#should do more sketchbook doodles; i kinda miss the feel of drawing on paper

[kagooleo]

some dragon quest sketchbook doodles! (2019-2020)

[dokoni-mo]

So your wonderful sketches have sparked the fluff part of my brain with an idea!

What if bunny was an artist or simply liked doodling and they had a sketchbook. So maybe one day they left their sketchbook on the counter. And because Peepaw willy is nosy as fuck, he looks through it, and finds sketches of himself. Kinda a lot of sketches of him.

He’ll probably bring it up with his dear bunny, because they’re simply so cute to him. How sweet of them to doodle him💜. But personally i think this would be a disaster for three reasons.

1. Inflates his ego

2. Inflates his ego

3. Inflates his ego

Thoughts??

CHERRY ADLFKJAJKFF;A YOU CANT KEEP GETTING AWAY WITH THISSS /LH

warnings: age-gap relationship (reader 20 will almost 40), sensual touching, will likes to snoop lol, he's also obsessive, and VERY egotistical, sir kink, sexual themes, teasing, dom/sub undertones, allusions to corruption kink, not proofread IMSORRY

It depends on what you mean by a disaster tbh,, Like yes of course it's gonna inflate his ego to holy hell LMFAOO like just the thought of you sitting there on your own? Thinking of him so much that you draw him a bit of an embarrassing amount of times? Oh my god he is over the moon

You're not ever gonna share this information though. It's embarrassing, at least to you, so you'd never show him on your own. You'd show him some of the other things you draw, but never those ones. But you underestimate how nosy Will is. Especially when it comes to his bunny. He wants to know every single little thing about you, and he knows there's pages in that sketchbook he hasn't seen.

So when you leave your backpack unattended to whilst you're in the shower, of course he's gonna rummage through there. How could he not? When it's so easy? Besides, he's learning more about you. And, in turn, that'll help him take care of you better. Why wouldn't you like that?

He pours through your bag and digs out all your books and papers, reading over them all. He finds your handwriting cute, and some of your essays are actually interesting to him. He even finds some of the notes you pass back and forth to Michael during class.

He throws those away.

But oh what do we have here? Your sketchbook that you keep so heavily guarded. Why do you feel the need to hide things from him, little bun? Don't you trust him?

Shifting through the pages though, he quickly learns why you didn't share all the pages. Your art is somewhat stylized, but he can tell what those sketches are of.

Of him.

Pages and pages of him.

Oh bunny. Weren't you supposed to be focused on your lessons? Why are you doodling him in the margins of your notes then, hm? Did sir really occupy your mind that much? Oh sweetie, if you missed him that much, you were always welcome to come to his office. Just because you weren't in his bed didn't mean the two of you couldn't have some fun, not at all. Sir knows plenty of fun games he could show you there. You know you're always welcome, too.

Before he can delve too deep in his fantasies of you, you snatch the sketchbook out of his hands and slam it shut, your face beet-red. You had snuck up behind him after your shower, him too lost in his filthy thoughts to pay enough attention.

"What are you doing?" You ask him, feverishly with your sweet little eyes wide open.

He can't help but smirk as he steps closer to you, causing you to lean up against the kitchen counter with your sketchbook behind your back, "You know exactly what I'm doing, little bunny."

"I-It's not fair to look through my things like that... That's mean."

William chuckled as he placed each of his arms on the counter, pinning you in place as he leaned in close.

"Oh, sweet thing. You should know by now that sir doesn't ever play fair. Tell me," he said, only loud enough for you to hear, "When did you draw all those, hm?"

"I... " you trailed off, your gaze falling to the floor. William was quick to remedy this, using his large, strong hand to point your chin back up at him. His grey, lust-filled eyes staring into your timid ones.

"Answer me, bunny. Use your words like I taught you to."

Your face as getting hotter by the second, "It was... While I was bored doing homework..."

The brit tutted, "But that's when you should be paying attention to your studies, is it not?"

"Y-Yes... It is, sir."

William's other hand found its home on your waist, "But what were you doing instead, little one?"

He already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear you say it.

You bit the inside of your cheek, "I was... I was thinking about you. And that I missed you, sir..."

The older man let out a low groan from the back of his throat, a wash of pleasure rolling down his spine. Oh you just loved him that much, didn't you bunny? He just made you feel that good, didn't he? Where that's all you could ever think about? Only him? Precious rabbit. If only you knew just how much he thought of you.

William's thumb pressed against your bottom lip as he studied your face, the tightness in his pants becoming hard to ignore.

"Oh, bunny," he cooed, "whatever will I do with you? I'm not sure whether if its appropriate to punish you or reward you."

The brit's thumb slid across on your lips as you spoke.

"Th-that's for you to decide, sir."

His smirk depended at your words, the pressure in his pants too hard to ignore now.

Perhaps you could help with that, wouldn't you?

"I suppose it is, isn't it? Good bunny. On your knees, little one. Now."

[mae-gi-writes]

Jealous | Kevin Moon (The Boyz)

Your mission is to get your boyfriend jealous. What better way to do this by fawning over Stray Kids?

Genre: slight nfsw? Idk its kinda hot? And female reader insert.

A/N: inspired by my convos with @seraplantery and @chaoticdeobi Kevin would be about me thirsting over Chan. Also idk what I wrote im sorry TT > TT

-----

Jealousy had never been in Kevin Moon’s vocabulary. And you were damn certain it would never be.

That doesn’t mean you never try pushing his buttons every time you can, though.

“How can he be so hot?” You mutter to yourself, loud enough that it reaches your boyfriend’s ears. It’s a late lazy Sunday afternoon and you two are taking this time to unwind and relax, mentally preparing for the full week of work ahead. While Kevin is busy doodling across his sketchbook like he normally is, you take this time to catch up on the multiple kpop performances you’d missed earlier this year. 

And boy, have you missed out.

“Oh my god,” your lips go round as your eyes widen as big as saucers, gaze permanently fixed on the screen giving way to eight hot men dominating the stage with their fiery charisma and strong choreography, “Oh my-- holy shit I think I fell pregnant.” 

Kevin’s voice permeates through the hot summer air, “What you watching?” 

“Stray Kids,” you say absentmindedly as your eyes follow one particular member’s every moves. While you had fallen out of touch with the kpop world -- and you blame this on the concept of having a job and actually now going through adult life like anyone should be -- that doesn’t mean that you don’t get your phases, especially with one of your favourite groups you’ve been following since their debut.

“Stray Kids?”

“Yeah, jesus christ Kev-- Chan’s arms are to die for.” 

Admittedly, you wouldn’t have been so vocal about admiring other men if it’s not for your silent experiment of whether Kevin Moon will finally bite at the bait jiggling before his face. He’d be an idiot not to. 

But considering he is never even aware when other men look at you, you doubt that this time is going to be different. So you continue on:

“He’s not even my type of guy you know? I usually go for the tall skinny ones but somehow--he’s just so charismatic onstage. And did I tell you he’s Australian? I mean I’m not fond of Aussie accents but I don’t know I find it really sexy on him--”

“Woah Y/N, look at you. Talking as if you don’t have a boyfriend,” sarcasm drips from Kevin’s alto, causing your head to slowly turn with surprise, an eyebrow arching slowly at the way he seems hunched and rigid over his blank piece of paper, pen held so tightly in his grip it might snap in two.

“Kevin,” you draw out slowly as you try to hide your grin, “is that...jealousy I hear?” 

He scoffs, “I don’t get jealous."

"Sure could've proved me wrong."

Reverting your attention back to the screen just in time to catch a glimpse of Bang Chan's smile, you sighed in bliss, "his abs, though."

There is silence from Kevin's part, causing your lips to tilt into a small smirk of victory as you click on the next video that follows. You know him all too well that you assume he will probably sulk for the next hour that follows, and you're content with that, considering that you're not at fault.

You're too engrossed in your video that you barely realize that a shadow hangs behind your shoulder, before an arm shoots out to close your laptop.

You whip around with a scowl, "hey! What--"

But no sooner are you protesting that you feel Kevin's arms haul you up, turning so quickly you can barely register anything but the soft mattress welcoming your figure as you are plopped onto it, Kevin's frame hovering over yours. His face is all but amused.

Laughter bubbles up your throat, "what the --"

It cuts off into a gasp upon feeling his arms hooking around the back of your thighs to pull you closer, lips mere inches above yours and dark orbs gazing down at you with a thunderous depth. It halts any further comment you are about to make, takes your breath away.

Something warm coils within your stomach.

You are a little breathless when you say, "y-yes?"

"You want me to be jealous?" His lips curl slightly, eyes narrowing down at you while fingers ghost over your thighs, his touch igniting a series of sparks in his wake, "I'll show you jealous."

And then he's kissing you. Hard mouth on yours, intense. Demanding.

That's not the Kevin you know but somehow desire pools through you. He's never been this...aggressive.

He is holding your frame against his, fingers so firm and pressing on the back of your thighs before slowly slipping up to cup your ass. You gasp in response, hands automatically lifting to grab his shoulders only for his to grab them instead and pin them down by your face. His head tilts, lips moving to your rhythm and dominating your tongue the moment you gasp into his mouth.

The softest grunts rumbles up his throat when your hips buck up on instinct. He murmurs against your mouth, "not so chatty now, are we?"

