#I hope she'd kick his ass for saying this shit

[litnerdwrites]

"Nesta is Illyrian. Elain is Elain."

I'm sorry, did he just use his mother's people, Azriel and Cassian's people, his people, as a derogatory term? No wonder the Illyrians don't like him, if he casually says things like this. No wonder other characters thing negatively of Illyrians when their HL, and half Illyrian himself, who supposedly loves his Illyrian mother and sister, uses them as an insult.

Even if you don't like Nesta, you can't seriously stand there and tell me this isn't a fucked up thing to say, especially with the oppression Illyrian women face. Yet we're still expected to believe that Rhysand is the Feminist, anti racist, anti classist king that we all love? Hell no. In what universe is what he said not racist?!

Then there's the... entire plot of ACOSF. They abused and beat her until she learned to just take it, and consider it a form of love as opposed to what it really is. The same way that Illyrian women are beaten and abused their whole lives, until they eventually have no choice but to accept the abuse that they've been dealt with.

To add a cherry onto the sundae of fucked up behaviour, the bat boys swear up and down that they aren't anything like the abusive assholes in Illyria and would never accept that kind of behaviour.

[writingouthere]

singlemom!reader x neighbor!Sukuna. Valentine's day special. Sukuna gets your daughter to help him out on your first Valentine's Day together

cw: none really, maybe too much fluff?

"Alright, sweetheart, you got this?"

Your daughter nods her head, her determination so reminiscent of you that Sukuna falls a little harder in love.

"When I say, princess, you're going to...."

"Come to the livin' room with the box," your daughter recites faithfully and Sukuna nods.

"And you know what you're going to say to mommy?"

Bug nods again and he's kissing her cheek in adoration when he hears an annoying groan.

"Oh my god, how much longer is this going to take," Yuuji complains while he holds up one end of a long string of twinkly lights, one of his uninvited friends holding the other end.

"I can't believe getting pussy has turned you into this," Fugisaki says from where she is arranging some flowers on the coffee table, shaking her head as if she knows a fucking thing.

"It is a lot."

He says less, but somehow Fushiguro's condemnation of his behavior pisses him off the most. Sukuna picks up his daughter while he walks over to where his little brother is on a ladder.

"If you mother fuckers don't stop cursing around my kid, I'm going to knock you on your fucking asses."

Yuuji looks down at him, unconcerned. "Dude, you just cursed like a million times."

Sukuna kicks over the ladder and Yuuji falls, bringing down the lights him and Fushiguro had been hanging for the past half hour.

The other boy looks over at them, green eyes furious. "For fuck's sake-"

"Oy, what did I say about swearing in front of my fucking kid?"

"I can't believe you're about to get a woman to marry you," Fugisaki says, standing up and tilting her head to look over the decor that wasn't just ripped from the walls.

"I will call Zenin and tell her that you cried while stalking her instagram when she had that away tournament when you were on a break."

Her head snaps up and she narrows her eyes at him. "You wouldn't."

"I recorded a video," Sukuna says, pulling out his phone while Bug giggles on his hip,

"If you do that, I'll tell your girlfriend that you wrecked her apartment so she'd have no choice but to move in with you," she tells him, crossing her arms over her chest.

Sukuna turns to glare at Yuuji. "Snitch!"

"Don't do sketchy ass shit and I won't have things to snitch on," Yuuji says, rubbing his back which had landed right on the floor.

Sukuna and Kugisaki stare at one another until he puts the phone away and she looks smug.

"Finish decorating and then get the fuck out of my apartment."

"Fuck!"

Everyone turns to look at the little girl who had just said her first swear word. Fushiguro is pressing his fingers to his temple like he's the one who's going to get in trouble for this. Yuuji and Kugisaki look delighted.

"You're so fucked, dude," the brat tells him and Sukuna sighs.

"Let's go practice in the other room, sweetheart," Sukuna says to his now fouled mouth daughter. "We'll let the help finish up over here."

Sukuna ignores three separate cries of "Hey!" and hopes that your daughter drops her newly acquired vocab before you come home.

"Alright, when I say princess...."

---------

When you walk in and see the apartment, you look excited if a little suspicious.

"What's all this? I thought you said Valentine's Day was a corporate conspiracy to take money from losers who should have been weeded out from natural selection."

"This isn't about Valentine's Day," Sukuna tells you and you hum as you take off your jacket and put your stuff by the door.

"Okay, just a coincidence then?"

"Sort of," Sukuna concedes and then pulls you towards him, your eyes looking around at the twinkle lights that have been placed all around your living room. There's flowers on the table, not roses because he wasn't corny, he'd gotten a mix of your favorites and you look pleased in that way you did whenever he did something that showed he paid attention to you.

"So what's the special occasion?"

The long answer was, it was in part because of Valentine's Day, but it was something he'd known was coming since the day he'd met you.

Bug had written many cards in the week leading up to Valentine's Day, everyone in your lives had gotten one. Sukuna had been proud to have received more than anyone, aside from you. Uncle Yuuji had pouted he'd only gotten two until Kugisaki had punched him, saying she'd only gotten one and she'd had to share it with her girlfriend.

The card that had started this whole chain of events had looked like any other. A heart clearly cut out by an adult, colored varying shades of red and green, Bug's favorite colors at the moment. On the inside, it had said, Happy Valentine's Day Daddy!

Happy Valentine's Day Daddy.

The words had been written by an adult, but Sukuna wondered what had happened to get them there. Had the teachers made the same card for everyone, which seemed rather obtuse even to him, or had Bug requested a card for him. For her dad.

Bug still called him 'Kuna, and he didn't mind. She was young and you had only been together for a little over a month. He didn't expect things to change overnight and considering the little girl had already lost one father, he could understand if she was hesitant to use the title again.

But it was there, in writing, and Sukuna just couldn't wait anymore for it to be true.

He had been so pleased that the two of you were officially together that he hadn't pushed for more. He had thrown around words like forever and wife, more than once and you seemed receptive but those words had stayed mostly in the bedroom.

The two of you were even trying for a baby, although that was another thing that remained mostly behind closed doors. Sukuna hadn't given this part of his plan much thought, but he had assumed that once you were pregnant, it would be a quick matter to convince you to marry him and put his ring on you so you could never escape him with a child and the law to bond you two together.

Getting you knocked up could take months though, even giving it as much effort as he was every night and he didn't want to wait anymore. He wanted to call you his wife and Bug his daughter. He wanted to call you his in front of the few people he didn't actively hate and he wanted to know that when he woke up, you would be there too.

So here he was, in the apartment you both shared, holding your hands in his, seeing what they looked like without his ring for hopefully the last time.

"Sukuna?"

"I'm getting there, be patient," he told you leaning in to kiss you. You responded eagerly and you leaned up so he had easier access to your mouth. Keeping in mind the little girl definitely listening in, he pulled back. He took a second to appreciate the way your eyes were almost hazy with desire and the way your lips look freshly kissed.

"I need to be the impatient one tonight," he says and he gives you one last kiss just to savor you. "I can't wait any longer, princess."

There's a quick pause and you look a little confused, mostly curious, when the door to your daughter's room opens and your little girl steps out. She's dressed in a beautiful white dress. She'd picked it out when Sukuna had taken her shopping the day before and she had a crown of flowers on top of her head, courtesy of Kugisaki who Sukuna maybe hated a little less right now.

You smiled at your daughter and held out your arms for her to come to you and she did, holding her dress up as she ran to you.

"You look like a princess, my love."

"Imma princess, just like you," she says and you look at Sukuna fondly.

"Guess that's why we got such a charming prince with us, right?" You tease and Sukuna doesn't care how corny it is, this moment is just for your little family anyway.

"We got something to ask you," Sukuna says and he nods at Bug, who opens up a sparkly purse.

"You do?" You ask and he sees realization start to sink in. "Sukuna-"

Bug pulls out the box and holds it out to you. "Mommy, can 'Kuna be my daddy now?"

You look at the box and then look at Sukuna.

"Is this-?"

"Open it and see," Sukuna tells you and he reaches over to grab your daughter who giggles and he holds her tighter as she looks over at you.

You open the box and in it sits a ring. Sukuna had bought it before the two of you even started dating. He had seen it in the window of a shop and just known it would look beautiful on you. You bite your lip and your eyes begin to well up with tears.

"So? What do you say, princess? Marry me?"

You're crying now and he sees Bug start to get a little worried before you're smiling and leaning over to kiss Sukuna, your hands holding his face to yours. He grins against your mouth and uses his free arm to pull you closer, his whole world in his arms now.

"Yes, yes, yes!"

"Yay!" Bug cheers and you both kiss her face as she giggles and pushes against you.

You let Sukuna pull the ring from the box and put it on your finger, where it will stay forever if he has anything to say about it. You look at him in confusion when he holds his own hand out.

"There's another ring in that box for a reason," he teases and you look at him in confusion.

"Isn't this a ring for after you're married?"

"Well there aren't a lot of pretty engagement rings for men, but if you get to walk around showing everyone you're mine until we tie the knot, I want everyone to see I'm yours."

You start crying all over again and you put the golden band on Sukuna's finger and he can't help the pride he feels at the sight of it. The knowledge that everyone will look at it and know he belongs to you.

"We don't need to rush the wedding, it can be up to you," he tells you. "I'll marry you in the summer or the fall, or we can go to City Hall tomorrow and take the kid to honeymoon at Disney for all I care. I just want to be married to you."

You smile and then you look up at him shyly. 'Well we probably shouldn't wait too long."

He raises an eyebrow and then you put your hand on your stomach.

"We should probably do it before I start to show, don't you think?"

That's the end! Are you actually pregnant or are you just being cautious, who knows! Hope you enjoyed, I wrote like 2,000 words, deleted all of it after I wrote the scene at the beginning of this one. Is that me learning how to edit?

Appreciate all of your support always and hope you know you are loved and amazing today!

[irisintheafterglow]

can i put in my two cents on girldad!bakugo whose daughter got mom's quirk

cw: prohero!bkg, swearing, fem!reader, fluff and crack with a small side of angst

"yer mom's gonna fuckin' kill me if we don't get this out," he mumbles, furiously scrubbing at the splotches of rainbow paint covering his three-year-old daughter's previously white dress.

"fuckin!" his daughter echoes and he flinches.

"no, no, no. we can't say that," he says softly, kneeling down on the tile of the laundry room where she was watching him work. "mama's gonna kick my ass if she hears you swear, so we can't say that word...yet. m'kay sweetheart?"

"kick ass!" she laughs innocently, giggling as his face contorts into a mix of horror, shock, and joy. "dada, you funny," she babbles, reaching up to grab at his face. he fights the instinct to pull away, afraid of how she'd react if she looked too closely at the scars covering his face. you'd talked him through it numerous times before, but he was still scared she would be scared of all the battles etched into his skin. it was his own anxiety talking, he knew, and she must have received her empathy from you because she reached up toward her dad anyway. her little eyebrows pinch and her stubby fingers brush over the rough, discolored tissue. "dada ouchie?"

"dada ouchie long time ago, bubs," he murmurs, taking her hand and kissing her tiny nails. "but mama saved dada. and now," he lifts her from the floor and positions her comfortably on his hip, her head leaning against his shoulder, "baby needs to help save dada from mama."

"mama angry?" his daughter frowns and he nods, staring frustratedly at the pastel stains on the white fabric. "what dada do?"

"oi! it's not always my fault," he protests, leaning closer as his daughter tries to tug his hair. "though, i do admit, this is my shit to clean up."

"shit!" she repeats brightly, grinning up at him as he fondly rolls his eyes.

"i think you're doing this on purpose, you gremlin," he grunts and she smiles up at him mischievously.

"gremlin!" it's the same smirk he does, the only difference being her eyes match yours instead of his.

"you got yer dada's dirty mouth. mama's not gonna be happy, but i," he pecks a kiss on her forehead, "am ecstatic." his daughter's eyes temporarily flash emerald green and she points to the front door.

"zuzu," she informs him. he groans and bites back another curse, throwing the stained dress into a basket and hoping for the best.

"that dumbass isn't supposed to be here until six," bakugo grumbles. he adjusts his daughter and moves into the living room in time to catch a car pulling up at the curb of the house.

"dumbass!" he doesn't have time to scold her because, unfortunately, her quirk isn't done yet. while he hurries to kick any toys under the couch and wipe the faded paint off his hands, her eyes flash pink, red, and yellow a split second before a knock at the front door.

"mimi! eiji!" his daughter squeals in excitement. he sets her down so she can rush to the door, opening it to reveal a half-dozen pro heroes squished onto the front porch. she jumps straight into kirishima's open arms, a string of drool dripping from her wide smile.

"you're early," bakugo deadpans while his high school friends toe off their shoes. "wasn't expecting her to alert for another half hour." his daughter transfers from kirishima to mina, who throws her up into the air like a beach ball. "oi, watch it with her, pinky. don't be giving her a concussion."

"lighten up, bakugo," mina replies without missing a beat, tossing the squealing child again. "what's got your panties in a twist?"

"did her flight get delayed or something?" denki asks, taking the baby from mina and flying her around the room while making racecar noises. bakugo watches his daughter like a hawk, never more than five feet away from her. he won't admit that he trusts his friends, but he also knows he could never be too careful.

"nah," he frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. "i jus' fucked up, is all."

"how so?" bakugo mindlessly unpacks the various packages of chips and soda, organizing them on the kitchen counter and punching a stray balloon out of his way.

"accidentally sent her to school with the wrong dress on," he grimaces. "thought it was a different white one, but it was supposed to be the one for today." he disappears momentarily into the laundry room, re-entering with the stained white dress in his hand. "she was screamin' and cryin' about not having anything to wear for her school's paint-a-thon thing, so i just put this on her without checkin..."

"yeesh, she really did a number on this, didn't she?" kirishima says, examining the various spots of pink, blue, and green. "her mom say anything about what she was supposed to wear?"

"i didn't wanna bother her," he mumbles in shame. "you know how important this gig was for her." his friends nod, wracking their brains for how to improve the situation. it was mina's idea, originally, to host a welcome home party after you'd been overseas for a reconnaissance mission, which was why they'd all congregated at your house.

"if it means anything, i think it looks even better," she assures him with a pat on his shoulder. "the colors are nice."

"thanks, pinky. i'm just not good at this shit."

"what, being a dad? like it's hard?" kirishima clicks his tongue, lightly slapping denki on the back of his head.

"dad of a girl," bakugo corrects with a scowl, "you got sons, pikachu. don't even try me."

"i think what he means," kirishima gently interrupts after shooting denki a look, "is that you should be a little easier on yourself."

"she's just got her mom's quirk, y'know? i don't want her to grow up with a shitty dad that doesn't know how to help her develop her quirk." though your daughter could only track up to six people and locate them when they're within 100 feet, your ability to track up to 65 people and locate them on a country-wide scale made you highly desirable to agencies around the globe. with you gone, it was up to bakugo to take care of his daughter and keep the house in order, but he found himself struggling to know what decisions were the right ones.

