#I wanna hear BONES RATTLING.

[bootdork]

I know I'm some six years late but words cannot express my UTTER disappointment that in Divinity Original Sin 2, playing as an undead skeleton character, the game simply gives you magical skin and blood for the romance scenes. Maybe I didn't want that. Maybe I did this entire playthrough for the sake of making a "They boned" joke. Now what? "They had sex"? Lame.

[grimsdeadb0nes]

.

[tim-shii]

a/n: tim posting sunday on a sunday? defo not intentional. inspired by that interactive golden hour map where it took me 15 minutes just to find blade !! idk what this is i just really wanna write him🧍‍♀️ silly bf tho 😋 silly sunday 😱 cw — barbie mentions, ooc sunday (idk him that much yet i need another week to psychoanalyze him properly forgive me)

“it’s like a mini golden hour.”

“it is a mini golden hour.” it never occured to you that sunday would be the type of person— leader, to have a diorama of the city. it’s equipped with mini working bubble pinballs and mini treasure chests that you’re sure the trailblazer will enjoy opening.

you look at sunday who's a few meters away from you, tending to his little sandpit. “what exactly is this for?”

“just a base model.” he shrugs, as if his vague answer satisfies your curiosity. nonetheless, you dropped the topic and walked over to him. you drape an arm around his waist with a hum, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“... what are you doing?”

“fixing the npcs.”

“fixing? you’re stacking them up like pancakes.”

“they seem to have no problem with it.”

“they’re npcs!” you hit his bicep. sunday huffs and passed you one of the figurines. “here. you do it.”

you take the doll and place it in the spot that you’ve been eyeing since earlier.

“you are no better than me.” sunday looks at you unamused, crossing his arms over his chest. he sighs and pinches the hem of your shirt to make sure you don’t topple over on the sandpit. it’ll be a shame if his base model gets ruined, definitely not concerned with the possibility of your faceplanting into the pit.

“robin likes me better so that automatically makes me better than you.” you grinned. “there!” you stand back down on your feet.

“you placed him on the top of the highest building.”

“he wanted fresh air.”

“and if he jumps?”

“he’s an npc! he’s stationary in place.” sunday smiles a little as he watch fret around defending yourself. he lifts his left hand and places it behind your neck in a quick manner, pulling you in and pushing his lips to yours, effectively shutting you up. his feathers brush against your cheek, you felt every flutter of it as he pulls away.

“you were saying?” he looks at you all innocently but you could hear the smirk, the smugness in his voice. he’s very much satisfied with the growing blush on your face. being only inches away from you makes him feel the warmth brewing under your skin from his ministrations.

“shut up,” you push his face away with a palm. "i'm thinking getting you a barbie doll. your npcs are boring— you know what? i’m getting you a customized doll. a mini sunday with mini sunday clothes and your little wings and a little halo. oh! what if we match the barbie movie with robin? so you can get ideas on how to decorate a proper dollhouse—”

“not a dollhouse.”

“quiet! i’m talking— then, you can see how ken acted up when faced with the concept of patriarchy..”

sunday tuned out the rest of your voice. you weren’t boring him, no. it’s the opposite. you’re amusing. every moment with you brings him a sense of delight. instead of focusing on your rant, his eyes zeroed on the red peeking out your ears and if he focuses more, he might hear just how fast he makes your heart beat.

that was the day sunday found out you go on a tangent when flustered and rattled to the bones.

likes and reblogs are appreciated! masterlist

[upsidedownwithsteve]

shy reader with Eddie first time??

It wasn’t expected, even though it’d been a few months.

It had taken weeks of dating Eddie before you’d plucked up the courage to tell him mid kiss that you were a virgin. You’d pulled back from him like you’d been set on fire, suddenly terrified that he’d hand you back your shirt and grimace at your confession. He didn’t, of course.

No, the boy had blinked, eyes widening in surprise at your sudden outburst before he softened, kissing over your cheeks and nose before dragging a hand up and down one bare arm. It was soothing, the way he touched you, so different to the way he’d been starting to rock his hips into the cradle of yours as he licked into your mouth, but the latter made you melt just as much as the first.

Embarrassment and pent up anxiety disappeared with each pass of his palm over your skin and you felt like you could breathe again, like you weren’t harbouring some sort of secret from him. Eddie had smiled, all lovely and soft and he nodded.

“That’s alright,” he’d whispered. “I’m ready whenever you are, babe— if you are.” He swallowed, pressed a thumb to your cheek as he caught your chin, gentle. “There’s no rush, yeah?”

So a few more weeks had passed and Eddie had learned more about you and the way you liked to be kissed and touched, how you were still a little shy and quiet about your wants, how he could coax them out of you best. His favourite was to get you all breathy and whiny, fingers crooked nicely inside you, kissing you too sweet for the way his thumb was rubbing at your clit.

He liked to draw it out, keep you on the edge until you gave in and told him what you needed, whispering against your jaw how you were too pretty, too sweet, how you should be demanding what you wanted from him.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he murmured to you, “there’s no one here but us, you can talk to me, huh?”

You were tucked into the crook of his arm, pressed between Eddie and the wall beside his bed, the sheets halfway down your bare legs and the boy’s Slayer T-shirt rucked up your ribs. The day had long been gone, the pink-red glow of Eddie’s desk lamp lighting the room in a haze. You were indecently exposed, Eddie’s fingers pulling your underwear aside so he could trace wet circles around your entrance, grinning at the slick there.

He liked making you messy, lips pouting, eyes hazy, cheeks warm with the exertion of it all. Your hands were curled around his forearm, your face pressed to his shoulder as you whined. Eddie waited for you to ask him to give you his fingers, maybe if he could use his mouth, if you were particularly bold and the lights were dimmed enough.

Instead:

“Eddie?” You were whispering, voice a rasp, eyes fluttering as you tried to keep them open. “Eddie? Can we—? You can, god, I wanna—”

Eddie slowed to a stop, hand slipping from your underwear to splay over your tummy instead. He could feel you breathing hard, the way your body heaved with pleasure. “What d’you want, baby, huh?” Eddie leaned in, nose rubbing against your own and his voice was softer, losing that teasing edge as he encouraged you to voice what you wanted. “You can tell me, you know I’ll give it to you.”

It wasn’t even a line. Not the way Eddie said it. Earnest and soft, voice cracking a little with the emotion behind it all and he gazed down at you, brown eyes sincere and glassy.

You sucked in a breath, staring right back at him, face tilted up so you could press into him, mouth grazing over his chin before you could kiss his lips.

“I want you,” you told him and you were surprised he could hear you with how quiet you were. Your heart felt louder, a thumpthumpthump against your chest that you were sure was rattling your bones. Maybe Eddie could hear it too. “I want you, Teddy.”

The boy smiled, that slow stretch of a grin that made something in your stomach flip and flutter and he leaned down to kiss you back, sweet and unassuming. “You have me, baby,” he said it like there was no question about it.

But you sat up suddenly, lace bra and bare skin pressed to his chest as you leaned over him, a shaky hand searching in his nightstand drawer until you felt what you were looking for. You held the foil square in front of him, lips pressed together between your teeth and Eddie swore, low and hoarse, like he couldn’t keep it in.

“Now?” He croaked.

“Is that… is that not okay?” You shrunk back with doubt and nerves, wondering if for whatever reason, Eddie didn’t actually want to have sex with you.

