#this layout is abhorrent

[quartzprinz]

tumblr gave me a very ugly and confusing entirely new dashboard layout and it makes me want to stop using tumblr so i didnt use it all yesterday but i missed tumblr too much :( but i think i will be spending much less time on here

[astro-inthestars]

HI GUYS HI YES IM ALIVE HOW ARE YOU ALL-

[hannie-dul-set]

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS [1].

SYNOPSIS. wherein your friend offers a room for you to crash in while your dorm is being renovated, but fails to mention that your new housemates don’t know how to talk to women (oh, and they also have an ongoing bet about you, too).

PAIRINGS. choi soobin, choi beomgyu, lee heeseung, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, park sunghoon x female! reader. GENRE. housemates! au, rom-com, sitcom, reverse harem time baby. WARNINGS. swearing, a house fire, mentions of sex, like the chapter title says there is too much underwear in this, an awful amount of embarrassing men WORD COUNT. 2.2k.

TAGLIST. @cerealdreamwriter @tyongff-ff @dinonuguaegi

NOTE. i have nothing to say except i hope you enjoy this shitshow as much as i enjoyed writing it. please check the link in the masterlist if you're curious about the layout of the house. feedback much appreciated i love u.

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

CHAPTER 1 — this is too much underwear for a first meeting.

YOU WISH YOU CAN TAKE BACK ALL YOUR COMPLAINTS ABOUT DORM LIFE. Sure, the disgusting, communal bathrooms scrape a year off of your lifespan every time you have to take a piss, and the abhorrently thin walls make you want to rip your ears out every time your neighbors have mind blowing sex, but hey— all of that is better than not having a roof above your head. Even if that roof is two years behind maintenance. 

But it’s all too late. You should’ve appreciated having a bed to sleep in before life pried it out from you in the form of a swirling inferno.

When the semester came to a close, your dormmates thought it would be a fantastic idea to throw an end-of-year party. The problem is, that party ended up in flames. Literally. The last person you saw entering the kitchen was Choi Yeonjun until something exploded and before you know it, there’s a stampede, and you’re choking on black fumes, and there’s suddenly a lightshow happening right before your very eyes with the dorm building you’ve been living in for the past year serving as the sparkler.

Holy shit, your dorm is burning down.

It’s a good thing that the fire was stopped before it could reach your room. You don’t know what you’d do if all your notes and textbooks burnt down along with half of the building into debris. Even prior to the fire, a lot of the facilities were janky and needed to be renovated, so you had to pack your bags and find somewhere else to stay for the next two months while the place went through repairs.

“Great,” you huff, filling your two carriers with the bare minimum you have collected in your unit. “This is just fucking great.” 

However, just when you’re falling into the brink of homelessness, a friend from your book club graciously offers you a room in his house as a saving grace from your misfortune.

“It’s a small bedroom compared to the rest, but you only have to share a bathroom with one other person! There’s also a laundry room and a living area on the same floor. It’s a big place, so it doesn’t feel stuffy at all even with six, seven people.”

You have no reason to decline Jake’s offer, especially when it’ll be just a temporary arrangement anyway. “Are you sure? You said you have housemates, right? Are they fine with living with another person on such short notice?”

“Yeah, they said it’s cool,” he assures, helping you load your luggage into the taxi. “I’ve been wanting to fill up the last bedroom anyway. The house is just too big even with our current living setup. The more the merrier.”

You’ve always known that Jake Shim was fucking rich. Not because he bragged or flaunted his wealth or anything— but because he’d drop the most privileged, tone-deaf shit at the most inappropriate times and no one can get pissed because he looks oh so innocent while saying them. You had once complained about stuffing yourself with too much meat during a club dinner and that one more bite will have you nauseous. He replied with, “oh yeah, I once ate wagyu steak for a good week in Japan and I got sick of it, too!” and you physically felt your economic status erode at that very moment.

He and you will never be the same. And that fact is made suffocatingly evident right now, as the vehicle slowly pulls into a fancy neighborhood and stops right before the fence of an unreasonably gigantic yard with an unreasonably gigantic house. You do feel a little poor when he shows off the pool and the two garages, but at the same time, beggars can’t be choosers.

Also, it’s a really nice fucking house.

It’s three stories tall, with a covered deck and a substantial amount of outdoor lounging areas. Floor to ceiling windows give you a glimpse of the modern interior of the foyer and spacious living room. You’re a little afraid of getting used to such luxury that you might never want to come back to your old, dingy dorm room— but with every blessing comes a curse.

Jake did mention that you will be living with six other people including him. What he did not mention is that those ‘other people’ would all be men.

Imagine your shock when you’re greeted by a whole ass man in nothing but neon green boxers and shades the moment you slip through the sliding doors of testosterone hell.

Very. You’re very shocked. 

“Hey, man,” Jake greets the almost naked individual who is also holding a bowl of cereal in the middle of the afternoon, presumably having just walked out of the kitchen. “What’s with the glasses?” That’s not the biggest issue here. You can see the outline of his fucking penis.

“Oh,” he reacts. “It was just so bright when I got out of the room.”

Jake nods. “That makes sense.” No it does not.

“I think it just got even brighter.”

You can’t tell, but you assume he’s squinting at you underneath his shades. You believe you might also need a pair because there’s definitely a contender in being the brightest thing in the room, so you try your best to not be distracted by the neon of his undies as Jake introduces you to him. “And this is Park Jongseong— or Jay, as he prefers to be called.”

“Call me whatever you like,” Jay smiles at you and reaches out his non-cereal hand for a handshake. He seems chill enough. Maybe he’s just a very laid back person who doesn’t care about general appearances. You can work with that.

“Nice to meet you.” You shake on it. “Aren’t you cold, by the way?”

When he retrieves his hand, he combs his fingers through his hair, ruffling the strands. “My friends often say that I am pretty cool.”

“No, I mean cold,” you clarify. “That does look like a statement, but I’m worried you might get sick.”

You’re starting to get an inkling that you have misjudged Jay. It takes him a few seconds to understand what you were referring to, until a breeze passes by from the open entrance and suddenly, he looks down. “Oh,” he flatly says. “Of fuck.” And the innocent bowls cereal crashes and spills into the ground as Jay disappears into the hallway to your right.

You and Jake stare at the milk minutely seeping into the wooden floor. “I was gonna ask him to help you with your luggage but—” Where Jay disappears, a new person emerges (fully clothed this time, thankfully). “Oh! Hyung, come help.”

He has his neck turned back as he walks up to the both of you. You can hear the sound of footsteps scrambling from where the newcomer is looking at. “What happened to Jay?”

“I don’t know, but let me introduce you to our new housemate!”

“Hi there.” You give him a smile.

Jake tells you his name is Choi Beomgyu, and Choi Beomgyu doesn’t exactly look like he’s keen on accepting your handshake. Instead, all he does is stare you down with his arms crossed, eyes scaling your entire height like he’s doing a motherfucking evaluation. You’re trying your damn best to maintain a pleasant expression. You almost break when he quits his rude staring and turns over to Jake. “So, you need me to help carry her things?” The bastard isn’t even talking directly to you. Your pride can’t take this hit.

“No, it’s alright. I can take care of these myself. Thanks!” Jake flinches when you snatch your second carrier from his hands. “Third floor, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Got it.” 