"you're learning, bakubro, and so is she." denki gestures to your daughter sitting on the living room floor, concentrating on stacking wooden ice cream pieces. "she doesn't know what a 'bad dad' is. she just knows you, and i don't think you're a terrible dad at all." bakugo nods in lieu of answering, his cheeks heating as the rest of his friends echo their agreement.

"if this little ball of spunk is any indication of how much of you she's got in her," mina says with a fond smile, "then she's gonna be just fine." any further thoughts are halted by the front door swinging open again.

"i got the cake! we gotta put it in the fridge, though, since it might've been smushed during travel," deku announces, handing off a stack of gift boxes and catering platters to denki. "now where's my favorite girl?"

"zuzu!" on cue, she comes waddling around the corner of the couch and helps herself to her favorite uncle's shoulders, finding two fistfuls of green hair as handles.

"you better not drop my fuckin' daughter, izuku," bakugo warns. "i'll blast your ass to mercury."

"do you always swear this much with her around?"

"fuckin!"

"that's exactly what i don't think should happen," kirishima states, unsurprised. "have you been teaching her that stuff?"

"she's a smart girl. picks up on things quick, like her mama," he dodges. "speaking of, you got eyes on mama yet, baby?"

"no mama, dada," she replies. "mama home soon?"

"yeah, mama home soon, so we gotta get you ready." he's about to take his daughter off deku's shoulders when he hears mina gasp. he'd known her long enough to know that sound meant she had an idea, and those ideas weren't necessarily good ones. "you got somethin' to say, pinky?"

"let me get her ready, and i'll fix your little dress problem for you," she says cryptically. bakugo doesn't have much time to protest as his daughter is already stretching from his arms to mina's, giggling while they disappear down the hallway.

---

forty-five minutes and a handful of inflated balloons later, his daughter's eyes flash neon orange, the same color your eyes flash for him. she doesn't know any other color to assign me, you theorized one night as you laid together in comfortable darkness. i guess she just associates me with you.

"welcome home!" denki excitedly opens the confetti shooter while kirishima bombards you with a sizable flower bouquet. you're standing speechless in the doorway and he watches your eyeline; it scans the room and its many shimmering balloons, paper streamers, and hero friends until it lands on him and your daughter, holding tightly to his pinky by the kitchen table. when the glitter settles, he gives her a nod, an okay to let her run to you.

"hi, my darling!" you beam, picking her up to hold her close and meet your husband's eyes over her shoulder. "and hello, my love," you murmur as his hands find your waist, pulling you close and pressing his lips to your forehead.

"missed you," he hums, his breathing finally returning to a steady rhythm for the first time in weeks. "she's been a handful."

"i'm sure she has." katsuki's expression is soft, only reserved for you and the child in your arms.

"how was the job?"

"a lot," you admit, allowing yourself to decompress now that you're home. "i can't tell if my head hurts from my quirk or the ten-hour flight," you smile tiredly.

"you got enough in the tank to entertain our friends? or do you need me to kick 'em out?"

"if it's these guys," you say, looking at the rowdy group of guests passing around plates and flatware, "of course i can."

"i guess we got more incoming," katsuki observes as another carload full of his friends arrive. "can we get you some food? baby and i will handle being welcome committee."

"well, do you, uh," you chuckle, finally acknowledging the pink-splattered elephant between you two. "do you wanna tell me why your shirt looks like you hugged a rainbow? and why her dress' stains look older?"

"oh, right. this." he looks down at his previously white button-down, now colored various shades of orange, blue, yellow, and pink to match his daughter's dress. you raise your eyebrows knowingly, already amused even before he answers.

"yeah," you smirk. "that." he shrugs, snaking a hand behind your back and leading you to the platters of dinner on the counter.

"it was paint-a-thon day."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! commissions and nsfw requests can be sent through my fiverr! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[bunnysbrainrot]

Unspoken Rules

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟹 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 '𝚃𝚘𝚘 𝚂𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝' 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚢𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙷𝚘𝚣𝚒𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐.

Relationship: Joel Miller x f!Reader, Jackson!AU

Content: Angst, protective Joel, kissing, sexual themes, make out session, size kink (kind of?)

Summary: The day after the town dance, Joel doesn't seem so sentimental for your time together. The emotional rollercoaster leaves you confused. Something is off about him now, and it's taking everything in you to not leave yourself to blame. Finally, Joel tries setting a boundary, but will he hold to it?

[ A/N: For this series, I invite the reader to make up their own backstory for how they end up in Jackson. I'll keep descriptions in the chapters vague, as I didn't want to assign a backstory when it's something people can have such fun with! ]

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep

The gentle chirping of your watch pulls you from sleep, but not without some protest. You groan softly at a headache taking form and begin to regret last night's decisions. Prying an eye open, a green 6:31 AM shines back at you, though the sun hardly shows it through your curtains. A dim lavender sky peeks through instead.

What a nice start to the day, you think to yourself, sighing loudly as you shift to sit up; the rush of movement swells your pesky headache, making you squeeze your eyes shut.

"Shit," you grumble, rubbing your eyes, "fuckin' mead, man... never again."

And especially never before patrol day.

The thought of riding your horse through rough Wyoming terrain doesn't excite you. Instead, you get the gift of an unsettled stomach, but pull yourself out of bed nonetheless.

••••

"Good morning!"

Your neighbor's cheerful greeting rings in your head, but you know she means well. She'd been at the dance last night, too, but you didn't get a chance to talk, from what you remember, at least. Giving her a small wave, you force a smile you hope is genuine enough to sell the 'I'm not hungover' act.

The food stall is desolate, to your relief, save for the man running it. You seem him every time you stop by, though neither of you have exchanged names, but he has memorized your order already. His eyes shine genuinely when he hands you your food.

"It's good to see you again," the man says, "welcome to Jackson."

You smile appreciatively and take the sandwich, giving him a brief thanks before heading off. He provides breakfast for the patrol groups, but never wants anything in return. Maybe you could repay him, somehow, you think. Mulling it over, you tear into the sandwich while you make your way to the stables. The thick, earthy smell of hay wafts past, and the sputtering of horses sounds ahead.

Rounding the corner reveals today's patrol group - it's evidently much smaller than last time.

Joel doesn't turn when your footsteps approach. You spot the beautiful mare you'd ridden last patrol, Belle, occupied with a bucket of hay. She huffs loudly when you meet her, angling her head to look at you, before resuming her breakfast. Joel silently adjusts a hefty saddle onto his horse nearby. Clinking of metal clasps fills the silence before Joel breaks it.

"How's the hangover?"

There's a terseness in his tone, as if forcing a conversation he doesn't want to have. He doesn't turn to you when he asks the question.

You pause for a beat, "Kicking my ass a little."

Joel nods once, "Been there."

This Joel isn't the same man you danced with last night, this version doesn't remember, or simply doesn't care. Nothing from last night was special enough to hold onto today. Shame starts to sink in your uneasy stomach. So he really did mean it, when he called himself a fool for dancing with you.

"Where are we meeting up with the rest of the group?"

A casual tone masks the pain blooming in your chest, and the tears that prick your eyes. You wouldn't dare let them fall in front of Joel. He shouldn't know how much last night meant to you, even if he wouldn't bat an eye at your tears. It seems like last night's biggest mistake was thinking that he, somehow, was true to his actions. When his lips were brushing against your neck, hovering over your ear, before his tone had gone seductively darker.

"Just us today. Smaller groups help cover more ground."

It feels like an invisible string is pulled between you when he speaks, growing more taught with each bated breath and expressionless comment. You come to notice that Belle is already donning her saddle and gear, a task you hadn't done yourself.

Glancing at Joel, you hesitate, "Thank you for getting Belle ready."

Finally, he turns from his horse's saddle and shifts attention to you. A steely look in his eyes reprimands you without words. It didn't seem like a favor. He'd done your work for you.

"Saddling up is the boring part. Not as tricky as it looks, though. I'll ask Maria to show you how," he offers dismissively.

It’s a nice gesture, but the Maria part begins to register. He won’t show you, or doesn't want to spend time alone with you after what transpired last night. Confusion lingers in the back of your mind - Joel invited you to dance, and now it's as if you've never held a conversation before.

You nod, "Sounds good to me."

Even though it was not, in fact, good at all. Maybe last night really was some drunken mistake, but it wouldn't make sense of Joel's demeanor now.

Why did he look like he had something else to say?

••••

"Pretty day today," Joel states.

Sunlight streaks between distant mountain peaks, painting the morning fog with a breathtaking display of orange and yellow. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see how it casts a golden halo around Joel's salt and pepper hair, highlighting its warmer browns. He turns to his saddle bag, giving you a glimpse of his face; the sunlight works wonders. He's warmer and brighter... there's more life to him.

Joel gestures to one of the peaks ahead, "See that mountain over there? The shorter one to the right - we stop at the base of it. On the way out there, we're on lookout, gettin' rid of any stragglers. At the turn-around point we'll rest, and the trip back is supply pickup, in case we find anything."

You clear your throat, carrying on, "Got it... Must be a long route, hm?"

"At an average pace, 'bout two hours or so. If you're bookin' it, you could do it in less than one."

The talking is helpful when it's useful information, but anything else reminds you of last night, of that version of Joel. When he was in such stark contrast to this gruff personality, and if you were being honest, it had intrigued you. Pulled you in deeper.

In fact, from the moment you saw him, he caught your eye. On that chilly morning, where you stood timid and anxious amidst the crowd, something clicked in place when he'd briefly turned to you.

A certain roughness in his look told you that something, many things, has roughed him around the edges over the years. You couldn't tell his age, but you could assume that he witnessed the fall of everything. Back then, the world crumbled with the rise of the infection, its haunting mortality rate, and there was no hope of it being stopped after it had begun. You wondered what Joel's life had been before he ended up in Jackson - how his 'regular life' was, back when the world made more sense.

His accent is distinctly and seductively Southern, one you could listen to for hours. Clearly he isn't from around here - any kind of travel across so much terrain isn't an easy task, and it would take months at a steady pace.

So how the hell did he wind up in Jackson?

Joel reaches for a canteen of water, unscrewing the top and tossing his head back, taking in a few deep gulps. His jaw twitches as he drinks greedily, and follows it with a low, satisfied sigh when he's finished. The sound casts you into a void of unholy thoughts. Something tightens in your core, a feeling that, you now realize, you haven't had in months. Years, maybe.

Effortlessly, Joel shines light on an emotion you hadn't addressed to even yourself: a primal need for something.

••••

With the exception of picking off the straggling infected, the patrol is continuing quite smoothly. The sun is slowly inching its way across the sky, keeping you comfortably warm in a gentle breeze that relieves your dull headache. Now, Joel leads you down a path veering toward an open stretch of pasture at the base of the mountain. Peering ahead, you see the trail reach its end at the start of the field, and beyond spans into a sea of rolling hills that takes your breath away.

"How you doin' back there?" Joel asks.

"Still good," you reassure him.

He nods his head toward a fence far off in the pasture, "We go to the edge of the perimeter, then we loop around. We'll take a breather first, though."

You follow in his stead until he reaches the old wooden fence, dismounting his horse, and carefully tying its reigns to a nearby fence post. Dismounting Belle gives your hips and thighs a wave of relief to get some blood flowing again. You head to the fence on unsteady legs, leaning against the weathered wood as another gust of wind rushes by. The cool wind across your skin makes you turn to face its source, tossing your head back to invite its presence at your neck. Your eyes flutter shut, and the world melts away for a while.

He wishes he could burn this image in his mind. You throwing your head back as the wind blows, entangling itself through your hair, your clothes. That soft smile tugging at your lips has him completely distracted before you let out a happy sigh. A soft, breathy sound that makes his imagination wander, against his better judgement.

After all, last night was a mistake.

The moment Cara had called for your attention, inviting you to join his group, Joel knew the night would end differently than he expected. You wore a shirt that accentuated every area his eyes shouldn't have wandered to, but they did. Across the lot, he'd watched you dance for hours, spinning and twirling and laughing and really, truly, living. He could see a light in you, a fire that couldn't be put out.

But if you're a fire, Joel is gasoline.

"Listen," he starts. He already knows where this is heading, that he's ruined this moment, and that there will be nothing in his power to make it any better.

But he can't let you fall into a delusion. This idea that you want him, yet you have no idea of what's underneath. He can't have you focused on him when there's a whole community to serve. He's doing a service by telling you now, he assures himself.

Nipping it in the bud.

You turn to face him quickly, knowingly. He can tell by your fidgeting hands that you might know what's coming. And he can see it in your wide-eyed expression, still somewhat hopeful. He braced himself to see that face fall.

"What happened last night... ain't my best moment. I didn't hold myself back when I shoulda have, and I..." he straightens, "it can't happen again."

The words come out meaninglessly. Joel speaks, but can't hear himself, his words come from some far-off mental script he'd prepared when he'd gotten home last night. He can see it hit you - the realization, the way your body goes completely still. Your bottom lip trembles slightly, yet you hold a solid smile despite the hurt he sees in your eyes. Your hands have frozen in place, knuckles growing white from gripping them together so tightly.

"I-I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have gotten so carried away," you explain.

Your apology is a blow to his gut. Have you been blaming yourself this whole time? As if you could even be at fault. Joel asked you to dance. You were about to go home, and he asked you to stay out of his own selfishness.

He needed that light, that fire. A brightness that only you've possessed, and it had him hooked from the first time you'd spoken, at last patrol. You had strayed away from your position in the party and had wound up next to him. It hadn't registered who had joined him, and before he had the chance to issue a harsh 'stay back', there you were, in complete awe.

Joel remembers it clearly: the way your eyes shone with delight, an infectious smile that for a moment, lifted his spirits. Every patrol was the same. Same people, same routes, over and over and over again with exhausting mundanity. Until you came along.

There was a light about you he could not touch.

In every way you are his opposite. On one hand, Joel is harsh, serious, and doesn't care much about his impact on others, let alone their feelings. You, on the other hand, represent everything Joel could've had for himself - kind, flexible, and you naturally cared for others.

Joel can't seem to remember when he lost that side of himself. He doesn't understand your capacity for kindness in a world this dark.

"You shouldn't be apologizing for anything," he says.

You pause and look toward the ground, wringing your hands again, "I should've just gone home."

If you had, you wouldn't be on the verge of tears right now.

A surge of regret fills his chest. Someone as kind as you doesn't deserve the pain of rejection; you should have someone who cherishes you, who can appreciate your softness without tainting it.

"Why'd you stay?"

There was no use for excuses now.

It's harder to meet his eyes this time, but you want to see his reaction to your answer.

"Because you asked me to dance."

Confusion knits Joel's eyebrows together when he asks, "And that was so special?"

"Yes. Was it not that way for you?"

He opens his mouth to answer, yet he hesitates. The long pause doesn't much to help your confusion, you truly want to know, to hear it from him first. If it wasn't important, it'd be easier to forget it happened in the first place.

It would certainly be easier than an unrequited love. Anything is easier.

