#this is just a tiny snippet of what goes on in real life and what continues to go on in real life in everyday life

[ilostyou]

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[heyidkyay]

And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part One

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way? 

Warnings: This is gonna deal with a lot of controversial shit surrounding Matty and his past I'm ngl, so if you're not into that then I'd suggest not reading this! But if you are, then hi!! I hope you enjoy?

Authors Note: I'm back...:)) Back with a series too, or it will be if this first part goes down well! Lmao so pls don't hate it! Butttt in all honestly, I do have to quickly thank @procrastinatinglikeapro for all the kind words she gave me on the snippets I annoyed her with recently and for forcing me to actually believe in this fic because I very much was on the fence about posting again. So thank youuuu, it means a whole lot<3 Also, the skeleton of this was taken from a very old fic of mine which I started during the height of covid that I've just been thinking about trying to better for a long while now, so... enjoy?

And I guess let me know if this is something anyone would want to read more of? Yeeeeah, I really don't know what else to write here now, it's been a while, so! Hi, help, bye:)

Masterlist

Chapter 1: He's got the whole world falling at his feet

“Yeah, yeah! I’m really into their sound at the minute! Honestly fell in love with their recent performance at the VMA’s– didn’t overdo it and kept it true to themselves. Definitely did a great job there, so well done with that one if you’re listening in, lads!”

I was grinning from ear to ear as I spoke into the microphone before me, which was to be expected whenever I was at work. Strange, yeah I know, but only to any typical person with the usual nine to five, because I truly did love my job. It was tough work, strenuous at times, contrary to what most might believe, but it was pretty much everything I’d ever dreamt of.

See, I’d grown up on the outskirts of this tiny village in the Isles, where everybody knew everything about everybody. Secrets were never well kept– you could just ask our local priest about that one, who often used to regale most of the confessions he’d heard in the only pub around for miles whenever he’d been pissed beyond being able to sit on his barstool. 

It was also incredibly tight-knit, as in, all the kids who went to school together, then grew up and married one another, settling down and taking over the jobs that their parents or grandparents would soon retire from. Hardly anyone moved away, if ever.

In reality though, it was actually just a place I’d always felt like a stranger in. Where I’d struggled to fit in and make friends, to form bonds outside of the one I shared with my mum. 

Which sounds sad speaking about it, but still true, I’d had a real tough go of it back in school. ‘Mouse’ was what they’d seemingly dubbed me back then, a nickname which had travelled throughout the masses all too quickly seeing as there had only been about sixteen kids in both my year and the one above. 

The name had mostly started due to me just having been an extremely timid child, hiding behind my mum’s flowing skirts whenever we went into town and much preferring that of my own company whenever other kids were mulling about. But that fact hadn’t gotten any easier for me once I’d been forced out of school for a few years after an accident that had flipped my entire life on its head. Resulting in me being further isolated from the rest of the world and my fuck-face of a father running for the hills.

Still. Shit happened, I supposed, and I’d been forced to deal with it and grow up.

Too quickly, in truth.

So whilst everyone else had been out living, I’d been holed up in our little dove cottage miles away from them all, with only books and music to keep me company. Music which had been a true constant in my life and just about the only thing that had gotten me by.

As well as my mum, who’d forever be my rock. And back when we’d both been growing up– because that was how it’d always felt with us– she had constantly had the tele on full blast throughout the day, cycling through the freeview channels that played the recent top 50 and old school classics.

It was one of my favourite things to look back on now. Sometimes if she was ever in the mood, or when the power would finally flicker and go out completely when a storm hit, she’d spin this old phonograph her own father had gifted her in the days before she’d left home. The two of us would dance around the living room whilst she would clean on Saturday mornings and then hum to it as we settled in for a long downpour, her working on her trusty crossword whilst I would read or draw. The brass  pavilion would croon out old French records she had bought long before she’d moved to the UK, and before she’d ever even met my father.

And I would just lose myself in it all. 

It wasn’t just the basic premise of music that I had enjoyed though, it was everything else that also came along with it. The opinions, the reviews, the personal stories and thoughts, the way it could make a person think and feel. 

So, for years I would just sit down at the kitchen table and write for hours on end about the sound, the rhythms I’d felt and heard, the lyrics that had had me bellowing out or playing on a never-ending loop in my head. And then, as a teen, Twitter had come along and had been just another way for me to express it all.

It was actually Twitter that had eventually led to all of this. 

The radio.

At first, I’d never paid much mind to all of the people who had started to discover the small page I’d created, the few users that had enjoyed reading my inner thoughts. But then one day I had and it had been an insane concept to comprehend, the very idea that people cared enough to stop and read my thoughts, but it was also what had, ultimately, pushed me into continuing with it.

From there, opinions on genres of music and their style throughout different decades quickly turned into thoughts on up and coming artists, then actors and other A-list celebrities. So I had ended up spending an awful lot of time online, simply just tweeting about it all, on subjects followers had wanted to hear about and answering questions on whether I loved a certain album or this new EP. 

The account had grown rapidly shortly after and by the time I’d had the balls to tell my mum I had wanted to leave home and make a start for myself, in London of all places, the account I used had gained well over fifteen thousand followers.

I went to uni down there and met people. People who didn’t shy away from me or shine a light on my odd quirks. I met my best mate there, too. And Finn was unlike any other. The platonic love of my life, or so I’d since dubbed. He was eccentric, witty, and didn’t care about what anyone else thought of him. Forced me to feel that way too, slowly but surely. And it had only taken a few weeks before he'd grown rather suspicious of my constant need to always have my phone near.

He had, pretty early on, decided that I must’ve had some secret boyfriend back at home that I’d yet to tell him about and had annoyed me about it at every twist and turn, basically backed me into a metaphorical corner. So to say I’d relented fairly quickly wouldn’t be a lie, and I’d told him all about the account soon enough.

Finn had actually been the one to suggest that I take it further, somewhere bigger, make it into something that people could actually tune into and not just read about. I had taken the consideration on board way back then, but had only acted on it when shit had hit the fan a year or so later. But we'll soon get into that.

So with it all, I ended up making an actual radio show out of my thoughtless Twitter account, allowing people to listen in and actually get to know the person behind the name.

That was essentially how ‘Mouse On A Mic' had come to life.

Yup, I’d kept the fucking nickname! I couldn’t not in truth, it was familiar, reminded me of the person I once was, and who I currently am now. But the only difference was, I’d given it a new story. I’d reclaimed it. 

The show's audience grew fairly quickly during that first year, I was new on the scene and seemingly refreshing. I had a no-bullshit kind of attitude that my listeners apparently admired. I called celebs out on their crap and went to new extremes to conjure up inventive ways to get followers involved. 

Ultimately ended up doing things that other radio presenters were too afraid to do at the time. Which was fair enough, in hindsight, they had actual endorsers and brands that were backing them up and funding their streams. Me, on the other hand, I had no-one to answer to for my mistakes or any of the backlash the show received. It was just me, sat alone in my bedroom, speaking into a mic.

Only, a few years had since passed and now it was me sitting in a quaint little studio in East London, not too far from my flat and walking distance from any and every coffee chain that the city had to offer. 

Anyway, I forced myself to adjust my headset over my right ear as I wheeled closer to the table, aware of the one too many monitors and power cables I had to constantly avoid, and glanced upwards, locking eyes with my co-producer, Adi.

The girl shot me a hurried gesture, a circular wave of her hand that had me chuckling to myself even as I silently waved her off, knowing I’d already gotten off track one too many times this recording. 

"Alright! It seems as though we've got to move on with the next segment of the show now! Unfortunately, Ads here has informed me that I can't just sit around all day and talk about Inhaler forever. A right shame that, don’t you think?”

I huffed theatrically whilst Adi merely shook her head in return, dark ringlets brushing the length of her shoulders as she mouthed the word 'prick' through the thick sheet of plexiglass that separated us.

Ignoring that loving endearment in favour of continuing on with the commentary, I hoped I hadn’t steered too far off track seeing as there was still an awful lot scheduled for today's show that I had yet to go over.

“So moving on!” I sighed on into the mic and rubbed my palms together, eyes flitting over the few sheets of paper I had perched before me, “It seems like quite a few of you lot, over on Twitter especially, have made it loudly known that you want to hear my thoughts on Manchester’s very own Matthew Healy. God, is there yet another scandal under his belt I don’t yet know about? Makes me wonder where he’s finding the time.”

I shook my head briefly at the bulleted point I’d been given and rolled forward in my seat. The wheels squeaked beneath my weight and I made a silent prayer that the mics hadn’t picked up the sound. 

What a fucking topic, I thought quietly to myself and sent Adi a semi-amused smile before peering down at the recent headline she had handed over to me earlier that morning.

It was the same old thing. Expected really at this point.

“Healy’s at it again! Whatever will we do?” I gasped, playing up the whole thing as I stared down at a few images of the haughty singer that were plastered across the printout I held in front of me. 

There were four of them, a quick succession of pictures that had all seemingly come from a clip at a recent concert. Bit blurry but the title gave away to what was happening.

A laugh bubbled up out of my throat as soon as I read the headline. “Oh God! It appears Matty Healy is– wait for it!– back at it again, only this time it seems he’s gone and traded off a drumstick for…” I paused to drum quite the anticipating beat against the tabletop of my desk and, as stoic as I possibly could, I then added, “A joint!” 

A smug grin slid its way up onto my lips when I heard Adi’s faint cackle echo from just outside the booth.

“Honestly, I swear that everything this man does makes the rags! Reckon I actually saw an article about how he took his tea this one time. And like, do me a favour, yeah?” I rolled my eyes but relented, “A man of the people though, in’t he? He’s got to be! I mean, just look at this headline. Fucking who the hell writes this shit?”

Tossers, I supposed. But even so.

“It’s madness.” I muttered, gently clucking my tongue as I shook my head at the so-called news that had made the front page. “But anyway, I’m guessing that most people claim him to be the epitome of a real time rockstar, and sure, he might just be. 'Sex, drugs, rock & roll', all that shit. But really, how much longer is it going to last until everything goes tits up, hey?

“I mean, Healy can pretty much do whatever he wants at this point in his career, he’s got half the world either falling at his feet or complaining about him- has done since he was what, a kid? Following his parents amongst the shadows of their fame before he eventually stepped out and made an actual name for himself. Saying that, it still is insane to see how much he’s changed!”

And it was. Healy and his band had risen to fame so evidently, their music everywhere, they sold out shows constantly and had the privilege to fly across the globe doing whatever they pleased. But they’d also practically grown up in the limelight, Matty especially. So it was hard not to notice the resounding changes that shone through in all the news and gossip that ran riot.

“But, if I am being truthful.” I went on to say, thumb toying with the page’s sharp edge, “And when am I not? I thought that most of the shit that went around about him at first was a load of crap– publicity of sorts, if you get where I'm going with that. Or maybe just him being an idiot, a young lad who’s had to grow up with all these cameras consistently on him and had to basically learn what he can and can’t say in front of them. Slipping up from time to time, like most do. But, now? I’m honestly not too sure… It’s just a bit sad. Isn't it? There was so much potential there.”

I shrugged, a hearty sigh falling with my shoulders.

“I actually used to quite like his stuff a couple years ago, he’s got a way with words, with music overall really. Reckon if he’d gotten his shit together that he probably could’ve been ranked higher up on the list of rockstars. Could’ve changed or paved a way for newer musicians entering the scene. But not so much anymore. His songs lack the passion they once had, they’re not what they used to be. He works hard, I’ll give him that. Still, I can’t help but wonder if it’s just his band pulling his dead weight along with them now.”

