#she doesn't have a tag I should make her a tag

[userautumn]

Just an idea, natalia helping buck with grieving bobby

Buck texts her on a Saturday to ask if she wants to meet for coffee.

She's blindsided, of course, because they haven't spoken for over a year but she's curious so she says yes. He looks terrible when she sees him, like all of that resurrection-light that was in his eyes after he came back from the dead has up and guttered out, leaving a dark emptiness in its wake. They make small talk, catch up on life and then work. He asks about her job, and she asks about his, and doesn't really notice that he doesn't answer the question until his breath hitches when he looks somewhere over her shoulder. It's a man, older, maybe mid 50s to early 60s. He's vaguely familiar, she guesses, with one of those faces that just skirts the edge of her memory. But then he's gone into the coffeeshop and she doesn't think anything more about him. Buck, though... he's still staring at the place the man was.

She reaches out across the table and touches his hand. He visibly startles like he forgot she was there.

"Hey." She tilts her head to meet his gaze. "Not that I don't love coffee as much as the next girl, but are you okay? Seriously."

He blinks slowly, eyelashes damp. "Bobby died."

He says the name with enough gravitas and weight that she thinks she's supposed to know who that is, but she doesn't. She never spent enough time with his family to be able to commit them to memory. She knows the word died, and suddenly a whole lot of things click into place.

"Buck."

"I'm sorry," he says. "I shouldn't—I really did want to catch up with you, but then I saw that man and he looked—he looked just like him and—"

That man. The older gentleman.

And then she remembers who Bobby is clearly, Buck's father in every way but blood. The man who raised him, and shaped him, who knew him down to the marrow and molecules and everything in between.

He's shaking underneath her hand, a fine tremor that rattles through his entire body. She wonders if he even notices how precarious the thread he's hanging on by really is, one small nudge and he'll come crashing to the ground like a puppet with cut strings.

She clears her throat and slips into work mode between one moment and the next.

"When?"

"Two weeks ago. It's been on the news."

Two weeks. Still fresh, then. He looks almost offended that she doesn't know already, which makes a sort of sense, she supposes. The 118 is famous around these parts, even for people who don't work in response. She's seen the subreddits and the tumblr pages and 118-inspired amateur porn on Twitter in the LAFD tag. Which is to say that she should know, probably. But she doesn't watch the news, she doesn't keep up with social media. She sees enough death during her day job than to want to go home and turn on the television and be greeted by another act of violent misogyny, another genocide, another war.

Even she has to turn it off sometimes.

She stares down at the table, thinking, his hand still trapped and trembling underneath hers. "You know, there's this thing people say when someone dies: I'm sorry for your loss. We always shorten it to I'm sorry and hope the idea still comes across. But I've never really liked that much. It's well-meaning until you really sit with the idea of apology, of saying I'm sorry for the inevitable."

"What do you mean?" His voice sounds painfully small.

"I mean, when we're taught to apologize as children, it's always within the context of wrongdoing. Something has gone wrong. We've hurt someone, either through accident or intent. So our ingrained response to wrongness is an apology. But that just means that, when someone dies and we say we're sorry for it, we are associating death with something bad; and something that, more importantly, could have been avoided. But that's not true.

Death is the only thing we can count on in life. No matter what journey you take to end up on death's door, whether suicide or murder or cancer, the act of dying is morally neutral. It's not a flaw. It's not a failure. It's not an accident. It's not intentional. It is one of the only naturally unfolding things in the entire world. Yes, it feels bad for those of us who are left behind. It feels horrendous, actually. But the way we frame it, with an apology and a hope that gets better, like there was something that could have changed the outcome if we'd only been a little bit smarter, done a little bit more, is a cruelty we deal to ourselves and to each other."

There's a memory knocking at the doors of her brain—her grandma's frail, cold hand in hers while her relatives and the EMTs bustled around her. Strange, fleeting hands on her small shoulders saying sorry for a loss she had nothing to do with; the fear and guilt that if she'd checked on her grandma that night instead of falling asleep on the sofa, she would have been able to spot the symptoms of the heart attack before it took her away. But those memories are best left untouched for now.

Natalia watches him carefully. "Your journey is going to look at lot different from here. Your life, all the moments you thought you would have him for, are not going to happen and you will grieve him multiple times for the rest of your life. But that's not different from anything else in life, right? You make a wrong turn and the GPS recalculates. You pursue a different career than the one you studied for and hope for the best. You move out of your home state and pray you're making the right decision. You say yes to a date with someone who will either be the best choice you've ever made or the worst. Every moment that passes, every decision we make is a course correction, a change from where we began until we get to our destination. That's all death is. Why would I, why would anyone be sorry about that?"

"But he should be here. His wife needs him here. His son and daughter need him here. I need him here." His tears do start to fall then, though he doesn't sob. He doesn't stop staring at her face, waiting, wordlessly begging her to give him answers she's not entirely sure she has. "We need him back."

Her voice is soft when she says, "But you can't have him."

It's just five words. They shouldn't hurt as deeply as they do, but they do. Every time. She's given the same version of this speech to so many people she wouldn't even begin to know how to count them all, but each time, these words steal something from someone. She watches the way they land now, each emotion rippling out across Buck's face: grief, anger, despair, loss, love, all wrapped in one, tragic image.

"Every choice Bobby made, every single one, was a course correction that led him to his destination," she says with that same soft voice. "Maybe it was too soon. Maybe it wasn't. But he's there now and you've parted ways. I told you I don't like saying I'm sorry when someone dies, but you know what I do say?" He shakes his head and she squeezes his hand and meets his gaze. "I say thank you. Thank you for sharing your journey with me. Thank you for all the times we got lost together, for all the arguments, for all the large and small ways we found each other, healed each other, rebuilt each other. Thank you for the memories. Thank you for such a unique and irreplaceable love. Because that's what it is, right? No one will ever love you the way Bobby loved you, which hurts now, but god, Buck. What a beautiful imprint to leave on someone's life."

