#trying to draw ame every day before she goes...

[ministarfruit]

I always wanted to draw her in pants

[helianthus-hellion]

modern-day house m.d. episode where the patient is transmasc and on T, and after house reads his file he goes in and is reading off prescriptions like "estradiol cream, finasteride, prescription face wash, prescription deodorant... god, it's like you don't even want to be a man!" and the patient says "just because i wanna be a man doesn't mean i have to suffer all the shitty side effects" and house goes "it's all shitty side effects! being a man sucks!" before tossing the file down on the little tray table thing and leaving.

chase and cameron exchange A Look in the room and then while they're walking down the hall cameron's like "we should talk to him about it - maybe he'd be... happier? if he transitioned?" and chase rolls his eyes and is like "just because he thinks being a man sucks doesn't mean he's trans, every guy hates being a man at least some of the time" and then cameron gives him Another, Slightly Alarmed Look

we cut to house and wilson and wilson's looking at him like he's insane, going "so you... told the patient that being a man sucks?" and house laughs and says "sure did! i wanna know which will take longer - cameron coming to me concerned about my gender, or chase realizing he should be concerned about his gender. her gender? eh, probably easier to just stick with 'his' for now." wilson accuses him of being a sociopath and house looks fake-wounded and says "you know, if i am a sociopath, you're being ableist by attributing my cruel actions to my sociopathy, and if i'm not a sociopath then it's even worse that you're accusing me of being one just because i'm mean."

cuddy approaches house later and tells him that she heard about what he told the patient, and she is required both to make him take sensitivity training and also to provide him resources on transitioning if he wants to pursue that. house asks if him being a woman would make cuddy bisexual, and she raises and eyebrow and says "that ship sailed long ago" and doesn't elaborate on whether she means she isn't into house anymore so it doesn't matter or that she already is bi. house starts cyberstalking her to try to figure out if she slept with any of the women she's friends with on facebook. the team comes in to tell him about a new symptom and he shows them a photo of cuddy from college with a hot girl at a halloween party and is like "do you think they ever fucked? i think they fucked. even if they didn't, i'm gonna imagine they did." foreman tries to get them back on track but chase leans in to get a better look at the photo and it turns out to be wilson in a costume. there's an awkward beat of silence before cameron goes "SO, back to the patient!" and house makes a sort of dismissive "huh? oh, yeah, go test him for [whatever]" while staring intently at the photo.

he confronts wilson about the photo, wilson admits it's him, house starts by going "oh, yeah, but i'm the one having a gender crisis" but accidentally says "sexuality crisis" instead and wilson is like "house do you... do you think i'm hot in that photo?" and then we cut to chase asking cameron if she thinks he could pull off an outfit like that and they discuss it a little while doing a blood draw or LP or whatever. the patient gives them both A Look and is like "you know, you can get wigs and breast forms pretty cheap these days..." and chase is like "hm? oh, yeah i guess one of those costume supply sites would probably have stuff like that huh," and the patient raises his eyebrows at cameron who just shakes her head a tiny bit.

house accuses cuddy of sleeping with his best friend in the clinic lobby and she drags him into her office to ask what the hell he's talking about and he shows her the photo. she's like "yeah, we were at a halloween party together in college, so what?" and house says that wilson makes a really hot chick and asks if that's what awakened cuddy's "bi side," and cuddy just rolls her eyes and tells him to stop projecting his sexuality crisis onto her just because he thinks his best friend is hot. house asks if wilson was at least a good lay and cuddy says "find out for yourself!" before kicking him out of her office again.

house goes back to his office and cameron is pacing outside the door, and she looks nervous when he walks up to her. she follows him into his office and she has clearly prepared A Speech about how if he doesn't like being a man he doesn't have to be, and he doesn't even have to be a woman either, there's options, and it's never too late to transition no matter what people say, and he cuts her off like "yes yes you're very supportive, you clearly aced sensitivity training" and then he has the episode's Epiphany and it turns out that the patient transitioned too early and there was some (largely made-up and not actually backed by irl medical science) complication from starting his transition as a teenager, and the patient is like "oh so you're saying i did this to myself?" and house says "well legally at least, either your parents or the governor of new jersey did it to you - depends on who approved the hormones."

wilson comes up to him at the end and is like "you know, it's okay if you think i'm hot. and it's also okay if you're a woman. if you... ever need any tips on passing as one, i'm happy to help."

the ending is left ambiguous as to house's actual gender identity and, much like the autism episode, it kinda feels like the writers' room was full of heavy debate about whether house should be trans or not. we also never actually circle back to the fact that chase is definitely trans, it never comes up again, and this move pisses off both trans people and allies who wanted it to become A Story Arc and anti-trans people who are mad it even came up in a single episode, absolutely nobody is happy about how they handled that subplot.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Different Nervousness

Tim Bradford x fem!rookie!reader

✰ In your previous job as a waitress, your trust was betrayed by a boss who sexually harassed you. Now, your TO Tim Bradford makes you nervous. When Tim finds out why you distance yourself from him, he has a few thoughts he's willing to share.

✰ angst to fluff, mentions of past sexual harassment/assault, protective!Tim, protective!Lucy makes an appearance, fluff and comfort at the end, platonic/pre-romantic pairing, 3.8k+ words

✰ ⦇Pictures from Pinterest ⦈

✰ A/N: @nevereclipse , your Tim ideas never fail to impress me and make me run for the nearest keyboard🤍 (you mentioned CEO!Bucky and if I thought I could do his character justice, I would write a novella with him and this dynamic)

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

Maybe this was a bad idea.

Entering the roll call room of Los Angeles’s Mid-Wilshire police station, you take a deep breath, glance down to check your uniform is neat and tidy, then keep your head down and walk to the front row. You’re the only rookie from your academy class at this station, and the overwhelming sense of being alone and vulnerable hits harder than you expected.

What if this is worse than before? Am I a quitter for moving on the second something bad happened?

You attempt to push the negative thoughts out of your mind, but your first-day jitters stem from something more. As the room fills with officers ready to receive their assignments and start the day, you review a few procedural rules in your mind and then recite your name and badge number. Being prepared is essential for this job, but for you, it’s also a way to stay alive, remain safe and alert, and ensure that what brought you here can never happen again.

Then why do you look over every time someone new comes in? Think it’s him? Someone worse?

“Good morning,” Sergeant Grey calls as he enters. “Hollywood and Studio City got first picks of the academy graduates, but they went for quantity, not quality.” He smiles at you, his look welcoming and comforting before he asks you to stand and introduce yourself.

You stand, straighten your uniform, then smile as you say your name and badge number. “I’m incredibly thankful for the opportunity and am eager to apply what I’ve learned and keep growing.”

Grey nods as you sit, and you take a few shaky breaths as he goes over announcements. The room is mostly comprised of male officers, with a few females scattered throughout. You met Officer Lopez in the locker room this morning, and while she seems great, she already confided in you that she’s not working as a TO while you’re here. After you received your station assignment, you looked up some of the officers. Your options for who will train you seem limited, especially with a small academy class.

Tim Bradford is sitting beside Lopez. His arms are crossed over his chest, he glared at you during your introduction like he was trying to draw a murder confession from you, and beneath that intimidating exterior, you saw something like disinterest in his eyes. There are horror stories about him at the academy - plain clothes day washouts, people who gave up on law enforcement careers after the first week, and even a rookie who was arrested for using his badge to lure women home with him. He’s apparently a good teacher if you make it far enough to learn anything. You cross your fingers under the table, hoping you get assigned anyone else as a TO.

But it’s never that easy. Is it? What will I do if I have to spend the first months of my career with someone who makes me nervous? Someone with power over me? What if it’s just like before?

“Last but not least,” Wade continues, “our new rookie will be riding with Officer Bradford.”

“Good luck!” someone jibes from the back of the room.

You bite your lower lip and smile at Grey. Maybe Tim will see your character is good and understand you’re a hard worker, and decide to take it easier on you. As you stand, he’s already shaking his head and looking at his watch.

It’s going to be a long day.

“I don’t get it,” Tim says, breaking the tense silence in the shop.

“Get what, sir?” you reply softly, watching your surroundings.

“You were a waitress, right?”

“I was.” You press your lips together nervously, wondering where this is going.

“What made you decide to make the change from that to police work? I mean, we’ve had people working in blue collar jobs decide they needed to do something with more purpose, military guys desperate for the structure… but a part-time job as a waitress doesn’t typically lead to law enforcement.”

“I didn’t want to be a waitress,” you point out. “It made ends meet, but it wasn’t a career.”

Tim tips his head to the side, but you can tell there’s more he wants to know, to say.

Instead, he asks, “So, why do you want to be a cop?”

“To help the people who need it most,” you reply. “To be there, to fight for those who can’t.”

Tim raises one brow as he glances over at you, and you fight the urge not to sink into your seat. He’s not a huge guy, but he’s not small, either. His attitude makes him seem unapproachable, but if he decided to do something to you, you couldn’t stop him. Sitting in the shop together, you’re less than a foot apart, and even as you try to lean inconspicuously toward the door, you watch his hands warily, internally hoping that they stay on the steering wheel.

“Is that it?” Tim asks. “I expected you to trauma dump or add ‘I want to be the person I needed.’”

Swallowing, you nod. It’s not untrue; given the chance, you will be the person you needed, but you were on this path when you needed someone, so it didn’t change anything. Yet it simultaneously changed everything.

“I worked at the diner to pay rent and buy groceries while I was in the academy,” you confide.

“You were self-supported?” Tim clarifies. “I thought LAPD sponsored the whole class this year.”

“Not me,” you murmur. “The second I got my assignment I called and quit.”

Tim nods, then slams on the brakes in the middle of the street. He turns toward you, and you dig your fingers into the seat, your hands tucked beneath your legs.

“Boot, we’re being ambushed!” he exclaims.

He doesn’t notice how hard you flinch at his raised voice. Or if he does, he doesn’t care.

“Where are we?” Tim demands. “Less than a minute ‘til we’re both dead unless you radio.”

“Cochran Avenue between West 8th and 9th streets, southwest of La Brea and Wilshire,” you answer, focusing on keeping your voice level more than the panic threatening to send you into fight or flight.

“Good enough,” Tim mumbles as he turns back toward the road.

He props his elbow on the console between you, and you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth to keep yourself from crying. He’s close, and Tim Bradford is starting to scare you, making you more nervous than the threat of failing at what you’ve always dreamed of. Nervous of him not as a TO, but as a man.

“Hey,” Lucy Chen greets you in the locker room at the end of your first day.

She was one of Tim’s rookies, you remember. Somehow, she turned out fine.

“A few friends and I are going out for dinner,” she says. “Do you want to come? Celebrate your first day?”

“I appreciate the offer, but I can’t,” you say. There’s no reason to turn the invitation down, but you aren’t sure how much longer you can hold on. You need a hot shower and maybe a good cry, and then you can think about what the best thing to do is.

“Okay,” Lucy replies, smiling kindly. “Let me know when you’re free, and we’ll try again. Maybe the end of the week?”

“That might work. I’ll let you know. Thank you.”

“Of course. We’re a family, okay? Don’t forget that, even when Tim tests you.”

She pats your back as she passes you, and you stiffen. The last time someone told you a workforce was a family and laid their hand on you, it didn’t end well. As those memories resurface, you close your locker and hurry through the station, desperate to be alone.

In the safety and solitude of your apartment, you turn the shower on as hot as you can tolerate, then stand motionless under the spray. You can’t tell which drops on your cheeks are water and which are tears, but it doesn’t matter. With one hand braced against the shower wall, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Part of you wants to scrub this experience away and move on, but being a police officer is what you’ve dreamed of and worked toward for years. It’s what gave you the motivation and the strength to push through the hardest times. Now, as you think about riding with Tim again tomorrow, you wonder if it was a sign all along - a sign you’re not strong enough, not good enough, not worthy enough. You shake your head and begin humming your favorite song to distract yourself. Your eyes remain closed as you wash your body because you don’t want to face the fear that Tim might see what he saw.

Somehow - a miracle, perseverance, plain luck - you make it to the end of your first week as a rookie. Every second spent with Tim feels like an hour, but he’s a good teacher. You’re still wary of being alone with him, always vigilant of where you are and what he could do. He doesn’t speak to you much; when he does, he asks questions, poses hypotheticals, and encourages you to say what you’re thinking. The last offer is turned down every time because what you’re thinking is dangerous enough for yourself without telling your training officer that he makes you nervous. You spent the week on edge, waiting to be ‘tested’ like Lucy said. Yet, as you close your locker on Friday night, you feel like a student who’s been sitting quietly and taking thorough notes, unaware that the test will come when she least expects it and be different just because the teacher calls the shots.

“Hey, you’re still coming, right?” Lucy checks as she heads for the shower.

You nod, smiling as she cheers. It took three days before you were comfortable enough to shower at the station before heading home. Yet, as you lean over the sink to reapply your lipgloss, you smile at the progress you’ve made. Even if you can’t look Tim in the eye.

You step out of the station behind Angela and Lucy. Stopping when you see Tim leaning against his truck, you curl your hand into a fist at your side to channel your energy into something other than the urge to run.

“You invited a rookie?” Tim asks flatly.

“Yes,” Angela replies. “Because she’s a human. Which means-“

“It was a question, not a ticket to your TED talk,” Tim deadpans. He pushes off the tailgate of his truck and looks at you to ask, “Need a ride?”

“Way ahead of you,” Lucy interrupts, tossing her arm over your shoulder. “We’re going to talk about you all the way to the restaurant.”

“Your personal lives must be horrifying if I’m the best topic of conversation you have.”

“You’re really annoying.”

Tim smiles at her, and you release your hand. If every other woman here can trust Tim, why can’t you?

Because your friends trusted him too.

You and Lucy are the last to arrive at the restaurant, but you’re smiling when you walk in with her. She complains about the parking as you tell the hostess who you’re meeting. When the table comes into view, your breath catches. There are two open seats: one beside Angela and one by Tim. Lucy goes straight to Angela’s side, already talking to Nolan by the time you step toward Tim.

Lost in your thoughts about where you would be comfortable sitting, you don’t notice Angela Lopez watching you. She notices how your eyes skip over Tim, completely ignorant of how he stares at you with poorly concealed concern in his eyes. You can’t see it; most people can’t, but she’s been around Tim long enough to know that he’s not as annoyed with you as he constantly leads you to believe. She’s also seen enough to realize that there is more going on in your head than pondering the ethical implications of having dinner seated beside your TO.

“Take this seat,” Angela offers as she stands. “I can’t hear anything over Nolan anyway.”

“You asked for the story!” he argues, raising his hand from the table.

Angela winks at you, and you sigh in relief as you whisper to thank her. Tim’s jaw tightens as she sinks into the seat beside him. He doesn’t say a word to you for the rest of the night. For some reason, that makes you nervous, too.

You freeze when Tim yells your last name. With your hand on the door handle of your Uber, you take a measured breath before you turn back toward him. He walks toward you with his steps heavy and purposeful. Every muscle in your body tenses as your mind races.

“What was that, boot?” he demands, stopping at least three steps away from you.

“Hey, do you want to get another ride?” the driver asks through the rolled-down window.

“Yes, she does,” Tim answers for you, leaning forward to see the woman. “Thanks.”

The woman nods quickly, then pulls away from the curb.

“That wasn’t your choice,” you argue weakly.

“I’ll give you a ride,” Tim replies tiredly.

Absolutely not.

“So, what was that about?” he repeats.

“What was what about?”

Tim lifts his brows slightly, and you sigh as you look down at your feet.