You weren’t sure what gave away your panic. Maybe the widening of your eyes, the flash of regret there, the way your mouth parted in a quiet sigh. Maybe it was the way your hand faltered, the way you folded the condom into your fist like you could hide the fact it existed. Whatever it was, Eddie immediately soothed it with wide, warm hands on your jaw, cradling your face as he shook his head, eyes wider than your own.

“Baby, baby,” Eddie urged softly. “Heyheyhey, c’mere, get outta there, huh? Lemme see you, pretty girl.” The boy urged you out from where you’d curled yourself into his side, face hidden in his neck. He swept a hand over your cheek, letting you cling to him instead. “That’s completely okay.”

He swallowed, throat bobbing as he tried to keep it together. “That’s completely and totally and utterly okay. More than that, yeah?” He grinned and it was a nervous smile, all boyish and bravado. “I just didn’t expect it. And I don’t wanna rush you, sweetheart.”

You unfurled yourself, feeling braver at his words. “You’re not rushing me,” you told him and with one last deep breath, you passed the foil packet to him, pressed it into his own palm and smiled. “I trust you.”

…

[jesterwriting]

reacting to you getting kidnapped and being grievously injured. both recovery and death routes

pairing: trafalgar law x reader, crocodile x reader, doflamingo x reader (separate)

contents: kidnapping, blood, death, grief, general angst, and a little but of toxicity from doffy because let's be real here.

word count: 1.9k words

The stench of iron clouded your senses. Despite the heat, you shook uncontrollably, barely able to curl in on yourself. Numbness spread from your chest outward until the pain you had once been so intimately acquainted with felt like nothing more than a distant memory. You could barely hear over the blood rushing in your ears. There were voices above you, but they were far too muffled for you to make out anything aside from sharp, jeering laughter. A kick to your ribs made pain bloom from your abdomen before it tapered off into nothingness. It was supposed to hurt. Why weren’t you hurting anymore?

It had been a long time since you had been so afraid. She was an old friend, one you hadn’t been visited by ever since you met your partner. You were a weak little thing, especially in comparison to them. It had never been more obvious than now, left more of a pile of meat and bone rather than a person on the rickety floor of the old shack you’d been dragged into.

All it took was a distraction. Today was your birthday, and you were so focused on thinking about your special day, that you were taken by surprise. A sob rattled from your chest as your terror faded away, slipping from your grasp, just as your blood spilled from the wound on your belly. As if to catch the fleeing emotion, you clenched your fist tight enough for your fingertips to bury themselves into the meat of your palm. All you felt was a dull pressure.

I think I’m dying.

Whether you wanted to or not didn’t matter anymore. Another weak sob shook your body. Looking down, you acknowledged that you could reach out and touch your insides. All it would take was an exploratory hand and an insatiable curiosity, neither of which you thought you were capable of at the moment. It wasn’t until you looked up did you realize one of your eyes was swollen shut. Or missing, you thought tiredly. It wasn’t like it would matter anymore. There was no surviving this.

Acceptance did not come easy. You wanted to fight, you wanted to scream, beg, cry, anything, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. As one last act of defiance, you flexed your toes in your boots. Even that minute task felt monumental, like you were at the last stretch of a marathon.

“I don’… Wanna-” You didn’t want to die.

There was someone waiting for you. Someone strong, someone who protected you, who loved you. Someone whose notoriety got you in this position in the first place. If you were a lesser person, you would blame them for what happened to you.

Where were they when you needed them most? You did nothing to deserve this. It wasn’t fair. You inhaled a sharp breath as tears poured down your face, mixing with your blood to create a pinkish puddle on the floor. The fact of the matter was: it wasn’t their fault, and as easy as it was to blame yourself, you knew it wasn’t yours either. Those who were at fault were above you, drinking and laughing over your battered body like they weren’t soon to follow. Your lips twitched upward at the thought. At least you would be avenged. It was a small mercy, but one you indulged greedily.

You didn’t hear the door open, nor did you see who entered, but judging by the horrified faces of your assailants, you could wager a guess. Your body moved as if on autopilot, unbroken arm sliding across the floor towards your lover, smearing gore across the wood as you reached for them. It was a shame that this was it. You only hoped they would move on without you.

If only you got to say goodbye. If only you were able to tell them not to hide from your bones, but build something new with them. As if they could bury your spine in the ground and you would sprout anew, whole and intact again.

As your vision faded to black, you caught your lover's expression. It was…

Trafalgar Law

Fear. It was only there for a second before blue light filled the enclosed space and the men who surrounded you were diced into tiny little pieces. Law would not allow his emotions get the better of him, not when you were in critical condition. Your heart was still beating. That meant he had time, he wasn’t too late. Steady hands — but, oh, how they shook when he was done with you — stitched you back together, piece by agonizing piece. Even when he was done, Law wouldn’t rest. He would spend his days watching you, counting your breaths with the rise and fall of your chest.

Recovery would be slow, made even slower by his insistence to treat you as if you were made of glass. He would be more irritable than usual, especially if you went against his orders as your doctor. If he had to strap you down to keep you from moving and reopening your wounds, so be it. As long as you were alive by the end of it to scold him for it, he didn’t care. Law could not fathom how close he was to losing you, and it will take a while to process. He might come off as wishy-washy, some nights holding you as tight as your injuries would allow, breathing in your scent as if it was the last time he would see you. Other’s, Law would throw himself into his work, so as not to allow himself to think, avoiding you when he wasn’t treating you.

If Law lost you, he would close himself off entirely. Whatever walls you had managed to tear down would return stronger than ever. He wouldn’t allow himself to mourn properly, rather, he would throw himself back into his plans full force. Barely eating, barely sleeping, barely living. The crew can tell he’s not handling your loss well, though whoever attempts to bring it up is subjected to a brutal verbal lashing from their captain. It isn’t until night comes and Law finds himself in a cold, empty bed would he allow himself to cry.

Sir Crocodile

Disbelief. Whatever Crocodile expected, it was not this. While he certainly did not expect you to single handedly beat your attackers into submission, he certainly didn’t expect to find anyone stupid enough to so brutally harm someone that belonged to him. Crocodile did not trust easily. Many said that he did not trust at all. The fact that the one person that he allowed in was inches from death was enough to make his stomach churn. He would waste no time with the fools who attacked you, dispatching them swiftly before he contacted the best doctors at his disposal to treat you. As much as he would love to whisk you away into his arms, Crocodile knew moving you while you were so injured was not a good idea. Instead, he would crouch next to you and keep you awake until the doctors arrived. As if you would break, he would hold your smaller hand in his, gently brushing your blood-smeared hair from your forehead with his hook.

Recovery would be spent in the lap of luxury, showered with not only gifts, but more of your lover’s attention than ever before. That wasn’t to say Crocodile usually neglected you, it was the fact that he was a very busy man. Normally, he would be in meeting after meeting. Now, with you laid upon silk sheets and covered in bandages, Crocodile was by your side twenty-four/seven. He would spend his days relaxed in a plush chair by your side, either reading the newspaper or filling out paperwork. The doctors who treat you would never be alone with you, always under Crocodile’s threatening stare, as if daring them to slip up in some way.

If Crocodile lost you, he would be numb. He would attempt to go back to his life before you. While he knew it wouldn’t be easy, he didn’t realize how your ghost would haunt him. Your pillow still carried the scent of your shampoo, the sweets you kept hidden in his desk would crop up from time to time, and the indent on the cushion of your favorite chair would not fade no matter how many times he flipped the cushion. On busy days, Crocodile found himself looking for you in his office, always ready with a silly quip or observation he would huff at, only to be met with hollow disappointment when he found nobody there. He goes full scorched earth, ridding himself of all your possessions, attempting to cut you from his life entirely. Even then, he still dreams of you.