I took a slow breath, then gazed down at the small amount of sticky notes I had pinned to the monitor beside me: the next segment. I’d have to wrap this one up quickly.

“Maybe that’s a bit harsh.” I said, chewing on my lower lip, “But honestly, I just hope that he takes an actual break sooner rather than later. The band looks spent and he just seems like he could do with some shut eye, some time away from all the cameras and prying eyes. Just so he can sort himself out good and proper, you know? Then again, that’s just my opinion among a sea of many.”

In truth, I really did think that Matty had real talent, that raw kind, and he seemed like a nice enough guy– or at least he had done, a couple of years back, before all the controversy and whatever else. 

Now though, the man just seemed so caught up in it all, in the fame, the tabloids, the drama. Unaware of just how far he’d fallen.

Me, I’d seen it one too many times before, with many of the greats even, and as painful as it was to watch, what more could I say or do? I'm nobody in comparison.

I blew out a short breath.

“Fuck, that got all serious didn’t it?” I tried to laugh it all off and only felt a little more at ease when I finally glanced up and caught Adi’s sincere smile, “Anyway, onto our next segment, reading a couple of your lots tweets! Let's see what everyone's saying about our amazing Adi today, shall we? What was it last week, Ads, those yellow trousers you were wearing?”

--

“Oi, will you two please stop mucking about? We’ve got to get going!” I scolded without any actual heat, shaking my head as I held back a chuckle, forever amused by the infamous pair stood a way away from me. 

I’d not long since left the studio, having walked with Adi to the nearby tube station so that she could hop a train home before I had headed on over to Finn’s. It was a typical route for me and not too long of a walk, but since arriving I’d been roped into packing up the many belongings that had been messily upended from the Spiderman backpack I was so often seen carrying about.

My gaze skittered over to the other side of the room once I’d teethed together the bag’s plastic zipper, over to where my son, Teddy, was currently in the midst of being whirled around by his godfather, tawny coloured curls flying in every-which direction whilst his cheeky grin grew even more prominent.

I felt the corners of my mouth lift upwards as I watched my best mate laugh at whatever it was the toddler had just said to him, tickling the boy’s sides as he did. If I was feeling incredibly sappy, I’d tell Finn then just how thankful I was to have him around, because he truly was incredible. 

From the moment I’d found out that I was pregnant, Finn had been there for me. He loved my son almost as though Teddy was his own, he adored the kid like no other and had placed him on a pedestal high above everyone else since the day he was born. 

Finn was always free to take Teddy whenever I had the show to fret about too, or if I was ever in dire need of another helping hand. He was fiercely protective of the two of us and I knew in the very depths of my heart that there would never be a hair harmed on my son’s head so long as he was around. 

I was pulled from my thoughts just as the toddler in question came bounding over, giggling uncontrollably as Finn chased after him, his arms stretched out wide and crouched down low to mimic the small boy's height. I couldn't help but notice the matching grins they both wore.

“Help!” Teddy squealed as he flung himself into my awaiting arms, allowing me to wrap him up and settle him safely on my hip, using my frame as a shield to block him from Finn’s view.

"You can't hide from me Teds, I’ll always find you!" Finn taunted playfully, laughing merrily whilst he wiggled his fingers at Teddy, who was only just peeking out at him from over my shoulder.

Teddy squirmed in my grasp, giggling and screaming senselessly as he tried to dodge Finn’s oncoming hands that had since managed to softly graze his sides. I could only roll his eyes in fond exasperation, the pair never failing to brighten my day, and couldn't help but feel ever so grateful for whatever being had brought Finn into both mine and Teddy’s lives.

You see, Finn was the closest thing I’d ever had to a brother, let alone a best friend. He’d been the family I’d never known I’d needed, a home away from home. And I knew that I could always count on him for just about anything and he had proved that the day I’d turned up on his doorstep in the pissing rain one Tuesday night, utterly terrified after having just found out that I was expecting. 

“Alright, you lot!” I began, batting away one of Finn’s advancing hands as he made to grab at Teddy's tiny ankle. “We've got to get home in time for your bath and tea, and I think Finn here has to pick up Liv from work.”

I was directing my voice towards the toddler in my arms but also sent a knowing look Finn’s way, one which caused the man’s eyes to widen in immediate realisation. ‘Liv’ was actually the lovely Olivia, Finn’s newest fling– only she had managed to last quite a while longer than the rest, a new record for him really. 

“Shit, yeah.” Finn muttered mostly to himself before he hurried on over to his desk in the far corner. I could only laugh quietly, Teddy joining in too when he noticed, and watched on as Finn hastily started to grab at an array of items, shoving them into his jean pockets. Phone. Wallet. Keys.

When he was finished, and somewhat out of breath, Finn spun back around towards us and shot an accusing brow our way, not too pleased about having been the source of our mirth. Teddy and I couldn't help ourselves then and laughed a little harder at his impervious expression. 

But with that all done and over with, I simply pressed my nose against the side of Teddy's head and smiled contently into his curls whilst Finn merely rolled his eyes at the two of us, chuckling before he made a start for the door. I followed just behind him, Teddy's backpack slung low over my shoulder and a happy little boy nestled in my arms.

***

People lover @/user1 Imagine being a mediocre radio host and thinking you know the ins and outs of the music industry.. #CancelMouse

102 @/user2  Don't mind me, reckon I just found my new favourite radio show:)

Ugh! @/user3 Mouse sounded proper excited today but switched up so quick when that 75 bloke came up://

Soloveme @/user4 Hate to see people supporting toxic behaviour, sit down. 

Milk @/user5 Don’t hate me, I'll forever be a matty girlie!! But @Mouseonamic I kinda agree??

Paris @/user6 Do you think he’s seen it yet? > Too_shy @/user7 Probably, it’s trending rn >> Drummepls @/user8 Hope he’s okay and doesn’t take it as a personal attack.. 

He should’ve known really.

He should’ve fucking known.

Even in his drunken state he should have known not to look at what they were all fucking saying about him. Slumped on the floor of his hotel room, propped up against the bathroom door, too exhausted to think about moving, let alone try.

He’d only heard a small snippet, caught the last of a conversation on it in a cab ride back from the club the band had found themselves in. But he had heard it, and he had listened. 

"He's got the whole world falling at his feet." He fucking wished. "Changed." Too right. "A load of crap- publicity of sorts, if you get where I'm going with that- but now I'm not too sure." Laughable, man. "It's just a bit sad." The story of his fucking life. "Potential." When’s he never not disappointing someone? "Lacks passion." Passion lies in living, mate, and he hasn't felt alive in a very long time. 

"Not what it used to be." Who he used to be.

He lit another cigarette from a crumpled pack he’d pulled from his back pocket and watched on as a curl of smoke unfurled in the air. He only wished he’d gone and brought something upstairs with him, or grabbed one of them little bottles from the minibar before he had decided he’d needed a piss. But if he closed his eyes hard enough he could imagine it all going dark, the world just fading around him, and the cigarette was suddenly enough.

Though, even then he still couldn’t quite muffle the loud, pitying laugh that escaped him as he continued to scroll through the mass of tweets that never faltered on his phone. They were like a freight train, unable to stop.

Matty wiped his nose on his sleeve.

Never had he ever felt so fucking lost. Desperate for everything to just pause for a simple second. To stop and just leave him alone for a bit. To have the world let him wallow in the dark dank pit he's hollowed out for himself.

But what a fucking life, hey?

Carelessly, Matty thumbed across the dimming screen, his intoxicated mind too focused on the task at hand to remember why exactly it was he was even sitting there on the cold bathroom floor. Something to do with Hann, he supposed, or George. Perhaps another heated encounter? Probably.

The sound of his phone's keyboard echoed off the surrounding walls and he breathed out a self-depreciating chuckle when he clicked send on the tweet he’d been attempting to curate, not caring enough for the consequences. Hardly even thinking, in truth. 

He was far too gone to care anymore, already knew firsthand what the repercussions would be tomorrow. But at that moment, he just wanted honesty. To tell the truth, for once. To let them all know that he knew he was a shit excuse for a person.

What more could the world possibly say anyway? 

Everyone around him was the same. He was simply just a puppet on a string. They’d make him sing and dance until the day he finally wrapped those wired strings tightly around his neck, and then all they'd be able to do is sit back and watch the show. And he'd enjoy every unabating second of it.

Matty @/trumanblack 10s ago Radio shows are sick man, gotta love them! And I sort of am sad haha. And I do lie? We all lie, I spose. But just listen to the radio, kids! Open your ears!

He laughed silently after, thoroughly amused with himself, and tossed the phone off somewhere off to the side so that he wouldn’t have to look at it again. 

Bullshit. It was all just fucking bullshit.

[bouncyballcitadel]

"Chance Encounter" - A Short Snippet

For raffle winner @riseandshine-pudgey. Vic and Dr. Sloan end up in the same restaurant.

You are not a social person.

You hate parties, you hate crowds. If it were up to you, you'd stay at home - try out new pasta recipes, drink a glass of wine. Small talk is your anathema. Running into coworkers outside of the hospital - the bane of your existence.

Precisely why you eat at Christine's on Mondays. Christine's is already a hole-in-the-wall, which is to your advantage. And, let's be honest - no one goes out to eat on a Monday. This ends up being a perfect combination for you, your very own date night: a tiny pocket of time that's wholly your own.

Just you, a glass of red, and a plate of truffle gnocchi.

Bliss.

...Except today.

Because today, just before you're about to spear your first gnocchi, the bell above the door jingles. And in she walks - none other than Dr. Ivy Sloan.

You're pretty sure Dr. Sloan doesn't think about you. And you don't think about her either. Ever since the...spat you got into your first year, the two of you have stayed in separate orbits. You weren't going to change for her, and she had given up on changing you. You were never going to be the warm and fuzzy type, the type to pull up a chair, to hold someone's hand. You weren't a heartless bastard - you just...didn't believe in adornments.

Competence. Skill. Drive.

Those are the skills you've cultivated during your training. And...fine, you've smoothed out some of your rougher edges too, if only to appease the powers that be.

As you watch Dr. Sloan take a seat at the other end of the room, you fight the urge to shift in your seat. You know she'll see you eventually - you're not exactly short - but you want to delay the moment as much as possible. Once she sees you, once the two of you mutually acknowledge each other's existence, any sense of privacy on your end will be lost. You know, inevitably, that you'll feel perceived. That your chances of enjoying your truffle gnocchi and your glass of red wine at ease will infinitely diminish.

If only it were anyone else. If it were Jay, for example - he'd probably sit with you, but you could tolerate that. Or, if it were Dr. Saxon - the two of you could just ignore each other. But, because it's her - because of what she means to Peter, you can't just put her aside.

It's no secret that Peter and Dr. Sloan are close friends. And, you're sure there's a side to Dr. Sloan that you're not privy to. But if Peter trusts her, confides in her, shows his true self to her - and she can't stand you, then what does that say about your and Peter's relationship?

People tend to surround themselves with similar people. It's no shock to you that throughout your life, you've called more than one Kyle your friend. But you and Dr. Sloan are complete opposites. And, you like to think that you're more than just another resident to Peter.

