Claudia’s arms. He was four – maybe five – years old in the photo, the sun shining on their faces as they both looked at the camera, caught half way between smiling and laughing. He carefully pulled the photo out from where it was held in place by elastic, holding it in his hands as he looked at it fondly.

He sniffed and blinked back tears, trying to hide his face from his parents as he turned to hand the photo to Stiles.

Stiles shook his head, gently pushing Eli’s hand back. “That’s for you.”

Eli looked at him, his brow furrowed slightly with confusion.

“She’s always watching over you,” Stiles said quietly.

Eli didn’t say anything. Tears fell from Eli’s eyes, trailing down his cheeks as he looked down at the photo again. He offered his dad a shaky smile as he slotted the photo back into its place. He looked at his grandmother’s face one more time before carefully and lovingly putting the sun visor back up.

He wiped away his tears with the sleeve of his jacket. “Thanks, Dad.”

Stiles offered him a kind smile.

“There’s an emergency kit in the back,” Derek told him. “First aid kit, blanket, bottled water, snacks, a change of clothes, and a few other things. And, most importantly…” He stepped around the hood of the Jeep and opened the passenger side door. He reached into the glove box, pulled something out, and held it up.

The moment Eli and Stiles saw it, they both burst into laughter.

A brand new roll of duct tape.

[scarisd3ad]

Scarisd3ad’s Halloween writing challenge | day sixteen

Prompt - serial killer training

Pairing - Stu macher x fem!reader Billy loomis x fem!reader

Masterlist

[warnings] - mentions of murder, use of weapons, mentions of blood, Stu and billy

[A/N] - apart of my ‘trouble’ series

"c'mon, you can do it!" Billy shouted; we were out in the woods behind my house. A dead pig sat in front of me. I gripped the knife tightly in my hands as I held it over my head. I couldn't do it, even though it was already dead. "I can't," I said, shaking my head as I lowered the knife. "I just can't, Billy." A single tear fell down my cheek. I was having second thoughts; maybe I just wasn't the type of person to kill someone.

He cups my face in his hands. "Just pretend it's Sid or Tatum. Whoever the hell you can't wait to kill, just pretend it's them." I nod as I pick up the knife once again. As I hold it over my head, I squeeze my eyes shut, letting myself imagine myself straddling Tatum with the knife pulled over my head. She'd beg, maybe struggle a bit before I actually killed her. Then I'd plunge the knife into her body over and over again until her skin was pulverized. Until her heart stopped beating and her eyes became empty. I'd stab at her until Billy or Stu pulled me off of her.

"Good job!" I'm finally brought back into reality to stare down at my work. The pig was pulverized, and I could barely recognize that it was even a pig in the first place. "I told you! You're a natural!"

trouble taglist

@pookie-snookie @heyspl4zi @drilethetoppat @ciuguapa @heraliveken @naito55 @katie-tibo @eve-rockin-blog @bitchybasmentcats @1ts-jeany @kitkatdreamsmpmcyt @slowly-becoming-like-draculaura @niteskysx @weaponxgames @vrsin @cupid3clipse @st-rgirl-forlife @confusedriftin @catastrophic-panda @carnagetrickster21 @kaiparkerwife @d0llykill @daddy-celine @yaoi1206 @hellraser1999 9 @altair10 @loveheart-123 @pearledreader @multifandom0-0 @a-bunny13 @kafkaesque-b1tch3s @lo1velyx @sweet-texas-girl l @thatbabydeer @y-nk-live @eliveonsunshine @lyrablack71 @a-bbles @i-like-to-read08

[marvelmusing]

Keep Your Judgement

Masterlist

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader

Summary: When the Darkling and the Sun Summoner are supposed dead in the Fold, Ravka turns on Grisha, and you find yourself imprisoned by First Army soldiers. It’s then that you realise your power as a durast has been severely underutilised and perhaps you are meant for more.

My Masterlist • Series Playlist

[masterlist will be updated as chapters are completed]

Chapter One

After being held captive by First Army soldiers, you use your power to escape and free your fellow Grisha, only to be interrupted by someone unexpected.

Chapter Two

Settling into the Sanctuary, an old house fashioned into a safe place by the General, you find yourself recruited by the man himself to free some of your fellow Grisha.