Yes, you might have shoved past Beomgyu on purpose, but that’s not the point. You leave the two behind to take care of Jay’s fallen cereal as you struggle to lug your luggage up the staircase. You manage to bring them all the way to the second floor landing before your arms give in and you let the two cases settle on the floor with a huff. When you pause to take a breather, you catch a familiar face walking down the stairs from above. You recognize him from Jake’s instagram stories. You’re sure his name is Lee Heeseung. “Oh! Let me help!” he quickly exclaims after noticing the situation, hurrying down the steps. “You’re the new addition to our residence, right?”

“Yes, I am, and it’s totally fine! You don’t have to—”

Big mistake. You should’ve just let him help, but you’re a little prideful so you reach out for the carrier he took, and when your fingers brush against the back of his hand, the man suddenly drops the fucking case and retracts his entire arm. You stare, wide-eyed, as Heeseung stumbles back to the ground next to your carrier that happened to crack open in the fray and is now spilling out all your clothes like guts and blood. Behind Heeseung, the door creaks open. “Is everything oka— oh my god, is that a b-bra—”

Well. It is, in fact, a bra, and its color seems to match the flushed face of the poor, unsuspecting individual that just opened the door out of concern for his friend. You make eye contact with him once before he retreats into his room with a loud slam! Heeseung is still on the floor and he’s now profusely apologetic.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault, please let me help—” The issue dawns on him belatedly, right when it’s already too late and he has your undergarment in his hands in the midst of trying to undo his mistake. “I don’t think I should help.”

“Good call.” You kneel down, politely prying your blood red bra from Heeseung as you proceed to gather the rest of your clothes back into the carrier.

“I should cut my hands off.”

Oh no. “Hey, it was an accident. It’s fine—” When you try to reach a hand out to give him a completely innocent, completely harmless pat on the shoulder for assurance, he flinches back again. Now your arm is awkwardly hanging mid-air and you’re both looking at each other with shared looks of alarm. The exchange (or lack thereof) reminds you of a forgotten memory— a memory from your childhood. Snacktime all throughout elementary school, to be specific, when all the boys would fucking run away from you and your girl friends for having cooties.

This moment is oddly reminiscent of that and you don’t want to acknowledge it.

“What happened? I heard a crash, is everything alright?”

By the time Jake arrives, you have already managed to clear up the crime scene. With a grunt, you get back up and prepare yourself for another round of heavy lugging. “Can you tell me where my room is? I think you should stay here and make sure your friend is okay.”

“It’s...the first door through the hallway, next to Sunghoon’s. Hyung, are you good?”

You have no idea who the fuck Sunghoon is, but you nod in acknowledgement anyway. “Who’s the person living in that room?” 

“Soobin hyung,” Jake answers, helping a dazed Heeseung back to his feet. “Why?”

“You should go check on him, too.”

With that, you leave another mess in your wake as you climb up the flight of stairs to the third floor. You can’t wait to rest. You really want to lie down. But when you walk past the hallway, entering into the floor’s unreasonably cozy living area, you’re met with a fucking fork in the road.

There’s one door right across the hallway, but when you open it, it’s not a bedroom, but a laundry room. So you make a sharp right to the archway opening up to three doors on each of the walls. Jake should have been more specific with what he meant by the first door. You don’t want to take a risk and walk into something you’d fucking regret.

Fortunately, someone emerges from the door on your right and reveals what looks to be a bathroom. You assume he’s Sunghoon, and Sunghoon nearly doubles over when he turns around and meets eyes with you. His expression stiffens, and you’re both just standing there for a good moment and looking at each other without saying anything.

You press your lips into a smile. Holy shit, he’s intimidating. Why the fuck isn’t he saying anyting?

“Hi. I’m—”

“S—shit—”

Suddenly, he’s gone. He’s disappeared into the room in the center after struggling to open the door for a bit. You’re left dumbfounded, but at least now you know where your room is.

You slot the key Jake gave you and twist open the doorknob. The empty room greets you with a body slam of fatigue, and before you know it, you’re sinking face down into the bed and you have no energy left in your fingertips. Admittedly, you have questioned yourself multiple times upon first entering the house whether you made the right decision, whether it’d be better to find an apartment, or maybe you should just crash at your parent’s place for the time being.

But this bed is more comfy than any hotel suite you’ve ever been to, and your bank account isn’t suffering from an enormous dent. Six disastrous men is nothing when you’re able to call a place your home. You can already envision where you’ll be placing your new bookshelf. They’d have to pry your new house key from your cold, dead hands if they want you out of here.

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[college-knockout]

OMG MORE STUFF ABOUT THEIR ROOMS AHHHH

RTC ROOMS RTC ROOMS

OMG YOU LIKE MY ROOMS???

^ me @ you rn

okay so im going with the one ive put the most thought into: noels!

layout for reference (that door is supposed to be on the bottom wall next to the dresser oops):

so i imagine noel and his mom probably don't have a ton of money and you know he has expensive taste so he definitely diys/jerryrigs a lot of stuff for his room

he really wanted a canopy bed but that shit is expensive and he already had a poster bed so he just attatched some curtain rods, some thrifted transucent curtains, some dollar store fairy lights, and boom:

^ prolly looks something like this

also noel 100% burns candles 24/7/365 and i will die on this hill. probably for burning poetry dramatically and some sick mood lighting. he cannot enter a candle store without spending abhorrent amounts of money on forest everglade and vanilla buttercream. his room is legally considered a fire hazard. he definitely owns one of those old-fashioned candle snuffers:

so yeah he's a candle guy.

and also a plant guy!! lily of the valley's (^^^) are definitely his favorite. lotsa plants. most of them live on his bookshelf, decorative shelf, or window sills.

^ best plant. he painted the pot. its name is Francis. Francis resides on the bedside window

SPEAKING of bedside window its set up like that for a big brain strategic reason. when the sky is clear at night the moon/streetlamps shine through the blinds very dramatically and its cool and awesome and he totally digs the lighting from his bed/reading chair. (especially at christmas time when the christmas lights are up!) (this is me self projecting.) he has definitely given himself headaches from reading in the dark tho.

kind of random but i also headcanon his room is on the second floor. he looks down upon the ground plebians /j

i haven't really decided on room colors but his is probably either a dark purple or mahogany red (im leaning towards the red on this one but hey i'll leave that ambiguous)

also he has the tism and owns like 15 weighted + heated blankets. they sit on his shelf and The Cart:

(^^ i also own one of these. can u tell i self project 90% of these things onto them)

miscellaneous stuff i thought was cool:

he has a polaroid camera because ofc he does

lots of books!

desk for writing/makeup (lots of paper and eyeliner and candles and probably has a shelf above it for plants too)

that accent chest at the end of his bed. it is filled with Things (probably a lot of the miscellaneous stuff im mentioning here lmao)

table on the rug: for tea + snacks :3

random ottoman in the corner: just in case. just in case.

fairy lights run across the celing perimeter for Maximum Cool Lighting

and thats it! i think about this way too much

[redd956]

The new United States FASFA is abhorrent

It's basically confusing, glitchy, and I swear it not peer reviewed

But they did that on purpose I'm sure, as the new layout and questions is set out perfectly in a way to give out as little money as possible to struggling students.

[pillowbeast]

What tumblr layout changers even work these days? I keep lurking on here and I'm getting really annoyed by the abhorrent layout that's been thrust upon me ahaha

[awetistic-things]

Have you ever wished you weren’t diagnosed as autistic? I do. My parents thought something was wrong with me and took me to an iq test at the age of two. I ended up getting some ridiculous score that was like 167 or something stupid but the proctor noticed that I had unique behaviors.

Mind you, the vaccines caused autism baloney came out around the time I was tested. So I got an autism diagnosis as a result.

