#lots of art to come...........i swear on it...........i'm about to go for a walk and maybe i will finally see a grass snake

[chalkrub]

been doodling some bri'ish wildlife - love seeing these guys. because they are the classics aren't they?

[himasgod]

Hello there, i hope u are doing well, make sure to eat and drink water well, alright?

Well, I read ur masterlist, and it seems ur requests are open, if u don't mind, may i have a request:

Riddle, Kalim, Jamil, Malleus, and Ace with a fem!S/O who is honest to a fault and doesn't think before saying what's on her mind, and she loves joking a lot, sometimes even during serious situations to try to lighten up thr mood (altho she fails miserably), her words can be unintentionally hurtful and bc she has been told that too many times, she tries to hold herself back to not hurt anyone and is insecure abt it

I'm sorry, I think i have been yapping alot, feel free to ignore this request if u would like to

Take care

ACE, MALLEUS, JAMIL, RIDDLE AND KALIM X READER

Where you unintentionally hurt them with your words

How would the boys react if you accidentally went too far with one of your jokes and hurt them?

Ace could dish it out and take it like a pro—except sometimes, you didn’t realize you were the only one who could actually land a hit.

You were play-wrestling on the Ramshackle couch. It had started with him poking fun at your favorite movie and escalated into an insult war, the kind only the two of you could survive.

“You watch that dumb flick like it’s high art,” he scoffed, dodging a throw pillow. “I swear you have two brain cells, and they’re both watching romantic comedies.”

“Oh, please,” you snorted. “You wouldn’t know art if it kissed you on the mouth. You're lucky I like losers—otherwise I'd never date with someone who has everything go wrong."

It slipped out with a laugh.

But Ace didn’t laugh.

His head jerked a little. Smile gone. Eyes narrowing—not in that usual smug way

“...Right.”

You blinked. “Wait, hey, I didn’t mean that like—”

“No, I get it,” he said, rising from the couch. “You’re joking. Like always.”

He was halfway across the room before you scrambled up.

“Ace, wait. I was just messing around.”

“Yeah, well. Sometimes it’s not funny,” he said, not facing you.

“Sometimes it actually just feels like you mean it.”

Your chest twisted. “But I don’t. I—”

You swallowed hard.

“I say things before I think. I always have. And sometimes it makes people laugh, and sometimes it makes the people I care about walk away.”

He turned around at that—arms crossed, mouth pressed into a hard line.

“You care about me?”

“Of course I do,” you whispered. “I think about you all the time. I talk about you like you’re this star I got lucky enough to touch. But then I open my mouth, and I say crap like that. And I hate it.”

His face softened. Just a little.

“You don’t see yourself like I do, do you?” he muttered. “You talk like you’re always waiting to screw up and be left behind.”

“...Maybe I am,” you admitted.

Ace sighed.

“That sucks. Because I was never planning to go anywhere.”

You stared. “Even after what I said?”

He stepped closer. Pulled you into a lazy half-hug that was tighter than any joke he'd ever made.

“You’re a pain,” he muttered into your hair. “But you’re my pain.”

You sniffled. “You’re still a loser.”

“Yeah, but you date me. So what does that make you?”

You smacked him in the arm and laughed. This time, he laughed with you.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

You had been joking—sort of. It was your thing. Make a jab, take the sting out of the moment, pull a laugh out of someone before the silence grew teeth.

Except tonight.

“Oh come on, Jamil, don’t give me that look. You always look like you’re two seconds away from betraying someone anyway.”

He stopped. Just stopped.

Whatever lecture he was about to give on Scarabia’s new schedule system died on his tongue.

His lips parted slightly, then pressed into a hard bloodless line. You blinked.

“...What?”

“You think I’m what?” he asked, voice low. Measured.

“Wait—no, I didn’t mean it like—!”

“Two seconds away from betrayal?” he repeated. “Is that how you see me?”

You swallowed. The lounge felt hotter than usual.

Or maybe it was just the shame flushing into your cheeks.

“It was a joke,” you said quickly. “I meant—you know—your whole ‘I’m too smart for this’ face. Not... that.”

But he didn’t look amused. Not at fucking all.

“You know people already don’t trust me,” he muttered.

“That they see me as a shadow behind Kalim’s brightness. Manipulative. Deceptive. Replaceable. I thought you saw me differently.”

“I do!” you said, too fast, too loud.

“I just—I joke because I don’t know how to say serious things without sounding like a freaking idiot. I wanted you to laugh, not... not crack open like this.”

Silence. Tension.

Then, a bitter little smile ghosted across Jamil’s lips.

“You think I crack open easily? That’s rich.”

You wanted to disappear.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “I hate that I said that. I hate that I always ruin things with my mouth.”

He stared at you for a long time.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he exhaled.

“You drive me insane,” he said, half to himself.

“But... you’re not cruel. Just careless. And I’d rather deal with your carelessness than fake kindness from anyone else.”

He stepped closer, his voice softer now.

“Don’t make a joke about this,” he warned. “Just tell me you mean it when you say you care.”

Your voice cracked on the reply.

“I do.”

He nodded once, then finally—finally—pulled you close.

You didn’t mean for it to come out like that.

Okay—maybe you did. But not like that.

You were mid-argument. Something about Riddle losing it over one of the Heartslabyul students forgetting the Dorm Uniform policy on Wednesdays. Again.

And you had snapped.

“Riddle, do you even have a personality beyond the Queen of Hearts’ rulebook? Or are you just a walking, talking copy of every rule in the handbook?”

The silence after that was .violent.

Riddle’s jaw tensed. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t yell.

But his silence was louder than any collaring you’d ever seen.

You regretted it the moment you saw his hands—gloved fingers curling slowly at his sides.

“That’s how you see me,” he finally said, voice tight. “Just rules and nothing else.”

“No! Riddle, I—I was mad, I didn’t mean it.”

“But you said it,” he replied.

“And not in the middle of a duel, or after someone died—you said it because I wanted the dorm to follow protocol. Because I care.”

You hated how calm he sounded. Hated how much it hurt to hear the wobble beneath the poise.

“I joke when I panic,” you admitted. “I joke because if I don’t, I’ll say something even worse. And I did. I always do.”

He didn’t reply.

“I know people think you’re rigid. Controlling. Cold,” you whispered.

“But I don’t. I see someone who cares so much that it terrifies you. Who was never given the chance to breathe without being punished. And instead of collapsing, you turned it into structure. Into order. That’s not weakness. That’s strength.”

His shoulders sagged—just barely.

You stepped closer, more hesitant.

“I love you,” you said softly. “Even if I say it wrong. Even when I try to be funny and end up stabbing you in the chest with my idiot mouth.”

His eyes met yours.

“Don’t stab me again,” he said, voice small.

“Swear on my life.”

He reached out. Touched your wrist. Like that tiny contact was his version of surrender.

You hadn’t even realized you said it.

Not until Kalim’s face crumbled a little.

You were both at lunch, laughing, chatting, when he mentioned he’d accidentally flooded a hallway with a spell gone wrong. He was smiling—like it was just another Tuesday. And you’d shot back, without thinking:

“Stars, Kalim. You’re lucky you’re pretty, because brains definitely aren’t your strong suit.”

It was automatic. A quip. A deflection from your own worry.

And then it hit you how quiet he went.

“...Kalim?”

His smile was still there—but smaller. Forced. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“Oh, haha. Yeah. I guess I’m kind of dumb sometimes.”

Your heart dropped.

“No. No, no, no—I didn’t mean that—!”

“It’s okay,” he said too fast, waving his hand. “Everyone says that. I know I mess up a lot.”

“No, Kalim, I—” you scrambled, words falling out faster than your thoughts—

“I make dumb jokes because I’m terrified of being serious. I panic. And then I say the worst thing possible and I think it’s funny, and it’s not. It’s not funny.”

He still wouldn’t meet your eyes.

Your voice cracked.

“You’re so smart, Kalim. Not in the way people expect. Not with formulas or spellbooks—but with people. You’re kind when the world doesn’t deserve kindness. You believe in second chances. You know how to make someone feel like they matter.”

Kalim blinked. His expression started to shift.

“I love you,” you said, chest aching. “Even when I can’t say it right.”

Finally, Kalim looked at you—and this time, his smile was real.

“You really think that?”

You nodded, heart in your throat.

He took your hand, squeezing it tightly.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Just don’t say stuff like that again, alright? Not even as a joke.”

“Not even a little?”

“Not even a tiny bit.”

“...What if I say you’re hot and kind of dumb?”

Kalim narrowed his eyes.

“Kidding! Kidding!”

He laughed anyway.

Malleus had just finished a speech to a gathering of Diasomnia students, one you knew had taken him hours to prepare.

He had worried over every word, asked Lilia for advice.

And then, when it was over, you—nervous, awkward, trying to break the ice—had said:

“Wow, must be hard being this ancient and still so socially inept.”

The silence that followed was brutal.

Malleus’s face did not change. He didn’t speak. Didn’t even blink for a moment.

Just looked at you like he was reading a passage he didn’t quite understand.

You felt the weight of the words only after they’d landed. You tried to laugh—play it off, lighten the mood.

“I mean that in a loving way, Your Royal Dragon Grump.”

But Malleus wasn’t laughing.

“I see,” he said at last. “So my efforts were merely... quaint. To be mocked.”

“No, no, Malleus—!” you stepped forward, panic flaring. “I wasn’t mocking you, I swear! I do that. I joke when I’m nervous. Or overwhelmed. Or... just really, really scared I’ll mess things up.”

He looked away.

And it hurt, how much that stung. Because he didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t snap. He just... shut down.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you said again, “I thought I was easing the tension, but all I did was humiliate someone I love.”

His eyes snapped back to you—sharp, startled.

“...Love?”

You laughed shakily.

“Yeah. Shocking, I know. I fall for a fae prince with the emotional expression of a brick wall, and then make fun of him when he tries.”

“You’re not the only one afraid,” he murmured. “I’ve been told I’m difficult to understand. Too much. Too other. So I try. And yet... even you think me inadequate.”

“No,” you said instantly. “No, that’s not true. You’re incredible. You just... you try so hard to connect, and I keep stabbing you with my stupid mouth. But I’m not laughing at you, Malleus. I never have.”

He moved closer then, his hand gently cupped your cheek.

“I am not angry,” he said quietly. “Only wounded. Because I value your words more than I should.”

You leaned into him.

“Im sorry. Then let me fix them.”

[liobi]

More word sketches for @thedeerus 's Time is Running AU(t), now featuring 100% more family reunion cookouts with the world's most wanted parents.

Title; vague reflections

[DISTANT PAST]

“Your powers are such bullshit.” Ifrit said after watching Akivili stick their hand directly into a campfire to retrieve a fumbled toy before it could be completely taken by the flames. They handed it back to a little girl with purple hair and braids who thanked them quietly, pretending that it was the doll speaking instead. “You can travel instantly to anywhere you’ve been before, you aren’t hurt by anything there that doesn’t explicitly mean you harm, and you can speak whatever languages you need to? And you can share it with those who are traveling with you??”

“Ifrit, can you not swear in front of our kids?” Nanook looked up from the camping ground’s grill to glare at the man. 

Your brother spoke up. “It's okay, we already know bullshit!”

“And a lot more worse ones! But Akivili doesn't want us to say anything about those because then Nanook might start thinking it's even more of a bad idea to travel with them than it already is.” You chimed in.

Your “cousins” Caterina and Akash started laughing as Akivili tried to look anywhere but Nanook now that their glare was falling on Akivili instead of Ifrit. 

“I have a compulsion to travel with people, you know this, I can't help it.” Akivili tried to defend themself from the glare. “And obviously who I can travel with is limited, especially since my Nameless are doing their best to blend in. So when I travel with the kids to help desperate people in very bad situations, sometimes these people have some… creative language choices.”

“And I remember them all! In all of their languages even after Aki stops letting us understand them.” You bragged shamelessly. With an almost artful grace at deepening resentment between parents you forged onwards. “My favorites are Лох, sohai, and cazzo!”

“Stelle, baby, Aki is very proud of your ability to remember all the different languages you hear but Nanook is very mad at me right now and you aren’t helping.” Akivili said, their words starting to get lost under Ifrit’s laughter. “Ifrit I swear to god…”

The man made entirely of fire and a skull stopped laughing. “Actually, I am going to be going by Duke Inferno from now on. I'm more of a public figure these days and need a title with a bit more gravitas.”

“Uncle Ifrit?” Your brother walked by having at some point picked up Dubra, the girl with the doll, like she was a stray cat he had found. 

In his defense, the look Dubra was giving you was identical to every stray cat he ever picked up. A bit of annoyance, a teaspoon of terror, and an entire boatload of confusion. Help me, she seemed to say with her eyes. 

As always when your brother did something stupid, you instead chose to enjoy the show. “Duke is usually a dog’s name, do you want to be a dog?”

Duke Inferno, the man who had just been accused of wanting to be a dog, was taken aback. Before he could refute the absurd claim, his son piped up. “Shut up, Caelus! So what if our dad wants to be a dog?” Akash made a show of crossing his arms in front of his chest with a “harumph!”

“Yeah!” Caterina chimed in. “Dogs are awesome!”

“Dogs always do their best to make sure that no one takes their puppies away.” Dubra said, looking so pathetic that you were at last compelled to come and pry her out of Caelus’s absentminded grasp.

Constance, the wisest among you all at twelve years old, a whole two years older than you, hid her laughter behind her hand. You wondered if she did anything special to be as pretty as she was. “Don’t worry Father, we would still love you even if you were a dog.”

“Duke Inferno, if you are wanting to change your appearance there are a great many offerings available for purchase in this day and age.” a cheery feminine voice chirped from behind you. 

You turned to see a foxian woman standing there, arms full of a variety of meats and veggies all perfectly suited to be grilled. It was Miss Tingyun! “Lan sends their regards but is unable to attend personally. They did however make sure to send me along with plenty of late New Year’s money.”

Indeed, under the mountain of meat and veggies were several red envelopes which you knew were stuffed with a frankly alarming amount of money to give a child. You hadn’t even spent all of last year’s money yet. 

After Akivili thanked Tingyun and took the food supplies, she went around handing out the envelopes to each of the excited children, several going unclaimed for the children that had not yet made it or were not able to attend the Aeon’s banquet for one reason or another.

When Miss Tingyun finally stopped in front of you, you saw someone else. “Phantylia?” 

The foxian woman’s mannerisms shifted. Her voice fell deeper and seemed to come from around her instead of from her mouth. Her eyes gained a sinister quality. “Now that’s a surprise, I thought I was perfect. What gave me away?”

“You were perfect, but your time doesn’t match. Yours is older and heavier than Miss Tingyun’s.” 

Phantylia clicked her tongue as she handed you your envelope. “Well, there’s no helping that one I suppose.”

“Does Lan know, or is their choice of sending you a coincidence?” Akivili asked, returning having finished unloading the meat and veggies.

“They don’t know, but them sending me wasn’t by chance.” Phantylia put the rest of the envelopes in Tingyun’s bag to await the arrival of more eligible children. “I’ve been making sure to impress upon them the importance of presenting a united front to Oversight, so when anything like this comes up I’m the first one they generally think of. Yaoshi just happened to have recently made some awful creature at the bottom of the ocean and felt compelled to tell Lan about it. Can any of you convince them to Stop Doing That?”

“If keeping our compulsions in check were that simple, I wouldn’t have handed out as many stellarons as I have, and Akivili probably wouldn’t have fixed the internet as fast as they did.” Nanook said, finally coming over to join the group. They gave Duke Inferno a look and he went and made himself useful over by the grill. 

“It seems like the compulsions are reduced in the second wave similarly to the reductions in overall power level, but we don’t know how much children of first wave parents will fare.” Nanook looked at you with a complicated expression.

“We don’t even know if the twins are first wave or not.” Akivili stroked your hair and you leaned into their leg. You realized at some point Caelus had come and pulled Dubra out of your grasp without your notice, because he was now running around chasing her older siblings carrying the absolutely miserable looking girl the whole time.

“Because they were conceived before you two awakened, but born after.” Phantylia said simply. 

“They have some neuroses, sure, but we don’t know if that’s because they’re our kids or if they’re part of the first wave.”

“If I sit on a rock that’s really really old I get a headache and then pass out.” You supplied helpfully. “And Caelus ran into a lady when we were walking down the street and started crying because she was gonna get hit by a car and die the next week.”

The conversation continued on, talking about waves and compulsions, and something about calamity math but at that point you were bored and ran off to play with the other kids. In these dreams you wonder if your memories are really that vague, or if someone is keeping something from you. 

You have a very good memory, after all.

.

.

.

.

[RECENT PAST]

“Your powers are such bullshit.” Silver Wolf grumbled from her nest of computers in her garage. Firefly and Blade were in the driveway trying to get Silver Wolf’s old motorhome running as it was old enough that even her powers didn’t work on it. 

“You’ve got no records in any database whatsoever, and then bang, you and your brother show up when you’re sixteen, they make a guess that you’ve got some fairly strong sixth wave powers, you can make temporary doppelgangers and your brother can do short range teleportation, and leave it at that.”

Both Stelles nodded, feeding each other chips. 

“But now you’re telling me that you’ve been scamming the IPC’s intelligence network the entire time and your power is actually controlling time?”

“Exactly.” They said in unison.

“I’ve met bricks smarter than you, how did you keep this a secret?!”

“Kafka, time?” the present Stelle asked.

“One hundred and six seconds.”

“I’d love to stay and finish this conversation but I’ve got to go so I can keep up the funniest running gag in the history of humankind.” Past Stelle said, trading seats with her future. “Ciao!”

