#and dealing with various intrusive thoughts

[violatordyke]

hmm. i don't think i am good at regulating emotions at all.

[kattenkwaad]

I wish I could just stop existing for a bit

[natalievoncatte]

“What’s wrong with me, Alex?” Kara asked, swinging her feet in a childlike, nervous way as she sat on the exam table.

Kara watched her sister putter around the room. She’d activated the red lamps and taken blood samples, and the tubes were currently spinning away in centrifuges awaiting the various tests she would run. She’s listened to Kara’s lungs and checked her pulse and waved instruments about and taken her blood pressure.

Everything about her was well within Kryptonian norms. Her pulse was running around a hundred and ten at rest, which would be alarming for a human but was a tad slow for her, and her body temperature was at a perfect one-oh-one, again just right for the last daughter of Krypton. There was no issue with her processing of sunlight and no signs of radiation exposure, which had been her fear.

Specifically Kryptonite of the red variety.

Kara had been having intrusive thoughts. They’d started here and there months ago but she’d ignored them, writing them off as some odd byproduct of fatigue or stress.

“You can go for now, kiddo,” said Alex. “I’ll let you know when the results come in.”

Alex looked more bemused than anything- probably because Kara showed no signs of actual sickness and had been cagey and indirect about her symptoms. There was a reason for that.

It became unbearable for her yesterday when Lena dropped by her office. Lena had been dressed in Kara’s favorite work ensemble, a green sweater that bared deep cleavage, a pencil skirt, and sheer silk stockings. She’d had her hair up in a meticulous bun and wore a rich plum red lipstick and smoky eyes, looking more sexpot than CEO.

Kara had barely been able to keep a straight face and make conversation. The mere presence of the other woman in the room made her heart pound and created an unbearable tension in her belly and between her thighs. Her eyes kept falling back to the pale inviting column of her throat or the lush inner curves of her breasts. Kara couldn’t stop imagining a bead of sweat rolling down between them. She couldn’t stop thinking about pressing her tongue to the flesh there and catching it, tasting the pearly bead and following its slick trail up to Lena’s throat while her chest heaved against her.

That was a problem, because those were not normal Kara thoughts. Those were not normal Kryptonian thoughts. Kryptonians did not think about those things, especially with members of the same gender. It had come with that same aching feeling between her legs that Kara had been fighting since she arrived on Earth and was dealing with now, just thinking about thinking about Lena.

Worse, Lena would be there tonight at movie night. It was an all girl’s night so it would just be Alex and Nia watching movies with them; Brainy was busy and Kelly was out of town for an academic conference and they were really just keeping Alex company.

Kara’s mind was a train wreck. She couldn’t stop thinking about Casual Lena. When she dressed down in her big sweaters and leggings and let down her hair in soft waves, she was so tiny and cute and small and Kara just wanted to eat her all up and… feel her from the inside, listen to her cries of ecstasy as Kara got creative and *relieved that fucking pressure between her legs*.

Ack! Stop it!

She had to be sick, or infected with a transdimensional parasite, or under a magic spell, or microdosed with red Kryptonite because KRYPTONIANS DID NOT HAVE THESE THOUGHTS.

So, she went for a fly to clear her head.

She ended up going hypersonic and landing at the Fortress, where she picked up the fifty thousand ton key and let herself in. Thankfully, Clark wasn’t there, so she had the vast place to herself.

The Archive here had a simpler interface, she wouldn’t have to ask a holographic version of her mother why she wanted to know what Lena’s sweat tasted like and pin her down on the sofa in her office and do things to her.

“Greetings, Kara Zor-El. How may I assist you?”

Kara looked at the hovering holographic sphere and described her symptoms, holding nothing back. It hovered there all hovery for a moment.

“What you describe sounds similar in principle to afflictions that affected ancient Kryptonians, especially under a yellow sun. Our ancestors often embraced perverse and hedonistic lusts before embracing the perfection of logic and self-discipline. However, you cannot be experiencing these unnatural and incorrect attractions, as they had been bred out of our people by the breeding program. Attraction to members of the same sex and metamorphic reproductive capability have been deemed eradicated by the Science Guild.”

“Metamorphic capabilities?!”

“Some of the ancestors possessed the ability to adapt physically to their preferred partner with the aid of yellow solar wavelengths. This is no longer possible.”

Kara chewed her lip.

The words rang in her skull. Unnatural. Illogical. It made her sound like some… like some abomination, a monster from ancient times. A tightness formed in her chest tears welled in her eyes. Was she like this? Was she broken? An aberration? Some crude vile thing with the instincts and lusts of a Daxamite? Was she broken?

She left the Fortress in a tearful rush and again she flew, too fast. Her phone started going off in the hidden pocket on the flank of her suit and she lighted on a building in Seattle to answer.

“Kara, where the hell are you?” said Alex. “Lena showed up at your place and you weren’t there and we’ve both been panic calling you.”

“I’m sorry, I was at the Fortress, trying to figure out what’s wrong with me.”

Her voice was high and pained.

Alex’s reply was soft. “Come home, Kara. We need to talk.”

Kara nodded to no one. “I’m on my way.”

She made the trip back a bit slower, honing in on Alex’s heartbeat to find her at the DEO, still in the lab. When she walked in, Alex gestured to the exam table and Kara sat down.

“What is it?” Kara almost pleaded. “Alex, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Kara, listen to me,” said Alex, taking both of Kara’s hands. “Look at me, okay.”

Kara looked at her.

“There is nothing wrong with you. I shared the results of the test with Eliza and we went over it in detail. You’re completely fine.”

“I can’t be,” Kara protested. “There has to be a reason why I’m having these thoughts, Alex!”

Pulling her hands free, she jolted to her feet and began to pace.

“There has to be. I have to be sick or messed up somehow. Kryptonians don’t have feelings like this!”

Alex closed her eyes and sighed.

“Kara, listen to me, okay? You’re not sick. You’re not broken. Your best friend is a stunningly beautiful woman and adore each other. There’s nothing wrong with having a crush on her.”

“It’s not a crush!” Kara almost shouted. “It’s more than that and it’s scaring me. What if I can’t control myself? What if I hurt her? What if she sees me looking and she thinks I’m a monster that wants to prey on her?”

Alex’s expression softened. She took a few steps, arrested Kara’s pacing, and pulled her into a bear hug.

“I know how it feels, Kara. I promise you you’re not a predator and there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Kryptonians can’t be gay.”

“Says who?”

“Everybody! The computer! The rules! I don’t know,” The last words came as a broken whimper, and Kara sagged against her sister.

“What about this, Kara. You’re Supergirl. You can do anything.”

Kara pulled back in a daze, staring at nothing. Since she came to Earth, she’d embraced it with her whole self. As loath as she was to admit it, she loved it here. This world was so free, full of wonders and majesty for all its problems. Kara had never once questioned her love for her sister. If Alex could be gay, why not Kara? There was no science council here, no one to ordain who she must marry and breed with.

Why not?

She felt dizzy, and strangely relaxed, as if she’d just heaved a massive weight off her shoulders.

Alex offered her a tissue and she dried her tears.

“Go get the girl,” said Alex. “I’ll call Nia and tell her you need some alone time.”

Kara nodded, and felt half in a daze as she left the infirmary. She stepped out onto the balcony and texted Lena, can I come over?

Lena replied immediately, Yes.

Kara’s heart hammered her ribs as she landed on the balcony. Lena rushed to the door and threw it open, ushering her inside. Kara stepped into the living room of the penthouse and stumbled to a stop.

Lena was dressed down and so soft, from the mop of her wavy hair pulled into a low ponytail to her cashmere sweater down the length of her toned legs to her bare feet.

“What’s wrong?”

As Lena asked, she darted forward, offering a hug. Kara gingerly let herself be pulled into the embrace, hesitant at first. Lena dove into her, throwing herself into the hug as if she wanted to climb inside Kara. Kara wrapped her in her arms and drew her cape around them both. She couldn’t stop thinking about Lena’s feet being cold, about wanting to make her warm.

Before she answered, Kara buried her face in Lena’s hair and breathed deep. Lena’s scent hit her like a train. It was like swallowing a mouthful of alien rum, filling her chest with a spreading warmth and making her head swim.

“I’ve been trying to work some things out, and I was scared, so I ran off to the Fortress. I’m sorry.”

Lena pulled back gently and looked up at her. They were so close. Lena’s big, pretty blue-green eyes were full of worry but dark, her pupils blown.

“What’s bothering you? I’ll throw money at it until it goes away.”

Kara swallowed, hard. “I don’t want it to go away.”

Lena arched a brow. “Oh?”

Kara licked her lips and as she did, Lena’s eyes darted and followed the motion of her tongue. Kara was suddenly away of Lena’s hands resting just above her hips now, the way that her hugs and touches always seemed to trend lower, the casual way that Lena leaned into her as she looked up.

She bit her lip and Kara almost died.

“I think I like girls,” Kara blurted out.

“You certainly like my girls, Kara Danvers. You can’t stop looking.”

“You noticed?” Kara squeaked.

“Kara, darling, you’ve been staring at them for thirty seconds just now.”

Kara’s gaze snapped up.

“I’m sorry, I, oh Rao oh God, Lena.”

Lena curled her fingers around Kara’s chin and tilted her head back down.

“Did you really think I didn’t notice? The day we met you paid more attention to my boobs than my business card.”

“You gave me a business card?”

“See what I mean?”

Kara swallowed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

Lena’s thumb grazed her jaw and Kara thought her heart might go off like a bomb in her chest. She shuddered and her toes curled in her boots.

“I’ve been teasing you for years,” she said, “I’d almost given up hope. I wouldn’t be the first disaster bisexual to nurse a futile crush on her best friend.”

Kara swallowed hard. “So should we like go on a date?”

Lena’s fingers traced down her neck, then along the ridge of her collarbone.

“I was thinking more Netflix and chill. I know and trust you, Kara. You’ve saved my life more times than I can count, I’m ready now if you are.”

“Ready?” Kara squeaked.

“So are you, I think,” said Lena.

She rolled her hips and Kara immediately realized what she meant and what the Archive meant by her body adapting.

