#will use references next time i drew it from memory

[sootysnail]

yahi design that came to me in a dream

hes based on rhis guy from lobotomy corporation its called judgement bird

[starlight-eclipsed]

The room is empty. The bed untouched. The window, tauntingly, is wide open.

Art for chapter 21 of A Dark Among the Lights by LuckyLectio on AO3! You all know the drill--go check it out if you haven't already ^-^

[zepskies]

S.I.N.G.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x F. Reader 

Summary: Beau wishes you’d take this self-defense lesson a little more seriously.

AN: Here's another one-shot for the Take Me Home series, set a couple of months after A Crime of Passion. Some of you might get the Miss Congeniality reference. 😂

Word Count: 1.5K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Established relationship. Flirty teasing, tinge of angst and trauma/PTSD, spiciness and a side helping of smut. 

Catch up on TMH: ⤵️

❤️ Take Me Home Masterlist

“All right, let’s try that again,” said Beau.

You barely resisted the urge to whine like a child. Instead, you grabbed your phone off the coffee table, which you’d pushed up against the couch to make space in the living room.

Your boyfriend frowned and swept his hands up in disbelief when you began scrolling on the little screen.

“Uh, hello?” he said. “Trying to teach here, Professor.”

You Google searched for a new restaurant your aunt Denise had told you about recently, and you showed him a snapshot of the menu.

“Wanna try out this new Latin place for lunch? They’ve got empanadas,” you said. “And lots of beef on the menu. Huh, Mr. Carnivore?”   

Beau blew out a subtle breath of exasperation.

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna need you to take this a little more seriously,” he said.

You dropped your hand to your side with a tired huff.

“Babe, we’ve been at this for two hours. I’m tired. I’m sweaty. I’m hungry,” you full on whined now, grasping onto the front of his shirt, a gray one you’d accidentally shrunk a little in the wash. What once was loose on him, now stretched tight across his chest and wrapped snugly around his arms. (So all in all, you didn’t feel too bad about it.)

Beau grabbed your hand from his shirt and took your phone from you. He tossed it over onto the couch.

“I just want to go over a few more things,” he said.

“Come on, you’re usually the bottomless pit here. My stomach is going to eat itself,” you protested.

His lips twitched. “You’re being a tad dramatic, don’t you think? Now let’s go. Show me what you’re gonna do when I come at you head on.”

When Beau stepped forward, you mimed bringing the heel of your hand up to his face. He pretended to whip his head back, as if you’d really hit him. Complete with an exaggerated, Jim Carey-level sound effect of pain that almost got you to smile.

“Okay, good,” he nodded afterward. “But what if I grab your arm and get’cha turned around?”

He grasped your wrist next. He slowly twisted you around, until your left arm was behind your back. You sent him a narrowed look over your shoulder.

“I’m gonna break your damn nose for real if we don’t go eat,” you warned.

“Just give me twenty more minutes, and we’ll go. I promise,” he replied, trying to dim his smile. “Now humor me, would you? What’re you gonna do if I got you like this?”

You released a long-suffering sigh.

“Break your stance,” you intoned. You took your sneaker-clad heel and kicked back to tap it on the top of his boot. In reality, you’d be driving your heel into his foot, hard enough to try and break it. He moved his foot back before you could though.

“Nice try. Now what?” he challenged.

You used your free elbow to press into his right side below his ribs—and maybe you dug in a little harder than you needed to. He grunted slightly, but he nodded in approval and released your arm.

“Okay, good. The guy’s probably gonna loosen up enough for you to start running,” he said.

To your annoyance, he didn’t end the lesson there.

“Now, coming at ya from behind,” he said, wrapping his arms more fully around your frame, across your chest and under your breasts. His hold was firm, but not tight enough for you to feel his full strength.

This time, however, your body locked up with a bit of tension. You drew in a sharper breath. You knew you were safe in your boyfriend’s arms, but you had a sudden flash of memory in your mind’s eye.

You felt the phantom of a more threatening grip on your arms, shoving you hard into the side of your car, pressing you into the door with your cheek against the glass.

“Hey, you all right?” Beau prompted. It managed to break you out of your thoughts, and you realized that his hold was looser now. His voice was a touch softer, and his lips pressed to the side of your head, reminding you that it was just him. You were safe.

You squeezed his arms gratefully. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

This was why you’d agreed to these self-defense lessons in the first place. And you knew it wasn’t just for your own benefit. It made Beau feel better too, giving you back some control, and just knowing that you were better prepared.

Working through the trauma of everything you’d gone through in the past six months was an ongoing process; both your kidnapping this past summer, and Casey Sanderson attacking you at the college campus where you worked. You still got uneasy in the parking lot. 

“You sure?” Beau asked. “We can stop now if you need to.”

You shook your head. You didn’t want that flash of memory to be the reason you quit.

“No, let’s finish this,” you said.

After a moment, Beau nodded. His thumb stroked your shoulder before his hold firmed back up.

“Okay, how’re you gonna break my stance?” he asked.

Your lips formed a cheeky smile. You grabbed onto his arm wrapped across your chest and bit him, just firm enough to startle him a little.

“How about I bite your ass,” you teased. Though you soothed over the bite with a kiss, tasting the salty sweat dried on his skin. Beau cleared his throat. You couldn’t see it, but he was smirking.

“Sure. That’s one way to go about it,” he said with a chuckle. “Any other ideas?”

Hmm. You remembered the moves he’d taught you yesterday, but an idea struck you.

“Well, I could always just channel Sandra Bullock in Miss Congeniality,” you said.

“What?” Beau asked. You could tell, without even seeing his face, that his brows had drawn together in confusion.

“Oh, you don’t remember? It’s simple! S.I.N.G.,” you said, with a growing smile. “Solar plexus, instep, nose, groin…”

With each word, you once again bumped your elbow into his side, playfully stepped on his foot, and reached back to throw a mock elbow into the bridge of his nose. But on the last part of the acronym, you slid your hand down the inside of Beau’s thigh and grasped his length firmly through his activewear pants.

He released a strangled sound and let go of you. His hands instinctively moved to grip your arms tight.

“Very good,” he croaked out, and allowed you to turn around. You slowly rubbed your hand up and down his shaft until it hardened under your palm. Beau stared down at you with a new fire in his eyes, his mouth parting as an aroused groan escaped him.

Giving him a mischievous smile, you lowered to the ground onto your knees, hooking your nails on the waistband of his pants and underwear and taking them down along with you. It was good thinking on his part that you guys placed an exercise mat across the living room floor. It made this more comfortable on your knees, especially when you took almost the full length of his cock into your mouth.

“Aw, fuck,” Beau grunted. His fingers slipped into your hair. He couldn’t help but grip tight as you continued to salivate over him, dragging your soft, wet tongue across his velvety flesh. And you were relentless. Whatever you couldn’t take into your beautiful mouth, you stroked with your hand wrapped around the base.

You pulled your head back for a moment, just so you could tease his sensitive head. He moaned and bucked on reflex, driving himself deeper into your mouth again.

Oh, he was close already. You felt his thighs shaking, his cock throbbing. Your pussy clenched as well, with the memory of how he felt coming inside you. It had you quickening the pace of your lips and tongue drawing his release, and soon he spilled hot inside your mouth. You took and swallowed everything he had to give, sucking him clean.

It was too much. Beau shakily lowered to his knees, almost stumbling down to your level. He grasped your shoulders for balance first. Then he slid his hands down the gentle slope of your back and crushed you to his chest, where he bowed his head to claim you with a kiss.

Now it was his turn to be unrelenting. He hardly let you breathe with his lips moving passionately over yours. 

“Lesson over?” you panted, between kisses.

“Yeah,” he said roughly, though he chuckled. “Thank you, darlin’. You’ve been a model student.”

You smiled against his lips. Beau slid your shirt up and over your head before he laid you down on the mat. His kisses blazed a wet path down your neck and between your breasts, still covered by your satin bra.

“Thought we were going to lunch,” you said breathlessly.

Beau perked his head up and shot you a heated look, despite his grin. He began slowly dragging your tight-ass yoga pants down your hips and thighs, all the way down to your ankles. Your panties came next.   

“Oh, we are,” he said, sliding his hands back up your thighs. “All of a sudden, I’m real hungry.”

His mouth finding its way between your legs soon cut off the rest of your laughter. 

AN: Lol how'd you like that lesson in self-defense? 😘

And want more stories in the TMH-verse? I've missed these two. ❤️

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Take Me Home Masterlist

Big Sky Masterlist

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[findmeinthefallair]

God I never showed you guys how I would've written case notes for our boi's therapy sessions.

Here are some examples I drew up for a very early stage session with him, since I need to put down this info before I can create and write more scenes and screenshots.

Basic SOAP notes template:

Subjective is what the client shares and reports.

Objective is what the therapist can see, based on what's called a Mental Status Exam that we must conduct for any session.

Assessment is reporting whether you think the client is getting further away or closer to the goals they set for therapy, framed through the theoretical orientation that the therapist uses. In my past experience, I have used a blend of the Satir Model and Internal Family Systems theories, both of which are systemic theories i.e. we believe that a client's life has been shaped by their family background and environment.

It's important that Hunter's therapist would have to use what's called a non-directive approach to give him lots of space and autonomy to explore his thoughts and feelings. Systemic theories and others such as Narrative Therapy, Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT) are all non-directive, whereas approaches such as the more commonly heard Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) are directive and most likely a poor fit for him because it would enable his extreme rule-following tendencies.

Plan refers to the course of action that both therapist and client could take, and seeing how the rapport between them is building up.

----------------------------

A piece of homework I might give him is a log like this, to track how he's doing and feeling through the weeks and months:

The percentages shown are him rating how intense his experienced symptoms are. This table can be discussed in each session too.

----------------------------

Lastly, disclaimer for the next one: I've not trained in the EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) modality but had a peek at how EMDR therapists write their case notes, since I also spent two years going for EMDR sessions as a client. But it might look like this for the boi based on what I found online:

EMDR is about replacing harmful beliefs about self with positive ones, and involves a ton of subconscious work via something called "bilateral stimulation" (to really simplify, when you go for a walk you shift between putting your left and right feet in front while moving: this contributes towards you most likely feeling better afterwards). EMDR does something very similar with eye movements, or playing alternating sounds in headphones between the left and right ears, or alternating between tapping your left and right knees with your hands.

While this left-right-left-right stuff is happening, you are instructed by the therapist to mentally replay an image from a traumatic memory. One single traumatic memory is processed at a time, and a mental "safe place" and emotional resources must be set up first across many initial sessions before the actual processing is even carried out.

Anyway, the therapist most likely would not dive into the worst memory of him being possessed, because that would be too much, even if a safe place and resources are first set up. The most likely memory to be addressed first could be when he received his notable facial scar, or whichever was the earliest traumatic memory he remembers.

In the screenshot above, the "VoC" section is how strongly the client believes in the new positive belief, on a scale from 1 to 7. The number would obviously be very low in the beginning; the goal of EMDR therapy is to bring the number all the way up to a 7 across the months ahead.

The SUDs section is about Subjective Units of Disturbance, used to measure how much distress the client feels about the image of the traumatic memory on a scale of 1 to 10. The hope is to get the number down as low as possible over the months.

I picture him having various breakthroughs with the help of this technique at different points of his healing, such as before Grom Night, before he can even imagine himself carving Waffles...overall being more and more okay over time with a world with no Flapjack in it.

It's amazing to picture the work that the boi would put in until he can feel calmness and even a blooming sense of purpose handling the pieces of palistrom wood he'd be working with in the years to come, instead of pure distress about the best friend he played a part in slaying. Thanks for attending my spontaneous TED talk lol

[random-writing-panda]

||•~ Growing pains ~•||

(Older)Damian Wayne x Reader

*My GIF

I’m finally getting better at making fic’s longer. As always I hope you guys enjoy it and that my inability to spell doesn’t reflect in my writing to much🙃 

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: little bit angsty

====================================

Damian starts to develop feelings towards his best friend, he doesn't understand what these feelings mean so who better to go to but his big brother Dick?