If anyone else in the room could feel the flow and pressure of time, their ears would have popped as one of the Stelles vanished from existence. Silver Wolf was getting a migraine for an entirely different reason. “You’re breaking every law of physics for the stupidest gag I’ve ever seen.”

“Well I’m glad I didn’t hear that before I leapt through time, it would have killed my motivation to do the bit!” 

“You can also…” Silver Wolf checked the sloppily written post-it note Stelle had handed her. “Walk away from getting hit by a car free of injury, as well as move both completely silently and invisibly… Because of time manipulation…”

“Oh, I forgot to write that I can also heal-” Stelle stopped talking when she saw the look Silver Wolf was giving her. “I mean… yes, exactly, that’s the extent of all my powers and I’m not just saying that so I can come back and give you more information when you don’t look like you’re in literal pain.”

Silver Wolf chose to ignore that. “Listening to you talk about your powers is like listening to someone who controls water but claims they primarily blow things up in a giant ball of fire because water is actually flammable.”

“But… that is how you should fight if you control water, right? Just heat it up a little and rip it apart and you've got a really nasty explosion.” Stelle was confused why something that seemed so obvious to her was unthinkable to Silver Wolf.

“Who has been teaching you about powers, Nanook??” 

“Who’s Nanook?”

“Who's… Kafka, is she being serious?” Silver Wolf turned her incredulous gaze back to Stelle. “Ruin’s author, the supreme executioner, ruler of the Lords Ravager, the cursed wish granter, is any of this sounding familiar to you? They made the Stellarons, the things this group is dedicated to hunting down?”

“Ah, right, this.” Kafka sighed.

“Oh! I know all about the Stellarons, they first appeared roughly 70 years ago, they can actually grant wishes but in a subversive cursed way, and Oversight had exclusive rights to use them and did so frequently until the Belabog disaster which froze an entire continent and caused a world wide food shortage.” 

Stelle took a deep breath before she continued. “It's theorized that they grant wishes by distorting and reversing causality without completely breaking it via the calamity offset equation. A lesser known fact is that it's possible to almost entirely remove unexpected negative side effects by narrowing specific aspects of the wish in scope and explicitly including some drawbacks in the wish itself.”

Silver Wolf stared in shock. “I'm pretty sure half of that was information that nobody knows or is so secret it's kept on physical documents in a Faraday cage.” She was absolutely getting a migraine. “I've never heard of some of that stuff and I'm the best hacker in the world. Kafka, what the fuck?”

Kafka gave Stelle an affectionate scratch on the head. “Our Stelle here is an unexpected treasure trove of information you can't find anywhere else, and no, I don't know where she gets it from. The only thing is, she can't remember anything about Nanook for longer than ten minutes, and her childhood is a complete mystery.”

“Those are some really weird limitations.” 

“I've been trying to find a workaround, but it seems like the only way past it is if she's with her brother, and he’s missing sometime in the future.”

“Can you two stop talking about me like I'm not sitting right between you?” Stelle looked back and forth feeling like an abandoned dog. “It's really mean.” 

“She's my big mystery box,” Kafka smiled then returned to her gentle scratches for Stelle. Stelle pouted for a bit before she finally gave in and leaned into Kafka’s hand. “Elio says as long as we stick to his scripts, Stelle here will eventually come face to face with Nanook and find all that she's lost.”

“That's the other thing. I know I joined a week ago, but I still haven't come to terms with the fact that our boss is a talking cat.”

.

.

.

.

[PRESENT DAY, PRESENT TIME]

“Your powers are such bullshit.” March 7th said unprompted one day. 

Stelle wasn't sure where this came from, she was doing her mandated community service hours and wasn't even slacking off. She'd already collected three full bags of trash. They were at some memorial park or other. This one had a monument to remember all the victims that had died to a dragon attack that had apparently appeared there out of nowhere.  “Any particular reason you've decided to attack me?”

“Watching you pick up trash reminded me of your second escape.” March shuddered at the memory. “They made me watch the security footage, you know. It was traumatizing.”

“Oh yeah!” Stelle laughed at the memory. “That was a good one. It really hurt though, and it was messier than I thought it was gonna be.”

“You cut off your hand to get out of the bracelet!” 

“I put it back on!” Stelle was a little offended that a little dismemberment was all it took to traumatize a correctional facility staff member. Then again, this was the ‘talk to people before you have to put them down’ facility, not the ‘lobotomize them immediately’ one. “There wasn't even any mess left! Besides, you can bring ice sculptures to life and make them talk, yours feel like they're pretty bullshit too.”

“Whatever. You're done with your hours, let's just go.” March said, taking in the sights with a deep stretch. No obvious massive pieces of trash were left so there wasn't a need to extend their stay, but Stelle’s eyes were locked onto the memorial across the park. March looked over and then back to Stelle in confusion. There was nothing there. “You okay?

Blade was there. A different Blade. He was there, halfway disemboweled, and he was dying but March didn't see it. Stelle watched her old friend slowly push his intestines back into his body before some unseen healing force not entirely his own began to knit him back together. “I think my eyes are tired.” The phantom Blade looked like he was having a conversation with an unseen partner. “I might actually be getting sick.”

“Well, don't sneeze on me. My ‘bullshit’ powers don't include healing”

The ride back to the correctional facility was silent. Sure, Stelle had started seeing and hearing things that weren't there lately, flashes of a blond man around Welt, the mirage of an older, colder looking version of Dan Heng around Dan Heng, a flower of crystal ice surrounding March, and the images of a shorter person with two braids so thick they could be mistaken for exaggerated rabbit ears occasionally around Himeko. 

But this was the first time she'd seen someone she'd known. She didn't know what it meant, she’d barely even begun to process it when they arrived back at the facility. There were far more people in the entrance corridor than Stelle was used to, and she jumped with a start when March slapped her palm to her forehead. “That's right, we were getting a new resident today.”

Stelle saw the name “Dan Shu” on intake paperwork as March maneuvered them both through who must have been the escort team. People in lounge suits and tang suits filled the corridor, each of them in three different phone calls and yelling at each other at the same time. The poor blue haired receptionist boy looked like he was at his wit’s end.

“Exscuse us, pardon- coming through please!” At first March holding onto Stelle’s arm served as a reminder of how little trust she currently had as she was brought into the lobby. Now though, Stelle had become the lone pillar of support that kept March from being bowled over and trampled on by a bunch of irate middle managers.

There was a tiny clack sound from a folding fan snapping shut. At once, every single suit in the lobby went still and silent. A wordless order had been given and no one had dared ignore it. 

“Thank you.” A cheery, feminine voice said, ringing clear as a bell in the now silent lobby. The sea of suits parted, finally giving March room to regain her footing, as a brunette foxian woman in a qipao approached them. 

“I'm terribly sorry for the commotion. You must be Miss March and Miss Stelle. My name is Tingyun, it's a pleasure to meet both of you!”

Stelle wasn't looking at the woman. She was looking at the ghostly echoes of herself and Caelus clinging to the woman who stared back at her. They couldn't have been older than nine or ten. Little Caelus opened his mouth.

“****** can we go to the food fair with *********? *** said we had to ask you before they would answer.” 

With every word her little, little brother said, Stelle’s vision swam. Her mouth felt hot and wet, her nose was bleeding she realized. March was saying something, Tingyun too, but she couldn't hear or understand them. Little Stelle opened her mouth, her eyes were more vibrant somehow. Like the cancer that twisted and freed the world from its order and flaws.

“Please, ******? Caelus and I won't let go of each other's hands the whooooole time. If we did, I wouldn't be any better than a fucking moron who let her brother get eaten by the future. Then she let her new family die so badly they didn't even find any bodies. Now she’s all alone and too scared to let anyone else get close. She'd be better off dead.”

“I think I should take a nap.” Stelle said as she dropped like a sack of potatoes.

[puppyplayhouse]

WEIRD BROTHER HYUNJIN

Warnings: FAUXCEST, brother Hyunjin, dub con, weird behaviour! They're not actually related gang 🙄

Pups notes: I'm so insane for this truly im obsessed.

He convinces you to move out with him to a new city because it'll be so fun and he knows a great place for you to work! All his friends live there and you'll fit right in!

Your apartment is roomy enough. 3 bedrooms, one that you share for an art space. You love painting with him! Though he sure does do a lot of nude portraits. He's just poetic like that, you guess!

You settle in so easily, too, and you don't have to worry about bills because he thinks that's HIS responsibility as your brother. He's just enjoying your company! That's why he takes to cuddling you against his chest during your movie nights.

He works so hard, too, so of course you start cooking dinner for you both. Your work schedule is far more forgiving. You don't mind that he jokes about how you're marriage material.

And why would you bother locking doors? He's your brother! It's not weird for him to walk into the bathroom to chat with you while you're having a bath or to come in and pee while you're showering. It is a little weird that he never closes his door, though... he's probably just so comfortable!

Do you ever really need to wonder why he calls you his roommate to his friends? I mean, YOU ARE roommates! He's just being mature.

You dont really think he's weird until he pulls you onto his chest while he's lying on the couch to snuggle, and you can feel an uncomfortable hardness digging into your abdomen. It's not a huge deal, maybe? That just happens when guys sleep...

But he stops leaving the bathroom when you turn the water off. And he moves your towel to the sink where you can't reach it without getting out of the shower.

And he becomes obsessed with groping your ass... what's up with that? You feel bad, really. It's not like he can bring anyone home when he lives with his sibling. He's probably just pent-up!

It's really too easy to convince you to suck him off. Sure, the idea is GROSS at first. But you're siblings, right? You're supposed to look out for each other! He just needs you to help him this one time, and it hurts so bad. You love him, don't you? How can you let him suffer?

It doesn't all happen at once. There's a lot more groping, and he's started helping you make sure you wash your back properly in the shower. He asks you to help him, too! You ignore all the lewd moans and groans.

You think it's super weird when he starts insisting on watching horror movies late at night because he always gets scared and needs you to stay with him. You don't mind too much, but you're very confused when you wake up the morning after with sticky thighs and mysterious bruises.

You should be absolutely HORRIFIED when you wake up one night to 3 of his fingers buried in your aching hole. You swear you try to ask him what's going on, but he shoves his fingers in your mouth and licks at your lips in such a LEWD display and you have no idea what to say!

He says it's not weird! Of course not! He just loves you SO much and he's making sure you can feel that!

You definitely don't spread your legs for him and pretend you're asleep next time. And you DONT fall asleep on the couch in your underwear for his benefit. Of course not!

You also don't say anything when you finally meet his friends, and he introduces you as his friend with benefits, smirking and gripping your waist tightly. He's SO weird, but that's just how he is! Your brother has always been like that!

[arminsumi]

hi! I hope you're doing well, i always look foward to your work <3

can i request gojo and geto being protective over you

drink lots of water!

Promise — 約束

SatoSugu ⋅ fem reader

NOTE — so sweet !! thank you, i'm so happy you look forward to my works :) i hope u like what i made of this, the idea just kinda happened

WARNINGS — angst with fluff / comfort (it's not actually sad the boys are just distressed because you got hurt), implied injury / near-death experience (reader)

" THEY WHAT ?! ARE THEY OUT OF THEIR MINDS ?! " Satoru yelled like you had never seen him yell before. He was seething, eyes ablaze.

" This has to be a mistake... oh, angel, don't cry, come here. " Suguru talked to you soothingly.

You had come to them and told them the news through chokes and sniffles. It stung their hearts to see you so petrified.

An especially frightening mission had been assigned to you. Usually, these two overprotective boys tagged along with you or just did it themselves to save you the burden and pain of using your straining technique. But that wasn't an option this time, for some reason.

" I have a bone to pick. " Satoru grumbled, storming off violently.

Suguru had been practically cradling you in his arms to try and soothe your nerves.

" Satoru ! Don't do something rash — ah, shit, 'gotta go after that madman or he'll kill someone. Okay, you stay with Shoko, alright ? She's in the main hall by the vending machines. Relax. Satoru and I will sort everything out. Drink some water and rest — and no cigarettes with Shoko. "

So the boys went to complain to the higher ups, and though admittedly they were shaken up by Satoru's violently aggressive attitude, they didn't budge.

" ARE YOU ALL OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MINDS ?! "

" Satoru, calm down. " Suguru said. That's when Satoru finally calmed down.

" We're the strongest, let us take on this mission instead. " Suguru tried to reason.

Satoru's voice subtly shook when he spoke, residual anger lingering in his throat. His heart was beating heavily. " Y/n's weak. " he said. A harsh truth. " Too weak to take on a special-grade like that. "

Suguru tended to butter you up and call you strong, but Satoru was brutally truthful; you were much, much weaker than the both of them. Ever since they had met you, they felt this overwhelming urge to protect you with their lives.

Then they tried to convince the higher ups that you were " too weak " to do it. But they still didn't budge. In fact they glowered at the two students.

" You think I can't do it myself ! I'm a fucking god ! I could snap that thing in half with my fingertips ! " Satoru went into a sudden self-induced power trip, but Suguru stood besides him and silently agreed. Of course he could do it himself, he was Gojo Satoru.

Storming off again, Satoru left to go find you. And Suguru followed after his steps.

" Shoko ? Where did Y/n go ? She was supposed to be with you. "

" . . . uh, she walked right past me earlier and when I asked where she was headed, she said something about Roppongi ? " Shoko had her head in her hands and a lit cigarette between her fingers.

" God fucking damn it, that idiot. " Satoru's heart panged with worry.

" Save some limbs for me to rip off. " Suguru joked.

" Let's go get her. " Suguru said.

" I swear to fuck . . . I'll fucking rip that thing to limb by limb if it even so much as grazes her skin. " Satoru seethed.

" You two are gonna get reprimanded for this, you know. "

Satoru waved his hand dismissively and left with Suguru.

You were in the midst of battle, bleeding and panting. Covering your ears, you were just about to succumb to your paralyzing fear when suddenly your two saviors sliced right into the scene. You caught a glimpse of the most feral, raw look in Satoru's eyes; pure vengeance, it was almost artful how he pulled apart the cursed spirit.

" Angel, it's okay now, We're here. " Suguru comforted you, lifting your limp body and holding it like a baby. " You did good. Don't try to move, you must be in a lot of pain. I've got you, don't worry. Oh — Satoru, that was quick. Are you trying to show off for her ? Just teasing. "

You listened to the lullaby-like voice of Suguru and let your eyes flutter shut. The last image in your vision was that of a panting, blue-eyed boy who looked so startled to see you in poor condition. He looked about ready to cry.

Their voices sounded like distant echoes to you as you drifted into a half-conscious state, leaning more on the unconscious side.

" . . . I could kill those old fucks right now. "

" Satoru, calm down. She's going to be alright. Let's just get her to Shoko. "

" I hate seeing her like this. "

" Me too. But she'll be okay. "

" Angel, still with us ? Satoru, just breathe. She's really going to be okay. Don't cry or you'll make me cry, too. "

" Sh-she's so damn stubborn. Stubborn a—nd st-stupid. Why'd you run off by yourself like that. Y-you stupid weakling . . . "

You could hear Satoru distantly crying, and he didn't stop until after Shoko tended to you. The boys kept close, soothingly stroking your arms and cheeks to keep you conscious.

Nothing can explain the relief they felt when they saw you stirring-to again.

" Hey, sleepyhead. " Suguru's tender smile was the first thing you saw.

Satoru's lips were parted, his face paler than ever. He looked so relieved and yet shocked to the bone, like he'd just gone through the worst day of his life.

" Welcome back to the land of the living. " Shoko greeted, cleaning up the blood on your cheek. " You know, you made the boys cry. Satoru even had a snotty nose like a little kid. "

" Shut up . . . "

Satoru heard how dry your throat was when you spoke, and promptly shoved his half-full water bottle in your face, hastily drying his eyes on his uniform sleeve. Like the in-sync duo they were, they worked together to help you drink; Suguru held the back of your head, and Satoru tilted the water bottle into your mouth. Of course he spilled a bit, two rivulets of water went down either side of your jawline and tickled your neck.

" . . . was just . . . trying to show you two . . . that I'm not weak . . . but I guess I am. I'm Sorry. " you choked, voice barely above a whisper.

Their hearts sunk deep.

" You're not weak . . . " Satoru choked up too, eyes only recently dried of tears and yet fresh ones began tipping over his bottom lid, wetting his angelic lashes. " You're not weak, I'm sorry I say that all the time. I shouldn't have . . . I just . . . would rather convince you you're weak so you'll call on us all the time, 'n n-never r—r-risk los—ing y—ou. " he suddenly sobbed at the end, realizing how deeply he cared for you.

Suguru was on the verge of tears, too, because of the sight of his best friend sobbing like a hurt puppy and also because of what he had just said.

" . . . don't cry, you two. A—ahah, Sh-Shoko don't you cry with them ! Or I'm gonna cr—yh. "

" Very graceful, Satoru. " Suguru joked.

" . . . thanks. " you thanked them.

" Don't say thank you. "

You could barely make out the complicated sentence that Suguru said next, it was something like;

" You'll never be undeserving of our protection. " and " So never say thank you. "

That day, they didn't just promise to keep you safe, they vowed it. Weak or not, strengthened or not, they felt compelled to be at your side.

Through the long passage of time, they never break their vow to keep you safe, even when Satoru and Suguru part paths. You're never an enemy to either of them, you're always their baby.

It's a tough reality to accept that one of your closest friends has become a murderous cult leader, and the other has become a lonely god. But they still visit you. Sometimes you three will hang out altogether in secret — so risky, but worth it, to see the two of them smiling with you even though you had very few things to smile about during your adulthood.