“I wanted to talk to Lucy and Nolan about their experience as rookies,” you lie.

“You didn’t. I’m not sure you said anything other than your order.”

Was he watching me? You take a step back as you swallow, looking around to see if any of your other friends (or almost friends) are still around. You’re alone. Again.

“If you have a problem with me, I need to know,” Tim snaps.

“I… I don’t have a problem with you, Officer Bradford,” you assure him.

“Then what is going on?” he exclaims, moving his right hand up in question. “We place our lives in each other’s hands daily, and I’m not going to be able to trust you with other officers if you can’t be honest with me about one simple question.”

“I don’t have a problem with you,” you repeat, moving back another inch. “It’s just…” You make me nervous? Saying that would almost surely get you fired. “I have a bad habit of overthinking things in my personal life, and I didn’t want to say or do the wrong thing.”

Tim shakes his head, clearly not believing you. Still, he says, “I’ll accept that for now. Eventually, you’ll have to trust someone enough to tell them. If not me, Grey or Lopez. But letting that fear control you is not going to end well.”

You have no idea.

“Come on,” Tim sighs. “I’m parked over here.”

“I’ll just get another Uber,” you reply. “I don’t want to put you out. I live kind of out of the way.”

Tim opens his mouth to argue, then seems to rethink it. “Okay. Be careful,” he says before he turns and leaves.

“7-Adam-19,” dispatch radios, “Officer Chen has requested backup – diner at La Brea and Melrose.”

Tim flips the switch for the lights and sirens, and you press your hands against your thighs. The diner where you used to work is at La Brea and Melrose. It’s a popular area, so there’s no shortage of restaurants in that quarter-mile strip of asphalt. Yet, your breaths grow shallow. Tim speaks, but his voice is distorted and distant.

“Boot!” he snaps, drawing your attention.

“Sorry,” you murmur, blinking as your mind returns to the present.

“If Chen gives you a command that contradicts any of mine, listen to her, okay? She was first on scene, which means she has a better understanding of what’s going on.”

“Right. Yes, sir.”

Tim turns into a small parking lot and parks beside Lucy’s shop. You focus on the job, on each second, on each step, anything except how familiar it is to step onto the old tile as the bell chimes above you. In the weeks since you left, the diner hasn’t changed any. The brawl taking place between the booths doesn’t even surprise you.

“Bradford, you wanna try?” Lucy asks. “I’ve tried verbal commands but they’re not listening to me, and I’m not getting in the middle of that.”

Tim nods. He takes a step toward the group of men screaming and throwing punches; some are upright, others spread on the floor. Turning, he unplugs the jukebox and plunges the diner into relative quiet.

“You’re all going to jail if you don’t start complying!” Tim yells, punctuated by bringing his baton down on a nearby laminate table.

The men slow down and stop yelling, but don’t stop.

“That’s our window,” Tim says. “Chen, get the guy off the floor. Boot, the apron.”

It’s a job. You’re not alone. Cuff him and don’t listen to a word he says.

You pull the diner employee out of the group, pushing him onto a booth seat to cuff his hands behind his back. It goes smoothly as Tim and Lucy apprehend their respective suspects, but then the man before you realizes who you are.

He pushes back against you, but you’ve already cuffed him. When he realizes he can’t do what he wants, he turns and hooks his ankle around yours.

“You’re all under arrest,” Tim says, watching the other men. “The rest of you grab a table and keep your heads up.”

The men amble to the other side of the diner, lean against the shaky tables, and glare at one another as Lucy secures zip-tie restraints around their wrists.

“Remember what I told you about uniforms?” the man beside you murmurs, trailing his eyes up and down your body.

You push him back against the booth, turning him so his face is down toward the worn red pleather upholstery.

Tim turns quickly, his eyes narrowing as he looks at the cuffed man. “You two know each other?” he asks.

“Oh, you have no idea. Unless you do; I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Tim glances at you, but you’re now watching the other men to ensure Lucy is safe. You shake your head slightly, trying to ignore him.

“I see,” Tim murmurs. “Which makes you?”

“She didn’t tell you she worked here? I was her boss… in and out of work,” he brags.

“I think I’ve heard enough,” Tim decides, his voice even and low. “What do you think, Chen?”

“More than enough,” she replies, turning with disgust evident on her face.

You didn’t even know she was listening. Six patrol cars arrive outside as your former boss smirks at Lucy.

“One more word,” Tim dares. “To either of them.”

“Honestly, I’d love to see you do it,” Lucy adds.

“I think I’d like a lawyer,” he mumbles, shrinking into the booth.

“Officer Janssen,” Tim says when the door opens. “Take this one into custody right away, and maybe let the nice folks looking into fraud and workplace safety know that the boss of this establishment has some interesting business tactics.”

Janssen nods, then leads him out of the diner. You release a breath, then straighten your spine and wait for your next instructions. Tim and Lucy don’t move, watching you as the other men are led to the waiting shops.

“Are you alright?” Lucy asks when the door closes behind the last officer.

“I’m fine,” you answer, sending her a small smile. “Thank you.”

“Do you need anything?”

You shake your head, glancing at Tim. His hands are curled into tight fists, but his eyes are softer than you’ve ever seen.

“Come on,” he says, tipping his head toward the door. “Chen, we’re going Code 7 for a bit.”

“I’ll let dispatch know,” she replies. “Call me later for anything, okay?”

You nod, wringing your fingers together as she moves toward the door. Ready to get out of the diner and away from all the reminders of your past, you follow her. Tim hesitates briefly, then trails you back to the shop. In your seats, he turns off his body camera and instructs you to do the same. Wordlessly, he drives to a restaurant and orders your favorite drink, then parks in an empty area behind a strip mall.

It's a good time to be honest. And Tim stood up for you, so maybe – just maybe – he’ll understand that he was never the problem.

“You made me nervous,” you admit softly, looking at the lid of your drink.

Tim turns his head toward you but doesn’t reply.

“I don’t know why. Maybe it was just that you seemed annoyed with me from the beginning. Or it’s been a long time since I could trust someone so close to me.” You shrug and move your straw. “I-“

“I get it,” Tim interrupts. “He abused your trust.”

“Not all he abused,” you mumble.

Tim’s voice changes. Harder and laced with anger, he asks, “What?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Yes, it does. Listen to me, whatever he did didn’t change you and no one is going to blame you for the scars it left.”

“It started when we were working a graveyard shift alone,” you confess. Finally looking up at Tim, you add, “It got worse until I quit.”

“Did he…” Tim trails off, watching you with an unfamiliar look in his eyes.

“He didn’t do anything I could prove,” you answer. “Grabbed me over my clothes, lewd comments, threatened to go farther. He said he’d cut my uniform to get me more tips, and he- he said if I was lucky and he was right about what was underneath, he’d give me more than that.”

“I’m sorry.”

You furrow your brows at Tim’s apology.

“No one should have to deal with that,” he continues. “And I should have realized that you weren’t comfortable when I got close to you.”

“I don’t mind,” you murmur. “Not anymore.”

“And I appreciate the trust, but it’s not enough.”

“Sir?”

“I will work for your trust; make you see that I’m not just taking it. I respect you, but even if you were still working as a waitress, taking back your life and getting what you deserve is your right.”

You nod as Tim shifts into drive. The moment seems to have passed, but you don’t mind when your hand bumps against Tim's when you reach for the cupholders at the same time.

“You didn’t have to threaten him,” you say, smiling at Tim as you replace your body cams.

“I’m going to do more than that,” Tim murmurs.

“Sir?”

“I also think we should get a redo on dinner, but that’s up to you.”

You lean back against the seat and smile. Tim might have made you nervous before, but now that you can realize he saw past your fear and the marks your past left, you’re glad he’s on your team. And the idea of dinner with him sparks something similar yet completely different than the nervousness you felt before.

[alllgator-blood]

'FOGGY STREETS AND CHRISTMAS LIGHTS'

(part 3/3)

I'm gonna infodump about the backstory of this comic, don't feel obligated to read it because it's not cotl related it's just personal stuff, I just want to be able to write about it somewhere cause I can't really talk to anyone about it.

As always, thanks for reading this far, sorry my stuff has been such a bummer so consistently. This comic goes out to all my "christmas induced depression" homies, I left my house maybe like ~5 times all month and it was NOT pleasant hearing "IT'S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR!!" on the radio when I'm so ready for it to be over. Gonna take it reaaaaal easy til the year ends, you guys take it easy too!! Got some asks I have to respond to when I'm more stable but probably no new comic pages til january

Alright uhhh so this part of the comic is pretty much taken directly from the last time I saw my great-grandma alive, a few days before christmas. She didn't remember me, but at the nursing home there was a piano, and I sat down and played some stuff because I didn't know what to say. I was really into lisa the painful rpg at the time, and I played that "I've got the joy" song that the villain sings without realizing it was an old christian campfire song. She didn't really say much or move that whole night, just kind of gave me a polite blank smile, but started singing the words when I played the notes to that song.

I kinda stopped in shock, my dad frantically asked me to keep playing, so I did. While the comic I made is way more sappy than the actual moment was, I wish I'd cherished the moment longer. I didn't know it was the last time I'd see her alive. Every family christmas was held at her house when she was around, so it's been weird the past few years. I actually lost another dementia-addled grandma to cancer on christmas eve in 2009, so the holiday was already kind of weird for me on top of everything else that makes me sad this time of year. That's what part 2 was about, I'll spare the details but I wrote leshy to act out how I felt back then. Why are we all sad? This is supposed to be a happy time, all the decorations are up and we're almost all here, so why is everyone smiling yet everything feels so wrong? I feel like since leshy's canonically the most ignorant one to things lurking below the surface, he'd be the one to try and make everyone feel better but not quite understand why everyone is so miserable. My first memory of having self injurious behavior came from then, hence why I had leshy pull his leaves off in the last comic. It was confusing and frustrating and I was just old enough to comprehend something was wrong, but not old enough to understand the depth of it, it DEFINITELY didn't help that nobody helped me back then so I made leshy's siblings actually come in clutch instead of grabbing him/yelling at him.

That night with the piano was something that's stuck with me the few years she's been gone, but I felt kind of strange when I asked my dad and my sister about it and neither of them remembered it. The room we were in was completely empty so nobody else witnessed it but us three. I myself have a history of head trauma and memory loss (plus, native americans are disproportionately more likely to develop dementia... lucky us) so if I ever forgot about that moment, there'd be nobody left to remember it. Sometimes when I do comics, it's my way of going "this happened at some point, and the only evidence it ever happened was me witnessing it, so if something happens to me I want the memory to stay alive in some form."

Anyway. The autistic urge to overshare, am I right? Idk what my religious ass great-grandma would think of me drawing demonic comics about my last memory of her, she'd probably think it's funny though cause she raised my dad whose interests have always been "death metal and devil worship". I'm not sure if anyone read this far, I just hope my dumb comics can convey the things I can't say with my voice and struggle to say through text. None of this was supposed to be "feel bad for me!! Woe is me!!", it was supposed to me more like...cathartic? Healing? I almost didn't post this comic because it felt kinda weird, but seeing people connect with it made it worth it imo. Thank you

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

good kitty

Dave York x f!reader | wc: ~2k | explicit, mdni | ao3

summary: Dave wants a cat but ends up with you. his favorite thing to do? letting the kitty drink fresh cream.

warnings: smut, no y/n, established relationship, d/s dynamics, pet play-ish, soft dom!Dave, dick pronouns, handjob, a sprinkle of cock and balls worship, a dash of spit play, petnames (kitty, duh, baby x1), cum play, cum eating, daddy kink

a/n: i'm back on my Dave bullshit, let me hear you say wayo. btw i am the kitty in question, in case anyone wondered. forever grateful for @guiltyasdave's help and beta, she, too, is the kitty in question <3

His apartment felt awfully empty with no wife and kids around. It did not only feel empty but also lifeless, loveless. So Dave thought about a pet. He needed something more self-sufficient than a dog.

Maybe a cat then? He half heartedly started walking down the path of getting a pet and at a crossroad he stopped. It was either adopt a cat from the shelter or take home that cute girl that works at the shelter.

He chose you. You're so much better than a cat but unfortunately not as self-sufficient. You demand a lot of attention. And care. And reassurance. Yet he loves coming home now. Loves finding you in his apartment, giddy from whatever mischief you got yourself into that day, happy to see him again, hungry for every ounce of attention he is offering you.

He always thought he'd be more of a dog person, concerning every aspect of pet keeping. Snapping his fingers, whistling, a scoffed command and a dog obeys. They love to serve their master. A cat? Not so much. 

Snapping his fingers at you only makes you roll on your back and yawn. Whistling to get your attention only gives you zoomies and giggly fits. Trying to discipline you lets you hiss and shove glasses off the table. Pushing you off his chest to get up lets you sulk and brood.  

You are a handful. Two handfuls really and Dave is amazed by the patience he can muster for you. He is convinced that you need a spanking every single day but that would just make you leave. And it would turn his apartment into a life- and loveless space again. He has to become a cat person for you.

That's how Dave slowly learns to appreciate the big and small joys you bring him. The scratches on his back. Your pretty mews. The grace with which you arch and bend and stretch for him. Around him. 

He loves when you busy yourself with your favorite toys. Like his zipper. Up, down, up, down it goes the moment he sits down on the couch. Dave doesn't know who trained who because the moment one of your fingers disappears in the gaping fly he feels himself twitch. Every single time. And when you paw at him, curious as ever about what wondrous thing might be hiding inside of his pants this time, he feels himself swell and grow hard. Every. Single. Time.

And every time you look up at him then - with your eyes wide and your mouth agape - he feels special and truly wanted.

“You've been good today? Been a good little kitty?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

You nod your head eagerly and muffle an of course into his palm when he cradles your face in his hand.

“That so?” He gently pinches your earlobe, just to draw one of those adorable hisses out of you.

You hiss - like always - and he smiles.

“Behave yourself. Only good kitties get a reward.”

With a smooth movement you slide off the couch and end up kneeling, nudging his legs apart just a little more. Perhaps he was successful with training his precious pet, he thinks while he is shifting to the edge of the couch. You're already pawing at him again, slightly grazing over the button of his pants.

Dave tuts, “Ah ah ah, what did I tell you about being respectful?”

“Please,” you grumble, clearly not caring about being respectful at all. Until he pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger and gives you a little shake.

“Try again. Or you're going to bed tonight without the treat.” He shakes your chin again before he leans closer, looking down to you. “And you want your treat, right?”

“Yes, please,” you answer, sounding more convincing now. You really do want that treat. You fucking love that treat. You lick your lips, your eyes flicker down to Dave’s inviting looking bulge right in front of you. “Please, can I take him out and touch him? I'll be good, I promise.”

“That's better,” he hums and leans back, his arms crossed behind his head. “Go get Daddy's dick. You can have him.” He thrusts his hips upwards, just enough to make you lick your lips again. Such a hungry little thing. “Make Daddy proud. Show him how good you are at playing with him.”

You don't need more permission than that. With practiced moves you peel layer after layer of fabric away to uncover your favorite toy. He is already hard enough for you, slightly curved, the dim light of the room catching on the tiny spot of wetness right on top. 

You tap Dave’s cock with a finger, smiling when he swings a little. Your hand wraps around the shaft and squeezes until he throbs and Dave grunts. It's your favorite game, to make Daddy's cock bounce and bob and throb and leak. You shuffle closer, the carpet biting at your knees but you don't mind it. Slightly bent forward you open your mouth and let your saliva drivel onto him. But it's not nearly enough to start jerking him off. You whine, the frustration carved between your brows as you look up at Dave.