Donquixote Doflamingo

Rage. You were his. The threat of his wrath should be enough to guarantee your safety. But it didn’t, and here you were, barely breathing at the feet of scum that were worth less than the mud on his shoes. Doflamingo kills them swiftly — it was a shame he couldn’t take his time punishing them, you, however, took precedence — before he finds himself by your side. He prods you, as gentle as he is capable of, with the tip of his shoe. When you squirm, he releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. A good partner was hard to come across, and while Doflamingo was not picky with his flings, he did prefer someone with a little more substance to rule beside him. You would be hard to replace. Doflamingo calls for the best doctors in Dressrosa to attend to you. While he waits, he allows you to dirty his pink jacket with your blood, draping it on top of you so he doesn't have to look at your battered form for longer than he has to. While he would never admit it, not to himself and never aloud, seeing you so broken left a pit in his stomach.

Recovery would be tedious. Without you around to terrorize tease, Doflamingo finds himself bored with his daily comings and goings. More often than not, he’s beside your bed, frowning down at your sleeping form, waiting to get your reaction to some ridiculous, teasing notion he had in store. He hates seeing you so unresponsive. Doflamingo is used to your laughter, your stuttered words, your shy expressions, not whatever this is. It isn’t until now that he realizes just how attached to you he has gotten. For the hundredth time since Doflamingo found you, he regrets not torturing the scum who hurt you more. Once you awake, you will be confined to the palace until further notice. You will only be safe if you are within his grasp, and he knows now more than ever, that he will never let you go.

If Doflamingo loses you, he will be furious. The doctors who were supposed to save you are unceremoniously killed in his rage. And so is anyone unlucky enough to cross his path for the next few days. It isn’t long before Doflamingo is looking for your replacement. The palace is empty without your presence, and there is a you-shaped hole he intends to fill before he can think too hard as to why he misses you so much. No one is good enough for him. No matter how many applicants he gets, no matter how many new playthings color his life, none of them will ever be you. Doflamingo finds himself discarding people from his life quicker than usual, especially if they did something you would never do.

[flowercrowngods]

a tiny thing for @eddiemonth day 06: crush & sincere

“I will crush you beneath my heel like vermin.”

Like thunder, the evil wizard’s voice rolls over the battlefield, leaving fear in the heart of everyone who’s alive enough to hear it and rattling the bones of those who aren’t.

Men and women alike, soldiers and knights and able bodied young men, watch with bated breath as Sir Steven, the bravest of them all, rises to his feet again beside the black-clad wizard, his grip on his trusty sword never wavering as he wipes blood and sweat from his face.

There he stands, heroic as ever, meeting the evil wizard’s eyes with a heated glare of his own.

“Try,” he says, standing his ground as his voice, too, is carried over the battlefield. Carried, indeed, for the wind blows in his favour, the sun shines only for him, and the ground beneath his feet holds him up like a trusted friend, a most beloved brother.

Sir Steven reaches towards his neck, feeling the band of leather against overheated skin, a charm resting just above his heart — right where it belongs.

The wizard doesn’t have what he has.

***

A soft chuckle abruptly changes the scenery and rips Eddie into a different world once more; sun glazed battlefields replaced with the darkness of his room, hard soil replaced with the softness of his bed, and a knight turns into a beautiful boy wearing his favourite shirt.

“A magic used guitar pick necklace? Is that what the evil wizard king doesn’t have?”

Steve’s eyes are closed but the smile on his lips shines bright, and Eddie can’t even be mad about the interruption. He reaches out a hand and trails his fingers through Steve’s hair, gently combing back the locks sticking to his sweaty forehead. The smile dims a little, turning into something more genuine.

“I can’t believe you interrupted me at the best part there, Stevie. I was going to make a heroic entrance as a dragon shifter, called to the knight simply by touching the charm.” He keeps up his slow and gentle caresses, his hands trialing down to Steve’s cheeks and neck, where Eddie’s necklace clings to overheated skin indeed. “It means a lot, you know, a charm like that.”

Steve hums, moving closer to Eddie, seeking his warmth and his touch alike, and Eddie can’t possibly refuse him.

“It could save the world, you mean?”

“Hmm. The world. A young boy’s heart. And everything in between.”

Steve blindly reaches for Eddie’s hand and brushes a kiss to his knuckles, and another for good measure.

There’s a weight to their words that’s not meant for moments like this, but it hangs in the air nonetheless, and Eddie breathes it in. The weight of a past survived and a future acknowledging that. Both of them shared like this moment. A promise.

“So what happens next? With Sir Steven and the evil wizard, and with Eddie the dragon shifter. That’s very fitting, by the way, you little hoarder,” Steve laughs, still keeping his eyes closed, and Eddie can’t help but join in, overwhelmed with affection for this boy.

This sunshine boy who’s having a bad day and a fever but still manages to be the most radiant thing in the world. This wonderful boy who asked Eddie to stay and tell him a story until he falls asleep.

“Don’t feel good? Do you wanna stay in bed, baby?”

“Yeah. Can you stay?”

“Of course. Cuddles?”

“Could you maybe… Could you tell me a story?

“I’ll tell you any story you want, sunshine.”

This incredible, insufferable boy who’s too nosy and too sassy for his own good, interrupting Eddie here and there to ask questions or give a snarky little comment that’s dripping with fondness whether he’ll admit it or not.

This boy. His boy. With the smile and the wild bed head and the insistent tug on Eddie’s hand to tell him what happens next.

And so Eddie continues his story about the evil wizard being defeated and the world celebrating the heroics of the knight and his dragon and their unlikely band of friends. If he adds a little Lord of the Rings imagery here and there, Steve won’t know about it anyway.

Before he reaches the end, Steve’s hand goes slack where it’s tangled with Eddie’s, and his breath evens out, the smile never quite fading from his lips. Eddie keeps talking, though his voice is hushed now and thick with a smile of his own now.

He loves him. God, he loves him so, so much, he can barely stand it.

“Good night, Stevie,” he whispers even though it’s barely three in the afternoon. He gets up and out of bed, tucking the blanket around Steve’s sleeping form and brushing one more kiss to his hair before sneaking out of the room on slow, quiet steps.

Outside, Wayne is reading a book on the porch, a cigarette in his hand. Eddie snatches one from the pack and leans over his old man to brush a kiss to his hair, too, feeling far too full of affection right now and needing to let it out. There is a sincerity inside him that needs to be shared.

Wayne lets out a gruff kind of hum, but Eddie isn’t so easily fooled, smiling as he lights his cig.

“How’s your boy?” Wayne asks.

“Asleep for now.”

“Good.” There’s a moment of silence between them and Eddie closes his eyes against the afternoon sun for a moment, drawn back to his story. “You let me know if he needs anything.”

“Of course. Thanks, Wayne.”

“Sure. Just wouldn’t wanna be crushed like vermin, is all.”

The laugh bubbles out of Eddie before he can help it, sincerity replaced by something lighter, something manageable for now as he lets his uncle bully him for telling ridiculous stories to the boy he loves so endlessly.

[katyawriteswhump]

Steddie microfic: I got you

Steve loves it when Eddie rubs his chest.

Written for the December @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘pine,’ 508 words. Originally inspired by the ‘pining’ idea, then it evolved and some extra pine turned up elsewhere!

Rating: T. CW: A couple of sexual references. Tags: shameless hurt/comfort, sickfic, fluff.