The sweet, comforting feeling of the adolescent memories made with them carries through all the years.

© arminsumi

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

[effietrinket1619]

On the subject of Jess having a TikTok account dedicated to content produced by dint of her having the weirdest family anyone on the internet has ever seen (this is the true reason they are beating the Waynes for popularity), and Kyle finding that makeup is way more fun than expected:

-Simon being into cars and Hal being into planes. Does this cause conflicts? Who knows but they definitely both have multiple 'infodump about special interest' segments

-Kyle with makeup strikes again, multiple times (they even get John to sit for it, with a face of exasperated indulgence) which then devolves into 'everyone walks in heels challenge' and listen it's been a while since Hal was young enough to steal Carol's shoes for the hell of it but the muscle memory is still there so he's rusty but he's not Guy (cannot go five steps without tripping but he plays it off nicely). This is how everyone learns that Kyle can already walk in heels. He refuses to tell them how or why he knows this.

-also on the Kyle with makeup: does Jess get him into stage makeup and does he then try to make someone look like Kilowog.

-I want Hal to wear a dress at some point (with a good twirly skirt), possibly as another challenge Jess talks everyone into, because I think he'd enjoy it a lot more than he expected to. Guy spends the whole thing exaggeratedly emulating one of the PTA moms he knew back in the day and it's all fun and games until Kyle says 'yknow with dramatics like that you wouldn't be a half bad drag queen' and then Guy gets that specific demonic glint in his eye that means 'I have discovered a new way to cause chaos' and Kyle realizes immediately that he's all but signed himself up as the makeup artist for this. Hal is completely ignoring them in favor of looking at himself in the mirror and twirling in the twirly skirt and periodically hyping Kyle's makeup skills and the shopping skills of whoever picked the dress because "I was honestly expecting a repeat of that time I dressed in drag and sang ABBA at midnight on the tarmac because I lost a bet but you actually made me look nice!"

(Hal will drop anecdotes like that and then never elaborate or bring them up again. He does it specifically to drive Jess insane. She is aware of this.)

-at least one FMK of the Justice League, which about half the actual League watches, chaos ensues as a good quarter of the senior Leaguers pointedly flirt with Hal in Batman's line of sight specifically to make Bruce's eye twitch.

-vlog saga of a trip to an air and space museum, Hal geeks out the whole time, it's adorable.

-one video that's just Jess silently recording the dumpster fire of a trip that is Hal and Guy trying to buy groceries. It is captioned 'this is why John won't let us shop without him'.

-the One Time Jess got John to pop off about architecture

-Simon's litany of extremely helpful car advice.

-Kyle complaining about having art block because he gets so creative when he bitches about it.

-Jess replaces the sugar with salt and half the video is just her fucking booking it away from the rest of the Lanterns.

-yknow those prank videos where one party goes 'I trapped a mouse under the dish I'm too scared to touch it' and it's a computer mouse but you don't find out until the other party has moved it outside? Those fail absolutely in the Lantern house but they fail in such absolutely batshit ways she posts them anyway. Everyone's reactions to 'help there's a mouse/huge bug/etc under it' are just... so fucking weird. Jess tells John there's a big tarantula under that paper cup and he leaves and comes back with a mallet and that's the most normal reaction out of all of them.

-moves all the furniture three inches to the left. Compilation of creative swearing as toes are stubbed.

-rearranges the dishes while everyone's asleep, ensuing '....why are the plates in the bowl cabinet?????' Except Jess obviously can't stop there so one morning everyone wakes up and every cabinet and drawer in their kitchen has been emptied and filled with Legos. John turns the house upside down and he cannot find ANY of their dishes or cooking utensils and the only appliance left is the microwave which has been unplugged and filled with Legos. Kyle, Guy, and Hal immediately sit on the kitchen floor to start playing with the Legos, which is periodically interrupted by John's increasingly furious search for a SINGLE ONE of their dishes or utensils. He'll take finding a single chopstick at this point.

-compilation of having the family try weird foods except all of these people are so used to alien cuisine or the godawful space rations that they just... don't... react... she has Hal eat a carolina reaper the day after he gets back from a several month long mission in space and he's so used to space rations that he's just like 'oh thank god. Flavor.' And that's his only reaction. Like how all food is the best food ever when breakfast was ten hours ago and you've been hiking for eight of them.

-shdhgbsbd Jess does one of those horror movie prank challenges but it's the Lanterns so their reactions are.... not the expected. (Hal wakes up to see some horrific Halloween decoration staring him in the face. He gives it a once over, rolls over, and goes back to sleep).

these are absolutely FRYING me so i'll add on wherever i can

i'd like to make it so clear that jess never, at any given point, actually states the nature of her relationship to these people. they're all from different states, they all have wildly different cultural, religious and employment backgrounds. every time someone's brave enough to ask if [insert lantern] is her partner or parent, jess flat out ignores it and goes on with her day.

there's also the fact that guy and john, who crucially do not have secret identities, appear regularly and seem to live in this house with her? this is equally perplexing as jess apparently just casually knows two whole green lanterns. one person asks if the entire family is made up of green lanterns and jess makes a minute long response video that's just her laughing her ass off. no words at all. that puts the theories to rest for a while.

kyle's dabbled mildly in face painting but make up is a whole different game entirely. there's so much more. like, a lot of creative expression and more products and powders and paints he gets to figure out how to use as well as a whole new array of brushes. he cannot believe it took him this long to try.

john being the next victim is entirely fitting. he's silent and visibly fighting a smile so he looks as stoic as possible while kyle goes to town on him and gives him the cleanest cut crease anyone's ever seen. does this end up boosting john stewarts popularity publicly? yes. jess would tell you she had very little to do with it.

hal and his anecdotes give jess genuine aneurysms. as she films and helps kyle stencil in butterflies over his cheeks and forehead, he drops that he kinda wishes he went all out like this on his wedding day. kyle drops his brush and jess chokes audibly as they talk over each other to ask hal if he's actually married?? hal's response? a grin, a wink and a, "You never asked." horrifying.

kyle does end up getting really good with the state makeup and this spirals into a video where jess walks around looking like she got half of her face torn off (it's surprisingly realistic for makeup) and it scares the shit out of simon and guy.

the way hal is able to sashay in a dress and high heels has everyone deeply suspicious. jess also feels like john in particular is hiding something from them as they watch hal check himself out in a full length mirror. keli's, hidden behind the camera, is the one who asks hal if he's done this before. hal shrugs and says his airforce days were kinda wild. this will be keeping jess and her audience up at night.

anyway, john rocks an evening gown, guy is absolutely thrilled in a vintage, tea length dress that's very reminiscent of the forties housewife style, kyle gets a nice sundress with sunflowers printed all over it and simon has found a wedding dress (no one knows where he got it) and is twirling around in it. truly the video ever. jess has them do a whole catwalk and everything and hal in his heels and makeup really does steal the show.

no one knowing hal is a green lantern makes the FMK so much funnier. when asked for a reason as to why he'd kill batman in literally every single one of these, he has to come up with an answer that doesn't give away his history with bruce. what does he come up with instead? the first and only time he went to gotham, batman knocked his hotdog out of his hands and hal never went back. this gets #justiceforhaljordan and #batmanvshaljordan trending for a week straight. bruce is livid.

hal and guy at the supermarket goes viral because they get into an argument over the flavour of yoghurt keli likes best. it's banana vs chocolate when jess knows keli likes neither of these flavours. she says nothing. the argument lasts for thirty minutes and they end up not buying any yoghurt at all. hal and guy go to the next aisle over and start bickering again over chip flavours. jess's sigh rattles through her very bones.

jess purposefully strides up to simon and tells him that hal's considering getting a cybertruck (he isn't) and the audience gets to see simon's face go from shock to horror to disgust to pure and unadulterated rage. he then storms into hal's room (jess is still filming) and goes on this massive and impassioned rant about why cybertrucks are the single worst investment he could make and if hal bought one, simon would be ripping it apart immediately. hal is. so confused.

john is tipsy when jess brings up architecture and then everyone present, audience included, get an extended house tour where he proudly and deliberately points out every single design feature he included and the reasons for it (ofc john designed the house they're in, what the hell did you expect from me?). it's sweet, it's impassioned and it's clear it was all a labour of love.

the salt prank gets jo first. the others are either too exhausted or jaded to even really notice when they starts stirring salt into their coffee. but jo? she dumps a whole two teaspoons in and jess manages to keep a straight face until jo literally chokes on it and nearly starts drowning right then and there as tea goes everywhere. jess barely makes it out of there with her life preserved.

the mouse prank? yeah hal produces a fuckoff huge flamethrower from nowhere and jess is forced to reveal the prank before he actually burns the house down. jess takes her eyes off kyle for about five minutes and he's already rigged a very elaborate trap that absolutely will not work. jo takes one look at upturned dish and grabs a machete. about a billion viewers fall in love with her almost immediately. guy goes and finds a mouse cage so he can keep it and is devastated to see that it's a computer mouse. jess almost feels bad for him.

keli gets to participate in moving all of the furniture. kyle, eternally stuck in his own head, stubs his toes a million times and looks like he's on the verge of tears by the time he manages to navigate his way into his own room. when the door slams shut, jess and keli do hear another muffled yelp and they consider this a job well done. john eventually asks them to please move the furniture back before guy trips and gives himself more brain damage.

where did jess put the utensils and plates? she's not saying shit. but she does keep coming out with a bowl full of food and it's driving john genuinely nuts as he tries to figure out where the hell she's keeping this stuff. hal, kyle, guy and simon are entirely useless. they've been useless since the legos came out. jo absolutely knows something john doesn't and keli is thrilled that they get to have takeout the entire day. john is rethinking every decision that got him here as he combs through the house for the umpteenth time.

a lot of people find it incredibly attractive that hal, one of two white men in this fuckass family, can handle the heat of a carolina reaper. hal, of course, has been aided by oliver queen's chili recipe which he's consumed over the course of years. most of them have a pretty decent spice tolerance actually, so the challenge is less them feeling pain and more them being relieved that they're back on earth and they can actually eat food with flavour.

as a side note, i wanna make it so clear that the reason hal gets popular originally is because he's hot but after that point? he's just so fucking weird but also kind??? like he's possibly the weirdest guy anyone's ever seen cos he'll read hate comments and huff and go, "I watched my dad burn to death in front of me so this is not my biggest problem right now" and then never elaborate?? an enigma. he is also super cute when he geeks out. that helps.

hal's best friend is kilowog so there's virtually nothing that actually shakes him. jess positions a skeleton on the ceiling over hal's bed (supernatural style) and he doesn't even blink at it when he wakes up. no one does. not even with those enormous spiders that jump off the wall. jess's little pranks here are less about the comedy of her family getting scared and more about just showcasing how fucking weird they all are. it's infuriating and incredibly endearing all at once.

anyway this is so fun thank you for the ask <3

[hellsquills]

Dragon!Stan be upon ye

A short thing for @babyblankyerror 's Dragon!Stan AU. Please go check their art because it's infesting my brain /pos

⪻ ⪻ ⨳ ⪼ ⪼

"Hello?"

Ford's voice echoes through the cavern. He hears some small steps in return that turn louder and heavier as they approach, until he sees the familiar –and gigantic– face of his dragon friend. Despite the tightness in his heart, his face relaxes a little as he greets him.

"Good night, my friend. Sorry for disturbing your dreams."

It's way later than he usually visits the creature. These past weeks, Stanford left his house around 5pm and arrived at the cave at 6, trying his best to be punctual, even though time probably means nothing to this dragon. Having this little ritual amongst his otherwise chaotic schedule helps him. Today is already dark out, not pitch-black, but enough to make the path slightly dangerous.

The beast approaches slowly, looking somewhat sleepy, and lowers its head so Stanford can pet it. It is then, as they are eye-to-eye, that the dragon stops and tilts its head.

"What? What is it?"

The creature moves its head forward, brushing its snout against the man's cheek. Ford is taken aback, shocked by the delicate and understanding move.

"This? Those are just tears, don't worry about it."

The dragon huffs like an exasperated child, as if implying that it doesn't believe a word he's saying. Stanford sighs.

"I guess I can't fool you, huh?" Another huff. "I suppose that you're even smarter than I assumed. Which, rest assured, was already a lot."

The beast turns around and lies down in the middle of the cave, much closer to the entrance than it previously was before Ford arrived. The man walks to it, accepting its silent invitation. He lies down next to its chest, which is soft and warm with all the fur covering it. He nestles against it, making a spot for himself, just like many other times before.

"I... haven't had the best of days, I'm afraid."

The dragon's head is now resting on the floor beside him, its right eye looking straight through him. As uncomfortable as he is around people staring at him, this barely bothers him. The dragon's eyes are kind, attentive, so different from all the others he's used to have on him. Something in those colors fills him with a sense of safety that helps him breathe easier. It also helps with pulling out the words from his throat.

"I had... an argument with my Muse. Which wasn't his fault, really! It was all mine. I didn't... expect him to be this angry, though." The sentence ends just as quiet as it starts. "I simply mentioned that I needed some rest during the night, that I couldn't properly carry on with my research unless I got a full night's rest, but he didn't like it. He said I was being selfish." Ford's words are slow, as if working out a way to properly covey what he means. "I understand where he's coming from, I really do. He just wants to escape his dimension– the Nightmare Dimension, he calls it. Obviously the name is already enough of a hint, but above all... I know he wanted to escape before that. No one understood him back there. I know what that's like. To be in a place where you're not welcome, nor wanted, nor understood. I really do."

The dragon doesn't move, just blinks lazily. Ford continues.

"I just asked him for a full night without him entering my mindscape and using my body to work while I slept. He says any human should be able to withstand it, so maybe I'm just weaker than average, which I already knew, but regardless. I needed some time to rest not only my body, but my mind as well. He... didn't like it. We argued, I tried to explain it to him in a way he could understand, but he was so mad... I ended up relenting, but he said it was too late. Now he couldn't forgive me. He said that... if I really wanted him gone that much, then he'd leave. And he... he did."

Ford's voice faults as he utters those last words. Nonetheless, he keeps talking.

"I didn't mean to upset him, I swear I didn't. I just wanted some time to improve myself before I kept working on the portal, but... Moses, what have I done? What if he doesn't forgive me? What if he never comes back?" His shaky voice now warns new tears. "I guess that's what I deserve for failing to keep my promise. I told him I'd do anything in my power to help him, since he's spent his entire time in this dimension helping me discover the universe. And what do I give in return? Just utter weakness."

"I don't deserve him. I don't deserve the people that cared enough to get close to me. Not Bill, not Fiddleford, not..."

The sentence cuts early, leaving things unsaid.

"What am I going to do now? I have no one else, I'm alone. I..." A shaky breath, way too close to a sob for comfort. "I don't want to be alone anymore."

The dragon is quick to react, as if it had been waiting for him to finish. Carefully, it lifts its head and puts it on Ford's lap. Noticing the man's quick heartbeat, it moves it up, until it's resting on Ford's chest. They both lay there, Stanford feeling lightheaded from his sudden panic attack and the accumulated anxiety. However, the slight but grounding pressure against his chest is comfortable, calming, and it helps him breathe despite the weight directly on top of his lungs. His hands absentmindedly envelop the creature's head, hugging it lightly at first and then tighter when he's sure the other being is comfortable with the action. Through the warmth, he can feel another sensation: the dragon appears to be... purring? Not exactly, but something akin. It's definitely vibrating softly as it breathes slowly in what seems a calculated rhythm, although that would be impossible for the creature to understand.

A memory hits Stanford as he keeps his eyes closed: the same weight on top of his torso after a panic attack. The familiar sensation of those soft vibrations against his chest, much less like an animal and much more like quiet snoring. A slow, even breathing rhythm in contrast to his agitated one.

His brother, having yet again braved his fear of heights to lay on him when he had a paralyzing nightmare. A head full of curls as unruly as the boy they belonged to beneath his fingers, now replaced by hard scales.

"Lee..." Stanford cries, not even processing his own words. He repeats it once, twice, thrice, as the sobs grow too loud to continue. The creature above him shakes slightly before returning to its previous position.

Both beings stay still in silence, save by Ford repeating several variations of his brother's name, as well as the occasional "help", "I can't", and "I'm sorry". This last one is the quietest, as if the man had a split second of clarity and realized he did not want to say it any louder.

Eventually, exhausted by the rush of emotions, Stanford falls asleep. His cheeks are damp and his face is red, but he seems more peaceful as he evens his breathing, holding the dragon's head more delicately now.

Somewhere inside the creature's head, Stan is filled with a rage that burns hotter than the flames that sometimes escape his throat. As much as he'd like to shape-shift into his humanoid form, he can't. Not until whoever that Bill thing is is shattered into a million pieces by his own hand.

[mlmxreader]

Eager Beaver | Art the Clown X gn!reader

『••✎••』

requested by anonymous

↳ ❝ Art

42“It sounds stupid, but I’d feel a lot safer if you slept with me”

262“Why do you hang around me so much?” ❞

: ̗̀➛ Art comes to see you in a pretty good mood, although perhaps it's time for him to come to terms with what he thinks about you.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ swearing, implied sexual references, blood & murder mention, jealous!Art

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

spotlight fundraiser : ̗̀➛ Help Dr Bashar to evacuate his family from Gaza

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

You always left the bathroom door open and the front door unlocked when you were in the shower, as you had learned pretty quickly that if you didn't, you would open the door to find Art sitting on the floor and pouting and sulking; so when the bathroom door creaked from being pushed slightly, and you heard the footsteps of socks on the tiled floor, you only cleared your throat, and shouted over the stream.