But, who's to say? Maybe the rumors are overstated, of you being Peter's "favorite." Maybe the way he treats you, spends time with you, believes in you - it's all in the name of mentorship. Maybe the glimpses you think are the real Peter aren't glimpses at all.

You drink from your glass - a larger mouthful than you bargained for - and immediately almost aspirate. You manage to swallow the wine, the smallest of mercies, but you know already when you look back that Dr. Sloan's gaze will have turned on you.

Your eyes meet and before you can strategize what the best next move would be, she inclines her head in the smallest of nods.

Amanda brings her a glass of wine - so she's a fan of reds, too.

You nod back. And she turns her gaze back to her menu.

[lovetogether]

here i will send an ask to inquire because perhaps you would like to share a bit about them on your blog .... what oc's have you been workshopping!!! i would like to know the secrets. what has tumblr user lovetogether been cooking

Hello hello our dear friend allister! Rubs hands together… eheheh, since T:MLs (last big oc story we did) we’ve been mostly working on tiny oc “drabbles”? I guess you could call them. We have bursts of scenes and whatnot but that’s about it. They mostly exist to . Have fun . We’re a writer at heart though so they do have a bit of narrative set up - anyhow! Come with us down here into this wine cellar,

First one is this ^

This is “Humanity”, a man made passion project of sorts. It’s mostly based off glados, portal two in general, and our own alienation from people and tendency for “escape” but not in a manner close to usual “fandomites” (Is that a word..? I just made it up…) Humanity’s deal is it was maybe a “human” (used loosely as you know we draw most people as kemono) at one point but was then wiped and given many mechanical enhancements. Its essentially and a i trained off only human made media like films and tv shows, it’s connected to tons of TVs in its main sorta “lab” (shown in the tiny drawing) nd these screens will reflect snippets of movies and tv shows which coincide with whatever emotion Humanity is mimicking at the moment. Despite the heavy media training though Humanity remains mostly emotionless, only mimicking what it’s been fed. It’s never actually been given field training. And it never will. The lab in a portal two type situation was abandoned for one reason or another, the place only inhabits machines now, including Humanity. The place is overgrown and lonely. We have this idea that a girl ends up there, maybe Chell style (can you tell we like portal lolol) but she’s like, a child. This child is Humanity’s first like experience with a real person and it’s confused by her lack of - what was on the screen. It learns from here, we think at first it rejects the truth of humans, opting to believe what it was trained on, but it eventually learns.

Next is Persimmon :-) !! Or Persi (per-see) for short ! He’s a young chipper business man who died and ended up in the afterlife, he’s kinda comparable to a zombie? His premise is sorta dark humor-ish, apologies to viewers out there-! He was a very upbeat businessman and then one day a slight inconvenience happened at work and so he went home and offed himself in the tub. He resides in the afterlife now and is pretty chill with this. He often greets new comers and whatnot, his excited energy towards everything is sorta welcoming..? He’s extremely open about the fact he ended his life and is very chill about this, when questioned about his life and he goes on to say it was fine which then spawns the question “why’d you do it?” He sorta just smiles and shrugs. Admittedly a very dark humor type concept but we just wanted to make something which made harder topics like that a bit easier to stomach as those kinds of things have always left us numb rather than offended. We’d want people to feel okay with themselves, nd in a weird way his optimism is sorta a..? “It could happen to anyone” type thing, through the dark humor we create something earnest. As always.

Finally here’s Donut! She’s a coworker alongside our other workshopped oc Delilah “Dell” Coordinates . They’re “fbi agents” cause well they’re based off twin peaks characters. We don’t really care about fbi type junk though so they’ll just be defunct detectives or something funny like that. Donut is chill for the most part, bringing the sorta straight man edge to a case but with a kind demeanor. She waves off supernatural but in no way undermines believers. But don’t let her lax attitude fool you! She’s extremely skilled. She doesn’t linger but she also doesn’t rush yknow? She’s maybe a lowkey daydreamer but a realistic one, she enjoys the simpler things…

Oh my god we forgot to say, Persi is a stoat and Donut is a white tailed mongoose. Yus 👍 oh and, Persi + Humanity are sorta “us-based” ocs which means we don’t reeally? Have set pronouns? They’re agender. Yuuup. You can use he or she for them . We defaulted to it for Humanity cause it felt right. And he for Persi cause of the businessman title. But really we don’t care. Thank youu ~!

[streamdotpng]

Are these your OCs?

What's the story about?

thanks for asking anon

also yeah, they are my oc's! (kinda)

big ass ramble below so read at your own discretion

originally, the guys (blue hair and white hair) were my personas/characters that i played back when i streamed but then i got distracted by wednesday and switched over to doing all this. Now they're my ocs! Meanwhile, the cloud personified? is my friend's

we've just been shipping the two together because its fine

Drai (blue hair) is a being who needs to kill to live. As in, he's sculk. If you know minecraft, there's this block in the later updates where if you kill a mob on it, it would grow from the xp absorbed. I took that idea and ran with it. So drai is iven sentience after absorbing what is essentially the 'life force' of the beings that died on him. Soon, he possesses a corpse and goes through life, adventuring and killing.

Until he stumbles across a stronghold and gets greeted by a god, Lati (the cloud), telling him to stay away from the portal and basically does their best to spook him. It doesn't work and they get to talking

they end up becoming roommates and catching feelings

except here's one unfortunate thing. Lati is a god, a god who has mentioned that they don't feel things the way people normally do and yknow, if you're a decent guy, you simply accept that it is what it is and move on. Drai tries to do so but unfortunately, his heart is too filled with their name and oh is it so hard to move on from a being so tied close to his soul.

Then he dies.

amazing no? i would explain it some more but i'll simply show you the snippet i wrote

Drai and lati lore? Who knows honestly, im rambling rn CW: Drai lowkey dies (not really) and an inhuman's thoughts on it

Its been a few lifetimes since then, maybe two? Since Drai has been seen around the smp Why? Well! Its because he's dead, kinda? Maybe? All you need to know is that he's gone, completely It was a tiny thing to note that Drai isn't human. He's sculk possessing a dead body after all, his conciousness a miraculous byproduct of absorbing too xp/life force of people from before. He's used to fighting, to absorbing more life during his troubles until he settled down in season 1. Except he never realized that it was xp keeping him alive and when he finally hung up the blade once in for all, he would take on the mantle of dead man walking too literally once more. Lati doesn't feel in a way people do, there is no indignant anger at the realization that they were losing Drai. Simply acceptance because isn't that what life is? For a concept, the laws of reality has always been something they've been intimately aware off but there's something that tingles in their chest as they stare at their dying … companion. Drai smiles alot. All crinkled corners at his eyes and teeth bared. Its a comforting sight, a routine for Lati to always see whenever they pass by the other in the dungeon hallways. There's an ache at the thought that there will be a time where they will see that smile for last time. They simple didn't realize it was that soon. Clearly, Drai didn't realize it either and when he did, it was far too late. (Lati didn't realize time passed that quickly, not till Drai stumbles like a puppet with no strings. A sack of potatoes dropping and hitting the floor in a sound that echoes around their head) Curse him, Lati thinks as she stares at the boy. He was practically a new born fawn with the way he stumbles upright, clinging onto the wall with a hand as his mortal mind finally dawns with reality.

"I think im dying," he says, a tremble in his voice as the revelation settles. "But- its okay," he tries to reassure, before his lips pull into that same stupid smile as if they were the one about to knock on death's door. "I always come back." He isn't wrong, Lati thinks. His origin as a parasite allows him some form of faux immortality but like all things fake, it could never hold up to the real thing. (But what if it could?) The thought is dangerous. Rules are made for a reason, to imply going against them…. Lati can't smile, they could never do it right and Drai laughs about it whenever it happens. It doesn't mean they can't try, it is only fair, no? To give the reassurance that Drai has always given them. This body's eyes squints, doing its best to do what Drai could do best and smile. They shake their head as their lips speak of a truth so bitter that it practically chokes at their throat. "Not this time." And yet, it leaves their mouth with an ease of someone that doesn't know how to feel. A calm sentence with no waver, no humanity, as if her friend wasn't going to leave soon, as if Lati didn't care. But, Lati doesn't feel. They never could so what was… As the day ends and the moon peeks overhead, the dungeons for once in forever is empty and Lati is given a realization. The emerald binding the two of them together glows on their chest, shimmering with an enchantment. Drai didn't know the significance of such a thing, atleast not the true extent. He was simply too nice to know what such a binding gift could do, as far as his mortal brain could comprehend, it meant that if they lost it, it would come back. Loyalty 3 shimmers as their thumb rubs against the galaxtic text. Drai may be gone, but it doesn't mean he has to stay so. They simply have to wait. After all, he always come back right?

anyways, that's godsculk. Simply a parasite in a mortal's body and a god falling in love

After that, we have Sacredgrounds.

See, drai dying brought grief for two lifetimes and Lati, a god who's desperate is willing to do anything. Even attempt to bring the dead back to life.

Except its delayed and the hope turns to pain. Its so bad that Lati physically changes from it, turning stormy at the loss of what's theirs.

Eventually, someone bursts out of a grave. Cain! (white hair) and he's actually the body Drai possesed. He doesn't remember much, only knowing half of what Drai has gone through but he does remember a Lati

but Lati looks different and she looks pissed after Cain ransacked their room for armor. Sure, they get confused for a moment, wondering why Drai looked so different but he's ..larger now. The scars a bit too worse and skin too pale compared to how it was before and it clicks that Cain isn't Drai's reincarnation but rather, an intruder.

it isnt until they see the emerald and feel the pull do they realize that wait a sec, is this.. Drai?

anyways they go from enemies to lovers and i love them, ty for listening and reading my rambling

[yesimwriting]

What Follows

a/n can (likely) see myself making a part 2 of this, it’s like 4:30 AM and i cannot make that decision rn,, so if you think that’s a good idea or are interest,, lmk, public opinion could make or break my decision once i’m better rested

Summary: If you had to think about the coincidences that brought you to this, you’d realize that it was inevitable. Domino pieces falling into place. Or, to put it simply, it’s the end of the world and yet your biggest concern is your teeny tiny...terrible, life ruining crush. 

*cough* sharing bed trope, and some other stuff 

also i’ve never played the game i’ve only watched the show but i have some context of the game (i’ve watched some videos),, but timeline wise,, location wise, it’s pretty general as i’m just going with what fits for my intended story line like i do with most fics :)) it’s mainly set in a sort of safe house 

warnings: potential timeline errors, mentions of age gap that’s pretty vague, allusions to anxiety and canon angsty-ness

----

Memories of before are tricky. Most of them hybrids, odd mix-matches of true experiences and snippets of other things. Stories from an uneasy rotation of people, bits and pieces from books and magazines and other odds and ends. A collage that makes up an easily swayed perception of the world before. 

But you know this one is real. You know it is because it’s so mundane there’s no way someone gave it to you. It’s a quick glimpse, a brief flicker of you in a pair of roller skates with those thick, plastic stoppers attached to the front. The memory isn’t of what they felt like, or how many laps you did up and down your block. All you remember is the stinging. The soft skin of your knee scraped raw by the sidewalk. The particularness of that kind of pain. 

That’s what the realization feels like. Knowing that there’s a chance that you might feel something for Joel outside of general gratitude for the unofficial way Ellie and him took you in is speeding down a street just to collapse with no warning against unforgiving concrete.

