#y'all i fixed it

[soft-likethesunset]

but let me tell you this, no one will forget Jo March.

jo march girls. who cling to the past so painfully it hurts, ripping nails to the cuticles of their fingers as they hold on for dear life. who want to make a name for themselves, other than just 'wife' or 'mother'. who long for a childhood that they spent too quickly. who, despite anything they say, long for the love and affection that all others around them seem to flourish in. who always feel just a little lonely, a hunger inside that gnaws at their stomach, reminding them that it's a little emptier than those around them. who miss their girlhood.

[pineapple-frenzy]

Book 2 au: sparring sessions and short hair katara

They like to have sparring sessions in order to keep their bending skills sharp. They allow themselves to go all out and not hold back at all cause they know if anyone got hurt, Katara could just heal them

But anyways, wouldn't it be kinda funny if Zuko accidentally burned Katara's hair tho? Aofkqldkkajfjd

The "I think we can save the hairloops" line is from @linnoya-writes thank you for that!! :>>

[crumbsispoggers]

Guardian on a Minecraft hat

[sainz100]

2024 Brazilian GP | x

[disgracefulthings]

Shen Yuan: Oh you're a hater?

Shen Yuan: Answer me this then. Have you ever hated something so much that it killed you?

Shen Yuan: That's what I fucking thought

Shen Yuan: Bitch

[barghest-arts]

Maybe an aspirin would fix her...

[steddiehyperfixation]

don't you forget about me (steddie fic)

saw this post and was inspired to write something angsty <3

The first thing Eddie is aware of when he wakes up, before he even opens his eyes, is the dull, aching pain throbbing through pretty much his entire body. The second thing he’s aware of is that someone is holding his hand. 

“Eddie?” The hand in his tightens its grip as Eddie begins to stir; the voice it presumably belongs to sounds immeasurably relieved, yet only vaguely familiar. 

Eddie groans. His eyelids flutter, blinking awake, and he groggily rolls his head to the side to get a look at whoever had spoken. 

The voice sighs again, “Oh thank god-” 

“Harrington?” Eddie’s eyes fly open wide now as they land on the mystery man sitting beside him on the edge of the bed - a man he most definitely is not close enough with to be holding his hand, and a bed that is most definitely not his own. He snatches his hand away. “What the hell are you doing? Where am I?”

“Ed-” Another man’s voice, this one just as relieved and infinitely more familiar. It fills Eddie with relief too as he looks to his other side to find his uncle Wayne rising from a nearby chair to come up next to him. 

“Wayne, what-?” His surroundings are becoming more clear. “What happened? Why am I in a hospital? And why the fuck is King Steve at my bedside?” Eddie tries to sit up only to gasp and wince in pain as the dull ache in his sides sharpens to near agony at the movement. 

“Take it easy, son.” Wayne’s hand lands on his shoulder, gently but firmly pushing him back down onto the pillows. “You were hurt real bad.” 

“Yeah, I got that,” Eddie grumbles out. He sucks in a deep, intentional breath and exhales slowly, the pain beginning to dull again now that he’s settled. His questions are still largely unanswered, though. Blank mind reaching desperately for any logical piece to this bizarre puzzle, he turns an accusing glare to Harrington. “Did you land me in here? Is that why you’re here, some sort of weird guilt thing?” 

Harrington’s looking at him like a kicked puppy. “What? No, I-” he falters, takes a shaky breath and swallows painfully like he’s trying not to cry. “You don’t remember?” 

“I don’t remember what? Will someone just tell me what happened?” Eddie’s confusion is rising more and more into agitation with every second he remains without an explanation. 

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Harrington asks quietly.

“I was driving home from school, just found out I wasn’t gonna graduate again.” Eddie frowns as he thinks back, still trying to put pieces together. “Did I crash my car? Is that it? I was emotional and not paying attention and got into an accident?” 

Yet again, he receives no answers. 

“Eddie, what month is it?” Wayne asks instead, his tone dangerously measured and serious. “What year?” 