His voice is watery and miserable, his face damp as his tears fall in earnest. He shakes his head. "I don't know how to do this."

"No one does. But we try. Every day, we try just a little bit more and eventually we stumble our way into something like healing."

"The car starts moving again."

Her mouth turns up into a small smile. Her grandmother's smile, her aunt always used to say. You're damn near the spitting image of her.

"Yeah," she says, and she's proud of the way her voice doesn't crack. "The car starts again."

Buck nods. He's silent for a long time as he wipes his face and gets his bearings. Eventually he extracts his hand from underneath hers.

"Sorry," he says after a while. "I didn't mean to get all..." he waves a hand as his voice trails off.

Natalia shrugs. "It's what I'm here for."

"I owe you another coffee, one with less emotion attached to it, but I do have to run. I promised May—Bobby's daughter—I'd help her pack her apartment." He pauses a beat. "She's moving back in with her mom."

Ah.

His face darkens with grief and Natalia lets him have his moment before she shakes her head and waves him off.

"Go do what you have to do. I'm just a phone call away. You know that."

They say their goodbyes and Natalia watches him jog to his car, then watches him pull out and continues to stare at the empty parking space for a long time. She twists the ring on her right ring finger, the gold polished and smooth, in just as good condition as it was the day her granddad proposed to her grandmother with it and lets her grief spill through her body.

This is a well-worn routine they have by now.

She breathes through the pain, through the loss and the memories until the phantom hands on her shoulders disappear and sound of the flatline fades.

In her mind, she says thank you. Thank you for the journey, Gram. It was lovely, and imagines she can hear her beautiful, warm voice saying it back.

Natalia takes a sip of coffee. Overhead, the birds chirp and sing, calling each other home.

[rafescolors]

you don't have to go home.

𖹭 pairing: rafe cameron x reader.

𖹭 summary: a visit to your parents house shows rafe something you've never told him about.

𖹭 tags: angst, hurt/comfort.

! warnings: allusions to past abuse, non-consensual touch (not from rafe). this one's sad and- well, heavy. be careful reading it pls<3

𖹭 other: she/her reader.

for the sake of the plot rafe has way better control on his violent impulses. this is 100% self indulgent.

Rafe has always known that your relationship with your father was strained at best.

But he had never seen how bad it was.

Your mom had insisted on inviting him to dinner, and at first you refused, and refused, and refused, because you didn't want your father anywhere near Rafe. Rafe was your safe place, your comfort, and you felt breathless just thinking of them in the same room. You didn't want your light anywhere near the darkness that consumed your life.

But eventually, you gave up, because your mom really wanted to get to know your boyfriend, and there was no way she'd agree to have dinner without your father.

So there you are, in Rafe's room, looking at him dress up for the occasion while you had one of his hoodies on and a pair of jeans. He had questioned you before, but the moment you shrugged him off, expression closed off and distant, he frowned and tried to distract you.

"Hey, baby," he says softly. You look up, startled. With a simple raise of your eyebrows, you encourage him to keep going. "Are you okay?"

He knows you aren't. But he still asks.

You shrug.

"Just don't feel like talking, sorry, Rafe."

He walks toward you and kneels before you, his hands gently laying on your thighs. You jump a bit but quickly relax.

"You've been like this since you came here. Do you wanna talk about it?"

His voice, soft and low and all sorts of comforting, makes your heart clench.

You shake your head.

"No, I don't want to."

You scratch his head, the feeling of the buzzcut still a bit foreign to you. He smiles, eyes doubtful.

"Okay. Well, I need your help looking good. I see you're not trying to impress anyone," he pinches the fabric of his hoodie, "but I am. You did say your brother was kind of overprotective for a little guy."

You giggle.

"Yeah, he is." The smile on your lips is the first you had since you woke up. "He thinks that 'cause he's a boy, he has to approve of my boyfriend." Tapping his nose gently, you snicker.

Rafe grabs your offending finger, giving a chaste kiss to the pad of it. You blush.

"Hmm, kinda like Wheez. You're lucky she adores you, baby, because if she didn't? She'd try to run you off."

With a snort, you roll your eyes.

"Oh, I know. She's told me all sort of stories about girls your dad tried to set you up with."

Rafe laughs, soft and rough.

"Yeah, they never came back here. Good for me, though, because I didn't like any of them."

You hum, eyes going a little distant, like you're lost in a memory. You straighten up before he can worry.

"Get this off, then." You grab his pastel pink polo shirt. "The jeans look good. But he'll think you're a snobby rich asshole if you use this."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah, you kinda are, but you don't wanna look it with him." You scrunch your nose and giggle.

He kisses the tip of your nose.

"What should I wear then?"

"Hm... That linen white button up, not snobby, a bit formal, but casual enough. And put on that brown leather jacket, mkay?"

He smirks.

"Oh, the one you made me buy?"

Blushing, you shove him lightly. "Shut up."

He grabs you by the jaw and gives you a soft, chaste kiss before standing up and changing his shirt. You simply look at him, all the love you feel shining through your eyes.

He smiles softly at you.

"You sure you wanna keep the hoodie?"

"Yeah, 's warm, and comfy and makes me feel safe." You don't say why you need to feel safe.

He doesn't question it, and as soon as he's done, he grabs your hand and you both walk out of his house, climbing on his truck.

The ride to your house is quiet, soft music playing lowly through the speakers, but you don't pay attention to it. You twist your hands and play with the string of Rafe's hoodie, looking out the window.

He's concerned. He really is. But he won't say a thing, not wanting to make you feel worse.

You swallow the moment you're in front of your parents house, a look in your eyes that makes you seem far away.

Rafe gently grabs your hand.

"We can still back out, go home. Get take out. Snuggle and watch one of those cheesy romcoms you love."

A small smile appears at his words, but it's still distant, still not completely honest. You squeeze his hand.

"We can't."