The next two decades were full of being seen as an embarrassment and a disappointment. If I got less than perfection on my grades in elementary school I knew I would have to prove why I didn’t get anything absolutely perfect. I watched special ed teachers slam other kid’s heads into the table until they bled and they couldn’t say a damn thing against it because they were nonverbal. My needs didn’t matter because no one knew what my needs were. I had such bad anxiety I constantly vomited at school. I remember the layouts of all the school clinics more than any teacher’s class. I was labelled a hypochondriac and a liar. I was thrashed in the sixth grade and put into homeschool, where my parents made me teach myself as they were busy with work. Both of them. I was isolated and not allowed to leave the house for a year and a half, when I skipped eighth grade due to acing two grades of state exams. I have a deep abhorrence for myself and I’m starting to learn that autism may be more than just a symptom but my whole outlook on life. Could you teach me how to smile like you do?

hi :)

first of all, i just wanna say that i am so sorry that you went through and witnessed all that you did, nobody should have to go through that, especially for something they can’t control

and you’re right when you say that autism isn’t a symptom, because it’s more like a collection of traits, behaviors, and perspectives that make you the person you are

autism affects you to the point that establishing a line between your autism and you, isn’t very plausible, and it’s easier to just consider yourself as autistically you

but please know that the way other people treat you isn’t a reflection of who you are, but rather the person they are (in this case, a very awful one)

also:

you aren’t an embarrassment or a disappointment because you’re autistic

you aren’t a liar or a hypochondriac for voicing your needs

what you are however is someone who’s trying their damn hardest and isn’t being appreciated nowhere near enough, even though you should be appreciated no matter your level of effort or results

now i can’t tell you a perfect guide on how to be happy, but i can tell you that you deserve all the happiness and love in the world, and i hope that from now rather than trying to be perfect, you just try to be happy, and know that your smile should always come before anything that makes you frown

[heavenscribbles]

Yikes/Husk: Abhorrent Behavior

(D&D story, 4047 words, mid campaign, for clarity Quinn is a skin of Yikes')

Authors: @friendlyforestbeast @hellscribbles

Companion art piece by @friendlyforestbeast <333

CW: Alcohol/drinking, bug mention ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Excuse me, are you a student of Autumnrun?” 

Soft, lilting music from a nearby stage drowned out the clink of glasses and the chatter of voices around the dingy tavern, the dim candle light casting playful shadows across the walls. The overwhelming scent of strawberries magically filled the air Quinn breathed as she stepped next to her accomplice, smiling warmly at the man they’d chosen to question next. 

The half-elven man sitting at the bar looked up from the papers haphazardly strewn in front of him, a grimace etched into his face from countless hours of study only to deepen as his eyes met Emilia’s. Emilia, Husk’s current skin, leaned towards him smiling sweetly, the telltale flush of alcohol across their cheeks but the ears of their half-elven form were alert. To play into their tipsy shyness they began to fiddle clumsily with the long red braid that fell neatly over their shoulder. 

“Yes, I am. Why do you ask?” The man questioned, confusion and mild irritation barely concealed in his tone.

“Well, you see,” they looked back at Quinn with a bright smile and placed a hand gently on hers, “my partner and I were thinking of attending this coming semester and we were hoping to get some advice on courses.” Quinn gazed at Husk with completely unfabricated affection as they began to spin their tale. Their story together for gathering information had slowly escalated throughout the night. The role of Husk’s lover had become quite a comfortable one for Quinn to play over the course of their friendship.

His eyes flicked up and down both of their forms with an air of suspicion before relaxing back, turning slightly in his seat to face them. Quinn stepped closer upon seeing his disposition soften, wrapping an arm around Husk’s waist, turning her affectionate gaze towards the stranger as she rested her chin on Husk’s shoulder. “We won’t take up too much of your time,” Quinn pleaded sweetly.

The man looked at the two of them thoughtfully, then back to his half finished paper. “I s’pose I have the time for a short break.” He said gruffly. Turning back to Emilia, he extended an ink stained hand. “Vanfir’s the name, and you are?” 

Husk beamed at him and lightly took his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Vanfir. I’m Emilia and this is my dearest, Quinn.” They rested their head against her cheek affectionately.

Quinn gave him a wide smile as she scrutinized his form, watching for any shifts in his body language, “Hello, lovely to meet you,” she said warmly.

Quinn did try to keep her attention on Vanfir as Husk began questioning him further on the details of his experiences at that pit of vipers they called a college, but the alcohol she’d drunk and the exhaustion of the last week made it difficult to hide her overwhelming affections for Husk. She suspected that was why their story for gathering information had morphed into playing lovers, it certainly made the deceptions easier for Quinn to sell, it wasn’t quite so anxiety-inducing to lie when it was with Husk. She listened intently as Husk innocently poked and prodded Vanfir about his troubles, expertly guiding the conversation to the information they wanted. Though every so often their eyes caught Quinn’s and they smiled at her warmly.

Quinn’s eyes wandered to the pages laying around the bar as Husk coyly questioned Vanfir on the exact layout of the campus. The swirling handwritten letters were a maze, familiar yet indecipherable. Quinn’s ears dropped an inch as the all too familiar shame of not knowing how to read Elvish bubbled up. It got more ridiculous the older they aged that they had never actually learned to read the language that was so ingrained in them. Now though, the neglect of their native language had potentially become dangerous since becoming an Eladrin for the foreseeable future.

From the corner of her eye, Quinn saw that Vanfir was smiling tightly, he’d gone back to hurriedly writing a few lines in-between answering their questions. She studied Vanfir’s handwriting for a moment longer, a few words were recognizable in the scribblings, the Elven name for some bardic spells and a few dates set a few hundred years ago. 

Vanfir halted mid-sentence to follow Quinn’s gaze on his unfinished paper. “Ah, I see you have an interest in history. I’m a lore bard myself.” He stated proudly, striking a dirty thumb into his chest. “Tell me, what are your thoughts on this?” He questioned as he moved his papers a few inches closer to her, inviting her to read further. 

“Uh-” Quinn recoiled, realizing her mistake as blood rushed to her face. If he was specializing in lore surely such an important project would be history based, remembering the details of history had never been her strong suit. She’d been looking at his paper for far too long to pretend she didn’t know what the topic was. “I-I’m afraid I don’t know anything about it. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” Quinn stammered.

Vanfir raised a critical eyebrow at her, “You don’t know anything? Didn’t you say you were considering studying here?” It was almost imperceptible but Quinn could pick up on the slightest twitch of Emilia’s ear and their sweet smile was beginning to strain at its edges.

Quinn chewed her lip for a moment, her mind racing with how to proceed. He seemed genuinely shocked at her confusion, it must be something well known then. The college catered to Eloquence bards, their stories were often the most well known and widespread. Quinn let her eyes wander over his notes once again, trying to make sense of the confusing lines for any hint. 

Her eyes caught on a date, the year 1205. Quinn desperately tried to remember anything connected to that timeframe, the only thing that stuck out to her was the story of Fitzgerald, an Eloquence bard.

It seemed like a logical bet.

She leaned back and met Vanfir’s eyes again, reading his expression closely as she spoke. “Uh, well Fitzgerald’s antics were certainly a turning point in our history in Menlin,” Quinn started clumsily, praying to whatever god happened to be listening she was correct in her guess. “He was certainly an… interesting figure.” 