"That's not what I said."

"It's implied," you state. Joel averts his gaze to the fence, idly picking at a loose piece of wood. "It's alright if it wasn't, I just... I need to know."

Another beat passes before he gives his answer, at long last. Joel matches your pose from earlier and leans with his back against the fence.

"It was. Special, that is," he says gently. That softness in his voice was greatly missed, and it's a breath of fresh air to hear it once more. "It's just... you're still new here. I don't want you getting distracted-"

"Are you calling yourself a distraction?"

Joel's eyes dart to you, "Am I not?"

You press your lips into a thin line, making his question ultimately rhetorical. He nods once, then turns his head to you. The intensity of his stare demands it to be met, so you meet his eyes and find a playfulness there, a hint of the Joel from last night.

"Am I one?"

"Telling you would just give you ideas," he teases.

You smirk, "So I am."

"The worst kind."

Shifting your weight on your feet reminds you of the soreness in your legs, so you lift your arms, and push yourself onto the top of the fence, dangling your legs over the side. The silence between you now isn't as uncomfortable as earlier. No, this is the silence of anticipation, wondering what or who will give a resolution.

"What about me is so distracting?" You ask.

In place of words, Joel makes his way to you, positioning himself in front of your swinging legs, which now shook a little more than you'd like to admit. He closes the gap with hands on either side of you, gripping the wood beneath his rough fingers.

There's no way to place his expression when he looks at you again.

He replies, voice low and strained, "Everything."

You can't miss it when his eyes wander to your lips, hovering there a moment longer than he needed to. Taking the opportunity you look at his as well - you knew they were soft, but hadn't felt much of them. Need and hunger are all you can feel as you stare.

When his lips meet yours, there's something that tells you that maybe this situation was inevitable. One look at him, and you knew how you felt, and exactly how willing you'd be to take your time with him.

But today, Joel doesn't need time. He knows what he wants.

He groans into your mouth when you move your lips against his - the sound of a starved animal finally getting their fill. It draws a moan from you, matching him in a sweet harmony. There's a gap between you still, that simply isn't enough.

You reach forward in search of the waistband of his jeans, hook your fingers through his belt loops, and tug Joel forward. His mouth crashes into yours once again, skirting his tongue across your bottom lip, begging for entry. One at a time, you wrap your legs around Joel's waist and secure yourself tightly against him, gripping at his shoulders with a ferocity you didn't recognize.

It's not as slow as you would've liked him to go, but it's the pace you need. For how long it felt to wait, for how impatient you'd been.

And he knows how to deliver it.

His hands roam carefully around your waist, squeezing and fondling with an avarice that shows he's been waiting just as impatiently. Every caress sets you alight, erupting goosebumps along your arms and neck, which Joel is slowly shifting his attention to.

"Joel," you pant, but it's all you can muster. There's more to the sentence, but his lips stop you. They play at the soft skin below your jaw, suckling gently before his tongue slides along your supple flesh, bringing himself to your ear.

He catches your earlobe between his teeth and bites playfully. Another moan falls past your lips, another breathy utterance of his name. Joel plants a kiss below your ear. You card your fingers through his hair, tugging at the soft strands.

"Careful, pretty girl," says Joel, reaching upward to support your head as it's thrown back in pleasure. He weaves his fingers into your hair for a comfortable grip, and pulls your head back further.

The constriction chokes you, but you smile anyway at the dull pain from where he holds you. With his strength, he has you exactly where he wants you, and can keep you there. The high-pitched moan you sing next has Joel losing his composure, his actions growing sloppier as you continue.

But, to your surprise, he releases you first.

Joel pulls back with a final kiss pressed to your lips again, a deep and savoring one. The back of your head stings from the grip he held on it, though it gives you a rush of adrenaline you won't trade for anything.

The sigh he lets out is one you can recognize, because you're breathing the same one.

This complicates things.

Hi guys! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it took a long time to write, and I think it's because it's not smut, and it was very frustrating, so next chapter will have a LOT more (i'm already plotting)

[wonryllis]

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 & 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖𝐒 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐒

𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎? 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝗒 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎? 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗂 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎?

ׅ ꢾ꣒ find the MASTERLIST here.

PREVIEW. you always get what you want, spoiled with the love of everyone around you. and it's all innocent love, at least that's what everyone thinks. it comes with much surprise therefore, when heeseung makes a move on you. thirteen long years of being in the brother zone having made him utterly clueless that if he’s going to date you he has to pass through your actual brothers first. and he knows how scary they can be. especially since they are known to have a sister complex and he’s been the third scary one with them, numerous times before.

𝐈 check out the PROFILES.

PLS READ THE CONTENT BELOW ALL THE CHARACTER INFO IS LISTED IN JUST THIS ONE POST !

𝐈𝐈 tune in to the CHARACTER INTERVIEWS ( given by the characters themselves ! )

CHOI YN 20 ( fashion ), well what do i say? hello everyone i'm choi yn! im sure everyone knows me already ^^ .. what else do i say? hmm i love my life a lot! i love my brothers and heeseung and wonie so much, they are the closest people in my life! oh shit sorry riki too hehe oops. college has been fun since im doing exactly what i wanted and it's fun to hangout with won all the time. seungie brings me snacks all the time and binnie lets me eat cakes everyday even though junnie has scolded them not to cause i easily get dental problems and then he has to convince be to go to the dentist, eww.

LEE HEESEUNG 23 ( film ), if you ever stop hearing from me, please know that my day has come and i have chosen to be exposed. as much as jun and soobs love me, and as much as they love tiny(my yn, she's just real cute) if i ever dare speak of that kind of love with tiny in the same sentence it's my last moment on earth. jay and taehyun help a lot and i'd give everything to thank them for it but man they still haven't been able to actually help me get with yn?

CHOI SOOBIN 24 ( law school ), yes my sister is my everything, each one of her wishes no matter how stupid and idiotic they are, must be fulfilled. i think i was like ten when ynie said being a lawyer would be so cool, and it's been my life's motto now. law school kicks my ass yeah but whenever i think of how happy she'd be to see me as a badass lawyer it feels like nothing. i could easily help her win the divorce that's a plus point, i think i should start looking into divorce attorney things.

CHOI YEONJUN 25 ( model ), i swear scaring away my baby sister's admirers is one of my full time jobs besides runaway modelling but alas she is my sister of course she's a beauty. i know she will date and marry a motherfucking guy one day, and i won't be able to stop it but i hope that day takes the longest time to come. she was one of the first ones to say how good my dressing style was, if it wasnt for her i would not be one of the rising faces in the fashion scene today.

PARK JAY 22 ( music production ), being lee heeseung's childhood friend has been my life's greatest downfall. and being his emergency contact number one is probably the biggest mistake of my life. it's so so so infuriating to see him do nothing and panic over the fact that some might sweep her off her feet right before his eyes like fucker you gotta sweep her off her feet rather than worrying over how someone else might sweep her off her feet. taehyun probably understands me.

SIM JAKE 22 ( physics ), it's fun, so so fun i can not express it verbally man, 'm having a blast! there's so many new things to learn i am so happy with my major and my astronomy club thing is going so well too, it's been amazing so far. the only thing i dont like is my mates ignoring me, like i tell them about all these quantum mechanics things and how it's works like it's legit the coolest thing ever and they don't wanna listen me and then come to me for help with assignments like dude? there's no give and take here and it's not high school anymore? but i do it cause im nice :)

PARK SUNGHOON 22 ( communications ), first of all i gotta thank my man taehyun for letting me copy off of him to pass my semesters so far. as a full time commercial and photoshoot model, college is just a side quest for me at this point, just need an arm candy degree to show that i am infact educated contrary to what people think. oh and i'd like to tell this, don't tell anyone, i actually know all the drama going on and it's so funny but i gotta stay low if i wanna be safe. sometimes i do think of stirring things up but yeonjun man he scares me, i better be on his good side.

KIM SUNOO 21 ( journalism ), for real god am i the only one working my ass off here cause why the hell all these dicks be fucking up their lives and copying off people to survive like? look at me, every little gossip on campus and you know who to go to get the full info! exactly how it should be for a journalism major. i swear i am doing all the shit ass work here. i admit i slip sometimes especially with heeseung's secret in front of god forbidden yn but 'm just a human, and humans make mistakes yk? and please tell kai to fuck off please, thank you.

YANG JUNGWON 20 ( fashion ), it's a different feeling when three guys trust you with their precious sister. and it's a different feeling when that precious real spoiled girl treats you like the best buddy she could ever have. but it's not so fortunate when you gotta dash to protect anytime the brothers ping you, it's like a national secret agency part time job and it's the hardest thing when the target is someone like yn. i treasure her a lot, as a friend! yes, yet the times when her brothers get jealous of me are some of the most nerve wrecking times.

NISHIMURA RIKI 20 ( photography ), are we surprised here? no wtf have y'all not seen the pics i post on my twt like i got talent you have to accept it. especially a lot of talent in gaming and luck, my luck be through the roofff. just started lol a year ago and my YouTube Chanel six months ago and im already almost a diamond and about to hit a million subscribers.. talk about god's favorite! ha that's me. but the thing is more than that i wanna be yn's favorite like i know she says won and i are same but i know that kitty is closer. for now i like being glued to yn, but after figuring out things so easily it's hard to keep quiet.

CHOI BEOMGYU 23 ( film ), with the amount of hate train behind me it's a miracle i am still breathing and in one piece. praying all this ends quickly and my life is returned back to me or i'll go crazy it has been like what two? three? years already! i need my freedom. i can count and name with my fingers the people who hate me. actually no it's everyone. anyways, i share all classes with heeseung and lord is it the scariest part of my life. at least yeonjun and soobin would need time to hunt me down but lee heeseung? he's right behind me two rows, staring down my every movement. look it's not my fault okay?

KANG TAEHYUN 22 ( communications ), it wasn't consensual. it is very important to clear this up. i did not give my papers to park sunghoon by choice. he had to pay me hefty for that so there's no thank you man, dude is pretending. and i am fucking sick of covering for heeseung all the time like dude grow balls, real balls dig up some manly guts and fucking do it before i lose patience and fuck shit up. every moment of listening to him lamenting over his feelings is the most frustrating shit ever. make him hear this one for god's fucking sake.

HUENING KAI 22 ( journalism ), no matter how much everyone denies it, i know they won't survive a day without me like? i provide sunoo with all the gossip of our side? how else do you think heeseung sneaks around yeonbin with his feelings? god it's me i do the passing the parcel of info. i mean taehyun is also involved with them but then i am more useful than that reality check of a guy, i mean who needs reality when you can live in a fantasy! hehe i just outdid everyone with that! or not anyway moving on yn's cr— SUNOO: shut the fuck up bitch!

𝐈𝐈𝐈 learn about THE GROUPCHATS.

01. HEEYN TRUTHERS heeseung, jay, jake, sunghoon, taehyun and sunoo: the group that has been supporting heeseung in pursuing his feelings since he first revealed it to them. for whenever he fucks up and they have to discuss how to save his ass. normal chats happen too.

02. BOSS BABIES yn, jungwon, riki: the trio that has been friends since middle school, and sticks together. yn spends most of her time with them, that is in college. often goes out to hangout and these two are yn's only actual friends!

03. SHOOTERZ 4 YN yeonjun, soobin, heeseung and jungwon: they use this chat to text each other whenever someone upsets yn or she's going somewhere alone and they need jungwon to secretly tag along to give them updates later.

04. PRINCESS & HER KNIGHTZ yn, yeonjun, soobin and heeseung: the main stars— spoiled baby and her overprotective boys. usually text her when it has to do something with the four of them, like when yn goes out or she needs someone to pick her up or accompany her or when they have dinner at each other's place and someone's missing and likewise.

05. PSYCHOS W/ SICKOS yeonjun, soobin, beomgyu, taehyun, huening kai and heeseung: well this is heeseung's other friend group with the yn brothers' friends that become his own after a while. this is yeonbin dominated friend group chat and beomgyu is main character lmao

START THE STORY — prologue 𓈒 ‎𓈒 ‎𓈒

TAGLIST . ( OPEN ) @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @shawnyle @enhastolemyheart @aaa-sia @snoopypupp @criminalyun @oddracha @satan-223 @diorsyun @hooniehon @fakeuwus @caramelcandescence @intromortal @kookify @yutasberryy @sumzysworld @nikiswifiee @shuichi-sama @primroselover @rayofsunshineeee @aishigrey @yjwluvs @soraokkotsu @nyfwyeonjun @srhnyx @trashx678 @wondipity @winuvs @hoondiors @niniissus @firstclassjaylee @biancaness send an ask to be added! (if your comment goes unnoticed it is not my responsibility)

[steviewashere]

Let Me Make You Soup, Let Me Show You That I Care

(also on ao3)

wc: 4,149, Steddie Tags: Post Vecna, Post Canon, Post Season 4, Sick Steve Harrington, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Vomiting (Though Not Extreme, For I am Emetophobic), Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Steve's Sucky ass Parents

(Also, I hope y'all don't mind me cross-posting some of my favorite one shots that I've put up on ao3. Figured I could push them to a bigger audience, especially those who don't use ao3).

--------

Steve gets sick often. Small colds, allergies, the dreaded flu. Maybe it doesn't help him that he's had so many concussions and injuries on top of that too. Left with debilitating migraines and aching sides and muscles that become overexerted too fast.

Safe to say, his immune system is now a pile of steaming dog shit.

He's become good at attempting to "take care" of himself. With his parents being absent nearly all the time, much of the recovery process and gentle care was left to Steve. His hands don't have the same soft and slim quality as his mother's did, though. Even if she doesn't make the effort to shove his hair from his sweaty forehead or massage vapor-rub onto his chest or squeeze his shoulders as he dry-heaves into the toilet. He can miss that.

It's also safe to say that Steve Harrington, best babysitter and lesbian protector, is absolutely terrible at asking for help. His idea is, Got myself into this mess, I can get myself out. His other idea is, I don't want to burden anybody; I've been that too many times.

He suspects that's why his parents aren't there now to tuck him into bed and check his temperature and read him a bedtime story. Even though, now, he's a nineteen year old "man." More like a bruised child trapped inside the buff body of an even more injured adult, left to his own devices and decisions.

Steve is miserable today. Woke up with a knocking headache, an itch at the bottom of his throat, tingly fingers, shivering limbs, and the need to massage his abdomen to elicit the vomit to come up sooner.

It's barely nine in the morning. Just cracked his eyes open. Which, are heavy with crust and too much sleep, yet not enough.

It's barely nine in the morning and all Steve wants to do is lay stiff on his mattress, a trusty tried and true trashcan on the floor, curtains closed, a heavy duvet draped over his legs, and the A/C set to sixty-eight degrees. That's what he does. Doesn't have the appetite for breakfast or water or Tylenol. He doesn't have the energy to lay on a towel on the bathroom floor, body curled around the base of the toilet bowl. And, he doesn't have the confidence to plead with somebody over the phone to "Take care of me, just this once and I'll repay you."