"I--"

And then his mouth is latching onto your jaw, peppering a trail of warm kisses that makes your heart beat twice as hard, your body writhing with the delicious sensation of wanting him. He devours your neck, growling with satisfaction when he urges your fingers down onto the mattress to stop any attempts of escape. That's hot.

You're practically seeing stars at this point, the sounds of his soft suckling evocating a sensation of heat deep within your belly that your legs wrap around his waist on their own accord to pull him closer. And the moment his firm length presses onto your heat, he lets out a moan that has you trembling.

"If I knew how you'd react--" you stop to moan softly as he grinds his hips into yours. Lord, "I would've done it more often."

"What, that's your kink?" His breath ghosts over your skin at your collarbone now. You struggle against him wanting nothing more than to run your hands through his glossy raven locks and to scratch your nails down his back. But his fingers squeeze firmly nibbling at the skin of your shoulder, "you like seeing me jealous?"

"Hm, I won't say the contrary," you breathe out.

Ensuring that one of his hands cage your wrists together, his other slips down to trace your neck, the dip of your breasts, ghosting over your side before trickling down the inner side of your thigh. You take a shaky inhale. Waiting.

He's looking at you now, gauging every reaction that you gift him with like you're a fascination he can't quite make out and the intensity makes you squirm.

Slowly, oh so slowly that it makes your toes curl, Kevin starts a slow, sensual path of kisses down the middle of your chest and air gets stuck in your throat the more you watch him, practically holding back a whimper with every searing touch he imprints upon your skin.

He kisses down your navel, nipping and biting as he does while his heated breaths send waves of heat up your spine. At some point he releases your hands to grasp your waist and they instantly tangle in his hair, emitting a grunt from the said man.

He continues his sensual search using his mouth, hot breath fanning against your skin down the sides of your thighs, landing on final peck to your knee, before rearing back up to hover above your pelvis and finally tilting his face up to yours.

And that makes your breath catch in your throat. For in Kevin's eyes you read the dark desire, the craving he holds for you, the longing.

Your heart jolts to a stop. You swear you stop breathing as your gazes lock.

A beat passes. You swallow hard. Suddenly vulnerable under his hooded stare.

Then, before your brain can scramble for coherence, the raven-haired man leans over. He presses a kiss.

Right on your sex.

A sound between a mewl and a whimper escapes your lips.

You gape at him. He smirks back, thoroughly satisfied.

Slowly, he hoists up until his lips hover yours once more and at this point, you're pretty sure you're dead. What with the speed of your heart rate practically vaulting out of your chest.

"Well," he murmurs while one of his hands keep tracing up and down your side, "I guess I can leave you to ogle at your kpop boys--"

His words are interrupted by you shooting out to grab his t-shirt, pulling him down to kiss him. And oh, does he kiss back like a starved man, grunting and growling as your fingers tangle up in his locks to pull him even closer as your teeth sink upon his bottom lip. He gasps.

You pull away slowly then --merely coming up for air -- and gaze into his dark, bottomless orbs, "the only one I'm gonna ogle tonight is you."

His breath halts for a minute. He stares at you, eyes darting back and forth between your eyes and your lips.

And then, a crooked grin spreads across his face.

"I like the sound of that."

[throughthewwods]

RB and I sit cuddled up on the couch with our sketch pads. The graphite plum tree growing on my paper is deceptively tranquil. The breeze from which the tiny lanterns dangle is my exhale, warding off an anxiety attack, breathing deep, slow, through my otherwise bottled distress. Such a peaceful scene as I remember why I do not allow myself to fully feel these days.

There is too much. and.. for now, it hurts too much to hold it, myself, in my arms. 

I can only hope that someday there will be less to carry.

I want to be present with RB, cherishing this adorable moment plucked from my fluttering daydreams of what love will be on a Tuesday afternoon once I found my person. I want to relax, but it’s hard to forget the monumentous hourglass pressing on my throat.. RB caresses my cheek as I fall into the rippling husk of my “I’m fine. Everything is fine” plum tree. I want to cry, but can’t. I sigh, soothed, half rest my head on his chest, rest my eyes into his warmth as he sketches a robotic cat. He smells like bonfire and sweet brandy cologne.

My spunky kiddo emerges from her room. She is an ecstatic chatterbox. I invite her to bring her own sketchbook out to join in drawing with us, quietly. There is something about everyone together on the sectional doodling away, sleepy puppy in the corner,  electronic lounge on low, which makes me feel more like things will somehow be ok.

 kiddo has finished her swag comic of GSD. I am irritated trees have so many leaves. RB has abandoned his robotic cat. So... I decide to start the drawing game where everyone adds a little bit of nonsense until whatever ridiculousness  seems finished.  Everyone is giggling at our concoction.

RB looks as though he could fall asleep at any minute. I urge him to take a nap. At first he declines, I think disliking driving all the way here to see me just to disappear in my room, but then in an instant of exhausted inspiration, he agrees. I’m really glad that RB appreciates, but doesn’t take advantage of my empathy. Reading people is kinda my super power, but I’m not perfect. I miss stuff sometimes. I don’t always get it right. I hate it when people have expected me to be a mind reader about their wants and needs.

Kiddo and I continue adding to the silly cartoon. She shares with me more of her ongoing cat’s diary. 

Later I joke with RB that this is the next progression of our relationship: Sharing space while doing our own thing.  We laugh, but there’s truth to it. Someday when we get a place the time/space we share won’t always be focused on each other. It Can’t nor should it be.  Codependence isn’t cute 😝

I whipped up everybody turkey sandwiches for dinner. Easy Peezy.

As I came around the corner I saw Kidfo and RB hug good night, which was heart melty. I’m glad my lil reassuring talk with him the other night helped alleviate that weirdness like two people intersecting in a hallway clumsily shuffling around each other unsure what to do. It’s been almost funny watching them stand there on the brink of hugging, but then no one makes the first move, so they wave goodbye before the idleness gets awkward.

[lightsupinthenorth]

Read me like an open book part 1/2

Hey! :) Here is the first part of a two-part (at least I think ah ah) Harringrove fanfiction. It’s set a few years after the events of the third season (which Billy survived, obviously ^^). It starts on Steve’s birthday just because it’s my birthday today :p 

I hope you’ll enjoy ;) 

*

Read on AO3 

“It’s presents time, bitches!” Robin said, getting up from the floor, where Steve was still sprawled with Billy half-laying on top of him. 

They might have overdone it a little on the weed. Steve didn’t really care, though. He was relaxed and happy. So far, his twenty-first birthday had been the best birthday ever. Robin and Billy had organized a surprise gathering in their shared flat, inviting the kids, Nancy and Jonathan, as well as Joyce and Hopper. After everyone had left earlier in the evening, Robin had gone to her room and had come back with a bag of weed bought by Billy and her for the occasion, and they had gotten positively baked. 

Billy and Robin had insisted to give him his present when it was just the three of them instead of doing it at the same time as the others. When Steve had seen the weed, he had understood why. So, he was confused when Robin mentioned presents. 

“What presents?” 

“Your birthday presents, dingus. I know you’re high right now, but I didn’t think you were high enough to forget your own birthday.” Robin cackled. 

“Hey, I haven’t forgotten. I just kinda thought… wasn’t the weed the present?” 

“Pfff, no.” Billy replied. “What kind of present would that be? As if we didn’t already smoke weed on the regular.” 

He made them sound like potheads. They didn’t smoke that often… Then again, it did happen more frequently than their respective birthdays. 

“Yo, Buckley, can you go to my room and fetch my present for Steve too, now that you’re at it. It’s in the drawer of my bedside table.” Billy yelled, a lot louder than was necessary considering Robin was just in the next room. 

Steve whined. Billy’s voice was reverberating in his head. 

“Sure, you lazy fuck.” She yelled back, just as loud. 

They were so noisy!

“Open mine first!” Robin said as she sat down on the floor again, extending a rectangular package. 

Steve had to detangle himself from Billy, ignoring his mumbled complaints, before he tore into the brightly colored wrapping paper. He uncovered a thick book with a beautiful cover representing a sky full of stars. It was titled Long live the King. 

“I know you’ve taken to reading, these days, and this novel is amazing.” Robin assured. 

“It’s really not that good.” Billy grumbled, with a roll of his eyes.  

“Oh, you read it too?” Steve asked. 

“Uh… yeah, I did.” 

Billy was staring at Robin when he said it. And he was frowning. 

“Don’t listen to him, Steve, he’s being a buzzkill. You’re going to love it.” 

“I’m sure I will. Thanks Rob.” Steve hugged her.

He hoped Billy would still agree to help him with the book, even if he didn’t like it much. Ever since he knew Steve had trouble with written words, Billy would read to him all the time. It had become their thing. Steve loved his voice. Well, Steve loved everything about him, but that was off topic. 

“Now, here’s Hargrove gift.” 

Robin basically dropped the gift in Steve’s lap. The wrapping paper had multi-colored stars on it. Steve unraveled it carefully and found a set of pencils and a beautiful sketchbook. Billy and Robin’s gifts kind of coordinated aesthetically speaking, which was nice. Indeed, on the cover of the notebook was a drawing of the night sky, with the sea represented underneath. “My sea of stars”, was written on the front. 