Vanfir blinked in confusion, then scoffed in offense, his ears twitched wildly in indignation. “Interesting?! The man was a visionary! He revolutionized how the Weave could be manipulated with the invention of Vicious Mockery, without his progress we’d still have Thunderclap as our only offensive cantrip. I’d hardly call that antics,” he spat. 

Quinn pursed her lips, lowering her ears in submission as Vanfir spoke. “Y-yes, of course. I only meant that he made bards' lives quite hard in Menlin after he murdered-'' Quinn stumbled, desperately scrambling to remember the name of the royalty Fitzgerald was famous for killing. The royal family’s line was hard enough to remember, even without the warm gin muddling her thoughts. “-that royal,” Quinn finally said, wincing in humiliation even as the words left her mouth. Husk tightened their grip around her arm and was now glaring daggers at Vanfir which he seemed not to notice.

Vanfir tilted his head at her incredulously, “‘that royal’? Surely you don’t mean Horace Dacrald?”

Quinn paused, the name didn’t ring a bell. “Probably?” She said, giving Vanfir an apologetic shrug. Perhaps it was actually kinder that she was drunk for this.

“‘Probably?’” Vanfir mocked her, a thin eyebrow raised in indignation. 

Quinn resisted the urge to shrink further into herself, forcing her shoulders to relax. “A-anyway,” she laughed nervously, attempting to distract from the awkward topic, “you were telling us about the college's facilities?”

Vanfir hesitated before narrowing his eyes, scrutinizing Quinn’s form. “Why did you bring up Fitzgerald? I asked for your thoughts on the progression of magical components and their various applications throughout history,” he said haughtily. “If you were planning to study here, I’d hope you would have some basic understanding of spell components.”

“H-huh?” Quinn said, mortified, heat flooding her face as her ears lowered even further. She tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t dig her deeper, but any explanation or apology she could offer Vanfir would only let onto the fact she couldn’t read the language an Eladrin should definitely know. 

“Seems a rather dry topic for a profession so steeped in entertainment.” Husk piped up, venom dripping from their voice. “Are you sure taking work as a scribe might not be more to your liking?” Their ears were flicked back in annoyance and Quinn could feel they were inching closer to Vanfir menacingly. 

A red hue began to race up from Vanfir’s neck and spread across his face. “Well, I never!”

Vanfir collected his things in a huff and stormed off towards the exit. Husk put a hand to their mouth as if to cough and as the door to the inn began to close behind him, a sharp yelp could be heard amidst an almost imperceptible buzzing. 

Quinn blinked at Husk in surprise before giving them a grateful smile. Embarrassment and guilt nagged at her, it still felt strange to have someone so willing to defend her at any given moment, it felt even stranger to have Husk defend her mistakes, though it was decidedly a very comforting feeling all the same. 

It occurred to Quinn yet again that she was unworthy of Husk’s protection. 

She slumped back down against the bar and took a long sip of her drink. “Gods I’m sorry,” she said with a huff. 

Husk looked surprised as they took a seat beside her. “What for? He was being a pompous asshole.”

Quinn blew a lock of green hair out of her face, forcing the lingering embarrassment out of her body with the breath. “I… misread that,” Quinn hoped Husk wouldn’t think too hard about that. “Pompous asshole or not, that wasn’t my finest sweet talking,” she said with a chuckle.

They tilted their head to look at her, their ears went lopsided which Quinn had come to know meant they were thinking over something, a habit that always made Quinn’s heart flutter. After a moment they smiled warmly, “eh, his handwriting was terrible, I couldn’t read it either.” 

Quinn laughed, the tension in her shoulders easing in relief, “If I’d pegged him as a lore bard I would have been more careful. Most of ‘em are sweet, but the bad apples among them are the most rotten you’ll find.”

“Ah I see, so he was immune to our sweet talking because there is nothing sweeter than the sound of his own voice.” Husk laughed, taking a swig of their own drink which was toxically sweet and unnaturally green.

“Bards are like that,” Quinn shrugged. “I do adore my fellow minstrels but we can be almost as insufferable as Paladins on a bad day, the level of intolerable mostly depends on their specialization.” Quinn said lovingly, despite the harsh words she was saying. The infinite flavors of abhorrent behavior was what Quinn loved the most about her profession.

Husk snickered into their drink. “I must admit, I’m not too familiar with the different bard specializations. I can perhaps take a guess at what a Lore bard might be, but I think you mentioned this town was filled with Eloquence bards?” 

“Eloquence bards are the most sharp witted of us,” Quinn finished off the last of her drink, the alcohol settled at the bottom of her glass stung her nose as it went down. “I’m sure most of them are sweethearts, there is an inspiring side to their abilities. They’re just often the ones who give bards a bad reputation,” she shrugged, “their magic tends to appeal to the worst kinds of people. Though, I mostly dislike them just because it's fun,” Quinn admitted with a chuckle.

Husk nodded with a laugh. “It can be a kindness for someone to lay your faults before you, though in the wrong company a quick wit should often be matched with quicker feet.” They stirred their drink for a moment before taking another hearty sip. “There is something fun about petty rivalries. Druids are the same, we have some opinions about other circles” Leaning back, they tilted their head and grinned at Quinn. “And you know me, Quinn, I do love to be petty.” 

Quinn smiled, leaning closer to Husk, eagerness getting the better of her. “Oh, please do tell! I’m afraid I don’t even know what all the circles are. Druids are pretty rare in Menlin.” Quinn tilted her head at Husk, “You’ve mentioned spore Druids before, what’s their deal?”

“Well for one thing, you’d smell a spore druid before you saw one!” They declared in mock outrage. “They give the rest of us druids a bad name when it comes to hygiene. Druids are no strangers to rolling around in dirt, sure, but Spore druids embrace it and make their own bodies homes for all kinds of fungus.” They gave an exaggerated shudder and a hand wave. “No thanks.”

“Oh, oh that’s horrifying,” Quinn mimicked the shudder of horror, the thought of mushrooms infesting one's skin enough to make her feel ill. She turned her ears towards the band playing to help push the sickening images out of her mind, focusing instead on the soft melodies filling the bar, bouncing a crossed leg in time with the beat.

Quinn’s mind wandered to Husk’s own abilities. Quinn was lucky to know more about Druids than most, but Husk’s specific magic was a mystery to them, she’d never seen anything quite like it. “If it's comfortable to answer, you’ve said before your Druidic abilities give you a second sight?”

Husk grinned again. “I haven’t perfected my craft yet but when my sight develops I’ll be able to control my visions and tweak fate.” They pulled out their augury cards and placed a few on the table face down. “These help me channel my connection if I concentrate but I still have a ways to go before I master it.” Their ears dipped in mild frustration. “For now I can’t always control or understand the information I see.”

Quinn leaned in to get a closer look at their cards, eyes wide in curiosity. “That’s so exciting! You’ll truly be able to influence the outcome of events? That's a wonderful talent!” Quinn praised excitedly. “What does it feel like to get information like that? Does it feel like anything?” Eagerness and admiration hung on Quinn’s every word, Husk’s company and the alcohol washing away the carefulness she usually had to embody.

A blush crossed Emilia’s features at Quinn’s praise and their right ear fluttered. “It’s… hard to explain exactly. When it comes in dreams there’s a feeling that sets it apart from regular ones, like a sense of urgency? But other times it’ll blindside me, like… blurting out names I shouldn’t know.” They grimaced apologetically. 