“I need your help, please,” you say, smearing your drool over the blunt head of his dick. "Please?"

He groans at the sight of you kneeling between his legs, your mouth wide open for him. One of these days you might kill him with how perfect you are. He leans to the front with one hand reaching out to hold your head still.

“There you go,” he husks and spits into your mouth. “What a considerate little kitty I own.”

His warm spit tastes so tempting that you are considering swallowing it. But he wouldn't like that and probably not let you have your treat. So you roll it around on your tongue instead before carefully drooling everything all over his cock. 

You're not allowed to take him into your mouth, that's only for when you've been extra good. But his balls, daddy likes those being licked. And while you slowly start spreading your mixed saliva with a few lazy strokes you also nuzzle his balls. Another one of your favorite games, to feel Dave squirm every time you make his balls tighten and move and shrivel. You give them a kiss - each one gets its own - and a few kitten licks.

“You smell so good, Daddy,” you murmur and look up at him from beneath your lashes, licking his balls again, this time with your tongue flattened.

Dave knows he probably doesn't smell too good after 12 hours in the same briefs. But he found himself a special little kitty, one that seems to really like him. Or is perverted enough to enjoy a pair of sweaty balls. Perhaps it's both.

“You think so?” He exhales through his nose and bites back a groan when you try to suck him into your mouth.

“Mhmm,” you hum with Dave’s one ball now in your mouth and your hand moving up and down his cock. You know how he likes it: first firm, slow strokes, then faster pumps of just the upper half, twisting and flicking your hand over his pretty tip until Dave’s hips twitch and he starts hissing.

You are doing him in today. Usually he is good with holding back and letting you have your little fun with him. But not today. You are getting too good at this, your hands working him good, both hands now. He can barely hear the obscene slurps coming from you over the squelching pumps and his own groans. You suck harder on his balls, now that they start to tighten and announce the inevitable. 

Dave can see that line grow between your brows as they knit together. You know it too, playtime will be over soon. You don't like that, and just when you're thinking about complaining Dave snarls.

“Don’t. You promised to be… fuck… promised to be good,” he says through gritted teeth. Your hands slow down - just a little bit - and Dave bucks into your tight fists. “You’re going to make Daddy cum. Is that-...” One of his big hands pushes you back into his crotch when you were just pulling back. “... understood?” 

He feels your head bob up and down, your mouth already latched onto his balls again. You whine against his spit-wet balls - mouthy as ever, Dave thinks and pulls you a little deeper between his legs. 

“That's a good kitty. Nice and…” He cuts himself off with a grunt when you find the perfect pace and pressure with your hands. Christ, he's going to cum so hard.

You jerk him off meticulously now. Your eyes are fixed on his face, each one of the little twitches and snarls he can’t hold back have you rutting against nothing. Each one of his moans and hissed fucks lets you answer with a needy mew, your hips rocking back and forth in the same rhythm as your hands pump him.

Dave loves it, to have you reduced to this wanton, needy grown woman. He'd let you have a pillow to hump, but you gave him too much attitude. You will have to learn the hard way: no respect, no release. For you at least. Because he is right there.

“Ready for a treat from Daddy?” A sheen layer of sweat shimmers on his forehead when he husks the words out. You nod your head again, letting go of his balls and open your mouth, ready to jerk Dave’s cum right into it.

“Not like that,” he chuckles and it sounds a little mean. “Off,” Dave commands, the urgency clear in his voice and the speed with which he takes over and fucks his fist.

You love it, to be able to make him moan. To watch him jerk himself off right in front of your open mouth is a close second though. You clamp your thighs together, squirming on your knees, ready to feel Dave cum all over your face. One of your hands cradles his balls and gently tugs and squeezes them.

“Fuck, that's perfect,” Dave growls and with a few hard jerks he tips over the edge. Your eyes are shut tightly, expecting to feel spurts of hot cum landing on your face. But there's nothing, just Dave panting and grunting and the unmistakable squelches of him milking himself. Hell, you can smell him. You blink your eyes open only to feel your pussy ache even more at the sight before you.

Dave jerks his load into his free hand, it’s a bit messy, running between his fingers, but most of it sits in the palm of his hand, warm, opaque, thick. He loves coming in your mouth, loves to feel you sucking him dry. But every once in a while he likes to handfeed you.

“C'mere,” he rasps and holds his cupped hand out for you. “Daddy’s got your treat.”

A choked whimper comes from you, your tongue slowly sticking back out until you feel the warm cum on the tip of it. You pull it back into your mouth, mewing when the first note of saltiness spreads in your mouth.

“I know, baby,” Dave croons, still stroking himself. “Be good and drink up. Daddy really made an effort for this, hm?”

“Yes, thank you,” you whisper and look at him as if he just gave you your favorite thing in the world. Then you lower your head even more, your pink tongue dips back into his cum before it disappears in your mouth again. The quick, rhythmic lapping and slurping sounds fill the space between you and Dave, accompanied by your quiet purr.

“Such a good kitty for me,” he sighs softly while he watches you drink from his hand.

Clear droplets gather at the edge of your chin, glistening before falling back into his palm. After more sips, you start licking his hand clean, then his fingers, making sure to get every single drop. Finally you lift your head, blinking lazily, satisfied, hiccuping.

“No need to be so greedy.” He chuckles, his cleaned palm now cradling your wet chin. He leans in and kisses your forehead. “Daddy’s giving you some more cream tomorrow!”

comment and reblog to be handfed by Dave (or to let me know you liked this story, whatever you prefer!)

wanna read some more kinky Dave? then you might like exhibitionistic! and degrading!Dave in let them see

Dave York masterlist here

general masterlist here

dividers: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

[skyeistrying]

can you do vi headcannons in a similar way to the sevika one?

♥️Vi HCs♥️

broken up into categories for general, romantic, and nsfw headcanons respectively.

safe for bisexual women, trans, and enby lesbians :)!

lower case is on purpose. not beta read, sorry for any typos.

men dni minors dni men dni minors dni men dni minors dni

general

her carabiner is on the left. it has the basics and a couple of cute handmade charms courtesy of her sister.

if she wasn’t an enforcer, she would be a professional boxer/pit fighter AFTER fighting becomes less of a coping mechanism for her.

i am not the first person to think of this but … she plays the guitar. she would be self taught.

she can sing pretty well too. used to sing powder lullabies their mom would sing.

LOOOOVESSSS HORROR MOVIES!!! she could probably go on a long rant about the history of horror as a genre, especially slasher films.

dog person. asks to pet almost every dog she sees on a walk.

she apologizes first after almost any argument she’s in.

it takes her 10-15 minutes TOPS to get ready, usually less than that.

smells like old spice and just her natural scent. very plain, but very comforting.

gives the best, most comforting hugs

sends streaks on snap.

romantic

and the world's best kisser award goes to…

seriously, she’s like a kissing god. gives the kind of kisses that have you weak in the knees. you get butterflies at the thought of kissing her.

every day before she leaves for work she kisses you SILLY!! like, you will be thinking about that kiss ALL day.

her giving and receiving love language is physical touch. no questions asked. she is constantly seeking your warmth.

she’s almost always touching you; an arm around your waist or shoulder, pinkies intertwined, hands brushing, holding hands.

if you aren’t keen on physical touch, don’t worry! she would be willing to set boundaries with you.

she isn’t very good at drawing but she loves to draw you in the margins of notebooks. tries her best to remember what your smile looks like and how your eyes are shaped, even for low effort doodles.

she is such a sweetheart. goes out of her way to get you flowers or chocolates, even when it isn’t valentine’s day.

will call you sooo many petnames. her favorites to use would be honey, baby, and sweetheart.

loves spooning. she looooves to be little spoon!! please let her be little spoon at least twice a week!!!

nsfw

She is almost exclusively a top, and she prefers it that way. However, for the right person, she might bottom once in a blue moon.

when it comes to dominance or submission, she mostly follows your lead. she's usually okay with either but will have moments where she prefers one over the other.

when she's feeling more dom, she lets you know immediately.

she has big hands and let’s just say she knows exactly how to use them.

sit on her face. just do it, please sit on her face or else she will die. sit on her face!!!!!

vocal!! in like, every way you can imagine! has the prettiest moans and tells you the sweetest things.

even when shes feeling controlling or dominant, she takes care to be gentle with you.

buuuut if you get her riled up enough she has no issue with a little man handling.

very experimental!!! down to try almost anything once.

hello dear anon! if you’re reading this, i hope you enjoyed. i had a lot more ideas for vi than i thought i would. i’d love to know if we have any common headcanons ^^!♥️🎠

my inbox is open for requests! i’ll write for any arcane character and have lots of other fandoms i write for too. i do more than just headcanons btw ♥️🎠

[muwapsturniolo]

Anxiety ⚠ M. Sturniolo

"so why do i feel like my life is a mess...? everything seemed so good."

⟢ ANGST!!!! obviously, this has to do with anxiety. in no way shape or form am i trying to glorify anxiety or romanticize it. this more so is me projecting but also taking inspo from other sources that have expressed the way their anxiety takes form.

divider cred @bernardsbendystraws

The party started off fun.

He was having a good time, surrounded by people who were his friends, along with a few new faces. He had a drink in his hand, a smile on his face, and overall good energy.

Nothing could bring him down, he was on top of the world.

He was standing with Chris and two other girls, all of them laughing and talking with each other.

Time seemed to suddenly stand still when he made eye contact with a girl across the room. She was pretty, a diamond in the rough, Matt thought to himself. However, there was something off about her, something he couldn't put his finger on.

All he knew was that the closer she got, his palms grew sweaty, the grip on his cup tightening. The air in the room felt suffocating, his chest getting tight as he tried to breathe. He felt stuck, like there was a human-sized fly trap keeping him stuck in place.

She approaches him with an eerie aura, everything around her turning into visible static that he could feel in his limbs. The red flags in his mind were waving at a concerning pace, warning him that danger was near. She looked him up and down, her black beady eyes judging his attire and what seemed to be everything about him.

He licks his lips and opens his mouth to speak when suddenly, she leans in, her shockingly cold breath fanning over his face.

"You don't belong here."

Her simple yet harsh statement sent his mind into overdrive, every rebuttal he could have given dying in his throat before he could make a sound.

"Look at you, trying so hard to fit in with these people when they don't even want you here. You try so hard, and yet you still manage to be a loser. You've been nursing the same drink for hours, you look a hot mess, and you're pathetic attempts at flirting are comical. You keep trying to be like Chris, and you never will be, he's better than you."

His chest gets tighter at every blow she lands, his hands starting to shake. His mouth starts to feel dry, the need for water or any type of liquid is strong, yet he remains stuck in place.

What is going? Who is this girl? Why is Chris just letting her say these things to him and not stopping her?

"Look around Matthew, everyone's looking at you, judging everything about you. You should leave before they start poking fun in your face. Who knows, maybe Chris will join in, after all, you've been attached to him like a puppy, seeking his attention and validation."

His eyes dart around the party, his tremors growing worse seeing everyone looking at him.

Meanwhile, Chris was starting to grow concerned. He noticed the way Matt zoned out, staring off into the crowd of people. He noticed the way his breathing had become labored, his face turning almost green as if he was going to be sick. He noticed the way his hands started to shake, the way he swallowed harshly.

He tried to get his attention, nudging him softly, saying his name, even waving a hand in front of his face, but nothing worked.

"Matt!" He finally shouts, drawing the attention of most people.

It seems like the air is punched back into Matt's chest, a loud and harsh gasp leaving his mouth as he snaps his head towards Chris. Their eyes meet, Chris's filled with concern while Matt's hold fear.

"Bro I've been saying your name for like the past five minutes, you good?" Matt goes to answer, but the words die in his throat once more as he sees more people staring at him.

He couldn't do it.

So he quickly left the party, his drink tumbling to the ground as he fled, ignoring the way Chris shouted for him.

A few days later, the three brothers sat in the car parked across the street from a random gas station. They were filming a video and everything was going smoothly until things took a turn.

Chris and Nick, the more passionate ones, had started arguing over who knows what. Matt had tried to intervene, finding the whole thing funny and laughing out. However, Chris and Nick weren't listening, continuing to speak over him.

He catches a glimpse of something moving out the corner of his eye, his eyes darting towards the windshield.

His blood runs cold seeing the same girl from the party, her talon-like fingers sending him a daunting wave. He swallows harshly and rubs at his eyes, hoping that his mind was playing a trick on him. When he looked back at the spot, the girl was gone. He visibly relaxes, letting out a sigh of relief and closing his eyes briefly.

He only has a millisecond of peace, when the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"Matthew."

His eyes dart open, immediately landing on the rearview mirror.

All the air leaves his lungs when he sees the familiar black beady eyes staring deep into his soul.

How was she in the car? Who was she? Why aren't Chris and Nick freaking out over this stranger being in their car? He tries to speak, the urge to voice his panic strong, but he gets shut down by Nick.

"Shut the fuck up Matt!''

"See Matt? They don't want to talk to you. They don't even care about you. You're nothing but a pest, an annoying pest who they have to call their brother. I'm sure if they had the chance to continue their career without you, they'd take it. You bring nothing to the channel, besides being a driver that is, that's why they keep you around. otherwise, you're useless."

She says her words nonchalantly, like her words were so right and it was no big deal. She said her words as if they weren't sending him into distress.

"T-thats not t-true..." He says softly, basically a whisper.

She chuckles, pushing her body off the seat and leaning closer so she can whisper in his ear.

"You see the things people say online, your so-called fans calling out your lack of effort. You've heard the way Chris and Nick call you out. you've heard the things they said."

"N-no ... N-no that's not right..." His argument was weak, he and the mysterious girl knew it.

"When are you going to stop lying to yourself?"

"Why are y-you doing this?"

He refuses to turn his head, scared to meet her face to face, knowing she would end up haunting him in his dreams.

"Because...You need to hear the truth, Matthew."

His fingers clench around the wheel, his knuckles turning white with how much tension there is. He's so caught up in the mentally draining conversation he's having, he doesn't even notice his foot starting to push down on the gas pedal, the speedometer reaching 70.

"The people you surround yourself with, the people you call friends and family, they don't like you, they don't want you. They lie to your face Matt, I'm only telling you the truth."

She so convincing without even trying.

He finally turns his head, his blue eyes meeting her dark ones. That same menacing smile makes its way onto her face when she sees the look of realization in his eyes.

She sits back in her seat, waiting for everything to finally play out.

Nick and Chris suddenly realize the sound coming from the car, seeing Matt's foot on the gas pedal as his hand is wrapped around the gear shift.

They freak out, Matt flinching as their yelling is now directed towards him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?! Are you trying to kill us?!"

"Why the fuck are you acting like a dumbass?! What is wrong with you?!"

His breathing becomes labored, knowing that his brothers are mad at him and "hate" him, being too much to handle. He begins to spiral, basically falling out of the car as he swings the door open, ignoring the way Chris and Nick shout for him to come back. He quickly makes his way into the gas station, missing the way the static figure trails behind him as he heads straight for the bathroom. He slams the door shut and locks it, flinging himself into a corner as he tries to breathe. The salty tears pooling in his eyes make him clench them shut.

"Shhh, it's ok Matt, I'm here."

Her voice, her siren-like voice, rings out in the bathroom. He flinches feeling her cold arms embrace him, her attempts at comforting him feeble but somehow working.

"It's ok, it's all going to be ok. I'm the only real friend you have, the only friend you need. it's all going to be ok."