His fingers brush around broken skin with a delicateness that turns you rigid. These are the same hands that beat a man within an inch of his life the first time he met you. It’s a juxtaposition that twists your nerves tight around your stomach.

It’s quiet now. More so than usual because Ellie’s asleep. If you had to come to your realization at all, you should have done it during the day. With Joel at a safe distance and Ellie awake to distract from the fact that you’ve been staring at his hand in total silence for minutes now. A violently out of character mistake, which is why you’re not surprised when his voice breaks the nothingness with a question: “You alright?” 

You sit up a little straighter. “Yeah.” It comes out flat and distant. “Yeah,” you affirm, a little more here, “Just thinking.” 

Ugh. Not nearly deflective or subtle enough. It’s the kind of cop out answer that worked in the beginning, before there was any form of attachment. Back then, you thought you’d only be around them for a few days. Until the swelling in your ankle went down enough to let you walk efficiently again. It was the least they could do then, after you jumped in to save Ellie when Joel and her were briefly separated. 

Joel’s mouth pulls into a shadow of a frown in the low light. A pang of guilt strikes you in the chest with no warning. Slipping back to that for no real reason goes a step beyond unfair; it’s mean. “I remembered something from before.” Joel says nothing, but his eyes refocus on you in a way that feels attentive. “Nothing big or interesting, just remembered these roller skates from when I was a kid. The one time I went out without knee pads I fell and scraped my knee.” 

His hand shifts away from your current injury--a long, yet shallow cut up your foreleg. Joel’s fingertips ghost up the skin, there and not at the same time. He settles his palm near your knee. “Is that how this happened?” There’s a hint of something in his voice, a touch of gentleness that makes you feel like he might be teasing you, at least a little. 

That kind of humor is new. Well, not new new anymore, but new enough to still sometimes slip past your perception or take you completely by surprise. Joel’s transition from constantly distant and standoffish to who he is now was equal parts slow as it was all at once. Weeks of tiptoeing, of hesitant flashes of a softer side until it became more and more there. It’s still not the side of him that’s most common, but considering the place where the two of you started from, the difference feels like miles from the sad starting point. 

You blink, tilting your head downwards to focus on the skin next to his thumb. A scar that’s little more than a blemish. The kind of mark that’s a result of picking at a scab again and again. “That’s nothing.” It’s such a small thing and Joel pointed it out so quickly. Like he knows your skin better than you do. Dwelling on that thought isn’t an option, so you recover with a question, “How’d you even see that?” 

Joel raises his eyebrows as if your surprise is something worth being amused by. “When you get used to seeing, it’s easy.” 

Of course it’s that. Considering how Joel is, how he always scouts out areas before letting us settle, it makes sense that he’d notice that. It’d be weirder if he didn’t. You press your foot into the ground, letting the feel of the dirt compacting itself beneath your shoe hold you in place. You’re almost embarrassed that you’ve never noticed the mark on your knee enough to fully register it. “I’ll let you check the rest of me for scars later then.” 

What. Did. You. Just. Say. What. 

Your entire body becomes as stiff as the trunk you’re leaning against. There are a lot of things you don’t know about attraction and dating, but you’re not so dense you can’t tell that that’s the worst line you’ve ever heard. 

Staring at the ground forever feels like the only safe option left, but it’s extremely unviable. After a few seconds, not knowing starts to feel as bad as knowing so you force yourself to look up enough to see him. He’s staring at you, mouth morphing into a subtle smile. He lets out a breathy scoff that’s supposed to cover a laugh, but you know better by now than to fall for that. 

“I didn’t say that.” With a sigh, you let your eyes shut. “I mean--I said it as in the words did come out of my mouth--but not like--y’know.” 

Joel laughs again, this time more openly. It’s deep and full and makes the burning of your humiliation worth all of it. “I know?” 

Squinting your eyes open, you take in his smugness. It’s different and oddly warm. And unfortunately, not unattractive. “You’re not funny.” Indignation makes you want to pull your leg back, and you should. You know you should. If there was any concern about the cut on your leg, Joel wouldn’t be joking. But he relaxes his hand, fingers splaying against your skin. “So what’s the verdict: Keeping the leg or cutting my losses?” 

Joel lets out another breath-laugh. This time it’s shorter. “And I’m the unfunny one?” Yeah, that’s the kind of response that guarantees your safety. The kind of comment he’d only ever make if everything is truly fine. “You’re okay.” 

“Just like I told you--” 

He ignores the comment with an expert’s ease. “Tomorrow I’ll go out, get some penicillin.” 

“Shit.” You frown, turning your leg out slightly to get a better look. This is easily one of the most embarrassing injuries of your life. Not inflicted by the monsters that infest your world or a corrupt person. The only thing you’re a victim of is not paying enough attention while panicking and not noticing a jagged rock.  It’s nothing life changing, nothing worthy of this much attention or discussion. “It’s infected?” 

Joel’s hand relaxes against your lower knee. It’s more of an implication of pressure than an actual change, but your body reacts to it all the same. You ease. “It was a muddy rock.” He pauses, like he’s running through his words. “Better safe.” 

Oh. Preventative antibiotics. A kind thought, but it feels unrealistic. “If nothing’s wrong, I don’t think we should risk it.” You blink, eyes struggling to focus on anything other than the hand still on your knee. If Joel feels awkward about it, he gives no indication. Which means it must be normal. Joel’s too him to do anything not normal when it comes to touch. “You’re hurt. More hurt than me, who’s just an idiot.” 

“’M fine.” Tell that to the flash of purple you saw when Joel’s shirt briefly rode up this morning. It had only been that way for a second, but that was all it took for you to realize that Joel’s bruising is larger than the size of your hand. You wouldn’t be surprised to find out that he has a cracked rib. 

You must let your disbelief show because the corner of his mouth turn upwards. Not quite a smile, but it’s close enough. “Tell that to your probably cracked rib.” 

 “I’m fine,” he repeats, and when you don’t ease, he tacts on something fatal, “Don’t pout.”

The joke is nothing original. Back in the ‘early’ days of your friendship, when things were rockier and less known, Joel had pointed out your expressiveness. He claimed it made it too easy to figure out more or less what you were thinking. It hadn’t been an insult, but it bothered you more than it should have. Which is a fact that Joel used to prove his hypothesis correct, because he then immediately told you that there was no point in pouting about it. 

Joel only says it in good humor. You know that, but that doesn’t mean you like it. It all goes back to the same thing. An implication that you’re transparent. You hate it. 

Transparency is for the naive, for those who haven’t experienced enough to be hardened. It makes you feel like a child, and maybe that’s intentional. Maybe it’s Joel’s equivalent to patting you on the head and telling you to cheer up, kiddo.

You’ve never understood the way the implication manages to snag itself beneath your skin, but now that you’re examining it under the lens of your new realization, it’s too much. There’s a good chance he sees you like another kid to look after. 

 “I’m not pouting.” A bad kind of heat rises up your chest. Instinctually, you angle your leg a little closer to yourself. It’s not a full retreat, but Joel’s fingers shift to secure their hold on you. 

It’s enough to shock you into stilling. If Joel’s prolonged contact was unexpected, him instinctually fighting to keep it is absolutely unbelievable. He’s not squeezing or forcing you to stay in place, but the gesture is enough to feel like he’s asking you to. “Need to wrap it.” 

Another thing you consider over treating a cut of this size. The only thing startling about it is its length. “It’s not that deep.” 

“Let me wrap it.” His voice comes out with a gruff annoyance that’s become increasingly familiar. It makes everything sound like some kind of version of don’t give me shit. 

You fight down a grin. “Admit your rib’s cracked.”

Joel presses his lips together, lines etching themselves into his skin. “Do you always have to argue?” 

Pausing, you pretend to have to think about it. “We all need hobbies.” You give yourself permission to look at him. Really look at him. “When you argue your eyebrows draw together and this line appears between them.” 

He laughs once, this time a little more openly. It’s still a little breathy and maybe even a little reluctant, but it feels good. Like sunlight saturating a room during the dead of winter. “I’m old.” 

Another reminder of that. You fight against the way it twists at your insides. “I’ve met older.” 

“Grandparents don’t count.” 

It’s all so weird and ridiculous, so you do the only thing you can think to. You laugh. “I wasn’t thinking about my grandparents.” 

It’s meant to be a joke that echoes his own, only it’s not quite that. Not with the way your voice softens and your eyes focus on his.

His fingers take their time parting from your skin. A slow drag that feels dangerously close to intentional. You’re practically holding your breath until he stands. “I’ll grab something for your leg.” 

There’s another thing left to point out. Something hanging in between the two of you. The fact that you’re perfectly capable of bandaging it yourself. That there’s a good chance you’d be better at it. “Okay.” 

----

When there is no sun and sleep pulls you under only to push you back out, time feels fickle. You don’t know how long it’s been since you all agreed to go to bed. 

Things feel different now that you’re all temporarily established in some safe house. Joel’s connection to it is vague to you. He mentioned his brother at some point, though you think details were used intentionally sparingly. It doesn’t feel cagey to you like it used to. Now it just feels like he’s holding off until it’s time to tell you everything.

 Maybe he’s waiting for it to come up naturally on some night where there’s nothing but time or maybe he’s waiting for it to feel right. You’re okay with either and any option. His past is his. You know he gives you what he can bare to and it’s only a matter of time until you hear the rest. 

You sit up, resting your back against the wall that your mattress is pressed against. Despite the dark, the outline of your roommate is easy to see. You’re not sure how it happened, the division of space that led to you and Joel in the same room and Ellie sleeping on her own. 

It’s only been a few nights and you’ve yet to regret going along with it. Ellie deserves the little privacy life can offer her considering the way you and Joel watch the poor girl. And, in all honestly, you’ve never been particularly fond of long hours alone in the dark. Especially since you joined Joel and Ellie on their mission. You’ve gotten more used to being around people than ever and that’s made being alone more noticeable than ever.

Sometimes when you can’t sleep your mind goes there. After. The inevitable separation. It makes your chest hurt and forces memories of what you’ve already lost to the surface. That makes it even harder to sleep, so sometimes you just settle for watching. You’d feel weirder about it if the dark of night didn’t make it little more than a step above staring off into space. 

Bending your knees, you adjust your position on the mattress, letting thin blankets fall away. It’s cold; the bite of it is welcomed.

Everyone’s temporary. You’ve learned that already. It’s burned into you the way that normal memories should be. 

This is stupid. All of it. Maybe Joel’s right to see you as a child. One bad dream shouldn’t have this much power of you. Quietly, you squeeze your arms around your legs. It’s the same position you were in when it happened. When you lost her. 

You don’t realize that you’re breathing heavier than you should be until you hear Joel’s mattress adjust as he moves from his side to his back. Shit. He never gets enough sleep. Guilt and embarrassment swell in you, but it’s not enough to subdue the impending panic. 

“You awake?” It’s mumbled through a voice that’s heavy with sleep.

A part of you wants to stay quiet, but that’d be wrong. You already woke him up, the last thing you need to do is stress him out. “Yeah,” you manage, “I’m up.” Your voice comes out so hollow you barely recognize it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I--I’m gonna--” You don’t know what the end of the sentence is supposed to be. Something that implies that you’re stepping out and that everything’s fine. “Go back to sleep.” 

There’s a moment of nothing and a small part of you thinks maybe Joel’s listened for once. Your hope is shattered at the sound of rustling sheets. “C’mere.” 