Chapter Three

Journeying to the Little Palace, you manage to evade the patrolling soldiers and find some books that might help you understand the General’s condition.

Chapter Four

During a walk around the Sanctuary, you share some theories with the General, and a familiar face makes an appearance.

Chapter Five

Progress is made with your work regarding the amplifier, and you grow closer to the General.

Chapter Six

Claiming the fox as your amplifier has an unexpected side effect, but you soon gain the confidence to attempt the merge of your forms.

Chapter Seven

After putting your theory into practice, you find yourself stumbling back to the Sanctuary. Even as you struggle to feel human again, your instincts guide you to seek out the General.

Chapter Eight

As the days go by, you and Aleksander grow closer, a fact that doesn’t go unnoticed by your fellow Grisha.

Chapter Nine

A betrayal is brought to light, prompting you into action to save Aleksander’s life.

Chapter Ten

In the aftermath of the poisoning incident, you and Aleksander become closer than you ever expected.

Chapter Eleven [18+]

It’s the night before the engagement party at the Spinning Wheel, before the plan you and Aleksander have orchestrated comes into fruition. Sleep eludes you, but Aleksander is able to offer a solution for your nerves.

Chapter Twelve

The day of the attack has arrived and you stand by Aleksander’s side as you bring about the end of the Lantsov dynasty.

Chapter Thirteen

As the attack on the Spinning Wheel continues, you do your best to return to Aleksander’s side, though you soon find it more difficult than you anticipated.

Chapter Fourteen

After your return to the Sanctuary, you and Aleksander do your best to recover and make plans for your next move.

Chapter Fifteen [18+]

After taking the capital, you and Aleksander move onto the next stage of your plan - locating Morozova’s workshop to find a cure as Aleksander’s condition worsens.

Chapter Sixteen

Theories about merzost, the very boundary of your powers, and your relationship with Aleksander are all put to the test as everything comes to a head.

Chapter Seventeen

As Aleksander recovers from the impact of merzost on his body, you search for a way to fix the unexpected side effects and together you make plans for your lives going forward.

[resident-gay-bitch]

Sirius Black has been in a whopping total of one relationship. In fourth year, he had a very lovely girlfriend by the name of Mary McDonald. He and Mary are still good friends and he adores her wholeheartedly, and their relationship was really just a bit of good fun.

Sirius Black has kissed a whopping total of sixteen people. All, except Mary, have meant nothing more than a fleeting kiss and a bit of fun. Fourteen of them have been girls, and two very secret ones have been blokes.

Usually, when Sirius gets kissed by whatever fling he’s having at that time, it’s because they want him to shut up. Sirius has a tendency to ramble. He goes on these long, extravagant rants about things that excite him or boil his blood. He gossips and rambles and chatters until his mouth is dry and his jaw hurts too much to say anything else.

He annoys people. He knows that. He’s working on it, slowly. He’s not getting very far, in all these years of trying. He knows this because when he talks for more than three minuets straight, his current make out buddy will just pull him into a kiss and shut him up for a while. And then, if he starts talking again afterwards, they’ll huff and roll their eyes and that’s when Sirius finally stops. He sinks in on himself and hides away and won’t say much about anything for hours.

Sirius only really gets spontaneously kissed when he’s being annoying. He knows this now. And he hates it.

He’s really trying, but he struggles. He struggles so much, it’s just so hard to shut up sometimes when you have such strong emotions like he does.

But he never expected to be too much for James.

He’s rambling, he knows he is. But James never seems to huff or roll his eyes. Sometimes it seems like he zones out and doesn’t listen, but Sirius honestly doesn’t even mind, because James is still there. He might be in his own head, but he’s always still there, and eventually he’ll tune back in and nod along and even ask questions which prompts Sirius to talk even more.

So when Sirius has been rambling for the better part of ten minuets, and James suddenly grabs him and drags him into a quick kiss, Sirius shuts down.

His best friend in the whole world just made him shut up. He’s even gotten insufferable to James. And he knows he’s going on and gossiping about things James doesn’t care about, but if he really doesn’t want to listen he could have just asked.

He didn’t need to make Sirius feel like shit about it.