Opening your door, you jump out of his truck, tugging the sleeves of his hoodie down, until they cover both your hands. He sneaks one of his inside a sleeve, wrapping his hand around yours, once you're both side by side.

When you're in front of your door, he knocks.

In a few seconds, your mom appears, hands straightening her button down, smile bright and eager.

Rafe looks at you, and it's like a switch has been flipped off –because it has. You have a bright, seemingly sincere smile on your face, and you let your mom hug you, a soft hi leaving your lips.

Once you both separate, she looks at him. You reach out and take his hand, tugging him closer to both of you.

"Mom, this is Rafe. Rafe, this is my mom."

He smiles, all charm, and shakes your mom's hand.

"Good evening, ma'am. Thank you for having me."

You face palm, trying to hide your laugh. He's never been so polite, gosh.

Your mom, though, seems charmed.

"Hi, Rafe. I've been dying to meet the boy my daughter is practically living with."

Your face falls.

It's a not so subtle jab at the fact you've been avoiding going home.

Rafe, though, doesn't seem fazed. He either is being a pro at faking or didn't notice. You bet it's the first.

"Ah, so sorry, that's on me," he smiles apologetically. He slides his arm over your shoulder, pulling you closer, and you let yourself fall on him. "It's just that, well, community college is close to the university I attend. And I live closer to her job. I offered her to stay with me since it'd take her less time all those trips."

Your mom's smile softens.

"What a nice boy," she coos a bit.

You make a face. Rafe tugs softly on a strand of your hair, chuckling lowly. You pinch his arm over your shoulder.

Your mom's eyes catch it all, and she gives you a look. You try to ignore it, focusing on Rafe.

Your kind of peace doesn't last long, heavy footsteps making you stiffen and tense under Rafe's embrace, trying to hide in his hold.

He gives you a confused, concerned look. You ignore him.

Then he appears.

Your father is by no means a big man, barely taller than you are, way shorter and smaller than Rafe, yet you can't help but feel like vulnerable prey, his eyes zeroing on you with their usual intensity, making you shiver and your pulse quicken in fear.

Rafe's hand brushes gently against your arm, comfortingly, his eyes and mouth downturned in worry.

Your father's eyebrows furrow when he sees you two, a hardness and anger in his gaze that makes you swallow and make yourself smaller in Rafe's hold.

He pastes a fake small on his face, loudly saying something, but your ears buzz and you feel like you're underwater, not able to hear a thing, only seeing as if from out of your body how he grabs Rafe and harshly slaps his back before he turns to you, now Rafe a small distance away, not within touching distance anymore, your father between you two.

Frozen, you see him approach you with eyes open, and you clench your jaw when he wraps them around you, stiff and unmoving. He hugs you way too tightly, his hands brush way too intimately against your back, and you can already feel your eyes glaze over while you go somewhere far away inside your mind. Your arms are crossed tightly over your chest and you hunch your shoulders, trying to push away from him, but he only tightens his arms, making you feel as if trapped by a boa, with no way out until it crushes the life out of you.

Your breath's shallow, panicked, and you can only hear your heartbeat loud in your ears.

Suddenly, you feel someone pull you out of his constricting hold, as if being pulled from underwater, and you breathe in relief, tears pickling your eyes. You lean into Rafe, his hands on both your arms, gently holding them, and his chest against your back. Instinctively, he seems to know you need space.

You look up at him, trying to ignore everything else. His eyes are cold, pinched at the corners, mouth a thin, serious line, and you can feel the way he's two seconds away from springing forward, muscles tense and ready to jump.

You feel dread fill your lungs and struggle to breathe.

He notices, his eyes lowering to you and softening, his body relaxing, and he slowly wraps his arms around your crossed ones, giving you the chance to break free, but you only hug yourself tighter and lean more into him.

You see the hurt in them, the way they're burning with the need to protect you. He's always been a bit protective over you, but you know this is nowhere near all the times before.

You don't hear a thing, only see the way he glares at your father, not glancing yourself in his direction for your own good, but when his eyes look a bit more apologetic, you see his gaze drifting towards your mother, who's completely oblivious to everything that just happened, her eyes only confused. Your eyes meet, but you quickly glance away from her, down at Rafe's hands wrapped around your elbows.

You know to the outside world, you're just serious, quiet, as you've always been, only Rafe noticing the subtle, hidden changes. So you don't worry about her noticing.

You've never done.

You catch Rafe looking at his phone, feigning surprise, and you start paying attention at the words leaving his moving lips. You catch the end.

"-so sorry, ma'am. My baby sister- she needs me, we really have to go. Oh, no, she can't stay. My sister adores her, asked specifically for her, you see."

He keeps talking, fake apologetic, making some excuse to get you out of diner. You look over your mom's shoulder and see your younger brother, a genuine smile appearing on your face, and you wave at him.

He waves back.

Rafe sees it all, and smiles at him, genuine too, before he turns around with you in his arms, his body a wall around you, protecting you from your father's touch and his gaze.

You've never been so fucking grateful for his height and broadness.

Without wasting a second, he slowly unwraps his arms from around you and grabs your upper arms, thumbs brushing against you, softly pushing you forward and guiding you towards his truck, all the way hiding you with his body.

He opens the passenger door, letting you climb before he shuts the door as gently as he can, careful to not startle you.

He waves at your house, climbing to the driver seat and quickly starting the truck, driving for a few streets before he parks, his arms and hands tense on the steering wheel, veins showing from how hard he's holding back.

You're quiet, still a bit out of it, arms crossed and body as small as you can make it, hiding underneath his hoodie.

He exhales, harshly, hands twitching over the wheel, before he relaxes with a huff, harshly rubbing his hands over his face.

His voice is soft when he speaks.

"You never said it. Why didn't you tell me?" The hurt is evident in his voice, but you know it's not about being hurt because you didn't tell him.

It's another kind of hurt.

You shrug.

"Nothing ever happened," you say, voice monotone, emotionless.