Steve used to doodle distractingly during class. He’d been doing it since primary school. After he had graduated, his doodling habit had spread to his daily life. He would draw lines absentmindedly while he was on the phone or trace random shapes on discarded pieces of paper when he was watching TV but was too fidgety to focus. He hadn’t been seriously committed to drawing, though. He had only started making it into a real hobby after Starcourt. Billy had been the one to suggest it, in fact. After he’d literally come back to life, Steve and he had become good friends, and Billy had noticed his little habit and had bought him a sketch pad. Drawing helped Steve a lot. Gave him something to do when he was feeling restless, which was the case more often than not after the whole ‘Upside-Down and co’ experience. 

Steve was frustrated by his lack of technique, at first, and had almost given up on several occasions. But Billy had always been there to cheer him up and keep him going. He was certain Billy hadn’t even realized his compliments and encouragements had prevented Steve from calling it quits at least a dozen times. They spent hours together in their living room, on the couch, Steve drawing while Billy wrote in his huge notebook, with his feet on Steve’s lap. Steve was eager to spend many more hours that exact same way, drawing on the new sketchbook Billy had offered him. 

“It’s… it’s really nice, Billy. I love it. Thank you.”  

“You’re welcome, Pretty boy.”

They hugged, and Billy didn’t let him go, half-climbing on him again as they laid back down. 

“Ugh, guys, seriously, get a room.” Robin complained, which led to Steve blushing and Billy flipping her the bird. 

Steve would have attributed Billy’s behavior to the weed, but they had gotten more and more tactile since the beginning of their friendship about two years prior, so the weed didn’t have much to do with it. Except that maybe Billy would have waited for Robin to go to bed before attaching himself to Steve like a koala, if he hadn’t been high.

Either way, Steve was far from complaining: the more Billy touched him, the better. 

Before he went to bed that night, Steve took his secret sketchpad – the one in which he drew his best friend page after page (like an obsessed creep) – from under his mattress, and drew the version of Billy he had seen earlier: high Billy, with his lax body and hazy eyes.

A few minutes after putting his paper shrine back in its usual hiding spot, Steve fell asleep with a smile on his face, and the smell of Billy’s cologne on his own skin. He hoped all his birthdays to come would be similar to this one. 

*

When Steve got up the next morning, Billy and Robin were eating breakfast in the kitchen. 

He heard Billy say:

“Stop it, Robin. I can’t tell him, I just can’t.” 

It made no sense to him, since he had missed the beginning of the conversation, but his interest was picked. 

“You can’t tell who, what?” He asked as he went to the cupboard to get his favorite cereals. No way he would eat oatmeal like Robin and Billy. What a depressing way to start the day. 

“I, uh…” Billy started. Robin interrupted him, though: 

“He can’t tell his coworker that his new haircut looks stupid.” 

“Yeah… ‘Cause it would be mean, you know.” Billy added, before putting a huge spoonful of oatmeal in his mouth. 

“Uh… well, it’s true. It wouldn’t be a very nice thing to say, Rob.” Steve agreed. 

He put his box of cereals on the table and sat down next to Robin, in front of Billy, who was looking intently at his bowl.  

“Why do you think Billy should tell the poor guy his hair looks weird?” 

If anyone said that to Steve, he’d be devastated. That was for sure. 

“So he can let his hair grow back and have it cut in a more flattering way.” Robin explained. “It would be doing him a favor, in my opinion.”  

Steve hummed. “Makes sense”, he said. He was more focused on his fruit loops, though. It wasn’t like he cared about the guy anyway. He hadn’t even met him. 

Robin hadn’t either, so Steve didn’t know why she was so pressed on Billy giving him hair advice. Whatever floats her boat, he thought. 

His roommates were weird, sometimes. Nothing could be done about it. 

*

The next weekend, Steve and Billy were both off from their respective work, and Steve really wanted to start reading the book Robin had gotten him for his birthday. 

Billy was occupied with a novel of his own next to him, and Steve didn’t want to be a burden, so he started reading on his own. After a few pages, he was already hooked, but he got tired quickly, as he always did. Frustrated, he fidgeted a bit on the couch and brought the book closer to his face, as if it would help the words stop swimming in front of his eyes. 

Billy sighed. 

“What’s up, Pretty boy?” He asked, only then looking up from his own reading.

“I just… would it be okay… would you read to me? Please.” 

Billy sighed again, a bit louder. Steve’s face fell. It wasn’t that big of a deal, but Steve always looked forward to Billy reading out loud to him. 

“Sorry… I know you don’t like this book… I’ll ask Robin to read it to me when she gets home.” 

“No! I… I’ll do it, I’ll read for you. I really don’t mind.” Billy exclaimed. 

Steve was agreeably surprised by the amount of enthusiasm Billy displayed and he smiled at him when he handed him the book, letting their hands brush. 

“Thank you!” 

Steve kissed Billy’s cheek and laid his head on his shoulder.

“Don’t mention it, Pretty boy.”  

“Sure, I’ll mention it. It means a lot, you know.” 

Billy cleared his throat. “Right… if you say so.” 

Steve could feel the heat of Billy’s blush. 

He always downplayed the nice things he did, but Steve wouldn’t have it. He would keep showing Billy he was grateful for every little (and not so little) attention. Declaring his undying love to him would be a very effective way to make Billy realize how much Steve really appreciated him, but that would also do a lot more harm than good. Steve had to focus on the big picture, here. 

Billy began to read where Steve had stopped, and if Steve didn’t already know Billy disliked the book, he wouldn’t have been able to tell at all. He put his heart into it as he always did. Not only that, but Steve felt like Billy’s voice held even more emotion than it usually did. 

Steve fell into a sort of trance. The story was told in first person, from the point of view of a magician in a fantasy land, and Steve imagined himself as the narrator. In his mind, he could see everything Billy was describing: the village, the fields, the magnificent castle surrounded by a dark forest in which creatures lurked, the King who lived in the castle and whom the enchanter was secretly in love with.

Hours passed before Billy stopped reading. Still, Steve had to refrain himself from begging for one more chapter. He couldn’t be greedy; he didn’t want Billy to tire of him. 

“Here you go, Stevie.” 

“That was great. You’re the best.” 

“It’s just reading, Pretty boy. I didn’t hang the moon.” Billy mumbled. 

Steve nearly said “You might as well have”, but said: “It’s far better than ‘just reading’”, instead. That was a close call. 

They went to the kitchen to make dinner, and Robin came home from work right before the oven beeped. 

Steve ate his meal slowly, without really tasting it, and he didn’t say much, letting Robin and Billy do most of the talking. He was still somewhere far away, in a fantasy land ruled by a beautiful king. And, if the king was a carbon copy of Billy, it was nobody’s business but Steve’s. 

*

On Thursday, Billy went to Indianapolis, and Steve went with him. Apparently, Billy had been asked by his boss to go check and fix a few collection cars over there, and Billy had invited Steve to come with him. Said it would be fun. They’d spend the morning together and Billy would go to his work appointment after lunch.  

“Not that I’m not glad to have the opportunity of going on a fun little trip or anything, but couldn’t that guy find a garage in Indianapolis to take care of his cars? There must be more than a few.” Steve asked Billy, who had just started the car. 

“That’s because I’m the best in fucking Indiana, baby.” He said with a cocky grin. 

Steve rolled his eyes but couldn’t hold back his fond smile. 

“Right. Forget I asked.” 

“To answer more seriously, I don’t really know. But who gives a fuck? The guy paid extra… I mean like, a big wad of cash. So, fine by me.” 

Billy shrugged. 

Steve found it quite weird, but it was fine by him too. It wasn’t any of his business, anyway: he was just tagging along. 

He turned the radio on, and then Billy and he bickered for ages about what station to choose. That was somewhat of a tradition every time they were in a car together. 

“I’m driving, so I choose. It’s driver’s privilege, Pretty boy. Suck it up.” 

“But that’s not fair!” Steve whined. “You insisted to drive, it’s not like I had a choice.” 

“Too bad. You lose anyway.” 

Steve crossed his arms over his chest and pouted, making Billy laugh. The cold bastard. 

When they arrived in Indianapolis, Billy parked, and they chose a direction at random to go wander. Steve got caught up in some window-shopping, stopping abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk to stare at the newest Adidas sneakers behind the glass. 

Steve used to be given everything he wanted. Well, everything he wanted that could be bought with money. Now that he didn’t speak to his parents anymore and was financially independent, however, he couldn’t afford many unnecessary expenses. These shoes sadly fell into the “unnecessary” category. 

Billy had not immediately noticed Steve had stopped walking, so he had to go back on his tracks a little. 

“Hey, Stevie, give a guy a warning, would you? I turned to talk to you and you were not there anymore.” 

“Sorry, sorry. I was just… I wanted to take a look at these.” Steve pointed at the shoes. “I don’t know why I did, anyway… it’s not like I’m gonna buy them.” 

“Right… it’s fine. Let’s go get lunch, Pretty boy.” Billy said, steering him away from the shop, but not without giving the shoes a good look himself. 

They ate burgers and fries in a greasy joint they had stumbled upon. The food was pretty good. As a testament to that, Billy kept trying to steal fries off Steve’s basket. At first, Steve batted his hand away, but he gave up after a while. When Billy gave him a wide smile after finally succeeding, Steve couldn’t even be mad at him. He’d gave up all the fries in the world if it meant seeing Billy smile like that. Steve smiled back at him. 

In the afternoon, while Billy was at work, Steve went to a coffee shop and bought a cappuccino for himself, and a giant raisin oatmeal cookie to go for Billy. He grimaced a little as he ordered the latter. Billy really had weird tastes, sometimes. 