"Just a minute, Art!"

He sat on the toilet seat and tapped his legs to the music from your phone, his head moving side to side with the beat as he tried to distract himself for a moment; he wasn't sure why he came back so often, and he wasn't sure why he never even tried to hurt you, either, but he wasn't going to question it if he could help it.

He didn't like to think about those things. He just liked to focus on satiating his appetite; he could still smell the scent of those three washes his costume had gone through at the laundromat, as well as the thick stench of the complimentary shampoo that had been put in the public shower. He didn't like it.

It didn't smell like your laundry powder or your shampoo at all.

He greatly disliked that, perhaps even hated it. But he wasn't going to question that, either.

The shower turned off, and Art was finally greeted by the sight of you in your towel and the thick smell of your shampoo; he grinned, and mimicked clapping as he slightly turned from side to side, his feet stamping on the floor silently with exaggerated movements.

You raised a brow, and took a quick whiff of him. "You went to the laundromat again?"

He nodded. Gesturing out the scene; he had gone in, murdered the cleaner who had been mopping the floors, washed his costume three times, showered whilst it dried, then walked over. He wanted to be clean when he walked in, and you knew how much he detested the feel and smell of dried blood.

You nodded slowly. "You smell good."

Art beamed, showing off those lamprey like teeth as he gazed at you, not sure if he understood entirely why it made him so fucking happy to hear such a thing. He opened his arms, beckoning you for a hug, but you shook your head as you laughed softly.

"At least wait until I'm dried and dressed."

He folded his arms tightly to his chest, and watched with greedy eyes as you towel dried yourself, thinking about how easy it would have been for him to tear through that soft flesh and strip you down to the bone; he settled once you were dressed, and when you checked your phone, you laughed softly.

"Another guy from that hookup app wants to meet me," you explained, "he can fuck right off he thinks I'm going anywhere this late."

Art scowled. He didn't know why, but whenever you mentioned a new man you would see for a night, it made his blood thicken and boil and bubble; he hated the thought of it, and hated it even more when he could smell them on your clothes.

You were never a couple, though. He knew that.

"Art, can you stay the night?" You asked, and he nodded without hesitation, but you still felt the need to explain. "There's just a lot going on right now, and I know it sounds stupid, but I'd feel a lot safer if you slept with me."

He nodded again, and took your phone from you; his fingers worked effortlessly to type, and when he handed it back to you, you could only smile.

"It's really sweet of you to say you'd kill anyone who made me feel unsafe," you reassured, rewarding him with a kiss to the cheek. "You're a good friend."

He scowled again. He hated that. Friend. He didn't want to be your friend, he wanted to be like those men you saw for a night, except permanent.

He shook his head.

"What?" You furrowed your brows. "What, you don't like being friends?"

He shook his head again. You sat on the edge of the bath facing him.

"So, what do you want?"

He mimicked it out; kissing and hugging and giving each other presents. Holding hands. You laughed softly.

"Wait wait wait," you chuckled. "Why do you hang around me so much? Is that what you want?"

He nodded, pointing to you with one hand and touching his nose with the other.

You nodded slowly, and grinned. "Why didn't you say so, then?"

He shrugged. He didn't know how to explain it to himself, let alone to you, and he wasn't about to try either; maybe he could get Vicky or the Little Girl to explain it properly, but he knew for certain that he couldn't.

There was just something about you that intoxicated him, made him feel all weird and as if his lust for blood and guts and gore had all faded away entirely.

There was just something about you that he liked. A lot.

You moved, and sat on his lap with your hands on his shoulders. "Art, look at me... are you sure this is what you want?"

He nodded eagerly, gripping the backs of your thighs until you could feel his fingers digging into the skin.

"So you'll stay?" You asked quietly. "Permanently?"

Another eager nod.

"Kiss me," you whispered, cupping his face in your hands as you met him halfway.

Art was eager, all teeth and tongue as he refused to contain himself; when you moaned softly against his mouth, he couldn't help it, and his hips bucked slightly. He was disappointed when you pulled away.

"Come with me into the bedroom," you told him quietly. "We can do that all night, if you want to."

Art would have ripped your arm off if he had not been somewhat careful, dragging you to the bedroom as you laughed along and told him to slow down, there was no rush.

[nxtaliaistyping]

Just Cooper Adams putting cameras in your apartment <3

18+ nsfw, non consensual filming

He's always looking out for your safety, he's a gentleman in that way. Never lets you walk next to the road, always is alert and on the lookout when you both are in a public setting, always having a firm grip on your waist when you go anywhere together.

So when he pays for you to have a nail appointment, you're gushing over him for being so kind, so sweet, so gentlemanly. With a smile he returns the hug, his expression unbroken and unfeeling as he waves you off. With you occupied, he can let himself into your apartment easily, rolling his shoulders before getting to work.

Obtaining the small surveillance cameras had been easier than he expected, the perfect size to be hidden in plain sight. He rigs them up, some in your living room, your bedroom, your bathroom. Connecting them all to his phone, he grins as he sees the live feed of himself on his screen. Perfect.

And of course you don't notice when you return, settling in as he explained he was busy tonight. Going about your routine, your mundane activities, not knowing you were being watched.

"Look at her, isn't she just a doll?"

The terrified man squirms, tied to the chair with tape fixed over his mouth as he glances at the phone thrust in front of him. Cooper grins with a selfish pride, forcing his victim to watch you as you sat on the sofa on your phone, pajamas showing your thighs in a way that's so tantalizing to the butcher.

"Come on, you agree don't you? Nod if you agree."

Scared beyond belief, the man nods quickly, sweat dripping from his forehead. Cooper looks at him before glancing back at his phone. You adjust yourself on the cushions, laying back a little which gives him a better view of your chest.

"Yeah, she's a similar age to you. Maybe you would have been friends, not that you'll ever know of course."

Oblivious to what your lover is currently up to, you stay sat on the sofa, time passing by pretty quickly as you doomscroll idly. However a text message from Cooper cuts through the noise of social media, and you tap to bring it up. You swear your heart beats faster immediately as you see the picture; his obvious bulge in his black jeans, with his big hand holding his belt.

You squirm immediately, panties dampening as you hurriedly text back a response. When you both started sleeping together, he didn't quite understand the art of sexting. But you'd explained what you liked, and how it could be fun for the both of you when you had to be apart (and even sent a lot of photos of your own to prove your point).

Cooper smirks, watching your reaction in real time, his hair damp with sweat. Killing really can take it out of you. He notices how you haven't commented on the stain present on his jeans, maybe you didn't notice or thought it was something mundane. He'd tried to rub most of the blood off, but unfortunately the mark remained.

It was aggravating him to not be able to clean, to wash and get himself back to looking presentable. But the ache in his cock needed to be fixed, as he hurriedly sought to free himself. His phone vibrates with a call from you, and he answers and places it on loudspeaker, so he can continue to watch you on the camera feed.

"Oh honey, did that picture make you all hot and bothered?" he coos, and at your confirmation he continues, "Was thinking about you, that's why. You always get me like this."

You bite your lip, phone to your ear as your hands go down your body. But Cooper can't have that just yet.

"Are you touching yourself?" he asks, feigning ignorance.

"Not yet." you say, your hands stopping at your thighs. Oh good girl.

"Do you want to? I can give you permission."

You beg eagerly, which he delights in hearing and seeing. Once he does, he watches closely as you tug down your shorts and eagerly dip your fingers between your legs. He groans, fisting his cock to the sight.

"Aren't you gonna ask what i'm wearing?" you tease, to which he laughs.

"Of course sweetheart, what are you wearing tonight?"

You tell him, rubbing circles on your clit as he smirks darkly at your image. He tells you how much he misses you, how much he needs you while he jerks his cock to how you desperately squirm on your own sofa.

A part of him does feel like a pervert, but how could he deny himself such a delicious view? Besides, he's really keeping you extra safe. He more than anyone understands how dangerous the world really is, how cruel it can be to such a pretty young thing. Why shouldn't he take extra precautions when it comes to you? And if gets something out of it well...surely that's just a bonus.

"Doing so good for me honey, so so good. Always a good girl f'me, isn't that right?"

He can observe how his praise makes you move your fingers faster, whimpering into your phone. Feeling his orgasm build, he demands you to touch your chest for him, delighting when you obey. Your smaller fingers groping at your tits, pinching your nipples at his instructions to make you gasp.

"Yeah, gonna make me cum baby. God you look so fucking pretty."

If you weren't so close to cumming, you'd have picked up on his word choice, but it's hard when it feels like your brain is leaking out of your cunt. You orgasm with a breathy whine, tipping him over the edge as he spills all over his hand. Wincing a little at the mess, he looks at you for a final time. God you look so pretty, lips parted as your breathing returns to normal, pulling up your shorts.

"Clean up sweetheart, i'll be home soon."

[f1samcro]

Teenage Dream Two

Second part to @boredpretty's ask.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Masterlist

To be honest, you had no clue why Jax Teller was interested in you. You were nowhere near his normal social circle. You kept to yourself and your three friends. And people let you because you four were the art freaks. You sketched or painted and, as such, always had pencil smudged on your skin or paint on your clothes. You swear you started off the day nice and clean, but then you had art class, so you didn't end it like that. Then Vivienne, who was your closest friend in the group, was more versed in the world of drama. And for some reason, always had a beret on.

Marisol and Coco had joined you and Viv in freshman year. Marisol was a musician and had a habit of always humming a song wherever she was. Coco took to sewing and sculpting, often sewing her own clothes.

You four stuck to yourselves in the art department. People generally left you alone, but there was a group of girls who gave you some trouble. There was a morning when you four were at your lockers, and they'd come up to you. That was the morning you officially met Jax, he loomed over them until they walked away, and then turned to you with a smile, "I'm Jax."

"I know."

It took a few weeks, but you two became inseparable. He'd pick you up before school on his bike and walk you to classes. Much to his delight, you'd show him your drawings, let him pull you onto his lap and rest his chin on your shoulder as you sketched. Jax never pulled you out of your quiet little group and into his loud one; you preferred to stay with your girls, and he respected it. In fact, he made it his mission to keep your life relatively unaffected when people started realising you two were together. Surprisingly, Gemma liked you. She liked how quiet you were, liked how you wouldn't judge what was going on in the club. Maybe you'd make a face every now and then, but you hadn't grown up in this life, you were bound to frown upon a few things. That's what Gemma liked most about you: the only time she'd ever heard you outwardly frown upon club happenings was when Jax would get hurt. There was a club party, you sat in a corner quietly sipping on a can of fizzy drink. Jax would occasionally sit with you. Spend a solid half hour with his attention solely on you before Chibs and Tig would call him away. He'd press a kiss to your temple and take off for a while before going back to you.

You didn't turn your nose up at the croweaters, didn't particularly care for any of the club drama. You were there to spend time with your boyfriend. And that was it. She sat across from you, you looked up and smiled softly. She scanned you quickly, "You really don't wanna be here, do you?"

You shake your head, "No, but Jax wanted to. So I came with."

Gemma smiles softly, "You're good for him. I know you don't care for any of this," she gestures around her. "But you're there for him. And I know he loves you. Level him out, never seen my boy sitting down and quietly talking to someone at these parties."

You fiddle with the drink in your hands, "I love him, too. And I know he really cares about it. I don't get it. I don't think I ever really will. But it's like my art. He doesn't get half the techniques or people I'm talkin' about. But he listens and he engages and cares about it. So I do the same. The club makes him happy. And I want him happy."

She reaches out to pat your knee, "And that'll mean the world to him, sweetheart. You could be turning your nose up at this, but you don't. You'll be a good old lady for him."

"I wanna make him happy."

"You do. He smiles a hell of a lot more when he's been around you."

And if on cue, he turns his head to face you, and beams, as if proving Gemma right.

[thecapricunt1616]

Pink Pony Club (Richie Jerimovich one-shot)

♡ One-Shot Inspo: Pink Pony Club by Chappell Roan "I'm up, and jaws are on the floor. Lovers in the bathroom and a line outside the door. Blacklights, and a mirrored disco ball Every night's another reason why I left it all" ♡ Summary: You're an Exotic Dancer / part time house mom at The Pink Pony, and end up falling for a man that is probably old enough to be your father. ♡ W/C: 2.9k ♡ Poste Date: 06/10/2024 ♡ A/N: Hello all! again, for the asks that are atp starting to mold in my inbox - imma get to you. This specific dirty old man in a suit has been making me feel things lately, so naturally I had to write some porn about it. Asks are still open even though I cant promise it'll be done snappy. Hope everyones week is off to a great start so far!! Tagged those who commented on the post saying this would be a good idea just so you could see how it came out, hope you like :) ♡ Warnings for BTC: Age gap relationships (R is in her mid-to-late 20's, mentions of sex work, Club environments, swearing, smut, rough sex (Richie likes to be slapped around sometimes, kay?) lowkey simp!Richie, no use of Y/N - pet names only, readers stage name is Pixie Polestar , unprotected sex, not edited, we die like men!

♡ 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 ♡ ➵ 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 / 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵 ♡ ➵ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 ♡

You had met Richie just about 2 months ago. It was safe to say, life had chewed him up and spit him out lately. 

If he was being honest with himself, the dating pool wasn’t exactly rich at 46 years old. He could count on almost two hands how long it had been since he got his dick up for more than just the binightly pornhub browser. 

That led him into the Pink Pony Club one fateful August night. You were working your usual shift, Pixie Polestar. You - unlike some of the other girls - really enjoyed your job. At least, the aspect of having fun on stage, doing cute, sexy little acrobat-like tricks on the pole while horny men paid you to take more of your clothes off?

Yes please. 

You weren’t a back room kind of girl, usually. That was because the amount of money you made from tricks on the pole was more than a lot of the girls you worked with made in a whole shift while you just worked the 45 minute trick-filled stage set then would give a few $400 lap dances depending on your mood, before skipping on home, taking a hot shower, and slipping in your silk sheets with your air conditioner turning your bedroom something akin to an ice box. 

That was how that night was supposed to go. 

How the night really went, was some loud borderline obnoxious man at least 15 years your senior, had found his way into the Pink Pony. He was wearing a pressed navy blue suit, that complimented his pretty blue eyes. That was the second thing you noticed about him while he loudly whistled for Krystal who was currently doing her set. 

You weren’t really supposed to be here anymore - well- you didn’t have to be here. You had found yourself a solution, a real career path if you will. But you enjoyed your time on the pole because it was art, and dancing was a confidence booster for you. In any regard, you were going to get older, you were going to pass your prime as the house mom was always telling you girls, so you needed another stream of income. 

Of course, being a … *eh-hem* - exotic dancer was the word you preferred, stripper just sounded trashy to you, did come with its negative stereotypes, one of which being no where will rent to you - because you had terrible credit. So, naturally, being the resourceful woman you are - you walked your happy ass to the open house of a for sale by owner showing, and told the nice realtor you’d take it. 

Boom. Done, you had a place to live in 3 weeks, when you closed on it. Then, it dawned on you. The other girls you worked with had the same issue you did. So, you found another house, saved another 25k for the amount to put down, and rented it to your coworkers. 

It was the perfect system, because you knew you’d get your rent. You knew exactly how much money each girl made because you watched them make it, you knew where they lived, and they had to look you in the eye every night. So it’s easy to say no one ever tried you. The only real reason you hung around The Pink Pony anymore was because you wanted to keep an eye on your girls and dancing was fun too. 

When he first laid eyes on you, it was something akin to a cartoon character when their pupils turn into hearts. It wasn’t too abnormal, you were one of the more bombshell-esc dancers at the club, and that isn’t to say that you outdid anyone it was all based on preference. Some men loved plain Jane’s, and the plain Jane’s were just as beautiful as any of the other girls, but the reaction of men basically tripping over their feet to try and come talk to you was more likely going to happen to you then anyone else.  

But he…didn’t come over, that was interesting to you. So, you being the master of customer service you were, took your drink and kept your eyes locked on his as you made your way across the room, and plopped right in his lap. “Never seen you here before sweetheart” your manicured hand found the back of his neck, gently caressing over his skin. 

He tried to play it cool, but your tits we’re basically in his face, he could smell your perfume perfectly, fuck he genuinely can’t believe that a girl so beautiful just sauntered over and sat in his fucking lap. Was he dreaming? He found his mind racing, and for once in his 46 years he was dumbfounded and couldn’t find anything to say. 

“Cat got your tongue honey?” You smirked a bit, gently cupping his stubbly cheek and rubbing your thumb over his bottom lip, pulling it gently before letting it snap back into place. He swallowed thickly, his hand resting on your bare thigh, just below the white glittery mesh coverup you were wearing. 

“I’m Richie.” He blurted out, his cheeks felt like they were on fucking fire, any blood that wasn’t rushing there was rushing to his cock and he found himself wondering when the last time he’d gotten hard so easy was. 

“Well hello Richie. I’m Pixie, what brings a handsome man like you in on a Friday night mm, no big plans?” You absentmindedly played with his chain, pretending to pay no mind to the long length that was hardening in the curve of your ass. All you would have to do is shuffle just a tiny bit and his cock would be nestled between your cheeks and the itty bitty powder pink g string that you wore beneath the tiny mesh piece of fabric that was basically for show and no use to cover anything. 

“I guess I was lookin’ f’some entertainment. Think I found it” he spread his legs more, causing you to sink further into his lap and his hand found the curve of your waist, his thumb rubbing little up and down strokes over the smooth skin. He never believed that the sheer triple x rated porn movie he was creating in his mind would become a reality that night but man did it. 