He turns to you sharply, brows furrowed in concern and confusion.

"What do you mean?"

Another shrug.

"Exactly what it means. I've never been alone with him since I can remember. I can't say anything about any year before I was twelve, though. I can't remember most of my childhood."

His jaw clenches, nostrils flaring in what seems to be restraint.

"That doesn't make me feel better." His tone is serious, one second away from enraged. But you know it's not at you.

You shrug.

You know you'll shrug a lot during this conversation.

You're closed off. You're distant. Like everything happened to someone else.

It's not on purpose.

You know he knows it.

"It's the truth. I didn't say anything because nothing ever happened that I remember."

"Baby, the fact you keep saying remember makes me think there's more," he whispers, voice strained but soft.

You gulp.

"What's the point of saying stuff I suspect but I'm not sure it's real?," you ask in a small, broken voice.

His hands cup your cheeks, guiding you to look at him, his eyes so sad and hurt.

"What do you mean?," he asks, afraid.

Lips trembling, you blink rapidly to not cry.

"He's always looked at me weird. I've- I've seen him look at girls weird. He dated someone close to my age when him and my mom were broken up for a while. When he touches me, I want to fucking tear my skin off. After, I can't even look at myself in a mirror." Your voice breaks, tears escaping your eyes and trailing down your cheeks. He swiftly brushes his thumbs against them, but they just keep coming.

He looks at you, a hurricane of emotions going through his mind. But he has to keep it together. For you.

"Why are you so sure it's not real?"

Shrugging, you sniffle.

"'Cause I don't remember anything actually happening. They always tell me a lot of stuff is in my head. What would make this different?"

There's storms in his eyes.

"Everything?," he whispers lowly.

"They say I exaggerate. He's not so mean. He's not so violent. He's not this villain I made him in my head."

His nostrils flare.

"Who?"

"Him. My mom. My brother used to too."

He grits his teeth, hissing.

"Fuck them, baby. Fuck them," he growls. "You've never behaved like that. I've never seen you like that. That's not nothing." His voice is softer by the end. Full of tenderness and hurt for you.

You sniffle, tears making your vision blurry.

Scrambling, you jump into him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck and face hidden on his shoulder. You sob quietly, all those years of silence and feeling crazy falling over you. He shushes you gently, hugging you and tucking his nose in your hair, whispering comforting nonsense, sweet nothings that make you cry harder but feel better too.

It feels like hours passed before you slowly calm down, soft sniffles and hiccups the only thing left for you to give, face sticky with dried tears and nose runny.

He softly parts from you, cupping your face before grabbing your bag, taking a tissue and gently cleaning your face. You grab another one and blow your nose, cleaning afterwards.

"You're moving in with me," he says with finality.

You blink at him, shocked.

"What?"

"You're moving in with me. When the house's empty, we're taking all your shit. You'll never go back there. You'll never see him again."

You feel your heart flutter in your chest, hope flaring like crazy, unable to tame it down.

But for the first time in your life, you don't feel like you have to tame it down.

Swallowing, you nod. "Okay," you whisper in a small, hopeful voice.

He smiles gently at you, his hand reaching for your cheek and his thumb brushing against your skin.

"Good."

He kisses you softly, as if sealing the deal, and you sigh against his lips, relaxing for what feels like the first time in all your years lived.

You feel free.

[runawayrafetrain]

How deaf!reader met frat!rafe

deaf!reader x frat!rafe

Warnings: partying, crashing a party, season two rafe, poorly written, brief mentions of throwing up, mean kie

Content: fluff I guess

Every Saturday night the pouges took a vote on what they were doing, sometimes there's consideration for what you want to do but not tonight. Tonight they decided that crashing rafe Cameron's yacht party.

Drinking, loud noises, angry kooks, bright lights, and music so loud that you can feel it vibrating through you. Not exactly your cup of tea.

Last week, you convinced them that they should come to your Grandmas house. You all made cookies, Sarah and Pope pretended to have a good time but deep down you knew that they much rather wouldve gone to do something else. JJ and kie snuck off upstairs and John b just watched Sarah. Pope did get mad when you used the measuring cups for solids to measure the amount of water you needed for the recipe.

You ended up telling them that they could all go home early and they all immediately did. You finished baking the cookies with your grandma. She could tell you were upset because you took your hearing aids off and put them in the pocket of your jeans, shutting the world out.

You weren't even planning to go out with them tonight but kie dragged you out, saying "it'll be fun"

It was and is in fact not fun. you're currently sitting alone on the edge of the yacht, waiting for the pouges to get bored and come back so you can leave. Your hearing aids are off and in your hands. The music is still too loud and you can still feel the vibrations from it, it makes you nauseous.

You see someone coming out of the yacht, probably just to throw up into the ocean like everyone else who's come out of the party has. Whoever it is is now sitting beside you. You turn to them, expecting to see one of the pouges.

Rafe Cameron, Sarah's brother and someone you've never actually talked to. His mouth is moving, you stare at his mouth. You squint, trying to figure out what he's saying. He's speaking to quickly and his words look sloppy, he's probably drunk or at least tipsy. Your gaze moves up to his eyes, silently staring.

He stops talking, it looks like he sighs and looks at the ocean. You quickly slip your hearing aids on and look back at him, he's looking at you again.

"are you deaf or something?"

You just nod, it hurts when people say things like that because you know that they don't actually know about your deafness. his expression is now surprised and a small "oh" leaves his lips.

"so could I like... Get your number?" He's obviously drunk, maybe he doesn't realize you're a pouge and not a kook.

"I guess-"

"rafe, leave her alone!" Kie's voice is piercing and her footsteps are heavy, quickly making her way over. "Did you seriously just ask for her fucking phone number you asshole?"

"yes ma'am, I did. Here, write it on my hand" he passes you a pen that was in his jean pocket. Sarah tries to snatch it from you but you pull it away.