He sat down at a table and put the cookie in his backpack, before taking out his book. He progressed slowly, really slowly, only managing to read a chapter before he had to meet Billy back at the car. Yes, Steve had trouble with reading to begin with, but the fact that this book was making him emotional was not helping him read it any faster. 

He related to the narrator a lot. He, too, was in love with someone close to him yet unreachable. He, too, had to admire them in silence. And the object of his love was as beautiful and as brave as the King was described to be. The only difference was that the King was said to have brown hair and eyes.  

What the characters were going through also reminded him of what had happened because of the Upside-Down, in some way. Life in Hawkins was (or at least had been) so strange that it looked like something out of a fantasy novel. How wild was that? Steve mused, as he was waiting for Billy near his car. 

When Billy made it to the car, he was carrying a thick brown envelope in his right hand and a paper bag in the left. 

“Want some help with all that?” Steve asked. 

“Uh… No, thank you. I’ll be fine.” Billy assured, transferring the envelope in his left hand so he was carrying everything on the same side and could fetch the car keys from his pocket with his newly free hand. He opened the trunk and dropped everything in it. 

Steve didn’t bother asking what was in the envelope, or in the bag. If Billy had wanted to share the information, he already would have. Steve definitely wondered, though. 

“I have an oatmeal raisin cookie for you, if you’d like.” He said once they were in their seats, as he rummaged through his backpack in search of it. 

“Oh yeah thanks! that sounds perfect.” 

Billy took the paper bag from Steve’s hand as he unparked the car. Steve would have scolded him for eating while driving instead of focusing solely on the road, but that would have been slightly hypocritical of him. 

“Well, that’s a relief, because no way I’d have eaten that if you didn’t want it.” Steve made a face again. 

“That’s ‘cause you have bad tastes, Pretty boy.” Billy said, taking a big bite of the cookie and putting crumbs everywhere. 

Steve laughed. If only Billy knew how much Steve loved him, he would certainly backtrack on what he had just said.

“It’s delicious, you don’t know what you’re missing.” Billy said in between bites. 

Steve was watching him with a sad smile, glad that Billy’s eyes were on the road and not on him. It took him a few seconds to reply. 

“Oh I know, believe me. I know.” 

*

The next morning, when he woke up, Steve found the brown paper bag Billy had come back with at the foot of his bed. What the…? 

The idea of Billy sneaking into his room during the night to put it there made something tighten in his chest, but Steve was mostly preoccupied with finding out what was inside the bag. 

He basically jumped out of bed, which was very unusual of him (he was the exact opposite of a morning person), and reached for the bag. There was a box labelled Adidas in it… no way! Steve opened it with shaky hands and his jaw dropped. 

What… how… why? Steve was confused. Billy had gotten him the sneakers he’d been looking at in the shop window. How had he paid for them? Why would he spend so much money on Steve? Especially so soon after his birthday… This was far too much. 

Steve exited his room quicker than he would have if it had been on fire. 

“Billy!” Steve might have called his name slightly louder than he meant to.

Billy, who was sitting at the breakfast table with his back to Steve, jumped and put a hand over his heart. 

“Damn, Pretty boy, calm down. You nearly gave me a heart attack.” 

“What the fuck?” 

Robin darted her eyes between the two of them and announced: “I’ll leave you to it”, before retreating to her room with her bowl of disgustingly bland oatmeal. 

“What gives, Stevie?” 

“You know what, Billy. The shoes. What the fuck? Why did you buy them?” 

“Isn’t that obvious? You wanted them, and I wanted you to have them. It’s not that big a deal.” Billy was not looking at him as he spoke. 

Steve’s heart nearly melted. Because that was so fucking sweet of Billy to do what he did, and then say something like that. He couldn’t possibly accept the gift, though.  

“Not that big a deal? They’re so expensive, Billy… I can’t … I can’t just take them… it wouldn’t be right.” 

“Look, Steve… As I told you, my client from yesterday paid really well, and it’s my money, so I get to decide how to spend it, and I wanted to spend it on these shoes, for you. So please, keep them. They’re your size and not refundable, anyway. Either you keep them or they’ll just rot in the cupboard. That’s up to you.”

Steve was almost certain Billy was bullshitting him on the “not refundable” part, but he didn’t argue. It would be no use: Billy always won.  

So, he just hugged him tightly instead. Billy froze for a second, but quickly let go of the spoon he was still holding to hug Steve back. 

“Thank you so much. I don’t know what I did to deserve that.” 

“You don’t need to do anything in particular, Pretty boy. Being yourself is more than enough.” 

Steve was not a crier, but his eyes were undeniably misty. Billy couldn’t keep being so sweet and expect Steve to reign his feelings in. They were on the verge of overflowing already. 

After finally letting go of Billy (not before leaving a kiss on top of his head, though), Steve put the sneakers on. 

“Steve, seriously… you’re still wearing your pajamas.” 

Steve’s pajamas consisted in frayed basketball shorts and a old Hawkins High t-shirt, so it was fine to wear the sneakers with them in Steve’s book. And he wouldn’t take these off until he absolutely had to. 

“So what?” Steve asked. 

Billy rolled his eyes, but his ears were red. 

*

About a week later, Steve’s nightmares paid him a visit. They had left him alone for a while, but Steve knew they’d be back eventually. He saw Billy die again, which was simultaneously his worst and most common nightmare. 

“Hey, Steve. Stevie. Wake up, please.” 

He was shaken awake.

Thankfully, Billy was the one to wake him up from his dream, so Steve instantly knew he was alive and well. Steve threw his arms around him, buried his face in his neck, and inhaled his scent to calm himself down. 

Billy held him close and rubbed his back, whispering reassuring words in his ear:   

“You’re okay, Pretty boy. You’re fine. It was just a dream.” 

Yes, Steve was alright. But the most important thing was that Billy was. That had been the object of Steve’s concern. 

“I’m sorry… did I wake you?”

Billy sighed. 

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t mind, Steve?” 

“As many times as I have to tell you the same thing.”

Billy’s room was right next to Steve’s. It wasn’t the first time he woke Billy up with his nightmare-induced screams. And Billy’s night terrors had woken Steve up a few times too. 

“Touché.” Billy said. “Do you think you’ll be able to go back to sleep?” He added after a pause. 

“I don’t know… Could you read to me again?” 

“Sure, if it helps.” Billy agreed. 

Steve snatched the book from his bedside table and handed it to Billy, who opened it where the bookmark indicated Steve had stopped. 

“You read all this by yourself?” There was awe in Billy’s voice. 

Steve was blushing, but in the low light of his bedside lamp, it was probably not very noticeable. At least, he could always hope. 

“Yeah… uh… I was really into it.” 

He had read about seven chapters on his own, which, added to the ones Billy had read to him the other day, only left three before they reached the end. 

“Steve, you did really good!” 

Steve blushed even harder. His face was burning at that point. Billy sounded so proud of him. 

“It’s not like it’s a great achievement, or anything… but yeah, I guess it’s progress.” 

“Hey, of course it’s progress. It’s a lot, Steve. Don’t diminish your accomplishments.” Billy said in a firm tone.

“Okay, okay. I won’t.” 

“Good.” Billy sprawled on the bed and leaned against the headboard. He then tugged on Steve’s arm. “Now settle down.” 

Steve did as he was told and settled right next to him, resting his head on Billy’s chest and putting an arm over his waist. Steve loved the feeling of Billy’s naked skin against his. When they had first moved in together, Billy wore long-sleeved t-shirts almost constantly, self-conscious as his scars made him. Now, he slept in nothing but shorts. Steve wasn’t the only one who had been making progress.

Billy was barely three sentences into the third to last chapter when his voice broke. He cleared his throat and resumed the reading as if nothing had happened. His voice was now breathy, though. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yes.”

“You sure? We can stop.” 

“I’m sure, Pretty boy. Now shut up and let me read.” 

Steve effectively shut up and Billy got back to the task at hand. 

In the last three chapters, the King lost his kingdom, the magician finally confessed their love and found out it was in fact reciprocated. Then, the narrator described their first kiss with the King, a kiss that made Steve’s chest constrict with longing. The fact that it was Billy’s voice describing it only made the longing ten time worse. 

As Billy read the last words: “He was not ruling the kingdom anymore, but to me he would always be king. My king, my light, my love, my everything”, Steve was on the verge of tears. 

He regularly went through terrifying nightmares and found himself unable to spill a single tear, but this book might do the trick. And okay, it might have been a bit mushy, but Steve was really digging it, alright? 

He opened his eyes and saw a tear stain on the last page. For a second, he thought he had already started crying without noticing, but his cheeks were dry. It then occurred to him that the tear had come from Billy. 

Steve put the book away from him and had to straddle him so they could be face to face. He then wiped Billy’s tears, but they kept coming. 

“What’s the matter, Billy?” 

Unlike Steve, Billy was a crier. Steve had seen him cry a bunch of times, when he’d been particularly tired, or sad, or frustrated. However, there was something he was not getting: why had Billy pretended he didn’t like the book in the first place? It had to be the book. What other reason did Billy have to cry right now?

“I… I’m sorry.” Billy just said before he started properly bawling and hid his face in his hands.  

Steve was even more confused… and slightly panicked. 

“Hey… hey… please, tell me what’s wrong. I… I don’t know what to do.”

Steve circled Billy’s wrists to ground him, but he didn’t try to pull his hands away from his face for fear it might make him retreat further into himself. 