“May…” Eddie says warily, “1985.”

His words hold a weight he doesn’t understand, landing heavy on the others in the room and thickening the air. It sends a chill of dread down his spine, the way his answer etches concern deep into the lines of Wayne’s face, the way Steve Harrington seems to take it like a blow to the chest. 

Harrington exhales sharply as if he’s been punched, standing abruptly and taking a few stumbling steps back. Wayne says, “It’s April of ‘86, Ed.”

Eddie’s blood runs cold. “No. No, it can’t be.” 

“I’m gonna go tell the nurse you’re awake,” Harrington mumbles, his voice strained and his eyes glassy with barely held-back tears. 

“I’ll go,” Wayne offers, pushing himself away from Eddie’s bed. He gives Harrington a meaningful look, though what that meaning is, Eddie can’t decipher. 

Harrington turns his devastated gaze to the older man. “But, Wayne, he doesn’t-” 

“I know, kid.” Wayne gives a sad smile and places a sympathetic hand on Harrington’s shoulder as he passes by. “Just talk to him.” 

Eddie is thrown off by this familiarity between them. Since when were those two close? He feels like he’s entered some sort of parallel universe where everything is just ever so slightly wrong. It leaves an itch beneath his skin, uncomfortable and out of place, like he no longer quite fits in his own body, in his own life. He’s lost 11 months, apparently, and this world is no longer his; he doesn’t know where he fits into it anymore. 

Wayne leaves the room, and Eddie wants to protest: Don’t leave me here with this guy I don’t know in this time I don’t know, please, you’re the only thing that feels safe and familiar! Anxiety is crawling through him like a thousand tiny bugs in his veins. He wants to scream, he wants to cry, he wants to run. Anything to shake this feeling loose. But he’s confined to this bed, trapped both by his pain and by all these machines he’s hooked up to, and he sure as shit isn’t going to have a breakdown in front of Steve goddamn Harrington. 

Instead, Eddie resigns himself to this situation and casts a sideways glance at Harrington who very much looks like he’s also trying not to have a breakdown. “I’m freaking out, man,” Eddie says finally, hating how shaky and pathetic his voice sounds. “I swear to god, Harrington, if you don’t tell me what the hell is going on…” 

Harrington worries his lip between his teeth as he hesitates. “It’s a lot to explain.” 

“Yeah, I bet,” Eddie scoffs out a humorless laugh. “I’m missing nearly an entire year, of course it’s a lot to fill in. Unless I’ve been here this whole time?” 

“No.” Harrington shakes his head. “No, you’ve only been here about a week. I- I don’t know why you’re missing so much time, the whole Vecna thing only started like a week before that-” 

“Vecna?” Eddie interrupts to question. “What does any of this have to do with the D&D campaign I was planning? And, also, how the fuck do you know about that?” 

Harrington closes his eyes for a second and takes a breath, like having this conversation is the most painful thing he’s ever had to do. “I’m not talking about D&D, Ed. Vecna was a real-life monster from a real-life alternate dimension we called the Upside-Down. The kids only called him Vecna because we didn’t know who he was at the time and he, like, cursed people before he killed them, but he was actually Henry Creel, which is a whole other fucked up story.”

“Okay…” Eddie doesn’t know who ‘the kids’ are and he’s skeptical of the way Harrington talks so factually about monsters and dimensions and curses existing in the real world, but he does remember his uncle telling him stories about the demonic tragedy of the Creel family, which is the only thing that makes any of this even halfway believable. It still doesn’t explain how Eddie wound up in the hospital with his entire body feeling like it’d been run through a blender, though, or why the former king of Hawkin’s High was hovering over his sickbed. He gestures for Harrington to continue. 

