#the fluff crawlspace

[nerdforestgirl]

“This is the last one,” Amy said to her husband as she rubbed her very pregnant belly. Her back was already cramped up, and Amy just wanted to stay in bed for as long as she could. She wasn't in labor yet, but it couldn't be much further away.

“You know I want thirteen more,” Sheldon reminded her, but it was mostly a joke these days. Being the father to an energetic toddler had really worn away at the idea of fifteen children. Fifteen Leonards would probably kill both of them, and Sheldon was fine with just two. Still, he liked to tease his wife about it.

“You will have to carry all thirteen then,” Amy told him. Her pregnancy with Leonard had gone relatively smoothly. A little morning sickness in the beginning, but that was really it. However, this pregnancy with their daughter had been much rougher on her. She supposed this was why a lot of people do this in their twenties or early thirties.

“Can I get you anything?” Sheldon asked as he rubbed Amy's back. He never knew exactly how to help her, but he did know that her muscles were sore and this helped a little.

“Can you take care of Leonard today?” Amy asked.

“I've been taking care of Leonard since 2003,” Sheldon joked.

“Our Leonard,” Amy clarified. She really didn't need Sheldon taking off to go play with his best friend all day under the guise of some “misunderstanding.” Though at least Sheldon wasn't one of those golfing husbands who just disappeared on the weekends. Well, other than the weekend of Comic Con. That was the one weekend that he wouldn't be around. Luckily that wasn't for several months still. Long after their daughter would be born.

Sheldon just chuckled and climbed out of their bed. He knew exactly who Amy was talking about, and he had no problem spending the better part of the day with his son. Sheldon enjoyed the company of the boy quite a bit more than he'd ever expected. Sheldon thought that Leonard would largely be an annoyance until he was at least old enough to read comic books, but instead Sheldon loved watching the little changes as his son started to become a fully fledged human all on his own.

Leonard was awake and playing with his Lego blocks on the floor of his bedroom when Sheldon arrived in the room. Sheldon assumed this was the case since he wasn't woken by the three year old jumping on him this morning.

“Want to help me make Mommy breakfast?” Sheldon asked his son.

Leonard nodded and ran over to grab his father's hand. The boy didn't speak much, but he'd been through a whole litany of speech therapy. He could speak. He just didn't particularly like to. That was fine with Sheldon. Sheldon knew what it was like to be a bit odd, so he never judged his son for being anything like him. The boy was half him after all.

The two went downstairs to the kitchen to start making Amy breakfast. Sheldon helped Leonard wash his hands before giving him some melon and a butter knife to cut it into pieces. It would be a mess that Sheldon would need to clean up after, but Leonard always looked so proud when he was able to help. Sheldon liked to channel his own mother's patience when caring for his son. If his mother could tolerate the child who took the refrigerator apart to stop a noise, Sheldon could clean up some spilled melon from the floor when his son was done cutting it up.

“What should we do after breakfast?” Sheldon asked his son as he stirred the pancake mix.

Leonard just shrugged his tiny shoulders. Sheldon was thinking about a trip to the park with regular sized Leonard and Howard if the other men were up to it.

Just as the pile of pancakes was enough for the three of them, Amy came down the stairs to join her husband and son.

“Thank you, honey,” Amy said. She loved that Sheldon had been picking up the slack around the house since she had been pregnant. She joined Leonard at the table. She ruffled her son's hair a little as she sat next to him at the table. In the most little Sheldon way, he fixed his hair before setting back to his task of cutting up melon.

“Do you need any help?” Amy asked Sheldon. She looked down at the pieces of fruit that had been dropped by her son. She didn't want to clean it up, but she would if she needed to.

“No. We have this. Right, Leonard?” Sheldon asked his son.

The boy nodded, but he didn't look up from his task.

It wasn't Mother's Day or her birthday. It was just a Saturday and her boys were taking such good care of her. She felt so lucky. Until her back cramped up again and then she felt like maybe she could be a little luckier.

[fort-cozy-mcblanket]

It's that time of year again! Happy Shamy Anniversary! Can you believe it's been 15 years since Sheldon and Amy first met!?

And I've come bearing fic once again for you all. This one was suggested by @raysfixations, who wanted to know more about the time Sheldon accidentally ordered an Uber and "just got in and went somewhere."

I actually had a bit of a crisis when I started this because I'm pretty sure it's not really possible to accidentally order an Uber like that. You have to put in the destination beforehand, it's not like hailing a taxi, so how did Sheldon do that? Anyway, I tried to come up with an explanation. I don't know if it works, but if not let's just say Uber in the Big Bang Theory universe is different from the Uber you and I use here. I mean, it's also a universe where Elon Musk volunteers at soup kitchens, so anything is possible, right?

Also, when I started writing this I had a different idea in mind for how this fic was going to go, but as I was writing I thought of something else and went with that. I told myself I would go back and edit the beginning accordingly, but then when I did I actually liked the edited version less. So you're getting the original version. And I imagine this taking place around mid to late season 6.

Okay, I think that's all the notes I have. Thanks to Ray for the suggestion and thanks to Stark for beta reading!

Enjoy and long live the Shamy!

This is also available on AO3 and FF.Net if you prefer.

The first time Sheldon ordered an Uber, it was an accident.

In his defense, he had only just downloaded the app earlier that day and there was bound to be some trial and error. He thought he was just entering in information to save for later, but then the next thing he knew, a driver was confirming he was on the way to pick him up.

And the destination? His girlfriend's apartment building. Because it was the first address he thought to enter.

His first instinct was to try to cancel it, but that was quickly disregarded. The driver accepted the trip, he was headed to Sheldon's location, a social contract of sorts was already entered. Not to mentioned there seemed to be cancellation fees involved. His only choice was to now get in the car and go somewhere.

Well, not just somewhere. Amy's apartment.

Why hadn't he entered the train store's address first?

His driver, Ramón, soon arrived, and Sheldon was pleased to see his car looked clean, cleaner than some of the other cars he's rode in regularly (e.g. Penny's).

“Headed to Glendale?” Ramón confirmed as Sheldon climbed into the backseat.

“You are correct.”

The inside of the car was also clean but he was less pleased to see the pine tree air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. For some reason, Ramón ignored him when he provided the statistics on how many crashes are caused by view obstructions such as those. Still, the ride was pleasant enough. He was dropped off in front of Amy's building without incident or ceremony, and Sheldon made sure to go back into the app to leave a good tip before he headed inside to surprise his girlfriend.

His girlfriend, who was not home.

Somehow it never occurred to him that she wouldn't be in her apartment, awaiting his arrival, even though he didn't tell her he was coming. What else could she possibly have to do?

«Where are you?» he texted, then was stuck awkwardly standing outside her door the four minutes it took her to answer.

«I'm visiting my parents. It's their anniversary. I told you that yesterday.»

She probably had told him, he figured, but he'd tuned her out. A lot was going on at work right then, she couldn't expect him to listen to everything.

Rather than text her back again, Sheldon instead pulled up the Uber app again and ordered his second ride, this time on purpose. He never told Amy about his failed surprise visit.

XXX

The next time Sheldon took an Uber, it was to meet Amy for Date Night.

He really would have preferred to have Leonard drop him off, but Leonard was being rather ornery lately, always claiming he was too busy with Penny or that he already drives him to and from work and that should be enough. It was getting quite tedious, Sheldon would be bringing it up at the next quarterly Roommate Agreement meeting.

The bus, too, was out of the question at the moment. The last time he rode on it, he witnessed an intoxicated woman seated across from him vomit into the aisle. There weren't enough bus pants in the world to protect him from that. It would be a while before he could deem it safe to ride again.

There was a time when he might have demanded that Amy come pick him up, but he had come to understand that this could be considered a “turn off” for a romantic partner.

Apparently he was worried about stuff like that now.

So, once again, he ordered an Uber to take him to Amy's apartment, not knowing this would lead to a brand new complication.

Amy had decided to cook dinner for him on this particular Date Night, and while she was bringing all the food to her table she causally asked him how Leonard was, assuming he had just dropped him off. And so Sheldon ended up telling her about how Leonard had declined to drive him and all his recent frustrations surrounding this.

“You know,” Amy said, “I could teach you to drive. Then you wouldn't have to rely on Leonard, the bus, or Uber.”

Sheldon's anxiety spiked at the suggestion. This wasn't the first time she'd ever brought this up, but it had been a while and this time felt different somehow. Their relationship was different now, deeper. He realized this was something he could probably trust Amy to help him with, but it was still scary.

“I don't think that's a good idea.”

“Why not? We could go after dinner.”

“That's really how you want to spend Date Night?” he asked, thinking that would surely get him out of it. Usually, when they spent Date Night in her apartment, she liked to finish the evening holding hands on her couch while he picked something to watch on TV. There was no way she'd give up her hand holding time for this, right?

Amy shrugged. “Sure. You were probably going to make me watch some dumb space movie we've already seen anyway. It will be fun to do something different.”

Sheldon stared at her. There were so many things wrong with what she just said, he didn't know where to start.