"I'll give him my number if I choose to"

"you're seriously giving him your number?"

"he's the only one who's made an effort to spend time with me tonight." Kie scoffs and quickly goes back in, trying clearly trying to find all the pouges so everyone can leave. You quickly write your number on his before you hear the quick footsteps of the pouges coming back to get you.

Rafe slides the pen back into his pocket and gives you a lopsided grin. Kie grabs your arm too hard and starts dragging you back to the little speed boat that the pouges used to get to the yacht. You just take off your hearing aids and sit silently.

Tags: @angelpoguesofia, @yesshewrites1, @suzuki-18, @bubbleguppieshh

[medievalharlot]

Tag, You're It 彡 Michael x f!reader

Find my masterlist here!

Pairing: Michael x f!reader

Synopsis: Your annoying roommate turns out to not be as annoying as you expected once you warm up to him, a game of tag leaving the two of you sweaty and panting.

Wordcount: 2,6k

Tags: Smut 18+ minors dni, slight age gap (reader is around 21), bisexual reader because I said so, manhandling, p in v sex, Michael is a bit of a perv, sexual tension, unprotected sex, a bit of dry humping, creampie

A/N: I am so down bad for Michael that it was just a matter of time before I posted sm about him. We are so back! Keep in mind I am not British, tried as best as I could to put some slang in there but if it doesn't make any sense please don't come for me. Enjoy!

It was your brother that had begged you to let Michael stay at your place for a little while. His girlfriend, who you later found out was pregnant, had broken up with him and he needed a place to stay. You knew Michael, he came over every once in a while when you lived at home, you knew he was a typical macho guy. It made you a bit unsure about letting him stay. Did you want somebody, let alone a man in his late twenties, in your private space? But your brother kept begging and begging, even offering money. You could use the extra income, being in your last year at university meant that every bit of extra money helped you pay the rent, and you had a free sofa bed so with slight hesitance you accepted. It would only be for a few weeks and you wouldn't be home most of the time anyway. It would be fine.

That same day Michael moved in. He only had two bags and a few shoes in a garbage bag with him. He looked a little out of place in your livingroom. You liked decorating your rooms with little trinkets and color and Michael, well Michael seemed like the kind of person to have just a table, a chair and a sofa in his livingroom. You prayed that you made the right choice by letting him stay. You had made his bed, made space in your bathroom for his stuff and finally tidied up the place. In a whirl wind you had cleaned your appartement to make sure you didn't come off as messy. Between your job and school you barely had any time to clean, it would be a mess in a few days again.

You were strict with him at first. This was your house, your home, so that meant your rules. No smoking inside, he had to help around the house, no drunken behaviour, help pay the bills, no leaving the toilet seat up, no dirty laundry on the floor and especially no sex in your apartment. The idea of him getting his juices or somebody else's juices on your couch made you wince in disgust. When you told Michael he laughed at first. Like he’ll let you decide that. He said it was unfair, you got to have your girlfriend over so he should get to have a ‘lady friend’ over every now and then too.

Ah yes, your girlfriend. Sera. You two met at university and fell head over heels in a matter of months. She was even more hesitant about you having a man in your house. The times she came to visit she side-eyed Michael the entire time, a distrustful look in her eyes. Often she would tell you to kick him out, he would mess up soon anyway.

Something inside of you told you, don't give up on him just yet. Give him a chance. That didn't mean you didn't get irritated at every single thing he did. Due to his job he had to get up early, usually the other bin men were already waiting for him, and he never failed to wake you up. When it was your turn to get up, it was the dirty teacup he left on the kitchen counter. He always told you he left it there for when he came back so he could have a second cup. Somehow, the cup was always still there when you went to cook dinner.

Other days it was the mess he left in your bathroom. Or the fact that he forgot to seperate the black clothing from the colored clothing. It were little things, but over time you could tell he really tried. One time he attempted to cook dinner when you ran late. He fixed your creaky door and painted your windowsill the color you had always wanted it to be. Those moments made you mind his company a little less.

You tolerated his presence at most, until one night you came stumbling home clearly upset. To your surprised Michael was home early on the couch with a beer, watching tv. That was the last thing you wanted, to have to explain why you were upset. You tried to dash past him to your room to silently cry it out.

“Oi.” He had stood up and grabbed you by your arm. Something was off, you never quietly passed him. There was always something you complained about. Michael didn’t mind tho. Even if you complained, you still helped him with his laundry, cooked him dinner and most importantly put a roof over his head. Besides, he thought it was cute in a way.

“What’s happened.” He asked you, his eyes filled with empathy. You bit your lip, trying to hold in your tears. Michael was the last person you wanted to tell Sera broke up with you, but those big brown eyes made it hard not to walk into his strong arms and feel the warmth of his broad chess.

“None of your business.” You bit back, pulling your arm out of his grip.

“It is if I have to hear you bawl all night.” With a swift move he stood infront of you, blocking your path to your room.

You ran a hand over your face as you flopped down on the couch. He looked at you, his hand in his sides, waiting for you to talk. “We broke up.” You eventually said.

He said down next to you, looking at you. “You and that judgy twat?” Quickly, you shot him a glare. He was right tho. It was one of the reason you broke up tho. Repeatedly having to defend Michael got on your nerves and Sera claimed you picked him over her. “Why?”

“She said I was always taking your side whenever we talked about you.” Michael perked up, you talked about him? “I just couldn’t stand it that she called you a useless, nuts-for-brains, idiot when she doesn’t even know you. And well, apparently she cheated too.” You looked away as you bit back more tears. “Claimed we were fucking as well, so she should be allowed to fuck someone else too.”

Michael looked at you with a slight shock, was he really that important to in your life that you broke up with someone because of him? “Well she’s a proper bitch anyway.” He said while leaning back.

“Michael, be nice.”

“What! She basically called you a slag and a cheater and broke up with you. I’d say that’s proper twat behaviour.” He laughed and shot his hands up in defeat. “If she doesn’t see that you’re an amazing girl to have than that’s her problem.”