He's done that before to Tommy. The bastard never showed and Steve sobbed so hard at the thought of being left alone, that he hurled right onto the beige carpet of his bedroom. That's why the desk is stuffed into the corner. To cover what he couldn't even take care of.

Steve has decided to lay in bed today. Has already used the trashcan. Kicked off the duvet then whined then brought it back to his sweat drenched t-shirt hem, then said fuck this and ripped the shirt off his body.

The silk sheets against his rapidly heating body feels nice. Like laying on the kitchen floor, Steve surmises. And that makes him think of soup.

A hot bowl of chicken noodle soup. Something he's made himself countless times before. A recipe that his mom never perfected. It's just Campbell's, the instructions are on the label, yet it was never made correctly.

She'd do that. When her motherly instincts were at an all-time high. That had to be when he was probably five? Six? His mom would make a bowl of soup so warm and soothing that she would have to warn him about touching the ceramic. She would bring him a glass of orange juice and say, ever soft and comforting, "It'll help you. Mommy promises."

The juice would sting his throat and he would cough so hard she would start to worry about doing the Heimlich maneuver.

That's what his mother's "sick care" turned into. A glass of orange juice that only hurt, never helped, just made him think about swallowing glass.

Soup turned into a heat-until-lukewarm situation. Juice wasn't bought for him. His parents elected to buy "fancy juice" instead. Another descriptor for Mommy's self-healing alcohol problem, Steve began to substitute. He remembers the last time she ever made him anything or gave a shit about his weakened body.

Steve was eleven years old.

He eventually learned where to buy the Campbell's stuff. From Mevald's. Now he keeps a hefty supply in the back of his family's pantry. Ready for a day like this.

A day where at eleven, before noon, Steve has a sudden mouth watering appetite for measly chicken noodle soup.

He hefts his body into an upright position, feet planted onto the carpet, fingers white-knuckling the edge of the mattress, a quick glance thrown at the trashcan, and a heavy breath burrowed into the stale air. Right before he scoots to stand, he hears the telltale sound of Eddie knocking on his front door. A simple three pattern.

The rapping startles Steve slightly. He forgot that Eddie was supposed to come over. I'll have to send him away, he thinks solemnly.

"Coming!" Steve croaks to the bathroom floor. With whatever strength the knocking has given him, he tucks the trashcan under his right arm, creeps to the top of the stairs, and ever so carefully floats down them.

The can is set off to the side before he opens the door.

In the glow of the daylight, energized and cheery, is Eddie Munson. Wrapped in a leather jacket, hair tied up into a bun, jeans replaced with jorts, and a grin the size of the moon.

"Hey Stevie," he drawls as his lithe frame leans against the doorjamb.

"Hey man, listen..." Steve begins before being interrupted.

"Whoa, what's going on with you?" Eddie shoves into the house. His grin is set into a small frown and his eyes are glazed with concern instead of the excited energy equal to a golden retriever. "Did you get enough sleep last night? You could've called me if you had a nightmare."

That's something him and Eddie do. When one has a god awful nightmare about floating bodies and squelching flesh and sterile hospital walls, they call each other. Sometimes to just hear that the other is alive. Other times for a trip to one another's house. The phone calls could be Eddie recapping a campaign storyline or Steve bemoaning over a wretched, hag of an old woman that demanded a refund on an R rated movie her grandson finagled her into renting. Or just breathing. Steve's fond of the soft puffs of air that signal Eddie finally relaxed enough to go back to sleep.

"No, weirdly enough I slept way longer than I was supposed to. I'm just sick today. But, I'm fine. Or at least I will be, got a good grasp on this. Y'know, trashcan, soft bed, canned soup. Was actually coming down here to send you back home," Steve rushes out. He's out of breath and feels lightheaded. The headache has turned into a pulsating mess and his stomach churns violently. Before he can warn Eddie again to go out the front door and leave him be, Steve finds himself hunched over his trashcan at the bottom of the stairs, trembling with the force of his grip. One hand on the edge of said bin. The other, wrapping tendrils of hair around his fingers and pulling with enough force to surely rip out some of his luxurious hair. Which, really, is a sweaty disgusting mop today.

He feels the hand in his hair loosen. A smaller, slightly cold hand replacing it. But this time, the fingers work carefully to sweep back any loose strands. Another hand joins the mix. This one squeezes at his right shoulder.

Eddie is behind him, whispering and shushing, "You're alright. I got you, let it out." His cold skin feels amazing over Steve's damp forehead. And equally, his touches are soothing.

Steve coughs once, twice, spits the same amount, and then leans against Eddie with a heavy sigh. "Thanks," he mutters. He shutters at being oddly exposed. Now that he's realized his torso is bare and he probably looks as awful as he feels and now all of his guts are in a bin in front of him.

The bin gets shoved over to the left and Steve starts to get up from the hardwood floor. Eddie lifts him up and leans him against his side. "How about this? I'll make you something mild, get some water into you, and divvy up a couple Tylenol tablets. Your skin is hot and not in the sexy way," he chuckles.

They make their way to the living room. Steve is deposited onto the couch with a cushion shoved behind his back and the can placed appropriately at his feet, within arm's reach. Eddie adjusts his hair again, this time with the tie from his own hair, and leaves to the kitchen.

Steve is dazed. Hot all over. Itchy in some places. Runny nose, aching stomach, watering eyes, and throat so itchy he wants to dig his fingernails into the skin on his neck. This predicament almost makes him embarrassed, more ashamed than anything. He gets his ass handed to him annually and has to have people take care of him during the concussions, until he's given the okay to go home and grovel in silence. And he puts himself in situations he can't get himself out of. He's tired of it, he realizes. Feels the need to apologize to Eddie, make him cookies or something, promise to never make him do anything like this ever again.

When said man comes back into the room with three extra-strength Tylenol in his palm and a cold glass of tap water, Steve wants to cry. It's not until Eddie is setting everything down to pet at his hair and shush him again doe he notice, he is crying.

"Sorry," Steve's voice rasps. He takes a gasping breath before choking out another nasty, wet sob.

"Nothing to be sorry for. It's what your body has to do," Eddie coos.

"No, I'm sorry you have to take care of me," he breathes. That's tally number two for decisions Steve is making today. Some miserable, lonely, somewhat pathetic decisions.

Then, Eddie pulls back. His eyes are the size of saucers. And that small frown from earlier has turned into a deep-set, terribly worrying downturn. "You don't have to apologize for that. Not at all. You need help, I'm here for you. It's what we do, okay?" he murmurs. Steve cries some more at that. Choking on his tears, practically. Enough for Eddie to say, "Hey, breathe with me. I don't want you to make yourself sick again."

So they sit for a few minutes. Breathing. Steve keeps his eyes on Eddie's mouth, watching him count. And Eddie stares at his eyes. Trying to piece together all the little details about this version of Steve. The one not picking fights and towering over unlucky underclassmen and spitting venom instead of backing away when he's supposed to. This Steve that looks like a small, terrified, lonely little boy. Who feels the need to apologize for being a human being. Somebody that makes sure everybody is better off and happy and swooned over before taking an assessment of his own body, the injuries stitched into his side, and the possibility that someone also wants to make sure he's doing alright.

God, who is Steve Harrington, Eddie questions to himself.

Once the tears have subsided and breathing has been placed under control, Steve feels exhausted. Eddie seems to notice because he suggests, "Why don't you lay down for a while? Maybe snooze some while I make soup?"

Steve nods with slight hesitancy. "Can I—" he stutters, "Can I lay down in my room?" To Eddie, this is the quietest he's ever heard his friend. And that doesn't sit right with him. A man—bulky and toned, loud and sassy, bark with no bite—now sitting with his shoulders slumped, skin blotched in various shades of pink and red, breathing ragged, and looking at Eddie with terribly timid eyes. He's just a little boy, some part of Eddie whispers.

"Yeah man. 'Course you can. How 'bout you get yourself to bed, I'll follow behind with your can, give you your medicine, and leave the door open just in case you need something?" The nod Eddie gets back is so energetic, it's as if Steve wasn't sick to begin with. That part of him that's been whispering and wondering is now aching. All he wanted was to be looked after.

Where are your parents, Eddie wants to ask aloud. Who was here to take care of you, Eddie wants to dig.

In mere moments, Steve is tucked back into bed. The curtains are drawn to be almost completely closed. His door is left unlocked and gaping. There are soft snuffles drifting through the house. And Eddie finds himself in front of the Harrington's fancy electric stove.

Before he came back downstairs to cook, Steve whispered something about there being Campbell's in the pantry. "If you want to heat it up on the stove, that's what my mama did when I was really little. It's what I do now."

Eddie glances at the cans and makes a decision for Steve, He deserves better than a piss poor attempt. Homemade it is.

When he was little, Wayne used to make soup on sick days. Still does. During the recovery time when Eddie's sides were still sore with stitches and itchy with stretch, Wayne would bring him a bowl of soup and a tall glass of orange juice on a little tray. He makes a mean bowl of tomato. "Something my mamaw taught me and now I can show you," he had told Eddie.

As much of a bare wasteland as Steve's kitchen is—What does he eat, Eddie wonders—he manages to find all the ingredients necessary. After a couple cupboards are ripped open and some miscellaneous drawers sifted through, he finds himself stirring a simmering metal pot of something he hopes Steve can keep down.

Eddie wants to chastise Steve for even thinking about being sick alone. What a misery sentence. Was probably going to call Robin and say something about, "You don't need to worry. It's not bad. I'll just be out of work for a couple days." Then he would've trekked back upstairs, slow like molasses, and locked the door behind him. Would've laid in bed shivering and crying and barfing. Probably would have passed out by the time he was finally hungry.

Steve even apologized earlier for being taken care of. As if he was a burden. Made himself smaller and tighter and quieter, that's for sure. So Eddie won't do any form of chastising. That'd only make him disappear on himself more.

As the soup is being dished up with plain toast and a cup is being filled with pulpy orange juice, Eddie hears Steve startle awake upstairs. Goes from snoring almost as loud as Wayne in the winter to dry heaving, hard.

Eddie sets the made tray down onto the counter. He makes his way back to the front door and chucks his shoes to the side and hangs up his jacket. Then, tumbles upstairs just as Steve is breathing raspy again.

One. Two. Three knocks on the open bedroom door. And in the blink of an eye, Eddie is over at Steve's side. He's crying again. Nothing like the nauseous sobs from earlier, but sniffles and silent watery blinks.

Steve's hair is pushed back again. "What's goin' on Stevie? What happened?"

"N-nothing," he spits frantically into the air. Like a kid trying to hide a lollipop behind their back. A teenager caught with a lit cigarette in hand. The family dog with a sneaker in it's mouth being told to drop it.

"Okay. Okay, I won't push. But I brought you some soup and orange juice. It's not the best because there's so much pulp in it, but it'll do for now. Oh, and—" Eddie sings. He digs around in his jorts pockets for a small container. As he brandishes it just in Steve's line of sight, he says, "Found some vapor-rub in the medicine cabinet downstairs. Now it is a few months out of date, but that just means more will need to be appl—honey, what's goin' on?" he questions softly.

Steve's sniffles have turned into thin-lipped, eyes glazed and bloodshot, muffled sobs. He has a streak of snot dripping down on his upper lip and his chest keeps stuttering. Eventually, he chokes out, "You brought the soup to me."

And what a statement.

The sentence slaps Eddie across the face, causing his head to rear back. It confuses him, that's what it does. Obviously I brought him soup, what the fuck, he asks himself incredulously.

"Wha—of course. That's what you do when somebody is sick. You help 'em out, bring soup or crackers or whatever and make sure they're better," Eddie supplies as he wipes away the sweat and snot with his banana. There's a brief moment where the only sound is Steve crying. The room is dim and he seems more comfortable than when the door was initially answered.

Eddie thinks back to the apologizing. The making himself smaller and quieter. His hesitancy about wanting to sleep in his own bed. How his mom used to make soup. And the statement, "Got a good grasp on this." Pieces start to click, sirens sound off, door number three has opened and behind it is a shiny new car.

A horrifying realization. The easy solution to Eddie's childlike curiosity over where Steve's parents are. And that in itself makes him want to hurl into the trashcan or pull full force at his hair or sob.

His parents aren't here and haven't been in a long while, Eddie accuses.

"Oh, Stevie." He pets again at his drenched hair. "I'm not going anywhere, alright? You don't have to worry about that with me. Let me do what I need to do, but I'll be right here if you need anything."

"Okay," Steve whispers.

Within just a couple minutes, Eddie has Steve propped back up on a mountain of pillows. Some from the hall closet, the stale bedroom of his parents, and the ones from his own bed. He's changed the bag in the can with a call of, "It's alright, no big deal," after Steve's cry that Eddie didn't need to do that. A bedside lamp has been turned on. An ice cold wet rag has been situated over his neck. There's a thick layer of vapor-rub in his chest hair.

Then came the aforementioned lunch. It smells divine. As if God himself started a soup kitchen in the Harrington's desolate house. What's even better is that it's definitely not chicken noodle.

"I don't remember there being any cans of tomato in the pantry," Steve notes.

"Oh, well. I thought you deserved better than that crap. Made something Wayne usually serves up. Family recipe," he sings again.

"Oh," Steve breathes. His eyes feel wet again, but he fights every part of him that says to cry. He's done enough of that. "Y'know, you didn't have to," he says quietly.

Eddie makes the wounded sound of a shot dog. He finishes setting up the tray on the stiff mattress. Then, situates himself to sit on Steve's left, rubbing down his bare back. "I wanted to. That's all that matters. Now eat up before it gets cold."

And he does just that. The bowl is hot to the touch. Its contents still fresh from being boiled. Even the gulps of orange juice don't burn as bad as when he was little. Steve feels five years old again. He's anticipating the late afternoon lunch from his mom where she'll show him vapor-rub and a spoonful of Pepto-Bismol. In the living room, she's going to lay down, with him on top, and they'll watch reruns of his favorite cartoons. The curtains are closed and she hums lullabies as he drifts off to sleep.

Eddie rubs his back and hums songs and kisses his forehead gently. Which, Steve hasn't been given that amount of affection in a long while. And he honestly doesn't mind.

There's something that's been sitting between the two of them, a thing the size of a ten pound medicine ball. A word shaped like love and comfort. The space where Eddie shares stories about Uncle Wayne and his hibernation snoring when the temperatures drop and how he acquired every single mug on their wall. And in response, Steve listens and drips a couple droplets of how his mom would read Goodnight Moon and kiss him on his cheek or on summer days where they'd splash each other in the shallow depth of the pool. Before it became a graveyard. Or the loosely sketched outline of a mom and her child. His dad wasn't as close, but he'd play catch when Steve was still learning about baseball or share facts about his car that intrigued little eight year old Steve in a way no sport has ever done before. How he acquired the bowling pin from the one time his parents took him out for his birthday. The car painting being something his dad did in his spare time, not bought from some general store in the next town over.