It’s said so faintly you can imagine that it’s a figment of your imagination. Likely a mumbled slur that he won’t even remember in the morning. A sleep idled grunt of acknowledgement that just so happened to sound like a word. You know it’s nothing. You know you heard him incorrectly, but you can’t relax. Not yet. You hold yourself there, breath caught in your lungs as a prolonged beat passes. 

Joel breaks the silence by moving off of his side and on to his back. His arm stretches forward, pulling his blanket to the side. Are you crazy or is that...some kind of invitation? “I’m not going back to bed until you come here.” 

There’s still sleep in his voice, but he’s already managed to snap back into seriousness. A subdued authority. Your body moves on its own accord. You sit up fully, place your feet on the ground, and stand. Walking is a little harder but the distance is short. 

You stand in front of his mattress, smaller than you’ve ever been. Joel’s never fully relaxed. He’s close to it now, and you wonder if you’ll be around long enough to be able to see it. The question leaves you too cold, too antsy. Before you know what you’re doing, you’re sitting at the edge of his mattress. “’M here,” you whisper, “And I’m fine.” 

A touch at your lower arm nearly makes you jump. It’s just Joel. “You’re shaky.” He sits up so quickly you can barely register it. The back of his palm presses itself against your neck before he reaches for your temple. His fingers feel like ice but you can’t bring yourself to move away.  “You’re not warm--” 

“No fever.” It leaves you too quietly. “I--I’m fine.” Joel’s hand leaves your forehead and settles against your back. “Just realized some shit.” His fingers drag down your spine and trace their way back to their original resting place. Again and again, a pattern that makes it easy to breathe. “I’ve been around for awhile, with you and Els. Longer than I thought I’d be. Longer than...” Longer than I’ve been with anyone since I lost her. “Just longer.”

His touch nearly falters. “Mhm.” 

“And it’s been nice. Really nice.” Your nails softly scratch the inside of your wrist. “And I don’t want to get to that part where something fucked up happens.” Your breath catches itself in your throat. “I know that the fucked up part is normally my fault. Historically, at least, but--” You cut yourself off with a shaky breath, hating yourself for being this pathetic. “I just really don’t want to get there. To the fucked up part that leads to the leaving part.”

Getting things out in the open is supposed to make things feel better. It’s supposed to make things lighter. That’s what people always say. This isn’t that. There’s no epiphany, no healing. It leaves you and it stays that way. Gone.

Hollowness is worse. It’s too revealing. You should leave, mumble a vague comment about dreams and sleepy thoughts before crawling back to your own jumble of cushioning and jumbled blanket or at the very least apologize for waking him over nothing. 

You do neither. For a minute there’s only the silence and the cold and the safe assurance of Joel tracing patterns against your back. “There’s not going to be a fucked up part.” Joel destroys the silence. “Not a fucked up part that leads to leaving.” 

“You don’t know--” Your cut off is jarring, but it’s better than letting him hear what you were going to say. You don’t know me. Don’t know the kinds of things that happen around me. “That.”

Joel’s hand retreats and your world feels less stable. “There won’t be.” His tone is harsher than before, a tone that leaves no room for argument from the universe let alone you. He shifts, pushing most of himself to one side. “Just lay down.” The lowness of his voice is too assured to be considered understanding. It hints at impatience but undoes a knot in your stomach regardless. “Try to get some sleep.” 

You nod your head slowly, the motion overly deliberate despite the fact that he likely can’t see it. There’s nothing else to be said, so you stretch back, placing your legs onto his mattress and carefully easing yourself onto your back.

Now that you’re under the same blanket as him, the thinness of it is hard to ignore. When the three of you divided the bedding supplies found in some closet, Joel had picked last. You asked if he ever felt like trading, but he insisted that he was warm enough and that if he ever wasn’t, he could always use his jacket for extra layering. 

The realization that he’s likely been freezing without complaint takes a second to sink in. He likes his walls up and to play detached, but then takes the worst of the blankets without complaint. It’s so stupidly close to being a martyr that you nearly laugh. It’s so him in the worst way, the kind of way he’d never acknowledge. 

You’re debating whether or not the additional warmth of your blanket would be worth potentially disturbing his sleep again. If you did that, maybe in the morning you could pretend to get the two blankets mixed up. You think you could get used to being this cold if he’d let you. 

“You know what you remind me of.”

His voice is so unexpected you nearly jump out of your skin. With your mind focusing on other things, it was easier to pretend that there was nothing unusual about this. 

Blood rushing to your face, you adjust so that you’re more on your side. Facing him. "I thought you wanted me to go to sleep.” 

Joel sighs and you can practically feel his lungs filling and deflating. “I didn’t think tonight would be the night you started listening to me.” 

At least he’s learning. “First time for everything.” The words feel different once they’re out in the air. It’s meant to be a passing comment, not what the darkness morphs it into. 

It’s the second time a realization has come at a terrible time in the last few days. You know that you’ve been lying in his bed, but now you’re feeling the fact. Feeling the little space between you and the dip in the mattress’s fabric where he’s resting. It’d be easy to extend your arm. Dangerously easy. 

You feel his head tilt, angling himself even closer to you. “Do you want to know or not?” 

It takes a second for your mind to cement a connection. “What I remind you of?” You hum once, several jokes that’d make this easier coming to mind instantly. “I have a few guesses.” It’s too dark to make out the details of his expression, but you can feel his halfhearted glare. “Okay, tell me.” 

“There was this story from before. Way before.” You’re patient as he takes his time thinking through what he wants to say. You don’t mind the wait, not when he’s close enough that his casualness is tangible enough to be contagious. “About a kid that saw this white rabbit. She chased the thing down a hole and it took her into this other world, and there were some other things, but she kept chasing that rabbit.”

You would have laugh if he had spoken any less seriously. It’s always been clear that you two aren’t exactly the same age, and some references that are about before the outbreak feel either vague or completely disconnected from you, but not everything. “I know I’m younger than you, but I know about Alice in Wonderland.” 

“Excuse me.” The two words are dripping in sarcasm; you beam. “After you didn’t know that--” 

“I knew you were going to say that.” You don’t get one reference one time and now he feels the need to explain everything. “It was one time.” 

“Even Ellie got it.” 

“I was tired.” He raises his eyebrows at that, a gesture of disbelief. You huff once, sitting up a little to shove his shoulder. “I was.” He lets out a sound that’s a little too smug. You move your hand, but before you can push at his arm, his fingers find their way around your wrist. When you try to tug your arm back, his resistance surprises you. “Asshole.” 

His hand leaves goosebumps crawling up your arm as he adjusts his hold on you. “You’re the one that shoved me.” Like he’s not the one that instigated it. “And you interrupted me.” 

“Fine.” You lay back down. Joel doesn’t let go of your arm and you make no move to get it back. His hands are so cold you find it hard not to worry. Hypothermia’s a thing. “Continue. Alice in Wonderland.” 

“The rabbit,” he says, “You’re a lot like that.” 

You play around with the thought, scraping together the details you remember about the white rabbit. It’s been awhile since you’ve watched the Disney movie version, and even longer since you’ve heard the actual story. Alice got into some trouble with the queen of hearts and her card deck guards. Every time she wasn’t supposed to be somewhere it was because of that rabbit, wasn’t that the gist of it? She just kept chasing and chasing it. 

“So who am I leading astray?” 

“No.” He says it so quickly, the silence that follows is unexpected. You accept it. You’ll wait. “You’re...you’re followable.” Oh. The cold makes no difference to the uncontrollable warmth that rushes to your face. 

He feels tenser, his touch on your arm a little more hesitant. The meaning of that from Joel isn’t lost on you."You are, too.” 

Joel’s fingers brush up your arm. “Not the way you are.” 

You like the way he is, like that he’s the kind of person that can be moody and standoffish for days and still take the thinnest blanket. “I disagree.” 

“That’s not new.” 

“I think it’s good we don’t agree.” He waits for you to continue with little reaction, but you know he’s listening. “I can follow you, you can follow me. Makes it easier.”

He hums once, “Sounds like walking in circles.” 

Rolling your eyes, you finally let your attention fall to his hand. “You’re so cold.” 

Joel mistakes it for a complaint instead of the show of concern it’s meant to be. His hand moves off you so quickly you barely have a chance to reach for him. He doesn’t resist, not even when you squeeze his one hand between both of yours. You’re careful, gentle as you let your fingers move up and down his skin. When he doesn’t complain, you do something a better rested you would have never done. You let your touch wander further, first to his wrist and then down to his forearm. He’s no warmer there. 

“Shit, Joel.” you start pressing your hands against his forearm, your need to make his skin feel like it’s at a stable temperature overriding your survival instincts. “You’re freezing.” You sit up, taking his arm with you. “Are you sick?” 

“Sick’s hot.” 

“Tell that to someone with early stage hypothermia.” You scoot back, preparing to move over to grab your blanket. “I’ll get my blanket.” 

He squeezes your arm. “I’m fine.” You’re seconds away from protest, but Joel stops you. “Just stay put.” 

You’re about to insist. It’ll take less than a minute and make things a lot better. The urgency in his hold makes it impossible. Makes the thought of doing anything that doesn’t involve holding on just as intensely outside of the realm of possibility. “Okay.” 

If he’s surprised at how quickly you give in, he doesn’t show it, he just lets you lay down again. You’re not sure if you can prove it, but it feels like he’s closer than before. “How are you not cold?” 

You almost tell him you do feel cold, he’s just that much colder, but then think he might use that as a reason to move away from you. He’d never understand that you’d rather be cold than know he’s freezing. Or maybe the problem is he’d get it too much, that he’d feel the same way. 

“I run a little warm.” You brush your fingers down his arms again. It’s nice in a way you don’t get. “Except my feet.” 

He tilts his head. “Your feet?” 

You stretch your legs until your feet find his. “They’re cold.” 

Joel lets out a disgruntled sound, moving closer to let his legs cover your feet. “Rabbit.” 

The giggle that comes out would be embarrassing if that had been any less funny. Your forehead pushes forward, dropping against his shoulder. “Please don’t let that stick.” 

“They burrow.” You grin against his skin, deciding that you really like this version of him. A little lighter, a little more candid. “You’re a little jittery, too.” 

“Shut up.” He’s not wrong, which only makes you resent him a little more. “‘M not.” 

There’s no fight in your reaction so you have no idea how Joel finds a way to take it as a challenge. He must have, though, because you can think of no other explanation for the way he stills. No other motive for the way you can feel his eyes focusing on you or the slow way he moves his hand down your arm.

You will your body to stay still, to not react. It doesn’t listen. You shiver. 

Maybe you are a fucking rabbit. 

The only thing worse than this reaction is the thought of Joel being right. So you force your lips to part even though you have no idea what to say. “Think we should go to sleep.” Your voice feels awkward, shallow. “...Get a few hours before Els wakes up.” 

He’s almost smiling, “She takes up a lot of energy.” 

“Yeah,” you agree with an even more open fondness, “Told her I’d teach her how to shoot arrows and french braid hair.” You smile at the thought. It’s good to have someone to teach, to pass something onto. “Feels like summer camp.” 

You’re expecting a similar type of joke, or maybe a snarky comment about archery over actual shooting. Instead, his hand settles a little more comfortably against your arm. “You’re good with her.” 

“She’s easy to be good with.” It’s true. Beneath the smart ass jokes and swear rate that could make a sailor uncomfortable, Ellie’s just a kid, and a good one, too.