You could feel your cheeks heat up at the compliment. He meant it, genuinely, and you could tell he did. Michael wasn’t the person to be dishonest.

“Atleast it’s better than my situation. My ex is pregnant with my baby and broke up with me.” Michael confessed, it wasn’t the full story but you didn’t need to know about that.

“Really, that’s fucked up.” You looked up at him. “You got a cig?”

“Since when do you smoke?” Michael laughed and got up to go outside with you. You pulled him down by his shirt.

“It’s freezing out.” You spoke as he sat down again. He shook his head, reaching for his cigarettes.

“Making me break your very strict rules, lost your mind Y/N?”

That night the two of you shared stories over a few beers and a few cigarettes, somehow you ended up with your head against his shoulder and his arm around you. Something had changed after that, you could almost say you had become the best of budies. You could feel yourself feeling less irritated around him, his stupid cup of tea was filled after Michael got back from his job. He noticed that you started baking for him, every week you shoved a new pastry into his mouth. His guess was that it was your way of showing you cared.

You tried ignoring how he made you feel. It was just innocent butterflies at first. The subtle wink he gave you as he made a joke whenever your brother came over to check in or when he tried folding your towels but ended up just leaving them a mess. They made your cheeks heat up and your stomach do somersaults.

Then, the butterflies turned into desperation and desire. He turned you on like nobody had ever before. You never thought a bin man with a messy love life could make you have the hots that bad, you always assumed you went for people that were smart, with a stable factor to them. Yet you couldn’t help stare as he licked a paper to roll his cigarette, wishing it were you instead. Or when he placed his hand on the small of your back when he passed you in your small kitchen. The way you could feel basically every curve of his dick against your ass when he did made your cunt clench around nothing.

Little did you know he felt the exact same way even before you broke up with your girlfriend. It would be a lie if he said he hasn’t wanked off to the polaroids on your walls. After nearly every shower he went in to sniff your towel, the smell of your soap stirring his cock. Oh how badly he wanted to knead at your thighs, softly sucking your tit while fucking into you, it was like a timebomb ticking to explode any moment..

You had just gotten back home, it was still freezing outside. Michael had already heared you come in, not that he bothered to get up. He leaned his head slightly back so he could see you in the tiny hallway. “How was uni?” He asked.

“It was fine, some freshers decided to interrupt Johnson’s class so we had to stay a little longer. Stupid brats.” You mumbled as you took of your coat and shoes. Michael watched you walk into the apartment. A smirk appeared on your face. The two of you started to play tag somewhere a few weeks ago and the game was still going. You happened to be ‘it’ and seeing Michael sit around made you think he would never expect to be tagged now.

You innocently walked behind the sofa, softly tapping his shoulder. “Tag, you’re it.” Before you even finished your words you took a little sprint across the room. Michael, being in a playfull mood, got up and started chasing after you. To your frustration you had driven yourself into a corner and were now being picked up and thrown over his shoulder by him.

This wasn’t the first time Michael manhandled you. He was a strong lad, he could throw you into to the air and move you around like you weighed nothing. Something about him manhandling you was hot, so you didn’t actually mind all that much, even if you pretended to hate it. You slammed your fist against his back, laughing. “Let me go you big ol’ bully!” A squeal left your lips as he threw you onto your bed.

He stood at the foot of the bed as you laid there, you watched him from inbetween your legs. It dawned on the both of you how sexual this looked. Michael didn’t intend that, but damn it made his dick rockhard seeing you there infront of him. His hands found your thigh, watching you intently to see if you were okay with this.

Your eyes followed his hand as he softly gave your flesh a squeeze. His hands were hot, calloused, rough. You wanted them to never leave your body. With a small wiggle you moved down on the bed, your hips almost met now. His eyes met yours, they were basically begging for permission. With your small nod he moved his hips forward, making them connect with yours.

A small whimper left your lips as you felt his boner against your clothed core. Michael leaned forward, his lips finding your neck as he softly sucked on the skin while writhing his dick against you. “Need this.” He mumbled between butterfly kisses and nips, hands were playing with the waistband of your panties. “These gotta come off love.”

For a moment he stood up straight again, his hands on your knees as he watched you once more. You took the moment to sneak off your jeans, your panties weren’t anything special. Sera was your first partner and she didn’t care much for fancy lace. To Michael it was endearing to see your striped knickers and he couldn’t wait to tear them off.

His hand softly brushed against your belly, lifting your sweater to see your breasts. Lucky him, you had decided not to wear a bra that day. Your nipples hardened at the cool air touching your skin.

“Such a beauty.” Michael whispers softly with a smirk as he looked down at you. Without waiting another moment he took off his shirt and unzipped his jeans so it hung slightly below his hips. Michael was quite buff, the daily hustling of the bins leaving him slightly toned. Yet you liked that he was just a tad chubby, it gave him a nice ass.

“I want you Michael.” You looked at him with pleading eyes. How could he deny you? He pulled his boxers down, his dick springing free. He had quite some length to him, but it was mostly the girth that surprised you.

“You know, staring is rude.” He broke your daze as he spit in his hand to give himself some lubricant. Not that you needed much, you were slicker than a seal from just seeing that. Michael took hold of your thigh again, pulling you just a bit closer. You could feel the head of his cock leaking against your slit. “You on the pill?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” With a thrust of his hips and a deep groan he slit himself inside of you. Michael leaned forward with his hands planted besides your head, a lose curl falling from his slicked back hair. God, you were tight and warm. “Jesus. Love, you’re gonna kill me.” It was a bit of a painful adjustment for you, but he waited for you to be comfortable.

As soon as you told him you were fine he started moving his hips. With each trust you tried to bite back your moans, didn’t want the neighbours to hear what you and your roommate were up to. His pace was slow, he didn’t like the idea of pounding into you. He wanted to take his sweet ass time fucking you.