And she was.

She was the only friend he had now, watching over him constantly, haunting him.

He shut everyone out, blocking most of the numbers beside his family and deleting them. He shut out Chris and Nick, leaving the two confused.

They knew he was struggling, Chris telling Nick about the party and how Matt just freaked out. They came to the conclusion that his anxiety was getting bad, they just couldn't understand why it was, or why it happened so quickly.

He stayed cooped up in his room, refusing to leave the house. he also refused to film, leaving the other two no choice but to upload without him. They begged and pleaded for him to come out of his room and spend time with them or film, but each time, they were met with harsh words.

The words hurt, but they didn't give up.

But it seems like Matt did.

He lays in bed staring at the wall with a blank look, the messy room reflecting the mess he called his mind. He feels the bed dip behind him, the all-too-familiar coldness embracing him.

"Isn't this better?" She voices, her nimble fingers tracing his ink-covered arm.

He says nothing, but his silence is loud.

"You don't have to worry about the hate from those fans now. You don't have to worry about the fake friends judging and using you. You're finally at peace now."

She tries to convince him this was right, that this was the best outcome for him, but he can't help but feel like this was wrong.

"So why do I feel like my life is a mess...Everything seemed so good."

He turns towards her, his bloodshot eyes tracing her blurry figure.

"It wasn't good..."

"But it was..." He bites back.

She becomes angry, her fingers suddenly holding his arm tightly. "No it wasn't Matthew. I thought we have been over this, stop lying to yourself!"

He feels this anger form in his chest, an anger he's never felt before. He jumps up from his bed, standing over her with a look of disgust.

"you're lying! Everything was fine until you came along! It wasn't perfect but it was fine! You appeared out of thin air and turned everything to shit!"

"I have never lied to you! Any and everything I said has always been your own thoughts just voiced out loud!" She screams at him, her voice booming and making the ground shake.

He stumbles back, falling to the ground and curling into a ball as she shouts every negative thought he's ever had into the air. His raw and bitten fingers tangle in his greasy and messy hair, tugging at the strands with such force that he can feel the clumps falling out.

"Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!" He begins to scream, his voice raw as tears form in his eyes.

He couldn't handle it anymore.

"Chris, Nick!" He sobs out for his brothers.

The two had heard him talking to himself, giving each other worried glances. But when they heard the shouting and the panicked call out of their names, they jumped up and ran to him. They burst into his room, tripping over each other and the things on the floor as they rushed over to his crying form.

Their stomachs drop seeing him curled up in a fetal position, his eyes bloodshot as he continues to sob and dry heave. They fall to their knees and wrap their arms around him, trying to bring him some type of comfort.

And it works.

They were warm, unlike the mysterious girl with beady eyes who was always cold. He could hear their heartbeats, their words of tender love and care, feeling like a breath of fresh air compared to the harsh words that had been spewed towards him for months.

"I-I'm sorry I-" Nick cuts him off, hugging him even tighter. "Shh, it's ok, it's fine, you're going to be fine, we are going to be fine."

"We got you, you know we always got your back. We're triplets, it's the best bond to have." Chris adds on, wiping Matt's tears away.

"I-I need h-help, I don't w-want to keep feeling like this." Matt says, shaking, still trying to catch his breath and reel himself in. Nick and Chris eye each other, nodding softly before focusing back on Matt.

"We'll get you help, whatever you need to be ok."

The reality was he was still drowning, the cold and harsh waters filling up his lungs and dragging him down, but he was close.

He was close to reaching the surface and he would continue the fight for air.

He stares into her eyes, letting her know this fight isn't over but he plans on winning.

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

What The Fire Withheld p2

Bob Reynolds x Fem!Witch!Reader, Thunderbolts* x Fem!Reader

p1

Recovery isn’t cinematic.

It’s quiet. It’s the beep of monitors and the soft swish of antiseptic. It’s bruises that don’t bloom right away and nightmares that don’t let go.

I stay in the med bay for ten days. No missions. No suits. No magic.

Just me, stitched up and motionless.

But I’m never alone.

-Recovery Days

Bucky’s the one who checks my vitals before the nurses even get a chance. Always early. Always silent.

“Pain level?” he asks one morning, folding a blanket at the edge of the bed.

“Somewhere between getting hit by a bus and falling off the Empire State Building,” I rasp.

He nods. “So… Tuesday.”

His lips twitch. The closest thing I’ve seen to a smile on him yet.

Yelena brings me TikTok videos at night.

“They’re stupid,” she says, handing over her phone. “But they make your face less grumpy.”

She doesn’t say the word sister again, but every time she makes me laugh, she sits a little closer.

John installs a mini fridge beside my bed.

“For your snacks,” he mutters, almost embarrassed. “Figured you’d want your little kombucha or whatever.”

He stocked it with six bottles of root beer and a tray of lasagna. I say nothing. He changes the subject immediately.

Ava comes and goes.

She doesn’t say much. But she always leaves something behind — a book, a playlist, an old hoodie with the sleeves cut off. She lingers in doorways like she’s scared I’ll vanish if she walks away too fast.

And Bob?

Bob stays.

Every day. Every night.

He brings me herbal tea he somehow doesn’t burn. He adjusts the pillows without being asked. He sits beside my bed with a sketchbook in his lap, never drawing anything, just… being near.

Sometimes, he talks. Sometimes, he doesn’t. But his presence hums against my skin like quiet thunder.

The silence with him doesn’t hurt. It heals.

———

I’m cleared to walk after two weeks.

Bob walks with me.

We go to the rooftop garden Yelena built out of old S.H.I.E.L.D. scrap — vines wrapped around rusted trellises, tomato plants in ammo crates, lavender growing from an old helmet.

I lean heavily on the railing. My ribs still ache. I still can’t take a full breath.

Bob stands beside me, close but careful.

“It’s peaceful here,” he murmurs.

“Don’t get used to it. I’ll start lighting things on fire again soon.”

His mouth curves, slow and shy. “I missed your fire.”

We don’t talk about what happened. Not yet. But when his fingers brush mine, we don’t pull away.

———

Thunderbolts Tower – 03:11 AM

The med bay is empty. The halls are dark. Everyone’s asleep.

Except me.

I’m in the training bay, standing in front of the reinforced wall. It looms like a challenge. I’m wrapped in tight compression bandages under my tank top. My left side still aches if I breathe too deep.

But I can move.

I need to move.

My powers haven’t fully returned. My muscles scream after ten minutes. But I have to try.

I blast the wall.

The light flickers. Pain slices through my chest. I fall to one knee. My hands tremble.

Not enough.

I try again.

⸻

I don’t hear them until it’s too late.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Bob’s voice. Sharp. Panicked.

The lights slam on.

He’s not alone. Bucky’s with him. Ava steps into the room a second later, already fuming. Yelena looks like she just woke up — and is ready to kill me.

“I was training,” I snap. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” Bob says, voice low and shaking. “You’re not fine.”

I look down. Red stains my side. The bandages split.

“I needed to see if I still had it,” I breathe. “If I can still fight.”

“And what, kill yourself doing it?” John walks in last, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “You should be resting. Healing.”

“I am healed!”

“No,” Bucky says. “You’re not. Not enough. And you damn well know it.”

Ava steps forward. “You think we went through all that just to lose you now?” Ava snaps. “You think he—” she points at Bob, voice rising, “hasn’t been blaming himself every second for not protecting you?”

Everyone’s talking at once.

I can’t hear my own thoughts.

It’s pressing against my ribs — this heat, this panic, this swelling, hopeless thing inside me that I’ve been pushing down since the explosion—

“STOP!”

My voice cracks the air like a whip.

Everyone freezes.

I’m breathing hard, dizzy, chest burning.

“You don’t get it,” I hiss. “None of you do.”

They stay silent.

“You keep saying I need rest. You keep telling me I’m not ready.” I take a step forward. My knees almost buckle. “But what if I never am?”

No one moves.

My fingers twitch. No glow. No warmth. Just trembling flesh.

“I can’t conjure a spark. I can’t fly. I can barely walk down the hall without someone holding my arm like I’m made of glass!”

“Y/N…” Bob’s voice is soft, broken.

I keep going.

“Do you know how that feels?” My voice breaks. “To be the weapon — the one who’s supposed to save everyone — and then suddenly you’re just a broken girl bleeding on the floor while everyone else has to pick up the pieces?”

They don’t speak.

“I’m useless,” I spit. “A liability. A goddamn burden.”

“You’re not—” Yelena starts.

“I am. Every time I breathe wrong someone’s there with a wheelchair or a painkiller or a look like I’m going to drop dead. And maybe I will. Because maybe this is it. Maybe this is all I get now.”

The silence crushes.

And then I break.

“I don’t know who I am without my powers,” I whisper. “And I don’t think I want to find out.”

I drop to the floor — not all at once, but slow, like my body just gives up. My knees hit the mat. My hands tremble against the floor.

I’m crying.

Hot, quiet, unstoppable tears.

I haven’t cried like this since the first time my magic spiraled out of control as a kid. When I burned a hole through a stone wall just to stop feeling so small.

Now I just feel… empty.

Footsteps.

Bob kneels beside me first. Doesn’t say a word. Just lowers himself slowly until he’s level with me.

He doesn’t try to fix it.

He doesn’t tell me I’m wrong.

He just reaches out and holds my hand in both of his — gently, reverently — like it’s the only thing keeping him from flying apart.

His voice is a whisper, a prayer:

“You’re not a burden. You’re you. That’s what matters.”

Yelena drops down next. She leans against my shoulder. Quiet. Close.

Ava walks over and sinks to her knees too, rubbing her thumb over my back like she’s grounding me.

Even John just stands there, jaw tight, arms crossed — like he wants to say something but knows better than to ruin this moment.

Bucky watches. And then, after a long beat, nods once and steps out. Not to leave — just to give space. To let me breathe.

Bob’s hand squeezes mine.

“I’ll wait,” he says softly. “For your magic. For your strength. For you. I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

-6:00AM 

The sunlight barely filters through the heavy curtains.

It’s the soft kind of morning — muffled, golden, too still to be real. My chest hurts when I breathe, but not from pain this time.

From the weight of last night.

The breakdown. The blood. The way I collapsed in front of all of them — in front of him.

My room smells like lavender and old pages. Someone must’ve put a tea cup on my nightstand. It’s cold now. There’s a folded blanket at the edge of the bed. My boots have been moved from the door.

I’m not sure if I feel safe, or exposed.

Then I hear it.

A chair creaking. Quiet movement.

I sit up slowly — and there he is.

Bob Reynolds, seated in the armchair across from me. Same clothes from last night. Hair a mess. Hands folded together so tightly I wonder if his knuckles might crack.

He’s been there a while.

Watching. Waiting.

“…Hey,” I say, voice hoarse.

“Hey.”

His tone is rough. Low. Not cold — but not light, either.

He stands.

“I need to talk to you,” he says. “Now. No running. No excuses. Please.”

I blink. “Okay.”

He walks toward the bed but stops a few feet away, like he’s afraid getting too close might break something.

“I meant what I said,” he begins. “Last night. Every word.”

I try to keep still, but my fingers twitch against the sheets.

“You’re not a burden,” he says. “Not to me. Not to anyone. You don’t need your powers to be worth something.”

I look away. My throat burns.

He keeps going.

“You think you’re broken because you can’t do magic. But you know what I saw?”

He takes another step closer.

“I saw someone crawl out of fire and keep going. I saw someone care more about the rest of us than her own body. I saw someone brave enough to tell the truth — even when it hurt.”

Another step.

“You’re not broken. You’re human. And I—”

His voice breaks.

He stops. Breathes in. Breathes out.

“—I care about you more than I’ve ever had the guts to say.”

Silence.

Not awkward. Not heavy.

Just full. Like the seconds themselves are holding their breath.

I look at him.

Really look.

And it hits me — how long he’s been holding this in. How hard it is for someone like him to admit something like this. How terrified he looks.

He laughs under his breath, soft and self-conscious.

“You don’t have to say anything. I just… I had to tell you. Because if I didn’t…”

He trails off. Shrugs helplessly.

I whisper, “I don’t want you to stop.”

He freezes.

“You said you’d wait,” I say, eyes meeting his. “For me. For my powers. For… everything.”

“I will.”

“I don’t want you to wait anymore.”

The room stills.

He steps closer.

Close enough that I can feel his warmth — not Sentry heat, not celestial glow — just him. Just Bob.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

The question lands between us like thunder in a quiet field.

And I whisper: “Yes.”

⸻

He leans in — slow, reverent — like this is the part he was never sure he deserved. Like he’s asking with every inch of his soul.

And when our lips meet—

—magic sparks.

Tiny threads of violet energy flicker from my fingertips — weightless, harmless, like lightning catching the morning sun. They crackle gently across his jaw, dance in his hair, kiss his cheek.

He doesn’t pull away.

He smiles against my mouth, lips brushing mine.

“I think you’re getting your fire back,” he murmurs.

I let out a breathless laugh, barely holding it together.

“Not all of it,” I whisper.

He kisses me again.

“No,” he says softly. “Just the parts that matter.”

“You won’t tell anyone, right?”

Bob is sitting at the edge of the bed, still flushed from the kiss. One arm slung over his knee. His hand, warm and callused, rests over mine.

His eyes soften. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

I nod once. “I just… I need to be sure. That it’s real. Not a glitch.”

He watches me for a moment. Then nods too. “Okay. Just us.”

– 6:42 AM

The others are suiting up for a quick mission in Belgium — artifact containment or something. I’m still benched, technically. Bucky gave me the look this morning. John grunted “rest up” with his usual stubborn gruffness. Ava gave me an awkward fist bump that might’ve been affection.

Yelena just smirked and threatened to bring me back a cursed snow globe.

I’m still in a hoodie. My limp is almost gone.

Bob is the last to leave.

He leans in at the doorframe, face shadowed by the gray morning light. “We’ll be back in a few hours. Stay off your feet.”

I grin. “No promises.”

He tilts his head. “Y/N—”

Then he steps forward, leans down, and kisses me. Not like before — not hesitant. Confident. Warm. Real.

It lasts only a moment, but the taste of him lingers.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine.

“You’ll be okay,” he murmurs.

“Go before the others get suspicious.”

He smiles. “I don’t care if they know.”

“But I do,” I whisper. “For now.”

Bob nods. Squeezes my hand once. And then he’s gone.

LATER – THUNDERBOLTS TOWER – 11:17 AM

The moment the tower goes quiet, I go to the training bay.

The place where it all fell apart.

I roll my sleeves up. Sit on the padded floor. My hand hovers in front of me, palm open, fingers curled. Waiting.

Come on, I think. Just a spark.

Nothing.

I clench my jaw, try again.

Still nothing.

I slam my palm down against the mat. “Dammit—”

It wasn’t real. That kiss. That spark. Just another glitch. A last gasp of a dying power.

I feel the heat rise behind my eyes, throat burning. My chest aches. My ribs — still bruised, maybe cracked — creak with the pressure of my own anger.

Then I hear Bob’s voice in my head.

“You’re not broken. You’re human.”

I suck in a breath.

Okay.

One more try.

But this time — I let it all go. The fear. The pressure. The rage.

I close my eyes.

No expectations.

No pain.

Just… breath.

One beat.

Two.

Three—

Then, warmth.

A tiny flicker behind my sternum. Like someone lighting a match in my chest. My fingers tingle. My eyes snap open — and there it is.

A violet wisp.

Dancing like smoke over my palm.

I gasp.

It vanishes.

But it was real.