***

Their first winter, Eddie got sick. Then Steve got sicker. He took to their bed with a cough that scoured his lungs, rattled his ribs. When Eddie arrived, Steve buried his damp face in the pillow. “I’m all gross. G-go away.”

“Sorry, Babe.” Eddie rolled Steve over, fingers skittering soothingly across his brow. “Kinda guilty here. You scored my germs.”

“Always g-got chest infections as a kid.” Steve shivered. “Ask my m-mom.”

“She won’t talk to me, remember?”

“Ugh. Why are my f-family shitheads?” The pang of irritation proved too much. Steve’s next breath jammed in his lungs. A coughing fit consumed him. Eddie helped him sit, rubbed his back till the worst passed. Then Eddie removed his rings—huh?—pulled the covers over them, and spooned Steve from behind.

His warm hand slid under Steve’s t-shirt. He rubbed Steve’s chest, so gently Steve hardly noticed at first.

“I gotcha, Sweetheart. I gothcha.”

Steve’s shuddering breaths fell in sync with Eddie’s caresses, beneath which painfully taut sinews softened. Steve’s chest still burned, his breaths wheezy, but… 

…Eddie’s touch got him, somewhere so deep it almost choked him again.

It became a regular thing, in sickness and health. Eddie’s guitar-string callused strokes across Steve’s chest—sometimes firm, sometimes soft—set Steve sighing, groaning, purring like a cat. He even adored the cool slide of Eddie’s rings, especially when they snagged in his hair.

One day, afterward, he littered Eddie’s agile fingers with kisses. “Wanna marry your hands.”

Eddie quirked a brow: “You got a mighty fine chest, Babe.”

Steve grinned, sent his own hands south on a far dirtier mission.

Next winter, Eddie scored a touring gig with a band who’d lost their guitarist. Steve missed him like crazy, ignored that tell-tale tickle in his throat, and went to work—peddling hotdogs in the snow. Eddie called daily around 3am, always losing track of time. Steve mainlined cough medicine and pretended so hard:

“I don’t miss your mess, man. I cleaned the shit out of this place—totally reeks of Pine-Sol.”

“Haha. Miss you too, Stevie.”

“Riiight. If you blow the drummer, I’ll repave the drive with your vinyl collection.”

Steve got sicker. The pine stench of the stupid polish caught on his chest. He coughed himself raw. That night, Eddie didn’t call.

Or, Steve didn’t hear.

When he woke, he tried to sit. Flopped back down. He was shivering, out of water, and coughed till tears streaked his face and blood spattered his hand. Scared now... He drifted, never quite sleeping, coughing less, instead struggling to drag whistling breaths. His bones ached. His head ached worse. Freakin’ terrified…

A gentle touch revived him: “Babe?”

He blinked. Eddie? 

“You didn’t answer last night. Caught the first flight home.” Seriously? “Do I need to take you to ER?”

“No,” wheezed Steve.

“Don’t be macho, dude.”

“Need c-cuddle.” That ‘not macho’ enough, Honeypie? 

Steve was too sick for decisions, so let Eddie make them. Much later, when Eddie slid into bed behind him and rested a warm hand on his chest, he knew he was mending already.

***

Thank you for reading :) Also posted on my AO3 here

[the-one-who-lambs]

"Propose," for @bamsara

HI YOUR DOODLES INSPIRED ME HERE'S A POETRY ATTACK. rambling below the cut.

At first, the death waltz is a misstep.

A sickening skeletal crack, a shape of an invisible scythe.

Sincerity is too kind a lie, but His sacrosanct

Protection (you think)

Lets you rise once more.

Death cannot keep you, but you would let Him

If he welcomes you.

You only believe what He thinks you should know.

The flames engulf you after the smoke does,

But your soul has nearly shed its corpse when you see them.

You stand in the vast chain-bound sanctuary and breathe

Fully (your lungs don’t remember being choked).

It is the first of a fitful of

Scorn and surprises and bone fingertips pressed against your skin.

He helps you to your feet.

Your heart should not beat here. In the infiniteness of your bosom it awakens.

The very semblance of the jagged-bare flesh

Encircling your neck is an intimacy in itself.

The blissful torment of the swordsman’s blade

Releases (so close to peril)

And He is already in your periphery.

Call it duty. Call it love.

Choose it as the last decision you’ll ever make.

Fate’s a tarot pull. You draw your card with eyes sealed shut.

You are a disgraced, depraved approximation of a person.

The chill of his embrace is warmer than the hands

That build the bonfire. It is in the name of

Someone (you shan’t say who)

And in the ashes of your grief your reflection

Stares back with three eyes.

The temptation to burn yourself seeps out,

Ichor-like. You don’t die tonight, not yet.

A careful drip of poison. The aftertaste of iron

In your mouth: communion seeping into your own goblet.

A moonshine moment of annihilation, however brief

Before (infectious, echoing, comforting)

You bleed out. You hope you die today.

He hopes you die today. It’s an

Ambrosial veil between you.

You slip beneath it with a sweet hello.

It’s never quite intentional until

The myths surrounding Him fall away.

The secrets you keep are shared, kept safe

Until (your reunion, this time, was not quite an accident)

They are intertwined: you are inescapably

Lonely and in your separate spheres

You vie for dominance. It’s a furious, bloodsoaked rendezvous.

It was always He who waited, but you’ll be patient.

He feels you in every dream. You

Stop time with your voices.

It’s His frustration melting away

With your kisses (you’re not there yet)

And makes Him yours, in freedom,

Dependent on nothing nobody you himself

The fetters are invisible but you hear them

Rattling every time your heart beats.

Your breath need not return anymore so you

Relearn to dodge the aim of an arrow, the pierce of a blade.

Living is foul, a promise half-hidden,

Desperate. (It lingers on your tongue.)

Death bound you together. You know how to die.

You have to remind yourself that heaven lays barren.

It will not hold you

Should Death keep you apart.

Get appreciated idiot /pos /lh

So, this was inspired by this post, which was super wholesome and sweet, but I couldn't write this without infusing it with the urgency and anxiety and sense of danger that looms over The Rehabilitation of Death. Bits and pieces of references to your AU are sprinkled in throughout. I hope you (and my readers and your readers as well) enjoy picking apart the themes here!

I actually wrote this live on stream last night! I made sure none of my friends were streaming before I started because I didn't want to miss anyone if someone was already live, but then you started streaming like 10 minutes later and I was like FUCK now I wanna watch you. But after a couple of hours on my new extra-hard CotL save (OUCH), I switched to writing and just... hoped you wouldn't pop in because I wanted this to be a surprise. For most of the writing part of the stream this poem was titled "IF SARA STOPS STREAMING SEND ME A WARNING."

Anyway, we don't usually get to talk more than a couple times per week because we both have Shit To Do, but you are SO FUN to be around and I am so so glad I met you!! Your friendship is a blessing and your creativity is a gift.

Also posted to AO3 as onethirdofimpossible here!

[eat-limes-bitches]

The Sounds That Bind Us

PAIRING: Female Farmer! Reader x Bucky Barnes

SUMMARY: Music has a way of tying two people together, in ways that only the universe can design.

WARNINGS: umm, major fluff, so so so fluffy! Minor injuries (for Bucky any way)

Word Count: 2967

Alternate Jun-iverse: C4027 | Square 1: Soulmate | Square 2: Country

A/N: OOO! I'm excited for this one yall! I've been working on it for a while! (Hence the word length hehe) But this is my first attempt at a soulmate AU and I hope I did it justice, but I'm really happy with it and I hope you guys love it as much as I do!