“Ohshit,” Kara chirped. “Oh God Lena I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing, I didn’t mean to-“

Lena lunged and suddenly they were kissing. Lena’s lips were so soft and she was intoxicating. Kara pulled her into an embrace, almost lifted her off the floor as she kissed her back. Lena threw one leg up and hooked it wound her hip, and Kara instinctively scooped her up and felt a jolt through her body as Lena then wrapped both legs around her waist.

“Fuck, you’re strong,” Lena panted. “Oh God, Kara. Bedroom. Now. Please.”

“You want…”

“Yes! What are you fucking waiting for?”

Later, hours later, Kara lay in Lena’s bed, while Lena slept blissfully next to her, head resting on Kara’s shoulder, smiling contentedly. She looked over at her and tucked the sheets and blankets up close around her chin and smoothed stray strands of hair back from her eyes. Lena made a small sound, and curled around Kara’s side.

Kryptonians, it turned out, could be very good at being gay.

[ewmily]

kiss me when you’re sober.

negan smith x fem!reader

word count. 5.9k

summary. feelings slip to the surface and shenanigans ensue when negan’s had one too many drinks.

notes. college!roommates!au (no apocalypse), mentions of alcohol, silly drunken behaviour, soft!negan (no bc he’s actually so pookie wdym), fluff ‘n banter, love confessions

gif by pedrospascaled & divider by enchanthings

A heavy irritation settled in your chest, a sensation that gnawed at you with every growing moment. You briefly clenched your hands into fists over the steering wheel before releasing them, trying to keep your muscles awake, but you could still feel your body thick with the thought of sleep, the bleariness etched onto your eyes.

Darkness enveloped your surroundings, save for the glow of traffic lights and a few open windows of shophouses, along with rows of street lamps illuminating the sidewalks. The asphalt road stretched before you, the car’s headlights paving the way towards the campus. The roads were occupied with minimal activity at this ungodly hour, and the full moon gleaming above acted as your only companion throughout the drive.

You let out a grumble once more, allowing it to fill the silence of the vehicle.

The week had been particularly grueling—consecutive, hour-long lectures that drained the energy out of you as assignments only piled up one after another, contributing to the never-ending workload. Not to mention, you had started extending your shifts at work in an effort to keep up with the daily expenses, and by the time you had finished, your legs would be aching from standing all day, your head throbbing faintly from having to deal with the various personalities of customers.

So when Friday rolled around, the weight of your accumulated exhaustion had come crashing down in full force. Resolved to get a good night’s rest, you had already hit the sheets by 10PM, hoping to start the weekend with a fresh mind.

That was, until the loud vibration of your phone woke you abruptly in the middle of your sleep.

At first, you had only stirred in your bed, shifting away from the nightstand as you tried to ignore the buzzing sound. When it didn’t seem to stop, you grabbed the edges of your pillow, pressing down against your ears. The attempt was futile. The sound was incessant. Eventually, you pried open your weary eyes, a scowl etched onto your features as you begrudgingly rolled over to the other side.

You turned on the lamp, taking a brief moment to adjust to the sudden beam of light. The glaringly red numbers ‘1:12AM’ read on your digital clock. A torrent of anger rippled through your body. Who the fuck would be calling you at this hour?

Beside your clock, your phone continued to drone against the wooden surface, a bright, intrusive glow hovering over the screen. You leaned forward, squinting your eyes. The contact name read ‘Doofus’, the large letters engraved in bold. You let out an almost theatrical groan, slumping back into the bedsheets.

Negan.

You should’ve known. Who else would disrupt you from your sleep? He certainly had a gift of becoming the constant subject of your exasperation, a talent of getting on your nerves, a knack for acting like a complete nuisance of a roommate.

When you had first decided to move out of your college dorm and into a more spacious apartment off-campus, you weren’t expecting the package to come with an obnoxious, loud-mouthed, and overly flirtatious roommate who had thought of the same idea. You only shared one class with Negan, and had seen him a couple of times around campus, but it was mostly word of mouth that cemented your image of him as one of those insufferable frat boys who indulged in extravagant partying nearing the weekends.

And quite frankly, being able to see a domestic side of him—an unpublicised aspect of his character that was only displayed within the confines of your shared apartment—wasn’t even close to dispelling your judgement or changing your unimpressed view of him.

The first few months were the worst. Dishes would pile up in the sink, and heaps of dirty clothes failed to be loaded in the washing machine by the end of the day. You had chewed him out over and over again for not following the chore chart you had created and stuck to the fridge, but he always had the same lame excuse lying around, that it simply “slipped his mind”, but you knew he was just too caught up playing video games with Simon.

There were also the occasional dates he would bring over to spend the night with, which you wouldn’t have minded if your walls weren’t so thin, and if he would just give you a quick heads-up beforehand. It wasn’t a pretty sight stumbling upon a complete stranger using your shower in the morning. And in response to your rightful complaint over the lack of a restful night, he’d only reply with that infuriating smirk of his—

“Can’t help it. Ladies love screaming my name.”

But you supposed these days his presence had grown slightly more tolerable. His intrusive guests were noticeably less frequent, and six out of ten times he would stick to his end of household duties. He still had that annoying habit of drinking straight from the juice carton, though. And despite his irreverent and childish sense of humour, you couldn’t help but find yourself a little amused sometimes, your small conversations enough to elicit a sound somewhere in between a scoff and a short chuckle.

But at this moment, the sentiments you held towards your roommate were completely negative. You didn’t understand why he had to be calling you at this hour, and disturb your precious sleep at that. You knew Negan was always out late on Fridays, but he’d never call while he was attending one of his parties.

A faint spark of curiosity swirled in your irritated mind. With your body still attached to your bed, you extended your arm, grabbing the phone in one sharp, resentful movement.

“What?”

Your tone was clipped. Dryness etched onto the back of your throat.

On the other side of the call, a familiar, aggravating voice instantly prickled your skin. “Heeeey,” Negan drawled. There was a thick, raspy quality to his voice, more prominent than usual. Alcohol’s doing. “Took you long enough.”

Your words came out emphatic and impatient. “What do you want?”

“Can you…” Loud beats of music pulsed in your ear, drowning out his speech entirely. “Pick—”

You begrudgingly sat up, letting out a sharp exhale. “I can’t hear you, dumbass.” 

“...Sorry, one sec.”

You huffed out a sigh of exasperation. Your head fell against the bed board, allowing your gaze to wander nowhere in particular around your dimly-lit room. There was a scuffle of movement. You heard his breathing grow ragged, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps against stairs and the loud click of a door. The music became muffled in the background. Then, after what felt like an eternity, his drunken voice stirred once more, his words sounding almost child-like.

“Listen—can you, um, pick me up?”

His request sent a jolt of anger through your body. If you weren’t so weighed down by exhaustion, you might’ve even shot fully awake. Why on earth would you crawl out of bed at this hour just to fetch him? It wasn’t like he hadn’t come home from parties on his own before. The way back to your apartment was still within a walkable distance. Plus, he had said it himself—he could hold his liquor. Or at least, he managed to get into his own bed.

There were a few occasions where you had caught a glimpse of his return, when you were slouched over the coffee table, burning the midnight oil to catch up on your assignments. You’d hear the loud fumble of keys, lasting longer than a beat. The door would push open with more force than necessary. Then, he’d shoot you a heavy-eyed grin, steps slow and unfocused as he stumbled towards his room.

You couldn’t be bothered to wonder why this time was any different.

“No. Walk home yourself. Or call an Uber.”

A snort came through the phone. “Nah—’s past midnight. Prices are fuckin’ stingy.”

“Not my problem,” you retorted, raising your voice to the microphone. “Bye.”

“Wait, don’t—” An edge of panic rushed to his voice. You clicked your tongue, pausing before your thumb could land on the button. Negan whinged through his words, sounding almost comical. “Look—I really don’t want to walk. I can’t. Just drive me back, alright?”

Your tone sharpened immediately. “No. I’m sleeping.”

There was a tinge of disbelief. “Pfft. You sleepin’ that early?”

You rolled your eyes, the teasing edge of his voice only aggravating you further. “I’m fucking tired, Negan. I’m not driving you back.”

“Oh, c’mon,” he slurred. “I’ll make it up to you. Promise. Do whatever y’want.”

You huffed out a dry laugh. “Yeah, right. You won’t even remember having this conversation.” The thought made you pull your eyebrows together. You dragged a hand down your face, slipping out a question. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Well, a lot—I dunno.” Negan chuckled, as if he was found guilty of something.

You only grumbled in response, imperceptible to his ears.

Then, his voice suddenly picked up energy, like the gears of his head were turning despite the intoxication muddling his state. “Actually—the guys spent some sweet cash on booze, ‘n we got this new beer pong table. It’s fuckin’ awesome. ‘S not too late, y’know. Maybe you wanna come over and—”

You cut through his words, curt and irritated. “Don’t want to. G’night.”

And so the call ended just like that. You plopped your phone onto the mattress, quickly turning off the lamp and sinking into the bedsheets. Your cashmere blanket snugly enveloped your body as you settled back into the darkness, allowing your mind to quieten down to the low hum of the air conditioning.

Except your mind wouldn’t quieten down. Easing yourself back to sleep would require some great effort. You simply couldn’t find yourself able to relax, not when a certain someone had so effortlessly worn your patience thin within a span of minutes. You let out a frustrated groan. 

You truly didn’t care about the usual debauchery Negan got himself into. You didn’t want to hear about his antics, and you certainly didn’t want to participate in them. The last thing you needed were distractions.

He’d be fine on his own, right?

And yet, something uneasy crept up your skin. It wasn’t outright discomfort or the strongest strong sense of concern—just a dull, misplaced feeling of unease. But it latched onto your thoughts, and with each moment that passed by slowly, your mind still refusing to succumb to sleep despite your exhaustion, the feeling wouldn’t budge. So you weighed your options. 

If something did end up happening to him, who would you split the rent with?

And before you knew it, you were throwing yourself out of bed, slipping out of your sleepwear and into a plain set of clothes, too tired to fully bother about your messy appearance. You grabbed your car keys and stepped out of the apartment.