====================================

Damian hated this class. Out of all the classes he had to waste his day attending, this one was the worst because the one person who made school bearable was on the other side of the room. So, he was stuck sitting next to morons who only wanted to talk to him because he was Damian Wayne.  

He was zoned out not paying any attention to the class, he didn’t need to, he knew more about the subject then the teacher did and that left him to doing the one thing that had seemed to take over his life recently, drawing you. He sat there sketching lines onto his book glancing up to look over to you as you sat with your face resting in your hand looking half asleep. Damian smiled to himself as he looked back down to the sketch. No matter how many times he drew you he could never make it perfect, never fully capture the beauty you hold.

It had been almost two months of Damian drawing you. You had found one of his sketch books and were so shocked at how talented he was, the detail was incredible, so obviously as his best friend you begged him to draw you.  

∞∞

“No.” he sighed  

“C’monnnn Dami please! Just one sketch. It’s just one please!” you grab his arm and he squirms a little.

“Oh sorry... I forgot the touching thing. But seriously please? Just draw me once.” you pull you hand away and give him puppy dog eyes. You were the one person he listened to, not a lot, but more than anyone else.

“Fine. One okay?” he looks over to you and smiles as you start clapping and smiling.

“Thank you Dami!”  

∞∞

He had finished the sketch and just looked at it just wasn’t good enough, it was missing something and he couldn’t make it look perfect but you had seen him stop so you practically ran over to him and sat next to him and ran your fingers over the edge of the paper and you had smiled so much, you seemed so happy.  

As happy as you were with the picture Damian just couldn’t let go of the fact something was missing, so he tried again, using the picture of the two of you that he kept in his room as a reference.

It drove him crazy, whenever he saw you there was something so beautiful that he just couldn’t capture in his drawings and eventually after every day you spent together, he would sit down and draw it.  

Over the two months he had filled up the entire book with memories and whenever he looked through his sketchbook he was filled with happiness and something completely unexplainable.

“Damian since you seem to be paying attention what is the answer to the question?” the teacher asked trying to embarrass him. It backfired quickly when Damian answered correctly without even looking up from his book. The class tried to stifle their laughter as the teacher turned red and tried to continue with the class.

Damian shot his eyes up to look at you again and he heard your laugh after what had occurred and he just smiled back at you. He didn’t know what was happening to him.

How he felt about you confused him which he hated Damian absolutely hated not know what was happening especially when his own feelings are what were confusing him. He needed to know what was happening and he couldn’t work it out on his own... he needed help...  

∞∞

He was never going to let Damian live this down. Damien actually asking for someone else's help.

“I swear Grayson. You will never utter a word of this conversation to anyone is that understood?” Damian scowls at Dick as they sit across from each other.  

“Sure, okay fine what do you need help with Damian?” Dick slouches over resting his elbows on his knees.

“Whenever I’m with Y/n... I feel weird.” Damian says trying to piece together the words.

“Weird? What do you mean weird?”  

���If I knew what I meant I would have said that wouldn't I Grayson? Uh forget it.” Damian goes to stand up.

“No! Hey Damian, I'm sorry come on I want to help.” Dick says standing and gently puts his hand on Damian’s shoulder, “Just talk to me try to explain it?”

“Fine... when I’m with her I...I just...I feel like I’m happier... I feel like a better person and I feel...okay I mean actually okay.” Damian sat back down and but his head in his hands. “And... there is just something unexplainable and...I don’t understand... my entire life i have know exactly how to feel and how to respond... how to turn off my feelings...but I can’t and I don’t know how to deal with it... i don’t even know what it is!”

“Heh... sounds like you're in love.” Dick lets out a small almost sad chuckle. “First love...wow”

“Love?-”

“Yeah love it is what happens when people-”  

“I know what love is Grayson!” Damian replies hastily and rolls his eyes, “I just didn’t know it felt like... this...”

“It’s love. It feels like love. You just know!” Dick says almost like he was confused  

“No Grayson. I don’t know that’s why I came to you.” Damian knew people didn’t understand but at this point they didn’t even try to understand that he couldn't process emotion like other people, they just brush it off.

“I’m trying to be supportive but how do you not know what love is like? Any kind of love?”

“Well Dick some of us didn’t grow up perfectly.”

“Perfectly?! Perfectly really?? No one in this house grew up perfectly! Except maybe Alfred, but that’s beside the point!”

“Yeah well you could be less of a dick, Dick.” Damien stood up and walked away without a second thought.

∞∞

“I will never understand the need for a bed the size of a normal room.” You laugh as you fall back onto Damian’s bed and lay there looking up at his ceiling.

“I don’t get it either but its comfortable.”  Damian raises his head and puts his pencil on his desk.

“I agree maximum comfort levels. I should sleep over more.” you smile and watching you on his bed his face heats up and you move around on the bed and walk over to him.

You sit up on his desk and look down at Damian’s sketch book.

“Is that me?” you move to grab the book, but Damian gets to it first and slams it shut.

“Nope.” his eyes meet yours and he smiles, “Not you at all.”  

“Hm I don’t think so, I'm pretttyy sure that was me.”  

He looks down and he tried to stay calm. Did you hate him? Did you think he was creep? Were you going to stop hanging out with him?

“Let me see it!” you laugh and try to grab the book.

“No!”  

“Please?”

“...Fine...”

He hands the book over to you and his hand brushed yours and you smiled.

You open the book to the first page and see a beautiful sketch of your day out at the beach with him, you flip over the pages one by one and are met with an entire book full of drawings of you.

“Damian...”

That was it you thought he was a creep.

“These are so amazing...” you reach the end of the book and find a page with your sketch in a box in the middle of the page.

“Sorry...this is weird...” He looks at the wall and straightens up in his seat.

You reach over and place your hand on his cheek, you run your finger over the side of his face.

“What are you talking about? They are amazing Damian what are you embarrassed about?”

“You don’t think I'm creepy for having a sketch book full of pictures of you?” Damian laughs and leans into your hand.

“No... it's so sweet.” you look down trying to force words pass the lump in your throat. “It’s nice to have the guy you like take that much interest in you...” you mumble to quietly.

“You like me?”

“Yeah...maybe...a little bit...”  

“Good.” Damian stands up and tugs you off the desk and hugs you. “Because... I think I like you too.”

“Damian?”

He pulls back.

“Yeah...?”

“Can I kiss you?”  

He smiles and you lean into him and press your lips against his and you slowly close your eyes,grasping your waist tightly he pulls you closer to him. The moment seems to last for an eternity and once you pull away you rest you head on his chest.

“Just one sketch huh...?” you look up and Damien rolls his eyes at chuckles.

“Just one sketch.”  

================

Tag list:

[f1letters]

lavender haze | mv1

"I been under scrutiny, you handle it beautifully"

summary: after winning his second championship in another controversial way, max needed her by his side more than ever as the media tried to tear him apart

warning: a little bit of angst for Max, but overall fluff for the couple, swearing, suggestive language, mentions of the championship-deciding races of Abu Dhabi GP 2021 and Japan GP 2022 from Max's point of view, mentions of scrutiny from the media, Jos Verstappen lol

pairing: max verstappen x reader

word count: 2.8k

note: everything in bold are song references and in italic are thoughts, which includes memories from the past. also, I would like to point out that I didn't write this as a personal opinion/critique of Ted or anyone involved in the whole Sky Sports scandal (which is why I didn't use his name or his exact words in the story and why I only used the controversy as a reference/inspiration very loosely), but rather wrote about what I imagine were the thoughts/feelings of people on Max's side (himself, the Red Bull team, Jos, etc), regarding this matter.

dutch words used: schatje = baby; liefje = honey

and we are back! once again, thank you all for being so understanding about me skipping last weekend 💜 I hope you enjoy this little story, as always!

masterlist

Meet me at midnight

Ever since he was just a little boy, all Max dreamed of was being a Formula 1 champion.

To have his name written in the history books. To have his legacy immortalized in the records for eternity.

From then, Max spent all of his hours, days, weeks, months and years preparing for it. He gave all of his blood, sweat and tears for it.

For that exact moment: when he stood right there in Japan, tall and proud, with his trophy in hand, after being announced World Champion for the 2nd time.

Lying in bed that night, staring at the ceiling next to his girlfriend, the driver could still feel the euphoria coursing through his veins.

He couldn't believe how lucky he was to be in that position. 

He had everything he could ever want: his biggest dream came true twice, he had a successful career that so many envied, and most of all, he had the best person in the world by his side.

At the end of the day, it didn't matter all the money, the victories, the parties, the luxury if he couldn't have her there in his arms.

Y/N was everything to him, and he knew that the championship victory was as much hers as his.

Max let his hand run through the shiny strands of his partner's hair, the warm skin of their bodies pressed together, while Y/N drew random figures with her soft fingers across the man's toned chest.

The couple remained in each other's arms, not saying too much, both still over the moon and completely in awe from the unforgettable day they just had.

"I'm so proud of you, my love." Y/N broke the silence installed in the hotel room, whispering her words. "You can't imagine how happy I am for you."

Staring at the ceiling with you

Oh, you don't ever say too much

And you don't really read into

My melancholia

Max half smirked with his eyes half closed as sleep began to creep in.

With his eyes locked on the girl before him, the boy tucked the hair that covered her face behind her ear and stayed like that for a few minutes. Just living in the moment, letting her words sink in, appreciating what life had given him.

"Thanks, schatje. For everything." He placed a soft kiss on her forehead, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand. "I'm completely crazy about you, you know that?"

Y/N laughed shyly, moving her body even closer to her boyfriend's, laying down on his chest. "Stop, Max! You know I get all embarrassed when you start saying stuff like that."

"You stop! I'm just telling the truth!" Their laughter filled the room in pure harmony. Max stopped, returning to his moment of gratitude. "I just love you. So much, Y/N. This is all thanks to you."

"This is all thanks to your talent, baby." The young woman rested her cheek against the driver's bare shoulder. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Y/N knew that Max would immediately understand what she was trying to say.

The girl couldn't help but fear that the Dutchman would let all the scrutiny behind yet another championship win bring him down.

Max had a whole facade around him. Max appeared to be confident, poised, collected, unfazed by all adversity, and sometimes even self-centred and arrogant because of his posture on the track. 

But deep down, Max was nothing but a fragile little boy, still trying to seek his father's approval.

Max was obsessed with perfection. Everything he had to do had to be absolutely spot on: every corner had to be perfectly executed, his car had to be at its best at all times, any position other than the first one was simply not good enough.

Knowing him better than anyone, Y/N knew how to handle him beautifully and knew that in the back of Max's mind, the fact that this was yet another victory tainted by controversy was tormenting him, even if he tried to hide it.

I've been under scrutiny

You handle it beautifully

All this shit is new to me

Both of them could only imagine all the headlines, the comments, the criticism. All because of a loophole that was never under the driver's control.

"Don't worry about me." Max answered the unspoken question the girl posed. "I don't give a damn what people say."

The harsh words that came out of his mouth seemed to be an attempt to convince himself more than her. They both knew that.

It had been almost a year since the boy had been named champion for the first time and yet to that day he still suffered attacks due to something that (once again) was not in his power to change.

Y/N didn't push, knowing the argument was going nowhere, and instead chose to joke with her boyfriend to lighten the mood. "Well, I don't know if you know this... but you look so much hotter as a two-time world champion."

Happiness filled Max's chest as he chuckled, turning their position so that his body was on top of hers. His lips roamed over her neck, leaving soft kisses and nibbles along the way, until he strayed away to deposit an intense and passionate kiss on her mouth.

His head lifted slightly, creating enough distance between them for him to speak, though their lips were still touching. "What if I showed again how it feels like to fuck a two-time world champion, hmm?"