“I just… this book hits me really hard.” His voice was muffled, but Steve could still make out the words.  

“But… you said it wasn’t very good.”

Billy lowered his hands. His eyes were red and puffy. 

“I meant it… It still makes me sad, though.” 

Steve frowned. He didn’t think a book could elicit such reaction in someone who didn’t like it all that much. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Steve wouldn’t have judged Billy, he would have understood. He never wanted Billy to feel so bad, and even less if it happened because of something Steve had asked of him. 

“I should have… I should have said something. I’m sorry.” Billy’s breathing was uneven, and Steve could see his tears threatening to come back. 

“Hey, no. Don’t be sorry. You don’t have to apologize. Just tell me next time, okay?”

Billy nodded and Steve smiled at him tentatively. 

“Let’s go to bed.” 

“Yeah, sounds good.” Billy mumbled. 

Steve turned the lights off before moving from Billy’s lap to lay down. As Billy snuggled up with him, Steve couldn’t help but think about his recent behavior. Billy was acting a tad strange these days. He had gotten a lot better at expressing his feelings verbally in the last couple of years, and Steve was positive that the Billy he knew would have told him the book would upset him instead of pretending he would be fine. 

Steve would have to talk to him when he was more clear-headed. The last thing he wanted was for Billy to close himself off again.   

*

Thank you for reading :D 

[catlliecal]

Cecilia is ready to beat up shit and Bloom is not having it

Or, in other words, a one-shot set somewhere in the second year of the Winx Redux AU by user @drops-of-moonlights  Happy birthday, Drops! Have this little piece! I ran out of time to get it proof-read by someone, so I apologize for any errors that might be there. (Rated G, 1.7k words)

Despite living for a year around magic, there were somethings Bloom never found herself fully digesting. Like how apparently the natural appearance of her eyes was actually included slit pupils and not round ones like she had known for eighteen years. And that she had a sister who used to talk from a mirror via dreams. That took some time to adjust to (at least now they could meet face to face whenever they wanted).

Yet the biggest thing Bloom found herself questioning was her roommate’s plant: Cecilia.

It made sense for the fairy of greenery to have plants. What didn’t make sense is how the plants seemed to die every other Tuesday. And what made the least sense was the one surviving plant could talk and move her leaves like arms and blackmail her caretaker (Bloom swears that she saw Cecilia blackmailing Flora at least once).

It just so happened that Bloom’s disbelief made it very awkward to be alone in a room with Cecilia.

Bloom was busy in her sketchbook, doodling out random drawings. She had begun to include a rabbit hole thought, drawing what she thought her childhood friends Mitzi and Selina would look like as fairies. Yet the plant was making this simple task five thousand times harder.

“That top is horrendous,” Cecilia said, grabbing onto the sketchbook. She had waddled her way over to Bloom’s bed, leaving behind a small trail of dirt. “Do something different.”

“I think it looks fine,” Bloom yanked her sketchbook away from the plant. “So I’m not changing it.”

“If you’re fine with trash, then I suppose you can keep it,” Cecilia said. She then began to look at her flowers as if she were judging a manicure. Bloom let out an annoyed sigh. She turned back to the paper in front of her and continued her project.

Barely a minute passed before Cecilia spoke again. “Man, she’s ugly,” the flower pointed to the drawing of Selina. “And she’s barely any better,” the flower pointed to Mitzi.

Oh, that was it. This plant did NOT just insult Bloom’s friends. No one, absolutely NO ONE was allowed to insult any of Bloom’s friends, and certainly not an overgrown weed.

Bloom dropped the sketchbook on her bed, “You know what?” She began, “I’m getting sick of you.”

“Funny, because I’ve been sick of you for a long time,” Cecilia spat, “maybe you should leave for both our sakes.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” Bloom said. Before any more words could be thrown, Tecna opened the door to the room.

“Could you keep it down?” She asked. “Stella asked for my help studying, and it’s hard to help her when it sounds like you two are about to enter an argument.”

“I’m sorry, Tecna,” Bloom earnestly said. Cecilia frantically nodded, likely in fear of Tecna unleashing her knife roombas again.

Tecna closed the door again and Bloom turned to Cecilia. All Tecna had asked of them was to keep it down. That simply meant that she didn’t want to hear any noise. Technically that meant Bloom could take this knock-off Audrey the second somewhere out of Tecna’s range and all would be well.

And that’s exactly what she did.

•••

Bloom lost count of how long she had Cecilia had been duking it out behind the school. Despite her simple appearance, Cecilia was strong. Like, real strong. So strong Bloom couldn’t help but wonder where this machine of destruction was when the Trix were attacking the school last year.

The two were about to start round six when a familiar voice rang out.

“Bloom? Cecilia? I saw the note and– what are you two doing?”

Flora had found them (along with the small crowd that had gathered) and was just staring at the sight in front of her. Musa was by her side, a huge grin on her face.

“You two formed a fight club and didn’t tell me?” Musa said.

“We didn’t,” Bloom said, “and even if we did, it only started, like, and hour ago.”

“Yo!” An upperclassman by the name Yvonne raised her hand above the crowd. “Are we allowed to get in the fight?!”

Musa looked at Yvonne then back at Bloom. “Have you been charging tickets?”

“No?” Bloom asked, absolutely puzzled.

“You’re missing out on a goldmine!” She said before turning to the crowd. “Listen up! The free trial has ended! If you wanna see the fight, it’s gonna cost a dollar! If you wanna fight Cecilia herself, it’s five dollars!”

What Bloom expected was for people to complain and start leaving. What she was not expecting was for people to raise up their wallets and move to be the next person to fight the crazed flower.

Musa took the cash and settled at the edge of the crowd. “Alright! Welcome fairies of all ages! Welcome to the Cecilia smackdown! I’m your host, Musa Lu! In one ring, we have Bloom “Nina” Peters! And in the other ring, we have Cecilia the Florialinguis! Will Bloom finally be able to defeat her nemesis? Or will Cecilia rise up on top again? Let’s see! Also, I’m gonna need someone to text Aisha and get her down here! She won't wanna miss this! Now, one, two, three, go!”

Well, this was unexpected.

•••

Bloom was watching the current fight– another upperclassman, this one by the name Luan– along with the rest of the crowd. What had started as a simple stress reliever had turned into an event to put professional wrestling to shame. Over the course of several beatdowns from Cecilia, the Winx had collected a huge amount of cash and became even more famous. Who knew a bunch of students were so eager to fight a plant?

As Luan’s fight came to a close, the crowd became eerily silent, the only sounds present soft gasps. Bloom, along with everyone else, turned to see what could hush such an energetic crowd. It turns out the very thing that could hush such a crowd was a young underclassman who had dragged Griselda out.

“What’s going on?” Griselda asked, her glare alone freezing the entire crowd. “I was told students were being put in danger.”

Students looked at one another, no one wanting to speak. Bloom was one of them. The last thing she wanted was Griselda’s wrath. But she was the one who started the fight. Better she take the blame than everyone.

“Ms. Griselda?” Bloom said, her voice slightly shaking. She pushed her way through the crowd to the other side. “I was the one who started this. I had come out here to fight Flora’s plant, and then people started joining in. If you’re gonna punish anyone, punish me.”

Griselda looked directly into Bloom’s eyes. Seconds moved at the speed of minutes.

“Why would I punish you?” She said, her expression softening.

Wait what.

“Huh?” The underclassman said, utterly shocked.

“Why would I punish a fight like this?” Griselda continued, “From what I had heard, it sounded like reckless roughhousing, or worse, that troublemakers from another school had broken in. This?” She gestured over the crowd, ending on Cecilia. “This is the good kind of fighting! The kind that takes off stress and sharpens your skills!” Griselda made her way to Musa, the students in the crows parting like Griselda was Moses and they were the red sea.

“Miss Musa,” she began, “Are you the next to fight?”

“No, ma’am,” Musa replied, “I’ve been monitoring the fight.”

“Take five,” Griselda said, “I’ll run this round while you show us what you’re made of.”

Musa didn’t need to be told twice as she bolted over to where Luan was standing. The crowd began to relax again. Bloom made her way back to the front, excited to see what one of her friends could do.

•••

The fights finally ended when it was time for dinner. Students were bussing with conversations over the dining hall as many tales were recounted.

“What exactly happened?” Tecna asked.

“Oh, ya know,” Must said, “just the normal accidental formation of a school-wide fight club.” She took a large bite of her dinner.

“How?!” Tecna asked.

“Um,” Bloom began, “remember how Cecilia and I were arguing earlier?”

“Yes,”

“Well, she kinda hit a huge button and I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“So you decided to go outside and fight the plant?” Tecna asked, though it sounded more like a statement.

“Ding, ding, ding…” Bloom weakly raised up a fist. “We have a winner…”

“What did Cecilia do to make you so mad?” Flora asked.

“She kinda insulted my drawings,” Bloom sighed.

“Just that?” Stella asked.

“I was kinda drawing my friends from back home,” Bloom continued, “and Cecilia kept criticizing their appearance. I guess I kinda lost it.” She shoved a huge bite of food into her mouth, hoping that the rest of her friends would leave her alone.

“Aw, Bloom!” Stella said, “That’s so sweet!”

“Really?” Bloom said, mouth half full. Tecna looked at Bloom, causing the girl to blush out of embarrassment as she quickly swallowed her food.

“Stella’s right,” Tecna said, now smiling. “You couldn’t stand your friends being insulted, so you stood up for them. Even if your methods used were not the most conventional.”