Slowly, his calloused thumb rubbed circles on your clit as he fucked into you. He was coaching those moans and whimpers out of you. “You like that?” He teased you as he moved his thumb, receiving a whine in return. “I think you do..”

“Gonna cum..” You managed to mewl a little louder than you wanted. While gripping his forearms you felt your climax wash over you.

“Just a little longer.” Michael told you. With the way you clenched around him he was gonna cum any minute now. He needed a few more thrust before he burst inside of you, your sensetive pussy now filled with his seed.

When he finally pulled out, he looked down at your cunt. It was slightly leaking, both your juices mixed together. “Now that is a lovely view.” He chuckled, slapping the side of your thigh before looking at you with a smirk.

“Guess I broke your most important rule hmm?”

[eva-cybele]

I am powerful and I can do anything.

[owlheartt]

Something I really like about timebomb is that Ekko actually knows what he's getting into.

I'm not really seeing it get talked about but in season 1 they mention that Ekko and the firelights help people addicted to shimmer get off it and lead more fulfilling lives within the community. I should probably rewatch the scene for the exact wording (might be misremembering tbh) but that comment implies A LOT.

First: Ekko's mission is helping people where he can, he would probably try and help Jinx even if he wasn't in love with her

Second: He has experience dealing with severe mental illness as that often goes hand in hand with drug abuse, namely depression/suicidal ideation like what Jinx was exhibiting

Third: He's probably mapped out best course of action FOR dealing with this and has already figured out his own limits/boundaries. Meaning he knew what he was getting into trying to talk Jinx out of suicide, and was thus more equipped to deal with the aftermath

Fourth: He's probably helped ex members of Silco's gang. The firelights seem to have a theme of healing and repairing and recovering, so they've probably also learned to forgive. If they're mission is to rebuild the lanes into a safe space, they can't exclude people they don't like, they have to make room for them. I think they fought Silco out of necessity, and I doubt Jinx would be the first person they help who's killed one of them.

These all might be a bit of a stretch but I think it really fits. Beyond that, it shows that Ekko can ACTUALLY help Jinx. As much as unconditional love can do, Ekko has the tools for Jinx's recovery and a path ready for her. He also probably knows that her "healthy" will look different from AU Powder's "healthy." On top of that, I expect he knows how to respect her even in the middle of psychotic breaks and won't agitate her already frail mental state

[knockknockitsnickels]

I think this is one of my favorite lines from the Wraith route because of (imo) how much the meaning changes depending on if you got there via Spectre or Nightmare. For Spectre, it honestly strikes me as a genuine question. Why are you doing this to her? If you're on the Spectre route, you presumably already know the Narrator can't really be trusted, since you had to reject his reward to get here. What are you hoping to gain from continuing to hurt her? For Nightmare, it honestly just makes me sad. As the Shifting Mound describes her, "She desires only companionship, but the only thing she knows is how to hurt." This line feels like a plea from someone who genuinely doesn't understand why you keep rejecting her. She wants to be with you, but she just can't understand how to do that in a way which doesn't hurt you.

[voiddemon]

Least and most supportive boss ever

[kittyflufi123]

Well!! Today I didn't have a good day but I managed to make time to do this!! So I hope it's cool hehe..

1: Kitty doesn't have a hobby per se, it's complicated for her to have several things to do.. but if I were to include... she loves cooking and especially... making recipes from old books, her favorite dish is lasagna and pudding (which she often makes for her wife Dimet).

2: Kitty represents the freedom and hope that I have in myself, I see in her a reflection of what I can become and what I am currently, but most of the time, she's a little different from me in some ways hahaha!!

3: "Kitty was born from an unplanned romance between a cat and a guardian angel, after living among humans and finally finding her place in heaven... she questions divine laws and breaks the rules of her people and is expelled to earth where she becomes blind and without her wings for many years, she camouflages herself among humans so she will never again encounter the cruel fate that was the day of her supposed death, and on this journey she seeks to understand herself and her purpose on earth and what she should do from then on."

Tag:

@theonepiecelazyartist @giamytakaysblog @1hazelnut1 @fenrirwolfofwar

OC tag chain… again…

Questions:

1. Does your OC have a favorite activity/hobby that they enjoy doing in their free time?

2. Do you ever draw your OC reflecting your irl moods at all?

3. Does your OC have a backstory and, if so, in a short description, what is it? (You can make the answer as short or as long as possible or just skip it entirely if you aren’t sure.)

My answers:

1. Yoru often enjoys going to clubs and bars around the city to hang out. (Chimera has to place a reservation ahead of time, so no-one else is there while Yoru and him are…)

2. All three of my OC’s can reflect different parts of some of my irl mood at different times: Chimera: the quiet loner who often finds comfort in his own solitude, but will gladly help aid others if need be. Yoru: The social fun-loving party animal who thrives off other people’s company. Yomo: the irritable self-loather with a glass-half-empty view of the world.

3. In short desc: Chimera, after leaving his overbearing mother and his childhood home to live in an apartment in the city that he often dreamed of moving to, meets a creature named Yoru, who is a rare species that Chimera’s never seen before and invites Yoru to live with him. He then must take care to keep Yoru out of sight of the city’s other inhabitants, a job that gets far more complicated with the appearance of Yomo, a second being that resembles Yoru, but has a dark secret…

Tags:

@canespalatii @di-devil @rexbalistidae @r3inatinho @zemfruit @xxtailbonexx @corporalmoth @the-faramir @langleybnuuy @aetherspiritart @mrmrsdarklordjrthethird @midnightcrustcat @fleaful @rogdona @outhoraz

[catocappuccino]

Her favourite colour is yello w

[animation-is-my-jam]

Yuppp!! Exactly

-And I like Two-brains being a father figure and dadbrains is an interesting concept, it's only that looking at his character, it would make sense he would be a flawed parent in his own way and kinda bad at it but that what makes it good in writing and character exploration. Villain found family is also good. I'm only miffed at the idea that somehow the villains would be a better family for characters like Becky or Tobey (and calling the botsfords/claire awful or irrelevant) when no i think those kids fine where they are. I mean, I do think the villains can be part of Tobey's family (he's a lonely boy), and that's cute, but actually taking care of him in a parental way? Jhjffshgee oh no. (And reading your tags, you're so right Victoria is right there when it comes to her being adopted by the villains, it'll be messy but like 100× better than what she has with her parents. I've actually seen a concept from someone of her getting taken in by blhg and invisibill, and that's cute).