I feel a lavender haze creeping up on me

So real, I'm damned if I do give a damn what people say

No deal, the 1950s shit they want for me

I just wanna stay in that lavender haze

Two weeks passed until the next race, the couple trapped in their lavender haze.

The Texas sun cut through the clouds in the sky and reflected warmly on the girl's skin as she entered the circuit, side by side with Carola.

Both friends over the last few years since they met in the Red Bull garage through their partners, the young women understood each other perfectly: both were reserved, with no great desire for attention on them, just there to support their lovers.

As always, a peaceful and relaxed conversation was taking place between the two, as they strolled around the paddock with smiles on their faces. 

Carola told Y/N all about the latest incident at the Perez house, with the small sibling clashes between Checo Jr. and Carlota, and the other girl just laughed. She knew how happy those children made her friend and she couldn't wish anything else for Carola.

Suddenly the mood around them seemed to change. 

The environment that before was serene, relaxed, and enthusiastic now gave off a heavy, tense, nervous energy.

Y/N started looking into the faces of the people they passed for answers, aware that they were looking at her. What the fuck is going on, she thought to herself.

Carola sensed the discomfort on her friend, placing a concerned hand on the girl's shoulder. "Y/N, are you okay?"

"Well, I'd like to know the answer to that question too," Y/N confessed without too much thought. "I don't know, honestly. I have a feeling something is wrong."

"Maybe it's nothing," The Mexican tried to calm her down, running her hand up and down along her friend's forearm, although she was aware of the gazes in their direction too. "We're almost at the garage and we'll clear everything up."

Walking through the navy blue walls, the tension only intensified in the air. 

The faces of the team members showed worry and nervousness, and the PR team rushing back and forth relentlessly was a sign that something had gone wrong during the drivers' media duties following their practice session.

Knowing Max like the back of her hand... Y/N knew it was him.

All they keep asking me

Is if I'm gonna be your bride

The only kind of girl they see

Is a one-night or a wife

"Hey, where's Max?" Y/N asked her father-in-law, Jos, who wore an angry look on his face. Although their relationship was distant, she knew that if anyone was aware of everything that was going on in her boyfriend's career, it was his father.

"Would also like to know." The man replied dryly, running a hand impatiently through his hair. "He just walked out of here like a fucking coward, and left the others here to sort out his shit."

Y/N swallowed hard, knowing it wasn't worth wasting time trying to defend Max as all the words she would say would go in one ear and out the other. "What happened?"

"That shitty reporter, that's what happened." The older Verstappen replied, raising his tone. "That bastard had the nerve to say on live TV that Max didn't deserve any of his titles, and he panicked like a pussy. I didn't raise him like that - I raised him to be a man, not a little boy."

Without a second thought, Y/N turned her back on the man and grabbed her phone, trying to call her partner, only for her call to go to voicemail.

Unconsciously, the girl opened her Instagram and immediately came across the reporter's now-viral video.

"He doesn't seem to be capable of winning a championship without some sort of scandal. First, Hamilton was obviously ripped off in Abu Dhabi; now, they award full points in a race that wasn't even half finished because of some apparent 'loophole'?! Favouritism at its best."

All of a sudden, the air seemed to have difficulty getting into the girl's lungs, the temperature seemed to have risen dramatically, and Y/N started to feel dizzy as the media started to bring up Max's history.

Max, where are you, she asked herself, begging for a sign of his presence.

I find it dizzying

They're bringing up my history

But you aren't even listening

Y/N looked everywhere: in the garage, in his driver's room, in all the different rooms in the motorhome, in the back of the building, in the cafeteria, everywhere. 

She was starting to run out of options, but she knew he had to be around somewhere since his exit from the circuit would not be discreet at all, quite the contrary.

If I were Max where would I hide from the world, she reflected, desperate to be reunited with her boyfriend. Of course! In the place where everyone least expected to find him.

With a hurried step and depositing complete confidence in this last and risky idea, Y/N set off on her way until she came face to face with the red walls, embellished with the Prancing Horse symbol.

Deviating towards the back of the Ferrari building, Y/N felt her heart return to its normal rhythm when she set her eyes on the image of his lover.

There he was, sitting on the grass, with his vision pointed to the sky, so small and so fragile that no one else would be able to see him hiding there.

The girl slowly approached the driver, almost afraid to startle him, until he eventually noticed her presence when she was only a few inches away from him. His shoulders visibly relaxed at the sight of his girlfriend, and a small, forced smile appeared on his face.

"Of course you found me," Max whispered, placing his hand on the girl's thigh, who was now sitting on the grass next to him. "I guess you already know what happened."

Y/N laid her head on his shoulder, hugging his strong arm. "Yeah, I saw it... I'm sorry Max, you don't deserve this."

I feel a lavender haze creeping up on me

So real, I'm damned if I do give a damn what people say

No deal, the 1950s shit they want for me

I just wanna stay in that lavender haze

That lavender haze

"I don't really care," Max spoke, shaking his head. "Let them say what they want. It doesn't matter to me."

"Baby…" The young woman knew that he was doing what he always did: bottling it up inside, hiding his feelings, just like he was taught to do his whole life.

"Liefje, don't worry. I'm fine, I promise."

"Max, stop doing this." Y/N touched his face, forcing him to look at her with his noticeably teary eyes.

"Y/N-"

"Max, please." The girl begged. "You don't have to pretend to be strong with me. You can be honest; you can scream, cry, freak out, you name it, and I'll always be here to listen."

The Dutchman took a deep breath in acceptance, leaning his head back against the red wall. "I'm just tired, you know? I try and try to do my best at all times and it's never enough. Not for the media, not for my dad, or-"

"For me, it's more than enough." The girlfriend interrupted. "And it should be enough for you too. You shouldn't care what others say… Especially your father." She teased, forcing a laugh out of Max's mouth.

The boy contemplated her words for a few seconds, placing a kiss on her temple. "I love you, you're the best."

"I know," She replied, bumping his shoulder playfully. "But I'm serious, Max. No one should have enough power over you that they can make you feel inferior, or less than you are. You are Max fucking Verstappen, two-time Formula 1 world champion. And so much more to come, I don't doubt it for a second."

Talk your talk and go viral

I just need this love spiral

Get it off your chest

Get it off my desk

Talk your talk and go viral

I just need this love spiral

Get it off your chest

Get it off my desk

The girl jumped to her feet, waking the driver from his own thoughts, and reached out to him with both her hands to help him get up on his feet too. "Come on, champ! Enough sulking here and let's face the world with our heads held high, shall we?"

Much calmer after getting it off his chest, Max looked at her with eyes shining with pride and, accepting her help, he got up. Instantly, his arms found their place around her waist, as did his lips on hers.

The couple shared a calm kiss, enjoying their moment of peace in the midst of such a chaotic situation.

"Thanks, schatje." Max said, returning his mouth to hers seconds later. "I can never thank you enough for everything you've done and do for me every day."

"I would do anything for you, baby." Y/N smiled wide, the dimples in her cheeks becoming noticeable. "Anything."

I feel a lavender haze creeping up on me

So real, I'm damned if I do give a damn what people say

No deal, the 1950s shit they want for me

I just wanna stay in that lavender haze

On their way to the Red Bull garage, the two reappeared in the paddock, hand in hand, eyes only on each other.

With them, dozens of photographers and journalists emerged from the shadows, hunting the Dutchman for his comments and trying to get controversial headlines for their next articles.

But from Max, they only managed to take away the magical smile he had stamped on his face while talking to his girlfriend.

It was almost as if nothing had happened to him, such was the confident and determined posture the driver now assumed.

There was nothing like a good dose of love to make someone feel on top of the world, and Max was living proof of that in front of all those prying eyes.

Get it off your chest

Get it off my desk

That lavender haze

I just wanna stay

The world could crumble around them and they would still manage to stay on their feet.

They were a team. They had the perfect balance between them, the strength to face any obstacle together. Like two separate souls born to be reunited, in this life and all lives to come. Born to be on their lavender haze forever.

"Just you and me, liefje." Max whispered so only she could hear over the screams and camera flashes.

Y/N pulled him by the arm closer to her body in search of the comfort he conveyed to her every time, and smiled discreetly at him.

"You and me against the world, my love."

I just wanna stay

In that lavender haze

taglist: @dan3avocado @starxqt @roseinnej @spiidergirlsworld @ccloaned @hotpigeon22 @dr3lover @lovelytsunoda @primadonnasdream @luxebeautystyle @wallfloweriism @ilivefortheleague @gwynethhberdara @satellitelh @adavenus @audreyscodes @wifeoflucyboynton @th6ccnsp6cyy @classifiedsblog @flyingmushroomss @motylekrozi @claramllera @gabrielamaex @handsupforamiracle @pierre-gasssllyy @lorenaloveslewis

@idkiwantchocolatee @simpforsunwoo @kissatelier @xweirdxsceletton @micksmidnights @miniminescapist @inchidentwithmax @hopelesslyromantics-world @alwaysclassyeagle @indieclarke @capela-miranda @okokoksblog-blog @pulpfixion @sins-only33 @sainzclerc @allisonxf1 @honethatty12

@amsofftrack @flannel-cures @junkiespromise @loudoperahumanoidpanda @honeyric3 @holy-macncheese-balls @ricciardosheart @pierreverstapkin @ravenqueen27 @majkaftorek @home-of-disaster @buendiabebeta @itgirlofnowhere @roses-of-eden @thewintersunset @rubychocolatechips

(taglist continues in the comments)

thank you to everyone that asked to be tagged! please let me know if you want to be added to the next stories! 💌

[grapebritain]

Jax is not an npc

I've seen the idea of Jax being an npc being floated around after ep2's release, which while i ADORE this idea in concept (as some parts of it explain certain parts of his character )that doesn't mean that this is the answer as to why Jax is the way he is.

Jax is a self absorbed, sarcastic, and non-serious character who seems to know far more than he actually should so far with what we've seen. He is the only human who has broke the forth wall , not just once, but twice, and has a very performative 'vibe' to him. Like he's on some sort of stage a bit like Cain does. Due to this, and with the plot of episode 2, people have drew the conclusion that this MUST mean Jax is an npc which, eventho it is deffo plausible , there are several reasons why i do not think this is the case, and people are trying to jump to conclusion too quickly to find an explanation to these questions.

1.Pop culture reference

Jax in episode 2 makes an offhaded joke about Charlie and the chocolate factory, a popular piece of media that most people do know about. It seems pretty insignificant but boy is this a really important detail.

With the recent release of other teasers of the next episodes that are yet to come, in terms of copyrighted media showing up in the game, we can see that Cain INTENTIONALLY makes off branded versions of popular parts of our world such as McDonalds and other fast food brands

So for Jax to make a pop culture references, the names would likely have to be inaccurate from the actual piece of media, being...well...off branded versions of them. The fact he literally uses the accurate name "Augustus Gloop" adding an "ed" on the end for comedic effect shows that he HAS seen or heard of the actual piece of media, which would be impossible if he was an npc.

furthermore, say even the offbranded version was due to glitch themselves not being able to use actual brands in the show visually (which is also highly likely), the implication that Cain made an ai that was aware of these sorts of things is almost nonsensical considering that gummigoo didn't know anything outside of the established plot he needed to serve his in game purpose. When another npc doesn't even have a visual memory of his own mother, something closely linked to the established motive of an npc, why would Cain give an ncp knowledge of random pop culture reference for no reason ?

i would say this is a pretty strong point to put the argument forward Jax is not an npc.

2.NPC's immersive feature

this point is a little less strong, but is still a very important one to make.

I think people are forgetting that Gummigoo is intentionally meant to be far more immersive compared to pervious ai. We are going on the basis of Jax being an ncp , based on how intelligent Gummigoo is, which with the timeline we have, would not exactly work out that way.