Joel’s one to talk about people that are good with Ellie. When you first met, you genuinely thought they were father and daughter until Joel explained to you what they were doing. “It’s more than that.”

His approval means a lot when it comes to this. “You’re even better with her.” 

Ellie’s another factor all together. There’s no way it wouldn’t feel weird for her to know that in the other room, you and Joel are sharing a mattress, holding onto each other because of the cold. 

It’s not like you’re doing anything wrong, it just feels odd when considering her. Like this is some kind of game of house. The realization that you think you might like Joel is still pretty new and something that’s ruined a lot of things. Every time it floats to the front of your mind, everything starts feeling off. 

You don’t want to taint this or to overthink. You want to let it all soak in. The two of you sharing a mattress and a too thin blanket. His leg is still resting over your feet and your hands are still on his arm. You’re a slowly tangling web of limbs and you don’t think you’d have it any other way as you drift towards unconsciousness. 

[pedroshotwifey]

WIP Wednesday!!

Thank you, @nerdieforpedro for tagging me, ily, babe!

So, in true wifey fashion, this week's wips are the same as last's. 🫠 The only difference is that I'm now on the next chapter of Favorite Bounty and have written a tiny bit more for To the Flame and the other foursome wip. Here are some snippets!

FB: This chapter is actually coming from Din's pov! Definitely a new thing for me, but it really works with the story.

Eventually, Din caught himself. It had only been a few weeks since you had joined him and Grogu on the crest, but he could already feel the urge to protect you, to claim you as his own, to have you in his sights at all times. When he came to terms with that fact, he made up even more excuses to cover it up. It was instinct. He had just gone too long without human interaction, he was just naturally protective, the list goes on. He did pride himself for a little while, for the way he was able to hold back from you—it was a harder task than he would have thought.  Not only did he have the urge to keep you safe, he also had a nagging want to bend you over a crate and fuck you into oblivion every time you passed by him in the hull. Fortunately, he had a sound enough mind to refrain from doing that, but he couldn't help but to place his palm on the small of your back each time, gently urging you past him. Unfortunately, just that action was enough to have him stiff in is pants, suddenly in dire need of solitude so he could find his quick release instead of holding one of his hands in front of his crotch for the next hour.

TTF: We're finally getting somewhere! This chapter is going to be spicy, and then the next one is going to get real. 😈

The thin cotton of your panties does practically nothing to tame the wetness seeping out of you and onto Javi’s pants. You tighten your arms around him as you rock yourself quicker, the coil tightening further within you. You’re moaning, gasping, and whimpering against Javi’s lips, the kiss growing sloppier with each pass.  Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as you consider your current behavior. Never in your life have you acted so ridiculously…feral. You honestly can’t think of another word for what you’re doing right now, grinding up against this man like an animal, licking and nipping at his plush lips without restraint.  The only reason you don’t slow is because Javi's acting the same way. Like he can’t get enough of you. His hands are gripping your hips so tightly that you’ll likely bruise, his own bucking against yours every time you grind particularly hard. The noises that tumble from his lips are downright filthy. 

Foursome WIP: Frankie x Joel x Din x Reader. Yup, this is going to be fucking nasty.

So now you stand here, your lips parted as you take in the sight of three imposing men. All three of them are naked. Two are standing, their cocks erect and throbbing in the air as the third one kneels and grasps one in each hand, alternating which dick gets his tongue. Each of the men above him have a steadying hand on his head as they grunt and moan. The room is dim, curtains draped around the whole thing. A circular bed sits behind the men, taking up about a third of the room. There are two plush chairs pushed into the unoccupied corners of the room. You decide silently that it’s the perfect atmosphere for what it’s designed for.  You only stand in the doorway for a few seconds before one of the standing men catches your eye, smirking as he nudges the man next to him and tugs on the hair of the man below him. Soon, all three of them are facing you, each of their gazes hungry but welcoming.  “Sorry to get the party started without you, darlin’, but we didn’t think you were gonna show,” the man who laid eyes on you first says.  You feel a heat climbing up your body, your cheeks turning pink as you take in his deep voice and charming southern drawl. 

Let me know if anyone would like to be tagged in any of these!!

NPT: @kewwrites @princessanglophile @strang3lov3 @notjustjavierpena @beefrobeefcal (this may or may not be me begging for a glimpse of beefro in space 😗) @romanarose @janaispunk @ezrasbirdie @tightjeansjavi

[blade-that-was-broken]

half life & something to remember r my fave aus ✨

AHHHH THANK YOU!!

I LOVE both of them. I’d like to give a series name for Something to Remember but idk at this point. It makes me LAUGH and I love that.

Amnesiac JD and Branch become the most functionally chaotic duo ever. I’m not sure if I will ever be able to write Branch the way I want to very well for this au but I love the concept. Amnesiac JD doesn’t have the pressure or guilt or the other stuff that canon does in his head so it’s like he’s starting fresh. Instead of being a child trying to raise children in the looms of certain death and manage the band, he’s just an adult hiker dude that finds out he has a brother and goes cool I’ll take care of him.

JD cannot and will not escape the big brother instincts. Ever.

But it’s so funny to see how much they deviate from canon cause they are really different. Still survivalist and JD is still funny and ready to try anything. Branch is still prepared and super smart but not nearly as fearful and cautious as canon. They CAN and will do some pretty crazy stuff and are good at it too.

I hope the ideas and brain rot for that come up again soon.

Half Life was like… idk what it was. It started as a tiny snippet. Almost like a blurb of thy beginning part with JD getting a phone call from CPS. And then I started and couldn’t quite stop. There isn’t a ton of rhyme or reason to anything, it’s just kind of been going and stuff and I’m totally okay with that.

The brain rot is real man.

I was a little nervous to do a human au but like whatever. I’m trying to deal with some of my own catastrophic thinking, worry and perfectionism so I’m hoping this helps in the writing aspect kind of getting over that. I really enjoy writing it too.

I figure I’ll probably keep the series to about the first week and after that, maybe just one shots and scenes/like mini arcs of them after that. It’s mostly fluff and it’s safe to spoil that John Dory does get custody of his brothers.

I have PAGES of thoughts of the characters, a couple of ideas etc. like there’s quite a bit of notes on things. I have a soft spot for JD and Delta friendship and since right now John doesn’t have any real associates or friends in canon to bank off of, he got Delta instead so I guess some things are kind of different in that aspect.

And I kind of use my own experiences a little. Not with JD specifically but just little things. A lady at my church is letting a family of 5 live in her house or the fact my dad sold his parents house to a guy for lower than market value cause it was his first house. Big families that encompass around lots of small towns and help each other, accidentally unofficially adopting friends and such. It’s easier to write small towns when that’s all you’ve ever known. And it’s kind of nice.

I’m so much better at taking media’s characters and molding them to what I want in a story, even if it’s wayyyy off canon than I am with my own original character stories (although I have a TON)

And I love doing little things for my own stuff. I’m getting way off topic. This is what happens when I explain stuff. I over explain and over talk LOL

This au has really been a lot about feelings. Right now it’s all in John’s pov I guess but other snippets and shots will probably be in others.

If you have any questions about anyone, anything that happens, the characters etc. feel free to ask. I love answering and it sometimes gives me new ideas!

[vindickyoutive]

black noir being the father that stepped up :)

here’s a little snippet of ‘black noir being the father that stepped up’ WIP :) the explanation written in the heading is simply: ‘noir passive aggressively forces his way to see the experiment he technically risked his life for’

At first, he thought they were fabricating the truth just so that he’d be one-hundred percent convinced. The notion had come off to him as ridiculous, simply a stretched hope, something that wasn’t even remotely possible considering all of their limitations - and yet, all of it was real, unfolding right in front of his eyes. His one eye, for the time being.

A week had passed since the fight, since Soldier Boy’s abduction, Noir hadn’t healed properly, but that’s the least of his worries. Luckily enough, he pulled through. With the extent of the beating he had received, the severity of his injuries, including how close he had felt to his head being completely smashed inward - the scars littering his face, his head, being alive right now was all he could ever ask for.

The child, three years old now, Noir found out he was born April-May nineteen-eighty one, had bleached blonde hair and he kept chewing on his fist as he sat on the cold, pasty tiled floor, his other hand yanking at the blanket sprawled over his tiny legs.

Although he made no noise that indicated any interest in what he was seeing, Noir had lifted his hand to press his palm against the glass and slowly leaned in, ogling the boy, body language exuding infatuation.

Vogelbaum was saying something next to him, but he wasn’t listening, he kept staring at the baby, listening to the echoes of the toddler humming an unrecognizable tune.

Vogelbaum slips up and says ‘John’ in reference to their little labrat. John’s name is the only piece of information Noir feels the need to retain, the doctor begins to correct himself, seeming a little perturbed at himself due to his moment of slippage.

Noir was already repeating the name over and over in his head.

He goes inside to see the toddler, Vogelbaum lets him albeit reluctantly. Noir wonders how long he’s been carrying this invisible air of intimidation that causes individuals to sway, he questions if these people even trust him. It’s not like they trust Payback at all. Noir was the only one who decided to stay around much to the discomfort of everyone else.

Once Edgar mentioned the replacement was ‘still a child’ he knew he couldn’t leave.

Vought did a necessary task in the midst of being one of the most corrupt companies in capitalist America, and that task was getting rid of Soldier Boy. Yet, even then, they’ve once again caught themselves meddling in something sinisterly heinous, again. Noir thinks about their track record as he shuts the door behind him, the toddler scooting back, tilting his head at him as he strides over, he thinks about the evils of raising a child like this, in this type of facility.

Noir kneels, holding his hand out.

John has big blue eyes that were intensely locked onto his hand, his eyebrows dark brown, and the back of his hand has slobber on it as he extends it, touching Noir’s palm curiously for a few seconds, his wet stubby little fingers wrapping around his pinky.

Noir tilts his head and wiggles his pinky finger, curling it before poking it out, John is thrown into fits of giggles at the small action, flickering his eyes up at him, his small, white baby teeth on display as he grins at him.

His smile reminds Noir of sun rays peeking over the horizon, blanketing the skies with a fuzzy pink color before it diminishes into a blinding brightness, his laugh reminds him of singing birds twiddling about in the trees in the mist of early dawn, and when John had lightly squeezed his entire hand around Noir’s pinky, the man had felt his breath catch in his throat.

A page is turned over, and he lets himself relish in this moment, this is the most content he’s ever felt, and it’s with Soldier Boy’s son, his greatest nightmare’s very own offspring. That only keeps him grounded though, because that man is gone, and John is what is left, the potential for him is promising, and Noir is going to control it, nurture it.

From the beginning, as soon as he walked in, there was this sense of protection that crashed over him, and in this moment, the longer he plays with the bubbling boy, ignoring Vogelbaum standing outside the door, peeking through observantly, he lets the waves wrap around him.

It’s like a kilt, warm, snug.

[the-obiwan-for-me]

SSTW Ask:

I’m not sure if you’ve ever thought about this, but if you have it would mean the world to me if you told me about whatever you have thought about, even if it’s just tiny snippets.

Basically, I’m curious about the younger Kryzes and if they ever choose to get married (if they weren’t already in a relationship) and have kids. By “younger Kyrzes” I mean Korkie, Ahsoka, Lily, Avi, Eli, and Edi, as well as the Skywalker children, and of course special mention goes to Sabine and Tristan.