“I never wanted you to get involved in all this Upside-Down shit,” Harrington’s voice breaks. He steps closer to Eddie’s bed again, and he looks so so sad as he stares down at him that it makes Eddie’s own heart ache, just a little bit. Harrington’s hand twitches at his side as if he means to reach out for Eddie but then thinks better of it, running the hand through his hair instead as he continues, “I tried to keep you from it for so long, I really did, but then Vecna killed Chrissy in your trailer and the whole town blamed you and you were just a part of things then, there was no getting around it. You helped us fight him - Vecna. You kept his army of bats off our ass while we weakened his body and El weakened his mind. If it weren’t for you we never would’ve defeated him and we certainly wouldn’t have all made it out alive.” Harrington’s gaze softens, as does his voice, his next words almost a whisper, “You were a hero, Eddie.” 

“That doesn’t sound like me,” Eddie says, like that’s the least plausible part of Harrington’s story. And, really, it is. He can wrap his mind around a lot of things: a murder in his trailer - sure, Forest Hills always was a shady place; the whole town accusing him of being a killer - yeah, of course, that tracks; even an evil wizard from another dimension with an army of bats - fine, okay, why the hell not. But Eddie Munson is no hero, and he’s definitely not any sort of fighter either.

“No, you never did think so, did you?” Harrington mutters with a sad sort of fondness and the barest trace of a wistful smile. “But it’s true. Dustin was in danger and you didn’t even think twice. You ran right into the fray without a second thought, sacrificed yourself so that the rest of us might survive. Those bats nearly killed you, b-” he breaks, choking on whatever word he was going to say. His eyes swim with yet more unshed tears. “I almost thought they had killed you, you know. I thought you were dead when I carried you out of the Upside-Down,” he admits shakily, choked up and barely managed, “and even when I brought you here and you were stable, I was still so scared you wouldn’t wake up…” 

Eddie doesn’t know how to react to any of that information or to such a display of emotion. His own hands twitch now with the urge to reach out and comfort him, but he too denies that instinct. He tries for humor instead, something lighter, cracking a grin and teasing, “Aw, Stevie, I didn’t know you cared.” 

Harrington makes a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh. “Oh, Ed, you have no idea.” 

“We were friends then, weren’t we?” Eddie guesses now, carefully. It’s rapidly becoming the only possible explanation for the guy’s behavior around him. “Before all the Vecna stuff?”

“Yeah,” Harrington manages, forcing a small, sad smile as his eyes finally overflow and streak his cheeks with tears. “Yeah, we were good friends.” 

~

Wayne reenters the room then with a nurse in tow, and Steve quickly turns away and rubs his hands over his face. He needs to pull himself together; he can’t break down right now, not yet, not here. 

He listens, distantly, as the nurse asks Eddie a bunch of questions and then tells the rest of them that she needs to take him in for some tests to determine the cause and prognosis of Eddie’s amnesia. He watches, numbly, as she wheels Eddie’s entire bed out of the room. 

Steve can barely hear, barely see, his emotion clouding his eyes and roaring in his ears. He stares blankly through the open doorway and struggles to swallow down the ever-rising lump in his throat. 

Wayne’s voice rumbles from somewhere beside him, but he can’t quite make out the words. “What?” 

“I’ll take that as a no, then,” Wayne says, the sound reaching Steve’s ears a little clearer now. “I asked if you were alright.” 

Steve shakes his head. His voice comes out coarse and raw, “‘Course I’m not alright.” 

“Right, ‘course you’re not,” Wayne echoes. He follows Steve’s mournful gaze to the door Eddie had disappeared through. “What did you tell him?” 

“Told him he was a hero,” Steve croaks, “...and that we were good friends.”

“Ah…” Steve’s vision is so blurred behind a thick layer of tears he can’t see the sympathetic frown on the old man’s face, but he knows it’s there. “At least he’s alive, kid,” Wayne tries to be comforting. “You can always start over.” 

“Yeah, I know, but I don’t- I don’t want to start over, I just want-” Steve chokes back a sob. He just wants Eddie.

It’s a horrible thought, but Steve almost thinks that this just might be worse than if Eddie really had died… Because how is Steve supposed to handle the fact that his boyfriend of 9 months no longer knows him? How is he supposed to cope now that the love of his life looks right at him and no longer sees him?