“Before you say it's not a good idea again, just know that I've already heard all the stories about your previous driving attempts from our friends,” she said. “And I don't care. I've watched you work through some of the most complex scientific and mathematical problems known to man without breaking a sweat. I have full confidence that you can learn to drive too. Provided you have the right teacher, of course.”

She smiled at him from across the table, and that smile was a like laser beam that hit him and crumbled his resolve. That was the problem with Amy; whenever she praised him like that, he found that he wanted to do whatever it took to keep that praise coming, live up to whatever image she had of him. He wanted to be annoyed, but how could he be when she had just stroked his ego like that?

So the next thing Sheldon knew, dinner was over and he was behind the wheel of Amy's car in the Caltech parking lot, Amy grinning away in the passenger seat.

The sun was setting on the horizon, making the sky glow pink at the edges. At this hour the lot was largely deserted and the only obstacles Sheldon had to worry about were the light poles. Still, his eyes skimmed over all the various gauges, knobs, and buttons on the dashboard with trepidation. Amy gave him a full rundown of everything, walked him through how to adjust the side mirrors to minimize blind spots, and reminded him which pedal was which, and yet it still didn't feel like enough.

“Why don't you try taking a few laps around the lot?” she suggested. “Go slow to start out, see how it feels.”

“Okay.”

Under her watchful eye, Sheldon shifted from park to drive, then very, very carefully eased his foot off the brake. The car rolled forward a couple feet.

“Go ahead and try a turn,” Amy instructed. “Pretend there are cars in these spaces and see if you can make it around without going over the lines.”

Sheldon did as she suggested and turned the wheel, easing them out of the space Amy had backed into and onto the main drag of the lot. The whole time, his eyes kept darting around between the view straight out of the windshield, the rearview mirror, each side mirror, and the speedometer. It seemed to take forever, but he made three more successful turns and neared the end of his first circuit.

“You're doing great.”

“I am?” He wanted to look over at her for confirmation, but he didn't dare.

“Yes, you've almost made it back to where we started. Try going a little faster for the next lap.”

Amy's words helped him loosen up. He relaxed his tense shoulders a little bit and allowed his foot to ease off the break some more. The speedometer ticked up from 4 mph to 7. After another successful lap, he managed to get up to 11.

“This isn't so bad,” he said, surprising himself.

“See?” Amy said. “Do you want to try driving to one of the other lots? The street isn't too busy right now.”

“Let's not get crazy.”

“Alright,” she agreed easily. “Next time, then.”

Sheldon swallowed, already nervous about the next time.

He circled around a couple more times, and that's when it happened. He was up to the breakneck speed of 16 mph when a squirrel ran from one of the nearby trees and into the car's path.

In a flash of an instant, Sheldon could see how it would all unfold. The broken, furry body flattened on the asphalt, the blood and guts that would have to be cleaned off Amy's car, and Amy's disappointment in him. She'd say it was okay, that these things happen, but she wouldn't be smiling anymore. It would be like the Glendale Galleria pet store all over again, only worse because it would be real.

Thankfully, unlike with the virtual pet store incident, this time his reflexes kicked in and he slammed the brakes. Amy gave a small startled yelp as the car jerked to a stop and Sheldon froze in the driver's seat, his heart pounding. For a split second he thought he was too late, but then he saw the squirrel continue on its way, darting across the rest of the lot and disappearing into the grass on the other side.

“Um, Sheldon?”

His relief was short lived as Amy brought his attention back to the interior of the car, and he realized hitting the brake wasn't the only action he'd taken in that moment. Instinctively, he had reached one hand over to Amy, holding her back in her seat and combatting the inertia she'd experience from the sudden change in motion.

And his hand was still there. Spread across her chest. Lower than he'd ever gone with the VapoRub.

His eyes went wide and he quickly pulled his hand back, placing it back where it belonged on the steering wheel.

“There, um, there was a squirrel,” he explained, hoping she had seen it too.

“That's alright,” she said. Her voice sounded off and he scrutinized her warily out of the corner of his eye.

“I think I've made enough progress for one evening,” he said finally, shifting the car into park.

“Okay.”

They got out and switched seats without another word, and Amy started driving him back to his apartment. The whole ride back, Sheldon tried fruitlessly to forget what had happened, to forget how she felt under his hand. Her warmth and the rise and fall of her breathing. The softness of her sweater and what lay beneath it. Now that he knew, it couldn't be unknown.

“I'm proud of you,” she told him as she pulled up to the curb outside his building. “And I had a good time tonight.”

She was doing it again, praising him, and he already knew that he would be accepting another offer for another driving lesson from her in the near future. Despite everything.

Perhaps that wasn't a bad thing, though. Perhaps he really did need to start driving himself. Just look what happened when he didn't. His Uber ride brought him to second base.

[cutieshamybabies]

Happy Shamy-versary, my dear fellows! Here's my annual collage about our favourite lovely scientists.

[theromanticrationalist]

"When you make a discovery like this you don’t just take it down to city hall, you tell the whole world!" Asymmetrical Union (2024). @dpillustrations Purchase High Resolution Digital Illustration in my Patreon Shop. The coloring book page art piece is included. Join me on the journey of beholding Beauty by creating with me. . .

[theawkwardanglophile]

Happy Fluff Crawlspace! It's now been 15 years since Sheldon and Amy met. How has so much time passed? 😭 And 6 years since TBBT ended?? It's starting to feel like another lifetime ago.

Today, May 24, is the anniversary of Shamy meeting for the first time, a whopping 12 years ago. I wasn't sure if our Fluff Crawlspace tradition was still happening, but regardless, I don't have anything new to contribute, so I thought I'd bring back my previous Fluff Crawlspace contributions in honor of the day. To any Shamy fans still out there, I still love them and love everything the fandom ever was and maybe still is. ❤

2021

2020

2019

2018

[ghostlynightpanda]

hii I was wondering if u could do gyokko or gyutaro from demon slayee with reader finding them beautiful?? (also I don't remember if I already asked u something so if ur working on that then you can choose to ignore this one or do it's few weeks later)

Under the Streetlight

Synopsis: After years of hiding in the shadows, Gyutaro meets a girl who sees past his monstrous form and calls him beautiful—unraveling his loneliness and awakening a desperate need to keep her by his side forever.

warnings/content: Gyutaro x fem!reader, fluff (I think), 3.691 words

The red light district never slept.

Laughter and music bled from paper lantern-lit windows, casting wavering shadows on rain-damp cobblestone. Perfume mingled with alcohol and the scent of lacquered wood. The district pulsed like a living thing—breathing, humming, wanting.

But not for him.

High above the silk and glitter, in the suffocating crawlspace between rooftop tiles and the ink-black night, Gyutaro crouched. Hunched. Watching.

It was better than sleeping.

Usually, he stayed curled within Daki's body, dormant and drifting through her senses like smoke. She didn't like when he came out too often—said it ruined her rhythm, scared the clients. Her voice always had that biting edge when she said it. Sweet and cruel. "Go back to sleep, nii-chan. You're too ugly for this part of town."

He never argued. Not out loud. But lately, he found himself peeling away from her more often. Just slipping free like mold off old walls. It didn't matter if she got annoyed.

She had people. Clients. Friends. Women who whispered behind silk fans, men who begged to see her smile.

Daki sparkled. The district welcomed her with open arms and honeyed words.

Gyutaro? He lived in the rot. In the leftover corners no one wanted to look at.

So he wandered. Not for food—though sometimes he considered it—but more for... something else. Maybe boredom. Maybe the quiet churning ache that clawed at him when he watched her laugh with some drunken noble. Or maybe—though he'd never admit it, not even to himself—he was just lonely.

Lonely in the way monsters are lonely. Not tragic. Not poetic.

Just forgotten.

He slinked down into an alley, half-shadow and half-bone. His spine curved with the unnatural looseness of something dead but breathing. Overhead, a woman's laugh rang out, glassy and delicate.

Gyutaro flinched, more from habit than fear.

He wasn't afraid of humans. They were afraid of him. Or worse—they were disgusted.

He curled his lip. The walls here smelled like sake and piss. Way different from the perfumes his sister bathed in nightly. He should go back. Let her complain, let her yell about him "ruining the atmosphere" or whatever nonsense she picked up from her fancy clients.

But his legs kept moving. Soft footfalls. No sound. No echo. Just a ghost pacing cobblestones long after midnight.

No one saw him. No one ever did.

And he was starting to wonder if anyone ever would.

He rounded another corner, where the flickering lantern light barely reached the ground.

And that's when you turned it.

Rushing. Not looking.

Bam.

Your shoulder clipped his chest—solid, sharp. He staggered a step, less from the impact than from pure surprise. No one touched him.

Not unless they were dying.

You gasped lightly, almost stumbling. "Ah—I'm sorry! I didn't see you—" You bowed, hands pressed to your sides. "Forgive me."

He stared.

What...

His hand twitched. Instinctively. A sickle began to form in his palm, creeping from his skin like a second thought made manifest. One clean slice. One heartbeat. That's all it would take.

But then you looked up.

And smiled.