Obviously, Cain establishing that the ai SHOULD be more immersive, doesn't mean it will be, but if we take into context the episode prior, it does actually seem to be somewhat more advanced in a way than it wasn't before, dialogue being a bit less generic and more fluid . With the consideration this is only Pomni's second adventure, and the ai already seemingly at least, being far better than the last, that could imply that going back a couple of adventures before Pomnis arrival , this ai was much more primitive.

Looking at when Jax arrived could give us some idea of how good the ai was at the time, and with gooseworx establishing jax arriving before zooble (who already seems to have grumpily adjusted to the world) , i would imagine that Jax, if he was an npc, would be far less advanced then he currently is and much more one dimensional as a character to hint at him being an npc....which brings me onto my next point.

3."Jax is violent and impulsive " argument

I've seen the occasional argument that Jax being violent and impulsive could be an argument for him being an npc. He realized he has no purpose, so started being violent and uncaring of the world around him, but this argument completely disregards the fact that...the human characters kind of have that 'reality shattering' moment too. Pomni does, which is why she can relate in the first place to Gummigoo.

All of the human characters have to come to the scary realization that, they are stuck here. Stuck in a fake world. Most of the characters draw closer to each other people that are real because of this as some form of comfort such as Pomni and Ragatha, but Jax is own person, and different people react differently to different situations. Jax just happens to react in a rather emotionally distanced way to the seriousness of the situation.

He seems to be the most emotionally immature character, so it makes complete sense as to why he would react in an immature manner. Not to mention he is the youngest out of all the cast, and may have been even younger when entering the digital circus.

When an emotionally immature, impulsive , frankly not very morally amazing person is told they can basically do whatever they like with little to no repercussions to their actions, what are they going to do? Cause chaos of course, which is exactly what Jax does.

he even more so causes chaos by breaking one of the only rules he's can't break, the whole keeping everything family friendly.

This seems to be his way of coping with the situation and seriousness at hand, brushing it aside and acting impulsively instead because he knows full well he couldn't do this in the real world, it also keep him emotionally distant from everyone else, which seems to be an intentional move by him as he doesn't go to Kaufmo's funeral despite briefly seeming upset about the matter.

He cares in his own weird way, but he refuses to show that to the rest of the cast (unimportant but i wanna add as well, it is common for men to be emotionally closed off due to the idea vulnerability for men esp is a bad thing, which ofc it is not ).

Which also builds up off my pervious point that despite his exterior, Jax isn't one dimensional or flat as a character, which if he was an old ai npc he probably would be 1d, and we wouldn't have this small moment of slight care from him, despite still trying to stay distant.

Final thoughts

So what about the forth wall breaking? him owning keys to all the rooms? Well quite honestly, i don't think we know enough about him or anyone to fully know why Jax is the only one to do this. It could be for some deep lore meaning, or it could be simply he is the comic relief character so is the one to do this more consistently than the rest.

Personally, i DO think it's something deeper, what that deeper thing is yet is something i'm sure will be explored in future episodes, but rn, i think jumping at the first thing is not an amazing idea (eventho it is a super interesting and exciting one).

Just thought i'd share my feelings as this is the only theory i've seen around rn abt my fav stupid purple bunny.

[datura-tea]

holy shit this year marks 10 years of this blog and moz!! i can't remember the exact date i started posting here - my archive says i have one post from november 2013 but let's disregard that - but i do remember it was around late 2014/early 2015 :)

^ one of the very first moz art pieces i ever drew, for fallout week 2015!!

memories and art through the years under a read more bc it got long

2014 → baby's first rpg!! i started playing fnv on my cousin's jailbroken xbox late 2013 and finished mid 2014 and i loved every minute of it. i remember waking up at 8am and playing almost nonstop until 2am the next day haha!

i didn't play moz on my first playthrough - but i did start creating a character that would eventually become her: a shorthaired ex-boxer who punched her way through obstacles when diplomacy failed. i remember she spent a lot of time with boone. i liked him then, because he saved my ass more times than i can count. but i digress. this is draft 1 moz essentially

2015 → this is the year that i was doing my thesis so i could graduate but i was so depressed and stressed about it that i distracted myself by replaying fnv on pc, where i played through the dlcs for the first time. i fell in love with the dlcs' oversarching story; particularly ulysses, who i became obssessed with, especially since i couldn't find any content of him at the time. in the game, i played as moz; i had most of her personality and choices down, but her backstory was still up in the air.

fun fact: this was an existing sideblog that i remade to be a fallout blog so i could look for ulysses content, and when i couldn't find any, i made some myself, featuring moz as my main courier six. originally, i didn't ship them, but eventually i ended the year as a courier/ulysses otp shipper.

this was the year i started drawing digitally - my uncle let me borrow a drawing tablet and i used an old copy of photoshop i pirated hehe

2016 → i graduated this year!! and promptly fell deeper into my depression. this was the year that it got so bad that i had to be medicated. through it all, this blog and moz and ulysses and my fandom friends were with me. and for that i am truly grateful :) this was the year i figured out how to lock transparent pixels so that i could color my lineart lol

2017 → i started hammering out moz's backstory this year i think. there's a lot of sketches of her and her family in my files. i experimented with shading and backgrounds here but that experimentation was pretty short-lived

2018 → i started using references seriously!!!! i did a lot of oc on oc kissing this year, featuring mostly moz and many friend ocs haha

2019 → didn't draw much this year. actually this year was a blur and i can't remember much from it except from it being the year of my terrible no good bad copywriting jobs... anyway i did manage to continue my courier/ulysses brainrot and make this piece, which i'm still proud of

2020 → pandemic time. i spent a lot of time asleep at home and i think this was also the year i started doing commissions?? shoutout to anyone who has ever commissioned me - thank you so much, i truly appreciate it!!

2021 → i switched from my old-ass pirated photoshop to clip studio paint and never looked back. also i did a bunch of commissions for my grandmother's surgery, which failed, and i distracted myself from the sadness by drawing my ocs over and over and playing disco elysium

2022 → by this year, i've got moz down pat and have started vaguely developing other ocs instead. but she's still always at the back of my mind

2023 → i bought new brushes from true grit texture supply and immediately found new favorites that i started using for everything. i tentatively started incorporating background elements in some pieces!

2024 → while it's still too early to say where this year will lead me art-wise, i will say that i started experimenting in realistic paint studio (which i bought in 2021, the same time as clip studio paint) a few days ago and i'm liking the results so far. we'll see!

all in all, these last 10 years have been quite a ride, but i'm glad i stuck around and i'm glad you guys stuck around too!! much much love 💖💖💖

[katyawriteswhump]

See if I care

Late entry for @steddieangstyaugust prompt 24: ‘Go, see if I care,’ and also prompt 18 ‘right person, wrong time’ (I originally scribbled this idea for that one… whoops!)

Summary: When Eddie develops mysterious powers, he’s scared out of his mind. Steve is equally terrified of losing Eddie.

Rating: E. CW: problematic emotions, sexual content, self harm. Tags: established steddie, needy steve, eddie had powers. WC: 2000-ish.

…

Steve was staring into the pool, which had been emptied for the winter, when the mail van drew up outside.

He hurried over to take the delivery then turned over the single dog-eared letter. The address was written in Eddie’s hand. A thunderclap resonated through Steve’s chest, and he opened it quickly.

Steve, sorry it’s been ages since my last letter. Peru was a bust, so I followed the crazy visions to Pittsburgh, where I found this total badass with powers like mine. She’s helped me access locked up memories, and it’s blown me away.

Apparently, I spent several years as a kid in Hawkins Lab. Yeah, that dump that looks all shut up. They trained me to use my powers as a weapon, some bull about beating Soviets, and then something happened. Something so bad, my memory still won’t let me see it. After that, they must’ve somehow dumped me back with my uncle, and he was made to believe I was with my Pa all that lost time…

Steve skipped forward, flipped over the paper.

“Please, Eddie,” he whispered, “I need to know you’re coming home, or I’m gonna lose my mind.” 

….

Three months earlier

“This is a baaaad idea,” said Eddie, as he and Steve squished into the bank queue. “They’ll take one look at the tats, the hair, the name Munson, and they’ll pee their forced-conformity pants and run screaming.”

“Jesus, have a little faith.” Steve didn’t get what Eddie was so nervous about. “They’ll let us open the account, no sweat. I’ve got a reference from my mom, and she’s super-well respected.”

“Yeah, but putting down a deposit for a condo? It’s kinda drastic, dude. I mean—”

“Chill.” Steve’s fingertips brushed Eddie’s soft lips. “It’s gonna be f—"

“EVERYBODY ON THE GROUND.”

Steve’s heart literally leaped into his mouth. A bunch of armed guys wearing cartoon character masks stormed into the bank. Steve threw himself behind the nearest counter, bunched up with Eddie and several others from the queue. Screams and cries filled the air, echoed by the piercing rat-a-tat of gunfire.

Steve covered his ears. Oh God, oh God. But they’re only after money. They don’t want us. 

He lifted his face from his knees, reached for Eddie’s hand. Eddie looked frantic, clenching and unclenching his other fist.

“Breathe,” mouthed Steve. “It’s gonna be—"

At the sound of a child’s wail, Steve’s blood jumped again. He peeped around the counter. A robber wearing a Bugs Bunny mask had picked on a woman who’d been waiting with her kid. The little girl screamed and sobbed, while the robber waved his gun at the kneeling woman:

“Open the vault, NOW,” yelled Bugs to a quivering bank clerk. “Or you’re all gonna be finger-painting with mommy’s brains.”

Steve leaped to his feet, threw his arms in the air. “What is wrong with you, a-hole? Taking a hostage with a kid?”

“Yeah? You wanna be a hero? You wanna take her place?”

“Um…” Steve’s brain caught up with his instincts and his knees turned to jello.

Oh. Shit.

Steve felt a sickening crack across the back of his head. The next few minutes passed in a pain-drenched blur. He was thrown to the ground, dragged up again, pushed around. There was waaaay too much noise, more shouts about opening the vault, and he was scared he was gonna puke. He found himself held flush against Bugs Bunny’s chest, the cool butt of a pistol at his temple.

Always did hate that son-of-a-bitch carrot muncher.

“You wanna play games too?” Steve winced at the robber’s deafening yell in his ear, although the gun slid from his head. He lifted his chin to see Eddie facing them down. Looking pissed and spooked in equal measures. “Do YOU want a bullet in your brain, you long-haired loon?"

Steve’s terror spiked. Eddie lifted his arms and roared. A heavy blast hit Steve, throwing him backwards. He impacted something with a crunch and then landed with a heavy splat in a slick sea of blood and gore.

Somebody shot me. Or there was a bomb. I’m dying!

A wave of dizziness carried Steve far, far away.

…

Steve was in hospital for twenty-four hours, suffering from concussion, bruising and shock. Dustin visited Steve. His mom flew home, leaving his father alone in Paris. Robin was hard to get rid of. No sign of Steve’s boyfriend, though.

He was back at home in his room—moping and bored out of his aching skull—when someone tapped on the window. Steve hurried over, grabbed a wide-eyed, scared-looking Eddie and hauled him inside.

“Thanks,” gasped Eddie. “You know I suck at climbing.”

“Why not use the door like a normal person?” They stood nose to nose, breaths bated, not quite touching. “I mean, my mom isn’t mad at you. Not like I am.”

A beat passed. Steve glared and trembled and was pretty sure Eddie trembled worse.

“Steve, I’m sorry I didn’t swing by before.”

Steve exhaled crossly, mumbled, “Whatever.” They tumbled forward into each other’s arms and into a desperate kiss.

Steve made out like it was his last moment on earth—all that mattered was Eddie’s touch, Eddie’s longed-for taste, Eddie’s nearness. When they finally broke apart, Steve rested his forehead on Eddie's, burrowed his arms up the back of Eddie’s t-shirt:

“What the heck happened?” he asked. “That grainy footage from the bank is all over the news. Half the town believes you killed that bank robber somehow, and Dustin sure as heck says it’s real. Telekinesis, or something like that. Why didn’t you tell me you had freakin’ superpowers?”