He closes his eyes, presses the heels of his palms into his eyelids, inhaling a shaky breath and exhaling an even shakier sigh. Steve whispers, “It feels like I’m losing him all over again.” 

(part two is here!)

(also on ao3)

[hime-bee]

Not in the greatest mental headspace today, so I did some Leu sketches to keep myself occupied 💙

[izzydrawsforfun]

Chat am I cooking?

I think I'm cooking

[martyryo]

Mitosis my beloved ❤️

(doodles below and concepts under cut)

They are like an emulsion of two substances that do not mix together, but they can melt in one another while still not having dna stirring together. I think I'm picturing something like liquid mercury that can be divided into smaller portions and reunited.

They can immerse themselves in and emerge out of the other's body. When they're conjoined they can also disproportionate themselves. Tyler is the one more comfortable with disproportion, and he's also the one that resides into narrator almost everytime. Narrator, on the other hand, still doesn't feel like letting Tyler be the one moving both of them.

I thought about Tyler developing as an extension to narrator later in his life (not an alter anymore, he considers him a parasite at first).

Oh also they can completely separate, but that requires consent from both of them, so does the reconnection in which they also decide who is the one that stays out and who is the one melted inside.

[littlefankingdom]

Things I NEED y'all to stop putting in Jason fics:

"Since Red Hood arrived, he cleaned up Crime Alley better than Batman ever has" First of all, this is not even the case in the comics, so y'all are making this up to make Jason's way "the right way". Second of all, if murdering criminals violently worked better, then that's what the cops would be doing, because, new flash, but the gov used to be way more violent, and crimes were worse, and the gov had to lower its violence, because we know it doesn't work and the gov didn't have enough good excuses to continue. If you think they are not waiting for an excuse to violently kill people, you are wrong. So, stop writing that shit, it's borderline fascist propaganda (violence is the only way to keep power/peace, so free real estate for us to kill anyone we label as criminals) You do not need to find excuses for Jason.

"Crime Alley is Jason's territory and the Bats cannot enter it without his permission" Also, not canon, never was. Are you all forgetting that Bruce's parents died in Crime Alley? That's how it got its name. It's where Batman was born. It's where Bruce goes to mourn his parents during patrols. It's an important location for the Batfam as a whole. It's where Dick thinks his siblings are not authorized to fight when Bruce is "dead"/gone because it is insulting Bruce's memory. It's the meeting points the Bats use multiple times. Batman's first night was probably in Crime Alley. Crime Alley is the mission, to make it a better place for its inhabitants is Bruce's goal. He is shown multiple times to be very protective of its people, especially in front of powerful figures (politicians/rich). As much as Bruce loves Jason, he would not give up Crime Alley. Yes, Jason grew up in Crime Alley, but Crime Alley was Bruce's before Jason was even born.

"Crime Alley hates the bats, except for Red Hood" Again, Batman has been protecting the people of Crime Alley since he started. He was the only one who fought for them against the people that hurt them, the cops not giving a fuck about the poor. Like, stop trying to paint Bruce as a rich guy disconnected from the people, that's not who he is and who he ever was (except for some storylines, but like, fuck these storylines). He has not live their struggles, but he has studied it, he cares about it. And, I can understand that not everyone in Gotham and Crime Alley likes Batman, of course. But to make children dislike Robin or NIGHTWING??? Dick's whole thing is how he is always everyone's favorite. He's an acrobat, he is flying with grace in the sky without powers, he is all smile and gentleness with children, no fucking way children don't like him.

"Dick killed the Joker for Jason." No, he killed the Joker in an act of rage and fear when he had Tim and threatened to kill him like the last one. BUT ALSO, and this is really important, DICK WAS HORRIFIED about what he had done. He hated himself and self-isolated, refused to listen to Bruce and Barbara when they tried to comfort him. This is not something he is proud of. Dick wouldn't be like "Yeah, I killed the Joker, but you know Bruce... I don't regret it." He does regret it. Bruce forgave him way faster than Dick forgave himself for killing the Joker. He would not do it again if he could, that's why it only happened once.