Small. Apologetic. Like someone who'd bumped into a stranger in a hallway. Not a monster in the dark.

You didn't recoil. Didn't scream. Didn't flinch or spit or stare at his face like it was something out of a nightmare. Your gaze brushed over him, unfocused, gentle, moving on like nothing about him was worth gawking at.

You just... smiled.

"Sorry again," you said, stepping around him, your voice light, genuine. And then you were walking away, shoes clacking lightly against stone, vanishing into the lanternlight like it had all been nothing.

Like he was nothing.

But not in the way he was used to.

Gyutaro stood there frozen.

The sickle didn't move.

Neither did he.

You had apologized to him.

Not because you feared him, not with that brittle desperation he saw in people who sensed what he was. But like you meant it. Like it was natural. Like he deserved an apology. Like he was just another man in the street.

His heart, shriveled and monstrous as it was, stuttered once—confused.

That smile... It hadn't looked forced.

Not laced with panic. Not tight with politeness. Not the kind people gave when they had no other choice but to survive a moment.

It had been real.

He turned, craning his head after you, body melting back into the darkness without a sound.

Who the hell were you?

He should've let it go.

Just some clumsy girl in the street. Just a stupid smile. Just a nothing-moment.

But it wasn't nothing.

And he didn't let it go.

Gyutaro stayed in the shadows long after you disappeared into the twisting alleys. His body clung to the walls like damp rot, eyes glowing faint and feral in the dark. He should've gone back to Daki, back to the stink of makeup and blood and muffled screams beneath silk pillows. But he didn't.

Instead, he followed.

You didn't know, of course. How could you? People like you never looked up. Never noticed when something crawled along the rooftops like a spider made of blades. You walked with the confidence of someone who belonged. Like this place was yours.

He watched you step through the red-draped door of one of the most expensive houses in the district. The kind with golden lanterns and guards that pretended to be polite. That's her home, he realized. You weren't a courtesan, and definitely not a client. You were something more dangerous—untouchable.

A manager's daughter.

Daki had complained about your kind before—smug little brats born into silk and lacquer, thinking they owned everything because they were born with clean hands.

But you hadn't acted like that.

Gyutaro perched on a slanted roof and watched through a crooked gap in the wooden tiles as you greeted one of the maids with a warm smile, your voice too soft to carry. Later, you passed a crying girl in the courtyard and stopped, kneeling to wipe her cheek. He thought he saw you press a candy into her hand. Just like that.

What kind of game is this?

He waited until the house fell quiet before slipping away.

But he came back the next night.

And the one after that.

It became routine. No—it became ritual.

Gyutaro watched you from the shadows every evening, crouching in beams or behind crumbling rooftop ornaments. A quiet parasite. A lurking ghost. He memorized the rhythm of your steps, the way you greeted every servant by name, how your smile changed slightly depending on who you were talking to. It wasn't fake, he realized. Not polished or for show. It was real.

And that terrified him.

Because it meant the smile you gave him had been real too.

He learned your schedule. When you left the house, when you returned. Who you talked to. How long you stayed in the market. You always bought the same snacks—sweet red bean buns. You gave one to the vendor's child every time without fail.

Why? What were you getting out of it?

And worse: why did it make him feel something he didn't have a name for?

He started thinking about you when he wasn't watching you. Found himself drifting away from Daki sooner, earlier, hungrier. Not for blood.

For... you.

For that smile again.

The one you gave him like it meant nothing.

The one that meant everything.

He'd watched you for seven nights.

Seven sunsets bleeding into smoky lanternlight.

Seven evenings spent crouched beneath eaves, breath shallow and invisible, watching you drift through the district like a ghost made of soft laughter and apologies. Every step you took, he memorized. Every glance, every quiet word exchanged with others. You smiled at nearly everyone, but none of those smiles matched the one you gave him.

That one was different.

That one was his.

It gnawed at him. Turned his mind raw with hunger he didn't understand—wasn't sure he wanted to understand. Something clawed inside his chest, whispering that one smile wasn't enough. He needed to see if it had been real.

So tonight, he waited in your path.

Right there, beneath the crooked wooden arch where the lantern's light swung lazily, half-sick and golden. The exact place where your steps always slowed, where you always paused to adjust the ribbon slipping from your sleeve.

He timed it perfectly.

Footsteps.

And then—

Bam.

Your shoulder collided with his chest again.

You staggered slightly, and his body went tense, almost bracing for the scream—because this time, it was definitely his fault. He'd materialized out of nowhere, stepped right into your path like a madman.

But you didn't scream.

You let out a soft, startled laugh. "Ah—again?" you murmured, blinking up at him.

There it was. That same smile. Small. Warm. Real.

You bowed lightly, hands at your sides. "I swear I'm not usually always running into people."

He blinked at you, mouth parted but silent.

You tilted your head, suddenly aware of the way he was just standing there. Taller than you remembered, thin and strange—like he didn't quite belong in his own skin. And yet… something about him held your gaze. Not fear. Not disgust. Just curiosity.

"You okay?" you asked gently.

His tongue flicked along a fang, but he stopped himself from answering the first thing that came to mind. The ugly things. The defensive, bitter things. Instead, he shifted his posture—slightly straighter. A little more human.

"I… I was just walkin'," he rasped. His voice was gravel, sharp-edged and underused. "Visitin' my sister. She… works here."

You blinked. "Oh? One of the houses?"

He nodded slowly. "I… wanna buy her out one day. So she doesn't have to work no more."

There. A lie. A sweet one. The kind you might believe.

Your expression softened. "That's… really kind of you."

And gods, the way you looked at him then—like he'd said something good, like he wasn't filth in the gutters—it nearly undid him. His fingers twitched at his side, aching to curl, to claw, to hide. But your gaze didn't falter.

He didn't know what to do with that.

So he did nothing.

"Well," you said, stepping around him again, "Try not to sneak up on me next time, huh?" You chuckled—light, teasing. "Third time's a pattern."

And with that, you walked away.

And Gyutaro—bloody, broken Gyutaro—stood frozen in the lamplight, throat thick with something that felt too human.

Tomorrow.

He would wait again tomorrow.

And the next night.

And the next.

He stopped hiding.

Not all at once. Not boldly. But he didn't slink from rooftop to shadow anymore—not when it came to you. Now he simply walked. Slow and crooked, just like everyone else in this city, as if he belonged. As if he had a place to be.

And every evening, he made sure his path crossed yours.

Same time. Same place.

He'd shuffle by under the warped wooden arch, pretending not to notice you.

But you always did.

"Evening," you'd say.

Just that. One word. Light, effortless.

But it hit him like a heartbeat cracking open.

The first time, he almost missed it—too stunned by the sound of your voice aimed squarely at him again. The second time, he managed to grunt something back. Barely audible. A sound more than a word.

But you smiled anyway.

And then it started to grow.

Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just… naturally.

"Back from visiting your sister?" "Did you try the sweet buns today? They sold out by noon." "You always walk this path, huh? Must be fate or something."

Little comments. Casual nothings.

But you stopped to say them. You stopped for him.

No one stopped for Gyutaro. People flinched. Avoided him. Looked through him like he was a smear on the side of the street. Even Daki only acknowledged him when it was convenient or when she needed something.

But you?

You chose to speak.

Even if it was just about the weather. Even if it was only for a few seconds. Even if you walked away right after, your words still clung to him like warmth on cold skin.

He began to anticipate the moment—marking the slow countdown in his mind until your steps echoed again down the street. His clawed hands would twitch at his sides, unsure what to do. His shoulders would tense, stomach knotting with something that felt like hunger but wasn't.

Sometimes, he even replied. Still rough, still awkward—like every word was a cracked nail being pulled from wood—but he did it. And you'd smile.

Every. Time.

One evening, it rained. Soft and cold. You were walking without an umbrella, arms tucked around yourself. He could have ducked away, waited for another night. But he didn't.

Instead, he slowed just as you passed him, and for the first time, you stopped completely.

"Didn't think I'd see you out here in this," you said, brushing damp hair behind your ear.

He shrugged. "Rain don't bother me."

You nodded once. "Me neither."

And you both just stood there for a second. Not saying anything. Just existing. In the same space. No shadows. No secrets. Just two people beneath a flickering lantern in the rain.

When you walked on, your footsteps slower than usual, he stayed rooted in place until you were out of sight.

That night, he didn't return to Daki at all.

He climbed to the roof of the old tea house instead and sat staring at the clouds, turning your words over in his head like they were the only ones that had ever been spoken to him kindly.

"You always walk this path, huh?"

Yeah. He did now.

It continued with longer pauses.

A heartbeat more here, a question there.

You didn't just say hello anymore. You lingered. Let your steps slow naturally when you saw him rounding the corner. You smiled like always, but now it came with more.

"Rough day today," you said one evening, rubbing the back of your neck. "Clients complaining, paperwork piling up. I don't even work for the house, but I end up doing half the ledgers."

He blinked, unsure if that was directed at him.

It was.

You glanced at him, eyes crinkling. "You ever have one of those days where even silence feels loud?"