Quinn listened intently, then waved a hand dismissively at Husk’s sheepishness. “Oh, please don’t feel bad about that, you having a cosmic vision of my ex's name inorder to fake being my husband is more ridiculous than anything else.” Husk choosing that name had been quite a shock at the time, it had been less than three months since they’d dashed out of a restaurant wearing Cedric’s engagement ring. Something about that name coming to Husk in that situation still nagged at them, but they decided to shove it away again. “A familiar name probably sold our theatics better anyways,” Quinn laughed.

“It was quite the performance.” They agreed, their smile returning. “Still, I’ll hopefully figure out how to keep that in check in the future. It would be nice to divine a straight answer for once.” Husk looked thoughtful for a moment and tried to suppress a small laugh. “Oh gods, come to think of it, Star druids might be the most pretentious of the Circles. We have a habit of using our divination magic to cheat our way through tasks on the first try, but we must look pretty pretentious from the outside.” They then turned to look at Quinn very solemnly, though the curl of a smile threatened the corner of their lips. “Dearest Quinn, would you still love me inspite of my pretentiousness?” 

Quinn paused, then leaned in close enough to feel the heat of Husk’s alcohol soaked breath brush across her face, “Oh my darling, I love you because of your pretentiousness,” Quinn teased, “isn’t that what makes life fun?” Quinn whispered sweetly, dropping her voice to a seductive purr.

Husk feigned a dramatic sigh of relief and playfully took Quinn’s hands in theirs. “You are so right, my dear. It does spare us from a boring existence.” They were trying hard to suppress a tipsy giggle.

Quinn turned their hands so their fingers linked together, the condensation from holding their drink making Husk’s hand chilled to the touch. “I wouldn’t worry about ‘cheating’ though, truly it's a wonderful thing to pick up skills and talents faster. I’d hardly call using your abilities to improve your quality of life cheating,” Quinn tried to reassure. 

Their ears went lopsided for a moment but their impish grin remained. “It has gotten me out of a pinch more than once. In my line of work, I don’t have the luxury of taking my time learning new skills.” They squeezed Quinn’s hands as a soft lilac light emanated from their palms. “I am glad it’s something I can share, I’d hate to hoard it all to myself.” Husk’s magic washed over Quinn, singing through her veins in a delightful hum, soothing the exhaustion filling her mind.

Quinn’s own ears lowered an inch. Curiosity still nagged at her, she had a good enough idea what Husk’s life had been like before coming to Menlin. Husk’s voice always held such shame when they spoke about the life they’d had to live, it made Quinn’s heart ache. 

Time wasn’t a luxury she had access to either, she assumed she had even less of it now, but compassion had been in abundance throughout her life. She suspected tenderness hadn’t been afforded to Husk in a long time. 

Quinn chewed her lip, she really hadn’t known Husk that long. They were everything she had looked for all these years, they had provided kinship and security Quinn had never experienced before. Their friendship felt relaxed, safe and sincere. The ache to return all that Husk gave her had gotten increasingly hard to stifle. She wanted to treat them gently, to care for them in any way they would allow her to, to soothe all the pain they carried with them, even if such a task was impossible for her to accomplish. 

“If you’ll allow me to, I’d like to try to give you an abundance of time.” Quinn said hesitantly, “I can teach you to play the pan flute as slowly as you’d like to.” Quinn prayed she wouldn’t be made into a liar. 

There was a slight pause as Husk’s ears fluttered again. Then a genuine, grateful smile slowly grew on their face and they squeezed Qinn’s hands again, bringing them closer to their chest. “I would love that, Quinn.” They hesitated a moment before speaking again. “Thank you.” They whispered softly, there was a weight to that phrase that only another fey could know. 

Quinn grinned, delight alleviating her worries for a moment. “Well my love, shall we put some of those grandiose powers to the test?” Quinn teased, nodding towards a man loudly hitting on an uninterested woman. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was late. The streets of Dradow were spinning slightly as the two of them made their way back to the Eclipse and Husk still felt the exhilaration of a night filled with mischief. It was uncharacteristic of them to throw caution to the wind and befriend someone so quickly, but in the few short weeks they had come to know each other Yikes had seen them at their lowest and still accepted them. They felt undeserving of his unwavering kindness, but cherished every moment they had together.

Now out of the city’s center, only the soft glow of the street lights guided the two fey’s path back to the circus, as Quinn and Emilia held each other by the arm to prevent the other from careening into the bushes. Husk giggled with Emilia’s sweet voice as they tried not to teeter into a nearby bench while excitedly recounting the night’s events. “The look on that man’s face when his drinks kept disappearing!” 

Quinn quickly wrapped her arm further around Husk in an attempt to course correct them both, laughing as she did so. It was an excited cackle high in their throat, the beginning of the sound was Quinn’s musical tone, before morphing into Yikes’ velvet voice for just a moment. It was a rarely heard laugh from them, though Husk was hearing it more and more lately and adored it. “Poor fool probably spent sixty silver on drinks alone tonight, you’d think he would have caught on after the third one.” 

“And you were incredible, Quinn!” Husk turned their head to look at Quinn and caught her golden eyes illuminated in the lamplight, their heart fluttered warmly as she smiled at them. “You had those bards wrapped around your finger so quickly!” It had been a long while since Husk had an accomplice in mischief and Husk was in awe of Yikes’ ability to steer a conversation and hook others’ attention so completely. 

The tinted blush over Quinn’s cheeks and nose deepened as she looked away shyly. “A little suggestion to loosen some tight lips never hurt anyone,” Quinn said with a flustered chuckle, raising her hand and flicking her wrist. A little puff of magical orange smoke danced between her fingers for a moment, but was quickly swept away by the wind. Husk watched her magic in giddy admiration. 

Quinn gave them a wide smile, “it’s been a long time since I’ve been able to be a menace to strangers like this. You’re certainly right that it's a wonderful way to blow off steam,” she laughed. 

“I’m so glad you think so,” they beamed at her, unable to stop the excitement from bubbling up within them, they squeezed her arm affectionately. “And this is just the first act! Professor Winteron will never see us coming.” They momentarily lengthened their ears and let their teeth get pointed for dramatic effect.

That same high pitched cackle greeted Husk’s ears again, “I can’t wait to plan his demise with you… when the world isn’t spinning-” Quinn’s words were slightly slurred as she leaned more heavily on Husk, the now familiar scent of her vanilla perfume filling their senses. “I hope we get to do this many more times,” she whispered, intoxicatingly sweet.

“Me too.” They whispered back in delight. “At this rate, we could comfortably scam every town between here and Runecaster.” Quinn only snickered in response. 

A pang of guilt struck their chest. Only a few nights ago they swore they would be there for Yikes for as long as he needed them, despite knowing they could be dragged back to Llaethpotel within a moments’ notice. They couldn’t expect Yikes to follow them back there but they wouldn’t dare break their promise to him either. 

Husk tightened their hold around Quinn’s arm, trying to quash the tiny voice at the back of their mind becoming more and more difficult to ignore. They hadn’t wanted to admit that despite the assassins, werewolves and dark mirror gods, this was the safest they had felt in over a decade and it was in no small part thanks to Yikes.

They glanced at Quinn’s face, she smiled and rested her head on their shoulder, humming affectionately, the heat of her cheek stark against the cool morning air on Husk’s skin. Husk released Quinn’s arm and moved their hand down to hers, intertwining their fingers. Their heart felt full but as much as they wanted to tell Quinn how grateful they were for her, the words failed them, lost in a blurry, alcohol fueled haze. 

Was it selfish of them to not want to return home for a little while longer?    