Song lyrics are in italics and the songs are:

Honey Take My Hand by Cody Francis

Didn’t See It Coming by My Brothers and I

Fallen Like A Star by St. Lundi

Enjoy! <3

Divider by Rookthorne, graphic by Eat-Limes-Bitches

Bucky was going to kill him. Steve had promised an easy in-and-out mission, something low stakes to get back into the groove after some time off in Wakanda. This was everything but that. Bucky was snapped out of his murderous thoughts by a bullet whizzing by his head, making him curse as he sped up. These HYDRA soldiers were hot on his tail, and not letting up. It didn’t help that he had been hit, the pain coursing through his right thigh a constant reminder of the bullet lodged in the flesh. As he tumbled through the treeline into a clearing, he saw an old barn, the moonlight reflecting off the tin roof seemed like a beacon of hope. Without any other options, he skillfully hopped over the fence, ducked into the barn, held his breath, and listened. The soldiers came exploding through the treeline and stopped, seeing no sign of Bucky anywhere. Bucky listened carefully as he heard them approach the barn and stop. Their boots crunched on the fallen leaves as they circled the barn. His heart was in his throat, blood rushing in his ears but after a moment that seemed like forever, they left. Bucky didn’t move for almost an hour, listening and making sure that he was in the clear before he pulled out his transponder. He looked down to activate it and saw that it had been trashed by a stray bullet. He groaned out a curse and threw the useless device across the barn. He tried to stand but the pain in his leg prevented him from supporting any weight so he pushed himself up against the wall, deciding that he’d just rest for a bit.

He was on the verge of sleep when a song started to flow through his mind, louder than it had been since, ever, causing him to startle. See, everyone had a soulmate, something Bucky never believed in, having never heard any music in the 40’s. After he fell off the train, he figured whoever they were would be long dead by now. However, since coming out of recovery, he started to hear the music again. Part of HYDRA’s programming, he found out, was to block the music that would be pumping into his mind from his soulmate but now that he was free from all of the things that HYDRA put in his head, he started hearing music. He didn’t think much of it, as it was always quiet and in the background like a thought, but this song was so loud that it sounded like it was being whispered in his ear. 

“Let's get out, we can leave this city. Let's drive to the open air. Yeah, the countryside is so pretty. With the wind blowing in your hair. We can look back someday Baby, don't you understand? That we only get one love, I wanna make it count. Honey, come on now and take my hand”

It was a soft melody, the gentle guitar soothing his frayed nerves, and just as quickly as it startled him awake, it soothed him back to sleep.

He was woken up by something cold and wet nuzzling into his cheek. Bucky groaned and tried to shift away from the intrusion but he was too stiff from his awkward sleeping predicament to move very fast. Swatting at whatever the hell was messing with him, he was greeted by more music flooding his senses. This time, even louder than the last. The guitar was vibrating his bones and the drums rattling his teeth when all of a sudden there was a gasp and the music promptly stopped. 

“Jake! Get away from him! Jesus, hey guy, are you ok?” 

A panicked voice called out as the presence next to him disappeared. Bucky shot open his eyes and shot up into a position ready to defend himself when he saw a woman staring at him. Her light blue button-up was tucked into a pair of old worn-out jeans with a dark belt securing them in place around her hips. A large black and white dog was standing at her side, tail wagging furiously back and forth as its warm brown eyes stared at him. 

Bucky blinked, all the memories of what happened yesterday came flooding back into the forefront of his brain.

“Uh- yeah, I uh- I think so.” He groaned, his leg screaming at him in pain causing him to hiss out in discomfort. 

“Are you sure? You don’t seem like it, here, let me help you.” The woman walked over, tucking an arm underneath his and wrapping it around him, hoisting him onto his feet and leading him to a bench on the other side of the barn. She gently placed him down and ran her eyes over him when she noticed the dried patch of blood on his thigh.

“Shit, have you been shot?!” Bucky was too busy gawking at how stunning this woman was to notice that he was bleeding again, her words caused him to look down where she was staring.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess I was. I kind of forgot about that.” Bucky shrugged as he watched the woman wander off to another area.

“How in the hell do you just forget that you were shot?!” She called out in between the slams of cabinet doors. Bucky took a deep breath, opening his mouth to respond when he noticed the dog, who he presumed to be the ‘Jake’ the woman had called out to, resting his head on Bucky’s non-injured thigh. He ran his fingers through the soft silky fur of the pup’s head, looking back up when he heard the woman's rapidly returning footsteps. She appeared from around an old tractor, med kit in tow. She saw the dog vibrating happily underneath Bucky’s attention and smiled softly.

“Jake! Leave…” She paused looking at Bucky for his name. 

“Bucky. You can call me Bucky.” She smiled.

“Y/n. Nice to meet you Bucky.” Bucky’s heart flipped in his chest at the sound of his name rolling off her tongue. His eyes followed her as she crouched down next to him, placing the med kit on the bench. 

“Are you ok with me taking care of this or would you rather do it,” Y/n asked as she began to rifle through the box looking for all of the necessary supplies. Bucky was shocked, she just found this strange man in her barn and was going to help him out instead of calling the cops. He realized she was waiting for an answer, her eyes full of worry staring at him, waiting for an answer. 

“Or, um, I can take you to the hospital, but that's a bit of a drive.” Bucky just shook his head.

“No, no. It’s fine. If you leave the supplies here I can take care of it. Thanks.” Y/n nodded standing up.

“Of course! I’ll get you a change of clothes. My brother left some clothes here, he’s about your height. Hopefully, they fit.”

Before Bucky could say anything else, Y/n walked out of the barn and disappeared, leaving Bucky alone with Jake and a med kit. Bucky gave the dog a final pet before tending to injury.

Once, he was cleaned up and in a fresh pair of clothes, Y/n brought him to the little farmhouse for some breakfast. Bucky sat on a stool watching Y/n cook.

“So how did you end up in my barn? It’s not every day that I get up to start chores and find a man in there.” She asked, flipping over the pancake in the skillet. Bucky chuckled scratching the back of his neck, trying to decide what to say.

“Well, uh… It’s kind of a long story...” 

A few days had passed since breakfast that morning, him spilling his entire life life story to this woman. She promised to try and help him get back to his team, however, the first snow of the season had fallen that same evening and there was no way for them to drive to the town some thirty miles away with the ice and snow covering the roads. 

“Being in the middle of nowhere has its advantages and disadvantages.” She had told him, shoveling a path out to the barn the next morning. “The fact that no plow trucks come through here just happens to be one of the shitty things.” 

Bucky felt strange just sitting around while she worked so he offered to help out while he was there. A sort of thank you for inadvertently saving his life. The more he worked around the farm, the more music he heard playing through his mind, but every time he tried to find the source, it would disappear and Y/N would appear from around a corner, tucking something into her pocket and then asking Bucky a question as she approached. 

The same thing was happening again as Bucky heard the first few chords from a new song drift into his mind, the same volume as the song that first night he slept in the barn.

“Fell in love with a girl that's a few years younger. Was a sister of a friend, didn’t see it coming.”

Bucky set down the bale of hay he had started to take to the horses, to follow the music. He walked over towards the door of the barn, the music getting louder with each step he took.

“I was hanging with him when I heard the door open.”

He pushed open the door and looked out to see Y/n and Jake walking towards the barn. She had earbuds tucked in under her hat, humming softly, and with each step she took towards the barn the louder the music in Bucky's ears got. He felt his heart start to race, his mouth ran dry.