Even in his sick state, Steve thinks about pecking Eddie on the lips. Wonders how smooth they are. If he uses chapstick. What flavor it could be. His mind supplies days in the future where they make soup for each other and shout about how excellent Hellfire was or Lucas' basketball game had been. Mornings shaped by soft snores and gentle touches and steaming cups of coffee. Nights wrapped around each other, cooing sweet nothings when the nightmares become bloody again, and sex that's slow and drawn out. Or the quiet moments where Steve needs a shoulder to cry on. And open arms so that Eddie is encased in comfort, even after everything.

At his final spoonful and dip of toasted crust, Steve whispers, "I love you." As treacherous as his mouth has been in the past, this final decision isn't as daunting as the rest from earlier today. Some part of Steve knew that it would come to a head and the words would spill from his lips like the soup on his chin.

Eddie hums beside him. He kisses Steve one. Two. Three times on the forehead. Then he sets the tray aside with all the empty dishes and the vapor-rub with three finger divots. He strips down to his boxers and a simple t-shirt. And he tucks Steve in as he scoots on top of the duvet to hold him.

"I love you, too," he responds. "And I'll be here when you get up. So get some rest and the next time you're awake, I'll go get some new orange juice and more ingredients for tomato soup and a container of unexpired Vick's."

Steve drifts off to sleep with his body curled around Eddie's side.

In the morning, the curtains are open and soft sunlight streaks in the bedroom. Eddie has left the house to do a quick grocery run, leaving behind a note of "Just lay back and relax. I brought the phone upstairs if you want to keep yourself entertained."

He calls Robin to muse aloud how excellent Eddie is. Their dance around each other now concluded over a simple bowl of soup. How nice it is to finally get the care he wish he had when his mom started to go away. Him kissing a guy before she could kiss a girl and her shriek off, "The next time I see you, I'm gonna give you the nastiest, biggest wet willy this world has ever seen. Trust in it, Steve Harrington."

The threat isn't an empty one, but it makes Steve chuckle anyway. Even though he still feels that encroaching violent twist of his stomach and a cough that could send him flat on his ass.

And when the phone call ends and Eddie is back inside with soup being made on the stove? Steve feels like maybe it's alright to rely on his true family when the time comes. He makes a promise to himself too that he'll learn how to make the best goddamned chicken noodle soup this world has ever tasted. All so that he can dote over Eddie the same. Make sure that he really knows just how much Steve loves him.

"I love you," Eddie breaths into his tussled hair later on the couch, where they're watching cartoons.

"Love you, too," Steve slurs as his body becomes heavier with sleep.

[kissesandarsenic]

there's a girl I've been following around at my college campus, I follow her to her classes, I've followed her home, I watch her eat, I've seen her change, I love her, I need her, I just hope one day she figures out all of this, and beats the shit out of me, the calls me a pervert when it makes me hard

tw - stalking, violence, dub/noncon, extreme kink

So what you're telling me is you're a disgusting pervert following this poor girl around like a fucking animal that only thinks with what's between his legs? Jesus Christ, what's next? You gonna break into her home and steal her panties?

I hope when she does find out, she doesn't hold back from putting you in your place. You'd probably just lay at her feet grovelling while she kicks the ever loving shit out of you. Face all tear-stained, crying out for forgiveness, unable to hide what a pathetic little mutt you are in the face of her wrath.

You'd deserve every fucking bit of it.

Imagine if she found all the pictures you have of her? If I were in her position, I'd be making you strip down to nothing. I'd order you to pose in demeaning positions, ass up, cheeks pulled apart, exposing yourself for my amusement. Then, I'd take your phone and snap picture after picture as you burn with shame. I bet the humiliation will make that disgusting cock of yours hard. I wonder if you'd feel the same when they're plastered all over social media for your friends and family to see...

Btw, I don't think she's ever going to be with you, honey :( Not after you violated her trust like that. But maybe if she's kind, and you're very, very lucky, she'll keep you around as her own personal dildo.

You can live in her closet, the one you've probably spied on her from many times before. She'll take you out when she has use for you, degrading and riding you, treating you as nothing more than an object made for her pleasure. I bet she'd love slapping that pretty face of yours around too, it's so hot when dumb babies cry after all and this is much more than a creep like you deserves.

If you love her as much as you say, you should be grateful for whatever measly scraps of affection she'll give you.

[a-very-sparkly-nerd]

the devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me

Rayla's relationship with all four of her parents after their de-coining is... rough, to say the least. They're not her family; Callum and Ezran and Soren are. And so she wants the Crownguard to walk her down the aisle.

(I wrote this at 1am last night/this morning when I should have been grinding out an accumulative project that's due today but... fanfic's gonna fanfic)

Rayla found Soren in the armory much too early. If he wasn't by Ezran’s side, he was either in the kitchens or the training grounds. Rayla was glad she'd gotten it right the first try.

He was fastening his armor on himself when she let the door swing shut, squinting against the early rays of dawn seeping through the window.

“Rayla, hey,” he greeted, securing the clasps and picking up his sword. “What's up? Want me to kick your ass?”

She grinned as she shook her head. She usually ended up beating him, but Soren's dumbass-ness always made Rayla forget just how ingenious he really was. “No. I, um… I…” She had no clue how to continue the request, how to ask him.

“Wedding planning stress?” Soren guessed, and she nodded.

“Yeah.”

He grimaced. “Sorry. It'll be worth it, though.”

“Yeah.” She just had to hold out for the big day, the day she'd get to marry Callum and be done with all this shit.

Soren leaned against a table. “So, why are you here?”

Rayla took a deep breath. She just had to spit it out. Still, she couldn't meet his eyes.

“I don't want any of my parents to walk me down the aisle,” she confessed, fidgeting her fingers.

Soren tilted his head. “Why?”

Rayla shrugged and perched on the table he leaned against, picking at the hilt of a random sword left there. “They didn't love me the way you guys taught me to. I think… I think I don't need them in my life the way I need you all.” The words were heavy and hard, but they were true. She hadn’t known she’d needed to say them, hadn’t known that they were the odd ball that had been curled up in her stomach and was now finally uncoiling. “And I want the people really close to me, who mean the world to me to be involved. So…” She ducked her head, hoping the Crownguard would pick up on what she left unspoken.

Of course, though, he didn’t, irritatingly yet sweetly prompting, “So…?”

Rayls sighed and decided to jump the horse and do it. “Soren, I want you to walk me down the aisle, you dumbass.”

Read more on ao3!

[tassodelmiele]

Noisy little mess

Hi sweetie ⁓

Here we are, it's finally monday and we can hope again in having a good, productive week (please let it be a sunny one too I can't hibernate in April I need my photosynthesis).

I'm wondering what do you think of this little work of mine, so if you feel like it you can write me whatever comment/question/any various and possible magical shit.

Have a good chocolaty day ⁓

DISCLAIMERS: little bit of touching and hints about sub/dom relationship! Finally my kinks are emerging! (evil laugh); Ghost-who-needs-to-make-peace-with-his-brain x Reader-who-needs-to-learn-how-to-shut-up; "How to be a psychologist without a degree" (by John Price); embarassing mission I hope does not exist in reality, but i needed it for plot's sake; little bit of wounds and scars (Doc.'s gonna tie you and Ghost up to a chair for the rest of your life); yelling and fighting and arguing (you're used to it by now).

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Fourth part here:

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«Why the hell you've let her-»

«MacTavish»

Price swallows through the smoked breath, clenching his fingers around the consumed cigar just to distract himself from the willingness to punch a wall, or the Sergeant's face.

«I've already had Ghost yelling at me for half an hour. Spare me»

«Then explain yourself, Cap.»

«I can't. I've no explanation. She'd done it by herself»

«She's no insubordinate»

«Not in that sense». He sighs. «I told her no. I knew it was too much for a rookie». He chews the extinguished cigar for a while, taking his time. «Laswell agreed. But that goddamn girl managed to convince Kate, somehow»

«How come?»

«Dunno. But she's already feeling bad enough, and she was the one who's got to rescue the girl»

«Laswell?? Ye serious?»

Price nods, eyes locked at the door in front of them. The doc entered almost one hour ago.

«And» Soap dares to ask «is Laswell…uhm…»

«She's ok» the Captain anticipates him. «Nothing broken. But the rookie…». He sighs again, scratching the bridge of his nose, pushing lightly his digits on the eyes. «I don't like soldiers wasting their lives like this. Especially good ones»

«The mission had to be done anyway»

«We could have waited for a better plan»  

He takes a last chew on the cigar, spitting it on his glove before squeezing the leftover crumbles in his fist. He throws everything in a trashcan, then gazes at Soap.

«We've got shit to do, Sergeant. We'll come to check her later»

«They've done something bad to her». That wasn't really a question, even if Soap hopes to be wrong. «Am i right?»

«What came up in that bloody lil' head of yours?»

Three gunshots in your arm (the right one, 'cause luck kicks you in the ass as always), one blade wound and various bruises, just to complete the masterpiece. Doc sent you out of the bed with a promise: to try to not touch the medications.

One in particular.

You didn't even want to eat, but you need to. So breakfast has started, with chocolate scent, closed stomach and two pairs of gaze on your red face. You've tried to avoid contact with every human being in the base, but someone's got a good sense of smell for you. And you eventually end up with Soap and Gaz surrounding you with their (legitimate) questions.

You're blushing like hell, stirring oatmeal crumble in the mug with your eyes drowning into it.

«…I've thought…i could be helpful»

«You're a brave kid, but that was-»

«Stupid» Soap ends the sentence. «To say the least». He finishes his coffee in a sip, swallowing the hot liquid in a rush. «It wasn't a rookie's work, ye should've known» 

You nod in embarrassment. «I did know»

«Then why?»

«'Cause…» you swallow, burying your eyes more into the mug, scratching the cuticles skin out of the nails. «…a girl was required. For the mission»

«Hold on» Gaz grabs your shoulder, lowering his voice. It was a confidential subject, not the one to speak about in a crowded dining room. But he keeps on with his curiosity anyway. «It was about weapons traffic, wasn't it?»

You nod.

«Then why a girl?»

You're about to answer, your mouth's already open even if you're not sure if filling them with a temporary lie, or just spit the truth.

Another sudden press on your shoulder takes you off from every doubt.

A big hand grabs you firmly, squeezing skin and bones underneath your uniform. Your body instantly shivers, tightening under the hold. You raise your head a little, but you know whose mask you're gonna jump into.

Ghost has the magical power to bring back the silence. He doesn't even have to speak, just a glare of his is enough. His look hits Soap and Gaz as to say: shut your bloody mouth; and they just roll their eyes at the ceiling, as to say: but we wanna know 'bout her mission, damn it.

Then he lowers on you just that tiny bit that's needed to let you feel his body heat closer, so warm against your cold limbs.

«Your presence is required» he says quickly, almost murmuring against your ear.

And here you are, walking behind his massive figure with eyes lowered on the ground, following his feet at a security distance through the base. He stops a couple of times to talk with someone, moments in which you play camouflaging with the wall; then you two reach a door, and you're so into not-seeing in front of you that you don't even look at where you are. 

He closes the door behind you, and only after a few seconds of embarrassment you find the bravery to mumbling:

«W-who required me?»

«I do»

Your heart skips a beat before your ears could collect his voice and your synapsis could elaborate its meaning. That's when you suddenly raise your sight, finding him clinging on the desk while looking at you through the mask, and even if you can't see his face it's pretty clear that he's judging you. You can read it on the skull, as there's an imaginary -but very perceptible-  neon writing saying: You're a bloody stupid gnome.

Voice escape through your lips automatically: «I'm sorry»

«'Bout what?» he kinda calls you out, pressing with his sternness on your pathetic whimpers.    

Your eyes lower again.

«…causing trouble-»

«Just that?»

You nod. You don't wanna talk about what kinda trouble; but he does.

«Take off your shirt»

Your brain flashes a sudden error signal, allowing you to shiver and wrap your arms tight around yourself. 

«…sir?»

Stupid question. You know why he's asking, the goddamn doctor had probably told him.

«Your shirt» he repeats, not moving from his place.

Two days ago, you would have started a war about this, yelling at him without regrets, brave enough to fight against your superior like two children between one small bucket. 

Not now. Now you just stand in your special spot in the office, allowing your body to move just what is needed to breathe, eyes locked on the floor. You feel him growing impatient, sighing through the mask as you're disappointing him.

«'K. If that's so…»

The sentence remains hanging in the air, and in a matter of seconds, without getting aware of how fast he came toward you, his hands are on your shoulder. You instantly panic but you're too small to fight against his weight that's pushing you against the door, pinning you still with an hand on your breastbone while the other runs to your shirt's hem.

You grab his wrist in a stupid attempt at stopping him, but he lifts the shirt up in one movement, revealing bruises, a bloody bandage, and…a little scar slightly under the belly button, fresh from the oven and still shiny from some medical gel: the writing made out of fire burns on your skin in an elegant gothic style. 

He stares at it, contemplating that swallowed piece of tattooed skin. Your face becomes so red you could spontaneously combust in this exact moment.

«Who made it?» he burst out, whispering harsh words.

You swallow hot air, digging your dry throat and hoping that whatever's gonna come out of your mouth will be the most sensible as possible.

«It's…it…traffic wasn't just 'bout weapons»

«Humans» he talks over immediately. 

You nod your head, specifying with a swallow: «women» 

«You've sneak in as a good to be sold»

«There was no other way to-»

«And they've marked you» his voice's not that high, but you're whispering enough to make it easy for him to have the upper hand on you. You become quiet, avoiding his sight, with your hands still wrapped around his wrist.

«Are you proud?»

The question wasn't expected, spitted roughly through his mouth. You clench your digits, digging in his gloves.

Then you nodd.

«Yes» the answer is a breath, warmth by your boldness and the consciousness that you've done what had to be done. And none would have taken that awareness from you. You eventually lift your sight a little, meeting his mask, letting the skull shape fill your eyes.

«Yes, I am»

You know he's looking at you as if he's got an idiot under his sight. You feel him judging, investigating your behavior, interrogating your posture. And you, trapped between a scary giant and a door, with his cold glove pressed where your belly still hurts, you dare to stare at him for one whole minute.

It seems enough: he lets you go, shaking your hands away from his wrists as he stands in all of his height against you.

«Good soldiers come home alive, little gnome»

«…it's a curious scolding from one who lives a dangerous life»

«I've already told ya: you don't know me»

«But i'm neither deaf nor blind»

«Buy a bloody mirror then». He takes two steps back, letting you breathe freely for the first time since you've entered the room. «Ya can say you see us clear, but speaking of seeing yourself…I can't say the same»

«I know me»   

«It seems not»

Blood starts to rush to your brain as the embarrassment turns into a mixed spoonful of anger and bitterness. You follow him, still at security distance, toward his desk. «Why? 'Cause you've caught me touching myself once and I made one bloody moan?»

«'S not that, and we've already talked enough 'bout it» he mumbled, pretending to not pay attention as he looks through some documents on the table.