"Jason is mad at Bruce for being too late to save him." Nope. In Under The Red Hood, Jason literally tells Bruce he forgives him for not saving him. Jason was NEVER angry at Bruce for not saving him. Jason is mad because he thinks Bruce doesn't care about him. If Tim hadn't taken the Robin's mantle, Jason probably would have gone home, because that's what hurt him the most, the possibility that he was replaced in Bruce's eyes.

"Jason ran away because Bruce believed he killed someone" It was never explicit if Bruce did believe Jason pushed the rapist. But also, no. When Jason ran away, Bruce just benched him as Robin because he saw that Jason was hurting and needed help, and being a vigilante wasn't helping. Pls, read Death In The Family, Bruce was trying his best to support Jason and help him. Jason being violent at times is a sign, for Bruce, that Jason is hurting. He doesn't villanize Jason's actions. Don't be like DC writers and forget that Bruce knows that violence and aggression come from pain.

"The memorial is Bruce's making and Alfred hates it" WRONG, it's the contrary. Alfred made the memorial, Bruce was against it. Please, stop putting all the blame on Bruce and making Alfred perfect. Bruce hates the memorials, he hates his sons being remembered as soldiers. He put up with the memorials because it's Alfred. (I am so tired from y'all blaming Bruce for this one, omg) Also, while we are it, Alfred doesn't put up with Jason's bs. Jason can criticize Bruce, but there's a limit for Alfred.

[agardenlife]

21 live at The Secret of Us Tour

[a-mint-bear]

Taking Care of Him

Male Yandere x Reader

Jacob is recovering from surgery, but the stubborn idiot can't seem to understand that he needs to be resting, not trying to run around and be his usual overly-helpful self. You're going to make get some rest, whether he likes it or not.

[previous Jacob posts and stories here]

"No, no, love..." He tried to keep you from pushing him back to the bedroom, unsuccessfully. "I wasn't trying to-"

______________________

You'd never gotten so annoyed with him before, to the point you were starting to get pissed off.

You shushed him, getting him back into bed and glaring at him. He shrank from you, looking guilty, but looking even more desperate.

Reminding him he was still recovering, you said that you would take care of dinner.

"But..." he started to whine. The look you gave him shut him up real quick. You never thought his eager-to-please nature would backfire like this, but you tried not to hold it against him.

The day you found him, you were supposed to go over to Jacob's place for dinner. He wanted to cook for you, as usual, and was a tiny bit critical that you didn't own a wok, or even a garlic press. And rather than making him lug that stuff over to your place, a nice dinner made by your boyfriend at his place was sounding pretty good.

______________________

Something seemed off when Jacob hadn't sent his usual dozen text messages that morning to tell you how excited he was to see you later. You felt a little nervous all day before you said "fuck it" and took off from work early to go see what was up.

He wasn't answering the door, but you were pretty sure he was home. His house key was the second thing he ever gave you, after his collar of course, so you were grateful for his tendency to jump milestones for once.

He was curled up on his couch with a high fever, clutching his side. The doctor told you later that his appendix was close to bursting when you found him. He was really out of it by the time the ambulance got to his house.

Jacob seemed so helpless, so it startled everyone when he almost punched the EMT that tried to check his pulse. You suspected he only missed because he was feeling disoriented. He clutched at his collar, it seemed to you that he thought someone was trying to take it off. No one held it against him, given his state.

He looked even more helpless laying there in his hospital bed post-surgery. You wondered if there was anyone you should call, but according to the nurse, his emergency contact was you. Not that that was surprising, in a way. It was perfectly on-brand for Jacob.

He was thrilled when you told him he'd be staying at your place while he recovered. He didn't need a full-time caretaker, but it made you feel better that you'd be around if something happened. As for Jacob, the thought of being with you every day for a couple of weeks? Sleeping together in your bed night after night? He couldn't wait!