He gave a slow nod, unsure how else to answer. But you didn't seem to mind. You kept walking beside him. Not close. Not quite touching. But with him. A few steps shared. A space bridged.

The next night, you told him about your childhood.

Not all of it—just a thread. A detail. The way you used to sneak leftover sweets when no one was looking. The time you got caught hiding in the rafters of the tea room during a performance. You laughed at yourself, soft and fond, like these moments meant something. Like you trusted him enough to share them.

And Gyutaro—he listened.

No one ever talked to him like this. Not unless it was with an edge. A bribe. A command. But you told him stories for no reason. You just wanted him to hear them.

You asked him questions too.

"So… what's your sister like?" "You said you want to buy her free. Do you two talk often?" "Is she younger than you? You seem protective."

He didn't lie—at least, not all of it. He said she was fiery. Proud. That she had her own kind of beauty people couldn't ignore, but that she got lonely sometimes. That he was always watching over her, even when she didn't realize.

Your gaze softened at that.

"I think she's lucky," you said.

He ducked his head. Not used to praise. Not used to being seen as something good.

Some nights, you talked about books. Or your favorite street food. Sometimes you asked what he liked, and he'd fumble through answers that didn't feel right in his mouth. He didn't know what he liked. Not really. But when you smiled and nodded anyway, like his answers were valid, he found himself wanting to know—just so he'd have something to tell you next time.

Each conversation stitched another thread between you.

He didn't know what this was. It wasn't hunger. It wasn't need.

It was want.

Wanting your words. Your voice. The way your eyes held his like they weren't repulsed. Like you saw a man, not a monster.

It terrified him.

And still, he came back every night.

Something shifted.

It wasn't sudden, but it was unmistakable.

You still smiled at him like you always did, but lately… it lingered. There was something else in it now. Not just kindness. Not just casual friendliness. Your gaze had changed—warmer, softer. Like you were seeing something in him he couldn't see in himself.

Gyutaro noticed. Of course he did.

He tried not to. Tried to keep his head low, voice quiet, body hunched like always. But your eyes—damn your eyes—they didn't let him hide. You looked at him like he'd done something good. Like he mattered. Like he had hung the stars and the moon in the sky just for you.

And gods, it wrecked him.

One evening, under the lantern's soft flicker, you asked him something small and simple—what his favorite part of the district was.

He blinked, surprised, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. "Uh… I dunno. Don't really look at it much like that. But… I guess the river bridge. At night. It's quiet."

You lit up like he'd said something brilliant.

"I love that spot. It's beautiful, especially when the lanterns reflect on the water."

You turned your head slightly, looking at him with that same brightness. That same unshakable gentleness. And then your smile curved, softer than soft.

"But I think I like it more now."

His brow twitched. "Why?"

You just looked at him, your lashes low, that smile deepening into something glowing.

"Because now I'll think of you when I see it."

His heart didn't beat often anymore. But it did then.

He froze. Shoulders tensing. Fingers twitching at his sides. That aching, breathless tightness rising in his throat again. You could see it—the way his eyes darted away, the way his whole posture shifted like he didn't know what to do with his body anymore.

You giggled.

Not mockingly. Not mean.

Just… soft and surprised.

"You're getting all shifty," you teased gently. "Are you—are you blushing?"

His jaw clenched. He turned his face slightly away, as if he could somehow hide the darkened flush that had bloomed across his scarred cheekbones.

And you—bold now, teasing, kind—tilted your head.

"You know," you said, voice just above a whisper, "you're kind of beautiful."

His entire body went still.

Not shocked. Not angry.

Just… undone.

He stared at you like he couldn't believe you were real.

You stepped closer, no fear in your eyes. "And cute," you added with a soft laugh. "Definitely cute."

Something in him cracked open, fragile and trembling, like a frost-covered leaf finally catching sunlight.

He didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to say anything. But you didn't ask him to. You just smiled like the sky had cleared, like there was nowhere else you'd rather be than here—with him.

And for the first time in Gyutaro's life, he felt wanted.

It was too late now.

You had wormed your way into the marrow of his being—uninvited, unstoppable.

He used to wander the Entertainment District out of boredom. Bitterness. Loneliness. Now, it was because of you. Only you. Everything else had faded into background noise.

Each time you smiled at him like he mattered… it chipped away at the emptiness inside him.

Each time you called him beautiful—gods, he could barely stand it.

You meant it. He could see it in your eyes. You weren't lying. You weren't mocking him. You looked at him like he was something rare. And it broke him in the best and worst way possible.

So he made up his mind.

He couldn't let you go.

Not back to your ordinary life. Not back to the danger, to the people who didn't see you the way he did. He couldn't bear the thought of you vanishing from his nights—your voice gone, your scent gone from the corners of the street, the warmth of your laughter just a memory.

No. He needed you beside him. Always.

That night, he stood waiting under your favorite lantern—rusted iron with a paper shell painted in faded peach blossoms.

You spotted him before he could speak, already smiling. But he didn't shuffle or look away this time. He stood taller. Straighter.

And then he asked:

"You wanna come with me? Just you and me. A date."

Your smile faltered—but only for a second. Then it bloomed wider than he had ever seen. Your hand rose to your mouth, eyes lighting up as color rushed into your cheeks.

"A—A date?" you echoed, voice breathless. "With you?"

He nodded slowly. A little stiff, a little unsure. But he didn't take it back.

You bit your lip, then laughed softly. "You're serious," you said, like you couldn't believe it. Then you stepped closer, eyes wide with wonder. "Yes. Yes, I'd love that."

Something shattered in his chest.

He didn't know what to do with your excitement, your giddy blush, the way you looked at him like he'd handed you the stars instead of just a question. It hurt—gods, it hurt—to see you happy. Because he knew. He knew what he was planning.

But he couldn't stop himself.

If this was what it took to keep you—to keep you looking at him like that—then he would do it. No hesitation. No regret.

He'd take you away. Make you his. Change you.

If that was the price for your love, for your voice calling him beautiful again, again, again—

Then he'd pay it.

Willingly.

Masterlist

[highprettybabyy]

Seeing Red

Part 6 - Please Don't Die

jenna ortega x fem!reader apocalypse au

summary: they go house hunting and things go sideways.

warnings: enemies to lovers, typical apocalypse stuff, violence, blood, zombies, gore, maybe angst... some fluff...

AN: a bit more angst because why not

word count: 2.8k

Part 5

—//—

The street was quieter than expected.

That was your first clue something might be off. No dragging footsteps. No guttural moans carried by the wind. Just the low rustle of breeze through trees and the faint creak of an old street sign swaying lazily above the cracked pavement.

You and Jenna slowed your bikes at the edge of the block, shoes hitting asphalt almost in sync. She scanned the rooftops while you pulled the crumpled flyer from your jacket pocket and looked up at the actual house - or what was left of it.

“This the one?” Jenna asked, coming up beside you.

“Yeah,” you said slowly, holding out the page for her to see. “It’s a match.”

Or, it had been.

The front porch had collapsed inward, boards snapped like ribs. One of the support beams was cracked in half, crushed beneath the weight of a massive tree that had fallen straight through the second floor. Glass crunched underfoot as you moved closer, boots skimming along the edge of a splintered welcome mat now buried beneath debris.

You gave a low whistle. “Damn.”

“Yeah.” Jenna frowned. “Looks like a hurricane came through here.”

She crouched near the foundation, lifting a cracked plank with her knife and peering into the ruined understructure. “This place is a coffin waiting to happen.”

You exhaled slowly. “Was really hoping this one would hold up.”

“Me too.” Her voice was neutral, but you caught the flicker of disappointment behind it. She’d been hopeful too - just quieter about it.

Still, neither of you wasted time mourning it. You were already moving - circling the house, checking sightlines, exits, rooftops, scanning for movement. It felt easy. Natural. Like you’d always done this together.

You split off briefly to check the detached garage. Jenna scouted the overgrown backyard, her boots making almost no sound in the grass. She moved with purpose - sharp eyes, quiet hands. You heard the soft click of her rifle safety disengaging for half a second, then a whisper of breath as she flicked it back on.

“No good,” you said when you met back at the front. “Too many structural weak points.”

She nodded. “And there’s a crawlspace behind the fence. Not safe.”

You both paused for a beat, standing there in the soft hum of the late morning, the wind tugging lightly at your clothes.

Then Jenna reached for the flyer in your hand.

“Cons: compromised roof, unstable foundation, one tree through the guest bedroom.” She flipped the flyer over and scribbled it down with a stub of pencil.

You snorted. “Pros?”

Jenna raised an eyebrow. “Nice hydrangeas out front.”

You chuckled, then nudged her shoulder. “On to the next?”

She tucked the flyer away. “Lead the way.”

-

The next house was three blocks down - a squat, single-storey thing with boarded windows and a cracked chimney. You climbed the fence while Jenna boosted herself up with the help of a low brick wall. The gate squeaked but didn’t break.

Inside, it smelled like damp wood and dust.