It was also his first night taking the dreaded viagra prescription his doctor had given him when he got real about his … shortcomings as of late. The man isn’t what he used to be stamina wise, okay? Nonetheless - he still rocked your shit - well, more like you rocked his. 

Who knew this foul mouthed, old school, borderline toxic masculinity-entrenched motherfucker would get so much pleasure from your palm coming across his cheek just hard enough it left a yummy sting and telling him “My eyes are up here you old pervert” as you bounced on his cock with a rhythm he couldn’t bring to the table himself anymore, and that in turn causing your tits to bounce like a fucking hentai film less then a foot from his face. 

Something about a younger girl calling him old and smacking him around all while using his cock to get herself off, babbling about how good he makes her feel made him more confident then he had been in years.

He often would find himself feeling a little pang of sadness after you started seeing eachother, in moments where you two were laughing a way he only ever did with Mikey before you came around, and making him feel like he was in fuckin’ High school again with how giddy he was to see you after every shift. All of it would just remind him how bad he wishes you could have met Mikey, and how bad he wishes he could tell Mikey. 

Richie knows, he would be so jealous, but in a brotherly way - that such a young hot piece of ass, a young smart, hot, funny, piece of ass was calling him daddy, told him he was ‘her mans’ whatever the fuck that meant. He assumed girls today call their boyfriends that, there were a lot of little phrases and lingo you had to explain to him and would always make fun of him for being old after doing so. 

He would tease you too, having some late 80s early 90’s radio station on (because the old head didn’t understand what streaming was) while he drove you around of course since he had learned from you that you were his ‘passenger princess’ and saying something like ‘oh babygirl this is before your time, this is from my day” before cranking up the radio and serenading you with Bad Girl by Madonna, belting it in such a silly, dramatic way between drags of his cigarette you couldn’t help but burst into giggles and kiss him at the next red. 

You had told him that when you used to do private dances that Like a Virgin was one of your favorite to dance to for the ‘older’ gentleman, he spanked you playfully when you said his crowd was older as he usually did, and of course later that night he had you perform for him and you ended up getting your back blown out to material girl since you had been streaming the song from your phone and didn’t care to find it and turn it off. 

When Tina had played it jokingly at family dinner one night, he couldn’t help the smirk that came to his lips at the memory. Funnily enough, she was the first person to find out about you. Of course, he didn’t divulge anything other than he was finally seeing someone consistently, nothing about your age or profession. Based on the way Tina had reacted with clapping and kissing his cheeks, gushing “I’m so proud of you papa! That’s so good, this is so good for you! You need to get out there more” he was reevaluating his social life or lack there of and telling himself he needed to get out more, which lucky for him you were young and bubbly so you could get him out of the house. 

The next person he told, he really told, was Carmy. Well- technically Syd too, but she just happened to overhear. 

“W-wait wait” Carmy pinched the bridge of his nose how he did when he was baffled and confused, brows knitting together as he shook his head. “Lemme- lemme just get this straight - y’datin a…..” 

“Ex-o-tic dancer, cousin. It’s 2024, fuckin hell. Women dance and get paid for it - no big deal.” He repeated, emphasizing each sound as if what he was explaining was the most casual thing in the world, which - you had explained to him it should be so he took that and ran with it. 

“You’re fucking…a stripper- a stripper that’s what they’re called when they dance naked -  and how old did you say she was?” Syd questions. 

“Hey- she leaves her panties on she’s only naked top up, and plus she doesn’t even have to anymore she does it for the art.” He points the spoon he was wiping down at Carmy “this new NOMA bullshit we’re doin’ here isn’t the only art, Cousin. Shes an artist” he dropped the spoon in the bucket with the rest of the pristine ones he’d worked on. 

“Sure- and she’s fuckin younger then me” Carmy replied. “She could be y’fuckin-“

“Yeah, yeah - whatever she could be my fuckin daughter where’s your girlfriend huh? I don’t see anyone linin’ up to fuck you. She’s nice, and into me - and - and she’s funny and smart. So see already 2 qualities named that I don’t see much of around here so excuse fuckin me f’wantin to be happy when I’m not in this shithole” he teased 

“So- this not even 30 year old, she is gonna be y’date to the thanksgiving friends and family night - the one your daughter and ex wife are attending - and you think that will be a good idea considering tiff’s track record with girls you bring around” Syd questioned. 

“Yup” was all he said before taking the now finished bin of spoons to be put away, glad for the conversation to have finally been over. 

He rehashed the whole conversation with you later that night as you slowly rolled your hips into his, your skin sticking to his, both of you covered with a thin layer of sweat. You had his hands pinned next to his head, fingers interlaced with yours, practically speaking into your mouth as you kissed him sloppy and open mouthed, obsessed with eachothers taste. You always tasted of bubblegum, a habit you’d carried with you since childhood, he always tasted of cigarettes, a habit he had carried since high school. 

“Baby with my job I’m used to people not understanding me - I didn’t expect your friends to like me. My job - it can make people uncomfortable. But fuck them. You know how we feel huh?” You picked up the speed of your hips, using the curly deep brown patch of hair at the base of his cock to cause the most delicious friction with each thrust on his cock as you chased your orgasm. 

“Ye’ fuck em baby- shit- so fuckin tight- all mine right?” He breathed, mouthing over the bruises he’d left on your breasts a few nights ago. That was one thing about your job he had a bit of difficulty getting past, but you assured him you had no feelings for any clients and that you weren’t doing lap dances anymore only your stage set and otherwise you were just there to be more of a second house mom. But still, he was a man after all. He was possessive, a little jealous sometimes. So he loved to hear that you were only his during moments like this. 

“Yes daddy- all yours. You own this- you own me” you kissed his hand before bringing it to your breast and then using his shoulders as leverage to bounce further up and down, the action causing his head to fall back and jaw to fall slack. 

“Just like that - god- fuck - holy shit baby- shit-shit- y’fuckin close? How fuckin long has it been?” He pinched your nipple lightly, causing your pussy to clench around him and a pornstar like whine to leave your lips 

“It’s been 15 minutes- Christ you’re like a teenager. Can’t even last 30 minutes?” You teased, leaning in and kissing his neck, biting and nibbling the skin as you circle your hips, essentially jutting the tip of his cock into your g spot and that floaty feeling sneaking up on you as you feel him shoot rope after rope of arousal, painting your pretty, gummy walls a milky white and his stomach muscles clenching at the overstimulation. 

The grunts and moans that left his lips when you got him here were some of the hottest noises you’d ever heard a man make before, you were always sure to file them away in a special little folder in your brain for a rainy day he wasn’t able to get you off himself. “Feel good daddy?” You asked sweetly, sitting up and resting your hands on his hips so you could look down and watch as your mixed arousals gush out of you and around him, thick strings breaking with each slow, purposeful roll of your hips 

“So fuckin good baby- Jesus gonna finish soon? Dunno how much more I can do” he said, voice breathy, blissed out, nearly whiny. 

“Mmhmm few more minutes daddy- god we’re so pretty, I bet we taste so good mm?” You swipe the pad your forefinger over your clit, gathering the sweet and bitter white, making a show of rubbing it over the hardened bud of your nipple “feels good, too, wanna tell me how it tastes?” You leaned in and he nearly groaned as he took your breast in his mouth, crystal like eyes seeding into your own gaze as he flicked his tongue gratefully around the sensitive nub. 

You whined hotly, the sight of your tit in his mouth mixed with the feeling of his pants huffing through his nose and fanning over the swollen flesh as his tongue swirled and licked and flicked and drove you over the edge. You cried out, hips stuttering as you rode out your orgasm. His hand found your heat, rubbing with scissored fingers over your clit and meeting around his cock before dragging his fingers back up to repeat the assault. 

The action had you gushing around him, the contractions of your heat getting stronger causing him to groan into your skin and that vibration just added more stimulation. “Fuck yes- god daddy- always make me feel so good, no one understands how good we make eachother feel hm? Nothing else matters, baby, as long as you feel good, right?” 

You pulled him in for a sloppy, hot, passionate kiss. A kiss that made his heart do flips, and his stomach flutter, and made him feel way lighter.

Richie thought to himself in that moment he may be falling in love again, and he was equal parts fucking terrified, and excited to see where things with you went. 

He just had to get over ripping off the very last bandaid, and then you could really be together -

And that bandaid was Tiff.

@aestheticaltcow - @myszie - @wtfsteveharrington

[imaginespazzi]

Part 4: The Art of Letting Go

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

Only know you love her when (she lets you) go

(In which a still very sadistic writer make things a lot worse but only so they can get a little bit better)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Pining, Hurt with very little comfort

Words: 7.9K

TW: Car Accidents, Panic Attacks, Swearing

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 I know I'm very, very late with this and I love you all for being so patient. I don't really know how I feel about this chapter but it is what it is. Logistical details are probably a little off but I need things to work for the plot, so try and ignore that. Per usual I did edit (very loosely and I'll probably go back over it later), there are probably typos anyways. And as always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't, and what you'd like to see in the future. Happy reading lovelies and let's get a W this weekend. <3

December 2023

A week or so after they get back from the Cayman Islands, Azzi feels like she’s been sleep-walking through life, everything around her hazy and dull. She religiously sticks to a routine of eat-study-practice-sleep. Except well, sleep isn’t really sleeping. It’s her brain conjuring images of blonde hair and blue eyes and Azzi forcing herself to wake-up from a nightmare that used to be her favourite dream. 

She doesn’t tell anyone what happened, lying to herself it’s because it would be embarrassing and not because it would mean having to face the truth. Still, it doesn’t mean that her teammates can’t piece together little bits. There must be something quite sinister about the air around her, because none of her normally nosy and eager-to-help sisters try to weasel any information out of Azzi. They act like they always have, only sharing worried looks behind her back when the façade of i’m doing fine slips momentarily when she thinks no one’s watching. 

And then that façade goes to hell over the span of a couple of hours. 

It starts with the inevitable breakup with Zoe. At first Azzi avoids it, making up excuses as to why she can’t see her girlfriend. Selfishly, there’s a part of her that wants to keep Zoe, keep a girl who would never leave, never make her feel anything less than (or more than) just content. But it’s not fair, Azzi knows that, and it’s why she practises her it’s not you, it’s me speech to perfection in front of the mirror. When she goes to message Zoe that she's coming over, the text chain causes a pinch of guilt in her heart at the contrast between her girlfriend’s hopeful tone versus her own nonchalant one. And Azzi thinks that Zoe will never really understand just how similar the two of them are, stuck at wanting someone who would always let them down. Only, Azzi will let Zoe free but when it comes to her herself, she’s pretty sure she’s destined to be trapped forever. 

It’s embarrassing to admit that Azzi remembers the apartment in Storrs that she’d visited barely a handful of times a lot more than she remembers the apartment she’s currently in, the one that belongs to her girlfriend. Zoe sits rigidly on the couch with the same reserved, guarded expression she’s had since she’d opened the door, clearly aware of what was about to happen. Her foot taps incessantly as the silence between them drags on.

“You deserve better,” Azzi says finally, keeping her eyes firmly locked on the floor. 

“No,” Zoe’s voice is cold, “don’t say shit like that. It’s a cop out. It’s the shit people say to make themselves feel better-”

“Zoe-”

“Don’t be a fucking coward Azzi. Look me in the eye and say it, say exactly what you’re here to.”

Azzi doesn’t want to do any of that. She wants to crumble to the ground and let it swallow her until she’s buried so far away from the mess she’s created. But she owes Zoe this. When she does look at Zoe, there’s this look in the other girl’s eyes that Azzi had never thought herself capable of evoking in anyone and she has to swallow away the bile that rises in her throat, disgusted by her own self. 

“I’m breaking up with you,” Azzi whispers. Her words linger in the air, like shrapnel after an explosion. Zoe flinches, a single tear trickling down her face. 

“There it is,” the Californian says quietly, the ghost of an ironic smile playing on her lips, “I knew it was coming but damn- there it is.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“For what-” Zoe cuts herself, “no actually don’t- don’t answer that. I think I know.”

Azzi draws in a deep breath, ready to confess, “I need to tell-”

“Please-”

“Z-”

“Please,” Zoe sobs, “please don’t tell me. I don’t wanna hear it okay? I don’t- I don’t want to hate you Azzi. It’s too much and I don’t- I just- I’m so tired of feeling so much for you when you don’t- when you feel so little for me.”

“That’s not true,” Azzi counters helplessly, her words ringing hollow to her own ears. 

“Fucking hell you just ended it Azzi, you don’t have to pretend anymore. And it’s okay because I get it. You can’t feel any more than what little you do for me because- because you’ve already given the rest of it away. And it’s not- it’s not like I didn’t know you know? I only ever met you because you were crying over her. You only let me into your life because you missed her. And now you have her,” Zoe says wistfully. 

It’s terrible the way everything else becomes white noise as Azzi’s ear latches on the last sentence, a sentence that couldn’t be any further away from the truth. She was prepared for the accusations, for Zoe to hurl every curse word in the book at her, but this, the unintended reminder that she was giving up on soft, sweet, gentle Zoe for something that she didn’t have, hurts far more than any words could. 

“This isn’t about-” 

Zoe’s quick to cut Azzi off, pushing herself off the couch they had been sharing, trying to put even more space in between them, “please do not insult my intelligence by finishing that sentence. I deserve that much at least.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are because I know- I know who you are Azzi and I know you’re a good person and that’s why- that’s why I don’t wanna know okay? Whatever you did- whatever happened- just let me- just let me have this. Let me remember you as someone good- someone great,” Zoe pleads.

“If that’s what you want Zo,” Azzi answers weakly, the guilty clawing at her heart. She doesn’t think she deserves to be remembered like that, doesn’t think she’s worthy of being thought of with fondness, not anymore. 

Zoe doesn’t make any acknowledgement of Azzi having spoken as she starts to pace, “I should have known. You know the day I met her this summer, I got it- the appeal- I got it immediately. She has this aura, this charm. She just- she just fucking glows you know? And she’s just- she’s this huge entity and so are you and I’m just,” she lets out a hollow laugh as she shrugs,  “I’m just a girl from Stockton, California.”

“And you’re amazing,” Azzi puts up a hand when Zoe tries to cut her off again, “you are. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you for what you did for me last year. You could have walked away that day and maybe- maybe one day you’ll think you should have. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Zoe. You do deserve better. It’s not a cop out. It’s the truth.”

Since she was younger, Azzi’s always hated endings. This time is no different. The bitter truth is that she probably won’t miss her girlfriend, but she will miss the friend that had gotten her through one of the toughest years of her life. Slowly, Azzi picks herself off of the couch and walks over to a still Zoe, squeezing her left hand once before heading towards the door. 

“Azzi,” Zoe calls out, just as Azzi has one foot out the door, “I hope it works out for the two of you. You and Paige always did just seem inevitable.”

***

She blames the fact she’s currently stuck in the terrible LA traffic, with the word inevitable ringing in her ears, for the way her fingers continuously flicker over the green call button under Paige’s name. Zoe saying her name had been the first time in a week that Azzi had even let herself, in consciousness at least, think of the blonde properly. And now that it had been unleashed, whispers of Paige, Paige, Paige echo through every crevice of skull. The pain and anger that she’d been trying to shield herself from, come barraging into her heart as she’s held captive once again by thoughts of her best friend. 

It would be a lie to say that Azzi hadn’t been hoping for a call or a text to come through. She’d waited two days with bated breath for a friendly quip that would lead them back to their safe haven of just pretend. Instead it was as if they were back to being who they had been before summer of 2022 all over again. Back to being nothing. But this time Azzi had been adamant that if Paige was going to cut her off again, she wouldn’t fight it, not this time. Apparently that resolve was never meant to last and Azzi feels a little pathetic with how desperately she needs to hear Paige’s voice, how desperately she wants to try again. 

The traffic clears just as she presses call and maybe that should have been a sign. Azzi’s not a bad driver per say, but as her dad always said, no one’s a good driver when they’re distracted. The phone rings for too long and she should take that as her next sign and accept it as Paige not wanting to talk, but she lets it continue to ring anyway, as she turns onto a more secluded road. And then-

“Hello,” the voice is unfamiliar and Azzi doesn’t really know Paige’s teammates, beyond Caroline, that well but she’s pretty certain this one doesn’t belong to any of them. 

“Hi uh- who is this?” she manages to get out as her grip tightens on the steering wheel.

“Oh um- this is Rose, Paige’s friend” comes the reply, the word friend said with a sultry lilt and Azzi feels her skin prickle. Hang up. 

“Why are you answering Paige’s phone?” her tone is far more accusatory than she’d like it to be. 

“She’s in the bathroom but she told me to,” Rose answers defensively. 

Azzi hesitates, she doesn’t need to know more except, “does she know who called?”

Because surely if she did, if Paige knew it was Azzi on the other line, she wouldn’t let one of her likely random hookups answer the phone, surely Paige would know what it would do, how it would make her feel. 

“Uh yeah- I told her Azzi called and she seemed pretty sure she wanted me to pick up.”

Maybe Paige does know what it would do, does know how it would make Azzi feel, maybe that’s the whole fucking point. Through the phone she can hear quiet footsteps walking closer, towards Rose. When Paige is close enough that Azzi can make out the sound of her breathing, can almost picture the way her chest is heaving, that’s when the tears finally fall, blurring her vision. 

She doesn’t see the blinking headlights rushing towards her until it’s too late and then she’s swerving. The world around her erupts in motion and light and noise, everything spinning and spinning and spinning. For one moment, as she loses complete control of her car, Azzi thinks maybe this is it. And the most terrifying part of it, is that for a second, she’s not all that opposed to the idea of this being the end. It’s a singular image of her parents in her brain that has her regaining her senses and hitting the brakes as hard as she can. Her tires screech as her car barrels into a tree and her entire body jerks around in her car, her seatbelt leaving burn scars against her neck. Azzi feels her heartbeat going haywire, as everything comes to a halt. 