Which led you to where you were currently, rounding a corner to the frat house.

Even from a distance, a bass pulsed through your ears, permeating the quiet of the night and killing off the much-appreciated silence in your car. The music only grew louder as you rolled to a stop in front of the house, drowning out the shut of the vehicle door as you stepped onto the sidewalk. 

You frowned. The building was two-storeys high, large enough to house a few groups of people. You always wondered why Negan couldn’t just live here instead, seeing as he so frequently partook in whatever went on in the place.

A bunch of plastic red cups were haphazardly discarded on the grass. You passed by a few party attendees as you neared the house, some chatting idly among their own circles, while others had their arms slung around one another, stumbling along the pavement with a clumsy gait. 

As you approached the porch, neon lights rotated and flashed through the front windows, creating silhouettes that danced on the inner walls. A set of Greek letters stuck above the door, as if only meant to be decrypted by those in the fraternity, though you swore nobody in the house was currently upholding the virtuous motto.

The door appeared unlocked, the cacophony of noise and raging lights all threatening to spill over the tiny gap. You took in a slow, controlled breath, trying to calm the ever-growing impatience that hovered over you like a cloud. Then, your grip tightened around the knob, and you let yourself in.

The overwhelming stench of alcohol and musk assaulted your senses almost immediately, making your nose twitch in repulsion and sending you wide awake. The air felt humid and sticky, the cool breeze that endowed the night suddenly replaced by a thick heat that pressed against your body. You nearly wanted to recoil.

As your eyes were left with no choice but to adjust to the dim corridors, you peered into the nearest room, where a mass was gathered. Bodies pressed against bodies as music blasted in your ears, punctuated by the sound of raucous, drunken cheers.

Your jaw ticked. This was a mistake. Maybe you should’ve just stayed in bed. It was infinitely far better than searching for your troublesome roommate at one in the morning, in a foreign house that stank of sweat and liquor. How the hell were you going to find Negan in all these rooms full of people?

“Woah! Look who decided to join the party.”

Definitely a mistake.

You could barely register the sound of his voice over the speakers, but it was distinct enough to make you scowl instantly. You turned behind, pushing away from the door frame only to meet Simon’s wide grin, although the rest of his features were a blur under the strobing lights. He had his arms opened wide, as if in some grand, dramatic gesture, and his drink sloshed in his cup.

“Did mention it was invite only, though,” he added as an afterthought, though it was loud enough for you to hear. “I guess no one’s keepin’ track anymore. But hey—there’s plenty of room for everyone.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, folding your arms across your chest. You raised your voice in an attempt to be heard over the music. “I’m not here for your stupid party, Si. Where’s Negan?”

“Ah,” he simply said, casually indifferent to your impatience practically shooting through the roof. He whipped his head back to glance at the room behind, the same revelling scene raging across. His hand moved to scratch the back of his neck. “Well, um—dunno, actually. Got myself a refill, then I came back and just couldn’t find him at all.” 

There was a sharp click of your tongue as your gaze darted to the corridors.

Then, his eyebrows raised almost suggestively, and a sudden lilt came forth in his voice. “Why you askin’? What’s the cause for concern?”

“He called me to pick him up,” you stated matter-of-factly, not in the mood to entertain his perpetual habit of teasing. An accusatory tone sliced through the humid air. “You should’ve known better than to leave him on his own. He sounded wasted as fuck.”

Simon only scoffed, raising his hands in defense. “The man can drink as much as he wants. What am I, his mother or somethin’?”

You bit through your words. “No, you’re his best friend.”

He snorted in response, a gleam of amusement in his eyes as the next words rolled from his tongue. “And who are you supposed to be, his girlfriend?”

You glared at the audacity. “You—”

“Chill out, I’m kidding!” He chuckled, reaching to pat the side of your arm, oblivious to the way it made your body tense up all the more. “Though it’s real cute how much you pretend not to care ‘bout him.”

You only scoffed, as if it suddenly seemed more exhausting to fight against Simon’s words than to just let them hang indignantly in the air. Don’t get yourself wrong, though—the notion was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. Even if a tiny, misplaced, meaningless fraction of concern you had for your roommate somehow managed to get you to where you were. 

Tiredness seeped through your voice instead. “Just help me find him, alright?”

“Sure,” Simon replied, returning you a lazy smile. “But let’s get you a drink first. You look like you’re in desperate need of some booze.”

“No th—”

You couldn’t even reply in full before his arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you flush against the side of his body as he dragged you into the room he had come from. Your protests fell on deaf ears, muted by the jarring party beat. You squeezed past the crowd, trying to endure the stench punching through the air as the strobing lights seared your vision.

The music dampened as Simon led you to the kitchen, and you were at least relieved to see fewer people crowding around, all talking amongst themselves. The kitchen was incongruously well-lit, almost unsuspecting unlike the rest of the party scene. You pushed away from Simon’s hold, swatting him in the shoulder before he moved around the kitchen island.

He motioned to a row of alcoholic beverages strewn across the counter, shooting you a grin. “So, what’cha fancy? Whiskey? Rum? Vodka?”

“Aspirin,” you muttered under your breath, feeling a headache brewing in the back of your head if you stayed in the house any longer. You began to speak, “Simon, I don’t have time for this. Can you please—”

Without warning, a pair of strong arms wrapped around your shoulders. Your balance nearly faltered as your back was suddenly pulled against a toned chest. A warmth enveloped you from behind, but it wasn’t the same, intrusive, discomforting body heat that pervaded the air—in fact, it felt almost tolerable. Then, just for a mere second, a set of soft lips pressed against your cheek. Your entire body froze in an instant.

Shit, did he just—

“You came,” Negan slurred, settling himself into the unsolicited embrace, as if you had wordlessly agreed upon this newfound intimacy. His throaty chuckle sent a vibration down your spine. “Oh, I knew y’would.”

You flinched away when you felt his hot breath ghost over the side of your neck, tickling your collarbone. His back immediately found the counter as he leaned on his elbows for support, his head slack on his shoulders. You took a good look at Negan under the steady light. His skin was flushed, the alcohol tinting his cheeks a bright red, and his dark curls were more disheveled than usual. He sported a stupid, close-eyed grin, like he was caught in the middle of a dreamlike state.

You uttered the first two words that came to your mind. “You idiot.”

Something aggravated you just seeing him this disoriented and blur. You moved closer, jabbing a finger at the centre of his chest. “This is gonna cost you laundry duty for the next two weeks.”

Negan peeked his eyes open then. “No,” he murmured, eyebrows pulling together as he dragged a hand over his mouth. “Are you fuckin’ for real? That’s bullshit.” He glanced over the counter, hastily reaching to grab an unattended red Solo cup.

“Enough of that—” You yanked the cup away before he could tilt it to his lips. The contents nearly spilled over as you propped the cup back down hard on the counter. “You said you’d do whatever I want.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. “Yeah, but I was thinkin’ more of—“

“Doesn’t matter what you think,” you dismissed, letting out a sharp exhale as your words cut through the air like a whip. “Look—we’ll talk about this in the morning. Let’s just go.”

“But y’came all this way. At least stay for a drink.”

“I came all this way to pick your ass up. As requested. Now c’mon.”

Itching to get out of the house, you turned on your heel, moving across the room in quick, measured strides. Unfortunately, you hadn’t made it past the door frame before you got a sense that Negan wasn’t trailing behind, making you stop in your tracks. You looked back, only to find that he had remained stationary in his spot, a hand hovering over his forehead as he rubbed at his temples.

You crossed your arms, features settling into a deadpan expression while your voice carried a mock intonation, as if you already knew the answer to your own question. “Can you walk?”

Negan squeezed his eyes shut. “Yeah. Maybe. Hang on, I just—might need a moment.”

You sighed in resignation, shifting on your feet. Tapping a finger along the side of your arm, you waited for him to get a hold of his balance. Progress seemed to be moving impossibly slow. Then, your gaze drifted to the corners of the kitchen, not missing the fact that Simon had been lingering near the cabinets, like he had been quietly watching a spectacle unfold all along.

He took a long, purposeful sip of his drink, returning your gaze as his eyes glinted with amusement over the rim of his cup. After what felt like forever, he set his drink down, the familiar, teasing edge of his voice carrying across the room. “You lovebirds in a rush to leave so soon?”

You only frowned. “Just help me get him to the car.”

Things moved by in an uneventful fashion, mostly because you wanted it to. You went through the motions, walking ahead of the both of them as you manoeuvred past the noisy partygoers once more, before stepping out of the house, finally managing to get a breath of fresh air. Your mind was only focused on one task—getting home. Once Negan was propped in the front passenger seat, you quickly said your goodbyes to Simon, though you appreciated his effort of having to practically drag Negan to the car. You drove off the campus in silence, letting only the steady hum of the engine softly roar through the vehicle.

Traffic lights haloed the night as you drove onto the main road, street lamps bathing the town buildings in a dim, yellow glow. When you came to a stop at a traffic junction, you glanced to the side, where Negan was slumped in his seat. The quiet had lulled him, and the slight drop of his head denoted he was dozing off already.

You rather appreciated moments like these where your roommate wasn’t running his mouth, which were incredibly rare, but unfortunately you’d be in for a tougher time in the next five minutes once you reached your apartment.

You broke the silence, your voice sharp and unavoidable. “I swear I’ll leave you in the car until morning if you fall asleep.”

That managed to stir him then, and he shifted in his position, rubbing the weariness out of his eyes. He took a long moment before responding, his voice thick and rough. “You fuckin’ wouldn’t.”

”Oh, I would,” you challenged, not missing a beat.

You heard him huff out a short laugh. The traffic light flicked to green, prompting your gaze back onto the road as you drove on. When another round of silence followed, you didn’t need to throw another glance to know that Negan’s eyes were still on you, the feeling persisting even through the nearly pitch-black confines of your car. His gaze was steady and intent, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Something unfamiliar shifted in your chest.

Then, his hand moved over to the dash stereo.