“She walked into the room with a smile and that’s when, her eyes looked at me and said quietly,”

Y/n looked up to see Bucky staring at her and plucked the earbuds out of her ears and tucked them into her pocket, the music playing in Bucky’s mind disappearing with them.

“Hey, Bucky! I was lookin’ for ya!” She smiled at him, continuing to walk closer. “I was wondering if you could help me with something a little different.” She was standing right in front of him now, her bright eyes locking onto his. His pulse started to quicken as he hoped the cold masked the blush forming on his cheeks. 

“W-what might that be?” Y/n giggled and placed a hand on his shoulder sparks flooding throughout his body as she pushed him back into the barn. 

“I have to round up the cows today, since it’s snowed that means all of the bot flies are gone so we can go ahead and deworm them. I was hoping you could tag along. I know you’ve probably never done anything like this but it would really help me out a ton.” She smiled sweetly at him as she paused by the tack room, heading inside to grab her saddle and other equipment for the task at hand. 

“Uh sure, I’ll give it a go,” Bucky replied, following her into the small room, grabbing the other saddle sitting on the rack. It was then Bucky decided that he would do just about anything to get Y/n to smile at him like that again. It was so warm and bright that he felt ten times warmer than he did just moments ago.

“Awesome! Thank you so much, Buck! If you want to tack up Shanty I’ll hop on Zippy and we can go bring those cows up to the cattle shed!” 

Bucky saddled up Shanty with some difficulty due to the fact he had no idea what the hell he was doing, but with Y/n’s help, the pair were ready to go. Bucky watched as Y/n skillfully mounted the red horse who was stomping around impatiently waiting for her to get on. Taking a deep breath, he carefully pulled himself up into the saddle and nodded for Y/n to lead the way. As the pair began to jog through the snow Bucky called out,

“I hope you know I haven’t been on a horse since 1943, an’ never used em’ on a farm before so I have no idea what I’m doin’ darlin’.”

Y/n let out a laugh that seemed to sing off of the ice that covered a nearby pond. She looked over her shoulder and Bucky was convinced he had never seen a more beautiful sight. The morning sun reflected off the snow, causing its golden glow to dance across the landscape. Its golden rays were blocked by the brim of her dark cowboy hat, but the leather band almost seemed to be turned into gold as the beams of light that slipped around the edges wove into the intricate braid. Her eyes sparkled with something so warm and bright that Bucky was sure he was seeing an angel in person. 

“Don’t worry too much!” She replied, oblivious to the effect she had on the man. 

“Shanty’s a pro. She can basically do this on her own, she just prefers having someone on her back or a little extra guidance.” Y/n explained as the cow herd came into view. “Just point her in the right direction, she will do the rest.” 

Bucky nodded and watched as Y/n kicked Zippy forward toward the cows and once she rounded the back, the herd started running in his direction. Gripping onto the reins, he pointed Shanty in the direction and when the cows tried to jump out of line, Shanty would run and slide to a stop, forcing the cows to stay in a group as they ran towards the cattle shed. 

The journey back to the cattle shed was considerably more work than the ride out, constantly trying to keep the frisky cows from darting off one way or another but eventually, they were all secured in the barn, Y/n smiled at Bucky.

“Thank you for your help. I can take it from here. Meet you inside for dinner? I prepped some ravioli last week that’s in the freezer.” 

Bucky smiled and agreed, leading Shanty and Zippy back to the barn, the goofy grin remaining on his face all the way there.

Bucky grumbled angrily as the wrench slipped out of his hand. He reached out from under the tractor with his left hand when he remembered that his left hand was, essentially, an all-purpose tool. After finally getting the stubborn bolt off, he pushed himself out from underneath the tractor and took a sip of the hot cider in his mug that Y/n insisted he take with him after dinner. In between bites of the best ravioli that he had ever eaten, Y/n mentioned that the tractor had a bust pipe and that he had gotten the parts but hadn’t had the time to fix it herself so naturally, Bucky set off to fix it as soon as the dishes were done. 

Just as Bucky was about to get back to work, he heard a new melody whisper in his ear.

I'm flying, shining, bright like just like the Leonids, Heading for you.

Wiping his hands off on an old shop towel, Bucky made his way back to the farmhouse, and with each step he took, the music got a little louder.

Slowly, but surely, lighting up the pyramids, On my way to you

Kicking off his snow and mud-covered boots in the mud room, Bucky followed the sound of the music, to the back porch where he found Y/n sitting with a mug in her hands gazing up at the stars.

Ooh, ooh. I've fallen like a star for you

The music was so loud at this point, that Bucky was convinced that it was integrating itself into the very fiber of his being. Taking a steadying breath, he reached out a hand and placed it on Y/n’s shoulder startling her her slightly before realizing it was just him. He watched as she hit the pause button, and the music that was flowing so clearly stopped. Bucky felt his heart rate pick up. There is no way that he's finally found her after all this time.

“Hey Buck, What going on?” Y/n asks softly, offering a smile

“Can I see your Phone?” Bucky asks all in one breath.

Puzzled Y/n hands it to him. “Uh, sure why?”

“I just want to try something” He mumbled as he put the earbuds in and walked away from her to the opposite end of the porch. He locked eyes with her and hit play.

He watched as Y/n’s eyes grew wide, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. She heard it too. Bucky swallowed as he took a shaky step toward her, the music getting louder with each step he took until he was standing face-to-face with her.

Ooh, ooh. I've fallen like a star for you

“I think you’re my soulmate” He whispered, reaching out to cup her face with his flesh hand, the metal one still holding onto the phone.

Y/n blinked a few times in surprise before surging forward and tackling him in a hug planting a firm but warm kiss on his lips. Bucky blinked in surprise but responded immediately, wrapping his other arm around her and pulling her flush against his body.  Eventually, they parted and Y/n smiled up at him.

 “Does that mean you’ll stay here with me?” She whispered.

Bucky pressed his forehead against hers before he replied, “Forever and always, for as long as you’ll have me.”

[devils-dares]

Could I request Matt Murdock x wife!reader, just something with them, they have a toddler aged child (named after Matt’s dad). Maybe hurt/comfort. Thank you

wordcount: 1383

warnings: assault, bit of blood, daredevil is daredevilin', hospital

-----

“C’mon buddy, let’s get home.” You felt bad, almost dragging Jack home from urgent care. He’d been steadily getting more and more sick, so you’d decided to take him tonight. One hand gripped his little hand and the other scrunched the brown bag with his prescription inside. You’d made him some soup earlier, and wanted nothing more than to give him a bath and put him to bed, and then fall into your husband’s arms to sleep.

“Care to help me out, Miss?” You hear a voice call out, presumably to you, but you keep on walking. You could hear the man grumble and the jingle of the coins in the can quieten, but you thought nothing of it as you slightly quickened your pace, deciding your best bet would be to pick Jack up as he was struggling to keep up with you.

“Mommy?” He whined, presumably upset with the pace you were keeping, bouncing him up and down on your hip with the speed.

“I know honey, but we gotta make it home. Don’t you wanna surprise Daddy before he gets home?” He nods enthusiastically, hiding his face in your neck.

“Mommy, that man is catching up with us.” Jack says, his dad having taught him about being vigilant of his surroundings.

“Yeah, bug?” You say, trying your best not to sound nervous, trying to dig into your pockets to find your phone and dial Matt.

You never made the call.