And it doesn’t help that Sirius has been dreaming about kissing James for years now.

He shuts off, stops talking, and brings his knees up to his chest, “Sorry.” Sirius mutters, and closes his eyes for a moment.

He wants to cry, but he refuses to be so annoying in front of James.

“Sorry?” James asked, sounding confused and kind of offended, “Sorry.” James repeated, and he sounded kind of gutted.

He knows. The worst part is that he knows. He figured it out. He must have. He knows, just from one simple kiss that Sirius is madly in love with him, and that he too hates himself for talking too much. He’s just ruined everything with his inability to shut his fucking mouth.

James has probably been waiting for Sirius to shut up since he got into the dorm, and the only way he could figure out to do it was to kiss his mouth shut.

Sirius is going to cry. He can’t bring himself to say anything before he crawls out of James’ bed curtains and climbs into his own. He draws them shut and curls up under the covers, casting a silencing charm around him before crying himself a headache.

James pokes his head into the curtain after a while. And Sirius really tries his best to not cry more but he can’t help it, he’s so annoying that his cries outweigh the fucking charm.

Just like his mother said. Insufferable chatterbox. He should have let her sew his mouth shut.

“I’m sorry.” James said, sitting at the very end of Sirius’ bed, knees curled to his chest and cheeks stained with sticky tears.

Sirius couldn’t bring himself to say anything, too afraid it would annoy James more. He hates annoying his friends, especially James. Oh, James.

“I shouldn’t have-“ James cleared his throat, “I know we’re best friends, but… well, I suppose we’re not now. But you’re- you’re the one person I’ve always trusted, and you already know, so I’m just gonna say it, okay? I’m… I’m queer.”

Sirius tensed and looked at James, “What?”

“I’m queer.” James confirmed, “And I- I’m sorry I just… I thought maybe you- maybe you felt the same. Sometimes I wonder… when you… you look at me like- like I’m… I don’t know. It’s stupid. It’s all so- I’m so fucking stupid.” James sniffled, rubbing the back of his palm on his nose, “I don’t want to lose you over some stupid feelings, and I know you hate me. I’m sorry your stupid best friend is a queer, I know it’s- I’m… I’m sorry, okay. But I need you to know- I’ve always wanted you to know.”

“You’re…” Sirius sat up, pulling the blankets to his chest, “You’re queer?”

James nodded, “Please don’t tell anyone.” He looked at Sirius through glassy eyes, “Please don’t hate me.”

“James I-“ Sirius launched himself forward, placing his hand over James’ and squeezing it tight, “I’d never hate you. Never. Why would you- Jamie… I’m… me too, okay. I’m… I’m queer too.”

“What?” James sniffled, “You are?”

Sirius nodded, “But I don’t understand what this has to do with me… with me needing to shut up.”

“It has nothing to do with- Sirius…” James pleaded, dipping his head to search Sirius’ eyes, “Where did you get the impression I wanted you to shut up.”

“You kissed me, James!” Sirius defended, “People only ever kiss me like that when I’m being annoying- need to shut up. I… you found my stupid rambling so annoying that you needed to shut me-“

“I don’t find your rambling annoying or stupid, Pads- I’m… don’t you… wait- people do that? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I’m ashamed, obviously, James.” Sirius sobbed, bringing his hands to his eyes, “You’re stuck with a best friend who can’t shut his mouth. Why would I annoy you more by rambling about my petty problems that are entirely my own fault.”

“Because you’re my best friend.” James muttered, pulling Sirius’ hands away from his face, “And you’re meant to tell me these things so I can protect you from them… oh, Sirius, love, I’m so sorry.” James frowned and wiped some of Sirius’ tears away with the calloused pads of his thumbs, “I’m so sorry people treat you that way. I don’t feel like that, love. You know I enjoy your rambling, I love the sound of your voice. It brings me so much comfort.”

Sirius sniffled, “So why would you shut me up like that?”

“Sirius…” James tipped his head with coy smile, “I didn’t shut you up, love. I kissed you.”

“I don’t understand.” Sirius whispered.

“Sirius…” James pressed, “I kissed you.”

Sirius could only blink at him, the dots unable to connect themselves in his head.