You moved through it fast - room by room, tight corners, open hallways - Jenna taking point while you swept behind. Neither of you had to speak. You knew the routine. Doors first, then windows. Look for water lines, cracks in the walls, attic space, floor rot, cellar access. Rinse and repeat.

“This one’s clear,” she said eventually, voice low.

“Not bad,” you replied, glancing up at a patch of black mould blooming across the kitchen ceiling. “Still smells like a swamp threw up in here.”

Jenna looked at you, nose wrinkled. “It’s the carpet.”

You kicked it gently with your boot. “What’s left of it.”

She cracked a grin. “We’ll put it down as a maybe.”

You ended up checking four more houses that afternoon.

Some were too cramped. Some had broken locks. One had a basement you both noped out of the second you heard that echo - not quite a growl, not quite a moan, but close enough.

You stopped writing cons by the third one. Started using symbols instead. “ 🐳 = flooded.” “⚠ = damaged.” “ 😵 = smells like death.”

Jenna drew that one.

By the fifth house, you weren’t even trying to be quiet anymore. Not unless you had to. It was strange - moving through the ruins of civilisation with someone again. Someone who didn’t need everything explained. Someone who moved with you.

You climbed through a broken front window while Jenna secured the back door. By the time she reappeared in the living room, you were kneeling over a gutted fireplace, scanning for loose wiring.

She leaned in the doorway and crossed her arms. “You always take the electrical stuff so seriously?”

You looked up at her. “I’m not giving up my coffee machine when we find a house.”

Jenna smirked. “Apocalypse priorities.”

“Say that again when I brew you a cup.”

She held your gaze a little longer than necessary - not teasing now, just curious. You caught her eyes flick to your mouth, then back up. A breath passed between you. Quiet. Steady.

You stood and dusted off your hands. “Not it,” you said, nodding toward the sagging roof.

“Definitely not it,” she agreed.

Back on the bikes, the air cooled slightly as clouds drifted across the sun. The wind picked up. You adjusted your pack, feeling the familiar weight against your spine, and glanced sideways.

“So,” you started. “What do you think? How long do these things last?”

Jenna turned toward you, a brow raised. “Zombies?”

You nodded. “Assuming no head trauma. How long before they just… fall apart?”

She thought for a moment. “Six months. Tops. The fresh ones are strong, but that’s adrenaline. After that, muscle decay’s going to hit hard. No food. No oxygen. No brain.”

You hummed. “I say three.”

“Three?” She scoffed. “You’re optimistic.”

“They’re already rotting. The moment they turn. It’s just delayed. Something in the virus slows it down.”

“And when’s the last time you saw one that far along?”

“Exactly,” you said, smirking. “We haven’t. Yet.”

Jenna narrowed her eyes playfully. “You think you’re gonna win a Nobel for zombie decomposition theory?”

You grinned. “I’m just saying - if we make it to Christmas, they won’t.”

She chuckled. “Bold of you to assume we’ll be around to find out.”

You paused, looked at her sideways. “Well, I plan to be.”

That quiet settled again.

Not heavy this time. Just full.

And when she smiled at you, soft and crooked, you smiled back.

Together, you turned down the next street.

-

The sun had started to sink behind the rooftops, spilling honey-gold light across the street as you pedalled slowly ahead. The silence was changing - less of a threat, more of a hush. A settling.

Jenna pulled up beside you at the end of the cul-de-sac, scanning the last house on the map. She didn’t even get off her bike.

You did.

You stood beside the rusted gate, hands braced on the handlebars, squinting at the peeling paint and crooked shutters. “Well?”

Jenna didn’t respond right away. She was still looking around, but you could tell by her posture - half-tired, half-bored - that this one was another no.

You sighed. “Alright. No more for today.”

She gave a little nod, but said nothing.

You paused. Watched the way her jaw shifted. She was trying not to show it, but the exhaustion was there - in the tightness around her eyes, the slump in her shoulders. She hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of dried fruit since midday. And neither of you had slept properly in days.

You cleared your throat and adjusted the strap on your shoulder.

“My place isn’t far,” you said casually. “We could crash there tonight.”

Jenna turned her head toward you.

You shrugged. “It’s secure. Reinforced. Two-storey. I’ve got rainwater collectors and a half-decent mattress.”

She hesitated, something unreadable flickering across her face. “I’m fine.”

“Really?” You raised a brow. “You gonna sleep in a tree again?”

She shot you a look - but it was mostly smirk.

Then you tilted your head. “I’ll cook.”

That made her blink.

“I’ve got canned potatoes. Lentils. Spices. Some ham. I can do a warm meal. Might even toast the bread if we’re lucky.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You have heat?”

You tapped your temple. “Solar panel battery backups. And I rationed my last camp stove cartridge for emergencies.”

Jenna folded her arms. “And this qualifies as an emergency?”

You grinned. “You look like someone who hasn’t eaten a hot meal since the world fell apart.”

She didn’t deny it.

You leaned closer, voice dipping just a little. “Come on. Warm food. No tree roots stabbing you in the back. Real pillows. I’ll even let you have the couch.”

She stared at you a moment longer. Then: “I’m not cleaning up after.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

Another beat.

Then Jenna swung her leg back over the bike and adjusted her gloves. “Alright.”

You laughed, pedalling ahead. “Try not to starve on the way.”

-

You were less than five minutes from home when it happened.

The neighbourhood was familiar - rows of overgrown lawns, shattered windows, the wind knocking an old windchime somewhere out of sight. You were already starting to relax. The streetlights were crooked, long dead, but the amber glow of the setting sun was enough to guide you. You could almost smell the spices you’d stashed in your pantry. You were already thinking about the lentils. The warm meal you’d promised her.

You were thinking about the smile she’d given you, rare and quiet, like she didn’t know she’d done it.

And then you heard it.

A shuffle. A grunt.

Too close.

Too fast.

You didn’t have time to shout.

It was on you before you could even draw your machete - tall, still heavy with muscle, a face not yet rotted, jaw twitching with feral hunger. One of the fast ones. One of the fresh ones. It lunged with no hesitation.

The impact sent you crashing backwards, your bike clattering against the pavement. Pain shot through your leg - something tore, something snapped - and then the edge of the curb slammed into your back, knocking the breath clean out of your chest.

“Y/N!”

You heard her shout before you could even register where she was. Your vision blurred as the weight pressed down on your abdomen, hot breath on your throat, teeth snapping inches from your face.

You screamed.

Your hand found your blade.

Instinct took over.

You shoved upward with all the strength left in your arms, the machete piercing through the side of its neck - not clean, not deep enough to kill, but enough to send it reeling.

Then Jenna was there. She moved like a strike of lightning - her rifle swinging down too close to your ear, the butt slamming into the zombie’s skull with a sickening crack. You heard the sound of bone giving way. The creature dropped, twitching once before going still.

Everything was silent again.

Except for your breathing - ragged. Sharp. Wet.

And the pain.

Oh God, the pain.

You curled sideways, arms wrapping tight around your midsection, but the burning in your abdomen was already spreading. You touched your side, and your hand came away soaked.

Jenna dropped beside you in an instant. “Shit. Shit- Y/N- where are you hurt? Where-”

“I don’t-” you panted. “Leg… side- fuck-”

“Okay. Okay, I’ve got you. Just-just breathe, alright?”

You were already trying not to pass out. The world kept tilting. Black dots danced at the edges of your eyes.

Jenna pressed a cloth - something, her sleeve maybe - to your stomach. “Stay with me. Where’s your place?”

You blinked, blinking hard, trying to focus on her voice. “Two streets down. White siding. Solar panels.”

She looked up. Calculating.

“I can get us there,” she muttered. “But you have to stay awake, alright?”

You groaned. “No promises.”

She ignored that. Her hands were already under your shoulders.

The pain was indescribable when she moved you. Your leg throbbed, your vision went white, and you screamed - not just noise, but a sound torn out of you like it didn’t belong to anything human. Jenna flinched but didn’t stop.

“I’m sorry,” she kept whispering. “I’m sorry. Just hold on. I’ve got you.”

You couldn’t walk, not properly, but you gave her directions between choked breaths.

“Left… behind the blue car…”

“Yeah, I see it. We’re close. You’re doing so good, Y/N. Just a little more.”

Every step was a fight not to black out. You kept blinking, forcing your mouth to stay open, kept talking just to make noise. Your ears rang. Your ankle felt like fire. You were fairly certain you’d torn something deeper than you wanted to admit.

Jenna kicked the door open when you finally reached your house.

You didn’t even register the stairs.

You didn’t remember the couch.

You remembered Jenna’s boots slamming against the tile.

The sound of your own breathing - gasping, hitched, like your lungs couldn’t decide what they wanted.

Then there was fabric. The scratch of the blanket. The cold against your back. You were lying down. Your eyes fluttered open for a second, catching the ceiling above you - cracked paint, water stain, familiar. Home.

“Stay with me,” Jenna was saying. Over and over. Her voice was everywhere. Beside your head. Near your stomach. Somewhere by your hands.

You tried to speak. Only managed a whimper.

She was kneeling next to the couch now, her backpack already tossed aside. “Where’s the kit? Y/N, talk to me- where is it?”