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Rose’s panicked voice echoes. 

“What?” and there’s Paige and even in this wreckage, Azzi’s heart stutters at the sound of her best friend. 

“I think she crashed-”

“WHAT?” there’s frantic shuffling until, “Azzi? Azzi? Hello? Are you there? Fuck. Azzi are you okay? Please say something. C’mon Az. I know you’re there. Can you hear me? Please be okay. Azzi? Fuck, fuck, fuck. Azzi?”

Azzi opens and closes her mouth, trying to answer to the call of her name, but nothing comes out. She feels hot and cold all over at the same and she swears there’s a hand curled around her neck because she can’t fucking breathe. 

“Azzi,” Paige says again desperately, “please say something.”

“P-Paige,” Azzi finally manages to stutter, her chest heaving as she gasps for air. There’s blood rushing to her ears and everything around her feels hazy. 

“Azzi,” and that one syllable is wrapped in so much emotion, “I’m here okay, are you okay?”

No, Azzi thinks, I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay. 

“I c-can’t breathe. I think” she grasps at her neck, “I th-think I’m having a panic attack.”

Paige curses under her breath, “okay, okay alright listen to me breathe okay? And try to match it okay?”

“O-okay,” Azzi whispers, pressing her head to her steering wheel as she tries to mimic Paige’s exaggerated deep breaths on the other end of the line. 

“Good girl, you’re doing so well for me Azzi, just keep breathing okay,” Paige’s voice is far calmer than she probably is in reality, “just keep breathing with me okay.”

Azzi closes her eyes as she feels her chest slowly start to loosen up and lets herself be immersed by Paige’s soothing words of comfort. And for a second, it almost feels as if her best friend is right there with her. For a second, Azzi imagines that they’re on a whole other planet, just them in their little world, like it always should have been, like she’d once been so sure it would be. It’s a beautiful dream that reality is quick to gatecrash. 

“Babe, is she okay?” Rose asks, and Azzi’s eyes fly open at the term of endearment. She’s not on a different planet. She’s alone. And Paige isn’t. 

“I’m fine,” Azzi breathes out and then more firmly, “I’m fine.”

“Thank God,” Paige lets out a sigh of relief before her tone turns sour “what the actual fuck Azzi?”

Azzi winces at the loudness, pretty sure she might have a concussion from the way her head had crashed back into her headrest as she’d crashed into the tree in front of her. 

“I’m fine,” she repeats assertedly, as everything around her slowly starts to make sense again. It’s not a lie really, at least not physically. There’s the potential concussion, and the litany of bruises she’s starting to feel all over her body but she’s pretty sure there’s nothing wrong internally. Well except for her stupid fucking heart but it wasn’t the accident that had fucked that organ up. 

“You just crashed your fucking car, no you’re not fucking fine,” Paige yells, voice thick with tears. 

“What the fuck do you care?” Azzi bites back, “sorry I interrupted your fucking night Paige. I swear it won’t happen again.”

She hangs up before Paige can say anything else, sitting deathly still for a second. And then she lets herself completely break apart. 

***

74 missed calls from Paige

did u go to the hospital 

pick up ur fucking phone 

dude

azzi

this is not the time for this stubborn bullshit 

PICK UP UR FUCKING PHONE 

AZZI 

just say ur ok at least

please 

called ur mom 

said u had a concussion and some bruising 

thats not too bad 

ur so fucking stupid 

it could be so much worse 

please pick up 

AZZI FUCKING FUDD PICK UP UR PHONE 

so u can call carol and not me ok 

thats just fucking perfect

dude i feel like an accident > stupid fights 

so maybe just pick up 

or call me back

u wanna play this stupid game fine 

ignore me for now

but i’mma be in dc for christmas

ur gonna have to talk to me 

i know where u live 

***

The box in Azzi’s arm feels freakishly heavy, like she’s holding the whole world inside of it. In a way, maybe she is. The walk up Paige’s dad’s driveway feels longer than it ever has and she’s fighting the urge to turn back with every step. As soon as she’d seen the vaguely threatening text message, Azzi had decided she would beat Paige to it. The night of the accident had put several things into perspective and Azzi was determined to finally grasp control of her own life. 

It hasn’t been that long since the Cayman Island and so it hasn’t been that long since Azzi’s seen Paige. But when the door opens and she’s face to face with her best friend, despite the dread and anxiety that’s drowning her heart, Azzi still feels that beat of it’s cold but you always make me feel warm flutter in her chest. Paige smiles and Azzi’s arms wobble, drawing the blonde’s attention to the box in her arms. 

“Still a couple of days till Christmas Az, a little early to give me my present,” Paige smirks lightly and Azzi feels a river of hot anger slide around her veins. After everything she’d put her through in the last couple of weeks, the fact that Paige could act so frivolous, as if they were still fine, makes Azzi see red. 

Her voice is icier than the sheet of frost on the ground when she replies, “it’s not a Christmas present.”

Paige’s eyebrows knit together questioningly, “then-”

“It’s all your stuff I had lying around,” Azzi cuts in, trying to keep her voice confident and stable. 

The smile disappears from Paige’s face as she studies Azzi's face, looking for some semblance of emotion beyond the blank stare. 

“What?”

“All the things you’ve left at my house over the years, a couple of t-shirts, a hat, a book and a couple other things, they’re in this box,” Azzi says pointedly. She tries to hand it over but Paige is quick to move away from it, staring at the offending object as if it’s a ticking time bomb. 

“What the actual fuck is going on Azzi?”

“I might have missed some things. Let me know if I have and I’ll mail them to you in the future,” Azzi recites clinically, keeping her demeanour stoic as possible “and of course I would like my things back as well. Not right now of course. You can mail them to me whenever it suits you.”

“Mail back your things? What? What the fuck are you going on about?” Paige asks, a bewildered expression taking on her face. She reaches out as if she wants to shake Azzi but seems to think better of it. 

Azzi doesn’t say anything, as she sidesteps Paige into the house, putting in the utmost effort to make sure no part of herself brushes up against the older girl, knowing the inevitable burst of electricity when they touch would be enough to break her resolve. She places the box of Paige’s stuff on the coffee table in the living room, before turning back to Paige. 

“I’m giving you your stuff back,” Azzi repeats, “I’m giving you what you want.”

“What I want? When did I ask for my stuff back?”

Azzi draws in a deep breath, fighting desperately against the screams of you don’t want this in her own head, “I’m giving you a clean break Paige. I’m letting you go.”

Saying those words feels a lot like free-falling. Her stomach lurches at the way Paige’s features scrunch up in pain and she’d never meant to do that, but Azzi’s so tired. She’s so tired of this push and pull, the way they seem to hurt each other every fucking time, the way things get so close to going right and then go wrong any way. The bitter truth of life, Azzi has forced herself to admit, is that it doesn’t matter how hard you fight, sometimes the darkness wins out anyway. 

“You think-,” Paige stutters, clutching at her chest, “you think this is what I want?”

“Well isn’t it?” 

“Of course n-”

“If I hadn’t called you that night would you have called me first Paige?  If I hadn’t gotten into that stupid accident, would you even have texted me ever again?”

Paige’s silence is an answer in itself . And although Azzi had known it, she can’t deny that there’s a part of her that had posed the question hoping against hope that Paige would have answered it with a resounding yes of course. She thinks maybe she should be used to the singe of disappointment that burns her skin by now but she’s never been immune to Paige’s fire. 

“That’s what I thought,” Azzi says quietly, “I’m tired of running after you Paige. I thought I was done after the Cayman Islands but then I- I don’t know- I don’t know why I called you that night when you- you clearly didn’t want that.”

“Azzi c’mon-”

“It’s my fault really. Because you've always been clear about it and I- for some reason- I just don’t listen. You were clear with it when you told me to go to UCLA and get out of your life. You were clear when you didn’t want me to come into your air BnB. You were clear when you told me to get out of the bathroom last summer. And when you left that night-,” Azzi pauses as Paige’s eyes widen, the words catching in her throat, “when you were gone that morning- every time you didn’t call- every time you didn’t text- you were always clear about it Paige and I- I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”

“You’re being really fucking unfair right now,” Paige accuses, “you’re mad because I didn’t want to be your fucking side whore? I’m so sorry I had more self-respect than that Azzi.”

Azzi blinks rapidly, her face still completely neutral, “excuse me?”

“You wanna blame me for those first two things, fine. But you have a whole ass girlfriend and you wanted me to be what? Just a girl you can fuck occasionally because you feel like it? Who the fuck do you think I am? I deserve so much better than that.”

“I don’t-”

“You wanna know why I left that morning?” Paige asks icily, “I woke up and the first thing I saw is your girlfriend’s fucking i miss you text. All that shit you said to me when I kissed you in LA about not wanting to be one of my groupies or whatever but what did you want me to be Azzi?”

When they were young and naive, the largest fight they’d ever had was about whether or not one of them had cheated in a game of horse. The allegations of cheater from a 15 year old Paige had seemed massive back then, but they pale in front of the accusations of cheater from a 22 year old Paige. It’s not that Azzi thinks she’s some prime example of a good samaritan and she can deal with people thinking she’s not all that, but it’s different when it’s Paige, it’s different to know that Paige could ever think so low of her. 

“You really think I’d do that you? That I’d make you my sidepiece or whatever?”

“What else am I supposed to think about you fucking me while you have a girlfriend?” Paige asks exasperatedly and Azzi flinches at the repeated use of the profanity. 

“Had.”

“What?”

Azzi grips the hem of her shirt, trying to focus her eyes anywhere but Paige, “I had a girlfriend. Past tense.”

“You- you broke up with Zoe?” Paige’s expression morphs from anger to confusion before finally settling on realisation. 

“I never wanted you to be a side piece. You think I don’t know you deserve better than that?” Azzi rubs her temple, as she tries to keep herself steady on her feet, “I know seeing that text hurt you but it’s not like you didn’t know I had a girlfriend. But- but if you’d just waited for me to wake up, god if you’d just talked to me once instead of jumping to conclusions then-”

“Then what?” Paige breathes out and Azzi doesn’t miss the little spurt of hope that’s taken birth on the older girl's face. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Azzi shakes her head, “that’s also past tense now.”

The thing with Paige is that anger is her protective mechanism. When she gets a little close to losing control of her emotions, or feeling too much, it’s what she falls back on so it’s not surprising that her tone is harsh when she speaks again. 

“How the fuck was I supposed to guess you were gonna break up with your girlfriend Az c’mon,” Paige takes a step towards her, “I’m not a fucking mind reader.”

“I never asked you to read my mind. I just- all I’ve ever wanted- is for you to just have a little faith in me- in us,” Azzi’s voice breaks on the last word. 

“That’s not fair. I was really fucking  hurt Azzi-” Paige begins, her voice pleading.

“And then you tried to hurt me back on purpose,” Azzi spits out as the façade of neutrality completely slips off, “you knew it was me calling and you had that girl pick up any way knowing exactly how it would make me feel.”

“Azzi,” baby blue eyes sparkle with tears and Azzi has to force herself to look away, because no matter how much she’s convinced that this is what needs to happen, seeing Paige break, will drown Azzi and she’s barely floating as it is. 

“I don’t enjoy hurting you Paige,” Azzi says softly, “and I don’t think you enjoy hurting me but for the last couple of years, I feel like that’s all we’ve been doing and I- I can’t do it anymore.”

It’s not something she’d ever admitted out loud, or even to herself, but once upon a time Azzi used to think her and Paige would have one of those stories, one of those soft, sappy fairytale-esque stories that had no chance of an ending that wasn’t happily ever after. And she hopes that maybe in another universe, maybe they did have that. Maybe in a universe where she chose UConn and things never went wrong in the first place. Maybe in that universe, they’re happy. But in this universe, they seem to be destined for misery. And Azzi thinks the saddest tragedy of it all, is that it feels like she’s ending a story that never even really got the chance to start. 

“So that’s it then, you’re walking away- you’re just- you’re fucking giving up?” Paige says bitterly, crossing her arms protectively over her chest and Azzi feels a flicker of annoyance light up against her ribcage. 

“Isn’t that what you did?” she accuses, “Is that not what you do? You walk away every. single. time. because you can’t deal with things getting just a little too fucking hard. And what? I’m just supposed to wait until you come back? Or chase after you like a pathetic little puppy?”

Paige flinches at the hardness in Azzi’s tone, mouth opening and closing but nothing escaping. 

“I’m so fucking tired of always being the one calling, the one showing up, the one trying. I’m so fucking tired of fighting for us when it feels like you’re fighting against me,” Azzi pauses,trying to blink away the tears she’d tried so hard to keep locked behind her eyelids, “if you wanna call that me giving up then okay, but I don’t think you realize just how fucking hard I want to hold on.”

Azzi’s not sure if it’s the way her voice cracks, or the absolute misery behind every word she says, but Paige's hard and cold expression is gone so fast it gives her whiplash. And then her Paige, the girl with the warm eyes and soft heart is back, looking at Azzi in a way that makes her want to believe in them all over again. Arms outstretched, Paige takes a step forwards and there’s nothing more Azzi wants then melt into them. It takes everything in her to step away instead. For a moment there’s nothing but them staring at each other in silence, a moment where Azzi tries to memorise everything about Paige just in case this is the last time. And then-

“What if,” Paige begins softly, “what if I entered the draft?”

Azzi looks at her in confusion, “what does that have to do with anything?”

“The Sparks have the second pick, it’s where I’m projected to go,” Paige bites at her lips, peering at Azzi through her eyelashes. 

The Sparks. The Los Angeles Sparks. 

“Is that what you want?” Azzi asks quietly, trying to prevent her brain from already coming up with dreams of stupid picnic dates at the park during sunset. 

Paige hesitates. And it’s enough for those dreams to crumble, because Azzi knows Paige just a little too well, knows exactly what that little bit of hesitation means. 

“I haven’t decided yet but if- if there was a reason that I should-”

“There isn’t,” Azzi says firmly, “it’s not what you want.”

“I don’t even fucking know what I want,” Paige argues and that doesn’t make it any better. 

“Then figure it out,” Azzi yells, frustratedly rubbing her hands over her face, “I won’t deal with you fucking resenting me and running away again in a couple of years- hell in a couple of months- because you regret your fucking decision.”

“I wouldn’t-”

“Please just stop. It's done. I’ve made up my mind” Azzi begs, exhaustion flooding into her body, “just- just let this go please.”

Paige meets her eyes with a stubborn fire, “I don’t fucking want to.”

“Well tough luck because I do.”

“Azzi,” Paige pleads desperately, trying to block Azzi as she beelines for the door, but the younger girl is quick to push past her. 

“Goodbye Paige.”

***

December 2024 

azzi please just let me in 

ur parent are saying u dont wanna see me 

and i get it 

but i can fix this i swear 

i know u know im here

please fucking let me in 

i fucked up 

i know 

im so fucking sorry

but dude we can fix this

just 

can u just fucking let me in

i really wanna see u 

i really wanna talk 

can we just fucking talk 

please 

merry christmas az

u know what fuck u actually 

didnt mean that sorry 

i was just mad 

u make me really fucking mad 

christmas breaks almost over 

i have to go back soon and ik u do too

we should talk before that 

ur so fucking stubborn 

but so am i

im not giving up 

i won’t 

January 2024

hi 

i miss you

ur really fucking annoying

not texting me back

but its fine

i’ll just fucking spam 

i had an ok day today 

practice was kinda ass 

not me tho

i was great

as always 

bet i made more threes than you did 

bro im watching ur game

and

what the fuck kinda airball did u just throw up 

get in the gym az jfc 

oh that was a good pullup

not better than mine

but decent 

been a fucking month azzi 

just fucking call me back 

or text me idk 

i miss u 

sooooooooooo

hows ur day

good? good.

hows mine?

oh kinda shit 

lets see

we lost in front of all these uconn legends

to their fucking rival 

everyones saying uconn fucking sucks 

some people are saying i suck

they might not be completely wrong 

now would be a good time to reply az 

like maybe make me feel better

fuck u actually 

what the fuck am i doing 

idk if u even read these 

February 2024

idk maybe i should stop 

like maybe only fucking psychos do this 

but idk bro 

i feel like ur gonna text me back eventually 

well sc was a shit show 

i mean we knew it but holy shit 

i really wanna talk to you about it

it’d mainly just be me fucking yelling 

and u giggling 

fuck i miss ur laugh

i miss you

idk if u just ignore these

so idk if ur gonna even see this 

but 

i wanted to tell you first 

before u saw it from somewhere else 

im staying at uconn 

u were right

i didnt want to leave yet 

i want my 4 years

but 

just dont think it means i didnt mean what i said

that i dont wanna be in la with u

i do

its not about that

i just need to do whats best for me

and thats staying here 

fuck

i get what u meant now

u didnt pick ucla over me

fuck fuck fuck 

im sorry az

is this how u felt 

when i didn’t text u back 

because it’s actually fucking hell 

i miss you so fucking much dude

i’m so sorry 

i’m really fucking sorry azzi 

for all of it

please just call me back

March 2024

last pac-12 tournament mvp!!

dude i’m so proud of you

we also won 

idk if u heard 

it wasnt easy either 

everything just always fucking goes wrong 

fucking pisses me off 

but oh well 

u know i dont even like texting 

idk how many messages ive sent u 

its gotta be hundreds atp 

insane shit on my part 

tf is wrong with me 

did u see the bracket

see u in the final 4 azzi 

April 2024 

i fucking told u 

i told you id see u in the final four

fucking meant it

fuck 

gonna kick yalls ass

revenge szn

we’re built different in march

cleveland here we fucking go 

but also

cant avoid me anymore 

i cant fucking wait to see you az  

***

UConn 87     UCLA 84 

There’s six seconds left to go and UCLA has control of the ball. The game today had been completely different from the on down in the Cayman Islands. That one had featured a UCLA team that had dominated from start to finish versus a UConn team still reeling from multiple injuries. This time around, UCLA seemed to have lost some of their shine and UConn had been on a tear. She would never give Paige the satisfaction of knowing it but her stupid goading, her incessant smirking because UConn seemed poised to win handedly, had gotten in Azzi’s head for most of the game. The fourth quarter had seen UConn enter with a 11 point lead that had held study until the last two and a half minutes when something had finally clicked for Azzi. 