The man had grabbed you by the waist, practically throwing you into the alley next to you. Jack had landed safely, but you landed on your back. Sitting uo, vision blurry, you reach a hand to the back of your head where it had made contact with the ground, warm blood seeping onto your fingers. Your phone had skidded away from you, the cracked screen tauntingly displaying your husband’s picture and phone number.

“What’s in the bag?” He asks, gesturing a knife wildly to the prescription bag on the floor.

“Sir, please-” You try to reason with him.

“I asked you a question!”

“It’s flu medication! Flu medication for my son, please there’s nothing of worth in there.” He dumps out the bag on the ground, a bottle of medication rattling on impact. He picks it up and checks the label, and he must have realized that it was no worth to him as he threw it on the ground. You gesture to Jack, and he makes a mad dash to position himself behind you.

“You’ve gotta have somethin’ of worth on you, lady.” He turns the knife towards you, but before he can make impact, a sickening crunch of bones interrupts him, landing him against the ground in a rough fashion.

“Leave them be.” A voice rang out, one that sent chills down your spin as well as a feeling of warmth and comfort. The man foolishly takes a swing at Matt, and his actions are met with yet another hard impact.

You pull Jack into your lap, covering his eyes and ears so he doesn’t have to witness his father’s other personality. Matt pulls the other man up by the collar of his shirt, pushing him up against the bricks and throwing his fist, not stopping until you mutter his name under your breath.

“Get lost,” he says, “I don’t even want to find you messing with anyone else.” The man nods, sprinting away with gashes across his face to escape Matt.

“Daddy!” Jack runs over to Matt as he kneels down, burying his head in Matt’s shoulder.

“Hi buddy.” His voice is still hoarse from the grunting and the adrenaline running through his veins.

“Can you grab your medicine and Mommy’s bag while I check on her?” Jack nods and Matt plants a kiss on his head before getting up to check on you.

“Where’s the blood coming from?” He asks, voice softening with use.

“My head, back of my head.” He takes his glove off, gingerly weaving his fingers through your strands of hair, stopping when he feels the warmth of blood and your quiet whimper.

“You’ll have to go to the hospital for this,” he says, “they have to make sure it isn’t a concussion.”

“Can you come with?” You ask.

“Course I can. I just gotta run home to change. Is it alright if I drop you off there?” You nod. He stands, reaching his hands out to take yours and help you stand. He turns to Jack.

“Can you hand Mommy her purse?” He nods, your purse almost dragging on the floor because of how small your son is.

“Matty, what-”

“Don’t worry your head about that. I’ll drop you off, take him home, and then change and meet you at the hospital.” He presses a kiss to your lips, and then leans down to carry Jack on his back.

“Are you holding on tight?” He asks, and Jack hums his agreement.

“I can walk on my own,” you say, Matt immediately taking a defensive stance, “I can make it, it’s only a few blocks.”

“Sweetheart-”

“I can make it. Keep Jack safe and make sure he takes his meds, I’ll see you when you put on appropriate clothes.” He shakes his head.

“Fine, but I’m following you all the way.”

“Okay.”

He’d called Claire while following you, asking her to take care of you. She agreed, and was there to bring you in from the door. Your cracked phone buzzed a few minutes later, a message appearing from Matt saying he and Jack had made it home.

“Is it throbbing?” Claire asks.

“Starting to.”

“Hm, that’s the adrenaline wearing off.” She separates your hair, cleaning off the sticky blood with alcohol wipes to make sure the bleeding has stopped. She does her assessment, diagnosing you with a concussion, and keeps you there for monitoring.

“Matt’s here,” she says after about twenty minutes, “he brought the kid.” Sure enough, you hear the stomping of little shoes running down the hallway towards your room, little four-year-old sneezing and sniffling Jack pushing himself up onto your bed.

“Mommy!” He shouts, nuzzling up to you. You laugh, watching him burrow his way into your blankets. Claire pats Matt on the shoulder, and he turns his attention towards you once she steps out.

“Hey,” he smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “how are you feeling?”

“Head’s throbbing, but I’ve got Doctor Jack,” you tickle his sides and he giggles, “to take care of me.” Matt smiles down at the two of you, reaching up to remove his glasses.

“I was telling Daddy, he went ‘boom!’ and ‘pow!’ and he scared that man off, Mommy! Did you see? Daddy looked so cool!” Jack excitedly babbles.

“I did see, bug, but you gotta keep that a secret, okay?” You say.

“Daredevil is my favorite superhero.” He says, and Matt grins widely.

“Okay, buddy. Let’s get on this couch and let Mommy get some sleep, okay?” He nods, reaching his arms up towards Matt, who takes him and lays him on top of his chest.

“Goodnight, Mommy. Goodnight, Daddy.” He says, voice still nasally but sounding just a bit brighter.

“Goodnight, Jack, we love you.” You say, turning over and letting sleep take you.

Matt stays awake, the background noise of the hospital too loud to rest. Jack is mouth breathing on his chest, and he can’t get mad at the kid either, he’s getting over a nasty flu, and the patient in the room next door has a wheezing issue. His head aches.

“Matt?” He hears your voice call out.

“What is it? Are you in pain?” He whispers back.

“No, but I can hear you thinking.”

“It’s just loud,” he sighs, “struggling to rest.” He hears you sit up, rummaging around somewhere.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“Here, catch.” You toss him a small container.

“What’s this?”

“Earplugs. Just enough to block out most of the sound, but not enough to block out what’s near you.”

“You didn’t have to.” He says, slipping them in. Sure enough he can still hear your’s and Jack’s heart beats, but not the wheezing next door anymore, or the beeping a few floors away.

“How’s that feel?” You ask.

“It feels amazing, thank you.”

“Love you, Matty.”

“Love you too.”

[toomuchracket]

scary movies (birthday party!matty x reader fluff)

day 3 of promptober75! this is less about scary movies than it is about the two of them musing on romance. but they do watch bones and all! i don't think there are any spoilers, but don't yell at me if there are please lol this isn't proofread. yeah, this is just a cutely weird little fic about some cutely weird people. i hope you enjoy!

"baaaaaaaabe, hurry up. i miss you!"

you can hear the pout in matty's voice, even from the next room of the hotel suite. picking up the bowl of m&ms in one hand and the open bottle of champagne in the other, you pad back into the bedroom. "how can you miss me? you've been with me the whole day."

"i always miss you when i'm not right beside you, no matter how long it's for," matty replies, sitting up on his knees on the bed to carefully take the bowl and bottle from your hands. the way his stomach muscles shift with the movement makes your knees run the risk of shaking. "the night before our wedding is going to be hellish for me. are you sure we can't just stay together? al green it?"

"baby, it's tradition."

"peer pressure from dead people, you mean."

"fine, another reason, then. oh, here's one - absence makes the heart grow fonder. you can't argue with Classical poetry."

"try me, babe."

you sigh. "matty, sweetheart, love and light of my life, sole occupant of my head and heart… it's only for twelve hours of our lives. and we will literally be on the same floor of the same building. it'll be fine!" 

matty quirks a brow.

god, he's stubborn. you inhale deeply before you talk again. "alright. i'll wait until the bridesmaids are asleep and then we can sneak out together for a walk. but i'm not sleeping with you at all - in either sense, actually - regardless of how crippling your separation anxiety is."