“If you like piña coladas, 

and gettin’ caught in the rain…”

Just as fast as he had turned on the radio, you switched it back off, abruptly severing the classic tune of Rupert Holmes. Yacht rock was not exactly the defining genre for the current mood. You clicked your tongue, shooting Negan an irritated look. “Don’t touch that.”

“Why not?”

“Just don’t.”

He gave you a blank expression. “Car’s mine s’much as it’s yours.” And with that, he turned the radio back on.

“If you like making love at midnight…”

Your hand flew to shut off the music again, bringing it to a swift and forceful end. “Quit it,” you snapped, words biting through the cool air.

Negan let out an exaggerated sigh. “How the hell am I supposed to stay awake, then?”

With your eyes still fixed on the road, you reached for the glove compartment, pulling out a small box of breath mints and handing it to him. “Here. Take one.”

“What for?”

“Just take one,” you insisted curtly. Negan took the box, and you brought your hand back to the steering wheel. “Should help you stay awake ‘til we get back. Plus, you’re stinking up the whole car.”

He snorted in response, amusement laced beneath his voice as he popped a mint into his mouth. “That bad?” 

“Oh, yeah,” you replied. He did reek of alcohol—you had caught a strong whiff of it during the embrace, the way his breath mingled with the smell of flat beer. But with an air of exaggeration, you couldn’t help but add, “You’d need a whole bar of soap in your mouth, but this’ll have to do.”

Negan let out a chuckle then, and eventually you followed after. Your eyes flickered to him, noticing the way the ribbon of street lights caught onto the edges of his features, the way his eyes crinkled and the dimples appeared in his cheeks. It sent a strange flutter in your stomach, making you look away within seconds.

There was a short pause before you heard him speak again. “Y’know, you’re real fun to be with. Dunno why you act like y’not half the time.”

That made you furrow your eyebrows. “Well, I’m sorry,” you replied, tone thick with sarcasm. “Maybe you’re fine with living in a dumpster truck, but I’m not. It’s a shared space, Negan.”

You heard him scoff, though his voice was noticeably softer. “I do my part.”

“You do the bare minimum. Which you think is fine, considering your standards.”

As the car turned into a corner, the apartment building came into view. You took his silence as room to continue. “You know, if you’re so bogged down by responsibilities, why don’t you just live at the frat house instead? I mean, you can party as much as you want, drink as much as you want, hook up with whoever you—” 

“Nah. ‘S nice livin’ with you.” Negan allowed his body to fall back limply against his seat, his head tilting towards you as a small grin formed on his lips. “…I really like livin’ with you. Even when you get mad sometimes.”

For a moment, the words were caught in your throat. The mood suddenly seemed to soften, but something wasn’t allowing you to return his gaze. Your thumbs twitched restlessly over the steering wheel as you entered the parking lot.

“…Thanks,” you eventually managed to say. The word hung awkwardly in the air. Your voice grew quiet, low enough to be interpreted as an afterthought. “I guess you’re not as bad as you were months ago.”

You let Negan trail behind you quietly, glancing back every so often to make sure he hadn’t tripped on his own feet. He mostly clinged to the handrails as he trudged up the front steps, a shoulder wedged against the walls as he walked along the hallways and stepped into the lift. His pace was excruciatingly slow, and yet, your impatience that had been running throughout the night had somehow disappeared. Or maybe you had grown too tired to care. You didn’t dwell too much on the matter.

Eventually, you both reached the apartment door, the smooth click of your key welcoming you home into the quiet space of your living room. The area had been somewhat cluttered for weeks, since you had been too busy to tidy up properly—books and whatnot strewn across the coffee table, jackets draped over the armchairs, pillows rumpled on the small couch—to the point where it almost had a cozy feel, and the slight mess had become a normalised sight.

“Go change. Get some sleep,” you ordered, mechanically moving towards the kitchen. A low hum of acknowledgement followed from behind, along with a heavy pad of footsteps as Negan retreated to his room.

You took a jug of water, pouring it into a glass. Reaching for the cabinets, you fished out a small box of painkillers. Then, with both items in hand, you made your way towards his room, pushing open the door with your elbow. 

The dim glow of the bedside lamp barely outlined his figure. Negan stood beside the closet, his head cast downwards, eyebrows drawn together as he fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.

He looked up when you entered, exasperation flickering across his features. “Can’t get this damn thing to—” He sighed wearily, his brown eyes looking at you almost expectantly.

Your lips pressed into a thin line, shooting him an unimpressed look. But you moved without a second thought, setting down the glass and painkillers on the nightstand before closing the distance from where he stood. Your hands latched onto the two small buttons, the gentle tug pulling him slightly forward as your nimble fingers made quick work of unfastening them. 

You couldn’t help but notice it again. The way he’s just staring at you. It didn’t help that your faces were merely inches apart. That same, strange feeling stirred in your chest. You swallowed, deliberately training your eyes on the buttons.

You remembered that very first night, when you had made it crystal clear you weren’t interested in him at all. It didn’t stop Negan from throwing playful innuendos every now and then, but he never once overstepped your boundaries, and you figured all the flirting was just part of his nature. So you brushed it off without much thought.

But nothing had suddenly made you question everything until now, under the weight of his steady gaze. No crude remarks, no sensual touches—just a simple, intense look in the eyes. You could question what happened earlier at the house, but that had been nothing more than a drunken embrace. Actually, maybe the alcohol was to blame for everything. Of course, what else would it be?

Shaking the thoughts out in your head, you removed your hands when you realised they had been hovering over the opened buttons for a little too long. 

You pulled away momentarily, reaching for the white t-shirt he had thrown onto his messy bed, handing it to him. “Here,” you said, your voice suddenly reduced to a soft whisper. 

You caught the way his throat bobbed, but he neither responded nor moved. You thrusted the shirt into his chest, but when he still didn’t take it, you narrowed your eyes, giving him a slight look of confusion. “Negan? You alr—”

It was as if time stopped registering. It barely processed with the way it happened so fast. Your cheeks were held in the crevice of his hands, sending a warmth that instantly tingled your skin. Then, his mouth pressed against yours. Your eyes automatically shut, and your fingers involuntarily released hold of the white t-shirt when a pool of lightness rushed to your head.

The kiss was soft, and his lips parted against yours gently. Something in you didn’t want to pull away from his touch. You wanted to remain. And before you knew it, you were kissing him back.

But it only lasted for a few seconds—when his tongue brushed over the seam of your lips, throwing you back into reality. The taste of mint and alcohol made for a distasteful combination. Your mouth drew back from the kiss. You forced your eyes open.

“You—” Your resolve was weak against the tenderness of his palms still cupping your cheeks. “You dumbass,” you blurted softly, slightly furrowing your eyebrows. “You’re drunk.”

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you,” Negan only slurred, his half-lidded eyes still staring down at your lips. “None.”

You freeze, unsure of how to respond to the alcohol talking.

“D’you want me?” he continued, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours, noses nudging against each other. A breathy whisper feathered over your jaw. “Like I want you?”

“I…” Your voice grew thick, as if the words were becoming stuck. A dry laugh escaped from your throat. “Negan, you don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

As if you knew what you were doing either. You had just kissed your roommate back, for goodness sake. The same roommate who was a thorn in your side, who annoyed you to no end.

“Course I fuckin’ do,” he replied quietly, searching your eyes. His thumbs glided back and forth over your cheekbones. “I want you. I always have.”

The words sent a pang in your heart, and you wondered if he was consciously making his voice low and rough, despite knowing how wasted he was. That would explain why your knees had suddenly become weak.

Still, the skepticism was evident in your tone. “You act like this with all the girls you bring back?” you tried to joke, your voice wavering, though you didn't realise the slight resentment attached to your words until it was said out loud.

You were surprised with how Negan caught onto it almost immediately. “They… they don’t matter.” His eyes bore into yours, a sincerity etched to his words. “Darlin’, I swear—’s only ever been you. M’sorry if I hurt you like that.”

You made a light attempt to scoff. “I’m not hurt—”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. ‘S written all over your pretty face.” The corners of his lips twitched upwards, before they fell after a beat. “But ‘m serious, I—”

“Look—” You reached for his wrists, gently guiding his hands away from your cheeks and letting them fall to your sides. “You should sleep it off, really,” you said, motioning your head to the nightstand. “Take the painkillers when you wake up.”

“But I…” His fingers loosely curled around yours, as if not wanting to let go of you just yet. “I need to know. If you feel what I feel.”

“Like you’ll even remember,” you murmured in response, scrunching your eyebrows. Then, you let out a soft sigh. “I’ll… tell you in the morning if you do, alright?”

You saw him give a slight nod, as he slowly released your hand, though you could tell he wasn’t satisfied with your answer.

It was simple, really—he was drunk. He wasn’t thinking straight. Not that he really ever has.

A thick silence stretched between you two, until you realised all else had been said, or at least the things you weren’t afraid to address. You eventually exchanged a soft ‘good night’, barely managing to say the words before you promptly left his room.

Truth was, you didn’t have a concrete answer. Or maybe you just didn’t want to answer it—knowing that you nearly melted into a puddle under his touch, and that you didn’t pull away the moment he kissed you. You didn’t think he would even remember the bulk of your conversation. Yet, a small part of you wanted him to remember. A small part of you wanted him to kiss you once he was sober.

And as you crawled back into the comfort of your own bed, the thought of him continued to leave you awake all night, much to your dismay. You knew Negan would never cease to infuriate you, disturbing your sleep at that, but something had definitely changed.

notes. i personally had sm fun writing this, so i hope this translates to something a little enjoyable for you! my academic year started mid-april so i sadly have less time on my hands to write, but i’m always up for writing soft and silly scenarios for negan bc i think he deserves more fluff, canon/au’s whichever 💓 thank you for reading as always!

[walk-the-plank-the-what]

Shangjiu fic

Omegaverse AU where Shen Jiu is discovered as an omega and Shang qinghua is the only alpha he considers safe to be with due to Shang qinghua’s general patheticness.