“Because it’s scaring the shit outta me.” Eddie extracted himself from Steve and started pacing the room. “Look, Steve. I’m gonna have to get the hell out of Dodge. Alone.”

It took a moment for Eddie’s words to hit home. Steve staggered back and sat down heavily on the bed. “You’re dumping me?”

“Listen, I only discovered I could do this weird shit recently and it’s brutal.” Eddie hooked his arms around himself, unhooked them, and began wringing his hands. “When you were in danger, I hadn't a clue what to do. Then I threw Bugs Bunny into that wall so hard he exploded and you got caught up in it. I had literally no control over ANYTHING. You see why I can’t be with you?”

Steve’s jaw dropped. “You’re blaming me?”

“Not what I said, Steve.” Eddie clawed his hair. “Don’t you get it? I could hurt more people. I could hurt you. And here’s the real stinger—you’re the town’s whitebread hero for offering yourself as hostage. I’m more of an outcast freak than ever! Hawkins Post ran an editorial saying I commune with the devil and should be arrested for Bugs’ murder. Jesus, I goddamn hate that I killed, and I’d do it all over… to save you.”

“I can handle this.” Steve squeezed the words from tightly clenched teeth. “Christ, I can look out for myself. None of this is a good reason for us to split.”

Eddie stopped pacing, puffed out a sigh that sounded horribly like one of relief. “I’m sorry. You’re the right person. It’s simply the wrong darn time.”

“Go, then!” Steve leaped up and screamed point-blank in Eddie’s face. “See if I care!”

Eddie’s shoulders slumped and he turned away. He’d gotten one leg slung over Steve’s windowsill, when he peeped back, face crumpling. Steve dived forward and flung his arms around Eddie. Two seconds later, they were rolling on his bed, kissing each other stupid again.

“Holy shit. I missed you so much,” groaned Eddie.

Steve savored a flicker of triumph, then plunged his tongue back down Eddie’s throat. 

They peeled each other’s shirts off, kissing and breaking apart, then kissing again. Steve’s jaw ached, and all his bruises from the robbery started up singing. Soon, Eddie was dry rutting into Steve, jerky and desperate and hurting Steve worse. Steve didn’t care. His fingers tugged and tangled and messed up Eddie’s hair, and then he clung so hard.

They’d never had full-on sex. Steve was ready as always to roll over, spread his legs, and offer Eddie pretty much anything. He’d bang Eddie silly too, if Eddie wanted that. Eddie shoved his hand down the back of Steve’s pants, grabbed the meat of Steve’s butt and squeezed hungrily. Nevertheless, he seemed pretty happy carrying on like this, and they’d both already pushed beyond a semi. Steve fiddled down his own fly then Eddie’s.

“Damn, Steve… Gnnnng!”

They grasped each other’s dicks and scrubbed against each other’s stomachs, skins sliding, getting slippery and wet. Then they started up kissing again, and it was never gonna take long. Steve spurted messily over Eddie’s hand and chest. Eddie’s dick jerked crazily in the circle of Steve’s fist.

Jesus... Wow! Ouch?!?

Steve felt like his brain as well as Eddie’s dick exploded. Gaudy colors wheeled in front of his eyes, echoed by a disturbing crackling noise. Eddie broke the kiss, collapsed, boneless and sweaty, on top of Steve.

For a few happy moments, they floated, their heavy breaths falling into rhythm.

Then Steve spotted the broken window, the glass on the carpet.

And heard his mother’s shout: “Steve? Are you okay? What on earth was that noise?”

“Fine, mom. Uh, just a minute.” Thank Christ his door was bolted.

Steve remained on the bed, his brains still mush from the crazy-hot orgasm. Eddie was already on his feet, dragging his shirt on. Then he was at the window, gingerly hoisting himself over the shattered remnants of the pane.

“Don’t you dare!” hissed Steve, forcing himself bolt upright. “I’m coming with you. I just need to grab some stuff. Clothes… meds… cash.”

“Are you insane? You either bagged yourself a poltergeist who hates guys jacking off together… or I just exploded your window.” Eddie raked damp hair from his doleful eyes. “I’m sorry, Babe. I hope this won’t be forever.”

He lowered himself down and disappeared. Steve dithered, torn. He wanted to chase after Eddie, but his stupid concussion headache now hurtled back with vengeance.  Plus, his mom hammered on the door. “Steve! What’s going on?”

“I, uh… I dunno.” He straightened his clothes, bustled to conceal the worst of the mess. “I had the TV on, and… Something smashed into my window, I guess.”

He let her in and slumped on his destroyed bed, while she tiptoed around the glass. He dabbed his lips, still burning with Eddie’s kisses.

He waited till his mom had gone to call a glazier. Then he busted his knuckles punching the wall, nursed his bleeding fist, and cried.

…

Steve scanned the letter, helplessly seeking the words he needed.

The words that told him Eddie was coming home to him at last.

After Eddie had left, Steve had holed himself away with Dustin, who’d shared geek theories about Eddie’s powers—mainly gamma rays and other dweeby shit out of comic books. Dustin knew tons more about Eddie’s crazy-pants talents than Steve did. In fact, Steve suspected Eddie had spilled all to Dustin long before he’d been forced to reveal himself to Steve.

“His powers were changing him,” Dustin had told Steve. “Eddie was never one for heroics. And there he was, foiling bank robberies. It scared him shitless.”

“Total bull,” Steve had snapped. “Eddie always had that streak in him, I swear. The only thing he’s being a coward about is…

“… me.”

Yada yada yada. 

Me, me, ME.

Steve guts knotted tightly, as he scanned Eddie’s letter a third time. 

I love you, wrote Eddie, toward the end.

“I love you too,” murmured Steve. “When you’re ready to come home, I promise I won’t frogmarch you into another bank. Push you into all that grown-up crap. I’ll be there for you, when you need me. God, I’m such an idiot.”

He furiously screwed up the letter and dropped it to the leaves and sludge at the bottom of the empty pool. Then he jumped in after and fished it right out. He read it properly, studying harder than he ever had in class.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Take all the time you need, Eddie. I wish I could tell you… I’ll wait.”

…

Eddie conquers all, becomes a superhero crime-fighter known as The Stunner. Steve is his sidekick and Dustin his gadget guy and they all live happily ever after. 

Which is actually closer to the angst-light fic that I intended to write before this wrote itself instead 😛

Thanks for reading!

My Stranger Things fic on AO3

[kyuummie]

read about my sons NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!’!

recently ive taken it upon myself to turn glitterduo (argbur and incelbur/simpbur) into my ocs, allen (he him) and salem (he she they) after realizing how much i was attached to them and might go as far as reclaiming even more relevant burs

theyre kind of like a gag anime with a broad plot that has only 50% to do with the actual episode youre watching. They just kind of exist and go through day to day things together because theyre buds. maybe you will like them too if you liked bur sonas…i just wanted to share something that gave me joy. theyre like if triple baka was double baka mesmerizer if it was awesome

who should be the third baka or the yellow one that wasnt in mesmerizer vote down below /hj

more random stuff about them under the cut

no salem is not an incel. Thought i should preface that LMFAO (i still think its crazy how much the fandom (using that term lightly cause of how fan driven the concept of burs were) “woobified” incelbur/simpbur seeing how much of a creep he apparently is. its ok i was a part of it and i never do anything wrong ^_^)

i originally had a really hard time trying to figure out a plotline for these two, my first draft “salmon alley” was about them being platonic soulmates and having to figure out how to live together. one, i didnt like the name cause it sounded to much like salmonella. Second, i didnt really know where to go with the soulmate thing and i didnt even know if i wanted to have a story for them

then, i wanted to go the unconventional route and make them little magical girls (“1-chance duet”) with the point of them being tied together as two magical girls who were destined to save, well, mentally unstable people 😭, before they could save themselves, and i gave salem a bunny hood which is where his current hat comes from

i might use some of this as au ideas or their general “plot”. but i kind of like them just being there and only serving as comfort and a source of joy? these two just Happened to both be my faves and also be created by some douche. so, if you were also a bur sona liker, youre like a sleeper agent ����️ maybe theyll go ghost hunting and find blue (gb). Travel back in time to find an old timey president at a bar (lmanbr). go a couple months forward to find him depressed, and deceased the next day (pogbr). maybe theyll be taken by the mad scientist who sent them back in time(malpractice). maybe theyll meet god himself (100p??). Hey allen why do all these guys look vaguely like us and all have brown shoulder length hair

i remember i had my designs for og glitterduo memorized like muscle memory, i have no idea how i got over them so quickly but when i was reminded of them i couldnt keep the demons inside…i drew arg all the time in class and i love edgy characters so he was my perfect little guy. i might still refer to them (especially allen) as arg/incel/simp. Maybe this is another 2 week phase but i love them

also, i dont know what to call their “series”. i have two in mind: amygdala’s resonance/just amygdala, or hatena (as in question mark) but i think amygdala seems way too dark and edgy for what im thinking

[tannnnblogs]

how have you gained your skills in illustration? school / self taught / both ? what sort of practices did you use that help you with making comics and drawing figures now? comics are my passion and im super curious to know about this !

Hi! I was self-taught since I couldn't really afford going to art school. There were a lot of times I sat at the bookstore and tried to remember the guidelines in the artbook. At home, I tried copying anything visual I could get my hands on, movie disc covers and pictures from my Disney princess magazine (help).

I took art seriously when I got into college. Since I only had my school allowance, I went around and drew pencil/charcoal portraits for my classmates or teachers. I got into the rabbit hole of internet tutorials and references since then.

My first source for figure drawing has been Kibbitzer, where I learned to break the body into shapes

Next is Proko's and David Finch's anatomy and figure drawing

Then Michael Hampton's Figure Drawing

It's all about building your muscle memory so I did gesture drawing almost everyday.

But what really helped me grow was receiving constructive feedback. When I got into the animation industry, I got a job as a key animator, and the director's were really strict with anatomy. I owe a lot to my animation mentor at that time who helped me break my bad drawing habits.

This is my first time making a comic because of Fallout. 😭 But I did have experience as a manga assistant so I understood how to do lettering and file formatting.

Since I was already in the animation industry I just try imagening the panels as a storyboard for a film and go with the flow. Of course, storyboard layout is still different from a comic book layout, so I try to remember how my favorite comic books design their panels.

I hope this helps, thanks for the ask!

[artemistorm]

Master Sword Pt 3: What Wild thinks of the Master Sword

(See Part 1: Master Sword Facts and what Sky thinks of the Master Sword and Part 2: What Time, Warriors, Hyrule, Four, Wind think of the Master Sword)

We see in Memories Part 2 that Wild first drew the Master Sword at age 12 and we know from BotW/AoC lore that he was a child prodigy with the sword and easily drew it. But in BotW when he attempts to draw it, it challenges him and steals his life as a test of strength and it's only when he has enough hearts that he is allowed to actually pull it from the pedestal.

In Spar, he makes a snide comment about how the Master Sword actually can and does hurt her Masters. This is likely a reference to the heart-loss challenge in BotW when you try to draw the Master Sword.

Back in Memories pt 2, the next panel is interesting because Wild is naked. Yes I know that sounds weird, but it's interesting because it makes me think that he has done the Sword Trials. The Sword Trials are BotW DLC monster-fighting challenge where if you complete all the levels, the Master Sword gets powered up to full power. And just like Eventide Island, you have to start from zero, with no clothes, items, or weapons.

In Swords, he is still curious about the Master Sword. Despite his misgivings, he still wants to understand it.

Wild does state, that despite his frustration with it, the Master Sword is right to test its would-be-wielders. Character development!

Overall, Wild has a complicated relationship with the Master Sword. He doesn't love it like Sky does, but he doesn't hate it like Time does. He's upset by it's judgement but he understands it. And as you can see in Broken Master Sword, he's not afraid to use and misuse the Master Sword. After all, it is his birthright.