[oetscop]

my favorite ios tumblr features ^_^

i have to hit the little teeny tiny X next to my url (takes no less than 3 tries) in order to do literally anything on the app (ie looking at notifs, making post)

can no longer tap profile button to immediately scroll to the top of my blog (the scrolling is like free exercise for your thumbs)

they didnt get rid of the thing where if youre on a blog and reblogging things from them, if you open the thing to add tags or queue posts, the second you close out you get sent to some random post at the top of their blog. i love that this is the only thing i even updated the app for and not only is it not fixed, the app is unusable ❤️

putting the profile at a weird spot on the top of the app! and replacing it with the store that we all look at just as much as we do our own blogs!!

constantly having $3 dashboard crabs jammed down my throat when trying to look at my own blog!!

still being followed by no less than 10 phishing bots a day, having legitimate security concerns because of an incredibly outdated captcha system that has been used on this site unchanged since 2015, allowing some genuinely abhorrent blaze posts. and instead of fixing any of that, they add useless paid features that arent even funny like the checkmarks were (ie the stupid crabs. theres a horse now???? immediately marketing the vanilla extract meme) and then updating the layouts of the mobile apps in ways nobody asked for, and VOCALLY hate!

@staff @staff @staff fix your priorities im literally begging you rn

[merrilark]

I posted 5,023 times in 2022

That's 4,327 more posts than 2021!

606 posts created (12%)

4,417 posts reblogged (88%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@i-seeaspaceshipinthe-sky

@youcandalekmyballs

@endiness

@anglophile-rin

@circumstellars

I tagged 4,878 of my posts in 2022

Only 3% of my posts had no tags

#the umbrella academy - 763 posts

#personal - 443 posts

#klaus hargreeves - 374 posts

#not my art - 267 posts

#not fandom - 262 posts

#save for a rainy day - 225 posts

#misfits - 192 posts

#robert sheehan - 185 posts

#doctor who - 175 posts

#nathan young - 172 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#☝️☝️☝️ end point? enjoy what you like and don't rag on people for things they like—esp. if that ragging leads to demanding personal info

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I love that the Sonic movies are just big old found family stories. It gives me such happy butterflies seeing it grow, and Sonic getting to be a hero and yet not having to totally sacrifice being a kid. They've given us such a soft Sonic. A soft Sonic who says I love you, gives hugs, and treats his friends as more than just friends or teammates, he treats them like family.

Sonic has never been cruel, exactly, or even very cold, but these movies have given him a special familial kind of warmth that I think is often neglected in the games. And it's so, so nice to see it.

111 notes - Posted April 9, 2022

#4

See the full post

143 notes - Posted April 4, 2022

#3

Holy cow, guys. I took a bunch of screenshots with the intention of trying to see what items Sparrow Ben has in his room but instead I think I just accidentally discovered that Klaus and Sparrow Ben have the same room.

So two incredibly clever fans @writing-by-candlelight​ and @nikkiwriteswords​ have already done some amazing work trying to figure out the layout of the Umbrella Academy in these two posts [1, 2] respectively.

Thanks to them, we can assume that Klaus’ bedroom was eventually expanded and merged into Viktor’s bedroom as evidenced by Viktor’s brick wall also being present in Klaus’ room:

See the full post

144 notes - Posted June 30, 2022

#2

The growing in popularity theory that Allison's actions in S3 are because she rumored herself to be happy just doesn't sit right with me. I loved her anti-hero arc, adored it actually, but that doesn't mean I also don't find those actions abhorrent. She's made horrible decisions as a person, but as a character, she's as fantastic as she is fascinating.

The idea that Allison went off the rails because she rumored herself is an understandable attempt to reconcile with some of the bad things she's done, and I get that. It sucks when characters you love disappoint you and do something shocking and horrible. But it's a solution that's far too simple and does a complete disservice to her character by cancelling all accountability for her actions and ignoring her depth as a damaged, struggling human being.

Allison has always, always been accustomed to using her power for personal gain. It's how she got what she wanted as a child and later as an adult. Besides rumoring Claire which resulted in her losing custody, she rumored her first husband, Patrick, into loving her, which is no different than what she did to Luther, we just don't see it first hand. To say that her behavior in S3 is only in-character through taking away her own agency by rumoring herself is canonically untrue, and flattens her into something boring and perfect which Allison is anything but.

She's compassionate, she's spiteful. She's gentle, she's cruel. She's understanding, she's selfish. She's put-together, she's a trainwreck. She's a great mom friend, she's the worst enemy you could ever have.

Allison Hargreeves isn't all good or all bad, she's both in varying, shifting shades just like all of the other Hargreeves or any well-written character. She's faceted, incredible, and in a lot of pain. And pain isn't always pretty; often times it's ugly, and occasionally it brings out our very worst.

517 notes - Posted August 10, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

If TUA S4 actually does put Five in school to help him “blend in” or whatever, all I beg is that at some point “Teenagers” by MCR plays over a montage of Five really going through it in school and barely containing his homicidal rage while some snotty teen shoves him into a locker.

Finally Five has enough and verbally eviscerates Head Bully until they run, tail-tucked between their legs. Some other kids see and Five accidentally becomes the champion of school losers. All the nerds and outcasts flock to him for protection and absolutely no one gets pushed around on his watch. Oh were you thinking of stealing Jimmy’s lunch money? Too bad, Five Hargreeves is smiling at you from across the cafeteria, which means you have about three seconds to run.

Eventually Five begrudgingly discovers that he’s fond of the awkward gaggle of teens that look up to him. This is the only reason he goes from “I’m almost 60 years old with an IQ of 190, goddammit, I’m not going to school!” to “Yes, I am getting up at 6am to catch the bus; school starts at 8 o’clock sharp and I refuse to be late”. Those idiot kids NEED him, okay, and he won’t disappoint.

1,593 notes - Posted September 28, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[roguelioness]

fables from the field

[written for ffxivwrite2024]

Day 22: Venom

Rating: T Words: 1046 Pairing: none

The Pillars wear well-maintained cobblestone paths, the dwellings – ranging from modest houses to mid-size manors to massive mansions – laid out in a neat, organized fashion. Signposts at every intersection keep it from becoming the near-labyrinth the Brume is. On many occasions Alyzen has admired the layout, even if she could not understand (much less appreciate) the significance of having one’s home closer to the Arc of the Venerable versus the Last Vigil. Such matters were, in her mind, trivial.

But tonight, as she moves further away from the Arc and closer to Foundation, she wonders if the man she intends to meet had jealousy as a motive. For Pommerant Fouloix’s abode is noticeably smaller than that of the de Borel mansion, its location too close to the invisible boundary that divides the upper echelons from the working class.

A boundary she despises. A boundary he would maintain, if he had his way.

She has no intention of letting him walk free.

Lucia had warned her that those who gave the orders for Aymeric’s assassination and instructed the arsonists to torch the city would not face much consequence. Indeed, the abhorrent man had claimed that he was entirely in the dark as to his servant’s actions, and all he had suffered as penalty was a fee that was to be used to rebuild the homes lost in the Brume. Just that morning the odious man had stopped by the Congregation of the Knights Most Heavenly – where she had been in discussion with Aymeric and Lucia – to convey his patently false hope that the Lord Commander would succeed in his endeavor to bring about lasting change to Ishgard.

“His every word is poison,” muttered Lucia. “The archbishop may have fallen, but his legacy continues. You must do something, Lord Commander, before he rallies others to his cause.”

“What would you have me do, Lucia?” Aymeric sounded so tired. “We cannot detain him on mere suspicion. Though the matter with the True Brothers ended well, the public’s opinion might well turn against us were we to point suspicion at every noble who holds even the slightest of differing opinion.”