“Told you, you should have fucking come to UConn,” Paige had sneered while casually dribbling the ball and that had been enough to break Azzi out of whatever funk she’d been in. All of her anger and frustration at Paige seemed to culminate into that one moment as she’d swiped the ball straight from Paige’s hands, narrowly avoiding a foul. An easy steal-and-score layup was followed by two signature three pointers, created by her team’s defence, and suddenly the lead had been cut down to three. On the other side, Muhl had been called for an offensive foul and immediately Coach Close had called for a timeout to advance the ball. 

When both teams get back on the court, Azzi, with her competitive streak in full control of her emotions, relishes in the way Paige’s face is contorted up in frustration. But it isn’t just this game that has Azzi irritated. Paige had been relentless since both teams had landed in Cleveland in trying to corner Azzi. She’d known it was gonna happen since she’d read the text but still Azzi had hoped that maybe the blonde would just let it go, would understand just how much Azzi didn’t want to have to deal with this. Because seeing Paige hurts. All the missing and yearning of the past few months seemed to have blended into this ball of tight hot pain that had burst the minute Paige had smiled at Azzi. She knows Paige means well, and it’s taking everything in her to ignore the part of her that’s secretly enamoured by how hard the point guard is trying finally, but Azzi just can’t do it again. She can’t let Paige in again and then spend every other second scared that Paige will run away again. 

The whistle blows and Charisma gets ready to inbound the ball. The play call had been to just get it to Azzi but it’s clearly one that UConn had anticipated, because she finds herself swarmed with Paige and Muhl both trying to make sure she doesn’t get the ball. Instead, it’s Kiki who gets the ball and the countdown starts, as Azzi fights to get herself free, running off of screens, to get herself open on the three point line. It takes too much time and they don’t have any more timeouts left. Kiki throws it inside to Lauren who misses the layup but gets her own rebound and somehow the ball finally finds its way into Azzi’s hands. And with barely a second left to go, and Paige’s hand firmly in her face, Azzi throws up a prayer. The arena goes deathly silent as the ball hits the back and then circles every inch of the rim before spilling over the edge and falling straight into Edwards’ hands. 

The crowd erupts in deafening cheers as the UConn bench rushes to the court, jubilantly hugging each other with Paige in the middle. Azzi blinks rapidly, refusing to be caught shedding a single tear on camera. Her teammates look distraught and Azzi feels disappointment curling into every crevice of her skin she’d almost had it. In the grand scheme of things she knows that, that shot would have only guaranteed overtime and not a win but still, it wouldn’t have meant a loss. And she knows this one isn’t completely on her either but it doesn’t mean that she doesn’t feel the burden of it on her shoulders any way. 

But despite it all, seeing Paige’s bright smile stretch all over her beaming face as she celebrates with her team, soothes the sting of the loss just a little bit. Azzi still remembers late night calls and Paige’s broken voice too well, her brain imprinted with the misery of a girl who had just wanted to play the sport she loved and couldn’t. And even if everything between them resembles the remnants of an earthquake, Azzi can’t help but be just a little bit happy for Paige. 

The handshake line is better this time around with no one being unnecessarily hostile. One team is too happy to care and when Muhl briefly hugs her, Azzi can’t help but be a little shocked by the affection. Her team is too despondent to be mad, and Angela briefly nods at Paige when shaking her hand, and gets a reassuring grin in return. Azzi has to force herself not to run away, if only for decorum’s sake, once she and Paige finally get to each other. Trying to keep herself steady, she reaches out her hand to counter Paige’s outstretched arms. The smile falls a little bit from Paige’s face as a more resigned expression takes its place. 

“Good game Bueckers,” Azzi manages to muster out. 

The last name stings but Paige does her best to not let it show, “good game Az.”

***

When there’s a knock on the door to her hotel room a little bit after 10pm, Azzi knows exactly who it is. The look that Charisma gives her as she goes to open it, suggests that she does too. 

“Oh thank fucking god, I thought maybe y’all left already,” and there it is, Paige voice echoing through her room and from where she’s perched on the edge of bed, her feet dangling over the side, Azzi catches a brief glimpse of the UConn point guard. 

“Had a little bit of a transportation issue. We’re not leaving til tomorrow morning,” Charisma explains, “what are you doing here Paige?”

Paige shuffles her feet nervously at the doorway, peering over Charisma’s frame in the doorway to catch sight of Azzi, “can I talk to Azzi?”

“First you kick my ass in the final four, and now you wanna kick me out of my own room?” Charisma asks, voice light but there’s an edge of seriousness to it. 

“I-uh-” 

“Az,” Charisma turns to Azzi with a questioning look, and Azzi sighs at having all the attention on her, “you wanna talk to her?”

Say no. Say yes. Her head fights with itself. And for the last few months, Azzi’s done well with listening to the logical part of her brain, diligently sticking to letting go. But that had only been easy to do because Paige hadn’t actually been there. Now that she is, with bright hopeful eyes fixed on Azzi, well, this time the emotional side wins out. She nods her head in yes at Charisma and Paige seems to glow all over. 

“You’re lucky it’s me and not Angela or Kiki or any of the other girls,” Charisma warns, “but I swear to god Bueckers if I come back and there’s a single tear-”

“Then you have my permission to fucking murder me,” Paige vows, her face a paragon of sincerity. 

Charisma nods once, stepping aside to let Paige in. The Bruin’s point guard looks at Azzi once more for confirmation and then, satisfied by the small smile Azzi shoots at her, she leaves the room, letting the door shut behind her. And then it’s just Paige and Azzi and the myriad of unspoken thoughts that seem to always linger between them. 

“Hi,” Paige says softly. 

Azzi stares up at her with tired eyes, “shouldn’t you be celebrating or something?”

“Still one more game to go. Gotta lock in for that first.”

“Then go do that. What are you doing here?”

Paige flinches at the harsh tone and Azzi feels a wave of guilt come over her. She doesn’t mean to be so hostile but she’s scared that if she gives in just a little, all of her will go tumbling down. 

“Sunday is the most important game of my life,” Paige says quietly. 

“I know- I know it means a lot to you.”

“It does,” Paige nods, as she takes a step forward, hesitating for a second, before she drags a foot stool over, so she can sit right in front of Azzi, “will you stay for it?”

“That’s not-,” Azzi sucks in a deep breath, her senses muddle by having Paige so close to her again, “I thought I was clear about- about us.’

“You were but I thought I was clear with my texts,” Paige counters. 

“Paige please.”

“I just-,” Paige pauses, leaning forward and staring intently at Azzi, “I don’t know how the national championship is gonna go. I don’t know if we’re gonna win or lose but I just- I know that no matter what happens, I want you there. Because if I’m gonna end up fucking crying, then I want it to be on your shoulder. And if I’m gonna end up celebrating, I want it to be in your arms. I just- I just want you there. With me. Always.”

Everything else floats away and for a moment, all Azzi knows is Paige, and the warmth that reverberates through her body at the earnestness in those words. If she could, she’d capture that feeling in a bottle and keep it forever. Because moments are fleeting. And when her brain catches up to her heart, and that voice in her head is back to echoing it won’t last, Azzi feels cold all over again. 

“You don’t believe me,” disappointment echoes in Paige’s voice; she’s always been a little too perceptive of Azzi’s emotions, “you think I don’t mean it?”

“I think you mean it now. I don’t think you’ll mean it forever,” Azzi shrugs. 

Paige is quiet, nerves on full display, as she cautiously reaches for Azzi’s hands with both of her own, an audible sigh of relief floating out of her lips when Azzi lets her. 

“I know I fucked up,” she begins quietly, thumb caressing Azzi’s palms, each trace sending jolts of electricy through the younger girl’s body, “like really fucked up and I get why you think that. I get why- why you’re so scared to believe me. And I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

A teardrop rolls down Paige’s cheek, falling onto their intertwined hands, and Azzi feels herself flinch, her own eyes beginning to glisten. 

“If I could go back in time, I’d change so many fucking things. I’d go back to the beginning- back to your room the night before you went to LA and- and I’d tell myself to shut the fuck up. I’d tell you that I supported you- that I understood that you weren’t choosing UCLA over me- and I’d- I’d tell you that it didn’t matter how many fucking miles away from me you were- we’d survive it. But I can’t- I can’t change the past. I can’t change that we fought. I can’t change that- that I was a fucking idiot for ignoring you for a year. I can’t change that I was a dumbass for leaving that morning.”

Tears are freely streaming from both of their eyes now as they grip each other’s hands tightly. There’s something cathartic about finally being able to cry, about finally being able to mourn the loss of what could have been together.And it feels a little bit like healing. 

Paige looks up at Azzi through watery eyelashes as she continues to speak, her voice wrecked with emotion, “and I’m not gonna make promises about how I’ll never do shit to hurt you again because god knows I can be really fucking stupid.”

They let out simultaneous giggles at that and Azzi can feel something in herself unravelling. 

“But what I can promise is that if you let me, every day- every fucking day that I live- I will try. To not hurt you. To make it up to you. To fix this. To fix us. And I can promise, that I will never ever fucking run away from you again. I know- I know it’s gonna be hard but I swear- I fucking swear- that I will stay right here and face it with you.”

“Paige,” Azzi whispers helplessly. It’s everything she’s wanted to hear and it’s too much. The voices in her head are too loud again, screams of she’ll hurt you, she always does, let her go colliding with shouts of it’s Paige, it’s your Paige, hold on to her. 

“You said- you said you were tired of fighting alone but you never- you never have to do that again because- because I’m here now. Fuck- Azzi I’m here. And I know- I know there’s so much we have to talk about and so much we still have to fucking deal with. But we can do that- we can- we can deal with anything. Because it’s us. Paige and Azzi. We can do anything. Together.”

Paige presses her forehead to Azzi’s, pulling their interlocked hands to her chest. They’re breathing in sync and Azzi can feel the thrum of Paige’s heart beat against her fingertips. Azzi’s eyes close of their own accord, as Paige’s lips brush over hers, her next words coming out in a breathless whisper. 

“Believe in me- believe in us just one more time, please.”

[moonchild-in-blue]

I have a lot of new TPWBYT thoughts and this is a VERY LONG post. Join me 💙

Maybe Distraction, and by extension Tomb, isn't about depression per se, maybe it's simply about falling in love with the wrong person.

Because yes, "I am broken into fractions", and yes "it's far too late for me". But then:

And I swear she is not like any other, no Something more than I could ask for (It's too late for me)

Oh and I am driven to distraction With each and every interaction

It's really sticking out to me. Because what does "she" have to do with anything? And then it hit me. When he says "I'm falling further again", maybe he means falling in love. Which in this album, means falling into your own death (I'll get there 👀).

He knows he's going down a very steep descent, but he can't help himself. "With each and every interaction I am driven to distraction". What happens when you're too distracted to notice the ground you walk? You fall. It's Hypnosis - he's caught in their trance, and falling into his grave/in love. But times 1000 - he's in too deep now, past the point of no return.

Starting with Hypnosis, every single song from Tomb is directly addressed to another person - and specifically, most if not all of them are a request or confession of love. It goes pretty back and forth - sometimes it seems they're both into it, others he's just the most miserable person that ever did live. And it goes round and round like that.

Not only that, they draw the comparison of going "under" (as in, under water) as being caught in that person's love (obsession? trap? desire?), as we saw before in Drag Me Under (which imo is the de facto percursor of Tomb. Blood Sport is the last on the album, but had been played before Sundowning was even a thing).

"You know you hypnotise me always // And you make it more than I could ever feel before // And I am almost under"

"And I am certain, no, that you and I are a crashing course // You will be mine''

"Push down into membranes and layers // Creating a slow dissection // I stumble into your tar trap"

"I'll find a different harbor to lay my anchor in // But I'm still full of the love you want // Still waking up beneath it all"

"So won't you fall for me? Won't you fall for me? // With my love as your garden* won't you fall for me?"

"I'm caught up in her design // And how it connects to mine // 'Cause I'm dying to melt through to the heart of her molecules"

"I can tell I'm falling further again // And I swear she is not like any other, no // Something much more than I could ask for // (It's too late for me)"

"You come crawling back to me but I'm already on the ground* // My love withers and chokes in perfect awe"

"As you breathe me out // I drink you in // And we go beyond the farthest reaches // Where the light bends and wraps beneath us // Let the tides carry you back to me"

"And it seems my hell is your high water // Wash me clean again before I pull myself beneath the waves // I will accept that I can't pretend we will ever be together"

"I'd give anything to borrow your indifference // I'd drink you in // And I'll live like I've got missing limbs // For you"

*garden and ground, the way I see it, could very much mean the bottom of the ocean. What is a whale fall? A phenomenon where the the carcass of a whale sinks down and turns into an ecosystem for other living organisms. An underwater garden if you will. But ☝️ Hold your 🐎🐎, we'll get there-

Like That specifically mentions "Fall into your eyes like a grave // Bury me to the sound of your name". The name of the album? This Place Will Become Your Tomb. What place? The eyes. The watcher (whale eye official art by Nemesis). The beholder. The void beyond. 👁️👄👁️

Also! Also! Let's take a little peep at this succession of lyrics 🧐✍️

"Lift me out of my own skin // Leave nothing left // Take everything"

"Or are you simply waiting to save your love for someone I am not?"

"And I feel like I'm losing touch with what I am again"

"Every once in a while something changes, and she's changing me // it's too late for me now, I am altered"

"And I choke myself on sacred vapour Waiting on some holy favour // basking in the solace of regret*"

(which directly feeds into-)

"[I'd give anything] to swallow my desire and choke on it"

Which makes it seem like this person he's in this perpetual push and pull is actively changing him (or making him change himself) into someone he is not. They don't want the whole of him, so instead of either embracing it all, or leaving him be (hello The Apparition 👀), they pick and chose which parts of him are more convenient and leave the rest untouched.

Because who wants to deal with someone who is imperfect and insecure, and who feels everything so deeply (me, I do)? He's full of the love they want, but that is far too real for them (hello avoidant attachment, I see you and I feel called out). So they just keep this game of catch and release up long enough to fulfill their needs. And Vessel of course is fully aware and willing, because the alternative is being alone, and that is an absolute no no.

"Okay op, but aren't you forgetting about Atlantic? How does that fit into your theory?"

First of all ☝️🤨, don't EVER imply I have forgotten Atlantic. Ever. She's my everything 4 everz 😤💙

NOW! Here's the fun part (and by fun I mean absolutely devastating, call me a flight attendant the way I be yelling "brace! brace!")

(also tw for suicide and self-harm mention -> based on the actual lyrics)

(also this is just interpretation of the story told on the album and NOT speculating any real life events that may or may not have inspired it)

Remember that little *solace of regret? Well. What exactly could he be regretting from? And how is that any form of solace? We KNOW that boy hates the silence of being alone, so why does he mention that on the song he's very much alone?

Well. Doesn't Missing Limbs feel like a goodbye of sorts? Like he's leaving a final message to Them (being whoever he's been addressing to throughout the album)? The one song he reminisces of things past (" it still makes my blood run cold to remember what you did before // the stories that you never told to me"). But hey, that is not exactly true, is it?

Because High Water ALSO has a particular line about reminiscing things that have happened - "You are still a perfect of what all of these scars on my arms are for // If I can hold myself together". And how does that fit into it?

Assuming said scars (trenches; sutures; wounds as refered elsewhere in the album) were a byproduct of that relationship (because there's only so much a person can take, and going by High Water again, ultimately he can't - "I can't hold myself together"), it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to assume he would escalate to even more serious measures should that relationship continue to bring him down. Which according to the album, it absolutely did. ☹️

In Missing Limbs, he sings:

Oh, but worry not The blessings rain on battles in the heaven's arms And my polite offenses won't last for long The eager apprehension is wearing off I'd give anything To balance your conviction with certainty To fall asleep without you lying next to me To sever my connection with everything

Which, first of all, OUCH 🥺🫂, and second - this mirrors Atlantic perfectly.

So flood me like Atlantic, bandage up the trenches Anything to get me to sleep So flood me like Atlantic, weather me to nothing Wash away the blood on my hands

Don't wake me up

It's pretty well established that Atlantic is written in the pov of the aftermath of a failed suicide attempt (whether voluntary or not? up to interpretation). But if you take into account the song RIGHT AFTER, and all subsequent songs, it feels very disjointed, does it not? It starts to make more sense with FFM, and it catches up on High Water, but it takes a long time to get there.

HOWEVER, going back to Missing Limbs. If we start the album on Hypnosis, we can see the gradual progression of events - less good times, more sad and sad and angry and sad. "What about Telomeres?" Call it the eye of the storm. That last glimmer of fruitless hope before you fully succumb to agony. Missing Limbs has him wishing to sever his connecting with everything, to fall asleep. And it ends with an interrupted transmission - he reached the bottom. He got his wish. He went to sleep.