[yorshie]

Ritual in Midnight Blue

Bayverse Foot Leo x Reader

Warning: SFW as in there's not smut, but this one shot is exploring darker themes. Dub con, fear of violence, basically a relationship under coercion. Wolf x rabbit vibes

Song used as reference: I know I’m a wolf by discovery of an afterlife

There was a certain ritual to it, even if the shadows of the little unknowns clung to the shapes and curves of him, tinted every gesture and phrase he offered. The weight of each interaction was a small pebble placed on the center of your chest, a combination of weight that made each breath a struggle, an echo of his heavy hand around your throat.

You never heard his arrival. In all things he was silent, a mere breeze floating through your room until he drew back whatever curtain he hid himself with, whatever magic he wielded that allowed him to pass unseen. Between one blink and the next the mundane feel of your home would peel away, leaving a dream like countenance in his wake.

It was late when you stepped out of your shower and into the little hallway that connected to your living room, tiredness pulling at your limbs and navigating more so by memory than any visual cue, when your foot stopped just shy of where the soft yellow light of your bathroom gave way deep blue.

The old clock you thrifted a few months ago was loud in the dark, the tic tic tic of the iron hand moving around the only sound beyond the gurgle of water passing through pipes. Normal sounds, but the hair along the nape of your neck lifted, the ghost of a breath glancing over the thin skin. You swallowed heavily, every muscle tightening to attention at the thought of what you’d find waiting for you by the window in your living room. That he was waiting for you.

It was a struggle to pick out the shape of him against the blue-black shadows that blanketed the corners of the room. They swallowed up every detail, until you’d half convinced yourself you were staring at your empty armchair. 

The ruse was broken when he turned his head just right and the lamplight outside your window glanced off his irises. The points of blue shine gave nothing away as he watched you step fully into the room, and your mind turned to the usual comparison of a wolf deciding a rabbit’s fate.

It was always like this, every time he followed you home. A long moment of silence when you fancied he was internally struggling, arguing against whatever want curled in his chest. You often wondered, eyes drifting to the dark armor, the swords strapped across his back, if this would be your last night. If his sense of duty would outweigh whatever conflict was brewing deep within him.

He took up too much space, too much oxygen in your little room, and as the silence lengthened you turned inwards, mind following a steady path to the tune of the metal clock hands, back to the night he first assessed you.

The night you almost died.

Your gaze trailed down to his hands, the three fingers almost hidden completely by the gauntlets covering them, remembering the steady way he pressed the flat of his blade to your throat, the strength corded in his grip when he had your wind pipe in his palm, and entertained the thought that you were already dead. That he had killed you the night you’d been too stupid to walk away. These midnight meetings were a sad farce of an afterlife, but every brush with him felt a little bit like death, a little bit like borrowed time. Your life belonged to him, after all. He held the hands of the clock your heart beat to firmly in his grasp.

After a long moment, he spoke the magic words that freed you from your stand off, voice low and rich, the notes slipping past your defenses and reeling you back in from the gentle drift of your thoughts:

“I’m not here to hurt you.”

Your spine softened as unrealized tension slipped away, and you almost told him ‘you should. I don’t know why you haven’t. It’s only a matter of time’, but instead you swallowed the words, let them cut the inside of your throat, and watched as he stood slowly and crossed the room to your little table.

He started undoing the buckles of his armor, up underneath his arms, shedding steel and leather and placing it neatly on top of the wooden surface, eyes on his task and not on the way you lingered to watch him.

‘What’s your name?’ You wanted to ask, watching  as the little pile grew, ‘why are you doing this?’ A thick belt of knives, the sharp edges glinting, clattered as he set them down, and you inhaled sharply as the desire to yell the next question at him bubbled up behind your tongue, ‘what do you WANT?’

At the sound he paused, hands smoothing down the leather of the harness that kept his swords in place, his beak tilted towards the table in a downward angle that hid his expression. You were struck with a visual spark, comparing the slow strip to the first few times he visited, back when this part of the ritual didn’t exist and he would spend the night tucked into a corner of whatever room you were in.

Watching you, silently, haunting your footsteps as you moved about your nightly routine. Those nights were sleepless, when you still weren’t sure if he would rethink his decision and end your life before you even realized it was gone.

His hands resumed their task, and the slight noise of his sword sheaths being placed beside his armor on the table brought you back once more. You must have made some small movement at the sight of the polished, meticulously maintained weapons, because his head tilted, eyes cut to the side to pin you in place. The pop of blue against midnight black was your only clue as to where he was looking despite feeling his gaze like a physical caress.

Your shoulders touched the wall at your back, and you belatedly remembered that you were only wearing a towel, and despite having never broken his word there was very little in the way of protection between you and him.

Not that it would have made any difference. When he only looked at you patiently however, before returning his attention to the wraps along his arms, you wondered once more why he was doing this.

Why hadn’t he killed you the night you met, when your throat was in his hands and the cold contemplation on his face revealed he meant to? What stayed his hand, what continued to save your life every time you brushed up against him?

What did he gain, from these little encounters?

Your brow furrowed, contemplating, watching as he slowly unwrapped his arms, tendons and muscle catching on the light trailing out from the bathroom. The soft pattern of light rippling over his beak signaled his head turning right before you were pierced by his gaze again.

“Have you eaten?” He asked in that deceptively soft voice, starting to unravel the wide belt at his waist, fingers dipping to pull his tucked shirt out from underneath the material before tightening it back in place.

“Yes.” You whispered, not bothering to move, knowing he could be on you in an instant if he wanted, knowing he’d eventually tell you what to do. You watched as nimble fingers, covered in fine scars that you could make out even in the low light, undid a series of hidden buttons. With a small sigh through his nose, he reached backwards, arms curling up over his head and giving you a show of taunt muscles as he undid the cloth knotted behind his neck that kept his sleeves up and out of the way.

“Go lay down.” He ordered softly, tucking the cloth into a neat little circle before bending at the waist to reach his shoes, giving you a glimpse of the scars mapping out constellations amid the whorls of his shell where his shirt hung loose and open.

You half turned from the sight, swallowing down the warm, confused roll of your stomach, before the cool air tickled the back of your knees and you forced yourself to ask, “clothes?”

He looked up, face unreadable, taking in the oversized towel you clutched to yourself in a slow perusal, lingering on where the hem stopped just above your knees.

After another long moment, he nodded in acceptance, and you tiptoed into your room, shucked the towel and dressed in your pajamas in record time despite knowing he would stay out until you were safely under the covers.

You almost picked the sweatpants and long sleeved shirt, wanting the barrier, wanting something solid and safe between your skin and his scales, but the remembered way his eyes flashed in the dark eyeing the skin of your shoulders and calves stayed your hand. You settled for shorts and a tank top, something fit more so for the height of summer than the beginning of winter, but it was soft against your skin. You had the remembered feel of his fingers smoothing over the material in the back of your mind as you hurried to your bed.

This part of the ritual, you thought, pulling back your comforter and climbing in to settle in the dead center, didn’t start until after the Lull, when you thought he had forgotten about you.

The relief, thinking back to that period, was a tainted thing, a heady connection that a sick, twisted sense of longing had somehow crept its way into.

A rabbit should not long for this feeling, you knew, heartbeat racing and eyes closing when he purposefully let the floorboard just outside your bedroom creak in warning. A rabbit should not go along with the wolf.

After the two week Lull, where he did not visit you once, there was a breaking point for him where you think he almost granted your twisted wish. When he finally darkened your windowsill once more, a different edge of violent clung to him, upfront and bristling for conflict instead of the lethal patience he usually oozed.

Then, he hadn’t uttered a word, hadn’t patiently dismantled his gear. He’d appeared mid way through your dinner, bloody and breathing heavy like a bull. In the space between blinks he had you pinned half under your table, plates and cups flying when the edge of his shell hit a leg while pulling you down.

For the first time ever, you had tried to fight him, something you hadn’t even managed the night you met. The reflexive slap certainly wouldn’t have done anything if he had truly meant to end whatever was happening between you that night, but you tallied it in triumph later when you were alone, a silent indication to yourself that you weren’t just a rabbit, after all. At the time however, you weren’t sure he even felt it, certainly he didn’t flinch, only bore down on you, teeth flashing in the low light.

You didn’t even have the time to scream, terror freezing the cry in your throat when his beak slammed into the dip near your collar. But instead of the tight pain of teeth breaking into your artery, he gave a low, tortured keen. He shivered over you, deep breaths pressing you into the carpet, trapping you underneath him until dawn crept into the room and illuminated the streaks of red clinging to his scales.

There was never a repeat performance of that raw emotion ever again.

The following night he arrived later, so late you had let your guard down. You were already in bed when he appeared in your doorway. When you had only laid there, daze and skittish, panicking over the illusion of intimacy your bedroom granted, he had offered those beginning words once more, had taken his time to remove his gear where you could see before he joined you on the bed. 

A dip in the mattress, a heavy knee by your own, brought you back again, and with a flutter of lashes you found him hovering, watching for the sign you were aware of him entering your space.

He was alien looking in the dark. The undershirt clung to his shoulders, doing little to hide the hard edges of keratin underneath. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he wasn’t human, but it wasn’t until you first shared a bed with him, saw the shell curving where his spine should be, that you realized he must be a turtle.

You wondered passingly the first night, if it was a quirk of fate or the will of man that led him to occupy the shape he did now, if whatever way he came to be like this could also explain the apparent fascination he had with you.

What was he after, you thought again, as he placed his other knee beside your calf and stretched out over you. What was so special about this?

His hands, callused and cool, so much larger than your own, captured your wrists, led them to opposite sides of the mattress and pressed them tightly into the comforter. His fingers settled into their remembered places, and you fought not to stiffen, remembering the bruises he’d left on your wrists the first couple nights of restraining you, how you’d silently cried while he tried to learn how to hold you. 

His thumbs whispered over the rushing dash of your heart locked underneath the thin skin of your wrists, and you just knew he was remembering as well. 

Your legs shifted under the covers, restless for what came next, feeling the ghostly imprint of his beak slotting against the heartbeat thundering just under your jaw, the weight of him keeping you pinned for as long as he wanted.

He deviated though, broke the next steps of the ritual, blue eyes holding your gaze captive in the dark before his head dipped and the lines of certainty were blurred with a shuffle of his knees and the weight of his cheek pressing against the swell of your stomach.

He sighed, the movement only discernible where his plastron cut into your hip bones, the tip of his beak nudging just under the protective cage of your ribs.

You couldn’t control the instinctual shiver that erupted at the sensation, the quiver in your stomach, the latent fear at the unknown that had you gasping at the ceiling.

Once more, in a whispered voice that finally brought a muffled noise from your mouth, he broke the ritual the two of you built over the months. “It’s alright, you’re alright.”

He held himself so carefully, so tightly over you, and for the first time your interactions were turned on their sides in your mind. You wondered if the way he held you down is more for his sake of control than any fear you’d slip away. Another shiver almost knocked you against his hold and a low rumble answered from deep in his chest.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” He reiterated, and the heated line has the air bursting from you, the darkened ceiling disappearing in a haze as foggy stars took over your vision.

“Then why are you here?” You heard a voice ask, but it sounds foreign in your ears, a quiet, near silent break in character that you instantly wished you could take back.

He stilled over you, for a moment, before giving a slow pet of your hands with the side of his fingers. All your muscles tightened underneath him, shock mixing with alarm in your muddled mind at the soft touch, thoughts slow as quicksand sucked at the trail of thoughts you’d pieced together over the course of interacting with him.

He’d built the ritual, piece by piece, deviated and pushed the boundaries of what you were willing and comfortable with over and over, in order to get something he wanted. But what was it? 

The answer hovered just out of reach, despite the way he’d patiently led you further and further each time, but the end goal stretched out in the darkness in front of you, hazy and indiscrete and unknown, unknown could get you killed-

His next words only confirmed your suspicions.