——————————————————

SJ collapses during peak lord meeting, and is taken to Qian Cao. Mqf did an examination while sj was passed out and finds that sj has been on sketchy/dubious/illegal suppressants ever since coming to Cang Qiong

(Maybe he started suppressants after joining Wu yanzi, since he presented the night he broke free of the qius)

The news of SJ’s 2nd gender is shocking, but MQF is a professional goddamn it, and he won’t spill SJ’s secret. However, since SJ is endangering his own health, MQF will advise that he quits the suppressants and have a heat to rebalance his qi or whatever. Of course he also suggests finding an alpha to spend it with bc alpha pheromones can have soothing effects for what is likely to be a quite intense heat. (Jury’s out on whether he insists that the sect leader know abt sj’s designation, but in this au maybe yqy already knows? but they’re definitely not reconciled either way.)

Of course sj refuses to have a heat and doubly refuses to have an alpha, but maybe he agrees to take a few days off suppressants, or maybe the reason he collapsed was due to a bad batch and his suppressants had to be tossed out, but for whatever reason, sqq is now off his suppressants for the first time in decades. He tries to seclude himself, but due to general sect sibling nosiness, everyone finds out his secret anyway. (lqg knocks down his door for a spar perhaps, and lqg is too noble to go blabbing, but a disciple probably sees/smells sj through the open door)

Since everyone already knows, sj goes off his suppressants altogether. (Perhaps in the common trope where it’s due to them all feeling regret over how they treated him and wanting to care for his health so they get rid of the suppressants? But I like the idea better that they already cared for him as sect siblings in their own way, but that his upbringing caused him to be wary of them and the rumors around him and his acerbic personality caused them to be a little wary of him in turn. I don’t think there’s any hatred or true cruelty between them though. Sj probably still wants to avoid heats, but his sect siblings make sure to cut off the sources of his suppressants for his health.)

Knowing that an alphas presence can help, many sect siblings offer to spend his heat with him. Of course he refuses due to various reasons (general distrust of alphas for most of them, violent history with lqg, weird guilt relationship w/yqy). I would like to say that he actually would agree to some of those on certain conditions though. For instance, if they would agree to being bound and immobile in immortal binding cables for the duration of the heat. Of course, none of them would agree to this, so it comes to be that there’s no option for him but to spend his heat alone.

However, :D there is a resident little freak in these peaks. Shang qinghua had been off the mountain range this whole time on a supply run/negotiating trade deals or something. When he comes back, a peak lord is filling him in, and of course he already knew that sj was an omega, but he never expected others to find out. While he’s freaking out over why his story’s getting off track, the peak lord grumbles something about sj being unreasonable and demanding to tie up alphas and shang qinghua lets the intrusive thoughts win and says something down bad about wanting Shen-shixiong to tie him up. And of course sj overhears or it gets back to him somehow.

For how sj thinks of shang qinghua, I like the perspective in this post, and in another post that I can’t find anymore, but where sj sees that sqh’s pathetic act is just an act and he sees it as a valid form of self preservation.

Basically, somehow Shen jiu does something a little intimidating and a lot hot to proposition sqh for his heat and they have a really good time with it and all the other alpha peak lords are a little jealous.

After spending this time together, I’d like to think they continue this sort of relationship and end up getting close to the point where SJ seeks out SQH even outside of heats and eventually they get together

——————————————————————-

Anyway, I just love the idea of Shen jiu learning that not all alphas are bad and such

[yandereunsolved]

✴ 🪶 Yandere Charles Smith (RDR2) 🪶 ✴

✴ cw(s): descriptive self-harm (reader) ✴ tags: @shackspossum

It had become a self-soothing habit of yours. When everything became too loud, too overwhelming, you walked off―hid away from the world and just put a little nick in your skin. What started off as small scratches, a drop of blood escaping you, soon became gashes along your body, caused by your own hand. And you never cried or shed a tear because for those few minutes everything else melted away. The only thing that mattered was the blood pouring from your body at your own hand.

It was nearly enamoring.

Covering yourself in―yourself.

It wasn't bounty hunters or other outlaws that were injuring you, no. It was you. And that's the least the world could let you do to keep yourself living.

Another day of barely living is over, finally. Some unseen weight eases off your chest as you slip into your tent. The few hours of nighttime provided by the moon lend you a certain safety. Unless the camp is being attacked, no one will interrupt you. The illusion of privacy grows in synchronicity to the darkness overtaking the land.

You slump against the side of your tent, ignoring the creaking of it. You let out a large sigh as that inescapable despair settles in your soul and seeps into your bones. It guides your actions in a way.

You pull out the boning knife you 'borrowed' from Pearson and place it against your bare thigh.

Slice.

Slice.

Slice.

Slice.

Slice.

Rythmatically, new cuts appear on you. The flesh spreads apart and gives way to the blood beneath. The adrenaline begins flowing, as your body recognizes the injuries as something that needs to clot and heal. You can feel your heart beating faster. Your skin crawls. You want―no, need to rip it all off. You need to skin yourself. You need it. It's too much. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.

The blood isn't enough. There needs to be more.

Your cuts were too sloppy.

"Mhm," Charles quietening voice interrupts your intrusive thoughts.

Your head shoots up, body freezing for a moment before kicking into overdrive. You scramble to cover your legs, sliding the knife behind you, even if futile. You lower your head a little bit and glower at him.

"It's nothing!"

"It doesn't look like nothing," no judgment in his tone, simply observation.

Sure you had a few scars. And sometimes you overdid it. But it isn't a big deal. It doesn't have to be a big deal.

You eye him warily as he drops the corpse of the deer he was hauling over his back. He takes a step into your tent, dropping down onto his haunches to meet you at eye level. His actions are slow and purposeful, as if he's still out in the wilderness hunting.

His eyes do a quick glance over you, noting the blood seeping from your thighs and other cuts in various stages of scarring. His brows furrow, eyes meeting yours. Your body stays rigid, mind telling yourself that it will all be over soon. He'll be gone. You can go back to coping.

He gestures to his pack and back to your body. You offer him a curt nod, deciding he won't leave otherwise.

He moves purposefully, but at a snail's pace, looking up at you every few seconds for any signs of discomfort―a no on your end. He tends to your wounds with a healing salve and wrap bandages after he cleans away as much stray blood as he can with his spare rag. He tries to protect your modesty, focusing clearly on what needs to be done and not your lack of pants.

After applying one last bandage, he hums in contentment. He gets back up and goes to haul his deer to skin it. Before crossing the threshold from your tent to the outside camp, he looks back at you one last time.

"I'll check on you tomorrow." There's his flat tone again, as if he hadn't just tended to you without any pretense.

"Charles, wait! Please, please, please, please, please don't tell anyone. Especially not Dutch." The words leave you with dread. Your mind reverts back to its state of survival. The last thing you need is Dutch pulling you off jobs because he thinks you're unstable.

"I won't," a soft sigh, "―just don't cut yourself. It won't solve anything. Goodnight."

He arouses ire within you as he exits, shutting your flap delicately. You wait until you can no longer hear his footsteps trudging away to decompress.

"Thanks for the great fucking advice. Why didn't I think of that?"

You grit your teeth and shove your pillow over your head, lashing out at it.

"Maybe if I fall asleep with this on my face, I'll smother myself in my sleep and die. At least then I wouldn't have to deal with life anymore."

The next morning came and went. Then another. Another after that. The time kept passing. The need to self-harm ebbed and flowed, but ultimately decreased. What failed to decrease was Charles's presence in your life.

It was gradual. He would check in on you every once in a while, offering a listening ear. He cleaned your wounds and encouraged you to not relapse. But the interactions were sparse.

Then he became more present. He was helping you with your chores. He was bringing you small trinkets that he made or found, and gifts that he bought from nearby towns. The two of you were always at each other's sides. Well, more often than not, it was Charles at your side.

Finally, it boiled over into violence. Charles was more on edge whenever something threatened your safety. He was more likely to beat someone bloody.

The fury hidden beneath his passive demeanor finally found a reason to reveal itself.

A single sentence, said when both of you were under the stars for the umpteenth time, changed the foundation of your relationship with Charles.

"You don't have to be mine, but I'll always be yours."

That's the one promise he's given in his life. He'll keep it and be buried in the ground before he breaks it.

[part-time-zombie]

WHAT. THE. FUCK. IS. SANDERS. SIDES.

The short answer:

It's a fun little YouTube series where a guy talks to himself about his problems and realizes that the different aspects of himself are far more complex than the issues he's discussing with them.

The long answer:

It's a series on YouTube made by Thomas Sanders that was inspired by Inside Out. In it, Thomas deals with various issues and events by working with the different parts of his personality, or his "sides", to understand himself by knowing them better.

One of the most interesting aspects of the series is the several unique relationships between the sides and how they grow and interact over the course of the episodes, with a regular theme being learning to accept and understand every part of yourself, which makes found family and redemption arcs common tropes.

The different sides (listed in order of appearance) are:

Logan: his logic

Roman, a.k.a "Princey": his passion, ego, and "good" creativity

Patton: his morality and heart/emotions

Virgil: his anxiety

Janus: his deceit and selfishness/self preservation

Remus, a.k.a. "The Duke": his intrusive thoughts and "bad" creativity (also Roman's twin)

They each follow a different color of the rainbow, and several fans have noticed that the color orange is missing from the current lineup. Hints at a seventh side (likely anger) have been made in recent videos, so alot of the fans are hoping to find out more when the next episode airs (hopefully very soon).

It's a very fun show that manages to be silly and lighthearted enough to keep younger audiences entertained without dumbing itself down to do so, and it also discusses complex themes like psychology and ethics in ways that are easy to understand and also pulls fans in with its memorable cast of characters.

It's funny, smart, and effortlessly intriguing, and definitely worth a watch if you're at all interested.

[memen18-m5r3]

new installment in my authleft lore saga ヾ(•ω•`)o this one's adding details to the things i've established in my previous posts so feel free to check them out for context (it's under "authleft family drama" tag now).

quick recap of what's going to be relevant here: the steel factory where all of authleft lives appeared long before any of them and as if by itself. this + the chthonic atmosphere of the workshops lead some to believe that this building is "alive". with its own will and needs.