«Oh, oh sure! Now we've talked enough about it» your arms end up crossing on your chest. «after you've ripped my elbow»

«It was just a nerve»

«Judicially irrelevant» 

«Shut your bloody mouth»

«Why? 'Cause you've told me s-»

«Yes»

You freeze; that was a cold, hard stone order. He's got his knuckles clenched on the table, his back's muscles are visibly breathing under the pressure of maintaining a glint of calm. 

«You» he turns at you, pointing a finger at your freezed face «you are a goddamn idiot, one of the worst species. I've tried to convince myself you weren't actually so stupid but, damn god, was i right in the first place»

Guilt assaults you with a knife at your throat, for reasons you don't know. And you find your eyes lower, your spirit evaporated, your anger extinguished under his glare. You try to mutter:

«I've just done my duty-»

«You threw away your life»

«The mission had to be done, that was our last possibility to catch that damn illegal traffic» you rush, raising your voice to grow some confidence in your speech «Laswell needed a woman and i just did my damn work!»

And he almost barks back, raising stern and furious eyes at you: «than what 'bout asking someone more experienced, you bloody asshole?!»

«'Cause it was needed a woman with-!». You suddenly stop, biting your inner cheek as a last word slips, almost like a whisper, through your lips: «…inclinations»

He's left speechless for a while, standing in front of you with the finger still hanging toward your figure. You swallow; you know he's going to ask more, and that's just 'cause you can't keep your mouth shut.

As if you've called it, he spit out a terse: «Explain»

You sigh. This would be a great time to sink ten meters underground.

«I» you start gesticulating, drawing figures in the air with your hands «I am…i-»

You expect him to joke about your incapability of connecting two words together; but he remains silent, looking at you almost with curiosity. And you're forced to keep on talking.

«…I like certain things people don't usually…agree to do» you force words outside your mouth, with cheeks on fire and eyes buried on the pavement.

His conclusion wastes no time to come:

«You're a submissive»

It's not a question, it's a truth and it hits you like a brick in the face, as if he'd already understood your particular nature till the beginning. There's no need for more explanation: you know what kind of submissive he's referring to, and he evidently knows just enough about the subject to grin, just a little, under the mask.

«The target was known for his…peculiar sexual tastes». The additional clarification was not necessary, but he gives it anyway. He let out a soft chuckle, almost like he's having fun thinking about it. «I can't believe that Laswell really rely on this stupid trick»

You would really clarify how much Laswell fought against your will to volunteer for that risk, but your voice is gone under the embarrassment. Your digits are digging into cuticles again, and you're about to pretend to not exist, turn your heels and just go away.

And you don't even notice he's got closer again, till he forces your face up by roughly grabbing your cheeks in one hand. 

The disappointment is palpable.

«You've run into that perv's den alone, risking yourself for a mission you knew you couldn't handle…just to satisfy your throbbing cunt?»

That hit you worse than every other thing he's thrown at you till now. Your cheeks catch fire in his hands, guilt choke air in your lungs and poisonous butterflies eat your stomach, whispering through the entrails: he's right.

But you don't want him to be right.

«I've just decided to put every weapon I've got at your service» you spit out.

His grip gets tighter. «Sure thing. And what have you gained? Apart of a saving operation that wasted everyone's time, of course»

«Mission was completed»

«We would have found another way to do it, rookie»

«But I did it» you grab his wrist, trying again to escape from his hold. «And i'm alive, so why the hell are we even talking about-»

It happens all of a sudden: he pushes you again against the door, harder and roughly enough to make your spine squeak on it. You hold a yell, and one second after you can't breathe anymore.

He holds you by your mouth, pushing on your face with his whole hand open, while the other runs down right under your belly, squeezing on your crotch like it's made of play dough.

«This is no playfield». His voice is almost a growl murmur in your ear as he lowers enough to overcome you with his bigger body. «Soldiers have morals. And dignity. Maybe 's not clear to your pretty little brain. So: watch» and he speaks slowly, growling coldness with tongue maid of sharp metal, his eyes on you with that goddamn mask supply (and you're sure you're gonna dream about his sight forever) «your. Bloody. Mouth. Kitty» 

The nickname, the grip on your pants, the fact that you're breaking your personal apnea record…just burn your brain. And, in a loss of breath, trying so desperately to find a way out of that embarrassment while freezing your hormones that are already running too low on your body…

You bite him.

You sink your teeth in his glove as hard as you can, ripping off that goddamn dignity he was speaking about, letting the residual rage work as a fuel for your mouth. He suddenly jerks with a step back, catched by surprise, tearing his hands away, and to do so…he pushes with the other hand on your lower belly.

On your goddamn freshly engraved and barely healed tattoo.

On the scar the doc pleaded with you not to touch.

You spit his glove out of your mouth, yelling like your vocal chords have turn into a megaphone.

Ten minutes later, you two are waiting outside of the infirmary.

The knock on the door doesn't distract him, too focused pretending to find his paperwork attractive.

Price gets in without invitation.

«Just a word» he sits at the desk, usual hat at his place and cigar climbing from his lips «between me and you»

Ghost doesn't lift his sight.

«I've talked with doc-»

«I don't need to be scold 'bout it, if that's what ya'r here for»

Price sighs a low, maybe a little bit too paternal: «Ghost-»

«If you two» Simon raises his voice a little «believe in trusting every goddamn rookie, sending them risking their bloody neck just 'cause they've told you how good they are at shaking their ass-»

«You've already yelled about it, give my ears a rest. In any case, Laswell made the best choice in her position» Captain talks over him. «And I agree with her. We couldn't lose that opportunity, Simon»

«She didn't even managed to end the mission alone»

«But the rookie did a great job. Only problem was taking her out of that shit»

«You can't seriously call a kink exploitation one "great job"»

«She's a soldier. We're not here to babysit, risking our life 's part of our contract»

Silence. 

Price starts to get nervous, feeling some mixed emotions that he really can't stand at six in the evening. He suddenly stands up, patting both hands on the desk, taking a deep breath before exhaling a long, almost exhausted: 

«There's nothing bad in making friends with your allies…»

Ghost is already rushing an "i don't need friends" kinda sentence, but Price anticipates him:

«Me too, i've made friendships on the battlefield that i hope will last as long as my bones will walk on the dirt. Then, we could die together and be happy in whatever hell God'll decide to send us. But» and his "but" was final «i know what you're doing here. Stop it. It's gonna be draining, for the both of you»

Ghost spits out: «I'm doing nothin'», too rushed, then muttering: «Don't even like her»

«I don't care who you like. You can marry whoever you want, you've got my approval»

«For fuck's sake Price-»

«Wanna delete her from your eyesight? Just look straight in front of you from now on. Wanna keep an eye on her?» John raises his hands, throwing Ghost's embarrassment in the air while admitting with the most honest attitude: «Sure. Ok. I keep an eye on you all every goddamn minute of my life. She's not a princess, though. And ya'r not a bloody knight»

Silence becomes again the king in the office. Price is still fixed in his extreme openness, ready to give his Lt. the best suggestions on how-to-not end up again at the infirmary with that goddamn rookie (before the doc kills the both of them).

Then Ghost finally raises his gaze.

And Price has a bad sensation in his guts, almost like he'd said something he shouldn't have.

«Keeping…an eye on her» Simon repeats, lost in thoughts.

John nodds, hesitating before leaving the office.

..................................................

[str4wb3rrys1mp]

HII! How are are :D I see your a new writer, and I wanted to send a request to you and it hopefully won’t be to hard to do, so since you write for creepypasta….

May I request Homicidal Liu, Jeff The Killer, Brain/Hoodie and Jane The Killer with a Male!S/O who has a Cutthroat Personality from Akudama Drive?

I hope that’s fine with you ^^ thank you so much! Have a wonderful day :D

Omg yes ofc I havnt seen this one but I'll have to watch it!! But I cant write hoodie for shii srry :(( Also I'm good hry?

JANE THE KILLER

Jane admired your childlike wonder, but was a bit jealous of it at the same time.

One night she had broken into your house, initially thinking she'd be in and out like usual.

So imagine her surprise when cute little you not only held your ground but managed to flip her onto her back, making a loud thud on the ground.

Tbh baffled for like five seconds.

After a bit more back and fourth you both hear a knock at your room door, making you and Jane freeze.

Your roommate called your name and asked what the hell you were doing at 2:37 in the morning.

Jane, luckily gave you some time to answer him, before shooting you a grin and dashing to and out of your second story window.

A bit concerned for her, you hurried to your window, but Jane was nowhere to be seen. JEFF THE KILLER

Somehow your friends had convinced you to go into the creepy haunted woods behind your backyard.

When Jeff first say you mf prolly went feral.

Like,, drooling, the whole nine yards feral. 💀

But when your group actually saw him, he was stoic, the most you'd get was him staring at you from the back of the room.

And than you managed to throw hands with THE PROXIES?? managing to break one of BEN's console cords and strangled Masky for nearly five seconds??

Now he's just plane impressed, you don't look the type, in your pastel outfit with a white and pink sailor hat atop your head, but Jeff knows that looks can deceive.

Somehow mans managed to pull you into another room away from the chaos, and proceeds to ask you to "Show him your strength"

so naturally you think,, oKAY maybe he wants me to punch the wall?? idk man

BUT THEN this GROWN ASS man holds out his hand, beckoning for you to grab it, so you do and mf sticks his thumb up and challenges you to a thumb war

so after you kick Jeff's shit in and beat him, he agrees to show you out of the mansion.

He helps you load your bloody and bruised friends into the car that you took to get here, assuring you they weren't dead, they just needed immediate medical attention.

right before you got into your car, Jeff turns you around and asks a question.

"Can I get ya number prettyboy?" HOMICIDAL LIU

Liu had known you since 4th grade, so you didn't necessarily scare him.

most of the time

You've always been like this, but you were really cool! He swears! Just give it some time.

However what does freak Liu out, is when someone makes a comment or a joke that you don't like, because you go deadly silent.

If looks could kill man, these mfs would be long gone.

AND THEN you can just go back to laughing and looking so happy like you didn't just try to murder someone with a glare???

Also freaky, in his humble opinion.

[glorious-imagines]

Nosedive

Sequel to Crushed

Jason had messaged her multiple times since their breakup. Mostly, he was blocked. He knew it was unfair of him to want to communicate with her. He just couldn't help himself. He, at least, hoped they could be friends again.

A cup of coffee was sat in front of him. "Girl, troubles?" His favorite waitress asked, light tone trying to hide her worry.

He gave her a sly smirk. "Are there any other kinds of trouble?"

"You alone make up half of them." She joked as she wrote down his usual order and handed it to a passing waiter.

"You wound me, Gabby." He feigned hurt, wrenching his shirt in one hand.

"So," she slid into the seat across from him. "Tell mama Gabs all about the girl that has you all up in your feelings."

Jason chuckled, "I'm not in my feelings."

She raised a brow, "Jay, you've been staring at your phone with that hit puppy look since you got here."

"Whats wro--"

"You've been here for over an hour." He finds he can't deny her claims. "If I didn't have a shift, you'd have been kicked out. You didn't even order anything."

He sips his coffee. "Thanks, Gabs..."

"Now, tell me what happened."

Jason huffed and sank further into his seat. "Her name is Y/n. She's the most amazing woman, I've ever met." He told her everything that happened.

"What the hell, Jay? Did you fucking cheat on her?!"

"What?" Jason sneered.

"I swear to fucking god, Jason, I will kick your ass--" she threated.

"Gabs, I would never cheat. You know me better than that." They stared each other down before she relented.

"Fine, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. But this timeline isn't making sense."

"Thats because it was supposed to be a one night stand. It was before Y/n and I even got together. She said she was on birth-control..."

Gabby nods along, piecing things together easily. "So you put your... gunk in her?"

Jason bursts with laughter at this. "Gunk?"

"Well, I don't like thinking of you like that. It's gross." She feigned a baby barf.

He shakes his head with a smile. "Anyway, she took it upon herself to keep said gunk swirling around in her." She throws a ketchup packet at him.

"Without talking to you?"

He shakes his head solemnly, fidgeting with the ketchup packet. "No, she did, but what was I supposed to say? 'Get an abortion?' That would make me a piece of shit. She even gave me an out."

"So, why didn't you take the out?"

His smile became dejected. "How could I, Gabs?"

"Even at the cost of losing the woman you truly love?"

"If I leave the kid, I know I'll regret it. Now, isn't the right time to have a kid. Especially not in my line of work. But I couldn't say that I'd stop. It would never be the right time. I can't abandon this kid. Leave them wondering what they did wrong..."

"Jay..." She said quietly when she noticed his eyes becoming misty.

He takes a moment to collect himself. "I love Y/n, but I'm not about to leave my kid high and dry. It'll be hard to balance work and home but I know I can do it."

His food arrives, interrupting the flow of the conversation. Gabby can tell when Jason is done talking. She leaves him to eat but keeps an eye on him until he leaves.

...

Y/n had thrown herself into work. Both hero and not. She took many extra missions and when she couldn't she worked overtime at her day job. There was hardly a moment to think. And she preferred this.

Currently, Y/n was on her way back to work from lunch. She sipped her favorite boba and scrolled through her phone. She immediately noticed when someone was following her. Their steps were light and shakey, unsure. They weren't there to harm her, apparently.

Before she knew it, the steps had retreated. Whoever it was, they weren't a threat. Maybe they just thought she was someone else.

Her phone vibrated in her hand, John Stewart's face showed on the caller ID. She debated if she wanted to answer or not. If she did she'd probably have to leave work. She sipped her boba.

"You were just going to let me go to voicemail?" Green Lantern floated down to her.

She sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Next time, just come thru with a whole ass blimp and some fireworks. That'll really get peoples attention."

He powered down his ring, choosing to ignore the sarcasm. "I heard about the breakup, Y/n."

Her face pulls into a scowl, "You're about three months late on that, G."

"Well, excuse me for having intergalactic duties." He puts a hand on her shoulder, "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"No. I'd rather forget it ever happened." He raises a brow. "Yeah, obviously I'm not gonna forget or use magic. So, I'm doing the next best thing."

"Keeping yourself so busy that you neglect your health?" He chided her. "Y/n, everyone is worried about you."

"For what?!" She snapped, "I'm fine! Just like when his ex showed up and they had a private conversation. Or when he told me that she was fucking carrying his seed. And even now that we're not together anymore… I'm. Doing. Just. Fine."

John pulls her into a hug. "Listen, kid, it's okay to not be okay. It's okay to be angry and hurt… and even to still wanna be with him." He gently stroked her hair. "Your feelings don't somehow make you less and no one gets to tell you how to deal with them."

"Even if I decide to kill them?" She mumbled against his chest.

He chuckles, "I could leave'em on a deserted planet if you want."

"As if his family would let that happen. It's a nice thought, though."

A woman cleared her throat behind Y/n. "E-excuse me, can I have a moment with Y/n?"