______________________

Usually, Jacob pretty much always wanted your attention. You'd expected him to play up how helpless he was and use it as an "excuse" so you would spend more time with him. Not that you'd have to be convinced, but it was still cute to see him want you around so much.

But for him, who loved having you depend on him, it seemed like he had a hard time being taken care of. You could tell it hurt for him to do much just a few days after surgery, but you kept catching him up and about, trying to cook or clean or even just get the mail, even though you told him you would do it.

The only thing that seemed to make him actually rest and recover was making him think you were upset with him. And while you were getting annoyed, sure, you weren't actually trying to make him feel bad. But every time you came to check on him and found him doing something that was obviously strenuous, you had to put him in his place.

And not in a fun way.

You knew Jacob. You could be sweet and loving and tell him over and over how he could never be a burden. But it was only a band-aid. He only felt assured of your feelings when you showed him.

But in his current condition, you would have to... switch up your tactics.

When you got home from work near the end of the first week, he was actually in your bed for once. But he looked miserable, really looking like a sad little puppy dog. It would've been cute if it weren't so sad to see him like that.

"Oh." he brightened up. "Hi sweetheart. Welcome home."

He was trying to seem like his usual self, but you could tell he was still feeling rough. Between an appendectomy and all his other feelings, he was a lot more subdued.

You needed to see if your hunch was right.

______________________

Jacob had watched you running around for him for the last week, taking care of him and making sure he was comfortable.

It was the worst.

He loved staying at your place, and waking up next you every morning, being able to look at you and see you whenever he wanted...

But he was getting restless. You were back from work and he'd been doing just as you told him: Getting some rest so he could get better. But it was hard. Too much. It felt like it was too much and he couldn't tell you why.

You told him that you asked for tomorrow off so you could spend some time with him and get some chores done. Everything felt... wrong. His face felt hot, almost like... shame? He didn't feel that a lot. He didn't like it.

He stared down at the bed, clenching and unclenching his hands in his lap. A nervous habit of his from when he was a kid. You asked him if he was okay with that.

"Of... of course!" He smiled, hoping you didn't notice his panic. "I love spending time with you, love."

But it didn't feel like the right thing to say.

Growing up, he was never taught how to take care of himself, or even how to appreciate others doing things for you. Once he'd started living on his own, he learned how to do everything for himself. He didn't have friends or anyone to do nice things for, and he never really thought about doing things for anyone else.

Until he met you.

The first time he did something nice for you, it changed... something in him. You were taking a shower after a long day at work. He thought it might make him look good to make dinner for you, make him look more domestic in your eyes, your perfect guy. He made due with your... sparce ingredients and managed to pull off a nice meal.

When you saw what he did, he knew you'd love it. Love him. Want him to be around more. Make him yours. But when you actually tried the food and thanked him with a warm smile, he felt something he'd never felt before.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been genuinely praised by someone. It felt so... good. He rode the high for days, and ever since, he'd made doing things for you a huge part of your relationship. He wasn't a people pleaser, he only wanted to please you. No one else mattered.

When he could tell you knew something was up, he struggled against himself. What if he hurt you with what he was feeling? What if you resented him? What if you decided he wasn't worth the trouble? The thought tore him up inside.

But the way you looked at him...

"This... Laying here while you're doing everything for me... I know it's not for forever, but... I like..."

He took a deep breath, clenching his hands together even tighter. So tightly he was shaking. Everything felt so numb.

"I like being there for you, doing things to make you happy. I-if I'm not taking care of you... what if..."

You steadied his shaking hands, the warmth of your touch making him feel so small.

"What if you get sick of me?" For the first time since you met him, he wouldn't look you in the eye. "What if one day I can't take care of you and you... don't need me anymore?"

His eyes went wide when you suddenly grabbed him by his collar and sharply yanked him close.

He couldn't stop the startled moan when you kissed him. He noticed the care you took in not putting pressure on his stitches as you leaned into him, but you weren't gentle.