My lips part. My chest swells.

I try again.

More focused this time. Slow. Deliberate.

And the light returns.

Flickering. Glowing.

Alive.

LATER – 5:44 PM

I’ve been in the med bay for hours.

No one’s here to stop me.

I’m careful. Focused. I direct my magic — the little I can call — toward my ribs. The worst of the damage. The spell is slow. The pain is unreal. I nearly scream twice.

My nose bleeds by hour two.

But when I check the monitor… my ribs have realigned. The fractures are sealing.

By hour five — I can stand without pain.

My wrists, still weak, begin to flex again.

I cry once. Quietly. It’s not the pain.

It’s the relief.

⸻

THAT NIGHT – 6:51 PM

I’m in the kitchen when the jet door hisses open upstairs.

I’m covered in flour and bits of chopped garlic. Bob’s hoodie hangs off one shoulder. There’s a pan sizzling on the stove.

Yelena’s voice echoes down the hall: “Is that butter?!”

“Dinner?” John’s gruff voice follows. “Wait, who—”

Then footsteps thunder down the stairs.

Yelena rounds the corner first, goggles still on, bruised but alive. She skids to a stop, sees me, and her mouth falls open.

Ava’s right behind her, and she drops her duffel bag mid-step.

Bucky trails in next. Freezes.

“Hi,” I say, casually flipping the pan. “You guys like lemon butter chicken, right?”

Yelena is the first to speak.

“You’re standing,” she says again, breath catching. Her sharp voice is softer now, edged with disbelief.

“Yeah,” I reply, turning from the stove to face them all. “I healed. A little. Enough.”

My hand lifts, fingers trailing upward — and with it, the air shimmers violet. Light curls upward in a faint spiral, delicate and alive.

Ava stares at it like it’s some rare animal, silent but fascinated. Bob hasn’t moved from the doorway, his eyes glued to me like he doesn’t trust what he’s seeing. His lips part, but he doesn’t say a word.

John’s already halfway to the island counter. “Wait, you said lemon butter chicken?” he asks.

He says it like a man returning from war.

He grabs a plate and starts loading food before anyone responds.

And then the shouting begins.

“Are you out of your mind?” Bucky’s voice slices through the room. Sharp. Low. Terrified.

He’s standing behind a chair, fingers gripping the top like he’s trying not to punch something. Or someone.

“You were supposed to be resting,” he growls. “That’s what the medics said. What I said.”

I stare at him, stunned. “I’m fine, Bucky—”

“No, you’re not!” His voice cracks. “You pushed yourself. Again. And for what? To make dinner? To prove you’re still strong?”

I blink at him. “That’s not fair.”

He laughs—dry and bitter. “Yeah? Well, neither is almost losing you.”

“Bucky,” Bob warns quietly, but Bucky ignores him.

“You could’ve torn something open again. You could’ve made it worse. You think you’re hiding it, but your hands are shaking.”

They are.

And I hate that he’s right.

“I just—” I start, but Ava cuts in.

“I think it’s amazing,” she says suddenly. All heads turn. She’s leaning against the counter, arms folded, expression unreadable but firm. “You came back from the brink. You did something impossible. You should be proud.”

“Pride gets you killed,” Bucky snaps.

“I didn’t do it for pride,” I say, louder this time. “I did it because I had to.Because I couldn’t just lie there and rot while you were all out risking your lives again.”

Yelena steps closer, eyes narrowed. “And what if you hadn’t been ready?”

“I was.”

“No, you were lucky,” Bucky bites.

Yelena’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t say anything else. Bob shifts his weight behind them all, still silent. Watching.

John, still chewing, finally looks up. “Okay, okay,” he says with a fork in his mouth. “So she nearly blew a lung out healing herself. But this is reallygood chicken. Just sayin’.”

Everyone pauses.

I blink.

Bob exhales a stunned laugh. Ava snorts.

John points at me with his fork. “You do the food. You do the magic. You’re like the team’s Swiss Army knife. And if you’re standing, breathing, and cooking lemon chicken, I say that’s a win.”

“John,” Bucky says sharply, but Bob finally speaks.

“She could’ve died, man.”

John nods. “Yeah. And if she hadn’t tried, she might’ve stayed broken.”

The table falls quiet.

I take a slow breath, pressing my hand to the counter to keep myself grounded. The magic inside me hums like a tuning fork — subtle but steady.

Ava moves to my side and quietly hands me a glass of water. Her hand lingers on my shoulder for a moment. “You don’t have to defend yourself. Let them feel how they feel.”

I nod.

Then I turn to Bucky. “You’re scared.”

He looks like I slapped him.

“Don’t,” he mutters.

“You are. And I get it. But I’m scared too. I didn’t do this to spite you.”

“No, you did it to protect us,” he snaps. “Which is exactly the kind of thing Nat used to do.”

The room goes quiet.

Yelena’s head jerks up. Her breath hitches.

“Don’t bring her into this,” she says, voice thin and sharp.

“I didn’t mean—” Bucky starts.

“She’s not your ghost to invoke.”

“I wasn’t—”

“I said don’t.”

Yelena turns away, arms tight across her chest.

“I’m hopeless,” I yell suddenly, and it slams the room into silence.

Everyone turns.

“I’m supposed to be the most powerful witch in the multiverse. That’s what they say, right? ‘Unstoppable.’ ‘Legendary.’ But for weeks, I’ve barely been able to breathe without help. I can’t conjure fire. I can’t shield. I can’t even float a damn spoon without thinking I’m going to black out.”

My voice is shaking.

“I sit in the med bay like a ghost of who I used to be. And every time someone walks past me, I see it in their face — pity. Fear. Grief. Like I’m already gone.”

I look at Bucky.

“At least when I tried, I felt like me again. For a second. I wasn’t the broken girl in bed. I was someone with purpose.”

Tears sting my eyes.

“Do you have any idea what that’s like?”

Bucky looks like he’s been sucker punched.

Bob takes a step toward me, but I hold up a hand — violet sparks trailing.

“I’m not done.”

I turn to the others.

“I’m not asking you to cheer. Or forgive me. I’m just asking you to let me try. Because if I can’t be who I was… then I need to find out who I am now.”

No one says anything for a long moment.

Then Bob finally speaks.

“She’s right.”

He walks toward me, slow and steady.

“She fought for something that mattered. Even if it hurt. And yeah, I hated it. I still do. But I also watched her burn through pain to come back to us.”

He stands beside me now.

“And if that’s not strength, I don’t know what is.”

John raises a fork again. “Preach. Also, this is probably your best lemon butter yet.”

Everyone groans at once.

Even Bucky lets out a huff of disbelief and sits down, rubbing his face.

Yelena steps toward me. Her eyes are glassy but sharp.

“Next time you want to almost die, warn me first.”

I nod. “Deal.”

Next Morning, 8:03 AM — Kitchen, Thunderbolts Tower

The sun cuts long, golden lines across the worn tile of the kitchen floor. Ava’s already in the corner with a protein bar in one hand and her phone in the other, watching something on TikTok with her earbuds in. Bucky leans against the counter, arms crossed, unreadable as always. John is halfway through a tub of leftover lemon butter chicken, fork dangling from his mouth.

Yelena throws a slice of burnt toast at him. “You’re disgusting.”

He shrugs. “It’s protein. And delicious.”

I shuffle in, stiff from sleep and stiff from pain. My ribs ache — not as much as before, but enough. My hands twitch as I pour coffee into a chipped mug. I keep one hand slightly curled, feeling the faintest crackle of something when my fingers brush the ceramic handle.

Bob’s already sitting at the far end of the table. Quiet. Watching me when he thinks I’m not looking. His hair’s a little messy. His hoodie looks soft. When our eyes meet, he doesn’t look away — not fast enough.

“Morning,” he says, softly. The word barely travels.

“Morning,” I reply, more breath than voice.

Bucky’s still watching me, eyes narrowing. Yelena says nothing, but her smile is tight.

Val stomps in moments later in full tactical gear and heels. “Good news, degenerates. You’re all going back to school.”

“What?” John grunts through a mouthful of chicken.

“You’ve all been reassigned to a field readiness evaluation. Mandatory. Today.”

She tosses a stack of folders on the table. Each one has our names.

“Even me?” I ask.

She doesn’t blink. “Especially you.”

⸻

11:14 AM — Government Training Grounds, Upstate

The air smells like metal and dust. Pine needles crack under boots. Above us, clouds threaten but don’t deliver. The facility is sprawling — an obstacle course designed for fear, for speed, for survival. Cameras are already stationed at every angle.

The DOD liaison steps out of a control tower. He’s all pressed uniform, emotionless delivery.

“This is not a punishment,” he lies. “We just need to ensure every one of you is fully operational before redeployment.”

Ava stretches her neck and pulls her hood up. Yelena rolls her shoulders. Bucky mutters something about how this is a waste of time.

I stay quiet. My fingers twitch again.

Bob walks past me and gently touches my arm. Just for a second. “You okay?”

I nod.

“You sure?”

No. “Yeah.”

⸻

12:37 PM — Phase One Begins

Each of us is sent into different sections of the course, then rotated. Stealth, endurance, combat, containment, extraction.

Ava clears her section without a word, phasing through a collapsing wall with a bored look on her face. Bucky punches a drone so hard it short-circuits in midair. John flirts with the field medic while pretending not to try.

Bob is… steady. Focused. Strong but gentle.

Yelena’s a shadow. Her blades flash in the light once. Twice. She doesn’t miss a step.

Me? I hesitate.

I can move. Fight. Think. But my magic—it’s there and not there. Sparks in my fingertips. Then vanishes. I make it through two sections on muscle memory and pain tolerance alone. But it’s not enough. I know it. They know it.

The official writes something down on a clipboard.

⸻

3:19 PM — Phase Four: Simulated Hostage Crisis

We’re back in formation when it happens.

There’s a fake structure. Looks like a warehouse. The DOD rep orders Bob to take the lead with John and Bucky. Ava’s already phased inside. Yelena hangs back with me. I’m not assigned this part.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asks, quietly.

“I’m fine.”

She doesn’t believe me. That makes two of us.

Then the building explodes.

⸻

3:26 PM — Impact

It’s not real.

It’s a simulation.

We all know that.

But Bob was in there. And when the smoke clears, his comm is silent.

I feel it before I understand it. Like a thunderclap in my chest. Like the first scream I had no breath for when I thought I was dying. My ears ring. My body goes cold.

He’s not answering.

No one’s moving fast enough.

I scream his name — “BOB!”

And everything inside me breaks.

The world slows.

I feel my ribcage tighten, my lungs expand, every cell in my body flooding with magic. Real magic. Not the flickers I’ve been hiding.

I raise my arms and it tears out of me.

A shockwave of pure violet light explodes from my chest — fire without flame, electricity without heat. The ground splits. The sky bends. Static crackles up my arms, lifting me into the air by a few inches. My hair whips around my face. My eyes sting.

And then I throw both hands toward the wreckage.

Steel bends. Beams twist. Concrete crumbles in reverse — until I carve a path through it.

I see him.

Bob.

Unconscious. Covered in smoke and dust. But alive.

I drop to my knees beside him, shaking.

“Bob—” My voice cracks. “Bob, wake up—please.”

His eyes flutter. He coughs. And when he looks at me, the first thing he says is:

“You’re glowing.”

⸻

 5:04 PM — Debriefing Tent

The air is tense. Silent. Everyone saw what happened.

The DOD official adjusts his clipboard and looks at me like I’m a bomb he didn’t authorize.

“She’s not cleared,” he says flatly. “Not yet. But… she will be.”

Yelena lets out a long, low whistle. “You think?”

Ava gives me a look. Proud. But worried.

John shrugs, digging into a new tray of lemon chicken. “That was sick,” he mutters. “Just sayin’.”

Bucky stands across the tent, arms folded.

“You ever do that again,” he says, voice quiet but firm, “and don’t tell someone you’re not okay, I’m dragging you off the field myself.”

I can’t respond. I’m still vibrating from the power.

Bob sits beside me, his hand ghosting near mine but not touching. He doesn’t have to. I feel him there — solid, safe, and looking at me like I’m something he can’t believe came back to him.

[moonalumi]

arguing with ellie n it goes too far

idk if this has been done but um be ready y’all i’m bouta cry

warnings- guys this is kinda sad um, angst, arguing, crying ig, ellie being easily agitated n mean, mentions of death, reader comfort el at the end guys trust!!

“el what’s wrong?” you ask as sweetly as you can. worried about how your girlfriend has been ignoring you and other people all week. she’s just been in her own little world writing and drawing the days away. every now and then you heard little sniffles coming from her direction but choose to ignore it; thinking she’ll come to you when she’s ready to talk but it’s only been getting worse day by day.

she ignored your question again. flinching at your touch and cursing herself in her head for that.

“ellie please talk to me, i made you some food” you comfort once again, reaching out to brush out some tangles in her hair with your fingers.

“i don’t want it.” ellie mumbles out coldy. not even taking her attention away from her drawing.

“okay well i’ll leave it here in case you change your mind okay?” you kiss ellie’s head and unintentionally glance at her sketchbook. somehow she notices and slams it shut. pushing you away from her as well.

“cant you just leave me alone for two seconds?” ellie snaps. her tone of voice taking you by surprise.

“el— i’m sorry i didn’t look—“ you fumble your words. not knowing whether to look at the closed sketchbook or your angry girlfriend.

“i don’t care stop hovering over me constantly, i’m fine stop worrying.” ellie stands up to walk past you but not before you stop her.

“how am i supposed to know you’re fine? you certainly don’t seem fine when you haven’t even had a conversation with me in days!” ellie turns to look at you and you swear her eye contact with you could kill, you forget how mean she can look without trying to.

“drop it i don’t wanna argue with you” she trys walking away again but you grab her wrist.

“please talk to me, what’s wrong??” you beg, and lift your hand to push strands of her hair away from her face.

although ellie pushes your hand away, not roughly though, her touch is still soft unlike her words, “don’t fucking touch me just leave me alone i don’t want to be anywhere around you, just go.”

it hasn’t been the first time ellie had snapped at you like this and said awful things she didn’t mean. for some reason it’s in her nature to just lock away her feelings and attack anyone who tries to push their way in. unfortunately today you seem to be her victim. and after a year of being in love with her, you know her very well by now.

“you really want me to go ellie? cause i’ll go but who’s gonna be taking care of you like i am right now?” you raise your voice at her while picking up things of yours from around her room.

ellie just watches as you pick up your items. sitting there with a lil pout on her lips not saying a word as you stuff more stuff in a bag. but before you can even touch the doorknob to leave she stands up, “wait..” she whispers, if you listened carefully enough you would’ve heard her voice cracking.

“what is it?” you ask rather harshly. opening the door and stepping outside.

ellie panics, her eyes widening and her legs unintentionally making their way towards you in a rush, “wait don’t go” she whimpers.

only then do you turn to see ellie’s eyes filled with tears and her panicked expression. her tough angry demeanor changing in a matter of seconds. n that pout on her lips turned into quivering lips.

your own eyes soften at the sight. you can’t help but feel the pain and guilt for making her cry but you knew she needed a wake up call. you needed to let her know you won’t stand there and just take her hits.

“oh el i’m so sorry” you bring her in for a hug. letting her burry her face in your neck and squeeze you into her hold.

“n-no i’m so sorry i—shouldn’t have been so mean to you. don’t leave me” ellie hiccups and sniffles between her crys. getting your neck all wet with her tears and snot but you don’t mind.