James smiled, huffed a soft breath through his nose that Sirius took as an amused sort of laugh. They looked at eachother for a moment, and only a short moment before James was cupping Sirius’ cheeks and pulling him in close to kiss.

This time when James kissed him, it wasn’t to quiet Sirius. It was simply to kiss him. And James kissed him deeply, breathing a heavy sigh through his nose at first contact. His fingers dug deeper into the plush of Sirius’ cheeks and he opened his mouth, slipped in his tongue, and moaned a contented sigh. James kissed Sirius because he wants to kiss Sirius.

Because James seems to feel the same way.

“Oh.” Sirius muttered when the kiss broke, both desperate for air, “You fancy me.”

“Bingo, love.” James murmured, smiling dreamily up at him. His cheeks were flushed, his lips all wet and swollen, his eyes all glassy and soft. He looked positively chaffed to have just done that, and Sirius found his heart leaping out of his chest at the sight.

“You weren’t kissing me to shut me up?”

James shook his head, “I kissed you because every time you go one one of those rants I fight the urge to kiss you all over. Sometimes I even zone out completely and come up with a whole scenario in my head where I kiss you, and you kiss me back, and sometimes we shag and sometimes we don’t, and we lay in bed together, and I get to lay on your chest and listen to it vibrate as you ramble some more. Sometimes I imagine falling asleep to it, to you, because I love you, you make me feel safe. The sound of your voice makes me feel safe, Sirius.”

“Oh.” Came a shattered sob out of Sirius’ mouth, and he melted. James laughed at him softly, wiping the tears in Sirius’ eyes and pulling him in tight for a hug. He even went so far as to scatter kisses all over Sirius’ head.

“I promise I only interrupted you because I found you so unbelievably beautiful in every way that I simply couldn’t resist anymore. I’m so sick of holding back and waiting.” James leant down to kiss his brow, “I don’t want to wait anymore. I want you now.”

“I want you now, too.” Sirius muttered, curling into James, “You make me feel safe too, Jamie.”

“I know, love.” James chuckled, “You tell me all the time.”

Sirius blushed and wrapped himself tighter around James, “Can I kiss you again?”

“Yeah.” James muttered, and couldn’t stop smiling about it.

“I love you.” Sirius whispered as his lips brushed against James’. He pressed a singular, soft little kiss there before whispering more, “I’m sorry if I annoy you with-“

“You don’t. You can’t.” James promised, kissing him again, “Sometimes I wish I was the only person you’d ramble to, so I might get to be special.”

“You are.” Sirius smiled, “You’re the only person who doesn’t find it insufferable.”

“You’re the only person I’d never find insufferable.” James grinned and kissed him hard and deep again. It lingered for a while, the kiss, until their lips were swollen and they were panting for air. “You’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” Sirius promised, “The person I save my most special rambles for.”

James giggled, “And I’m yours. The person who could listen you nonstop talk for the rest of his life and never grow tired of you.”

“You’re mine.” Sirius agreed.

“Lay with me?” James asked, almost desperate sounding, “Let me lay on your chest whilst you finish telling me everything you wanted to say before?”

Sirius smiled and nodded his head, “And once I’ve finished that, I’ll ramble on about all the ways and reasons I love James Fleaumont Potter, because I’ve been dying to talk about that one for years.”

James kissed him through a smile, and they did exactly that.

★ ★ ★

OH MY GOD I LOVE THEM SO MUCH. SIRIUS DESERVES BETTER AND NOW JAMES IS GOING TO GIVE HIM EVERYTHING HE DESERVES AND MORE!!! THEYRE SO IN LOVE I CANT 😭😭😭

Someone find me a James to spontaneously be kissed by please and thank you

If you want to read more of my work you can find it all here :)))

Just tagging a few people who expressed interest in this little drabble, all my prongsfoot shippers have got to stick together in these sparse conditions I swear: @vintagetee13 @fiendishfyre @snarky-magpie @groundzero-v @lapassemirroir @siriuslycomplex

[loosingmoreletters]

For the ask game and because I’m soooo curious about what you’ll do with this: best friends sibling au for wangxian

The way I needed a second to parse this prompt. It’s best friend’s sibling, right?