You kissed his neck, just above his collar. When he whimpered, squirming from the intense sensation, you wove your fingers into his hair and yanked his head back, exposing his neck to you again. The sharp sting in his scalp shot straight to his gut, every inch of him felt amazingly, wonderfully warm. You peppered the skin of his neck and chest with love bites and mark after mark, his gasps soon transformed into needy gasps and panting. He was overwhelmed, all his painful thoughts were consumed by you you you.

Softly muttering his name against his skin, he was losing himself to the sensation. He couldn't keep clenching his hands when you pinned them to the bed, keeping him from returning the favor when he reached for you. He should've felt ashamed at how selfish he wanted to be, how much he wanted you to make him feel good even now when you stopped him. But all of his shame and guilt washed away with every kiss. Every sweet word. Every loving and harsh touch alike.

Nothing else mattered but this feeling. You. You made everything in his life make sense, and he just wanted to be worthy of you.

When you pulled away, he wanted so badly to let you know how much you meant to him. How much he needed you. How he was nothing if he couldn't be yours. But all those gnawing thoughts in the dark corners of his mind seemed so quiet now.

You held his face in your hands, making him look at you. Your gaze on him was intense.

You told him.

I don't love you for the things you do for me, Jacob.

I love you because you're you.

Since he'd met you, he'd cried in front of you a few times. When he was worried and desperate and needed you to be his. When he was insecure and needy and hopeless... you always pulled him out of it, and it made him feel like he was yours.

But this felt different. Something broke inside. He was already so exposed and vulnerable, he couldn't stop this from tearing its way out of him. Fat tears rolled down his cheeks as he curled into himself, sobbing.

You stayed. You were going to do everything you could to make sure he knew you weren't going anywhere, to let him know he could count on you too.

______________________

His eyes were puffy as he hugged you from behind, wrapped around you like a koala, still sniffling. Somehow, you'd made the clingiest man alive even clingier. But no complaints from you.

"I'm sorry..." His voice was a little hoarse, but he wouldn't let you leave to get him water. "I didn't think I'd... get like that."

You told him there was no reason to be sorry. You offered him a compromise, if it would help start to make things better. If he was honest about when he was feeling cruddy and needed a break, he could help you around the house. With very light chores only. And if he could stick to it honestly until he was cleared by his doctor, you would reward him.

"Oh?" He smiled against the skin of your shoulder, arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer against his body. "What kind of reward?"

He was back to his whiny, needy self when you pulled away. You couldn't help but laugh at his exaggerated distress at being left "alone and unwanted", pouting like a sad little puppy dog. It was fixed easily enough with another kiss. So easy to please.

The kind of reward his doctor didn't recommend for another week or two at the least. And you'd make him wait until his stitches were removed if he acted like a brat.

"Wouldn't dream of it, love."

______________________

more Jacob for y'all, less yandere, more emotional confessions ✌️

i remember the winter i broke my arm. in my family, if someone was doing something, you got up and helped them, you didn't just sit there and get waited on

so when i kept trying to help my mom with chores with my arm in a sling, just a day after i'd slipped on the ice, i remember her getting so mad at me. like she couldn't figure out why i got so nervous sitting there doing nothing lol

Jacob needs to be needed, because if he's not, you might not want him anymore.

i've never had my appendix removed (or had major surgery for that matter) so timelines for recovery may be off, the internet is of differing opinions on how soon you can do stuff after

i don't think Jacob has a particular nickname for the reader, sweetheart and love are common for him, but if i tried to think of a different nickname for every yandere to use i'd go insane lol

[kj-beastboy]

Paperhatober Day 5: Redraw

old version Nov 2022:

[fixing-bad-posts]

feminists for abortion

[nau-the-duke]

Fluffiest fluff to ever fluff

The love I hold for him can't be described, drawing him has me giggling and kicking my feet in the air, he's so nfgkfdbhdf AGH

Anyways