“i’m not leaving you baby i just needed to teach you a little lesson i’m so sorry” you leave kisses all over her hair and scratch her back as she calms herself down.

lifting her head up, you kiss her cheek that’s all flushed and puffy n lead her back to bed. cuddling her and forcing her be little spoon.

a comfortable silence over takes you too as you just lay together, “you wanna tell me what’s wrong now?” you whisper breaking the silence.

you feel ellie take a deep breath and intertwine your hands together, “it’s— around the time of joel’s death date, i think that’s why i’m being like this.”

“i’m so sorry ellie” you try and comfort but you know there’s not much you can say or do to make her feel better about it other than being here with her like this.

“can you scratch my back? it felt good earlier,” ellie smiles at you as she asks the question.

“of course, c’mere” you sit up and let ellie lay onto of you as you lift her shirt up to scratch her back until she falls asleep <33

free palestine !!

[ao3lestappeninchident]

Hey.... I saw that you're also write for kenan yildiz... can you write something about reader and him being in established relationship and she needed to babysit her baby nephew or niece... that is like less than 6 months old..... and kenan thinking about their future together.. thank you

Kenan Yildiz x reader

A/N: I hope it is okay that I made the nephew a bit older, because 6 months old do like nothing, so I didn't know what to write for that.

You were running through the apartment, trying to hide all of the dangerous and sharp things before your sister was dropping off your nephew. They really needed some time to just be with themselves without their little angel. Oliver was a sweet 18 months old baby that just started to walk around more and was quick to fall against the furniture. You didn't want him to hurt himself while he was here.

As you put away the vase to a higher reach level, you heard the doorbell ring. You sprinted to open it and were greeted with the side of your sister, her husband and your nephew. "Hello, good morning." your sister said as she greeted you with a kiss on the cheeks. Your brother in law gave you a quick hug, while holding Oliver.

"Hi, Olli. Are you ready to spend the day with your aunti?" you asked as you carried him into your arms. He muttered a quick yes and clapped his hand with laughter.

Your sister smiles at him, "he took some of his drawing stuff with him, it is all in the bag. Don't let him fool you if he wants more candy, two are enough." you nod. She goes over it every time, but you let her. It must be hard to let your child alone.

"is Kenan not here?" she asks as she looks around the aparment.

You shake your head, "He had training. He will be home in a couple minutes."

You talk for some more minutes before the finally leave. "Alright, it is just us for now. What do you want to do?" you put him down on the floor and he walks towards his bag. "Can we draw. Daddy got some coloring pages for me.

you opened the bag and took out the pencils and some drawing stencil with cars on it. "This one." you show and Oliver clapped in agreement.

He takes it from your hand and puts it on the floor. "Don't you want to sit at the table?"you ask and point towards it, but he shook his head as he started the grab some pencils.

You sat down next to him on the ground, and he handed you a pencil. "You can do the other half." you nod and started to draw in a car.

You look up at the sound of the door opening and see Kenan walk inside. He looked a bit tired, but still handsome as always. "Hi, how was training." you asked to continue coloring the car.

He walks closer, confused on why you are sitting on the floor, before seeing Oliver. He smiles at the sight of you two coloring in the paper. There is a slight difference in your half and his.

"It was good. Didn't know you had a guest over." He places a kiss on your head before turning to the little boy. "You remember me?"

Oliver lets out some giggles as he walks to Kenan to give him a high five." yeah, my mommy says you are my uncle." a blush formed on Kenan's face and you smile at him. You love how he interacts with your family.

"I am going to take a quick shower, and I will be right with you." He says and you nod.

-

When Kenan got back, you and Oliver were seated on the couch, him in your lap, watching some kids show. "Look a dog." the little boy points to the tv and you agree with him. "Yeah, "

Kenan couldn't help but stay in the doorway watching you play with Oliver. You were great with children, something he loved about you. He couldn't help but picture you with his children. He wanted to spend his future with you, build your own little family. Of course, right now you are a bit young, but over a couple of years. He would love too.

kenan walked over to the table, where his bag was laying, and asked"I bought some cookies, do you want one?" Oliver was quick to answer his question with an excited yes, and you both laughed.

"I don't know. I promised your parents I wouldn't let you eat to many sweets. " You say and he pours his lip. He looked like a sad puppy with that face and you didn't want to see him sad. "Okay, but only one. And don't tell your mother."

You made room so that Kenan could sit next to you, and he handed both of you a cookie. After he ate the cookie, Oliver fell asleep and didn't wake up till his parents were there.

-

"I am going to miss you." you say as Oliver walks away with his parents. He waves before you close the door. You walk up the Kenan and hug him from behind, while he is putting away some dishes.

"I love him, but he does tire me out and we didn't even do much." He laughs as you put your burry your face in his sweater. He dries his hands and turned around to face you.

"Can I ask you something?" he puts his arms around your torso and you nod. "Do you want children later?"

You were a bit taken back by his question, "Yeah, later when we are a bit older. Why the sudden question?"

"I don't know. I saw you playing with Oliver and I just thought about it. About us and the future. You do want a future with me right?"

You look him in the eyes and cup his face, "Of course. You are the love of my live."

"Good, because you are also the love of my life." he says and kisses you.

[dragon-kazansky]

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter Six - Splendid

♡♡♡

"Eloise Bridgerton."

Benedict calls his sister when he finds her smoking on the swing set in their garden. He sounded stern, as if scolding her.

Eloise groans softly as she turns on the swing. "Go on, then." She lifts the cigarette to her lips. "Chastise me."

"Spare one for me?" He asks.

Eloise is surprised by his question. He comes and sits on the other swing beside her. She holds a cigarette out to him, and he takes it, putting it between his lips and lighting it.

"Suppose I desire something different." Eloise says.

"How do you mean?"

"Just different. I watch Daphne prepare for these balls with all of those dresses and the many suitors, and I am exhausted. Suppose I want a different life, Benedict. That I truly believe I am quite capable of something more, even when I'm not allowed to have anything else."

"Then I would say... that you're not the only one." He looks at her. They smile at each other.

♡♡♡

With the next edition of Whistledown comes fascinating gossip. You find yourself, for once, clutching the paper with the need to read more.

It has become apparent that Lord Berbrooke has a child out of wedlock, and not only that, with a maid he had sent away before the child was even born. He pays nothing for the child, it seems.

Your mother had been gossiping about with the other ladies she had over for afternoon tea. In turn, their maids had gone off to gossip further.

Word spread like wildfire.

The next day, Lord Berbrooke had left town suddenly.

You made it a point to go visit Daphne. You were taken up to the drawing room where she awaited you, a smile on her face as you came in.

"It's nice of you to visit."

You take a seat with her. "I wanted to see how you were."

"I have expected you come see my brother," she admits.

"Benedict? As much as he has become my friend, I felt the need to come see you. Are you alright?"

"I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders." She smiles softly. "I am glad he is gone."

"As am I. Wretched man, he was."

You both giggle softly.

"So, the duke? He is still on your favour?" You ask.

Daphne goes silent for a moment, and then her face twitches. A realisation. The realisation she must still pretend.

"Ah, yes." She smiles.

You smile in return and take her hand. "You make a most handsome couple."

"Thank you." Her voice wavers.

You do not bring up Hastings or Berbrooke again as you have tea with Daphne. The conversation becomes pleasant. Daphne finds herself talking to you about anything that comes to mind. Not once has any of her siblings sat down and listened to her like this.

It felt nice. Really nice.

An hour passes, and you find the teapot has been emptied twice in that time. There are no more biscuits to share either. You rise from the soft sofa and gather you purse.

"Thank you for letting me visit."

"Oh, nonsense. You are always welcome." Daphne smiles.

"I shall visit again then."

Daphne looks pleased by your words.

"Benedict will be so disappointed you came by and didn't stop to see him."

You chuckle. "Let him suffer. It may humble him."

Daphne chuckles and sees you out.

♡♡♡

The next ball is as dazzling as the others. You swear with each one, Daphne gets more and more beautiful. She enters with the Duke. Of course, everyone sees.

You entered with your mother, no one paying you any mind what so ever. Not that you minded any more. You had come to terms that no one would visit you.

As Simon and Daphne dance, you decide to take a walk. You have no idea what it is they discuss when alone together.

You keep your eyes peeled for any familiar faces. Yet, no one else is present in this current room.

Meanwhile, Daphne parts from Simon and is approached by another gentleman. Her wish to find a husband and have a family may very well come true.

As you enter the next room, you find Anthony in there talking with some others. His gaze lands on you, and he excuses himself from the current conversation. He approaches you.

You smile and bow your head. "Lord Bridgerton."

"Anthony, please. You call my brothers by their name."

You smile. "Anthony."

"Benedict isn't here, I'm afraid. He has elected to sit this one out. May I have the honour?" He holds out his hand.

You take a moment to take in his request. Anthony was head of his family. A viscount. Dancing with him would surely bring you attention.

You place your hand in his. "You may."

Anthony takes you back into the other room and leads you to the dance floor. He holds you as a gentleman should while dancing with a lady. You both move with the music.

Anthony look very firm as he dances with you.

"I must say, this is an honour."

"Is it?" He asks.

"I never see you dance."

"No. I suppose not. I am not beyond dancing with friends." He says kindly.

"Then I am even more so honoured to be considered such."

You both continue dancing until the music ends. You curtsy, he bows. Anthony takes your hand and leads you back to the side of the room. With swift ease, he marks his name down on your dance card.

"I shall see to it you are never left without a dance partner, my lady," he says with a bow.

You smile.

As Anthony returns to the party, you find yourself now being looked at by others. There are gentlemen looking your way.

Could it be true that Daphne is not the only one who can shine?

Soon, you are dancing again, and a few more names are scribbled across your dance card.

You think, perhaps, Daphne Bridgerton is your good luck charm.

It makes you giddy.

Safe to say, your night was splendid indeed.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived - @ajdelilah - @aadu2173

@booknerdlife - @tamlinrose - @sarahskywalker-amidala - @cheryyluv - @louschan - @lou-la-lou - @cultish-corner

@hopshusushi - @katherinejess - @nannabug - @afunkyfreshblog - @f0x33 - @dd122004dd -

@jupitervenusearthmars - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @captainlunaxmen - @winchestersimpalababy -

[motthe]

daydreamer | morpheus/dream of the endless

ཐིཋྀ this has been sitting in my wips for a good bit and i want to stop fretting over it lol. Hope yall enjoy it!

warnings: she/her reader, nothing crazy, pre-nada and pre netflix series, I am no expert in the series nor the comics so some stuff might not make sense purely bc I made it up (huzzah), if this were to become a series I have no idea what would happen lol.

PLEASE COMMENT AND REBLOG IF YOU ENJOYED IT ❤️

Morpheus, who has seen the creation of humanity and their first steps, stumbling into ideas too big. But such things sparked life into their world.

Being an Endless does not permit distance from mortals, for they govern the very aspects they are, but there is Morpheus who finds truth in the deepest pits of sleep. Who only visits the mortal plane when forced by his siblings or to offer gifts when they lose sight of their wayward dreams.

He senses every soul that slips into his domain, has swept together creations to assist the influx. One of the earliest takes record of the coming and going. Lucienne, he calls her. Where he is dreams and nightmares, she is words and tomes. In need of answers, she is the best to provide wisdom, though he seldom asks.

Distant not only from mortals, this star-gazed Endless.

In such pristine times, there is you. At first a flickering, not quite here and not quite there. Denizens deem you a mirage—a glint on the horizon or movement in the corner of the eye, even a shape in the dark at times. Surprise you may bring but never fear.

Something of a decade whirls by before Morpheus pays you a glance. As always, you leave a golden trail easy to trace. It dances among the Dreaming, weaving from space to space before you tiptoe towards the clouds over his kingdom. He sees your dream, no more than a simple turn through the air, and still something is off. Your soul, it drifts as most do, but there is tension—a string.

His raven discovers you in the conscious lands, lying in a glistening meadow. You watch the sunset, eyes open and mind fleeting. You are awake, yet your soul lingers in the world of sleep.

An apparition to the world of imagination. You’re the first of your kind, walking a line many have failed to draw. Some try, regardless. He watches them falter into the arms of his sister, Insanity. She welcomes all, but you drift through her whims every single time. A butterfly through the gaps of seeking fingers. You breathe into the Dreaming just as easily you breathe out of it.

He is intrigued enough to follow that sparkling path to the wakeful, and there you have the gall to sense him. Your voice is soft to his ears. He refuses the call, sweeping himself back into his realm.

You, a mere human, beckoning an Endless. Its not nearly enough to tempt him. In his lands, however, he cannot ignore your entrance. The denizens speak of you too often.

This goes on for some time. Even with years of research from Lucienne, you remain a one of a kind visitor. You prefer to stay to the north—in the spring, the warmth, the sun. Fiddler’s Green welcomes you each time. You dance there, too, though not as much as in the clouds. Amongst the flowers and swaying grass you marvel at finer details that should blur in a deep stage of rest. You cling to your reality and the Dreaming warps to your steps, easing at the touch of your fingers.

This world—this piece of him—gifts you earnest acceptance. Morpheus cannot fathom it. You have done no harm but you have earned nothing. And yet, your habit of half-dreaming during the day pulls at him. Ideas spurring from the night has always been marvelous things to behold, rippling and shaking the waking. These moments of yours do none of that, but the focus you are able to give… He could almost call it a talent.

He doesn't. Still he must decide a title as one is needed for the books. For the memory if you should be the one and only.

His first word to you beyond the whispers of his realm is “daydreamer.” It calls to your hazy figure as you sweep across a swirling brune. The name curls around your ear, caressing the hair away from your face. Deep and baritone, it is enough to shock you, so used to his silence.

He sees how abruptly you snap into your reality, a streak of sparks left behind instead of that winding trail. The abysmal, velvet laughter is rare from him. The Dreaming echoes with such light Lucienne is abashed to see it from the depths of her library.

The second time he addresses you, you smile as if you already know who speaks. Morpheus has yet to reveal himself since taking notice, always careful to remain outside your perception, though it ceases to matter. You'll greet him whenever his presence wades close.

He is certain he shall never be seen until he wishes to be. Still irksome, though, that he cannot hide from you in his own domain.

“It might do well to look into this abnormality,” urges Lucienne. Her form is diminutive in the audience chamber, feet planted along marble floors that sit far below the throne where Morpheus sits, listening to his helpful creation but not as a ruler should.

You're dancing again, carefree and form strong enough that he can discern the color of your hair and eyes. He directs the nightmares away from you without the slightest rumble from the Dreaming.

Even half-asleep they have managed to overcome you from time to time. They can never get to you fast enough for him to study how they morph your imagination. Any darkness on the prowl and your golden trail fades into the waking, running from the fears of mankind.

It's better to dismiss them from you. To keep your energy here to watch over in case something changes. The depth of you is rare today and he can't have it vanishing, not when he can feel you for once instead of that feather-light graze of your soul. You're a rest away from being real to this world and the Dreaming clings to your weight, your visage.

He knows the answer but ascertains through his raven regardless. Jessamy responds that you're wide awake, cleaning a basketful of coverings in a stream.

You are as peculiar as ever, Daydreamer, he thinks and far too present here to be doing such an unremarkable thing there.

“I fear this could turn into a security problem, my Lord. Mortals are not meant to get this close to the castle.”

Lucienne is still here. Morpheus regards her for a moment, dark brow wrinkled with concern and eyes earnest. His own flash upwards, seeing your figure beyond the ceiling of this room as you leap effortlessly. You do so love the clouds.