“Who cares if they were conventional?” Aisha said, “I don’t know about you, but I feel pretty good knowing I’d have a friend willing to fight for me.” Her kind words made Bloom smile.

“Come on, Aisha,” Stella said, smiling, “I thought we already proved that to you with the whole Shadowhaunt thing.”

“I know,” Aisha said, “But there’s something different knowing you have a friend who’d go on a crazy rescue mission with you and knowing you have a friend who’d accidentally form a fight club while defending your name.” She held out her fist, and Bloom bumped it.

“I’m going to need to talk to Cecilia later,” Flora sighed, “none of this would have happened if she just knew to keep her nose out of other people’s business.”

“Please do,” Bloom said, “I do not need another accidental fight club forming.”

“The fight club is dead?” Musa asked. “Come on, you can’t kill the fight club when it’s so young!”

Bloom looked Musa in her eyes, which were watering up like a puppy dog’s.

“Okay,” Bloom said, “we can keep the fight club. Besides, it was kinda therapeutic to punch a plant.”

“Yes!” Musa cheered. “The official Alfea fight club is a go!”

[saturn-u]

south park headcannons

- pete watches really crappy reality tv shows, but only in the middle of the night when hes sure no one's around

- one of the main reasons stan does weights isn't because he wants to keep up his jock image, its so that when he walking around and sees a really big dog he can pick it up. he believes that no dog should go unloved, no matter the size

- butters keeps a journal of all the crazy shit that happens in south park that no one, besides a few people, know about. he plans on making some books about some of the scenarios when he has the time. but he just hasn't gotten around to it.

- sometimes kenny goes wandering into the forest near his house and doesn't come back for days. even though his parents don't remember when he died of his terminal illness they still get a feeling of dread when he doesn't come back. kevin and his dad always lecture him while karen and his mom ends up shedding a few tears. they're all just glad hes back and hes stopped doing it so often.

- one time kenny went on a rant near tweek and stans group talking about how hes immortal ad while everyone called him crazy, tweek has always remembered 

- jimmy is a art hoe (thanks @fsouth-park-is-imaginative ;) )

- tweek has a super high pain tolerance. he burned his hand on the stove in front of token once and he didn't notice until token started to freak out a little which caused him to go into panic mode.

- wendy has a obsession with washi tape. she has a rack (that was originally for jewelry) for them which has  about 30 crammed in.

- craig doesn't just love hamsters, he really like birds too. once he went to a zoo in fifth grade and saw one that looked exactly like him (color scheme wise) and has felt a special connection with them ever since.

- if you look through stans backpack you can find super rushed, but cute, comics of him and his crush. Kyle saw stan try to force his binder in his backpack for more than five minutes in the school library and got so angry that he stood up and snatched his backpack and, not caring about stans protests dumped everything on the table. Kyle got him a hole puncher and binder so he could put them all in there so his backpack could stay relatively clean. He doesn't tell anyone about it but secretly teases him when their in large groups

 - one of the main reasons kyle would confess to his crush is because it was staring to affect his grades a little to much. Once he saw his history grade go to a B- he immediately sought them out and and yelled at them in a rant about his grade and made it seem like they were the reason why. when they asked why he was he just yelled "BECAUSE I LIKE YOU AND YOU’RE ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT GODDAMNIT" after he said that though he bolted put of wherever he was because it had just realized that he had confessed to them mid rant, there goes his romantic confession ideas he had

- if you ever reach the height of the friendship kyle had with stan, you have the ultimate best friend. You can drag him anywhere at anytime and although he'll complain the whole time, feels kinda comforted that you would want to take him there and if you ever get in trouble he's got the smarts to get you out of whatever stupid hole you dug yourselfs into

 - butters really likes butterscotch and has always wanted to ask his parents if their mind readers, but is to scared he'll get grounded for asking

 - wendy doesn't see kisses between friends as a big deal so most of the school thinks she has a harem and whenever she kisses anyone on the cheek/forehead/hand/anywhere they think its a subtle call that shes added another one to her group

 - token secretly has bandaids in his back pocket all the time not only when his friends get hurt (*cough cough* CLYDE) but hes a huge clutz who stubs his toes on the leg of a table, misses the last step at the end of the stairs, hits his hip super hard on the edge on the table ect,,

 - speaking of token he tried for a week to become more like craig because he hated the "mom friend" status everyone had put on him, he still hates it but has learned to accept it over the years. But of you poke fun at him he wont be afraid to give you a "playful" jab to the stomach

 - tweek sometimes pretends to be way more freaked out than he really is just to get out of stuff, when he's at a restaurant with friends and he has to pay he'll have a mini freakout just so he doesn't have to talk to the waiter at the cashier. He'll pay the person back though, because he still has morals

- if you look at stans pants you can see faint pen lines on them, he doodles on them all the time

 - kyle and kenny have been in the background so much when people confess stuff to other people they have dirt on almost every person in the school, its because i headcanon that when they want to they can blend into the background so easily(but they wear such bright colors like holy fuck) and if you catch them drunk and talk to them they'll practically spill everything they know and then pass out on you 

- craig doodles so much on the sides of his paper that his teachers mark him down a few points because of it (their all just jealous he can draw astronauts as well as he can lol)

 - butters has a sketchbook where every page has a description on practically everyone in the town. It can go from stuff like "they have brown hair that goes to their midback" to "they usually chew on the right side of their mouth??" and on the back page is a full body drawing of the person hes talking about. He would die if anyone found it

- never give wendy a piece of gum, she'll chew so loudly and somehow get it stuck in her hair. And the next day she'll call you and put you on speaker while she desperately tries to get it out with anything she heard works on the internet

 - tweek is a huge fan of late night calls, the poor boy hardly gets sleep so i mean whats the harm im talking while doing so? Hes also happy because he doesn't have to feel the pressure of getting stared at while talking, although the lag that happens in between you two scares him sometimes.

[pizzamaximoff]

The Sketch Artist’s Obsession (Jerome Valeska x Artist! Reader)

Here’s a request for @avengers-and-jedis , I’m so sorry its late I've been bogged down with a bunch of school work and assessments AND Inktober. Again I’m so sorry I didn't get it done earlier but damn I’m tired af. I’ve had to change up a little of the canon storyline just to do this how I wanted to. Just adding in some lil bits to add to the case to fit in with the reader being an artist. BTW they sent me some hella good art of Jerome and it kinda inspired parts of this.

Word count: 2,701

Working in the Gotham City Police department had its ups and downs. Sure it was dark and generally solum with petty criminals being filed in everyday and new cases being raised and brought to attention. That was something Gotham was never short of: crime. Yet with all the misery brought in you can’t help but find it thrilling, even though you were the lead sketch artist you still end up working with the main department, often being present for various interrogations.

It was a a cold day when you first met Jerome Valeska. A light snow covered the city but the office was warm with life, yet it wasn’t a reassuring warmth. More like that of raging fire. Full of anger. Making your way from the break room to your quaint little office you stopped in your track in shock at your surroundings. The department was heaving: an entire circus was literally brought in, their brightly coloured costumes contrasting against the dark office area. Your mouth was slightly ajar, shocked at the odd scene you were witnessing. Detectives and officers kept two groups of the circus workers apart. One clearly being clowns, their makeup heavy and costumes absurd. Judging from the tight spandex of the other groups you made an educated guess that they were acrobats. It was obvious their was some form of family feud going on here. The absurdity of the whole situation made you laugh quietly to yourself. You were about to move to your tiny office when you heard your name being called out amongst the babble of angry performers. You turned to see Detective Gordon waving you over, his face dark and brooding as usual. You weaved in an out of the various people clogging up the department to reach him, letting out a sigh once you emerged from the mass. 

“What is it Jim?” You asked. He smiled lightly at you, the dark mood in his features lifting for a moment. You had always been the department baby, being the youngest there, he had a soft spot for you. “Just as a precaution, I might need you, the victim’s son said he saw a strange individual around the circus but has no idea who he is. An outsider” He spoke giving you a small pat on the shoulder before leading you into the small office. You rolled your eyes at this, instantly certain that your witness wouldn't be able to give you much to go on. It wouldn't be the first time. Placing your work sketchbook and pencil set on the desk you took a seat next to Jim. Looking up you finally noticed the boy in the room. His fiery red hair was parted and swept to the side neatly. Slight sniffles, the lasting remnants of tears, shook his body in every few moments. Your initial distaste was dropped in an instant as sympathy for the boy filled you. He wasn't much younger than you by the looks of it and you instantly felt terrible for him, if you were in his position you wouldn't be much different. “Hi Jerome, we just need to ask you a few questions to help us find out whoever murdered your mother” Jim spoke sincerely with a gentle but forced smile on his face. Jerome, as you now learnt, looked up from the desk. His sea green eyes were glazed over with tears threatening to spill, his nose and cheeks were a soft pink making him look delicate and vulnerable as ever. He quickly wiped his eyes before muttering a quiet ‘sure’. You couldn't help the small endearing smile     you sent him as he glanced over to you. His lips twitching ever so slightly in a shy manner.   Jim began to ask him questions and Jerome answered, clear and precisely. You listened intently but as you did so you were unequivocally aware of how pretty he was. Even in this state he was rather gorgeous. You managed to keep these views hidden, for your face was stoic. However it was when Jim asked him of his opinion on his mothers ‘love life’ you cracked. “Sex is a perfectly healthy and normal human activity, Detective” Usually you would be perfectly fine with this statement but with the lingering gaze he gave you and the faintest hint of a smirk you lost it. Your usually composed face was tinged with pink as you coughed lightly and fidgeted with the papers on the desk. As for Jim his eyes slightly widened before moving swiftly along. He asked of the unknown man and if Jerome had seen him before and where. This was your turn to step in. “As you said you got a clear view of this strange character, I’ll leave you with my colleague here to draw up a sketch of the man. With that it should be much easier to identify the suspects.” With a nod to you Jim exited the room leaving you and Jerome alone. You held your hand out to him with a smile. “Hi, I’m (Y/N), lead sketch artist at the precinct.” He softly held onto your hand and gave it a small shake. It was surprisingly warm, contrasting with the cold office. “We’re going to start with a general shape of the man and then move into the features. I’m going to need you to be as specific and with as much detail as possible so we can get the most accurate depiction, Is that okay?” You spoke as you opened the book to a fresh page, setting out your pencils. “That sounds good to me” He spoke, his voice seemed much more confident than before but you brushed it off as nothing, ready to begin the work.