“It is but a matter of time before that snake strikes again,” had she the power, Lucia’s glare could have bored a hole into Pommerant’s back.

Alyzen agrees with the First Commander. They may have rounded up all the attackers and the arsonists, they may have routed the True Brothers of the Faith, but she knew well that zealots would keep making attempts until they were brought to a decisive end.

Ilberd was her regret. She is yet upset that she had not cut him down when they rescued Raubahn. His evil was like a weed; it would crop up again when least expected. She knows that if Pommerant is given enough time, he will make another attempt in Aymeric's life.

She is not going to give that greasy, pompous man with beady little eyes another chance to hurt Aymeric. Her hands ball into fists as she presses deeper into the shadows to avoid the guard; she has no wish to be spotted out on the streets this late at night. As far as her host and friends know, she is sound asleep in bed, having done such a good job at acting up a headache that both Artoirel and Francel had had their respective family remedies delivered to her chamber.

The Fouloix maisonette comes into view, and the molten anger that had bloomed that morn erupts again.

She has lost a dear friend to Thordan’s madness. She will not let whatever remains of his legacy take another from her.

It is a simple enough task to climb the ivy trellis; easier still to reach for the balcony’s balustrade and haul herself up. The doors are shut, but no matter – a window is half open. She has squeezed through smaller spaces.

Her avatar is ravenous. It knows it will feed well tonight; the hunger is like venom in her veins, heating her blood, making her as greedy for violence as it is for aether. She lands into the tiles floor on the tip of her toes, the light noise doing little more than cause the slumbering man to grunt in his sleep.

Alyzen shuts the window. For several moments she stands, still as glacial ice, staring at Pommerant who looks so at ease and so relaxed despite his heinous deeds.

Aymeric would not approve of this, she knows. Neither would Haurchefant. Honor holds a great deal of weight to them, and slaughtering a man in his own bed while he sleeps is a coward’s way.

But Alyzen has no such qualms. She recalls what her mother taught her: cut off the serpent's head, and the body will follow. 

She lets the voidsent take over.

Arke snarls, vicious and feral, and rouses Pommerant. She knows why he screams; she has seen herself with blazing red eyes and maw filled with sharp, jagged teeth, and the sound of his fear soothes both her and her avatar. 

Her hand grips his face, fingers stretched to touch his hairline, his temples, where his ear meets his cheek – and then squeezes.

Aether begins to flow into her; his life force is as bitter as his personality. When she speaks, it is with Arke’s raspy, void-cold voice. “Did you think you were safe from retribution?”

He thrashes about violently, his skin turning paler and paler with each passing moment. His flailing arms knock over the jug of water by his bedside; it falls to the floor with a loud crash. Someone calls his name, then a second time with more concern when the first did not get a response.

By the time the door swings open, Pommerant is dead, and Arke is out in full force. The manservant screams at the sight of the voidsent, before turning tail and fleeing down the steps, shouting orders for the guard to be called.

She leaves through the window. Her avatar melds into the shadows, returns her to the quiet of the Fortemps Manor. Once in her chambers, resting beneath the sheets, she stares up at the ceiling and waits for the guilt and regret to come.

They do not.

Satisfaction hums in her veins as she falls asleep.

[ocqueen]

WHAT IS THIS ABHORRENT NEW TWITTER RIP-OFF DESKTOP LAYOUT

[johnskleats]

All this aside, bestie...if you want to watch the original show then watch that. If you like the layout and structure and so on more in the original, then watch that instead. No one is forcing you to watch the adaptation, and I do stress:

Adaptation

Because it's not a remake. Remakes are lazy, non-transformative, and artistically abhorrent. This is an adaptation, which by nature of the very genre, is obligated to be a transformative, new interpretation of an existing work.

If you don't like the new lens, the adaptation isn't for you, and that's fine.

Food for thought: if you feel the original is perfect and that no added perspective is enlightening or illuminating the original IP...then the adaptation wasn't even made for you. It was made for us.

Correction... we see Aangs crush/infatuation/love from the beginning, not Katara's.

Katara doesn't actually start having feelings for Aang until after she has her fortune read by Aunt Wu and she takes it seriously. Then it's not until Sokka says something about Aang being a powerful bender that Katara sees that her fortune is 'true'.

Why do I hate this?

Because it leaves no room for Katara to make up her own mind about who she should be with and how she should feel. It takes away her ability to choose and she will ultimately not see any other possibilities other than what she is told to believe. The fact that the writers did this just... ugh. No. It limits Katara to one choice and one alone.

It's not a good choice because she ends up in a semi toxic relationship with a man who favors one child over two others because he can airbend.

Also, if it does happen in the Live Action, then that's fine if they do it right. I honestly would be thrilled if there was no romantic subplot because then no one will be happy.

Also, I wanted to explain why I do screenshots of topics. It's because I can control who sees this better. I don't want the antis reblogging my words and using shallow arguments to come at me. So this is my way of controlling the discourse.

[phosmic]

what in the Sam hill is this format

[strandedcrow]

.

[pegasister60]

NO. 31 A LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL

Comfort | Bedside Vigil | “You can rest now.”

The end of an ordeal.

--

This is the second time in twenty-four hours that Superman’s carried you. You’re just as uncomfortable with it as you were the first time but there’s not really anything you can do about it.

You don’t want to do this by yourself again. You ask some of your headmates to stay in front with you, potential mental eavesdroppers be damned. Solomon for guidance, Marvel for support, Achilles for stability, Atlas for comfort, and Zeus so you don’t pass out in the middle of round two at the round table.

Gods, you can feel the exhaustion seeping into your bones. There’s going to be hell to pay later, but you have to make it through this conversation first. You have to say your piece and convince these people that-

Wait, where is he taking you?

Zeus gives you a small jolt of energy so you can stay alert and look around. Solomon helpfully reminds you of the watchtower’s layout.

“I d’n need—“ You pull on the extra energy you’ve been given and use it to speak clearly. “I’m fine. I didn’t get hit.”

“Son, your hands need medical attention,” Superman says very gently.

“Don’t call me son.” You respond on reflex but you know he has a point.

Okay, just don’t pass out while your hands get treated and then get ready to shout at some people. You can probably make the energy you have last if you stretch it. And even if you can’t, you asked Herc not to be here so your temper can keep you going if things start going poorly.

It’s not a good plan, but it’s all you have even with extra support. Which really sucks, but it is what it is.

You both arrive at the medbay and Superman surprisingly does not just set you on one of the hospital beds or benches. He lets you stand under your own power the moment you get through the door.

“Thanks,” you say, because you are grateful.

“Of course, let's get you patched up.” He’s being so patient. You’re really not sure what to make of that, because it does and doesn’t feel like a trick.

He was mad before, when you outed yourself. You finally have the Wisdom to realize he probably wasn’t mad at you, but for a little while you highly doubted it.

He was very vocal during round one of the conversation. You weren’t present enough in the moment to really catch what he was saying but he was loud. He was loud and pissed. And you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve heard Superman raise his voice.

But he’s not mad now. You have a lot of experience trying to figure out if adults are mad (especially if they’re mad at you specifically-) and if he’s at all upset it’s not registering. This should reassure you but you’re not firing on all cylinders, maybe you’re missing the signs.

Solomon says to Occam’s Razor this. If Superman doesn’t look or sound mad and he hasn’t said he’s mad, then he’s probably not mad. You can think of times where that hasn’t been true, but not with Superman.

And it’s as you hop onto one of the beds with Atlas taking the pain from your hands that it starts to sink in a little.