“She has not elicited any trouble all these years,” Morpheus states, narrowing an eye as he senses it. The nightmare looms at the edge of your consciousness, hands at its side and never approaching per his orders. But it stares, observes in such a way it sends Morpheus’ hand waving.

The opuscule crumbles to dust.

Your head turns. He affirms colorful clouds are all you see, but the corner of your mouth caches a grin as your stare straight through his presence.

You don't see him, he knows you can't.

His fingers curl into fists on his throne. The sharp angle of his jaw works in a strange way—a human tick more than anything and one Lucienne balks at behind a steady expression.

“All this time, there has never been another soul that's reached the Dreaming in such a way,” she continues her tangent. “Your Daydreamer does not dream beyond these moments, My Lord. She should be like any other with such a mind.”

“We have paid enough regard to that,” he chastises, growing tired of the same conversation. “She is a Deep Sleeper.”

“Deep Sleepers do not visit us at all,” she reminds him, patiently. “This occurrence, be it human error or not, we must study it while we have the chance. If her lifespan were cut short we'd lose all information.”

An irritation picks at somewhere behind his eyes. Between calling a phenomenon a mere “error” and that such could come to an end so easily…

How long has it been? Two decades? No, a bit longer perhaps. Long enough to keep you waiting, he's sure. You haven't called to him but the once which leads him to believe you noticed his ire. You have yet to demand anything since.

The need to understand you for the sake of the realm has grown exponentially. He supposes he can forget the slight after so long.

“I will investigate,” he tells Lucienne. Its enough to send her back to the library.

The sun is setting when he breaches mortals' realm. Jessamy bows her head from a hidden tree branch as he passes by.

“Return and rest,” he tells her. She is gone before his next step hits the ground.

Fabrics hang on a line between two trees, fluttering in the wind ahead of a small hut. The rising technology of humanity has yet to reach this small corner of the world but you seem to be at peace on a cliff side overlooking your village. At a close glance, you wear peasant clothes, worn from dirt and labor. He prefers the off white gown you dance in at the height of his realm.

“Are you far?”

You are the same and yet you are different in this world. The edges are harder but your eyes remain soft, hazy. They clear as you smile, recognizing his voice over the gust that blows your hair away from him.

You turn. The tapt expression matches familiarity but far should it be. This is the first time you have met face to face.

“I believe I was quite close, actually,” you answer, bowing your head in greeting. He's heard you speak before, mostly to Fiddler's Green or in random thought, but there’s a new harmony between these words.

Something pinches within, sore but nothing like the sensation Lucienne brought on. It lies lower, forged in his chest.

He stares at your soul, still very much human.

“You go somewhere, staring off like that,” he hums, midnight cloak dancing in the golden rays of sun. You notice how the ends fade into the same hue. “Tell me where.”

You tilt your head, a line creasing the skin above the bridge of your nose. “You already know the answer. Is there meant to be another?”

You're sensing him. The veil over his existence should have muted anything to be wary of and you see straight through it.

“How so?” he whispers, staring down at you. From the moment he appeared you hadn't deigned to rise from your grassy knoll, perfectly comfortable craning your neck up to his likeness.

“You have the same,” you inhale and hum in the lull between words, “outline, I suppose. I'm not sure if that's the right word.”

Your hands edge the space between you and him, but it’s as if they’re trickling down the side of his face. “it’s like…when you know something is hot in the dead of winter because it’s giving off steam. The world wavers around you, and it feels like that far away place.” You blink away the fog that had begun to take over your eyes again. “Forgive me. It was the first thing to come to mind.”

“You have a strong intuition,” he praises, hair swaying over his forehead. “Most ignore what they can't comprehend.”

“I'm not sure how anything could ignore you,” you mumble, taking him in before turning back to the drowsy sun. The gold begins to leave your skin. “Night falls. The stars will begin smiling soon.”

“Do you not fear me? Knowing I do not belong?”

You shake your head slowly, exhaling your words. “Oh, I couldn't.”

“Why?” he questions, moved by your tender amusement. Life flows from you in waves and he understands, then, why radiance follows in your steps.

“I've known you too long,” you tell him. “Not enough to understand who or perhaps what you are, but if you wished me any ill will something would have occurred by now, surely.” Your eyes slide to his, twinkling like the first star that bleeds into the darkening sky. “Are you here to change that?”

Playful in the presence of such power. You are not mindless, but where you get such confidence, he cannot fathom.

“I'm here to seek the cause of your ‘abnormality,’ Daydreamer.” Your nose crinkles in a way that has him pressing his lips flat against one another. And expressive. He does not get to see this side of you in his realm.

“Abnormality?” you parrot. “I'll only bore you then. I'm commonplace.”

“And yet you drift so easily,” he murmurs, the corner of his mouth curling the slightest hint.

“If you're to question me, may I ask the same of you?” You lean against your bent knees, eyelids lowering as if in exhaustion but your soul is far from it.

“I do not answer to mortals.” The oncoming dark crowds against his frame. The stars blink out for the shortest of seconds.

“Hmm, that's enough of an answer,,” you chuckle, accepting his sourness all too easily. “I wouldn't want to offend something so powerful.”

He shouldn't feel tricked, and yet you stand there, content.

“What will you ask of me?” you continue when he remains silent.

“Your life.”

“Not my name first?” His lack of an answer is enough to earn your attention once more, still there is no concern to be found. “You already know me. What else do you seek?”

“Simple things can be overlooked.”

“But that is all that I am,” you say, assured, “simple.”

“We shall see.”

His cloak shudders as he turns, the whip of it sending the last thread of gold from the horizon. You shiver as a chill blows through and stand to start for your abode. He follows only a few paces behind.

“Will you have something to drink? To eat?” You open the door as an invitation. The room beyond appears ordinary for human standards.

“I must return. Expect one of my own soon. They will investigate further.”

“One of your own?”

“Likely my raven.”

“Is that the black and white bird I see every so often?” you say, voice honeyed. “I offered some forest pickings, once. Pretty thing. Intelligent.”

He doesn't answer and prepares to leave. Something has him pausing when your voice calls after him again. The demand to wait does not sting as it should.

“Will you return?”

His gaze meets yours over his shoulder, the wind picking up. You reach something behind him—the clothesline. Before you can step towards the panicking covers, they appear in front of you, folded and offered by large, pale hands. Your eyes shine into his and how strange, he thinks, that this is the first time you seem shocked in his presence.

“Thank you,” you whisper, accepting the fabrics. Skin brushes and you marvel at something before he steps back into the darkness, eyes pinpricks of molten silver.

“You'll find me in the Dreaming,” he tells you. There is confusion dancing in your expression, though you work through it to nod in agreement. “Until then, Daydreamer.”

“Farewell,” you bid, smiling as you close the door. “It was nice to finally meet you, my stranger.”

He doesn't know why he hides within the night. Why he watches you light the fire and cook your dinner and move throughout the hut as normal as any other mortal.

He waits for someone to return, but there is only solitude in your actions. The only other living creature there is a cat as it slinks from a backroom coerced from the smell of food. You offer the animal its own portion, fingers trailing over dark fur. It purrs, melting into your touch.

Morpheus departs, annoyed by the stifling ache that has moved from his chest to something far too deep. Meeting you should have swept the lingering questions away for the time being and here is this tug—this urge to retrocede.

“My Lord?” comes Lucienne as his footsteps ascend the front steps of the castle. She waits for him by the open doors, clutching a sizable volume.

“She is utterly human.”

She blinks as he passes by with a flare of his cloak, pondering his weighed brow as she shadows his footsteps. “Does this disappoint you, My Lord?”

“Its neither here nor there. I've known such since her first daydream.”

Her mouth puckers. If what he's saying is true, why was he…brooding?

“I'll continue my research, then,” she murmurs. “Keep an eye out for any others who might share the same abnormality.”

He offers nothing as she branches off down a hall, staring forward with an expression that would make the darkest nightmare run for the hills.

The throne room welcomes him back along with a shape that cuts through the air. Pied feathers gleam in the light filtering through the window behind Morpheus as his raven lands on the arm of the throne with a flourish. She cocks her head at her master, beady eyes digging deeper than anything or anyone dared when it came to an Endless.

“Is she as common as she claims to be?” he asks, turning to sit.

Jessamy clicks her beak, raising it as she speaks in a soft voice, “Worse, really. She's lonesome. I've monitored her for years now and the only visitors she gets are the cat and I. The few times she left her home was to grab necessities from the nearby village, but it's rare. She's self sufficient.”

“What of the people?”

“Sorrow follows them when she walks by. I've heard whispers of her family dying long ago. I recall seeing them the first few trips to the waking. Kind souls.”

“An accident?”

The raven shakes her head. “They never mention it. They just watch her, words trailing off. Not much of a gossiping village. That or they respect her enough to not whisper behind her back.”

“Perhaps this talent of hers stemmed from such loss,” he wonders aloud. “Trauma can shape humans.”

“I would say the same, My Lord, if she hadn't been daydreaming before their deaths.”

He rests a pale chin over his knuckles. Another end with nary an answer. There is always his sister who could speak on their passing, but going to such trouble is beneath him.

Sinking back into his throne, Morpheus raises a brow at his loyal companion who has yet to move on. She cocks her head, this time in question.

“Yes?” he breathes, eyes widening as his head lulls from one side to the other.

“You're intrigued by her.”

“She is able to enter and leave my domain far too easily. Lucienne fears the worst—an instability. Something that could come to hurt the Dreaming.”

“And you?”

Sterling eyes narrow. He says naught a word, but in truth he can not find one to describe his Daydreamer. He's certain he does not agree with Lucienne. If you were something dangerous, the Dreaming would not take to you as it does. He would sense a trap, especially from the likes of humankind.

Jessamy hums at the lingering quiet, claws tapping against the marble of the armrest. “In all the time I've watched her, nothing has come from it. Perhaps you would have the answers you seek if you yourself take a closer approach, my Lord.”

“What are you implying?” Its a stern question, probing.

The raven croaks in frustration. “She speaks little on her own or to the village, but she is forthcoming with you, My Lord!”

He could have scoffed. “I haven't the need for familiarity.”

“Blink and your Daydreamer will be another book in the library. Decades, if that, are nothing in the grand scheme of things.” Jessamy gives him one last reaching look as she crouches to take flight. “She is not forever.”

The shifting of wings echoes into soft silence, light swelling and retreating like waves over the throne room. Morpheus reflects as the realm twists, weather dim outside the castle.

His Daydreamer, a mortal. The fact everyone is keen on reminding him of. He may not govern time but he isn't lost to it. It is the way of things, to come and to leave.

You will be no different.

[teastainedprose]

Hi !

Can you do a Homelander x F!Reader with a blackmail situation ?

For the context, someone's blackmailing Reader to leave Homelander and because of the stress she did it when he was patrolling. Of course, Homelander wouldn't accept it and try to find her but he can't. So a few days later Vought brought him a new "girlfriend" to heal the pain Reader "created" only for them to (by mistake) imply that they are responsible for the departure of Reader. After dealing with the situation at Vought, he went looking for her again, eventually finding her at her favorite spot, where she was trying to forget Homelander.

You can change some parts if you want 😁

Thanks you if you do it ♥️❤️

Listen, Anon. LISTEN! I am grabbing you by the shoulders, I am gently shaking you, I am lovingly cupping your cheek and whispering, "Write the fic." - because it's clear that you've got the plot and I bet you've been daydreaming up the story route and I need you to write it. Spit out some bullet points. Scribble out a few scenes out of order, but write it!!

As I read this ask while rolling out of bed half awake and ran off in a slightly different direction while I brainstormed in the shower and I know you've got an idea there so WRITE IT!! So I can read it

Now have something similar, but not quite what you outlined. This kinda evolved into a companion/epilogue?? piece to Play With Fire, as Vought would have plenty of reason to not want Homelander dating a canned employee, especially if she's a fat little thing. Bad for the brand and all.

+1.5k words | Warning for violence/gore, Homelander can have a little murder. As a treat. Plus-Sized female reader, established relationship, no proofreading as I was possessed

The moment his boots drop onto the balcony and Homelander strides into the penthouse, he knows something is wrong.

First, there is the absence of you. Not just the lack of your body settled on the couch waiting for him as you often are, but everything you touched. The laptop you diligently type away at while working is gone. The vibrant throw pillows you insisted on getting to make the imposing couch more inviting are missing. The plush blanket you always coiled yourself into wasn't haphazardly thrown over the back of the couch as it always is when not in service. The lack of these items now makes the couch look barren and cold. Now Homelander can see how uninviting the whole thing looks.

There are other pieces of you missing as well. The trinkets and baubles you'd purchased on a whim and set about the penthouse, coloring the space with pieces of you. The discarded books, many with notes and dog-eared pages weren't haphazardly stuffed in strange places. Homelander would check the bedroom, but he knows the closet now has an empty space where your clothing hung.

There's a buzz starting up in his brain, an insistent worry that's setting his teeth on edge as Homelander's mind races across every possible reason why you're gone. You left him. Someone kidnapped you. You finally got tired of him. Someone stole you away. You hate him. Someone is hurting you. The buzzing grows in volume as Homelander's lip twitches up, feet taking him to pace across the floor before a movement in the corner of his eye cuts straight through the noise.

The buzzing goes silent. The colors are correct. Relief rushes over Homelander as he turns to face the figure in full. You, there you are and- 

No. Homelander blinks, drawing back a step as he takes in the woman standing at the entrance of his penthouse. She has your hair color; the cut has been styled like yours, but the texture is off. She's got something close to your complexion, your eye color even, and she's wearing clothing in your usual manner of dress, but everything is wrong. For one, she's thinner. Homelander sneers.

The woman smiles, uncertain as her heart races like a rabbit against her ribs. "Hi." One word uttered and it's all wrong. That's not your voice. That's not your smile. There is no sunshine breaking across this woman's face as she looks at Homelander. Her expression is quiet and expectant, waiting. Anxious.

He inhales slowly, rolling his neck as Homelander clenches his fists at his side. The scent on the air is bitter. She's afraid. She should be.

"No, no, no. Who the fuck are you?" Homelander snaps out, across the room in two long strides and now she's gasping. Gasping because Homelander has his fingers about her throat, gloves creaking softly as his grip tightens and lifts her. "Who the fuck are you?" He repeats, barking the words out.

"I-I'm Vicky," She stammers out as Homelander eases up enough to let her breath and set her feet back on the floor. That rabbit heart is trying to burst free within the woman's chest now, beating all the louder. "Y-your er, new girlfriend...?" Her words end in a panicked squeak as the woman tries to shrink away. 

"New- "Homelander cuts off as he stares at her, head tilted to the side and lip twitching as he digests this bit of information. He swallows and takes in a breath, reeling in his rage as his mind whirls. Vought had decided to replace you. Plucked up some stupid woman who only shares a similar color palette with you, but she isn't you. This woman is nowhere close to the beautiful creature you are.

Vought didn't approve of your secret relationship. They'd deemed you unmarketable. Not the image they wanted to project for the brand. Then there was the hope that Homelander would grow bored of you. To wait out his hyper-fixation on you. The months had crawled by and still Homelander kept you close. You'd moved in, burrowed yourself right into his life as Homelander wanted. 

For some fucking stupid reason, Vought thought a replacement would distract him. As if he's a child, or a dumb dog they've swapped a toy out on. 

"Vicky," Homelander smiles and it's the smile of a shark. All teeth and dead eyes. "How lovely," A purr now as Homelander slides his hand down her neck and brushes his thumb over her collarbone. Her smile is uncertain, but it's still there as she relaxes. The rabbit in her chest calms down. He digs his thumb in as Homelander sucks on his teeth.