“You’re so soft.” He whispered, the words traveling through your skin and settling in your chest. His head dipped, gave the barest nuzzle to your mid section, and in concert to the little movement your brows crumpled over the revelation that burst like a star in your mind.

Oh… oh. Soft. Did he even know what he wanted, what he was chasing, pushing the both of you towards? Was this stilted, slow dance his way of feeling out, pushing up against your boundaries until he found the soft points he coveted?

If… if he stopped chasing the softness, would he kill you then? 

Another slow pet of this thumb over the softest part of your wrist, lingering over the fine bones hidden underneath your skin, and another thought came unbidden to wash away the panicked edge of the others.

Why would he wait months, waste months, for this from you if there was any chance he’d end your life?

The thought had you sinking into your bed, thinking, careful to temper the blind hope of the errant thought with the immediate weight of the giant turtle over you.  He was dangerous, a killer, but maybe, just maybe, you could trust him with this. 

He held the position through the long hours of the night, not pushing for more, his breath slow and even against your stomach and his body slowly warming from the close proximity to yours.

You always promised yourself that you wouldn’t sleep, couldn’t possibly sleep, with him holding you so, but some times in between the slow, soft touches and the steady beat of his hear against your legs, you found yourself drifting off.

Your dreams were vague things that blended with reality, where you weren’t sure if you were pinned down like an insect to be studied or cradled like something precious, the only thing for certain is you couldn’t move even if you wanted to.

When you woke in the morning, something curled up in your right hand drew your attention, amid the absence of your strange nighttime suitor. 

A little blossom, a delicate thing, safely tucked into the dip of your palm where it wouldn’t be crushed. You turned over the white petals carefully before bringing your cupped hand to your nose and inhaling.

Curiosity struck you at the subtle and sweet scent. Out of all the flowers, why would he pick jasmine?

[the-al-chemist]

Any Happy Little Thought

A/N: Truthfully, Ben Copper was never my favourite of the HPHM cast. But, I can’t help but feel sorry for him — I think he has it worse than most of those kids. So, when I received @eternalchaoschocolaterain’s request below, I had to go for the most uplifting of the choices. Poor boy deserves a little happiness.

Warnings: angst, references to violence and death of a young person, memory loss, understandably poor mental health.

The day was drizzly and overcast, but the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom was bright, illuminated with a silvery-white glow, so radiant that it had to be magical.

Nearly two weeks had passed since the first meeting of the Circle of Khanna, and so far, the society had been more successful than anyone would have guessed, in spite of their differences and almost constant bickering. Bill Weasley had proved to be as effective a DADA teacher as any of the six others they’d had in as many years - in fact, he was a better teacher than most - and with his help, they had managed to fill many of the gaps they had in their patchy, disjointed curriculum.

Today, however, Bill had decided to teach them something different, something that they might not even have covered for their NEWTs: the Patronus Charm.

Ben Copper had always been good at Charms. At one point, before he had started to make friends, his Charms lessons had been the only thing he had liked about school. Even after five and a half years of education, it was still the only subject that really came easily to him.

So why, then, could he not cast this charm at all?

He knew that the Patronus Charm was exceptionally complex, famously so. It was the most difficult defensive charm known to wizardkind, with many adults unable to fully master it. Ben wasn’t expecting to be good at it immediately, but he had not expected to be quite so bad at it in comparison to his peers.

Of course, Bill had already been able to cast the spell — he wouldn’t have been teaching it to them if he couldn’t — and it had transpired that Tonks was already capable of conjuring a corporeal Patronus, one in the shape of a large rabbit or hare. At first, the others had struggled, but now many of them were also managing to produce Patronuses that were not just discs or clouds of light, but had the forms of silver-white animals: a dolphin for Penny, a peacock for Andre, a dove for Chiara. Even Barnaby, who had never gotten good grades in most of his subjects, and little Bea Haywood, who was only in her second year, were improving with every attempt they made.

Ben, however, had been trying just as hard, and yet he had barely produced even the tiniest wisp of silver from his wand. As the others continued to practise, he was growing increasingly frustrated with himself. What was he doing wrong?

“I think you might be using the wrong memory,” said Bill, who had clearly noticed that Ben was having difficulty. “It can’t just be any old thing, it has to be something really powerful, the happiest memory you have.”

The happiest memory Ben had. What was the happiest memory he had?

His mind drew a blank. It often did when he tried to remember, had done ever since his second year at Hogwarts, when he had been found trapped in the cursed ice with no recollection of how he had become so. All his memories of that day had been lost, and the more that time went on, the more he had noticed other gaps in his memory from his life before then. Perhaps his happiest memory had vanished with the rest. As for the memories he had from after that…

The cupboard in the dungeons, dank and dark, and filled with the Devil’s Snare that had wound its way around his legs. The piercing screams of his classmates each time they had encountered a Boggart, and the anxiety that tightened like a coil in his chest each time he had opened a cupboard, or turned a corner, convinced that he would be the next person to face their greatest fear. The strange feeling of déjà-vu he had gotten the first time he ever saw Patricia Rakepick, that he couldn’t explain then and still couldn’t explain now. The looks of betrayal on Artemis and Rowan’s faces when he woke up to find out that he had been threatening them without his knowledge and against his will. The great rumble of the ceiling in the Buried Vault and the scent of burnt flesh that pierced his nose once the dragon entered the room from one of the portraits. Rakepick’s wand pointed at him, the green light emanating from that wand towards his chest, Rowan appearing from the shadows and jumping in front of him, her body hitting the ground, limp and lifeless.

Ben’s hand had been raised ready to cast his spell, but now it was shaking so badly that his wand fell to the floor. His head spun as he bent down to pick it up, and it took everything he had in him just to stay standing once he had straightened himself up again.

“Sorry,” he muttered, conscious that Bill was watching him. “I, er… Yeah, I’ll have another think about what memory to use. Thank you.”

It was a lie. There was no memory Ben could use, not anymore. He waited for Bill to turn his attention to Alanza before lowering his wand and sitting down at one of the tables that had been pushed to the side of the room. He wanted to have a moment to himself, to shrink away from the thoughts that threatened to drown him: the memory of Rowan’s death, the guilt that she had sacrificed herself to save him, the idea that she shouldn’t have bothered, that he wasn’t worth saving. He was a coward. He was a Mudblood. He was useless at everything except for Charms, and apparently he wasn’t even good at that anymore.

“You alright, mate?” A voice interrupted Ben’s thoughts, and he was joined by Charlie Weasley. Charlie leant back against the table rather than sitting in one of the chairs, his eyes scanning the room. “This spell’s really hard. I can’t get the hang of it at all.”

Ben couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or just trying to make him feel better. He made a quiet humming noise instead of speaking.

”I think Jae might’ve cracked it, though. Look.”

Charlie nodded his head and raised his eyebrows, and Ben followed the direction of his eyes. Their friend Jae had his wand held aloft, his Patronus swirling in the air in front of him to take a more substantial — if small — form. It had tiny silver legs, a twitching nose, a long tail.

“It’s a rat.” Charlie half-smiled, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Bill is not going to be happy about that…”

But Jae’s rat-Patronus disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared, the light it had cast on Jae’s face replaced with a surprised and proud-looking smirk. Seeing them looking, Jae walked towards Ben and Charlie with a swagger in his stride that irritated Ben, but made Charlie laugh.

“Not bad, mate,” said Charlie. “You really had it that time.”

“Dunno what all the fuss is about. Piece of cake, that.”

“Got any tips for us?”

Jae seemed to consider Charlie’s question before nodding. “Yeah. Ignore what your brother says. The thing about memories is a load of crap. I tried it, and it didn’t work. Had to improvise, do my own thing, y’know?”

Ben frowned. Charms were cast with precision, everyone knew that. You couldn’t just improvise a Charm.

“And what was ‘your own thing’?” he asked, more sharply than intended.

“Well, instead of thinking about good stuff that’s already happened, I just thought about even better stuff that could happen. It works, look.” Jae cleared his throat. For a moment, he seemed to glance over his shoulder in the direction of the Hufflepuff girls, but his focus returned so quickly to his wand that it may have only been a twitch. “Expecto Patronum!”

A small burst of white light issued from Jae’s wand, and a moment later, his rat-Patronus had returned.

“Possibility, lads. That’s the secret to happiness. Why look back, when you can keep on moving onwards and upwards?”

“I guess anything’s worth a try,” Charlie said with a shrug. “Expecto Patronum!”

Another raised wand, another Patronus. Though Charlie’s was incorporeal, he had at least managed a half-decent shield, which was more than Ben had achieved. Charlie’s Patronus grew brighter as Bill did a double-take at Jae’s rat and flinched away from it.

Then, both Jae and Charlie’s eyes were on Ben. He sighed before pulling out his own wand.

Something good that might happen. Again, Ben struggled to think of something. When so much that was bad had already happened, who was to say that the future wouldn’t hold something even worse in store? He always had found the idea of the future unnerving. The future was uncertain and out of his control and an endless source of worry. Possibility had never made him happy, only anxious.

Ben shook his head. “I can’t do it,” he whispered. “I can’t think of anything that’s good right now.”

Jae and Charlie shared glances as Ben lowered his wand and his gaze.

“Wow,” said Jae. “Bit rude, don’t you think? I mean, we are literally with you right now.”

“I don’t… You know that isn’t what I meant, Jae.”

Ben looked at Charlie for back up, but Charlie did not back him up.

“Actually, I think Jae might have a point. I mean, we’ve all been through some pretty rough stuff the last couple of years, and Godric knows what else we’ll be up against with the Vaults and the Cabal…”

Jae leaned towards Charlie and muttered, “Mate, I dunno if that’s going to help.”

“All I’m saying is that we’re still here. We’re still trying.” Charlie shrugged. “The fact that we haven’t given up yet is something, right? And I guess… Well, I guess that’s all thanks to you.”

Was it thanks to Ben? Ben wasn’t sure that it was, but Jae nodded his head emphatically.

“That’s right, this was all your idea. The defence lessons, and the name. The Circle of Khanna. That was genius, that was.”

Ben had been surprised that the others had liked his idea for a name as much as they had. He wasn’t going to suggest it at first. After all, would they really want to be constantly reminded of Rowan, of the loss of Rowan? Did they need to be reminded? Ben didn’t think there would ever be a day where he didn’t think about her, about her death, the way she had laid down her life for his. He didn’t think there would ever be a night where he didn’t dream that he was back in the forest, reliving her death. That memory would stay with him forever.

But, then again, Ben knew better than anyone what it was like to forget. He knew that forgetting was far worse than remembering. And so, he had suggested the name. The Circle of Khanna. With a name like that, none of them would ever forget the reason why they had joined together, who they were doing this for.

“It is a good name,” agreed Charlie.

“It’s all good, what we are doing here.” Jae paused, his eyebrows furrowing. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever really done anything good before.”

It was good, what they were doing — fighting, trying, working together. Rowan was gone, but they were all still here. They hadn’t given up. They hadn’t lost hope. Not yet, anyway. That was how the others were able to cast their Patronuses, Ben realised. It wasn’t because they had the happiest memories, or liked the idea of possibility; it was because they still had hope. If they could stay hopeful, then why couldn’t he? Why shouldn’t he?

He didn’t need much, just one thought. One hopeful, if not happy, thought. It could be anything. Maybe just being here was something. Here, surrounded by bright silvery light that had been created from his friends’ happiness.

“Expecto Patronum!”

This time, when Ben raised his wand and spoke the incantation, something happened. A small wisp of silver furled upwards into the air in front of him. It was only little, and it wasn’t corporeal — it wasn’t even shield-like — but it was at least something.

For now, he would take something. For now, that would do for him.