-also yeah the abusive accusations are ugh. They've always been. I can see why, but again, this is a woman trying to stop her son from literally causing mass destruction on a weekly basis. It's fair to say that she could subconsciously does fall into a form of abuse (neglect or control) but then again it's not actually on intent or ignorance and it could come from her being a heavily stressed single mother who has no idea how to handle her son lashing out yet (have you tried looking after a smartass 10 year old? oh, my stars). But she loves him. It's obvious she does. And she is protective of him (you ever think about how she also wants him to stop with the robots because he could get hurt? He almost could have died multiple times if not for WG and ig the pbs censors). If there's anything to pick apart with her and her parenting (which I've done), I love her sm but she's my problematic queen). It's her own pride and ego about him, probably earing his own ego (like getting him into many competitions or bragging about his intelligence, which at first he didn't seem comfortable with if we want to look at the pictures on his house wall). And of course, her busyness not to notice his emotional distress, and even her leniency on him continuing to be a villain. People say that she's not letting him be with his fixation on robots but like...despite how she tells him to stop with the robots she hasn't actually taken his passion away, at most she grounds him and no robot privileges, yes, but like...she continues to let him have his stuff, even his privacy after a grounding. It's only until he does some bad that she goes into mom momcopter mode. She's actually letting him get away with a lot more than people think. If anything, she is probably soft on him because she doesn't want to downright take away what he likes (she probably thinks he already distains her), only telling him to quit it because she is a very offhands mom like that. Which is kinda part of the problem, but that depends on the person on whether or not a parent should step in on a kid's fixation that leads to dangerous actions (which they should. At least, i think so). All in all, Claire just has to take him to therapy and even go herself. And both should just talk to each other. Geez Louise, I can tell when two people want to close themselves off emotionally. ^i know most of this is just speculation and probably hc too, but it does come from a place of analytically reading of her character and Tobeys. Limited that we have.

how do you feel about people who think tobey should be taken in by dtb or the botsfords or just forget he has a mum?

I think they're all cowards and stupid.

When people say they want complicated female characters but they can't handle a flawed mother who they now deem as irredeemably abusive....What I am talking about this fandom can't even handle Becky when she's mean to Tobey (as she should be).

[maulfucker]

my rodian girl.. I need to draw her properly. she's only a headshot

[starflungwaddledee]

I couldn't help but notice you color your line art sometimes. Do you have any tips on colored line art?

hiii there! thank you for asking!!

just a heads up that i'm notoriously bad at "teaching", and i'm assuming an amount of general knowledge of art programs + layer modes!

i actually don't often "colour" my lineart, at least not in the way a lot of other folks do! i'm used to working as streamlined as possible and developed quick-fire workarounds for most steps during my time in webcomics!

i also have multiple lineart styles! a more textured one with thin lines which i typically use for more polished pieces, and a soft-brush sketch style (inspired by my pal @moonverc3x's lovely lines) that i generally use for less detailed works, though i sometimes get carried away 😅💦

my textured lines don't lend themselves well to those nice and thoughtful coloured lines most folks do. but here's a quick breakdown of my techniques using the soft-brush style!

lines and flats 1) make lineart + flat colour it. my lines are never at 100% opacity, so already some of the colour shows through them anyway! 2) set the lines to multiply mode. because my lines are typically in a colour and not black, this usually works well enough for me, as you can see in the second image! i frequently just call it done here!

hand coloured lines a) if i do want to take the time to colour the lines individually- often things like metals, especially warm golds, require this added detail to really help them pop- i'd just lock the layer opacity and pick a colour that suited and apply where needed. this is fairly standard! b) a second version of the same technique, with higher contrast/more saturation to suit my tastes and a little extra finessing (especially around the eyes). this is very much a "to taste and time/energy" thing! sometimes at this stage i'll add high contrast slaps of colour such as bright purple or blue

my overlay-lines technique a) the second technique that i use is actually very fast and usually gives an okay-enough look. it's what i use for high-speed professional webcomic work (with my textured lines) to give the illusion of individually coloured lines for basically zero effort. so starting with the base lines set to multiply, as seen in (2), then, b) duplicate both the lines and the colours (with shading, if you have it). clip the colours to the duplicated lineart layer, ostensibly "colouring" the copied lines the exact same colour as the colours. set this duplicated layer to overlay, and adjust opacity as needed

you can kinda see that the overlay lines method is not as specific in colour as the hand-picked ones above, and it will suffer from overlap based on where your flats come to underneath the lines. but i find it helps especially when you have high contrast light colours in the work (ie starstruck's face mask) as the lighter colours brighten up the linework in those places significantly.

for highly polished works i would come back and still pick out areas to finesse individually. there's ultimately no quick substitute for spending more time on your work!

there's about a thousand and one other combinations of these effects you can do, such as using the duplicated lines on multiply instead, or further painting over the top, etc etc. but duplicating the colour layer and clipping it to the lineart is one of the techniques i developed that sped up my work process most significantly over the years!

[oozeandgoo-art]

Haven and Erica loooooveeee killing people and it absolutely gets them both in the mood, this is a once-a-month activity for them for years.

[transmascutena]

these lines hit different when you read utena as transmasc

[a-lonely-dunedain]

tfw you're just trying to enjoy a drink and brood in silence at a local inn but this vampire girl who insisted on tagging along won't stop staring at you. she does not know how to blink.