Around half an hour later you were finished, the process being surprisingly easy and quick due to Jerome’s immense level of description of the man. You looked over the sketch, something about it seemed familiar but you couldn't place your finger on it. You passed the book to Jerome asking if it was correct. He let out a small noise of surprise before speaking. “Wow, that’s him, you managed to get it perfect…” He trailed up looking at you with awe. It was a heartwarming sight and you smiled brightly in response. You simply looked at each other for a moment, it was strange but comfortable yet it ended as soon as it began. You shook your head slightly and stood. He passed the book to you gently as you spoke quietly. “I’m going to hand this to the detectives, hopefully they can catch the guy who did this.” He looked down again sadness seemingly washing over him again. You reached the door and as you were about to leave you stopped abruptly before turning to face him over your shoulder. “Oh and Jerome,” He looked up quickly, eager to hear what you had to say,” If you ever want to talk, my office is the fourth on the left. Feel free to drop in anytime, don’t bother knocking I would love to chat sometime” And with one last smile shared between the pair of you, you left.

You waited for Jim and Leslie to finish their conversation with a blind elderly gentlemen before walking to them, sketchbook in hand. Exchanging a quick greeting to Leslie you turned to Jim presenting the page of the potential suspect. “Jerome says this is what the unidentified man at the circus looked like. I feel like I recognise him but I can’t pinpoint it” You explain to him, it takes him a few seconds before his eyes widen and shock registers on his face. He jogs to a computer, yourself and Lee following confused and intrigued. He delves into some files and soon after a newspaper scanning is brought onto the screen. A missing person of interest. Deacon Blackfire, for suspicion of leading the infamous Hellfire club. You gasped shocked at the sight. “Do you think he killed Lila?” Lee questioned excitement at the revelation in her voice. Jim shook his head, skeptical. “No, it doesn't make sense, Blackfire hasn't been seen in a decade. Its highly unlikely he comes back just to kill a snake dancer-“ You cut him off speaking yourself. “I’m not sure Jim, Jerome was certain it was him. Blackfire has a memorable face, theres not many psychos like him. You’ve got to at least take a look into this, Jerome lost his mother at least give him closure” Jim sighed, you  He was clearly unsure but with you and Lee both pestering him he promised to research into it the next day.

That night, you went home content. Hopeful in the crime being on its way to being solved. After entering your apartment and changing into something comfortable, you boiled the kettle and made a cup of chamomile. Popping the mug on the side table you then not-so-gracefully threw yourself into your armchair, pulling the throw over yourself. You reached for your personal sketchbook ready to express your emotions on the pages. Sharpened pencil in hand you began to draw, built up stresses leaving your body as the graphite dragged on the page. Clowns, acrobats and various characters danced around the edges of the page, you weren't concentrating on the specific subject of your drawings, just eager to create. Once the pages had been filled you placed the book on your lap content with your work. As you looked you halted, there in the centre of the many doodles was a sketch of Jerome. Your palm met your face and a hopeless sigh left your mouth. How did you not even realise you were drawing him? You had been with him for maximum an hour yet he he was forever in your book as a drawing. It came naturally to you, maybe it was his pretty face or gentle sweet nature that was hiding something beneath. Oh wouldn't you like to know what was lurking behind the piercing green eyes. You closed the book and placed it back on the side table. After finishing your tea you prepared for bed for it was late and you were already exhausted. You began to drifted into the realm of sleep, just before you passed over you could distantly hear the buzzing of your phone. Someone was calling you but you ignored it already too far gone. Whatever it was could wait till tomorrow.

You rushed into the precinct a hot mess. Hair was messy and clothes thrown together rather unprofessionally. You had slept in: kept in a blissful dream with a certain ginger. You stuck to the walls, not too keen on being scolded by Captain Essen for being late. You passed Harvey who gave you a quick look over before grinning. “Damn Kid, you look like you just came back from the dead. What happened?” Well at least someone was finding this funny. You rolled your eyes and gave a gruff response. “Slept in” before pushing past, deperately trying to ignore his loud laughter. You loved Harvey, he was a great guy, but damn was he annoying. You walked into your office and not paying attention to your office you walked straight into Jim. You apologised quickly and walked to the desk, not bothering to ask why he was in here. “We solved the case.” He spoke, you pricked up at this, however the dark expression on his face caused your stomach to churn. Did something bad happen, was Jerome hurt? “It wasn't Blackfire who killed Lila Valeska.” He walled towards you a brown case file in hand. Your head tilted in confusion. If not Blackfire than who? They had managed to solve it in the night so it can't have been too obscure a suspect. “It was Jerome.” With that he chucked the file on your desk. The mugshot spilling out. With shaking hands you lifted the photo, gasping in horror and shock. A manic smile twisted his features, this was not the same boy you met in that dark office. You look up at Jim, eyes wide. He held no emotion in his as he continued speaking. “He’s been sent to Arkham, the boy’s insane.” With no more words he left. Leaving you in your shock as you continued to stare at the photo in hand.

Months passed but you still thought of him. You knew it was wrong: he was criminally insane, the boy committed matricide! Yet the attraction never left. He found his way into pages upon pages of your books, getting to the point where you were drawing him at work and hiding from your colleagues. ‘It’s harmless’ you would tell yourself, just a school girl crush. He was locked away so its not like it would blossom into anything. A slightly odd obsession, yes but it would cause no issue. This was the case until you were all called into the main area of the department. A breakout in Arkham, a group of so called ‘Maniax’ were formed, causing chaos in Gotham. There he was. That insane grin, the shocking eyes and fire like hair. Jerome was out of Arkham. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight. Slipping away from the gathering of workers. Your breathing had quickened. Both fear and excitement coursing through your veins. He was out. You knew he was dangerous, yet the ‘love’ grew inside you.

Gunshots, screams, yells of agony and insane laughter. You hid under your desk shaking like an autumnal leaf. The precinct was being massacred. There was nothing you could do to protect yourself, your job didn't permit you to carry a weapon nor have you ever needed one. The best chance you had of survival was under the dark oak of the desk. Luckily it covered all view of you from the door, but it was an obvious hiding place. Your heart was thumping in your ears and breath shallow.  The door slammed open, almost being knocked straight off it’s hinges. Footsteps entered and the door was slammed shut again. Contrary to before your heart seemed to stop as the voice filled your mind. “(Y/N)! I’m back, you did say not to knock!” It was Jerome, his voice dipping with the confidence that you had only imagined you heard before. So that was the real him. “Although you might have to pay for that, does the insurance cover it?” a sickening cake bounced of the walls. It was deranged but in no way did you hate it. You were simply too shocked to respond, frozen in your state of disbelief. His steps got closer, the thin wood of the desk being the only thing separating you from his sight and him from yours. The sound of paper and pages being turned, were all to be heard. He was silent, absorbed in the work. “Well it seems like I have quite the admirer” he chuckled, it was low and raspy, incredibly attractive. A blush filled your face as you began to feel faint. Still without reply he continued.  “You”re as good as I remember, although I did prefer your pretty face to your amazing skills” His voice got closer; he was walking around the desk. His legs came into view. “I have to say (Y/N), this conversation is feeling rather one-sided,” he down to your level, his green eyes met your own (e/c) ones. “And I do remember you stating you’d love to chat.” That manic grin stretched onto his pale skin, which was stained with blood, you were unsure if it was his or another’s. At that moment you didn't care, a bright smile made its way onto your face. Shock flashed in his eyes for a short second. You spoke up for the first time. “I missed you, Jerome”. “Well Princess let’s get out of here” Pulling you out from the hiding spot he laughed again and you count help but join in with him. Deep in your head there was a voice, nagging at you to run, to stop this madness and ignore this obsession, but it was too late. You were already in the grasp of Jerome Valeska.

Sorry if its crap I'm having a shit life atm guys but I’ll try to post more often!!