Commie suspects Trotskyist of subversion and usurpation of production (how's that bad, you might ask? well, nobody knows what's gonna happen if production were to ever seize...and Commie's not risking it), and takes him out when no one's looking. Does it with a heavy heart, but believes it to be for the good of the family (or so he tells himself to better sleep at night).

There's no solid evidence, no go-to suspect (Trot wasn't popular with the rest of authleft for various reasons, at this point it could be anyone 'cept selected few), and no body. Therefore, the common story becomes that Trotskyist "disappeared" on the factory grounds. Naturally, Commie keeps quiet about his participation in this disappearance. Trot gets proclaimed dead after a while of him being MIA. It's a precedent that has never happened before so everyone's a little freaked out. Posadist searches under every pipe, but finds no trace of his father. It's at this moment when intrusive thoughts and voices turn more and more frequent for Posad. Gradually he is pushed towards the idea that it was the factory itself that ended Trotskyist.

This creates and fuels fear and paranoia regarding the factory's machines, and given that Posadist serves as a mechanic, he becomes unable to perform his duties. Which is a problem. Commie doesn't go straight for the kill this time as he finds Posadist more pliable, as well as less of a threat (and they need their mechanics). So, Commie tries to "fix" his nephew, but he doesn't know how to deal with this kind of situation and ends up making it worse, solidifying the delusions. Posadist reaches a point of breaking, where he starts to consider the factory an extraterrestrial technology or even a life form sent to Earth by a more advanced communist civilization. Not only does he fail to do his job, now he actively interferes with production.

Commie, in his final attempt to reason with Posadist, blurts out that he (Commie) is the one guilty of Trotskyist's death. This revelation comes too late, however, as it falls neatly into the conspiracy theory. Posadist calls his uncle an "alien accomplice", but he won't take him alive, for he himself almost got in touch with these alien creatures, and that he has something greater to offer them. Posadist hides in the factory's depths, and that's the last time he is seen in his "normal" form.

TL;DR: Commie kills his brother out of personal suspicions, then drives his nephew to psychosis with inept attempts at psychological help (and lying...lots and lots of lying). For the greater good tho!

[yellowbunnydreams]

Bunny Ears (Part 2) ~William Afton X F! Reader~

~Prepare for fluff!~

Part 1

Tag List: @ruh--roh-raggy @h4nluv @sleepy---head

Cw: CW: Minors DNI, (18+ ONLY), Female Reader, legal age gap (Reader- 20's, William - 30's), divorce/processing divorce (more tags will be added later in the story)

The last shift of your first week at Freddy's was welcomed with open arms by the time it arrived. You had known it would be chaos dealing with children, change, tickets, prizes, the arcade and all the fun responsibilities that came with being a restaurant but by the Saturday morning, you were ready to have a day off and take off the shoes you'd brought to work in.

Two days in you had decided that the somewhat flimsy shoes you had originally brought with you were no good after you were tired of getting your toes stepped on by small children, so you had been and bought some still pretty but sturdy black boots to work in and ever since you had been minorly less injured by children. Minorly. Children were prone to being slightly feral when hyped on slightly watered down fizzy-drinks and pizza as well as surrounded by bright lights and colours.

Spotting a child trying to climb on stage, you sigh and walk over with a bright smile, gently tapping the kid on the shoulder and making them turn around as you bent down to their height. Your bright red vest and confetti blouse wrinkling slightly as you almost ended up kneeling on the sticky carpet, the kid's face scrunched up in annoyance at the intrusion of his playtime until he noticed it was a member of staff.

"Hey buddy! I've been so silly and forgotten the rules of Freddy's and you seem like a smart little man," You said brightly, watching the kid puff out his striped shirt chest and straighten up, trying not to smile that somebody at Freddy's had called him smart. "can you tell them to me again?"

"Sure I can! I can cause I'm smart!" He tried to lower his voice to sound more important, and it made your heart melt slightly as to how adorable it was. Nodding encouragingly as you waited for him to speak.

"Go on then buddy."

"Well umm... You gotta not run! That's the biggest rule and the biggest means it's first! Then um... umm, oh you've got no loud noises...Go to the bathroom? Know where your mommy is!...um...umm. Don't touch Freddy? Don't hit other people! and um..umm that's it."

"Well done superstar! What were you about to do when I came over?" You asked, knowing the kid was puffed up in pride and would walk right into the question.

"I was going to give Freddy a hug!" Suddenly looking sheepish as he realised what had happened and why you had asked him. His shoulders sagging and his lip pouting as he bowed his little head, making you touch his shoulder gently again to grab his attention, making him look up and reveal teary eyes.

"I'm guess he's your favourite?" The kid nodded and you reached into your pocket, pulling out a Freddy Fazbear sticker and handing it to the kid with some arcade tokens. "Well that's okay, but you have to stick to the rules buddy, although you get a prize for being such a superstar and remembering them!"

Standing up, any thoughts of tears from the child were gone and he ran back off into the restaurant to play whatever game was popular that day, or to make new friends about their favourite animatronics. You were always surprised to see how many kids 'played Freddy's' by collecting kids with different favourites and would huddle in groups, taking turns singing various songs from the pizzeria.

You jumped as you turned around and almost walked into Garret, clutching your heart thumping in your chest as you took a deep breath and composed yourself. He shrugged his shoulders at the fact he had been standing so close to you, clearing his throat like that would remedy it.

"What is it Garret? And if you say that the ladies need cleaning again, I did it twice yesterday, I'm not doing it today." You said, keen to move as you were aware that you were in front of the main stage and according to your watch it was only four minutes until showtime, confirmed over the tannoy which only seemed to hype the kids around you up more. All rushing to eat, drink and play before the next show as if they didn't happen every twenty minutes.

"No actually, Daphne has that today. But Henry said he needed you to pop into parts and services and find him a 'flux capacitor', in the labelled box and bring it to him. He needs it for the parts order next week." He shrugged and you squinted at him for a second before you nodded and thanked him for passing on the message, heading towards Parts and Services, a back room down the concrete back halls of the place.

It didn't take you long to find it, after a few minutes of searching and asking somebody where it was as they passed by. But as you opened the door, you noticed how cluttered it was initially. Sighing as you realised how long it was going to take trying to find a presumably small part in a mess of cables, boxes and half-built things you were nervous to go near in case they broke. The few dim bulbs overhead didn't help as you began to search, carefully picking up boxes or moving coils of wire to check the labels, wondering if there was any form of organisation as you opened up a large box labelled as 'fuses' and finding animatronic eyes staring back, cold and unblinking.

Sighing, you stood up again and took a half-step back to try and turn around and try not to disturb anything perched precariously on the workbench nearby. Your back hitting something unexpectedly and making you scream, throwing your hands up to cover your face and cowering back into the shelves as you startled. A large hand darting out over the top of you and gripping the shelf you bumped into to stop it from potentially tipping over.

Removing your hands from your face you found yourself confronted with a white undershirt that was stained with motor oil and grease from the animatronics, forcing you to look up and face the quizzical expression that was looking down at you. Grey eyes behind gold rimmed aviator glasses sparkling with amusement, deep brown hair and the slightest beard going on that had just started to grey closer to the temples. Swallowing hard, you blinked up at the unfamiliar man, mind racing along with your heart.

"Well I know I'm all dirty and shit but do I really look that bad?" The baritone voice chuckled, slightly gravelly and still somehow warm enough to make you melt slightly.

"N-No sir I'm so so sorry, I-I didn't mean-" You began to stammer before the man removed his arm from above your head, stepping back and sitting at a chair from the workbench, giving you a better look at him even under the dim lights.

He was shirtless, or at least, no proper shirt on but rather a white-tshirt. Giving you a good view of his broad shoulders and thick arms, the tight shirt giving you a good idea of a developing dad-body that still somehow screamed muscular and how tall he was as he stretched his legs out, crossing his arms and holding his biceps, making you glance at his hands and noticing how large they too seemed.

"Are you new here?" He asked, tilting his head to one side as he looked at you critically, his expression serious despite the humour in his eyes that you had briefly seen.

"Yes sir. I started this week." Swallowing nervously as you tried to look anywhere but the large man infront of you, occasionally meeting his eyes to be polite but otherwise trying not to stare, knowing your cheeks were already heated up enough and you could tell you were blushing hard.

"Figures, I'm going to take a gamble and say... Garret, that spotty teenage kid? Kinda weedy looking? Told you to come in here and look for something?" Hiding amusement from his voice as he sat observing you, thinking that perhaps you were too naive and sweet to be back in the grimy bowels of the establishment.

"Yes sir, he um.. He said I needed a 'flux capacitor' or something for the parts order for-" You didn't get much further as the man began to laugh, a deep bassy sound that made your chest flutter slightly as you heard it, definitely blushing if you weren't before. His face split into a grin, revealing a lopsided smile as he shifted and stood up again, once more towering over your much smaller frame.

"Yeah he's fucking with you. I'll admit, this is one of the more...creative... ways that a new staff member has been hazed." Chuckling still as he walked over to a different bench, making you realise that had probably been where he was stood before you bumped into him. "They usually get the newbies to come in here and bring random shit out, but actually having you look for something that doesn't exist, quite funny."

You felt your cheeks burning as he laughed at you and made you feel uncomfortable, squirming as you tried to stand for the scrutiny before you looked up at him tinkering away with something on a bench, realising that you hadn't seen him the entire week you'd been working there. It was your turn to cross your arms, clearing your throat slightly before speaking.

"You know, I don't know who you are. You're not wearing a uniform or a name badge, so I'd like to see some ID please." You said, holding out one hand and struggling to try and keep your composure as the broad and tall man stopped tinkering and turned his head to blink at you.

He saw you stood there, tiny compared to him and still trying to defiantly hold out your hand, demanding to see ID and prove that he was meant to be there. He tried not to smile as he reached into his slacks pockets and pulled out his wallet, thumbing through it until he pulled out two cards. His Fazbear employee card and his drivers licence, handing them over simultaneously and letting you inspect them closely.

You looked over them carefully, although it took seconds before your face paled and it fell. Body shaking as you realised how badly you had fucked up by demanding ID from the man.