If they ever have kids, how many do each of them have? What are their genders? What about their names? Do any of them marry a different species and have hybrid children? What about adoption?

If you’ve thought this far ahead, what are the kids like, that is, their personality?

BTW it’s totally okay if you’ve never thought about this and have no answers, but if you do I’d absolutely LOVE to hear your thoughts.

Thanks in advance! You’re the greatest.

Oh wow! These are great questions. I know some of this, but not all of it, and I am happy to share because I don't know/highly doubt I will ever write this far into the family's future (save one story, which I will point out when I get to it).

Korkie and Aled get married at the end of MTB (last chapter....it's glossed over, but that's why the whole family is there). They will eventually adopt a child, probably a little girl (why I get Cam and Mitch vibes from Modern Family, I will never know).

Ahsoka has always ready pretty ace to me in canon (her weird jealousy over Lux and Steela Gerrera in the Onderon arc of TCW felt very forced and I have beef with EKJ about....well, TONS of things, but she doesn't even read her own writing well...the interactions between Ahsoka- wait. You know what. This isn't the place to rant about EKJ). ANYWAY, my Ahsoka is ace and aromantic and goes on to live a very happy life helping the galaxy through the RHI and other means.

Lily has yet to tell me what she wants in this department. I have a little storyline in my head about her meeting someone, but it hasn't really formed into anything meaningful yet.

Avi definitely gets married. To a boy from Alderaan that she meets at uni on Coruscant. He has no idea she's royalty for a good while, and is far more excited that she's cousins with the famous singer, Eli Kryze.

Edi and Eli I don't know yet.

The twins, well, I have a whole scenario that gets Han, Luke, and Leia meeting up, so Leia and Han will marry (this is the story I want to write, because the idea of Han marrying into this clan is hysterical to me). Luke will somehow meet Mara Jade as he goes about the galaxy being some sort of lay-Jedi.

Past this generation, I have no real clue! Avi will have children, for sure, and Leia and Han will have some variation of the twins and Anakin Solo from Legends/EU.

But, just know, that in THIS galaxy, they Kryzes are a large and growing and happy clan, unlike in canon *sob*

[iam50b3r]

hananene lyric fic I'm working on

here's a snippet of what I have for a hananene lyric fic of 'liever met jou' by froukje! Hope you enjoy and I hope this gives me the motivation to finish it TT

Hanako looks outside from the bathroom window. There is a storm outside. The dark clouds infect the boy’s head mentally. He thinks about his life before he threw it away. All he wanted was to go to the moon, but he also let that go. He told himself he would never leave here. Guess he did so. Hanako’s mind wanders to all his old memories while looking through the glass at the tiny droplets fighting for a place on the window. He wonders if the droplets are mother nature’s tears or if it was just something his brother once told him to make him feel better about the weather. Thinking about it like that does make him feel better about going out in it, but he can not do that anymore. 

The boy hears a door close behind him. He looks behind him to see Nene there. The girl waves at Hanako and drops her bag next to him. “God, why does it have to rain again? I’m going to be all wet when I get home…” Nene sighs. “I guess I just have to hope that the rain stops before I leave again..” 

Hanako hums. “I… like the rain. It reminds me of living.” The boy looks back outside, then back at Nene with a grin. “Did you forget your umbrella again?” 

“I didn’t forget it!” Nene argued. “I didn’t know it was going to rain!” 

“Then check the weather before going out! You have that phone thing, you know?” 

Nene pouted and let out a huff. Then she seemed to have an idea. “Oh yeah! I heard once that if you keep looking at the rain, it’ll stop! So, Hanako, I have a very important task for you today!” 

Hanako looked at Nene with a sly grin. “I thought I was the one giving you tasks.” Nene blushed at that but kept going. 

“You’re going to look at the rain while I clean your bathroom!” 

“And why would I do that?” 

“Because you have nothing else to do and I know you’re gonna sulk anyways!” 

Hanako quickly grabbed at his uniform where his heart would be and looked sad. “Nene! To think I would do that!” 

“I know for a fact you were thinking of doing that!” Nene points at Hanako. “You’ve been way more in your head than normal and don’t you act like I haven’t noticed!” 

Hanako knows he has been thinking more about stuff. But it is not about bad stuff, not that much anymore at least. It is more about Nene. It is not going that bad, he must admit. It has not been going wrong for a while now. And even though he has been a ghost for over fifty years, it still feels like he is so new to everything. It is like everything he has learned was meant for someone else. Hanako makes a ‘pshh’ and looks back outside. He hopes he has said enough for Nene. How much he really cares about her caring. It makes him feel loved. Something he barely felt when he was alive. 

Nene lets it go with a murmur and goes to get the mop. Hanako looks back at the droplets. Why does he feel so cold? He was used to feeling a type of cold after becoming a ghost, but this was different. He wants the warmth Nene gives him. She probably does not notice it, but she gives out warmth. At least to Hanako, she does. 

The two do their own things in peace. Nene hummed some new pop song while cleaning and Hanako looked at the weather with his own head in the clouds, thinking away at the smallest things he could think about. After a while, probably 30-40 minutes later, the rain stopped. Huh, so maybe that rumor was real after all… Hanako would have to look into it so it is not some apparition that is soon going to go rogue. 

Nene laughed. “Oh my god, it worked!” She looked at Hanako with stars in her eyes. “It actually worked! Hanako-kun, you’re the best!” 

Hanako blushed slightly at the praise. He did not do anything. Or, well, anything that special. He was just looking at the rain. Nene quickly took her bag from the corner of the bathroom and ran, saying how she will have to run back home before it starts raining again and saying bye to Hanako. She also thought aloud if Kou might still be here as well, and that they could maybe walk home together. 

Hanako sighs when he knows she is gone.

“I hope you know I’d rather be with you here.” 

[themculibrary]

Wanda Maximoff Needs A Hug Masterlist

8 Bullets (ao3) - xocean G, 5k

Summary: She loves her brother. Her brother is dead.

A Colored Life (ao3) - KurayamiNeko wanda/darcy G, 22k

Summary: Wanda breaks apart, but someone comes along to help her back together.

both gone, neither buried (ao3) - soil_to_stars N/R, 1k

Summary: It’s strange, she thinks, for two to come into the world together yet leave it separately. For her, as half of a whole, to leave it completely empty.

found (but not for us) (ao3) - rainbowtie32 wanda/vision T, 1k

Summary: It had been only a matter of days since Vision had kissed Wanda and asked her to stay, and yet she was told it was five years. ... “Tony was your father, right?” She asked, rolling her head to the side so her cheek pressed against the cool brick.

“I- yeah- something like that,” he stuttered.

OR,

At Tony's funeral, Wanda is on the verge of a breakdown. Peter interrupts.

I have this breath and I hold it tight (ao3) - 100indecisions T, 3k

Summary: Steve finally goes to Wanda’s tiny room and taps on the doorframe, although it’s hardly necessary, with the slightly warped floorboards creaking under his feet. “Hey,” he says. “Got a minute?”

Wanda's been a little withdrawn since Steve broke everyone out of the Raft. She's had a lot to think about.

i'll always look best in your head (ao3) - ghoultown wanda/vision T, 308k

Summary: “I’ve been searching for half the day for an indication of humanity and life within myself, but there seems to not be any.” He folds his arms over his chest, defeated, “All of humanity seems so probable, so able to change and communicate and connect and live. So possible. And I just feel so...“

“Impossible?” Bruce points to the screen.

Vision follows his finger. He reads the words at the top, large and bold and simple, feeling his body lurch forward to get closer.

The Impossible Man by Wanda Maximoff.

Vision doesn't have a heart, but he could swear he feels his pulse quicken.

-

Wanda has begun to write a story about a man who cannot exist. Vision is searching for an explanation as to who he is. They seem to meet in the middle.

it's always have and never hold (you've begun to feel like home) (ao3) - remaininganon wanda/natasha G, 3k

Summary: And in that moment, everything clicks. She understands. Because he had taken everything from her.

My take on what was going on in Wanda's mind during the Endgame battle, plus some post-battle scenes that I desperately needed.

Lovely To Finally Meet You (ao3) - Robertdoc T, 10k

Summary: Though Agnes - Agatha Harkness - has revealed herself, she's not done messing with Wanda's mind yet. Not through mind control, but through more painful reminders of what Wanda allowed to happen in Westview, gaslighting her into believing she's exactly the kind of person who would let it happen, and offers to stay in Westview forever that Wanda can't convince herself she should turn down anymore.

Until a blast from a familiar, suddenly rebuilt object brings back a memory of what she really did right before the Hex formed, who she really tried to be even at the lowest point of her life - and who she's finally ready to introduce Agatha to now. But even that may not be enough.

Another attempt at a Wanda character study that doubles as a wish fulfillment/theory for future episodes, tries to explain the still unexplained trailer snippets left, and seeks to give Wanda a real chance to heal and remember she's not just another all powerful woman who went unstable from grief - in case the show forgets to really try in the little time left it gave itself.

More than what they did to us (ao3) - Ryan_Sky G, 5k

Summary: Don’t let a witch get on your ship, you will end up having strange nightmares and a deep conversation about your respective traumatic pasts instead of sleeping.

Or, Wanda and Rocket share a talk about being a lab rat

name one hero who was happy (ao3) - soil_to_stars N/R, 1k

Summary: She’d drawn a mountain once for school. Her name had been written in the corner. It’s gone now, lost in the fire, because whatever her name touches is already gone. Everything her name touches, burns. 

People need Synthezoids (ao3) - bitchjerkwings wanda/vision N/R, 1k

Summary: a one-shot where vision comforts wanda.

She Used To Be Mine (ao3) - Anonymous T, 5k

Summary: "It's a troubling dichotomy in her mind — too dangerous to be around people, too self destructive to be in solitude."

Or — Wanda doesn't know how to be herself anymore. She doesn't know if she can be. All she knows is she can't be alone anymore.

So she calls Clint.

we keep all the hurt you never know (ao3) - Kapua T, 4k

Summary: Her upper lip curls back in a snarl, eyes gleaming wounded-animal bright as a dark wind blows around them. Everyone has been so terrified of her destroying the world for so long now. This is who they have claimed her to be all along; all she is doing is giving them exactly what they always claimed she would, and she can't deny that there is some twisted satisfaction in it.

-

Or: Rubble isn’t exactly a theme you want to see pop up across your lifetime, but it is perhaps the most consistent thing that Wanda has ever known.

what is grief, if not love persevering? (ao3) - hunkahulkaaburningfudge wanda/vision G, 63k

Summary: The Avengers watch their future.

A WandaVision watch-it fic.

you'll be alright, no one can hurt you now (ao3) strawberriesinmoominvalley clint/natasha T, 14k

Summary: The first day was awkward.

Dealing with ex-HYDRA kids was not Natasha’s first rodeo. She’d helped Peter - hell, she’d been brought up in the Red Room. She understood how fucked up things like that could make you. But Pietro and Wanda were different to Peter - they were avoidant to touch, checking for exits in every room they entered.

OR wanda and pietro learn they finally have a home, and are loved. the farm family gains two new members

[tessabennet]

So. *wiggles eyebrows* You're saying if I ask real nice, you'll give me ALL the spoilers? I'm SO VERY tempted right now to ask a million questions and have you spoil the shit out of your own fic. 👀

But where's the fun in that? So much of the excitement of reading the series is in finding out how you're going to deal with certain events/characters/canon fuck-ups and how you're ultimately going to turn this ship around.