With the way Y/n went so rigid in his hold, John could guess who the woman was. "I don't think--"

"And let's keep it that way, G." Y/n interrupted, her frown finding its way back. "I'll contact you if I need anything." At his hesitancy, she made him a promise and he flew off.

Y/n stuffed her free hand in her pocket to keep from punching a pregnant woman. 'Her face isn't pregnant,' her thoughts retorted but she shut the impulse down.

"I sent a text, but…" Isabel trailed.

"If its one thing bitches gon' have it's the motherfucking audacity."

"Excuse me…?" She faltered.

"Obviously, you're blocked. What the hell gave you the idea that I wanted to talk to you?" She crushed the boba cup in her hand causing it to spill over and making Isabel jump a bit.

"I-I only came to apologize--"

"For what? Destoying my perfect relationship?"

"Jason deserved to know. It was his decision to be a father."

By now, Y/n was beyond pissed. This bitch was just asking to be smacked up. "You didn't come here to apologize. You came to absolve yourself of your guilt. And I am not going to help you with that."

"I was trying to be the bigger person but you're too childish. Jason choosing me was the best decision he's made."

"Bitch--!"

Y/n was about to tear into Isabel when a hand was on her shoulder. "You're making my friend angry. And that makes me angry. Leave before I forget you're pregnant."

"Fine but Jason will hear about this." She stomps off like a toddler denied candy.

"Ugh, I need a drink."

"Me too, I'll buy."

"Thanks, Shana. What are you doing here anyway?"

"Apparently, threatening pregnant women." Shana turns to her, brow raised. "Who the hell is that?"

"I'll explain on the way." Y/n tosses the destroyed boba in the trash.

At some random bar Y/n finishes explaining her life's current events. "Anyway, she sucks, he sucks, and I will never love again."

"Or, and hear me out, maybe you need someone to help with the process a little?" Shana smiles at her suggestively.

Y/n frowns, dread filling her stomach. "Oh no, what are you thinking?"

"The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, duh." Shana rolls her eyes like Y/n should've known that. "I came to ask for help for a mission but shirking my responsibilities is more fun."

NEXT

[allwormdiet]

Arc 5: Hive, Concluding Thoughts

Boy this arc had a little bit of everything, huh?

Okay, lemme go back through my posts for this arc, that interruption in the middle of the blogging put a fucking hole in my recollection

Somer's Rock was a neat sequence, as much as I hated having to put up with the fucking Nazis seeing the disparate factions of the city come together in service to the city's stability, and then of course it's immediately undercut by the fact that the bulk of those factions are immediately planning to use this alliance to seize greater power for themselves. Way to show that the system works and then immediately show that the system is ripe for exploitation and abuse.

I think at this point I've settled on the idea that the Merchants are, at this point, bit players who haven't warranted much attention until this alliance business. Maybe they'll matter more down the road, maybe they won't, but they're little fish in a medium pond and the Undersiders have sharper teeth than they do at this point, which is saying something. Still stupid as fuck that the leadership are all getting high on their own supply, but I guess when you're the cape you get to call the shots.

Once that's settled, we come back around to Taylor's civilian life, and god. Fucking. Damn Emma Barnes. What is up with this girl where she feels as diabolical as the fucking villains? Her dad can't be the only thing, obviously it's not great that he's threatening a criminal trial in order to keep his daughter from consequences but if he was a catalyst for her change it would've been well before high school. I guess Sophia is the only variable that we know about, but Sophia doesn't seem to give that much of a shit compared to Emma, so what gives?

The entire meeting with the school is fucking agonizing. The system is failing Taylor Hebert at every step, if anyone with authority did anything to back her up she could've been so much happier, but of course that didn't happen. Like, no fucking wonder she found her solace outside the system; there's no place for her inside of it.

Maintaining that Mr. Gladly ought to die screaming, hope that manifests

I like most of the team-up that we get to see, obviously Kaiser and the fucking Nazi twins are lousy to deal with but at least two of them got their fucking asses whooped by Lung, so silver lining

I like Newter, little nervous about the drugging people thing but as long as we're keeping things consensual (outside of fights, I mean) then no complaints. Kicked fucking ass during the fight, too, that was rad. Labyrinth is hard to judge given that she wasn't super present, but her power's neat and I'm glad they got her out of the asylum. Sundancer has a fucking sickass power and I'm sad that she's having a bad time with her team, be nice if she could just ditch them or something if they're such a bad time. Coil's mercs are fucking hardcore, where did he even find a guy who could still perform marksmanship with a busted leg?

The raid on the warehouse was cool, another great display of Skitter's power and versatility

Oni Lee is a terrifying son of a bitch, that fight was tense right up until Skitter figured out how to crack his power and coordinate the others to take him down. She's a natural leader when she's given the opportunity, it's a shame she's been so isolated for so long.

For all that Taylor has gripes about the extra effort to save Newter being a waste of time, she didn't know about his disease immunity and she probably wouldn't have felt good about herself if she'd skimped out on the extra sanitation.

Also, interesting to see that Taylor has a reason, however small, for being so weird about drugs and drug users. I just thought that was her being judgmental, and... okay it's still partly her being judgmental, but there's more going on.

And then there's Lung. Holy fucking shit, Lung, you only had fifty guys under your command before Bakuda went on her recruitment drive and you only bothered to take the Docks? Dude you could be putting up numbers across the entire city if you wanted to, so what's going on that you don't want to? Is it contentment? Can you be content when you've apparently conquered multiple other gangs?

Setting that all aside, this motherfucker puts on a hell of a show when he's fighting. Lung gets the absolute shit kicked out of him, gets impaled repeatedly, gets cooked to shit by the power of the Sun in the palm of your hand, and it takes Newter's hallucinogen to actually topple him. He straight up has them all dead to rights before Taylor snatches victory from the jaws of defeat, that was going to end so fucking poorly otherwise.

The eye thing is. Okay so I still don't know if that's Taylor's inclination, Lung's luck, or both. I don't know if Lung is gonna get to stick around for long after a defeat this thorough but maybe they'll keep gouging them out when he's in the Birdcage, I dunno. Meanwhile I suspect that Taylor is only going to move onward and upward when it comes to inflicting bodily harm on people, but if eyes continue to feature... I dunno, it'll be telling at least.

And then more hangtime with Rachel! Learning more about her, how she thinks and operates. God willing between the fight and these revelations Taylor figures out how to smooth out their interactions and actually be, like, friends. The thing with the jacket was cute.

And then with the interlude there's two big highlights. First and foremost is obviously Gregor the Snail, which. I like his vibe. I like his vibe a lot. He seems like a very cool dude to hang out with, and I feel bad that he has to put up with so much shit as a "monster cape." Fucking shit luck on that one, hope his life gets easier at some point.

Second is what I'm guessing is Cauldron. Not only bottling up powers but selling them, or else distributing them to their own ends, and using human experimentation to refine the process without much care for what happens to the victims. Not comforted at all by the fact that they apparently can just give people retrograde amnesia, that's a fucking alarming power for a parahuman to have and I shudder at the abuses they could get away with as long as that's in their toolkit.

...Man. Buying yourself a superpower. That's fucked, is what it is. All the benefits and you don't have to suffer immense trauma.

Hoh boy, okay, no use speculating on that much longer. Arc 6 next, and once again utterly goddamn flummoxed at what's supposed to come next. Coil maybe? He's been properly introduced and I know he's going to matter more down the road, so maybe this is the point where he starts gaining further prominence? That can't be the entire arc though, there's gotta be more going on than that, but fuck me if I can predict what it is.

Only one thing to do if I want to find out.

[barrenclan]

IM GOING TO GET SO TITLED AT THE TOWERS /ref

yep!! no change on cootstorm being a piece of shit!! imaging a teen telling u he doesn’t want to date a baby and u decide to stop teaching him. i hope she dies so i can edit her with the grimace shake

the fact that they can see the distant lush prairies but they choose to stay because of their long gone kin sucks???? like not in a bad writing way, but in a i feel bad for these kitties way :(( its not ur fault what happened :(( u shouldn’t live in pain just for the mistakes of a dead cat :((

IS MEADOWKIT GON BE OK?? :((( IM SO HAPPY CORMORANTPAW VISITED BC OF HIS PARENTAL TRAUMA AND STUFF BC NOW HE GETS TO SEE KITS THAT R GONNA BE TREATED LIKE KITS (HOPEFULLY, IF COOTSTORM BACKS UP) BUT… BABEY PLS BE OK.. I KNOW UR NOT GONNA KILL KITS BUT I CAN STILL BE CONCERNED ABOUT THE PARADITE

i want to punch beeface in the face. daffodilpaw has been a blorbo i’ve related to since day once u don’T SAY THAT TO THE ME FR!!!!!! BEEFACE IS GUILT TRIPPING HER ABOUT THE BABIES IM GOING TO BITE HER AND SHAKE HER AROUND AND PUT HER IN A BLENDER!!!!!!!!! AND THE FACT THAT SHE RAISES HER PAW AND DAFFODILPAW IMMEDIATELY COVERS HER FACE SCARES ME BECAUSE THAT IMPLIES THAT SHE IMMEDIATELY THOUGHT BEEFACE WAS GONNA HIT HER WITH IMPLIES THAT THIS ISN’T THE FIRST TIME AND AGAAGAHAHHAGRRHEAHVAGRJRGRJRJRKSSNNR

slugpelt is best mom omg. she’s redeemed so much she cares about her kids im gonna sob fkejdkd. go kick beeface’s ass!!!!! she cares about her kiddos (daff specifically rn) so muccch. big mama bear ready to throw hands but willing to soften for daffy…

redpelt being able to stand up and diffuse the situation (before slugpelt threw hands) was so cool to see!! she’s trying she’s getting better she wants to help she wants to be a good deputy GRRRR

i want to fistfight plumstripe too actually. the fact that she looked at beeface guilttripping daffodilpaw before narrowly being unable to physically harm her with a smack(?) and then turned to asphodelpaw (the sister of the victim of the situation) and instead of being supportive she just?? used it as a way to better herself?? this is not the time daffodilpaw could have been HURT PHYSICALLY. AND POTENTIALLY COULD HAVE BEEN FOR AWHILE!!! i’m going to put plumstripe in the blender too i’m having plum and bee smoothies

sorry this is a little more chaotic (and violent) than usual. this is a good issue!!!!!! family hug :3

Just your daily confirmation that Cootstorm still sucks! More at 10.

Unfortunately the whole comic is about paying for the mistakes of your ancestors in an eternal cycle of punishment and misery. :( Not fun.

YEAH Beeface is. Not great in this issue. The fact that Daffodilpaw covers her face as Beeface raises her paw... yes, I do think Beeface is the type of person to use corporal punishment from time to time. The kind of "a good smack around the head will get you thinking straight" person. Hopefully Slugpelt being a good mom took away some of that sting, though, I liked writing her in this issue a lot.

Plumstripe's discipline of choice revolves a lot more around subtle emotional manipulation, I don't think she'd ever get her paw dirty with anything more than a shove. But she certainly doesn't make Asphodelpaw feel good about herself much.

NEVER apologize for sharing feelings in your asks. I love them!!

[darlingpassion]

WAIT.

Something just occurred to me that I dont think we've ever talked about. A very terrible one, so- trigger warning for sexual assault (the whole Lottie conception thing).

So Rena fucks black-out-drunk Smartass on a really bad night after a terrible fight with King. She was under the influence of hard drugs, but, still- she was more Aware, then he was. He resembled her husband, and in her fucked-up, drug-addled mind, gravitated towards him. Used him. Left early and got pregnant.

It was a fucked up situation all around but Rena was definitely the instigater and in a bad place head-wise; emotionally erratic and a loose canon.

Well... in the universe where they all know eachother eventually- does Shiny k n o w??? Does Poppy know??? If King found out about Lottie, Rena would definitely tell him the whole story. But I don't think she'd go around telling just anyone (or if she'd even care. Or think about it at all. Getting drunk and fucked up and doing 'fucked up shit' (little baby firefly reference for you to lighten the mood XD ) is an all the time kinda thing for her after all). And I doubt that Smartass would, either. So...

??? What do you think? Maybe King tells them. How do they react? 🤔

(Oh god what of LOTTIE found out. She already doesn't want her mother, now she's about to kick this woman's ass)

This... I knew we had to confront it when we started to ship our OC's together, but I was afraid to 😅😭😅😭

Hooooooooo boy. Ok. Lemme break this down. I've been simmering on this ask for the past couple of days cause I wanna D I S C U S S this-

First off- whether or not Poppy and Shiny know what Rena did.

Hm... I feel like it's kind of yes, kind of no? And Shiny knows more than Pops does. Obviously, they don't know who the mother is, and if Smartass can't remember that night, then he's either blocked the memory out or he was that black out drunk. I don't think the darker side of this would really sink in for Poppy early on because, although she does know creeps exist, she imagines them being more confrontational; she did kind of grow up sheltered, and the only creeps she's encountered in Downtown are those who aren't subtle. So she doesn't think about the consequences of leaving your drink open in a crowded bar, or someone waiting until you're inebriated and not sound of mind to invite you over to their place (i really really really want to write Poppy getting drugged at a bar while hanging out with Greasy or Shiny, and they notice and take care if shit. Kind of like your Jim x Reader drabble). It took her a while to realize that how she and Henry met was also pretty predatory on his part, though.

Remember when I told you I imagine Poppy actually being there the night Lottie was dropped off on their doorstep? I also see her, after getting over the shock of a baby in this mobster house, trying to help Smarty retrace his steps so they can figure out where the baby even came from, "Ok, do you remember where you were nine months ago?" "Who the hell keeps track a'that!?" "Nobody, but in this case, we really need to figure that out-" Whether Smartsss remembers and tells her or not, after thinking it over, I think Poppy would suspect that Smartass was also taken advantage of and is scared and sorry for him. She'll ask him if he's OK and assure him it wasn't his fault, even if he tries to brush it off. As usual, Poppy would go into well-meaning-but-kinda-overbearing mode. She hopes that maybe the mother was also drunk- it's still bad for them both, but it's better than if she soberly saw Smartass in the state he was in and slept with him still. She wouldn't be sure if she should keep Lottie's hope up for her mother in this case since they only know Smartass' side, and will listen if he or Lottie says they aren't interested in the possibility that her mother may come back.

Shiny on the other hand, she's encountered nearly every type of fucker you could think of, especially now that she works in the adult entertainment industry. She's even fallen victim to some of them in the past. It's part of why she's so ready to square up and gouge someone's eye out if they give her the wrong vibe- hell, when she's out with her gals, especially Poppy, she's sniffing out for creeps while having fun. It's just second nature to her at this point. So when she was told about baby Lottie and heard that Smartass had no memory of that night, her alarm bells were already ringing in her head. Even if she annoys Smartass, she does see him as kind of like a little brother... A little brother who's a little asshole and got little man issues, but a little brother all the same (yes, that means she sees Stu as her little brother too. And he's a whole lot nicer than her other adopted brother XD), so she's also got that protective streak in her despite constantly teasing him.