"Sorry, we don't seem to have met before, I'm William Afton, co-owner of Freddy Fazbear's." Grinning widely as he plucked the cards from your hands and put them on the worktop before offering a rough, oily hand to shake. Taking a little humour in your shocked expression as you shakily took his hand, almost lost in his as you both shook and introduced yourself. Quietly giving him your name too.

"It's nice to meet you little lady, but I'm sure you have to get back out into the colourful world of Freddy's." He suggested, trying to contain his laughter as you swallowed nervously, avoiding his eyes again which was a small pet-peeve of his, but he was willing to be forgiving on that occasion as you had been caught off-guard by him and didn't know him yet.

Gesturing to the door, you allowed him to escort you there, turning back to apologise to him before he leaned against the doorframe and looked down at you with a grin, wanting to fuck with you some more before he fully let you go.

"You're welcome back any time though, Henry doesn't usually let the pretty ones come down here." He laughed darkly, making a biting motion with a slightly snarled lip at you and listening to the squeak you made as you practically speed walked down the hallway with an obvious blush on your cheeks. Chuckling to himself at the fact he had flustered you so successfully.

You practically burst into the restaurant and went straight onto your break, plopping down into the staff room and placing your head in your hands, groaning loudly as you tried to process what had just happened. Hearing the chair opposite you scrape back, you saw Stacey looking at you curiously, eyebrow raised as you just shook your head at her.

"So, you practically ran through the building like your ass was on fire, what's up?" She teased, making you shake your head again, face burning as you tried to repress your new image of William Afton and could still hear his baritone voice in your ears.

"It's nothing Stacey."

"Bullshit! Come on! Did you stare at one of the dad's too long or something?" She teased, poking at your arm and hands until you pulled them away from your face and revealed the heavy blush, making her laugh even more "Oh come on, what could have been sooo bad?"

"I met Mr. Afton." Stacey snorted as you said it, raising a sceptical eyebrow and grinning at you.

"Okay, and I mean, he can be weird but like, what else is there to-"

"Stacey I asked him for his fucking ID and employee badge since he wasn't in uniform." You decided to leave out the part where he had called you pretty and bit at you in a way that you were almost ashamed to say made your stomach flutter with butterflies, and the fact you had run into him. Physically run into him. And screamed when you saw him.

The encounter got more and more embarrassing the more you thought about it.

"Well...Shit." Stacey offered helpfully, patting your hand consolingly as you felt your body burning up in shame. "Guess you gotta hope and pray he forgets by Monday."

You knew you certainly wouldn't forget by Monday, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew he wouldn't either.

[cha-melodius]

Okay, there are a few on this list that would be very interesting but I thought this one could be fun for firstprince! 💜

Thank you for this, friend!

💜 surprise kiss / impulsive kiss (another one just over my self-imposed limit, oh well lol. I got a few of these purple hearts and so we'll get various iterations. here's a canon divergence one! send me a heart and get a ficlet)

This is not how he thought tonight was going to go.

Not the falling into the cake part. Obviously no one could have predicted that. No, the part that really surprised him was Henry’s reaction in the moment, how the shove that Alex thought was pushing him away was actually Henry putting himself between Alex and the toppling cake. How Henry had curled protectively over the top of him, shielding Alex from the excessive weight and the wooden structure within it.

How, in the heart-stopping silence that followed, he’d stared up at blue, blue eyes—not haughty or irritated but concerned, like Alex was something important to him, something to be protected—with Henry’s body pressed to his from hip to chest, and had the sudden and insane urge to kiss those full, pink lips hovering so close to his.

He didn’t, of course. Then again, maybe it’d have distracted everyone from the cake fiasco.

Now, though—now that they’ve both been shoved in some side room and told to wait here for whatever hell is about to rain down on them, buttercream and cake still coating their tuxes and clumping in their hair and smeared on their skin—now he can’t stop fucking thinking about it.

It doesn’t mean anything, right? It’s just a weird intrusive thought that won’t go away, like the way he wants to lick that streak of buttercream off Henry’s cheek. Everything is so fucked up that he’s having a mental breakdown. That must be the explanation.

“Why’d you do that?” Alex asks instead as he desperately searches for some of the familiar animosity he’s used to when dealing with Henry.

Henry frowns at him. “Do what?”

“Shield me like you were some kind of bodyguard.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Henry huffs, looking away as his cheeks turn faintly pink. “If I did, it was subconsciously and I haven’t a clue why.”

Nah, Alex doesn’t believe that for a second. Well, maybe the subconscious part, but Henry absolutely knows why. “Bullshit,” he says, stepping forward into Henry’s space to force Henry to look at him again. “No one puts themselves in harm’s way for someone they hate.”

“I’ve never hated you, Alex,” Henry sighs. “You’re the one who’s always seeking me out to antagonize me. Who can’t leave well enough alone. You’re the one who—”

Something in Alex snaps. Before he knows what he’s doing, he reaches out with both hands to grab Henry by the lapels, crumpling the fine fabric of his tux in his sticky fists, and hauls him in. Crushes their mouths together in a furious kiss that tastes of sugar and regret. Because that’s exactly what Alex feels when it happens, when Henry’s already-open mouth goes further slack in shock, when he realizes he just kissed a prince out of nowhere and is probably gonna get locked up in the Tower of London.

Alex jerks back, though he doesn’t let go of Henry’s lapels. Some kind of self-preservation instinct, probably, to keep Henry from decking him. Henry stares at him, his pink mouth still open and tempting—fuck—as his wide eyes rove all over Alex’s face.

“—who kissed me,” he breathes at last, an odd note of wonder in his voice.

Alex winces. “Fuck, I didn’t mean—”

Then Henry’s hands are in his hair and gripping the back of his neck, dragging Alex back in, and oh. Oh.

Henry’s kissing him back, and he likes it.

[thealpacaavenger]

Prisoners of War, the Effects of Solitary Confinement, and Sonic the Hedgehog

Remember when Sonic was a prisoner of war? Well turns out, that can damage your brain in some pretty awful ways (https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov). It’s been revealed in several studies that being a POW can cause schizophrenic disorders, anxiety, debility, etc.

But, this is just the tip of the iceberg. Let’s talk about the torture that happened in those six months. 

Sonic Forces is said by many fans to employ the term “torture” loosely, that simply being confined to an empty room for an extended period of time (six months in this case) is no warrant for the term. While yes, the game certainly does not address the event properly, making it seem as if this circumstance is no big deal, in reality, being confined to an empty room with no human contact is what is defined as “solitary confinement”, a punishment becoming more and more infamous for its adverse effects on those it is inflicted onto.

The various consequences of solitary confinement on a person’s psyche go as follows (Stuart Grassian, Psychiatric Effects of Solitary Confinement):

-Hyperresponsivity to external stimuli, including ordinary things such as the sound of plumbing in another room. 

-Perceptual distortions, illusions, and hallucinations, mostly auditory, but may be visual depending on the individual

-Panic attacks

-Difficulties with thinking, Concentration, and Memory 

-Intrusive thoughts, typically those of violence against captors 

-Paranoia

-Lack of impulse control

-Delirium

Furthermore, the effects and issues with solitary confinement are so severe, that a UN human rights expert stated that solitary confinement for more than 15 days has every right to be labeled as psychological torture (https//www.ohchr.org). 

I’ll drop a bit of the professional tone because, well, this is Tumblr, but on with the hedgehog. 

As shown here, Sonic has cuffs around both his wrists and ankles. In all honesty, this is even worse than being locked up in a small room. All proper movement for him was restricted. There was no proper stimuli around him, he was locked in a metal prison. Once again, this was for six months. Sonic already struggles with staying still, he feels the need to run most constantly. Being restricted for that long could not have been good for him.

The thing is, you don’t even have to stretch to say that Sonic was tortured, because solitary confinement is torture. Perhaps it would explain why he didn’t give Tails a proper hug upon his return. After all those months with no proper contact, it might have been too much for him at the moment.   

“Yawnfest” is nowhere near the proper term to describe these conditions. The proper term is said in the game itself: “torture”. 

Maybe this was why Infinite said Sonic “reeked of fear”. Sure, it could easily be interpreted as infinite stroking his massive fucking ego, but what if Sonic truely was afraid? Not only was he defeated (easily) by him, but also Infinite locked him in solitary confinement (ie: torture) for six months. 

You don’t have to come up with a bunch of stuff not shown on screen to feed your angst needs (I mean, if you want to, all power to you). You’ve got all the ingredients for a delicious angst-pie right here.

Edit: Just realized that solitary confinement and torture were said as two separate thoughts in the original dialogue. Jesus fucking Christ.

[sysrep-sorting]

Sanders Sides

Rating: 4/4

Why this character is plural: While Thomas Sanders has explicitly stated that Sanders Sides is not meant to be a representation of DID, the plot of Sanders Sides involves each part of (the character) Thomas Sanders personality being personified and arguing with each other over what Thomas should do in various situations, often leading to conclusions about healthy coping strategies for things like anxiety and intrusive thoughts. As well as this, the sides will often have interpersonal drama that solidifies their presence as characters rather than simple representations of Thomas's personality. Kind Of Plural Evil Alter: No Erase The System: No One Dimensional Alters: No Internalized Ableism: Somewhat Ableism Rating: Good

Sanders Sides is Kind Of Plural because they have been explicitly stated not to be a representation of DID and rather different parts of Thomas's personality, but they are often relatable to systems. For the "Evil Alter" trope, I believe while the Dark Sides would traditionally be considered as part of this trope, it is subverted via the reveal that the alters are not actually evil people, rather, they are simply coping mechanisms within Thomas he doesn't want to confront. They are explicitly not actually evil and rather just socially unacceptable/taboo coping mechanisms. They do not Erase The System, and I don't see how they could as these are fragments of Thomas's personality attempting to get along. I think it would be counterintuitive to the messages of Sanders Sides to make them singular. While often I would label characters such as these as One Dimensional alters as they're explicitly only part of Thomas's personality, they are also STRONGLY depicted with individuals with their own tastes, personalities, dynamics ECT. If you are choosing to interpret this work as plural, the former is easily subverted by the latter. Because the series revolves around finding healthy coping strategies and dealing with mental illness, Thomas often expresses sentiments that Are Internally Ableist, few of these are ableism like the desire to get rid of alters, or wanting to be singular. The only component of DID-adjacent internalized ableism I can recall is his desire to get rid of his "Dark Sides", which is explicitly framed as an unhealthy mindset in the narrative. The Ableism rating, as expected from a series surrounding healthy coping strategies, is Good within Sanders Sides. The only reason they're not given the highest rating is because they're not a system ergo there's inherent flaws like the fact they're treated as multiple facets of the same personality.