“Pantry,” you rasped. “Bottom shelf. Behind… the rice.”

She was up before you finished the sentence, vanishing into the back of the house with heavy, frantic footsteps. You blinked slowly, the world pulling in and out like a tide. Your fingers curled weakly against the couch cushion. It felt like something was leaking from you - not just blood, but strength. Time. Whatever thread you were holding onto was fraying fast.

Jenna returned in less than a minute, the kit slamming onto the glass coffee table hard enough to rattle it. She pulled it open with trembling hands, her gloves discarded, hair sticking to her face.

“I need to see it,” she muttered. “I need to see.”

You didn’t argue.

You didn’t have the energy.

She peeled up your shirt. Her breath caught.

“Oh my God.”

It was bad. You’d seen enough injuries in the last two months to know. The wound across your abdomen wasn’t just deep - it was jagged. Torn. The blood had already soaked through half your shirt, down the side of your hip.

Jenna’s hands hovered over it, then shook once before she snapped on latex gloves from the kit.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Okay. We’re fine. You’re fine.”

You weren’t. And she knew it. But you let her say it anyway.

She cleaned the area - iodine, gauze, more gauze, more blood.

Then she picked up the needle.

You flinched.

“Y/N.” Her voice cracked. “I need to stitch this.”

“I know,” you whispered.

“I’m going to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to.”

You blinked, tears stinging your eyes. “It’s okay.”

She knelt beside you, knees pressing into the floor, hand on your waist.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Then the needle sank in.

You screamed.

It ripped out of you like fire - a sound so loud, so sharp, it made Jenna jerk back, her whole body tense.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry- please just- don’t move-”

You couldn’t help it. Your body twitched, convulsed slightly as your hand slammed against the back of the couch, trying to brace against the pain.

She was crying now. You could hear it in her voice, even if you couldn’t see her face.

“I can’t numb it- there’s nothing to numb it, Y/N, I’m sorry- I need you to stay still-”

You whimpered, your whole body shaking. “I c-can’t- Jen- please-”

“I know, I know-” She bit down on her own sob. “But I have to-”

She pushed the needle in again.

You cried out, louder this time, a strangled sound that felt like it broke you in half.

Her voice cracked. “Please just pass out. Please, Y/N. Just-just go under, I’ll handle the rest- just let go-”

“I’m trying-” you gasped, hands fisting in the blanket.

“I can’t do this if you keep-” Her voice failed. “You’re going to tear more- God, please. I've got you, I got you, please- Y/N-”

The next stitch went in.

And something snapped - not inside your body, but in your mind.

The pain blurred. The light dimmed.

Everything tipped sideways.

You stopped fighting it.

The last thing you heard was Jenna’s broken sob as she gripped your hand tightly in one of hers, the other still working.

“Please don’t die,” she whispered.

And then-

Nothing.

--//--

Part 7

[luvwlw]

is it time for the annual fluff crawlspace already??? well, then here’s a shamy edit in my language (the song is so wedding song coded i had to use it :p)

happy anniversary to shamy <3

[antimony-medusa]

we'll be shinin' like we're gold

The vantage point Techno had found for the party was high on the wall of this crawlspace under the kitchen, looking down on the big decorative tile that had been designated a dance floor. He had his feet dangling over the edge, a tiny figure against the brickwork. OR: Borrower Techno and Phil celebrate a human holiday.

Status: 1/1 chapters, updated 21 June, 1,199 words

Fandom: Dream SMP

Rating: Gen

Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Characters: Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson | Philza

Relationships: Technoblade & Phil Watson | Philza

Tags: Alternate Universe - Borrowers Fusion, Aromantic Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & Phil Watson | Philza are Best Friends, Gay Pride, no beta we die, Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Fluff

__

And THIS was the first thing I wrote for @mcytblraufest battleship I believe. Hitting "autistic character" and "borrowers au" and "pride" like I can get an idea for that immediately no sweat.

[dnangelic]

Tonight was one of Dark’s ‘off-days’ so they could hang out for a while. The silence between them was comfortable but they couldn’t just spend their whole time together watching the stars quietly! Hm, well actually they probably could but where the fun in that?

Neya’s lying flat on her back on the roof of what she likes to happily deem to as their spot. The walls of the roof were slightly raised and it made for the perfect space away from prying eyes. Staring up quietly at the cloudy starry sky, her hands rest on her stomach while her fingers absently fiddle with one of his stray feathers she’d picked up. A random thought runs through her head: Did Dark molt like an actual bird, it was starting to get hotter these days, so did that mean it time for them to take another trip to the bath house?

She turns her head slightly towards Azumano’s thief, snorting at her thoughts while admiring his side profile for a bit then reaching out with the feather in her hand to lightly brush against his cheek and gain his attention with a grin. “So Dark-san,” red eyes twinkle with amusement. “Answer me this. Would you rather eat a bowl of worms or sit in a pit of spiders?”

@bxtonpxss

it's a lovely night , and he's sat besides a lovely lady , asking him --- well , a not so lovely question in just about any sense of the word . ' ... what ? ' sputter then stare , whatever dreamy and romantic daze he'd found himself absorbed into instantly shattered . suddenly the crickets aren't a miniature orchestra , and the breeze that passes by them still carrying the scent of clear waters feels chillier than before . he's been so bewildered , even his usual brusque addition of "the hell" has fallen right off from his words .

was this supposed to be hysterical to her ? he's caught the sound of her snort just before leaning away from the tickle of his own feather at his cheek . the cold back of a hand lazily bats at its separated fluff away from himself , and he eyes her with his brows furrowing genuine in their exasperated confusion .

' where the heck did something like that come from ... ? ' really , just whenever he started to think a girl was completely ordinary , they'd pull something like this ... and yet rather than feel frustrated or betrayed , there was still the sense of something light ; humorous and intriguing about it . it was new , and because it was new it was interesting , and because it was interesting , he couldn't help but feel willing to indulge . if it were anyone else , he might have scoffed and evaded any answer , but if it was neya , since it was neya ...

' spiders . ' his head shakes . his arms cross and his hands tuck loosely beneath them . dark's gaze too returns itself to the glimmering night sky above , and for a moment , he grins up at it , baring the sharp tips of his teeth in a flash . ' ... don't you know ? some of the places i've had to go through already had me practically sitting in a pit of spiders . old cellars or tiny crawlspaces means you make plenty of friends with aaaall the cobwebs and arachnids treating them like a condominium . '

besides , the idea of eating anything by his own will was still completely unfamiliar to him . sitting in a pit of spiders might have won out even over finishing a full plate of properly made lunch or dinner , and forget what sort of horrible repercussions a bowl full of unspecified worms might have done to his borrowed body's stomach .

' my turn . ' having answered her , he tries to seize an opportunity for himself where he senses it . if it was just a game , he thinks , then there was nothing for either of them --- not himself , his other self , or even for neya to possibly lose . ' would you rather be friends with a well-intentioned liar , or an earnest monster ? someone who means well , but can never tell the truth ... versus an honest personality , even if that person might do bad things . '

a bowl of worms or a pit of spiders . that's how these sorts of things would always be , at least to him .

[nerdforestgirl]

Note: Hey. It's fourteen years since the first appearance of Amy Farrah Fowler, or Fluff Crawlspace if you will. I wrote a thing. I hope you enjoy it. This is not Amy Farrah Fowler enough, but it's what I have. It's cute.

“Go, Leonard,” Sheldon yelled from his spot in the stands. He actually had no idea if his son was anywhere close to scoring, but he usually cheered the boy on any time he go close to the goal. Sheldon didn't understand much of the game beyond what he picked up from watching NHL games with Leonard (which was really playing on his phone while the game played in the background). It didn't really matter. Amy reminded him that he needed to at least try to take interest in his son's hobbies. This was him trying.

“Daddy, I'm cold,” a little voice said from beside him.

“Oh no,” Sheldon said playfully. This was a common complaint from his daughter. She was too used to the California sun to want to spend so many of her Saturdays at the ice rink. She was bundled up in a jacket and gloves, but sometimes they just weren't enough.

Sheldon took off his hockey jersey and pulled it on over his daughter's head and over her arms. It was comically large on her small frame, but it should help keep her warm. Still, he knew that he would probably be taking her to the snack stand for a cup of hot chocolate before the game was over.

Sheldon picked up his daughter and pulled her onto his lap, and wrapped his arms around her. This was more for him that for her. Without the jersey, he was a little cold himself. Still, his little girl leaned into his chest and looked back down at her book.

“What are you reading?” Sheldon said quietly into her ear.

“Mommy's favorite,” she said proudly as she showed him the cover. It was an ancient and beat up, but well loved copy of The Long Winter. Amy had gotten her old set of The Little House on the Prairie books from her own mother about a month ago, and had promptly handed them over as long as the little girl promised to take good care of them. So far, she had done an excellent job.

Sheldon couldn't believe how much he enjoyed watching his children become actual humans. It seemed like no time since they had both been little blobs that just drank milk, pooped, and slept all day. And yet, somehow they had both grown into real people with interests all their own.