This is Superman. He would never hit anything resembling your small form when sane and in control of himself. At this moment, while he’s carefully applying medicine and bandages to your left hand, he is both of those things.

You don’t relax—if you relax you won’t be ready for the fight ahead of you—but you’re relieved.

“I’d like to apologize.”

And now you’re right back to square one on trying to figure out what Superman’s feeling. Because what?

You look up at him and you’re too tired to try hiding how confused you are. He’s peeling the duct tape of your splint off and you don’t want to raise any further fuss about that either. Not when you don’t know what he means.

He looks sad in a not-pity way and keeps talking.

“In hindsight, my behavior was abhorrent. Nothing about the way I, or the rest of the team, handled this situation was right. I’m sorry.”

Hold the fucking phone, pump the breaks, full stop.

What?

“That’s not- I don’t—“ You don’t even know what you’re trying to say here.

That it’s not true? It kind of is. You haven’t had a lot of positive relationships with the adults in your life since Before, but Liam remembers what they’re supposed to be like. And if you use that as a metric then, yeah, they did fuck up.

You don’t want an apology? Well, this one hasn’t hurt. You don’t know if you even expected one but Marvel says Superman should be apologizing. So maybe your headmates wanted one.

In the end you don’t say anything to that. There’s a moment where Superman balls up the duct tape and tosses it in the bin and it breaks the silence.

Then Superman pauses and takes a half step back.

“And I’m still not doing this right. I didn’t even—“ He sighs and it sounds tired. “I’d like to give your wrist a proper splint because I can see where it’s fractured. It would not have healed correctly if you left it the way it was. Would it be alright if I give you a better splint? Maybe a whole cast?”

You don’t move your right arm from where it’s been set in your lap.

Is that an actual choice? You can’t just put the tape back on because it’s in the trash. Why is he even asking you?

Because he should’ve asked you before, Solomon says. He shouldn’t have touched you at all without your consent, good intentions or no.

You know that. Really you do.

But no one’s respected your autonomy like this for a long time, not without you showing teeth first. You forget there’s a middle ground between people touching you when you don’t want it and people never touching you at all. You’ve enforced the latter so often that it hasn’t come up before today.

Batman respected your wish to keep your shitty splint, but you also made it abundantly clear how you felt about it first. He didn’t need to ask, you communicated effectively.

Superman’s picked you up twice and both times you made it nonverbally clear you didn’t want it. Heck, you made it verbally clear. You assumed he’d keep doing things he thought were best for you whether you wanted them or not.

But apparently not. There’s still not a valid alternative to going along with it, but he asked. That’s something.

“Okay.” You start to tug your jacket off and Superman very clearly wants to help you but he’s hesitating to ask. Gods, do you look that pathetic?

Solomon gently reminds you that your teammate just expressed that he wants to do better. You acknowledge that thought and try not to shove it aside on instinct.

If anyone’s going to say they want to do better and then actually put in the effort, it’d be these people.

You look up at him. “You can help.”

He’s still very slow as he moves and very careful, but that probably has more to do with his super strength than any warped perception of you. That soothes your ire a little.

Soon your jacket and hoodie are neatly folded beside you, though you really don’t think leaving them in a heap would make them any more wrinkled, and Superman’s putting your arm in an actual splint.

It feels odd. Your teammate has X-ray vision, a few layers less shouldn't make you feel any more exposed. Achilles lightly swats away the nerves for you anyway.

You don’t know if you should say something. Should you start trying to convince Superman of your competence right now? Should you accept that apology he gave you? Is it okay to just sit here awkwardly?

Superman clearly has more to say. He finishes the splint and you have to admit it’s a lot better than yours was. Miss Medicine isn’t Doctor Medicine after all, and you’re not an expert on this either.

Your hand’s been treated for its burn and Superman politely hasn’t commented on the already fading lightning scar on that same arm. You’re about to hop off the bed and face the music when Superman starts talking again.

“I’d like to ask you something, if that’s alright.”

You look at him and notice he isn’t blocking your path to the door. You’re not sure if that was a conscious decision on his part or not but it eases your nerves a bit. Achilles steps in again to help you breathe.

“Shoot.” Why the hell not?

“Do you want to stay in the League?”

You look at him like he’s stupid. What kind of question-

“Of course I do! We’ve worked together for years with no problems, why wouldn’t I wanna keep at it?”

Superman doesn’t look surprised to hear it. “Right, it just occurred to me that we didn’t really ask you how you felt about all this, huh?”

It’s been hours and it just now crossed his mind that you might want a say? You’re not biting mad but you’re getting there.

“Yeah, you didn’t. And I could give you a dozen reasons why I don’t want to stop, why you can’t make me stop!” 

Because they really can’t. You were doing this before you met them and you’ll do it even if they ask you to leave too. 

Marvel says the Wizard will not choose another and it’s the most comforting thing you’ve heard all week.

“Alright.”

You falter. 

“You just—“ You’re left fumbling for words a second time. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Superman says. “You want to be on the team, you do good work, and the vote to remove you from the League would have had to have been unanimous.”

“People voted for me to stay? When?”

Superman looks a little uncomfortable. “After your… departure, Batman tore into us about how we were acting. He said it wasn’t fair to you to kick up all this extra fuss about your situation when there are existing protocols for firing a league member and none that require the reveal of personal information. Age included.”

“We treated you differently based on your age and, despite our good intentions, it was unprofessional and it distressed you. Had we behaved that way about an aspect of a different member’s identity it wouldn’t have been tolerated.”

It shouldn’t surprise you that Batman went to bat for a young hero. It really shouldn’t, but you try to discreetly blink away the sting of tears anyway. Superman has the decency not to comment.

“We took a vote on your membership and decided that regardless of the outcome we’d search for you to apologize for our misconduct.”

You swallow so your voice won’t be so thick with hope. “And I get to stay?”

Superman nods and makes a gesture that looks suspiciously like an aborted shoulder pat.

“We want you to stay, Captain.”

In an effort to not start ugly crying in front of Superman, you blink hard and take a breath.

“Billy.” You look up at him when you’re sure the tears aren’t big enough to fall. “When I look like this you can call me Billy.”

He’s looking at you like you’ve just handed him a million dollars and it’s not helping the warm feelings in your chest and your face. Fuck, you were ready to verbally rip someone a new one. You were not prepared for acceptance. 

“Glad to have you, Billy.” He sounds so fucking sincere about it. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but as your teammate I think you should get some rest. It’s been a very, very long day.”

The bed you’re sitting on is soft, the anger you thought would fuel you hasn’t come, and you’re in one of the safest places you’re probably ever going to get to sleep in. 

You don’t lock your jaw to fight the yawn that comes. The tears you were fighting fall as a result but you’re running on empty and don’t care. The debt you owe for running yourself ragged has caught up with you and you’re maybe seconds from crashing.

“Yeah, yeah okay.” You wipe the tears away with your left hand and start kicking your shoes off.

“I’ll go tell the others you’ll be staying to sleep. Do you need anything before I go?”

Water, food, painkillers, more blankets and pillows.

“I’m alright. Thank you,” you say with as soft of a smile as you can manage right now. 

One step at a time, Marvel says. Trust isn’t owed and it’s best when it’s earned.

And if you wake up from part one of your day-long nap to a pile of those very things left on the bed next to yours and a sleeping Diana in civvies in the chair on your other side?

Well, no one’s awake to see you cry this time.

--

Whumptober: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, ALT 12, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, ALT 1, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31.