[loveyourlovelysoul]

Be careful when during pms, as hormones may make your moods swings kinda hard to deal with especially on more stressing days (or if you have troubles sleeping/are drained for various reasons) and help your intrusive thoughts come up and take over you. Anxiety and panic attacks may also be more frequent and scare you cause of their intensity. Take care of you, take breaks, sleep, comfort yourself, and try to focus on nice things as much as you can. Go slow. Maybe take a break from news and socials if you fear they may give you bad news and help your mind move towards negativity. Be nice with yourself. Remember none of those thoughts are real, nothing of that is going to happen nor you really think those words. It's not you talking but your fears and insecurities. Reconnect with yourself and try to talk with people that make you feel safe and can help you ground and stay present. It'll be okay.

[anonymoushouseplantfan]

By Camila Tominey,

“Just as I have always admired the seamless way the Duchess of Sussex’s truth has sometimes clashed with fact, so too do I have a grudging respect for Omid Scobie.

"Lest we forget, this is a man who spent a decade raking over celebrities’ private lives for US Weekly, only to brazenly tweet in 2021: “Privacy means freedom from *unauthorised* intrusion. It is the right to choose what you share with others and what you don’t. That’s it!

"At the time, such outbursts left journalists like me in disbelief. Wasn’t this the guy whose entire career was built on analysing snatched paparazzi images of the rich and famous? Imagine our incredulity when Scobie launched into repeated attacks on the very royal press pack he followed around like a puppy. I saw with my own eyes how he tried to muscle in on the rota system in a bid to gain access to the very members of the Royal family he now seeks to trash in his second book, Endgame, which hit bookshelves on Tuesday.

"You have to admire the brass neck of the bloke, you really do. I remember one incident on a royal tour when he was literally begging me to tell him the sources of my various royal scoops. And to think he’s now so reluctant to discuss his own! Who on Earth could they be, I wonder?

"Perhaps the most amusing thing about Endgame is how much this fearless journalist gets wrong in his tireless pursuit of Meghan’s truth. “Palace aides were racking their brains to remember the ‘five’ private secretaries who have come and gone from the Duchess of Cambridge’s office (there have been three). And contrary to the claim ‘you’d be unlikely to read about it in any British newspaper’, The Telegraph reported on exactly that staffing issue last week.

"Hey, but why let facts get in the way of a good story? In one passage, I am described as The Telegraph’s Royal Editor – which I’m not and never have been. Referring to a piece I had written about the now infamous dog bowl incident, in which I suggested that it showed how much love William has for his little brother that he felt the need to physically wrestle him to the ground, Scobie comments that I sound like the “excuses of domestic abusers everywhere.”

"Domestic abuse? Is that what we are calling sibling rivalry these days? We are now being asked to believe that it was a “translation error” that the names of two “alleged” royal racists had been left in the now-pulled Dutch copies of Endgame – even though they were completely absent from the English version. And we’re supposed to accept this narrative even after Scobie had bragged on US television that he knew the names of both alleged racists?

"You know, I really thought I’d seen it all when Meghan told Oprah, with a straight face, that the Archbishop of Canterbury had married them three days before their official wedding ceremony; that she’d had her passport confiscated only to jet off on multiple holidays; that Kate had made her cry and not the other way round.

"I thought I’d heard it all when “sources” close to these two multi-millionaires (who were still receiving a £700,000 allowance from the King after Megxit) revealed the couple were so “desperate” they had no choice but to sign deals with Netflix et al – even though we know they were speaking to streaming companies as early as 2018, a whole two years before they stepped down as “working” members of the Royal family.

"I thought I’d heard it all when Scobie, of all people, claimed to be both a champion of privacy and an accountable press, only to publish not one, but two completely unauthorised intrusions into the lives of the Royal family so lacking in balance as to be laughable. We must believe all victims of bullying, insists Scobie (who was comforted by Meghan when he copped the kind of flak we all get, day in and day out on social media), except when they’re accusing the Sussexes of it. You really couldn’t make it up."

Thanks!

[realbeefman]

Do you have any good house fic recs? I am Struggling with my search.

for sure! although Disclaimer, i havent been reading house fanfic for very long and ive pretty much only read house/wilson so far, SO this is more of a hilson fic rec list than anything lol

Warning Signs by out_there - oneshot, 12k words, Wilson-POV, set around the end of s3. SUCH A GOOD FIC i laughed so much while reading this. genuinely delightful. possibly my fav house fic i’ve ever had the pleasure of reading.

The Line of Thought by tevinterimperium - oneshot, 12k, Wilson-POV, set after s3 e15. THEEE classic fake-dating AU. this was the first fic i read in this fandom and it absolutely fucks. im a SAP i love a good “no homo but OH GOD THE FEELINGS” plot!!

Desert Mesa Motel - 8 miles outside of Kingman, Arizona - 12:03 AM by plorp - ficlet, 1k, House-POV, post-canon. this makes me BAWL. very very good fic but SAD. and DEPRESSING. will make you CRY/pos

How Not To Be Boring by fourleggedfish - incomplete/abandoned, 497k, Wilson-POV, AU from around mid-s5. if u like whump (which i absolutely do) u will probably like this fic. if u are squicked out by sex, u will hate it bc these guys bang 24/7. this fic had me pacing, glued to my phone, sick to my stomach, crying (several times), and obliterated my sleep schedule. i can’t rec it highly enough. every chapters includes appropriate content warnings, but some major themes that appear throughout are character death (not of main characters), the aftermath of severe child abuse, and mental illness. if any of these topics are a trigger for you, please don’t read this work.

Forsake Me Here by MonsterBoyf - complete, 8k, Wilson-POV, ambiguous setting. Wilson has intrusive thoughts about mutilating House. He tries to cope. features a lot of very graphic imagery and does an excellent but extremely accurate job of portraying an OCD-spiral that could be triggering to people. i LOVE this fic i think about it so so much.

An Inconvenient Truth by anathaema - complete, 15k, House-POV, ambiguous setting. contains the quote “You’re the suicide bomber of revelations” and is one of the funniest things i’ve ever read. plus the way in which wilson’s sexuality in this fic is handled is honestly so realistic and entertaining. HIGHLY recc this to absolutely everyone who enjoys hilson

the more it took away by scribespirare - oneshot, 10k, House-POV, ambiguous setting. Omega!House has his first heat since presenting. Alpha!Wilson helps him through it. I LOVE OMEGAVERSE AND I LOVE FUCK OR DIE AND I LOVE THE WAY THIS FIC HANDLES THIS IS JUST GRAHHHH. If u don’t enjoy omegaverse u won’t like this but i can’t make a house fic rec list and NOT include this one

Aftershocks by black_cigarette - series, around 125k in total, various POV’s, set sometime post-Tritter arc. this fic IS gen, but honestly, i didn’t know that going in and didn’t realize it wasn’t a slash fic until the very end. tldr is that wilson is brutally assaulted because house has been gambling with some unsavory people, and house helps him deal with the aftermath. this fic does not pull punches. its is extremely graphic and everything wilson goes through is described in detail. it is a messy story about recovering from brutal trauma and everything that entails. DISCLAIMER: there are sequel(s) to this series available on the author’s livejournal, but i haven’t read them and can’t speak to anything they discuss.

no need to worry (making up your mind) by scribespirare - complete, 25k, House-POV, set sometime in the early seasons. House lies about having a Jewish boyfriend to get out of visiting his mother at Christmas. Things quickly get out of hand. THIS FIC IS SOOO *tears into it with my teeth*. I love when they scheme together <3

[president-alpine]

BTAS Screen edit + Hatter Junior Info!

Needed a little inspiration so I went ahead and tried out screen edits for the first time, also a bit of a redesign for Henry!

Need a little more practice! ^.^;

Anyway, here is more info on Hatter Junior AU

Henry didn't have his signature fun as he does now

Thanks to his harsh upbringing Henry only saw the world as this cruel and unjust place, however after being taken in by Jervis and getting to experience the world with the fun on Wonderland... and mind controlling people

Henry is now happier than ever before and is willing to join in on whatever wonderland escapade his father has in store, especially if it means seeing whatever new puppets they get to have fun with

2) Despite being Jervis's protege, Henry isn't allowed to mind control people yet, does it anyway

Jervis has tried to put some parenting restrictions on Henry to not get himself hurt, including barring him from using his mind control tech until he's an adult

But Henry does it anyway, usually to get Jervis out of trouble

One time, Jervis was about to be taken away by officers, but Henry used his hat and cards to control another group of officers and successfully got Jervis to safety

Sure, he was grounded but Jervis was proud

3) Henry is quite the scrappy and pragmatic little kid

Henry's upbringing before being adopted by Jervis had him fight and steal for survival, which made him far more willing to pull dirty tricks to get his way

For that, he is a menace on the battlefield and makes Jervis's blood pressure rise each time he sees Henry do anything

Things he did but not limited to:

Hit Robin in the face with a dodgeball

Slammed the door on Batgirl that she fell to the ground

Bit so many people

Pulled on the Batfamily's capes

Launched live crabs at our heroes, and those crabs started to pinch

Made various traps and weapons from whatever he can find, he's terrifying if he finds thumb tacks

No one has been okay the moment he made cherry bombs out of pepper spray

Jervis has no idea to this day how Henry learned this and it concerns him to a great deal, but thankfully Henry loves him a lot that he's usually safe from his chaos. Though he tries to reign in Henry's more intrusive thoughts

Yeah, all and all Henry isn't a good noodle XD

Well, that is what you get with a kid that is raised by a supervillain who thankfully loves his dad with all his heart