Sometimes he could see the little pieces of himself and Amy in them. Other times, he could see Georgie, Missy, his mother, his father, Meemaw, Pop Pop, and even his uncle Stumpy once or twice. People his children had never even met had wormed their way in. And on occasion, that drove Sheldon absolutely crazy. Other times, he didn't mind so much. He loved all of those people for a reason, so it wasn't bad to see them show up in his children. Except for Leonard's inexplicable habit of saying “ain't” after one week with his Uncle Georgie.

“Daddy, can I have a snack?”

“She will ruin her dinner,” Amy reminded Sheldon without even looking away from the game. It was getting intense, but it was at the other goal, so Sheldon wasn't as invested. He knew he wouldn't miss a goal from Leonard.

“Come on. Just a hot chocolate?” Sheldon asked his wife. His daughter didn't ever have to try to convince her mother to do anything. She had Sheldon so wrapped around her little finger that he did it for her.

“One hot chocolate. And bring me one too,” Amy agreed. It was chilly in here after all.

“And maybe some popcorn,” Sheldon muttered.

“No,” Amy said.

“I can't hear you,” Sheldon said as he was already walking away. He heard everything his wife said, but he wanted to spoil the girl a little anyway. He realized that his hand was empty, so he turned back.

“Coming, Mary?” Sheldon asked as he reached out his hand toward her.

Sheldon's daughter ran to catch up to her father and placed her small hand in his. He knew there were a limited number of days left that she would be willing to hold his hand, and he would not let go until that day came.

[fort-cozy-mcblanket]

Happy Shamy Anniversary! It's been fourteen years since Sheldon and Amy first met. Can you believe it?

Here's my little fic to honor the event this year. This topic was actually requested by an anonymous ask a number of months ago (and so it has nothing to do with the Young Sheldon finale). I hope whoever sent it is still around to see it finally happen. Sorry it took so long!

Thank you to my beta reader Stark and also to all you lovely readers out there. I hope you enjoy!

This is also available on AO3 and FF.Net if you prefer.

“I hereby call this emergency State of the Relationship meeting to order.”

Amy rolled her eyes towards the ceiling as she settled in on the couch beside her boyfriend, but it was mostly for show. She couldn't stop the smile from spreading across her face. Normally she never liked these meetings, but this time she knew there was a good reason for it.

She and Sheldon had finally, officially moved in together.

It had been a long road to get to this point, with a lot of bumps along the way, but now finally they were there. Where she had wanted to be for years. And she could safely say it was worth the journey. If Sheldon needed this meeting to settle all the details, Amy was happy to give him that.

Once they had made the decision to make this a permanent arrangement, it wasn't long before the settled on staying in Penny's old apartment. It was a reasonable compromise, one that allowed both of them to move into a new place together without it being an overwhelming change for Sheldon. Amy supposed in some ways it could be considered a downgrade for her—4B was slightly smaller than her old apartment and there was the issue with the elevator—but she hardly thought about that. She was much more focused on being able to come home to the man she loved every night, and having him come home to her too. When she was lying in bed with her boyfriend at the end of the day, happy and secure, she knew that this feeling more than made up for the missing square footage and inconvenient extra steps.

“I trust that you've spoken to the landlord about the lease?” Sheldon asked, introducing the first issue to be addressed at their meeting.

“Penny and I visited his office yesterday. We'll be subletting from her for the rest of this month and I signed paperwork to take over the lease next month.”

Sheldon nodded his approval. “And your old apartment?”

“They're letting me break my lease with no penalties because of the burst pipe. I gave notice that I'll be out by the end of the month.”

“Very good.”

Sheldon proceeded to go over some of the other intricacies with their utilities and other bills, all of which he had carefully organized. She assured him that she registered her car at the landlord office as well and received her tenant parking pass. They discussed which of their belongings would need to go to storage. Everything seemed to be in order and nothing that came up was unexpected, until the very end.

“There's one final order of business,” Sheldon said while reaching out for a small pack of sticky notes on the coffee table. He began writing on the top note.

“What's that?”

“This,” he answered, pulling off the note and passing it over to her, “is my Netflix password.”

“Really?” Amy looked at him in surprise. She knew how serious he took his TV shows and movies, and it never even occurred to her that he might want to share his account. Something about it seemed almost too intimate for him.

“Well, we're members of the same household now. It doesn't make sense for us each to pay for a separate account, so if you have your own please cancel it. The money we save can go towards the Comic-Con fund.”

“No.”

“A life-size Batman statue for the apartment?”

“Try again.”

“Fine, the extra money can towards date nights or some such nonsense.”

“I'd like that,” Amy said, purposely ignoring his jab. She knew he didn't really mean it.

“I'm sure I don't have to tell you how important this is,” Sheldon said, bringing the topic back to the password in her hand. “Once you have it memorized, please swallow it to ensure no one else will gain access.”

Amy looked down at the note, which read 2halF0Forearm1Awry0! in Sheldon's neat script. Then she looked back up at her boyfriend and grinned.

“Well, I'm not going to swallow it, but I can take it to the confidential shredders at work tomorrow morning,” she told him.

“Really? You've memorized it already?”

“Sheldon, it's an anagram of my name, the year we met, and an exclamation point. Did you really think I wouldn't notice?”

Sheldon looked down at the floor, and she saw the tips of his ears turning red, which just made her smile more.

“You weren't supposed to,” he mumbled.

“You've lived with Leonard too long, you're not used to having another genius for a roommate,” she teased him. “Do try to keep up.”

Sheldon stared at her, mouth slightly agape, and she watched his pupils dilate. It sent a small thrill through her body, and she took that as her cue to stand up. If she didn't leave now, she might not be able to stop herself from jumping him.

“I trust that our meeting is over?” she asked as she began retreating towards the bedroom. Their bedroom.

“Yes,” he answered. She could feel his eyes on her as she walked away. “And Amy, while I don't mind you knowing about the password, I do mind if you mess up my recommendations, so I'm going to ask that you either create a separate profile or keep your viewing to only science fiction and documentaries. If you find yourself in need of something to watch on Girls' Night, I trust you'll use Penny, Bernadette, or Raj's account for that.”

Amy laughed to herself, not bothering to turn around or answer him as he continued to call after her. She had already pulled out her phone and was signing into his account on the app, already looking forward to browsing the available movies with no regard for what he just said.

This cohabitation thing just kept getting better and better.

[cutieshamybabies]

Hello my dear Shamy fellows! Here my new present for this year's Fluff crawlspace! Happy Shamyversary to all of us!

[churro-lord]

*lays on tummy and kicks up legs* tell me about them

This is when I wish I had access to Discord emotes, but regardless thank you for enabling me and my horrible ocs >:]

Meet Sherri and Myntea! The main teal and goldblood characters in my batch of critters. Some context before I get into both of them individually: The story they're apart of is called Temporal Shuffle, and a running theme among their group is following in their ancestor's footsteps in one way or another, similar to the canon trolls symbolically paralleling their own. However here, it's more extreme. Like- think something along the lines of a session full of trolls who treat their ancestors as Eridan and Vriska did. It's a mess of children who don't know what the FUCK they're doing. Anyways, onto Sherri and Myntea themselves.

Sherri Asafer, Prospit dreamer, Mage of Life [She/They]- Assassin in training, though she has a disdain for it. She's only doing so to follow in her ancestor's footsteps who was a high ranking assassin herself, as they were hatched and raised to do so. In spite of this, Sherri has a prominent side gig online as an anonymous creator who promotes rather controversial ideas online [for alternia] and tries to spread positivity when she can [to mixed results], often getting away with a lot of it due to having connections. However, this has lead to her being subjected to physical danger on multiple occasions on the off chance someone is to figure out who she is. Still, this doesn't stop them as they have a strong belief that things can get better. Aside from that, their other main hobby is plush crafting.

Myntea Horrol, Derse dreamer, Knight of Heart [She/Her]- A psionic who once had rather impressive but destructive and hard to contain abilities, until an incident that greatly burnt out her abilities. She still can use them, however they are pretty weak and can cause strain if used too much. Very much so the edge to Sherri's fluff, Myntea is a reclusive and paranoid troll who works at a convenience store. Her ancestor was a warrior who fought in one of the rebellions against Condy, someone who Myntea admires and unfairly uses to compare herself to. Aside from that, Myntea has a fondness for science, and a curiosity that can make her quite nosy despite her better judgement.

Myn and Sherri met when Sherri had taken a particularly rough job as she ended up taking a beating before she finished the target off. Her body sore and her hive being too far away to walk all the way back without a rest, she decided to take her chances and rest up in a cave she had found hidden away by some boulders.

It was a lot larger than they expected, the entrance was so covered up it seemed like more of a crawlspace, except this cave was big enough to have a hive inside of it. With some consideration, they decided to risk the potential of the troll living there being hostile, eventually running into Myn.

I'm not gonna go into the whole thing here because I am tired and I honestly wasn't planning on typing this much, but hey! It is what it is and I'd love to talk about them more outside of this post. I will say as a fun fact! They are in my Pesterquest comic as side characters, so look out for them ^_^

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

I loved The Webs in the Rafters! How’d you come up with the idea for it?