[geneticcatalyst]

as promised, an exploration of my one pet problem in fandom, or: misinterpretation of jby's first death (ft. zzs)

heres the thing. i occasionally see people reference what seems to be a misconception of the (english translation) text in qi ye. both the fact that its a translation and the metaphorical phrasing make it pretty clear to see why they got the wrong idea, but i firmly believe its still the wrong idea. i am by no means calling the people who got this mixed up dumb or bad, i am simply leaning over their shoulders going 'wait no bestie pls read that again pls read that one more time!!' because this is one of my favorite books and this thing is a key piece of one of my favorite things about it.

i said i was gonna pull screenshots for this post but i think it will be a little while before i get to another reread and i can't ctrl+f the google doc so im just gonna whip this out from memory. if anyone does have this particular passage on hand feel free to pop it in here. the rest of the context/explanations are just from my cursory research, im not chinese or a historian.

cards on the table. the only thing i love more than unhinged gay romances is unhinged platonic soul mates. its catnip to me. i go feral every goddamn time. and i havent stopped losing my mind about zhou zishu and jing beiyuan since that first qi ye scene. what do those guys have going on? not even sure they know but it's A Lot. ive got like 18 other unpublished drafts trying to work that out slash losing my fucking mind at the lengths they go to about each other. that relationship is at the center of both novels even if the spotlight isnt on it. so I admit that my readings are colored a bit by how much i like that they like each other!

which is why im shocked baffled and, ok, lightly salted, to see a few people make the claim that zishu (personally) tortured/killed beiyuan in his first life.

so what the text says is that after helian yi stopped trusting beiyuan (after su qingluan's accidental death), he was basically put to death. but even the emperor has to have a half decent reason to execute someone. the text describes these reasons- ten of them- as zhou zishu's masterpieces. it also refers to them as great shames to beiyuan's standing. what's happening is that helian yi has zishu frame beiyuan for treason or other betrayals against the emperor/the country. it isn't specific as to what, but it doesn't really matter, because its all fake and zishu is really good at his job. so yes, it is fair to say that zishu is the INSTRUMENT of beiyuan's death, but he didn't kill him, he just laid the groundwork.

the text goes on to another slightly confusing line where it says something to the effect of that when each of these accusations were read out in court, each line drew blood from jing beiyuan. that's a metaphor! it's just saying that his reputation was torn apart and ultimately his fate is sealed, despite the phrasing there are no literal injuries happening.

also, i may not have the timeline perfect on this part, but in zishu's introduction in the beginning of the novel, the narration tells us outright that while zishu is partially responsible for beiyuan's death, he was like. cool about it. in what seems to be the first and only time he ever steps out of line or goes against helian yi's command (!), after setting all this up but- if im remembering right- before the news actually breaks in court the next day, zishu warns beiyuan. now this admittedly doesnt do a whole lot because the only other possible option (cut and run) isn't a very good one, but it's the only thing zishu can do. he doesnt have to, but he does it anyway (!). of course beiyuan doesnt even consider doing this, he's stubborn and heartbroken, but he really seems to 1. appreciate the risk zishu took here to try to give him a chance and 2. not hold the whole set up against zishu or take that bit personally.

so what actually happened at the end of beiyuan's first life? he was sent the 3 zhang of white silk. the text does explicitly say this once, but if you're not familiar with the practice it may not click. receiving the white silk from the emperor is what happens when you're too high ranking to execute like a commoner but you've fallen from grace and are being politely asked to hang yourself in order to clear your name. and of course beiyuan, stubborn and heartbroken, does. yes, it's a forced suicide, but it isn't a murder.

anyway, its in that secret conversation, where zishu secretly meets with beiyuan seemingly to try to convince him to save himself and beiyuan outright refuses, that beiyuan promises that if theres a next life (ha), they'll get drunk together. and of course against all odds, there is and they do.

the thing about the idea that some people might think that zishu killed beiyuan is that after that nothing between them makes sense. even if it was at helian yi's request, i just cant see that not permanently damaging the friendship, i don't think beiyuan could immediately pick back up being best friends in the seventh life with that memory in the way. why would zishu go out of his way to warn beiyuan one day if he was perfectly capable and fine with killing him the next? why would beiyuan not only be happy to meet zishu again in the seventh life but also go out of his way trying to save zishu's? none of their other interactions really make sense if you believe there was a murder done there. idk. it clouds the whole throughline of the story which is that they have a bond!

i think maybe people think it is in character due to the other ruthless murders, and they're not wholly wrong, but that's the kicker for me. zishu will murder all kinds of innocents no questions asked, but he's suddenly trying to give an out to his coworker and drinking buddy? hello? thats insane, and that's the point.

furthermore, if you think maybe it would make sense for helian yi to have beiyuan violently killed (since it keeps fucking happening later), i actually have to become helian yi's lawyer for a moment here and say that that doesnt make sense either. helian yi is sitting on a throne gained by shadowy means but he's the Good Guy Ruler and that reputation is important. hes not a cruel person and he may have become paranoid but he still has a shared history with beiyuan. plus, even the emperor has to abide by a certain amount of decorum when he wants to have people killed, especially when that person is also a high ranking member of court. beiyuan's status is basically second only to the royal bloodline, he's essentially the prev emperor's godson, as well as a previously close confidante of helian yi himself. the white silk was regarded as a privileged, dignified means of offing someone. helian yi is perfectly within social acceptability to do this to beiyuan with the pretext of beiyuan's disgrace. but it would be pushing the boundaries for the good and just emperor to suddenly have one of his top advisors and members of high nobility brutally killed like a common criminal. he could probably do it, but it would reflect on him and his reputation too. he could do it in secret, but would have to cover up the disappearance of a prominent court figure. it just makes sense to use the white silk as the neatest, most acceptable legal justice channel here. maintain emotional detachment, be polite, everybody's honor gets honored and such.

so that's the ted talk. theres even some beautiful fanart on here of white-haired first life beiyuan holding the white silk! he wasn't tortured or outright executed, and he chose to obey rather than escape or fight the false claims of treason even though his friend tried to give him the only out he could manage. to interpret things differently really skews the character motivations and plot for everyone- beiyuan, zishu, helian yi- in a way that warps the story out of believability, imho.

[eden-writes-stuff]

Tags: mtf!'harry'; he/him pronuns until the middle, use of deadname until end; teacher!Remus; genderfluid!Sirius; ftm!Regulus; Angst; hints at wolfstar

Wordcount: 1260

The first try failed miserably.

When he returned to himself, Lupin was by his side, helping him up. "It's alright. I didn't expect you to do it the first time. That would have been remarkable." He pulled a chocolate bar from his pocket. "Here, eat this. You'll feel better."

Harry could still feel the cold, the icy grip on his heart, the numbness. "That was one nasty Dementor."

"Oh, no. That was a Boggart, Harry. The real thing would have been a lot worse." 

Lupin started to relight the candles with his fingers while Harry scrambled back to his feet.

"As a matter of interest, what were you thinking?" "The first time I rode a broom."

Lupin turned toward him. "That's not good enough, not nearly." Harry tried not to be disappointed. Deep inside, he knew there was only one right memory. One time he had felt truly comfortable in his own skin. But it was wrong and strange... and yet...

"There's another... It's the happiest I've ever felt. But it's complicated", he explained, not daring to look at the teacher.

"Is it strong?" 

Harry nodded, heart pounding.

"Then let's give it a try. Do you feel ready?" He drew his wand, pointing it at the chest.

"Just do it." This time when Lupin opened the chest, he felt more confident. He remembered what it had been like.

The sudden change of his body. Long black hair, softer curves, wider hips, a different voice... He remembered finally seeing herself in the mirror. The pure euphoria. She remembered people laughing, but it didn't matter because, for the first time in her life, she had felt beautiful.

The stag burst out of the tip of the wand, cornering the Dementor until it was back in its prison. Lupin looked up in wonder.

"Fucking hell! Sorry. You didn't hear that. That was amazing. Truly wonderful, here..." He pulled his chocolate out again, while Harry wiped away a few tears. Why was she- he- she crying? A look of concern crossed the teacher's face. "Let's take a break, shall we."

Without a word, Harry sat on the stairs, staring at the wall.

"Do you want to talk about this memory?" The kid hesitated. She trusted Lupin. Something about his calm, warm way made him seem like he could make the entire world be okay.

"It was a prank Malfoy pulled on me last year... He... turned me into a girl. It's stupid. I don't even know why it affected me that much, but it just felt right. I know it's not. I'm a boy, I always have been, but I... I felt so comfortable for the next few hours."

"Har-" Lupin interrupted himself. "Listen, I'm not pretending to be all-knowing. Only you can know who you are and how you feel, but I would like to tell you about two friends of mine who might have had similar experiences."

The thirteen-year-old looked up. It was obviously not easy for the teacher to talk about this, but he continued anyway. "They were siblings. One was born as a boy, the other as a girl. But it turned out that neither of those terms really fit them. The 'girl' felt more comfortable with short hair and the other sibling's clothes, because they didn't show off as much of the body. Soon this child decided to tell their friends to refer to him with 'he', rather than 'she'. Not long after he changed his name. And the people who truly cared about him accepted it. He was a lot happier that way and felt more like himself. He changed his appearance permanently."

"So he lived as a boy? And people were just fine with that?" "Well, not everyone obviously. But there will always be people who don't agree with who you are or how you present yourself. He just made sure people disliked who he really was." Lupin gave her a small smile.

"What about your other friend?" His gaze grew distant. "He never cared what people thought of him. One of the bravest people I ever knew." Probably without even knowing it his thumb traced one of the scars on his hand. "He would change his appearance and how people referred to her based on her mood. Some days she felt more like a woman, others like a man, others like none. Not caring what anyone had to say about it. Just because he knew he only had limited time on this earth and she wasn't going to waste any of it." He took a deep breath and looked over to her again.

"Do you see yourself in either of them?" "I... I don't know. Can you maybe try it out? Talking about me with she?" the professor nodded. "Of course", he turned toward an imaginary audience. "This is my student. She managed to summon a patronus today, and as her teacher, I am very proud of her. She likes to play Quidditch, but sadly her broom broke a few weeks ago. I hope she finds a new one that will equally serve its purpose." Lupin looked at her again, who couldn't help but smile.

"So you like it?" "Yes. It... I can't even describe it. Just... yes." She grinned widely, but then hesitated. "What about a name?" "Do you want a new one? You don't have to change anything you don't want to change." "I would like a new name, but... Well, my parents gave it to me and- "Your parents were two of the most supportive and accepting people in the world. They would have loved you, regardless of your gender or name; regardless of anything. You don't need to worry about them."

Slowly she nodded. "Can I just pick any name?" "Anyone you like. It doesn't need to be right away either, you can take as much time as you need. You can choose it when you're 70 or 110." "Do you know, if my parents had any ideas if I was.. born a girl?" Lupin thought for a while.

"In general, the Potters have a tradition of naming their kids after themselves. You have your father's first name as your second name, he had his father's name as a second name. So you could use Lily as a second name if you want to keep that going. Other than that your mom was very keen on naming you after one of their friends, but James thought that would get confusing very quickly. Now I don't believe that will be a problem anymore. You almost would have been named... after your godfather. As for female friends; There were Marlene and Mary, who were your mother's best friends. We used to call them the Valkyries. Marlene had a very close friend called Dorcas, also a brilliant woman. And then there was Pandora, who... was also very close to your mother. And of course, your grandmother, Euphemia."

"Pandora Lily Potter... Pandora Potter." She let the name roll off her tongue a few times. "I think I like that one..." Professor Lupin smiled. "Do you think I can tell my friends?" "I don't know. You need to manage that yourself. However, if you are looking for support, I know that Professor McGonagall, Madame Pomfrey and Professor Sprout will not let anyone treat you badly because of that. And neither will I."

Pandora nodded and rose from the stairs. "Can we maybe continue practice another time? I have a lot to think about." "Of course. Take as much time as you need. You have done amazing today. Much better than I ever anticipated. I'll see you in classes then, Pandora..."