[crunchie-morris]

Flyin'

Okay, I haven't published anything in f o r e v e r. I've got a prompt in my inbox I'm gonna try and write tonight, but if I don't end up finishing that, I wanted to get something out! So here's an old Jackcrutchie oneshot I wrote way back before I had Tumblr. Enjoy! ••• "Mmph," Crutchie frowned and poked his tooth with his tongue. "Mmph, mmph, mmmph...ow!" "Stop messin' with your tooth," Jack scolded, elbowing his friend. "Didn't you just tell me it hurt like hell?" "Yeah," Crutchie said, still poking his tooth. "But, it's gonna hurt more tomorrow." "Ah, you'll be fine," Jack chuckled. "I mean, you're Crutchie Morris. If you can take on that leg of yours, you can take on a root canal." Crutchie grinned at Jack half-heartedly. Then, he stood up,pausing for a moment to feel the cool New York air on his face. "Thanks. I should be gettin' to bed, though. Night, Jack. See you in the mornin'?" Jack looked up from his drawing for a moment to glance at Crutchie, whose face was etched with worry, as it had been all evening. "Of course. I'm the one takin' ya there, after ya tomorrow, Crutch." Crutchie smirked as left the roof and saluted Jack. "See ya." Jack saluted Crutchie back with one more encouraging smile before turning back to his sketchbook. Crutchie had spent the whole evening refusing to admit how nervous he was for his dentist's appointment the next day. "Technically, it's an endodontist," Crutchie had corrected when Jack had called it a dentist's appointment. "And, anyway, I suppose I'm lucky. If it weren't for Kloppman, I probably woulda done nothin' about my tooth, and that'd be no good. But, he actually paid for this, and that ain't cheap, so I better be grateful." "You got every right to be scared, though," Jack assured him. "Not that you won't be fine, though." A smirk appeared on his face as he added, "You know, the worst that's probably gonna happen to ya is you'll be all loopy from the medicine they give ya. That'll be entertaining." Crutchie grinned and rolled his eyes. "Whatever you do, don't put me on YouTube." "Aw, come on!" Jack feigned disappointment. "You could be the next viral sensation!" Crutchie chuckled and shook his head. "No thanks." Jack had patted him on the back and said, "Trust me, Crutch, you'll be a-okay." ••• "Morris, Andrew?" Crutchie's nervous foot-tapping stopped immediately as he looked up, fear crossing his freckled features. "You'll be fine," Jack gave Crutchie an encouraging smile. "For sure?" Crutchie asked, biting his lip. "For sure," Jack echoed. With that, the two made their way to the front desk. The clerk looked at Jack curiously. "Are you his guardian?" She asked. "You look quite young, sir." "Eh, kind of?" Jack offered. "His bills and stuff are probably marked under Kloppman, that's our group home director, but he's got a ton of other boys to look after, so I'm here in his place. I'm almost eighteen, though, Miss, plus I already got the papers signed by him." The clerk nodded understandingly. "Well, if you've got the papers, that should work just fine, then." "Wait, what kinda papers did he have to sign?" Crutchie asked, trying to hide his anxious tone. "Just some legal things, Mr. Morris," The clerk answered. Crutchie nodded, and quickly said, "Yeah, right, legal stuff, I knew that. Just boring, legal stuff, of course, it don't have anything to do with this procedure bein' dangerous." The clerk laughed good-naturedly. "You're in good hands, Andrew. Don't worry." "I ain't worried!" Crutchie shoved a grin on his face. "No, ma'am, not me! I'se just, uh, reassurin' Jack here." Jack rolled his eyes. "Remind me never to let you become an actor." ••• Jack sat in the waiting room, twiddling his thumbs as he awaited Crutchie's arrival. He had to admit, Crutchie's nerves may or may not have rubbed off on him, so he was now quite antsy as watched the clock. "Mr. Kelly?" Jack looked up, relieved to see them walking Crutchie in. "Crutchie!" He grinned, jogging over to his friend. Crutchie blinked several times as he looked at Jack, before his face turned up in a smirk. "Hey there, Jack!" "He did a great job," The nurse announced. "Now, he's probably going to be a little out of it for the next few hours, but once the medicine wears off, give him Ibuprofen and allow him to ice his face." "Will do,Miss," Jack said, taking Crutchie's arm and heading out. "Thank you!" Crutchie wobbled on his feet, looking down and stepping very carefully. His features turned up in another grin as he said, his words muffled by the cotton in his mouth, "Everythin's all...spinny, Jack." "Yeah, I'm sure it is," Jack replied, giving his friend an amused look. Crutchie tripped over his crutch suddenly, and Jack caught him just before he hit the ground. After the initial shock wore off, Crutchie broke out into giddy laughter. Jack couldn't help but laugh, too. "You need some help there, bud?" He offered. "I can carry ya if you wa-" "No!" Crutchie cut him off firmly. As Jack eased him upright again, he looked over at the older boy, blinking rapidly. "No way. Ain't no one carryin' me...never!" Jack rolled his eyes. "Even all drugged-up, you'se gotta be Mr. Independent, huh?" Crutchie nodded. "I got this." He announced, scrunching his face up with determination. Jack laughed again and the two made their way outside. It took a while, but they eventually got to the car and began on their way back to their home. Crutchie was silent for most of the ride, staring intently at the dashboard. Jack gave him a sideways glance. "You okay, pal?" "If-if we woke up with, with, like, superpowers," He began slowly in a serious tone. "Do ya think that-that we'd, we would all be able to fly? Or like, only some people could, like celebrities?" He paused before adding, "I bet Idina Menzel would be able to fly. She's cool like that." Jack felt a grin spread across his face. "I dunno, Crutchie. What do you think?" Crutchie looked deep in thought. He thought hard before responding, "I think that like...you could only fly if you believe you can fly." "Like in Peter Pan?" Jack asked, bemused. Crutchie's face lit up. "Yeah! Jus' like that!" He silent for a moment more before continuing,"Maybe...that's how things are right now, but no one, nobody...no one thinks they can, so-so nobody can! Ya know? I bet we can fly, but none-no, nobody believes that we can." Jack tried, but ultimately failed, to hide a snigger. Crutchie frowned. "See, see that's what I mean! You don't believe it, you think I'se jokin', but-but...but...what was I sayin', Jack?" As they pulled up next to the group home, Jack snuck a glance at Crutchie. "Flyin'?" He prompted. Crutchie broke out in a huge smile. "Oh, that sounds neat!" He exclaimed. "Yeah, flyin', that would, that'd be cool. That's what I was talkin' about." Jack shook his head at his delirious friend. "Sure was." ••• Once they got inside, Jack helped Crutchie to his bunk. Just before he was going to leave the younger one to rest, Jack heard a laugh from behind him. He turned around to face a massively-grinning Crutchie. "What's so funny?" Crutchie giggled. "You...ya look so funny." Jack smirked involuntarily. "What do ya mean?" "All...all blurry," Crutchie explained, gesturing to Jack. "And the room is still all-all spinny and it's so funny." "Well, I've been told I look quite good when I'm blurry, for the record," Jack teased, sitting on the edge of Crutchie's bed. Crutchie let his laughter die out before softly asking, "Can ya tell me about-bout that place?" "What place?" Jack asked. "The one with all the buildings," Crutchie slurred,, blinking over and over. "The ones with the clay, ya know? And the paintings you make and the green...ya know, the place?" "Santa Fe?" Jack grinned. "That's it!" Crutchie smiled. "Yeah, Santa Fe! I like it when you'se talkin'...talkin' all about that place 'cause when I'm all sad or mad- hey, that rhymed! But-but...when I'se upset, you talk about Santa Fe and then I feel happy. More than happy. Because...it's 'cause I know that you'se gonna keep me safe, 'cause you...ya tell me about Santa Fe, and you don't tell the other boys that much about Santa Fe! And, when we'se talkin' 'bout, about Santa Fe, you tell me the other things that you would never say to anybody else, and I say the things I'd never tell anyone-anyone else, and you never tell the other fellas what I says. So-so, that way, I know you really trust me, so I...I can really trust you. I'se never been able to really trust anyone before, 'cause they all leave. You know that. But, you'se...you'se real different. And, that's just great. So great." Jack felt a smile- a true, genuine smile- on his face for the first time in a long time. He looked at Crutchie, who smiled back hopefully. Laying back on the pillow next to Crutchie, he began, "Alright, I'm gonna need ya to close your eyes." Crutchie obliged eagerly. "Good," Jack responded, closing his eyes, too. "Now, come with me to a place where it's clean and green and pretty, and they went and made a city outta clay." He continued painting the city for Crutchie with his words until he felt a weight on his shoulder. Jack looked down to see that Crutchie was out cold, using Jack as his pillow. Jack smirked and muttered, "Maybe if ya dream hard enough, you can fly to Santa Fe." ••• Crutchie woke up to a heavy aching in his mouth. He groaned and rolled over, ready to attempt to sleep again, when his eyes landed upon a bowl of ice cream and a note on his nightstand. Smiling softly, he picked up the note and read, "Crutchie, I didn't put you on YouTube. You totally would have gone viral, though; you were hilarious. Sorry I couldn't stay with you, I had to go get the schoolwork we missed. (The next time Mr. Pulitzer says I'm irresponsible, show him this!) But, the nurse said to ice your mouth, so I brought you some ice cream, 'cause, hey, it's got the word " ice" in it. -Jack" Below that, Jack had doodled a small, smiling boy with a crutch and word bubble that said, "Flyin' sounds neat!" Crutchie shook his head and grinned. He was just about to roll over and go back to sleep when he noticed a little more text at the bottom. "P.S. I bet you don't remember any of the stuff you said about Santa Fe, but, if you do, thanks." Before going back to sleep, Crutchie quickly jotted down on the back of the note, "I don't remember anything I said, but if it was about Santa Fe, I meant every word."