Wei Wuxian is smart, the kind of smart that meant you either went down in the history books for revolutionizing cultivation or died trying. He knows that most people assume he’s going to die trying in the attempt. He’s fairly sure his mother has had his eulogy written since he was ten and his father started picking out coffins when he hit thirteen.

It’s whatever, Wei Wuxian’s got a goal in life, and he won’t stop accelerating until he reaches it.

Everyone knows it, and he supposes that’s the reason he got introduced to Lan Xichen at the itty-bitty age of five. Well, introduced, is a rather generous way to say his mom grabbed Lan Xichen and plopped him in front of Wei Wuxian in a sort of “behold, a fellow child” movement, mortifying everyone else in attendance, particularly Uncle Lan.

Wei Wuxian struggled to get along with his agemates, outpacing them easily, and Lan Xichen apparently needed someone to poke fun at him before he turned into a total rock. They had an odd give and take relationship, and not just because Wei Wuxian’s parents were independent cultivators and homeschooled him all over the world.

At sixteen, Wei Wuxian knew that Lan Xichen latched on to him because of the end result of a messy divorce. Sects, even in this day and age, didn’t particularly condone divorce. Separation tended to be the end all, which was the reason why they never got to see Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli on the weekends.

But Lan Xichen’s parents had gone through a divorce and Gusu Lan got to keep their sect heir and Lan Xichen’s mom her youngest. She’d wanted custody of both children, but the sects wouldn’t ever allow that.

And all of this culminated in Wei Wuxian accompanying Lan Xichen to the airport to pick said younger brother up. Well, that and the broken arm. Cultivation didn’t revolutionize itself and Wei Wuxian suspected that if he’d spent another hour in the library, Uncle Lan would’ve thrown him out himself.

Lan Wangji, the brother to be picked up and taken to Gusu for the first time in ten years, was sixteen, like Wei Wuxian himself, but that didn’t mean much given how much better Wei Wuxian did around older peers.

And apparently he looked a lot like Lan Xichen—

Oh.

“Well, that was a fucking lie,” Wei Wuxian told Lan Xichen the moment he spotted what could only be Lan Wangji.

Wei Wuxian supposed that at first glance, Lan Wangji looked a lot like Lan Xichen to someone who’d seen Lan Xichen out of sect robes, but a simple comparison didn’t measure up.

“You never told me your brother was hot,” Wei Wuxian hissed. “How have I known you for two thirds of my life and never known your brother was hot?”

“I’ve shown you photos,” Lan Xichen pointed out.

Well, yeah, but Wei Wuxian hadn’t wanted to see them because he’d been dragged to the Cloud Recesses by his mother only to be told that Lan Xichen would be gone for the summer, visiting his brother and mother. And the Lan Wangji in those pictures had been inherently ugly by virtue of stealing Wei Wuxian’s best friend.

This Lan Wangji was not.

“Does Uncle Lan know your brother has an undercut?”

Holy shit, Wei Wuxian needed to touch Lan Wangji’s head so badly. Squish his face between his hands and bite his lips.

“No,” Lan Xichen said and waved at the Hottest Man Alive, trademark pending. “Would you do me the favor and tell him?”

Wei Wuxian turned to his best friend and snorted. “I love you, but if I piss of Uncle Lan one more time, he’s banning me from the Cloud Reccesses too.”

“Thought so.”

[ochrearia]

RBG ART PROMPTS LIST

All of these are things I'm pulling from my Poly Propaganda fanfic series because there are an alarming amount of drawable parts, either super vague or super specific lets get it.

(THIS POST WILL BE UPDATED WITH EACH NEW PART THAT COMES OUT BY THE WAY)

Part One:

BF smacking his dumbass leg straight into a metal pole while he daydreams about smooching GF and Pico

BF confined to the bed with an ice pack on said pole-smashed leg like a doofus

Part Two:

3. Pico relenting to GF holding his head in her hands, pushing his cheeks into the touch

4. Yourself shaking BF by the shoulders (THINK, MARK) telling him to snap out of his stupid fears

5. Pico and GF littering BF's cheeks with kisses after the scare

Part Three:

6. "I'm going to kiss the shit out of you if you keep this up." "Maybe that's what I want, hitman."