(or to Sleep? 👀 wink wonk)

So maybe Atlantic actually takes place AFTER Missing Limbs, and the whole album is a giant flashback (perhaps from his pov as he's being kept in the hospital, drifting in and out of consciousness) of the events that took place leading to his attempt. Like when a movie starts with the ending, and you get to discover how they ended up there [insert Kuzco joke here] [it's not in poor taste, lighten up buddy].

And the whole thing with the whale fall, going back to TLYW and FFM - he is convinced he will never stop loving that person, regardless of their own feelings (he really puts the hopeless in hopeless romantic, my goodness Vessel 🥺). And he's also aware that there is no future for them, no matter how much he changes himself (to the point of unrecognition) (ouch ouch ouch).

So if he can't be with them, he sure as hell won't live with all that pain and grief alone - he's going down, and taking his love with him. Perhaps once he's gone they can appreciate it (as seen on Descending). He made his tomb at the core of their love, and let his own love "wither and choke", to ultimately feed into their garden, a bitter fodder. This is our whale fall; a crumbling temple of himself*.

*which btw, that line:

"Crumble like a temple built from future daughters"

always intrigued me because he says built FROM future daughters, not BY. As in, they are part of the structure of the temple, not its makers.

And if he is the one crumbling down, perhaps the "temple built from future daughters" line could possibly indicate his future lineage? As in, he's so broken and on the verge of death, that there is simply no future for a possible family? Or maybe an indicator of generational trauma being passed on?

Or a mother figure? A temple built by future daughters = a mother. So crumble like a mother? Is this a commentary on the patriarchy? On his own mother? Perhaps a precursor to AYRO, which it's written from the pov of a parental figure seeing their child struggle? Much to think about.

And maybe I'm talking out of my ass and this is a well-known take on the album BUT! I! Haven't seen it! And honestly have never really thought it through from this angle. Because, to me, Tomb is such a sad, agonising album. It has BEAUTIFUL moments, YES. But the overall vibe - to me - has always been linked to depression and grief and all that. Which technically it is but. I don't know, this is a particular nuance that I, for some reason, have never took the time to fully dive into (within the album alone, versus against the discography as a whole).

And by that I mean, I usually look at the two themes of the album as simultaneous lines that intersect, but are ultimately independent from each other, whereas now I'm looking at it as a single line formed by several branches. If that makes sense.

Also fun fact that I wanted to include but had no place to - I think it's safe to assume "tar trap" (in Like That) refers to oil spills in the ocean, given the context of the song and the album. But I just found out Tar Trap are a brand of cigarette filters, which is a little bit funny (interesting?) in the context of Gethsemane 👀

Anyways!! It's been A While since I went full conspiracy mode and imo there is never enough talk of Tomb my beloved blue album so! If you read this whole thang, I'm sorry and also I love you and also please take some of the complimentary snacks 🤲

🍓🧃🌭🧃🍰🍬🍨🍊🍿🍎🧃🍪🥨🥭

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

[cyanocophrenic]

Obsession

I'm not a complicated woman, I swear.

I'm so boring.

I'm quiet. I live alone. I drink decaf. I file my taxes in January. I majored in art history.

I crochet, goddammit! I crochet cardigans, the most boring kind of sweater! And then I wear them! Like Mister Rogers, aka the plainest person to ever exist.

No one could possibly suspect how deeply weird I am.

I've been perfect. I've never left a browser history. I've never worn blue and red together. I've kept myself as trim as my mom's genes let me. No one's ever caught me watching the movie.

You know... the movie?

You know the movie.

Well, I mean, I guess it's "movies" now, but... I know which one left a violet stain on my soul.

You can't blame me.

Well... you certainly can't, anyway.

If you were me, maxed out on good karma, toeing every line you've ever met, perfectly alone in all the universe... what would you have done differently? What other choice was there?

Never mind how I got the chance. As soon as I found out about it, there was nothing else I could do. Everything I thought I knew about myself fell away. All the safe choices and good behavior just gone, poof, like they never existed. This is my fate, it was made for me.

I was always going to be the one chewing this stick of gum.

In the end, it was like they wanted me to find it.

Dodging through an unlocked door, stealing through low-lit corridors, drawn to it like the heartbeat of the universe.

It's so silly. I know it is. Some stray neutrino passed through my brain as a child, and I watched the wrong movie, and I twisted into whatever it is that I am. All I've wanted is to become something else, and that something is big, and round, and draped in the shreds of the last clothes she'll ever wear.

That last part is really important for reasons I just can't explain. All that matters is that I literally get too big for my britches. I just need to hear that little "pop". That's it.

I can never seem to imagine past that. Regardless, I'm putting the gum to my lips, completely, defiantly unaware of how this will end. It's on my tongue, and the flavor is unreal. I guess they didn't bother with the roast beef or anything. It's just violently fruity. Juicy, and warm, and way too sweet.

A door creaks open. I was so sure I wouldn't be found, but joke's on them. It's too late.

It's a mousy woman woman with huge glasses, wearing a lab coat. She peeks around the door before she enters, like she doesn't want to offend me.

"Oh-" she says.

"Um," I say around a mouthful of juice. "I-"

And then I think, hey, wait, I've made my choice. It doesn't matter how this ends! What's she going to do, save me? I'm in control here! Kind of!

"... um." I say again. Actually, it's hard to talk. I'm swallowing a lot of juice.

She steps all the way into the room.

"Uh, hi," she says, fiddling with her glasses. She looks at me, and then down at her clipboard, and then back to me. "Are you-"

"I'm not spitting it out," I say, before gulping down another burst of juice. I'm starting to feel kinda bloated.

"No, I mean. Um," she says, "sorry, I'm new here, um."

I'm tired of my mouth working so hard, so I make a show of swallowing the gum.

"Oh!" she says, "that was fast," and she makes some sort of mark on her clipboard.

What.

"Um, could you follow me this way, please?" she asks, gesturing toward another door I hadn't noticed. One of those big ones like they have on loading docks that roll upward.

"What?" I ask, reflexively.

She walks over and pushes a big red button on the wall. The door starts lifting.

"Oh, sorry, we can wait if you want," she says, "you'll fit, don't worry."

I start to have a thought, but then my stomach gurgles and I feel like I'm on an elevator going down. I clutch my sides and double over, but... it's getting hard to bend.

"Don't worry," she says again, "it just feels weird, but you'll be okay."

The thought comes back. Someone was expecting this. They're prepared for this.

I look back at the pedestal the gum was resting on. It's already been replaced with another piece.

The worst feeling in the world is thinking you're making a defiant last stand, only to find out that the hill you chose to die on was ready-made for your dramatic exit, and that you'll be asked to leave through the gift shop and pay way too much for the photos they take of you. You know, figuratively.

I have to do something they won't see coming.

I turn around and lunge for the new piece of gum. Or, at least, I try to lunge, but my thighs are filling up and it's getting difficult to move dramatically. Still, I grab it and cram it in my mouth. Might as well be a brat.

"Oh!" she chirps again, and makes another mark on her clipboard. "Wow! So-"

God, I'm feeling so full. I can feel every inch of my clothes pulling taut against my skin. I gave in to temptation and wore a blue top, blue jeans, and a red belt. I couldn't help myself. Now, that belt is starting to dig in, trying to squeeze me in half.

I swallow the new gum, too, and look down at myself. I'm getting pretty big, bulging out around the belt. My shirt is riding up, exposing my swelling blue belly to the cool air. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her make another mark.

I try to touch my growing midsection, but it's getting hard to move my arms. They're filling up too. I feel warm all over now.

"You're blowing up so fast!" she says.

She opens her mouth to say something else, and that's when my belt snaps apart. My equator surges outward, jiggling and sloshing from the violent release.

It feels so, so strange, becoming something completely alien to what you use to be.

That said, it also feels amazing. Swelling bigger and bigger with gushing blueberry juice, bursting out of- wait.

I'm still growing, but besides the belt, everything's still on.

I try to look down again, but all I can see is the blue horizon of my belly. I flap my hands in frustration.

The lady speaks up again. "Since you're likely unable to move by yourself now, may I have your permission to roll you?"

"Um," I say, trying to think. I'm freaking out a little right now. "Uh."

I need this. It's all I've ever really needed. I just need need need to blow up and burst out of my clothes, that's it, and who cares what happens to the blueberry that used to be me.

All I need is to burst one little button and I'm done. I'll have won. Good day, miss.

The problems is, I'm perfectly round now, and my jeans are so, so tight but haven't so much as snapped a stray thread.

"Miss?" she says, "may I roll you away?"

I try to think of something to say, just to stall for a little more time. I'm so close, so so close.

Instead, I break down.

"Please," I beg her, "I'm going to lose my mind if I can't pop this button."

"Hey-" she starts, but I'm in a full-on panic right now.

"I have to, I have to, I don't know if I'll ever get another chance to be a blueberry, and like what if you roll me away and I never get juiced and I'm just stuck like this forever which would be hot but still or like what if this is as big as I can get and it's just impossible like what the fuck who even makes clothes that fit spherical women I knew I should have worn the red ones-"

"-but-"

"And I know what you're thinking! She broke the rules, it doesn't matter what she wants, she's just a blueberry now, blueberries don't want things, they're not even people! She had her chance and she blew it except she couldn't even blow it-"

"Miss! Please," she snaps, and she walks over, reaches up, and pinches my lips closed.

We lock eyes, because where else can I look, and for a moment, I just cry silent blue tears down my puffy cheeks, pouting all the while.

Then she smiles, and says, "I'm a trained professional, Miss. I can help you with that." She lets go, brushes her frizzy hair out of her eyes, and disappears behind me.

I feel her warm little hands on either side of me, like she's trying to give me a weird hug. Then I feel her squeeze into me. It feels startling, she must be way stronger than she looks. The pressure builds more and more, and I can hear her making an adorable little straining noise.

Then, there's a pop, and immediately a sense of relief. I hear a little zipping noise as the fly on my jeans explodes open. I gasp at the sensation.

Finally.

I give a little shudder, releasing the tension I hadn't realized was building the whole time. How Freudian of me, I guess. The oral stage ain't got nothing on this.

"Now then," she says, appearing in front of me again, smiling wider, making yet another mark. "May I please roll you away, Miss?"

[idorukiss]

Heres a sorta drabble/headcanon of sorts of how I picture MC's relationship with Rafayel would devleop~ I'm not much of a writer but the brainrot is real and im working on making similar ones for the other boys too!

1,051 words || You can also read it on ao3

‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙ Xavier ・ Zayne ・ Sylus

There have been many different things in Rafayel's life that inspired him when it comes to his art, But nothing took control of his heart so intensely as much as you have. Like a whirlpool you shook him to his core from that first meeting, and all he wants to do is capture you on his canvas for eternity.

It really was quite the blessing with how willing you were to become his bodyguard- not only can he keep you within arms reach but you can also protect him from all the shady people after his life. Like killing 2 birds with one stone, except you were so much stronger and beautiful than any stone he’s ever set eyes on before

He absolutely felt like a flirt to you at the start with all of the compliments and casual physical touch between you guys, He just loved to say how amazing you are while enclosing you in a deep bear hug. It was strange at first you'd admit, but it never felt like he was trying to make any passes at you or act like he was expecting anything in return. Perhaps that's just how he acts with people he trusts?

When Rafayel isnt painting, you two spend a lot of time outside finding inspiration all around. He usually has a sketchbook with him scribbling away anytime he sees something interesting- the landscapes, pretty flowers, or even a parfait you guys got to share. You’ve seen some of these sketches as he works on them, it always amazes you how much detail he can capture with so few lines.

He never let you fully flip through the sketchbook however, claiming all sorts of reasons why, like that the drawings were scared of the sunlight or you had to go through many trials to be worthy. It was obvious how much he cherished it and you respected his wishes, though it would be nice to reminisce on some of the good times you guys had together again. Though its not like your phone wasn't filled to the brim with photos already

Late one night, you stop by his place to make sure he didn't need any motivation to finish a painting for a deadline set the next morning. You have confidence he could make it in time, he always did, but you want to help him as best as you can otherwise. When you arrive you spot a stunning completed painting and a Rafayel sleeping on the sofa below it- both stunning as they're illuminated by the moonlight.

Taking it upon yourself to clean up his supplies a little, just enough to not be a walking hazard of course, you spot his precious travel sketchbook on the floor. Surely he wouldn't mind if you took a little peak in it, you'd love to see how he finished the last landscape you guys saw before he locked himself up to work. As you flip through the pages you see so many familiar sights from your time together so far, but scattered around them filling maybe even more pages was many drawings of a person. Of you. All surrounded by hearts and little notes about things you've said.

When did he have a chance to draw all of these? Is this how you look to him?? Questions race your mind as your face flushes at the image of him intensely scribbling in the sketchbook as you dance around the beach being dumb. You decide to grab a pencil and add your attempt of a sketch of him in the back, signing it with a little heart of your own. It’s nowhere near his skill level but something that captures how you feel, and maybe he would get a chuckle out of it once he spots it.

You don’t realize when the casual acts of affection he started out with turn slightly more romantic- going from linking arms together to holding your hand, and you swear you feel him press little kisses on the top of your head every time he wraps his arms around you. But you don't hate it, in fact it makes your heart flutter every time you realize it

Rafayel often messages you at the most random times to meet him somewhere, usually it was because he found a stunning view and wanted to share the experience with you. Sometimes he would even show up at your apartment to whisk you away, and every time it filled you with joy. These dates and every moment you get to spend with him fill your heart with so much warmth.

One particularly warm night you were woken up by a call inviting you to the beach near his studio. It was worth crawling out of the bed at an ungodly hour, not only for the view but for him. While you were admiring the waves, he couldn't keep his eyes off you as a cautious pinky is hooked around yours. Two faces flush as you look at him, it lasts for only a moment before its interrupted by your watch.

Your face falls as you read the notification “It looks like I got a last minute mission in the morning…I guess this means I have to head back already.” As you take a heavy step to start walking away he reaches out to stop you with a pleading look on his face “Wait, don’t go yet” “Rafayel…. I’m sorry, I really am. This night- everything was wonderful, it really was” “Can’t you just stay the night?” He wraps his arms around you, nuzzling his face into your neck “Please just stay the night, I don’t want you to leave.” Your heart flutters as you wrap your arms around him in return “Okay, I’ll stay for you my sweet painter”

He is the most clingy man you’ve ever met, constantly torn between wrapping himself around you while peppering every inch of skin with kisses and diving headfirst into hundreds of paintings with you as his muse. His studio would be covered in nothing but paintings of you if he didn't have to focus on his commissions.

He sculpted out a place in your heart that held him, and in turn you've devoted yourself to him- loving him with every fiber of your being

[fireniceicenfire]

How our story began

Hi guys!! I was bored and wrote this. I think it turned out cute, so I hope you all like it!

This is just kinda how you and Art met, so...yeah.

TW: like one swear word, so very slight cursing. That's the only tw...

Jeez, your day was busy. 8:00 A.M -class 9:00 A.M - another class 10:00 A.M - study Noon - short lunch break 12:15 - another class Basically, classes and studying until 2 in the morning.

It felt like every day was like this. Running all around campus from sunrise to dawn. No amount of sleep or relaxation could ever make up for your days.

It was currently 9:54. You were walking to the library to study. You were on day 9 with around 5 hours of sleep and an overwhelming amount of classwork, and it was starting to mess with your head. Every step felt like 100, and carrying your textbooks felt like you were being pulled underwater by a massive metal weight. Your eyes could barely stay open. You felt like you could faint at any moment.

As you barely move one foot in front of the other you suddenly run into somebody. Not just some shoulder bump, you completely run into the person. As you slam full force into the person you stumble backward, landing hard on your ass. You groan and look up, preparing to apologize to the person you just rammed into, but no words come out when you see the person standing before you.

It was the most gorgeous man you had ever seen. Gorgeous blue eyes, wavy blonde hair popping out from a backward red Stanford tennis cap, a matching red short-sleeve shirt with a white long-sleeve underneath. Everything about him was so beautiful. It was almost hard to look at him.

“I’m so sorry, are you okay, miss?” He spoke in a voice that almost made you melt right then and there.

“Oh yes, I’m fine..” you say as you stand up, grabbing your two textbooks. He looked at you with a concerned expression, as if trying to see if you were being truthful.

As you look at him more and more, you realize he looks… familiar. You squint slightly, and it clicks. He’s Art Donaldson. Stanford tennis star.

“What’s that look for?” He questioned, a small smile creeping on his face

“Nothing, I just realized who you were.” You say, making him let out a hum of acknowledgment.

“So if you know who I am, shouldn’t I know you?” He said, hinting for you to share your name with him.

“Y/N.” You simply said. Once again, he let out a hum of acknowledgment. One more of those and you might just-

“So… where are you headed?” He said to continue the conversation.

“Library. I have to study some.”

“I think I’ve seen you there before. You tend to go there a lot, huh?” He continues.

“Yeah. I’m serious when it comes to academics."

“Understandable,” he started, hesitating before he finished his sentence. “Not to intrude on your business, but you look a bit tired. Are you okay?” He said, concern rising in his voice once more.

“No I'm okay, I just have this daily routine and it’s been draining me a bit.”

“That doesn’t sound too good.Why dont you take it easy?” He questioned.

“I mean I could, but what would I even do with the extra time?”

“I have an idea.” He said, a lopsided grin coming over his face.

And this leads to your and Art's first date. After this day you and Art have been extremly close, some would say 'attachted at the hip.'

#bestcoupleever.