She wants to find the bitch who took advantage of him, and tells him they should go find the mother- not for Lotties sake, but for his. Shiny is headstrong, so it'd take a lot for the guys to convince her to don't bother if Smarty doesn't want to go through all that trouble. Shiny wouldn't approve if Poppy tried to encourage Lottoe to be hopeful about her mother. Even if she wasn't such a monster like Shiny is imagining her to be, she still left her daughter. In Shiny's eyes, that's inexcusable. But maybe this is why Shiny hates Rena so much; she got the vibes from that woman without even finding out she was Lotties mother.

So even though Poppy and Shiny don't know the whole story, they both do end up suspecting and worried for him. Shiny would have no issues against telling Lottie that her mother is a bad person, and Poppy is trying to figure out what to tell Lottie when she asks (honestly they'd probably sit down together and go back and forth, especially if this is after Lottie asked Poppy if shes her mother and Poppy needs advice). If either of them met Rena after this?? And found out what she did???? Hoooooo boy.

Shiny is gonna start swinging, regardless if they've fucked or not. Enough said. Rena is a weapons expert, but Shiny inherited her dad's honey badger crack-head determination. It's anyone's fight at that rate.

Poppy? Ohhhhh ho ho ho, it depends on their relationship. If she just remained uncomfortable around Rena (which would happen in the Pocho, or any weasel ship, timeline. I don't care how alluring Rena turns it up, Poppy ain't cheating on her S/O), then this gives her more incentive to stay away from her. I can see her confronting Rena, even if it has been years at this rate. How could she have gone after a drunken man?! Even if she was having a bad day!? Don't even get me started on Poppy's thoughts about Rena only coming back into Lottie's life when she wants something. The mama bear in her would really rear to the surface if that happened.

If she and Rena started a relationship though??? Oh... Oh hell no. This is so much worse than Rena dropping Poppy for Henry. Poppy also confronts Rena here, but she's so much more angry and disgusted than she was with the topic of Henry. If Rena doesn't show some kind of remose for what she did, Poppy will break up with her... She might break up with Rena anyway- which is pretty big in and of itself because, as I'm sure you've noticed, Poppy has never been the breaker in a relationship. How do you think Rena would respond to that?

Now granted, Rena was also under the influence. But as you said, she was more aware. I think maybe this might make Poppy hesitate? She doesn't indulge in drugs (except that one time Wheezy got her high on weed by accident *cough*) and she prefers to drink on specific times, so she's not so in-tune with how inebriated someone can get and how in control they can be. Shiny, however, she is a hard drinker and smokes (she sticks to Marijuana herself, but she has had a few friends who indulged in more serious drugs. Her slasher self, though, indulges in them greatly), so she does know that there are various levels of sobriety and intoxication. And she's pretty sure Rena wasn't black out drunk like Smartass, especially since she actually remembers that night.

Poppy, conflicted and unsure: Shouldn't we... Aren't we supposed to take her condition that night into consideration, too??

Shiny: that's actually a good point, Pops.

Shiny: *turns to Rena* do you remember what happened that night?

Rena: Yeah-

Shiny: Then kindly go fuck yourself with a sandpaper wrapped cactus that's tipped with E. Coli.

Now as for King... Poppy would have mixed feelings. It's obvious he's not like Rena and doesn't agree with what she does, but why are they still together?? Yes, he loves her, but... *looks at Rena and her cheating hoe-ass* yeah... Meanwhile, Shiny is suspicious of him if he's still with Rena afterall this. What kind of skeletons does he have in his closet?? Other than the obvious. She would try to keep Poppy away from King if this happened in the Kingpop timeline.

As for Lottie. Poppy wants to protect her, so she'll try to stop her from kicking Rena's ass. Yes, she's got training from the navy, but she won't let her little neice get hurt! Let her take care of this, sweetie. You and your father need to get away from this woman. Shiny would jump into the fight first... But she'd let Lottie get her kicks in too. And they can go get a drink at the bar afterwards and either sit in silence or talk about it, whatever Lottie would want.

So, tldr, Poppy and Shiny may not be told all the details, but they would start to suspect on their own. And Riny and Renpop would be nonexistent in this AU.

Fuuuuuuucccckkkk this hurt my heart so bad, especially the part of me that loves the Rena ships despite how dysfunctional they'd be. But we needed this too. What do you think?

[how-very-salty]

diet coke

Veronica Sawyer x Jason J.D. Dean. Heather Chandler (mention), Heather Duke (mention)

TW: mention eating disorder

Summary: Veronica is anxious about her weight, and J.D. knows who to blame.

(fluff, talks and a little fightings, supporting J.D., weight anxious)

_________

"Good morning, princess," a familiar, slightly husky voice murmured from behind her, surrounding Veronica with the thick smell of tobacco and motor oil. "Having breakfast all alone?"

"It's lunchtime, weirdo," she pecked J.D.'s cheek with a quiet chuckle and quickly pulled away, rubbing her lips. "Ouch! Why are you so stubbly, oversleeping again?"

He smirked, and carelessly shoved somebody's stuff aside and slumped into the chair next to her.

"Nah, been fiddling with the bike all morning. Damn thing wouldn't start again," he sighed noisily and glanced disapprovingly at the contents of her tray. "Shit, and I was hoping it was breakfast after all... Because this, honey, doesn't even come close to looking like lunch."

With a guilty look, Veronica picked up a leaf of lettuce with her fork and stared at it in disgust. She wanted to eat something normal, like a hot dog or a hamburger, but....

"I'm just not hungry," she shook her head and put the fork down.

Her stomach responded with a treacherously loud rumble, and Veronica, flushed, hastily excused herself, "It's..."

"It's that bitch again, isn't it?" J.D.'s face twisted with anger. "Did she say something about your weight again?"

"Well... if I gain a few more pounds," her voice grew quieter with each word, "I'm going to look like a whale..."

"Fuck," he exhaled sharply and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Fuck! You're the smart one, Ronnie, so why the fuck are you listening to her?"

"But I gained weight! And Chandler's my friend," Veronica mumbled insecurely, "it's her way of taking care of me..."

"Well, she already took care of Duke," J.D. grinned fiercely and stared at her; she shivered and stopped talking, "and now, as a 'good' friend, she brings her flowers to the hospital and, I'm sure, still enjoys throwing in a few words about her looks. She's just found a new way to bully her. Am I wrong?"

She silently shook her head without looking up: he was frighteningly accurate. On their last visit, Chandler had brought some blush and advised Duke to "do something about that sickly look. Veronica had never forgiven Duke for the cemetery prank, but at that moment, she'd felt insanely sorry for her.

"Damn it, Veronica, you promised you'd kick Heather out of your life," J.D. snapped angrily, moving closer to hover over her. "But somehow you still let her wipe her feet on you! Would you please stop kissing her ass already?"

"You don't understand," she jumped up and glared at him, her lips pressed together in anger, "I've sa..."

"I don't fucking get it anymore, Ronnie," he stood up abruptly from the chair and almost dropped it. "If you're scared, I could protect you!"

"You can't fight off teasing and rumors with your fists, J.D.," Veronica shook her head wearily and looked up at him. "I've said it before: I don't want to stand alone against the whole school."

"But I'll be right there!" he slammed his fist into the table, causing the trays to bounce and jingle pitifully. "Isn't that enough? ...ah, screw it!"

J.D. turned and dashed out of the cafeteria with a quick stride. With a soft curse under her breath, Veronica grabbed her bag and ran after him.

Fortunately, he hadn't gone far: he was standing not far from the cafeteria entrance, leaning against the wall, furiously trying to wipe the soot off his hands with the edge of his shirt. Slowing her pace, she hesitantly approached and stood beside him. Pretending not to notice her, J.D. continued to rub the stain in silence, rubbing it harder into his skin. Veronica sighed heavily.

"That's enough, but it's... it's different," she stammered, trying to find the words. "I want to make good memories, J.D. I want to remember parties at Mac's, sleepovers at Chandler's, and going shopping with all the Heathers. I want to have fun at graduation! Not just remember bullying and laughing in the back for the rest of high school, you get it?" she asked.

"No, I don't get it," J.D. muttered grimly, rubbing the black mark on his arm in irritation. "It's all a fucking fake!"

"Not everything, just some of it," Veronica put her palm on his arm, stopping him gently. "But even if I fake it somewhere, I won't remember it later. Only the good stuff will stay. Just a few more months, J.D., and we'll be out of here..."

He shook his head stubbornly:

"I shouldn't have told you about the mugs back then, you know," his lips pressed into a thin line in contempt. "If that bitch had died back then, things would be a lot better now. For you and for everyone. The world would be a much nicer place without her!"

"Let's not get into that again," Veronica frowned and drew back sharply. "I'm tired of arguing and proving..."

"Wait! I'm sorry, I..." J.D. quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him, "I just don't want to see you in a hospital bed! Not because of that bitch, not because of anyone. What if it had been you instead of Duke?"

Immediately softening, she stepped forward and laid her forehead on his chest. His arms immediately closed around her, confident and tight. Maybe too tight... He sighed loudly and rested his chin on the top of her head.

"I'm not going to take suspect diet pills, I promise. Especially not after what happened with Duke," she muttered into his shirt. Her head was spinning badly: three days of lettuce leaves and apples had taken their toll. "But I am really overweight. And my thighs are huge! Soon it'll be time to buy a prom dress..."

"You have a wonderfully curvy body, darling. And an awesome ass, if you ask me," J.D. hummed, running his hand slowly down her back teasingly; she slapped his chest with a soft giggle, "so just buy a dress that shows it off. And I'll get busy scaring off all the guys who'll be drooling over it."

"You're such an idiot," Veronica giggled, reaching up and smooching him on his stubby chin. "That's why I love you! By the way, is your bike back on the beat?"

"Yeah," a broad smile spread across his face. "Where to, princess?"

"Let's go to 7-Eleven," she shook her head determinedly, "I'm starving for a giant hot dog!"

[inkedobsidian]

~ Try me. - M.R ~

summary: Y/N had been hostage for months, she still hasn't given anything up no matter how much pain she was in.

pairing: Mitch Rapp x Reader

warnings: Torture, Self-Harm, Suicide

word count: 1,117

a/n: Requests are open! Prompt list is there if you guys want extra ideas!

Master-List - Prompts

All Y/N could hear was the ringing in her ears from the constant abuse. All she could feel was a numbness that covered her whole body, as her vision became clearer the ringing in her ears became louder and the pain came back even worse than before. As Y/N raised her head she sees the white floor underneath her which is painted pink with dried and washed-off stains of her blood. The fire of pain runs up her nails all up to the cuts and clear wounds on her back and chest. The feeling of loneliness overwhelms her until she hears the door open and she suddenly recoils and feels even more alone than before.

"Ahh you're awake finally, I thought you'd succumbed to your wounds finally." The man sniggered as he pressed his hand underneath her chin and lifted her head examining the marks all over her face and neck. It was a different man every week so much so that they'd all blurred into one massive ass-hole. Y/N gathers the blood in her mouth and spits at the man's face and that earns a kick to her chest making the chair fall over and crash on the floor. As her head whacked off the floor the ringing sound returned for a moment. As she stares at the ceiling suddenly the light is dimmed by the outline of the man's face. Her hair is ragged and some strands being ripped out by the force of him using her hair to lift her malnourished body weight. He kneeled in front of her and tutted sadly.

"You know you've been here for almost 6 months. Almost half a year and nobody has come to save you. They don't care about you." As he tried to emotionally manipulate her nothing worked. He didn't think he could crack Y/N but as the days go by he becomes more certain that she'd never break. Months wasted on someone who wouldn't talk. Men wasted on someone who was never going to speak about anything,

"You can't make me talk by breaking my heart. You could shatter every bone in my body, and you've come close. You can't break me, and you know you can't." Y/N smirks victorious, as psycho as it sounds she would rather die than tell him anything at all. Trying to keep his composure the man stands up and walks around to a table that Y/N is accustomed to now. He grabs a scalpel and sits in front of her. He leans closer and Y/N begins to laugh at him.

"What are you laughing at? I can hurt you in ways you can't even imagine." The man grabs Y/N by the throat making her cough and her vision go blurry.

"You're weak. A scalpel? I had worse done to me while training to kill people like you. Oh please, I did worse to myself as a teenager. If you think digging a scalpel in my flesh and ripping it open will break me you are more delusional than the last guy that tried." Y/N begins to cackle and then the mysterious man stabs the scalpel straight into her thigh making her scream once loudly. As he pulls it out and stabs her again in her arm and this makes her scream with her mouth closed not giving anyone who could be watching any satisfaction at all.

"You. Can't. Break. Me. And that scares the shit out of all of you." Y/N says smirking. She spits blood to the side getting it on the man's shoe.

"You're only human. Everyone breaks eventually. Either that or we'll put a bullet in you're head and Rapp will come running to get his revenge." His tactic of mentioning Mitch Rapp showed how desperate they are. However Y/N didn't even waver at the name, she couldn't.

"I'm only human, and that terrifies you that I'm still loyal. What pisses you all of more is that I'm a woman. A woman has single-handedly confused and annoyed all of you. And if you do decide to give up I hope it eats away at you at night that I'm the one person you couldn't beat. Nobody cares about me, so you lose either way." Y/N begins to go monotoned and she stops talking until she hears the click of a gun. She looks up to the barrel of a handgun and laughs.

"Well, I guess we just kill you or leave you for dead." The man says with his voice wavering not wanting to kill the only information lead they've got.

"If you kill me you better put a bullet right between my eyes. Or I will hunt all of you down and torture you for longer than I've been here. And trust me I'll do it for fun." Y/N snarls putting her head to the gun and laughing when the man's eyes go wide. He lowers the gun and just as he's about to back out both of their heads snap to outside the room where gunfire starts firing from both sides. Suddenly there's a bang in the room and Y/N looks down to see he shot her point-blank in the stomach. The chair falls on the floor with the force of the bullet leaving Y/N bleeding out on the floor alone. The door bursts open and two people run in, one running straight for Y/N. As she opens her eyes again she sees a different silhouette and this time it's Mitch.

"Mitch? You actually came?" Y/N asks more confused than pleased.

"Of course I did. I never stopped. Don't talk just try to stay awake." Mitch says shooting the chains around her hands.

"Mitch… I-"

"I said don't talk Y/N. Please just survive." Mitch almost whimpers noticing how close she is to dying in his arms.

"I need you to forgive me. I made myself noticed so they didn't get you. I sacrificed myself and didn't even say goodb-"

"I forgive you Y/N. I forgave you the moment I realized why you ran. I thought you'd left because of me. But you left to save me. I forgive you." Mitch says picking her up and trying to maneuver so he didn't rip any new wounds open wider.

"I love you, Mitch. I'm sorry." Y/N says as darkness begins to take over her vision with every passing second.

"I love you too. Next time just talk to me. There will be a next time just hang on!" Mitch says louder to wake her up, but not enough to stop her from slipping finally out of consciousness. Mitch doesn't know if she'll make it. He just hopes that she heard him say he loves her.