Dude I’m so stoked you liked it!!! And how TWITR came to be is kind of a crazy story lmfao

So my whole life I’ve had super bizarre, extremely vivid dreams, and one night back in late September, I essentially dreamed what would eventually become chapter 17, from the pov of the Kenny character. I’m talkin (minor spoilers from here on out for those who haven’t read it) the sleet hitting the dry grass, the cricket hopping through my vision, Sansa the dog telepathically telling me to whistle, helicopter blades whirring overhead, the supernatural barncats jumping the bad guy. I also remember having dreamt random other parts, namely the prologue “crawlspace”, with the new hire that ended up being Kenny getting stuck inside the wall and meeting long time ranch hand Butters. When I woke up, I was like oh my god I have to South Park all over this.

And so I started thinking it out; right away I knew I wanted my “new guy” to be Kenny, simply because I LOVE the idea of him being overly perceptive and incredibly observant, even when no one can outright answer his questions. I knew I wanted Bunny endgame, and originally the story was going to be a lot more Kenny centric in general, but I’m glad I gave most everyone their time to narrate, to see things as they were across the board. I had also initially planned on the dark themes being even darker, which brings me to:

Why dark Cryle with Style endgame? Aight so if we recall, TWITR dropped during a period where there was kind of a lull in the sp fandom, which is when I was binge reading fics with some seriously depraved stories and characters, and a lot of the time that fucked up character was Craig, and the victim of his depravity was Kyle. I do enjoy a nice cryle plot too, but I ADORE the idea of a headstrong, inquisitive and intuitive, largely optimistic and idealistic passionate Kyle knowing he has to walk on eggshells around Craig or there will be consequences. I’m glad I stuck more to the gaslighting and manipulation rather than going full out with the domestic violence route, not only because I don’t think I could stomach it (chapter 14 was painful enough as is) but also because I think the subtlety was more cohesive with the themes of secrecy in the story. And Style endgame, because I AM a Style gorlie at heart and I fucking love writing my sweet boy Stan.

Now, why spiders? Simply because I am so incredibly goddamn arachnophobic. Y’all I’m terrified of spiders. I don’t like the way they just appear out of nowhere, the way you can walk through a web you didn’t see, the way they move, how dangerous some are, all of it. So that struck me as the perfect motif here.

I had a rough outline before I started writing; I knew I wanted the demise of the Spider, that part of my dream, to be the climax of the story, but I wasn’t sure initially what I wanted the catalyst of Kyle accepting that something was up and the ranch hands joining forces to be. I wound up driving 6 hours to a friends wedding earlyish into writing the story and RAWDOGGED that drive, no music no podcast no nothing, just mentally writing and structuring. Yes I’m insane. But, I’m happy with the structure and pacing I wound up with ultimately so it worked lmao

I had a lot of fun writing characters I hadn’t written from before at that point, and deciding everyone’s role and personality and the dynamics in the universe. TWITR was also the reason I started writing Cartman, whereas before I struggled a lot with him because for a long time I thought he HAD to be a villain, and I generally stick to fluff and hurt/comfort in my silly little WhumpShots so I’d usually leave him out. But planning this fic made me see the light of how much NUANCE he can have (this is when I wrote A Movie About A Boy And His Dog to get a feel of how I wanted to write my favorite abrasive fuckwad) and now Cartman is one of my favorites to write into a story. Also him and the cats lmfao iconic.

At the time I was posting TWITR, it was NOT a hit at all. I’ve mentioned this before, and I had a few SUPER KICKASS PEOPLE reading and hyping it up in the comments (Nina and Ana are whole ass a huge part of why I didn’t get frustrated at the extremely low kudos to hits ratio I love y’all) but it was REALLY discouraging to feel like I was so stoked about this story only to have it flop with everyone but me and a handful of diligent readers. Seeing people read my weird ass story now is SO RAD DUDE like when it started getting more love fairly recently I was AWESTRUCK! And I know I’m more small time; I’m not getting hundreds of likes every story, and I’m cool with that. I’m not writing legendary fics; my most kudosed story is a few over 200 and I am perfectly chill with getting under 50 likes on my silly whumpshots. I am human tho (tragically) and seeing anyone read or ask about any of my stuff makes me SO excited, even if it’s an unserious little 1.5k story about the main 4 tripping on shrooms in the woods or something. I write what I want to read and enjoy doing so, so it’s kickass when other people enjoy it!

As for the sequel oneshots in the series, I wanted to explore the aftermath and healing following the events of the main story, with Kyle finally coming to terms with the abuse he’d been blind to for so long, with the realization that he’d been in the dark, because realistically he would NOT be okay after all that. I almost didn’t write No Strings Attached or Trapdoor, just bc TWITR was kind of niche in general and I knew it wouldn’t get a whole lot of engagement since you do kind of need context, but I’m very glad I wrote em lmao

Ok kinda went off topic there, but I am THRILLED that you enjoyed The Webs In The Rafters and thank you SO MUCH for this ask!!!

[butternuggets-blog]

Laddie Come Home

SAS Rogue Heroes; werewolf AU Fluff, Slight Angst With A Happy Ending

Chapter Three

David wore many names in the coming weeks as he travelled the breadth of France.

‘Frou-frou’ was picked up by a young couple who were still running on the high of their recent shotgun wedding. They weren’t able to take a honeymoon, but they took their new puppy with them to the next town over while they stayed in a cottage loaned to them by an aunt.

‘Boots’ rode the railroad with a group of burly electricians who had been charged with rewiring towns that had had their power knocked out by German bombs. He had a whale of a time running wires through crawlspaces too small for human bodies to fit, and nibbling bootlaces whenever everyone’s backs were turned.

He had the shock of his life when he glimpsed himself in a shop window and a six year old pup looked back.

There were a few close calls as he crossed wide swathes of wilderness to reach occupied France. A German patrol opened fire out of nowhere, and he was forced to scurry down a rabbit hole to avoid the hail of bullets.

A hunter and his bloodhound tracked him down for over two miles, muttering about meat costs and fur gloves the entire time. He found a stream and jumped into it, letting the current carry him downstream until he was certain that he was free and clear.

‘Florain’ was taken in by an overworked mother with six young children. The pup was reliably informed by his new brothers and sisters that a fairy had come to stay with them at the same time; who else could be chopping the wood for the fire in the middle of the night, or fixing the holes in their clothes that their mother hadn’t gotten around to doing before she collapsed, exhausted, into bed. The fairy, and the puppy, disappeared only after the new housemaid was hired.

Puddles and glass panes showed a young wolf rapidly growing into a teenager.

‘Dion’ and ‘Oskar’ and ‘Romilly’ were soldier’s pets, guard dogs in training for French-German troops. For some reason Resistance operations in the area ran as smoothly as ever, if not better, with them bumbling around. Each dog disappeared just before they were put down.

________________________________________________________________

David sat down in front of the sign post and cocked his head. Paris was behind him and the coastline was ahead, but he wasn't entirely sure how to reach the port at German-occupied Le Havre.

God I wish I had a map.

A loud whistle whipped his head around. There was no one around. The sound came again, and this time David looked up.

'We have caught up with you at last Lieutenant-colonel!'

Riding low on the breeze, a heavily-stained uniform clinging to his lithe frame, Georges Bergé laughed heartily as he flew down onto the grass. Behind him, shaking his head and grinning, Augustin Jordan waved and landed gracefully as well.

'Where the fucking HELL did you chaps come from?!' David wrapped himself in Augustin's coat as the vampire passed it over.

'We have been following you for some time my friend' said Bergé.

'We too were captured by the Germans and brought to Colditz' Augustin explained. 'You escaped shortly before we arrived.'

'Two days' Bergé looked sheepish.

'And it took you both this long to find me?' David choked, incredulously. 'I'll see to it you're dismissed from my regiment when we get back, for clear gross incompetence!'

'We couldn't make contact with you when you were so close to civilians!' Augustin protested. 'And besides..there was often nothing to eat where you were.'

'We did not want to harm your friends' Bergé added.

David grumbled to himself beneath his breath.

'...where to now? I have intelligence but it's months out of date.'

'Happily, the men are here! Or rather, they should be here by now.' Bergé gestured vaguely. 'There is a mass drop planned for the coast and the SAS were sent ahead to clear the route.'

David scowled furiously. 'My men are not Churchill's street sweepers!'

'Out of our hands' Augustin shrugged.

They found a quiet glade where they caught up while waiting for nightfall. When darkness finally fell, they walked cautiously back to the sign post and David transformed so that Bergé and Augustin could carry him more easily.

'Oof, you have packed on the weight!' Bergé hauled David's head into his lap.

'He has certainly grown up' Augustin rubbed David's belly. His wolf form had matured on the final long dash for the coast and he was now as big as he was ever going to get.

'Oh, we forgot to tell you!' Augustin and Bergé shared a mischievous grin. 'After you were captured, command of the SAS was given to Paddy Mayne.'

David's outraged screech was so loud they nearly dropped him.