7. Little spoon BF big spoon Pico

Part Four:

8. Pico flaunting his new chromatics with a smug ass look and a mic

9. BF and GF with flushed faces because Pico's voice is hot

10. Pico laughing his ass off because he's got simps for his voice

Part Five:

11. Pico and BF fighting over the TV remote like toddlers

12. BF being an asshole abusing the fact Pico is ticklish

13. GF happy and indulging in the laughter of her boys

14. Any one of the three laughing w/ the provided synesthesia-induced colors

Part Six:

15. Pico gently holding a """"sleeping"""" GF in his lap while he talks out loud about how he's grown to love her

Part Seven:

16. BF and Pico riled up and pissed about some prick insulting GF

17. GF using her demon wings and purr to cuddle and placate them both

18. Flustered Pico because BF and GF always gang up to tease him

Part Eight:

19. BF being held by Pico and GF while he rides out a bad day

Part Nine:

20. All of the kisses in this part honestly there's a handful

21. Goofy smile and happy Pico because he's got silly butterflies in his stomach while he gets kissies

Part Ten:

22. 3 tired idiots in their sleepwear trying to unpack boxes

23. Trio piled together on a blanket-less bed, BF and Pico using GF's arms as pillows

Part Eleven:

24. FRIDAY NIGHT PAMPERIN'

25. "You can't go from frat boy to horrendously homosexual in two seconds!" "Waaa waaa it’s called bisexuality you ginger homophobe, pick a struggle goddamn."

26. GF and Pico taking the wildest double takes after BF admits to loving hearing them laugh

27. Pico whacking the shit out of BF with a pillow for the prior comment

Part Twelve:

28. BF and GF holding onto Pico for dear life while a thunderstorm goes off outside

Part Thirteen:

29. Absolute menace BF abusing the fact Pico and GF get all hot bothered and weak to his neck kisses

30. GF and Pico turning the tables immediately in revenge flustering the fuck out of BF

Part Fourteen:

31. BF's dream sequence

32. Yourself helping BF calm down + hug + Silly Billy music box lullaby

33. GF telling Yourself she's proud of him (accidentally sets him on an immediate spiral to a breakdown)

Part Fifteen:

34. Literally any of the three struggling with being touch-starved. Pick one or all

Part Sixteen:

35. Pico having a mental crisis over possibly being in love with both BF and GF

36. GF and BF comforting Pico after his outburst-breakdown

37. "Wanna be in a poly relationship with us?" "I'm scared about being in a relationship again but yes, yes I want to so badly"

Part Seventeen:

38. CUDDLE SANDWICH.

39. Pico hugging BF and/or GF like it's his last second alive

40. BF and GF joke fighting over who'd get to keep Pico in their pocket

Part Eighteen:

41. BF and GF dancing all silly in golden hour light

42. "My heart. My home. Together you are both, two people together as one. Where my love lies."

43. BF kissing the breath out of Pico

44. Stupid lovesick idiot snuggle pile

Part Nineteen:

45. Pretty tooth gap smile Pico

46. BF menace-ry

47. Puppy dog eyes GF

Part Twenty:

48. GF with her demonic features out being a hot girlboss

49. Dumbfounded BF having the hots for GF lmfao. Pico "Close your mouth BF fuck's sake"

50. Literally any part of the flirting. Jesus christ.

Part Twenty-One:

51. Koala-bear cuddly Pico

52. BF and GF reminiscing, also trying to get their stupid ginger to SLEEP DAMMIT

Part Twenty-Two:

53. Cherryblast kisses

54. BF dumbass smoking cigarettes and being distracted by random trinkets

55. BF MELTING TO UNDER-JAW KISSES

Part Twenty-Three:

56. Yourself/Silly Billy sticking halfway out the mirror talking to BF

57. BF absolutely yapping about being in love like a FREAK

58. Pico and GF in an absolute trance because Boyfriend.XML yaps. Literal heart eyes

Part Twenty-Four:

59. GF in BF's shirt

60. BF in Pico's sweater

61. Pico being an absolute sucker for both of them

Part Twenty-Five:

62. Pico and Nene about to kill the shit out of each other

63. "I DO NOT HAVE A LOVERBOY VOICE" -Pico, lying,

64. Darnell and Nene just being amused as fuck over how lap-dog core their friend has become

65. But in the same vein D and N are secretly really happy for Pico so it works out

Part Twenty-Six:

66. Pico losing it over the realization his two special someones trust him with their lives

67. Demon weighted blanket GF for Pico

68. BF spouting "I love you" over and over to the sleeping Pico in his arms

Part Twenty-Seven:

69. Pico calling BFGF freaks and attacking them /silly

70. BFGF with knowing looks watching Pico lean into their hands without thinking about it

Part Twenty-Eight:

71. Hypothetically, RGB existing as space debris for the rest of their lives, because they'd rather be together than alone

72. BF singing without his auto-tune microphone and absolutely enamoring GF and Pico

73. Pico kissing the knuckles of BF's hand because he would be a hand kisser.

Part Twenty-Nine:

74. Pico drowning in his own guilt and fear of being controlling over BF and GF

75. Yourself and Pico staring each other down like the stubborn shits they are

76. BF and GF terrified while Pico breaks down in their arms because seeing him upset makes them upset too

Part Thirty (M FOR SEXUAL CONTENT):

77. I mean it's just 1.8k words of body worship as of last update. Just any part of it tbh. Pico gets fucked up by GF and BF LMAOOOO

Part Thirty-One:

78. Pico completely asleep and being GF's personal teddy bear

79. GF using her magic to remove her offending musical emotions out of her head and glaring at them in the air

80. Pico having a heart attack over the form of how GF sees him, holding it to his chest and being so fucking in love

81. Pico also exploding into a blush because BF and GF kiss his musical self

Part Thirty-Two:

82. BF cuddled up against Pico's sweater nuzzling his nose in it

83. GF and Pico sad/angry that the world taught BF his birthday wasn't important

Part Thirty-Three:

84. Pico just horrendously collapsed on the couch because he can no longer move bitch is TIRED

85. BF CARRYING PCIO BRIDAL STYLE WHILE HE YELLS ABOUT NOT NEEDING TO BE CARRIED (he does)

86. Shy Pico soaking in the hot bath when BF and GF beg him to let them take care of him

87. All three of them in bed, Pico's nose pushed into BF's thigh while GF rubs his bare back in comfort

88. Pico squeezing the life out of an M-Raptor plushie

89. Freckle kisses...

Part Thirty-Four:

90. GF "I want to hold", BF "I want to be held", Pico "Both"

91. Pico losing the war against being sappy

92. GF in the kitchen with her scented candle hoard

Part Thirty-Five:

93. Pico singing to a "sleeping" BF

94. BF and GF arguing like an old married couple over who gets to be serenaded by Pico while he just sits there dying of embarrassment

95. Pico giving in and singing to both of them

Part Thirty-Six:

96. BF and GF flirting with each other calling each other pretty

97. A dozing Pico, comforted by his partners being flirty and loving behind him

98. Pico getting 3 seconds of victory by making BF blush calling him a pretty boy

99. GF giving Pico chin scritches that he enjoys far too much

100. BF getting Pico back, calling him a pretty boy and making him red in the face instead

Part Thirty-Seven:

101. Koala-Bear Pico with GF while she sleeps and he cuddles her for comfort

102. BF with Pico in his arms, petting comforting patterns into his back and singing the song "i5 pt. 2" to him with his real voice

103. Hypothetical post-fic trio cuddle pile where they're all tangled up in each other

Part Thirty-Eight:

104. Full demon mode GF with the black and red monarch butterfly patterned wings

105. Demon GF's lavender skin glowing with magic as she leaks the song of her emotions out into the air

106. Hurt/Comfort on the balcony, GF crying while clinging to BF and Pico

107. RGB back in bed cuddling with GF in the middle this time, for once

Part Thirty-Nine:

108. I mean. It's literally just about PicoBF and PicoGF makeouts... Staring directly into the camera like it's the office

109. But also BF calling Pico a "Needy Little Thing" on purpose

Part Forty:

110. More YS and BF shenanigans

111. BF bouncing around like an excited puppy about his poem

112. Pico not being able to Handle Poetry Written About Him

113. Storm of Demon Kissies for the boys!!!