Fucking idiot.

There's no warning when Homelander's fist buries itself into the woman's abdomen, only a wheezing hiss as the air is forced out of her. A wet sound follows under all that crunching and grinding of bone as Homelander twists his fist and pulls it back. He clicks his tongue, releasing the woman's corpse to topple across the floor.

Homelander exhales, puffing out his cheeks while looking down at his fist in mild disgust. The red leather hides fresh blood well, but he knows it'll congeal into a darker mess soon enough. Leaning over, he absently wipes it off on the fabric of the woman's sunshine colored dress. The sunshine would look better on you while the smeared red looks better on Vicky as far as Homelander is concerned.

It doesn’t take him long to hunt Ashley down, storming into her office with eyes flashing red. The only reason Homelander doesn’t fucking laser her in two is because she’s crying. Ashley is crying and blowing her nose into a tissue as she looks at Homelander, eyes filled with regret and tears. She’s grown fond of you, Homelander realizes and that’s reason enough not to cave her skull in. Homelander knows you like her well enough, too. Ashley blubbers the story out. They’d wanted you gone. Out of the picture and out of his life. You were an uncontrollable variable that refused to play ball and Edgar wasn’t one for loose strings. A replacement had already been found and was on her way earlier this morning. While Homelander was out on a mission, disposing of you had been easy enough. It only took thirty minutes to pack all of your things, revoke your access to the building and effectively lock you out. Ashley had managed a helping hand in the form of a plane ticket wherever you wished, knowing you no longer rented your own apartment after moving in with Homelander.

It had been a plot against you, he knows this now but why had you gone so willingly? Why weren’t you screaming outside of Vought Tower for him? Why did you take that plane ticket? Something rotten wriggles within Homelander’s heart. He knows he’s not an easy creature to live with and has worn your patience thin some days. The start of your relationship would have been considered rocky at best and there’s all that stalking he did that you still don’t know about. They gave you an out and you took it.

His trip to the airport is swift and no one would dare try to stop the Homelander as he seeks you out at your intended gate. Except you’re not there. You’ve not even checked in yet. He goes to your old apartment next, eyes scanning the building for your form. Your favorite restaurant is next. Then the place that makes your favorite tea. After that he’s hovering above the bookstore you’ve dragged him to. None of them contain you. Homelander is lost for a moment, mind frantic with worry now at where you could be. Then he remembers one of your favorite spots. A park close to where your old apartment is and it’s another place Homelander has been dragged to by you. This is a spot he enjoyed. It was quiet, even in such a bustling city. He always pretended it was a forest clearing you two were enjoying the peace of.

You’re there. Of course you are. You’re settled on a bench, head turned towards the trees as Homelander descends. “Sweetheart,” He growls. It comes out harsher than Homelander wants, but he’s on edge. Why did you leave him? 

You jump, head snapping round and he can see you’ve been crying. Your eyes are puffy, face pinched in pain as Homelander’s heart seizes at the sight. 

“What!?” You stare a beat, before anger rises. You’ve always been his little spitfire. “You had me cast out! They packed me up and kicked me out on your orders! You- You abandoned me…!” The fire smolders and dies as tears leak down your face.

"No, no, no. Not you, never you!" In an instant, all of Homelander's rage vanishes in the face of your sorrow. How could you ever want to leave his side? Foolish of him to even think it. Why would you ever want to leave? He’s beside you, he’s gathering you up in his arms, he’s crushing you gently in his hold. Your sobs are wet, loud, and there’s snot on his suit. Homelander doesn’t care. He shushes you, fingers combing through your hair as the arm about your middle squeezes just a bit tighter. The weight of you sinking against him and into him is a comfort, your flesh yielding under his grip on you.

“I came home and you were gone,” Homelander whispers against your ear as he nuzzles his nose into your hair. He inhales deeply, all of the tension leaving his body as he takes in your scent. “But I’m here now. It’s okay, I’ve got you,” He exhales, pulling back enough to look down at you. Homelander smiles. You’re here, you’re safe, he will never ever let you out of his sight again.

[starryinkart]

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Soooo I was sucked into Poppy Playtime again because of these goobers!! I don’t think I’ve ever posted Poppy Playtime stuff on here before, buttt I think I will now, I just wish the fandom was a bit bigger and more lively lmao 🤣

Catnap is my #1 favorite, then DogDay, then KC, and then Hoppy! I love the others too, but Bubba and Crafty are so hard to draw atm. I just need to practice more with them!😓

{Colorless Lines Below!!}

Headcannons for them below too!!!

———————

Some headcannons in the show universe cause I’m feeling fun:

- Catnap is the youngest! DogDay is the oldest of the crew! Their age order goes (oldest to youngest) DogDay, Bubba, Picky, Kickin, Crafty, Bobby, Hoppy, Catnap!

- Catnap doesn’t talk much, but he can. Just with a low voice that tends to be calming, and very sweet sounding. He usually just points, says short answers like yes or no, and nods.

- While Kickin (or KC) is the most egocentric and confident, Hoppy is the most energetic and tends to like talking people’s heads off, which causes them to butt heads at times, all while Picky tends to be the usual third wheel, often just quietly eating.

- Crafty is the most creative while Bubba is the most thoughtful and intelligent, which usually allows them to have deep, meaningful conversations of the wonders of life together.

-Crafty is the shyest out of the bunch, usually drawing with Catnap calmly, sharing her creations with him or hanging out with Bubba.

- Bobby and Picky tend to share their love for the world together, usually playing dress up with each other, talking about crushes. or cooking of course! Bobby always has something lovely to share and Picky, in contrast to her name, always is open to trying something new, as long as she thinks she may like it.

- In contrast to the canon, all of the crew just magically woke up in the Playcare, with no memories of before they opened their eyes to the colorful world around them. DogDay and Bubba were the first to appear, Picky, Crafty and Kickin spawning after, Bobby and Hoppy spawning together and Catnap spawning alone. There seems to be no way out, so the crew just embraces their situation and tries their best to not think about it too much.

- Catnap was the last and most unexpected to spawn in. From the time he opened his eyes to the new world around him, he had felt like something was off, like he didn’t belong there. While most of the others treated him nice, some of the crew were uneasy about his sudden appearance, seemingly years after the last of the previous arrivals had spawned in.

- Catnap begins to grow close to DogDay, almost becoming like his little brother. They spend the most time together, due to DDs kindness and warm welcoming energy towards him on his arrival! Also them both noticing they wore opposite necklaces, Cat being the moon and DD being the sun helped with that connection too!

- Kickin doesn’t really like or trust Catnap much, and doesn’t try to hide it, making snarky remarks and comments to clearly express his dislike for him.

- Catnap is super playful with the others, his best friends being Dog Day, Hoppy and Crafty! He tends to move like a ghost, the crew not usually noticing they are in his presence until they turn around! A lot of times, he hangs by his tail on the trees to say hello, or can be found in the fields laying in the grass and sleeping.

- Cat can sleep anywhere that is a surface, and is not wet.

- Every once and while, Cat swears he can see a skinny, metallic hand in the shadows, beckoning his attention. He’s tried to bring it up to the others, but they either think he’s acting weird, insane, or tell him not to worry about it.

———————

If you want to hear more, my asks are open!!! And I will be drawing them inbetween my Absolutely Chapters for Murder Drones, which I am STILL working on and Chapter 4 is coming out soon!! Promise, I didn’t forget, things have just been busy!!

ALSOOOOO New Murder Drones Comic for King Solver N coming this weekend 👀👀👀 Perhaps some angst or something fun?

[redgoldsparks]

I went all out for Hourly Comics Day 2025! These took between 6-7 hours to draw across three days, and then another at least hour to scan and edit which I wasn't in the mood to do which is why they are a week late lol. Had a wonderful time at Lumacon though and I'm glad I was able to document it! Transcript below the cut :)

insta / patreon / portfolio / etsy / my books / print store / bluesky

Page 1

7:50am: Alarm goes off

Morning phone: check eSIMs, insta, discord, Spanish vocab 

El tiene pelo largo 

Jonathan Van Ness, is that you…?

Drops App 

8am: My friends gave me a delicious new black tea that’s very easy to over steep 

3 minutes seemed too long, but 2:30 was a bit weak… I’ll try 2:45… 

Honestly, I prefer a tea where I can leave the bag in the whole time I drink the cup… 

For the first time in many years I’m actually doing something cool on hourly comics day! Today is Lumacon! This is the show’s 11th year- I think I’ve only missed 1. For the first time, it’s raining on con day!

Page 2

I’m so glad we had another avocado!

This bagel was so chunky I cut it into perfect thirds. Perfection

It’s so rare that I’m awake before my parents… SIP

Should I write about Larrupin sauce? My friend Alina buys this for me up in Humboldt since it’s hard to find… 

Every object/moment suggests a story when I’m paying attention! 

8 to 9am

Page 3 

Pick up Martina! Very cute raincoat (@martinamonster-art )

Chatting and Ateez on the drive 9 to 9:30

OMG why am I drawing cars :( 

LUMACON! 10-11AM 

My newest zine is a recruitment zine for Authors Against Book Bans (AABB). 

I zero in on folks I know to be authors–

Maia: I want you– 

Author: Me? 

Maia: To join AABB! (info zine)

Author: Oh thanks! I will! 

Maia: This zine is so fun to hand out!

Page 4 

Teen: Thank you so much for writing Gender Queen. I gave it to my mom and she credits it for a lot of her understanding. I came out as gender queer a year ago and she said “I love you.” I don’t know if that would have been possible without the book! 

Maia: Thank you for saying that! 

Different teen: I want to buy a copy of your book but I need to make more sales first. 

Maia: Where’s your table? 

Teen: Behind you 

Look. 

I spot some of the cutest round crochet bois I’ve ever seen including a nonbinary bee

Maia: Can I please trade you a book for that bee?! 

Teen: OMG yes! 

You know it’s a good trade when both parties think they got the better deal! 

12pm 

Page 5

I check in with Anna (@thebeanbaguette) 1pm 

Maia: How’s the con so far? 

Anna: Really good! I love how many furries are here! 

Maia: Oh yeah it’s fun

Maia: I had never seen the skull fursuit head before this show… for the size event it’s impressive furry turn out 

Cute goth/pastel couple 

Anna: To be honest, I’d love to get a fursuit head one day… and the hands! 

Anna: But I don’t know what animal…

(Table is covered in cute rats)

Later, another friend comments 

Cynthia: So many furries here! 

Maia: Yes, the per capita is very high… sign of a healthy ecosystem! 

(we all wore masks all day I just forgot to draw them) 

Page 6 

My friend Nic comes to visit & cover my table during my lunch break- 2pm

Nic: Don’t worry I’ll do my best impersonation of you! I’ll even sign books with your name!

Maia: Okay, great, thanks!

Maia: (Has not had water, snack or bathroom break in 6 hours)

Later we chat with Gio, another friend about knowing when a story is done

Maia: I had a publisher reject a pitch basically saying “this isn’t fully baked yet” which… was true. 

Nic: Unfortunately I’m doing that to myself! I’m on the 4th draft of this short story that just needs to be done. 

Gio: But when it’s a personal project how do you know? 

Gio: When it’s my own work, no deadline, no editor, it’s tempting to just keep putting it back in the oven. But at what point are you like, I’m making crackers. I thought it was bread but it turned into crackers! 

Page 7

3-4pm last hour of the con

My parents came! My Taekwondo teacher came! A trans teen who came to my first Gender Queer event in 2019 came! I saw so many friends & my heart is full! Thank you Luma! 

4:30

Maia: I think I’m ready to go…

Table: EMPTY

Martina: Me too! 

Maia & Martina: LOOK 

Anna- nothing packed, stuff fully out

Anna: Haha, you go! I pack slowly! 

In the parking lot & rain 

Maia: I’m really glad you came! 

Martina: Thanks for talking me into it! 

Martina: You’ve been manifesting this since September! 

Maia: Haha yes, 

(I talked both Martina & Anna into applying for this show; Martina’s first zinefest table! 

Page 8

5pm I drive home 

after all the rain, the ditches & fields are flooded 

Maia (texting): I just got home

Anna (texting): I haven’t left the venue yet

Page 9

6pm I should be unpacking but I’m lying in bed looking at my phone! 

Maia: Wow so many hourlies! I haven’t even started! I’d rather read them on tumblr & patreon later. How is my finch doing? 

Nic incepted our entire friend group into the finch app back in January. I’m pretty hooked. In the finch app you make a little bird persona who travels the world & gains experiences. You give it energy & earn points by crossing items off your to do list & completing self care tasks like stretching or drinking water. 

Maia: To be honest, I don’t really need an app to help me do tasks. But look how cute my bird is!!! Also! You can get pets for your bird! I have five! Owl, seal, caribou, ball of fluff, cow

Later, I pet my real cat. 

Maia: Don’t worry you are my actual favorite pet. 

Page 10 

7pm: Dinner with my parents. Big salad, fried tofu. We talk about clay deposits in odd places. 

My dad: There’s that Bentonite clay at Shell Beach! That’s the kind you want for poison oak rashes. 

My mom: And the deposit at school by the office, some teachers have kids use that for crafts. 

8pm: Formatting my January book reviews

I really like the monthly wrap-ups that Storygraph generates. 

Books: 11 Pages: 2855 Average Rating: 3.91

LGBTQIA: 5 Fantasy: 4 Comic: 4 Contemporary: 3 Romance: 3

9pm: I fall into the trap of looking at the news which I’ve avoided all day. Escape to tumblr where I discover some amazing Ranma ½ fanart. Should I reread it? 

10-12am: I draw the first 4 pages of these comics then go to bed! 

In total, drawing these takes 6 or 7 hours across 3 days. -Maia Kobabe 2025 

[iirych]

My two years today

Two years ago I was in Ukraine with my family. We will never gather at the same table as before. I have no opportunity to come home, my grandmother died, several acquaintances are missing, my cat also died without veterinary care. The city is empty, my younger sister goes to school under occupation, where she is forced to draw thank you cards for russian soldiers and the teachers mock her for her Ukrainian accent. She constantly cries and asks me to pick her up, but I don’t know what to say. My mother had a stroke, but she was not admitted to the hospital during the occupation because she did not have a Russian passport, and they did not manage to help her in time. Parts of her brain are permanently disabled, and she barely recognizes me or moves. I'm glad she's alive, but I no longer have support in my mother, this happened too soon.

Abroad, I was once attacked by russian emigrants in Lithuania. They saw my passport when I was buying tickets, and then they followed me and started pushing me and calling me a Nazi. A taxi driver helped me and took me away from there. The last time I was in Ukraine, a rocket fell near the house where I was visiting. Neither I nor anyone in the house was surprised or frightened, it was just the deep despair of millions of people from hopelessness.

I don’t remember well half a year during the occupation, but I remember how we made a fire to cook food, that there was no water, buses with loudspeakers drove through the streets, calling for surrender. How they came and took our medicines from our houses. How we went to rallies and had grenades thrown at us. I saw two huge piles rising above the ground - with the remains of cars and, apparently, with the remains of bodies and everything else. This picture is very unclear, I almost threw up, and after a couple of minutes a russian military man came up to me and asked if I loved russia. I answered "yes". What else could I say?

Now I am undergoing treatment from a psychiatrist and am trying to work to donate to those in need. Every day there are only more and more and more of them... those who have lost their home, limbs or loved ones. It pains me to see requests for help with funerals.

I feel nothing today except emptiness