So, I will refrain (so generous of me, I know!). Still, if you feel so inclined, can I ask 25 & 35 for the ask game?

Also, since I'm writing this in a sort of vegetative state from my sickbed (yes, please pity me, thank you!), can I ask for a line/snippet from one of the future parts, pretty please?

Thank you!🥰

Noo, J, sorry to hear you're sick. Hope it's nothing too serious 😧

Your restraint is greatly appreciated btw, I know how hard it must be 😜😁 So, here we go with the asks:

25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

Bucky's favourite drink is a Mamie Taylor. He never much got to drink it, because the places they usually went to before the war didn't really do cocktails (more like beer and hard liquor, you know?) He rediscovered it in the 21st century, by which point it had also become Steve's favourite - because, well, nowadays the drink is called a Buck.

35. What’s your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens?

Write what you know is the obvious answer. Like... no? Sir, this is comic book logic. I'm no brain surgeon or neurologist, I'm going on pretentious name dropping and wikipedia alone. I've only been to a tiny fraction of all the places I name in the series; I only know Brooklyn by google maps street view. I never once ran an international intelligence agency or worked as a black ops agent. How the fuck would I ever write anything if it was just me and my life experience??

The other thing I've seen as ""advice"" before is to not use semicolons. Which, fuck that. You can pry those from my cold dead hands because I need them and we're bound for live, it's a love story, etc etc.

As for the snippet you asked for, of course you'll get one! A long one even, right under the cut. It's from the latest chapter I wrote, only just this morning.

I really hope you'll feel better very soon!! Gute Besserung ❤️‍🩹

Because Steve moved back to the Heights. Once he'd found the place, he knew there wouldn't be another choice. He's just a few streets away from the place where, before the war, he was the happiest. Just a few block away from his and Bucky's old place.

A few years ago he probably wouldn't have been willing to pay for his new place. Able, maybe, but too stubborn to give in to the insane prices that a place in Brooklyn will cost in this century.

Except the prices have gone way down since the Snap. Fewer people in the world means fewer people with the kind of money that can afford a condo like this. In fact, the apartment Steve got here is probably way below the kind of place he could afford. He started realising way back when he first moved to DC that there's a whole new world of apartments that he could afford, way more luxurious than this one. He never cared for that shit, and he's not starting now.

This condo's more than enough, really. It's a quiet street, relatively speaking. It's only a short way to work. He's close to Cadman Plaza, which opened in 1939, when he and Bucky were still living in Montague Street. It feels familiar. Steve sometimes goes by the War memorial on his way home. Somehow, that feels way more sincere than the showy statue of Captain America in Prospect Park. After all, Captain America never lived in Brooklyn; he never set foot in it, not really. In Brooklyn, Steve's ever only been some guy. A mouthy one, yes, but nothing special.

Bucky would disagree on this. But that's not the point.

[amedleyofthoughts]

“Hope” is the thing with feathers

By Emily Dickinson

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

When I heard the first few lines of this poem it was a video snippet of John Green responding to someone on another video. The person in said video was simply asking, "...tell me how to have hope that life can get better." (I will link that video for any who wish to view it). He goes on to say that if you notice that in Emily Dickinson's poem, she doesn't specify that one does not stop hearing the song of hope, but that the bird's song does not stop singing. John finishes this stitched video by saying, "But the song of hope is still singing and I know that you cannot hear it, but some day soon you will."

In such few words he was able to put my tumultuous soul at peace for a small time. I think it's easy for us as humans to fall into despair. This in my opinion is why it's so hard to pull ourselves out of the darker moments in our lives. Why would I want to have hope and do good things, and make better choices, or find happiness within this life, if it's all so meaningless? My existence is a blip, tiny and insignificant with no real measure of true accomplishment. I'm never going to be famous, invent something humanity cannot live without, make a grandiose achievement or accomplishment to be remembered by. You won't see my picture and name in a textbook in someones history book far into the future. I'm a just another human, a number in a population of billions of others, living on a rock, that is spinning and rotating around a star in an endless void. And yet...

I heard once that you cannot logic your way out of depression. That makes a lot of sense actually (how ironic). It feels in a way like being this self-aware of my mental illness is somehow hindered more because of it. I know what this is, I know what I should do to help myself, I know where to go and how to start, but...I can't. I wonder sometimes if it's the feeling of shame I feel for not being able to just do it. Or the thoughts of how someone out there on this rock has had a much harder life than mine up until this point, what could you possibly have to complain about? But I know very well how stagnant it's made me. In my relationships with friends and family. Within my professional life.

It's hard to remember and believe that my productivity does not equate to my value as a person. That the expectations of others do not define who I am or what I should be seeking from this life I've been given. When I cannot hear the song of hope singing, I remember. I still want change, I want hope, I want to believe it gets better. I want to hear the song that my little perched bird is singing just for me.

[abubblingcandle]

i saw your recent post and i haven't read the snippet yet bc i got distracted by you saying it was hot and i think you're european right? so no AC? as someone who lives in the southeastern US, allow me to bestow some comfort tips for unreasonable summer temperatures without air conditioning. apologies if you know all this already or anything, but i'm currently surviving one of the worst heat waves i can recall in my 40+ yrs of living in the ass end of the devil's swamp so i'm a little zealous about making sure nobody is dying of heat

(my credentials are that the heat index was over 110F - 43C - every damn day for over a *month* even central air can't keep up my house hasn't been below 80 since early june)

at night, open at least two windows. put the fan in front of one of the windows, with the back facing the window, so it'll suck in cooler air. warmer air will get pushed out the other window. even better if you have two fans, have one sucking in from one window and one pushing air out the other window

during the day, keep the windows covered as much as possible and overhead lights off. i have blackout curtains for this. i have also put aluminum foil (shiny side out) on the windows like those windshield covers before. it worked but was a pain in the ass to put up and take down

wet several t-shirts and stick them in the freezer. rotate accordingly while lazing about indolently like a freeloading lion (seriously those mfers are thee worst)

ice packs on pulsepoints. wrist, groin, neck, wherever you can strap a bag of frozen peas i don't judge

keep ice water in a spray bottle and mist yourself in front of your fan for evaporative cooling. un-iced water will help too but obviously iced gets you maximum relief

the bowl of ice in front of a fan has never worked for me because it's way too humid here but depending on your humidity you could try it

i sleep with ice packs and a towel covering my pillow because the pillowcase getting sweaty is a sensory nightmare and the towel is somehow less horrifying

popsicles (i'm assuming that's what an ice lolly is?) are excellent keep it up. also to counteract the effects of sweating your balls off, you can sprinkle a little salt on the popsicles. i do this with the watermelon ones

if you are subject to the horrors of boobs in a heatwave, my remedy for swamp tits is to adhere panty liners to the part of the bra that goes under the boobs. because nobody wants swamp tits (i might also have been known to put a bag of frozen peas in my bra you do what you gotta do)

liberal and self-indulgent amounts of whining. it won't make you any cooler but at least you're sharing the misery

You are an absolute angel. Yeah I'm a northern Brit so no AC (I have taken to hiding in coffee shops where there is AC but unfortunately they ... you know ... close) and my body functions on the belief that anything above like 12C is t-shirt weather and anything above 25C is dear god no weather so I am truly not built for this 🙈 I once spent one day in 40C and it was the worst experience of my life so I could not do what you're going through!

So tips from someone who has to endure worse than this and regularly are super appreciated 🧡🧡

Some of these I did know but some of them sound like real good shouts. Unfortunately the damn health and safety of my flat means my windows open only a teeny tiny and I have slatted blinds but foil over is a super good shout.

I don't know why I hadn't thought of freezing wet t-shirts. Cause the problem I was having was wet tshirt then just turned into warm and still wet tshirt. Hence sitting in front of the fan because it then stayed cooler but frozen ... yes

And omg yes for wet pillow sensory nightmare, just had to say, yes makes my skin prickle.

Popsicles are ice lollies yes! I'm currently on a mix of strawberry frozen yoghurt ones and these absolute nostalgia on a stick

And the whining is required. Me and my dad have a daily chat and today's was talking about how shit England were in the football and both of us going "what did you do today?" "Sit about because it is too fucking hot" "Yeah me too"

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Corrupted: TMA x Malevolent Snippet

Tim, my boy, you are in SO MUCH denial.

And that guy... isn't one you can charm into being safe.

--------

Tim chews on the thought through the drive, ponders its pros and cons, debates what to do.

Hastur is thousands of years old. 

It’s ridiculous to push something like this.

And yet.

Tim can’t escape the feeling that Hastur has been dually isolated by power and fear for so long that he doesn’t know how to handle someone actually paying attention to his… well. Emotional condition.

This is stupid, Tim tells himself. You’re being naive, he tells himself.

And the moment he closes his apartment door behind him, he says, “You sure you want to go by Hastur?”

He can feel the surprise.

The complete bafflement.

That is my name, Hastur says.

“But it’s not the one you chose, is it? It’s not like it mattered to me what you said when we first met. You didn’t want Hastur. You wanted John.”

Silence.

“I’m just saying if you want John, it’s fine. I’ll call you whatever you want.”

I told you my name.

“But you didn’t tell me what you wanted.”

Hastur-John goes quiet.

Tim digs into boxes in the desperate hope that there’s food of some kind he’s forgotten about.

Success! There is ramen. It’s cheap, and not nutritious, but it is tasty, and will keep him functional until tomorrow.

According to his phone, his real estate agent has called twelve times.

Tim sighs. Hastur still seems to be spinning, so Tim calls his agent back.

#

He'll have to file a police report.

The house had been sold, technically, but the final signatures weren’t filed because they happened on a Friday, so it was still his when “the break-in” happened.

No, he says, he has no idea what happened.

Yes, he certainly left late that night (and is deeply grateful that Hastur had him walking normally away, because that is what the few CCTV cameras in the area caught - Tim, casual, clearly not distressed, going home). 

So who broke in?

They have no idea.

Is he responsible for damages?

Confusing! The purchase was sort of in-between, but there’s no question somebody’s insurance would cover it.

This was going to be a pain.

Tim ignores the tiny, quiet urge to go to his parents’ house and just burn it down, rather than deal with all of this. That's just tired. That isn’t Desolation.

It isn't.

Hastur stays quiet as Tim gets out his laptop, makes notes. Includes a list of whom he’s going to have to call tomorrow (ugh). Eats his ramen.

Showers.

Inspects himself in the bathroom mirror. He is black and blue all over, thanks to the cleat hooks and Kayne's attentions.  “I look like I’ve been mugged by gnomes.”

Gnomes?

“Yeah. Little guys wearing brass knuckles about the size of my thumb.”

Hastur makes a choked noise.

“So - you still want John? Or Hastur?”

And he can feel the being waver. Maybe.

Which isn’t an answer. “I can call you John. You know that.”

No. I… no.

“Then what?”

Call me Yellow.

“Yellow?” Tim didn’t see that one coming.

Silence.

“Okay,” he says. “Yellow, it is. Uh. Why?”

I will… tell you eventually. I have much to think about, Tim.

“Well, so do I, so. Okay.”

Which is okay. It is okay.

He’s not. There's nothing to be mad at. Just his whole life in ashes, and being hunted by enormous predators, and one eye taken over and possibly the rest of him, too, before long, and -

Tim takes a deep breath and tries to focus.

It's going to be okay, he tells himself, and finally goes to bed.