"i can work with that, darling. thank you," matty smiles and leans up to kiss you.

before he can, though, you place your index finger on his pretty lips. "not so fast, healy, i have a caveat: i'll only do it if we can share a cig."

matty rolls his eyes, and nudges your finger from his face with a quick head movement. "should've seen that one coming. christ, fine. one cigarette, and that's it. don't want any rattling coughing fits during our vows."

you giggle, leaning down to kiss him; the speed with which his face softens afterwards is comical, almost cartoon-like. "thanks, angel."

"mmm, can't wait to marry you," matty murmurs against your lips. "nor can i wait for you to get into bed with me so i can cuddle you the way i've wanted to all day."

"point taken, baby, just let me…" your face screws up as you reach around to unclasp your bra through your (matty's) t-shirt, before pulling it out from under the soft material and launching it towards the open suitcase in the corner of the room. relief palpable, you climb onto the bed and grin at an enamoured matty, now sitting against the plush headboard and swigging champagne. "freedom at last."

"you know, i'd gladly do that for you, sweetheart," matty smirks, tugging you onto his lap with one arm. "in the name of feminism, and all."

"as much as i commend your attempts to champion the gender, baby, i'll pass," you smile, enjoying the tiny moan that slips from your fiancé's lips as you weave your hands into his hair. "because i know if i let you do that, your hands are gonna end up on my tits, and then we'll never get anything done."

"oi, that's not true," matty frowns (cutely). "we'll get each other done. and i know you enjoy that. as do i, my god."

his lips attach themselves to your neck, making their way down; your insides begin to liquify, but you fight through the slight haze of pleasure and stand your ground. "yeah, i really do enjoy it. but, baby, there's other stuff i enjoy doing with you that i wanna do too, yeah? like… watching this film we agreed we were gonna put on tonight."

matty groans against your skin. "must we?"

"yes. you promised me, matty," you say, as firmly as you can with his lips still attached to your collarbone. "we watched the irishman yesterday because you wanted to, and you said we could do bones and all today. it's only fair."

"a romance film about cannibalism," matty mutters to nobody in particular. "it's foul, that concept."

"well, fair is foul and foul is fair."

"what?"

"macbeth. shakespeare. can't argue with him. anyway," you say, shuffling around so matty can lean back against your chest. "can i put the film on now?"

a deep sigh, one that seems to drag itself up from the depths of matty's soul. "depends."

"on?"

"it depends," matty begins dramatically. "on if you're going to spend the rest of the day thirsting over timothée chalamet or not."

"you know, i seem to like him a lot more in your head than i do in real life."

"really?"

"yeah."

matty hums, appeased. "sick. go on, then, stick it on."

you press a kiss to matty's temple and snake a hand across his torso to hold his own. matty brings it to his lips, and the contact seems to release a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. "thank you, lover."

the beginning of the film passes without much incident; that is, until the first lightly gory scene. you wince a little at the sound of cracking bone, but you're nowhere near as bad as matty, who almost upends the bowl of sweets resting on his lap and vigorously shakes his head as if it'll erase the memory from his brain. 

once it passes, he reaches for the champagne on the bedside table and takes a long drink, before passing the bottle to you. "maybe you'd better hang onto that, darling."

"alright, baby."

despite both of your respective silences,  and although you can't see matty's face, you can picture the disgust colouring his features from the way his head tilts against you as the film progresses. he doesn't speak until the film's main villain is introduced, reaching back for the champagne with a "creepy fucker, that one"; this sentiment is built upon at the shot of a james joyce book in said fucker's residence. "oh, christ, he really is suspicious."

despite your own discomfort towards the happenings on-screen, you grin at matty's assessment. "i mean, yeah, baby. but i think the lurking and creeping kinda gave that away already."

"well, obviously. but that book's an extra layer of him being an absolute wrong'un."

you giggle, wrapping your other arm around matty and resting your head on his shoulder. with a happy little huff of air through his nose, matty turns slightly to kiss your cheek; the two of you stay like that, cosied up in a tableau of casual domestic intimacy. it's sweet, for a while, and comfortable - matty even rips the piss out of you at a particular scene involving timothée chalamet and a cornfield, touting it as "your dream movie death, babe". 

(he's lowkey not wrong.)

the sweet moment breaks somewhat, though, as the film progresses and matty gets increasingly more grossed out. with every drop of blood spilled, every jumpscare, every mere mention of the "eating" driving the plot, the muscles in his limbs loosen and contract back into tension, soundtracked by a chorus of gasps, gulps, groans of disgust, and the odd "oh for fuck's sake" when things get really horrid. in spite of your own discomfort at some of the gore, you can't resist fucking with your fiancé a little bit; amidst a silently fraught moment for maren, the protagonist, you lean right next to an unsuspecting matty's ear and crunch a handful of m&m's in your mouth. he practically hits the ceiling in fright, and pinches your thigh with a "not fucking funny". but he doesn't let go of you at all, however grumpy you make him, holding you like a lifeline throughout. in fact, by the time the credits start rolling, matty's fully squished his face into your ribs to get away from the gore on screen, thumbs rubbing your thighs so quickly to try and calm his noticeably thumping heart that you fear he might accidentally set your skin ablaze. 

despite his terror, though, you have to hold back a laugh. "matty, sweetheart," you say, trying with all your might to keep your voice steady. "were you scared of that movie?"

"no, just unnerved by it," comes the clearly- untrue reply, muffled by your cotton-mix-clad chest. "like, they were just constantly eating raw? really? mingin'."

you can't hold back a derisive cackle now, though. "you're freaked out at people eating raw meat? you fucking hypocrite!"

"i wasn't eating people, was i?" matty protests.

"i don't know, i think you ate with it at finsbury."

matty scoffs, but you feel him smile against you. "you're a right weirdo, sometimes, you know that?"

"and you're a scaredy-cat, you know that? honestly. can't even handle a bit of cannibalism in a movie. pussy."

your fiancé pulls back from your chest to look at you, and you regret your words immediately as soon as you see the shit-eating grin on his face. "well, you are what you eat."

an immediate facepalm. "i can't stand you."

"that ring on your left hand suggests otherwise, darling," matty kisses said ring, then presses little pecks up your finger to the tip. "and look at that - you can be romantic and kiss fingers without wanting to munch on them. this film is nonsensical. i mean, i get it's some metaphorical thing about loving people for who they truly are, but jesus, the cannibalism isn't half disgusting."

"hmmm, i don't know," you muse, twirling matty's curls around your fingers. "i think there's something romantic about it. the ending with maren and lee, at least."

matty peels your fingers out of his hair and moves to face you, his beautiful face contorted into the most bewildered expression you think you've ever seen. "are you on something right now?"

"i'm serious! it's romantic, if ill-advised. and messy."

"sweetheart," matty shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "politely - what the fuck are you on about?"

you smile. "well, it's all about desire, and lust, yeah?"

"yeah, i get that, but…"

"so, it's just needing somebody so much that you, well, you consume them in their entirety. and also, like," you continue, pushing your slipping glasses back up your nose. "there's an element of closeness to it, too. how much more intimate can you get than having your lover being broken down in your digestive system, literally fuelling you the way their love does so emotionally? oh, and devotion! giving yourself up to your lover like that to sustain them? you're together forever. yeah, it's disgusting, but you can't deny there's a romance to it, matty, you really can't."

he looks like he wants to, though. "but it's so violent."

you roll your eyes. "says the man who wrote a song about the idea of cracking his girlfriend's skull open, just so he could know exactly what she was thinking. and i thought that was sweet, and romantic."

matty opens his mouth as if to disagree, then closes it and shrugs. "actually, you've got a point, darling," he smiles almost shyly, tracing patterns in the bare skin of your shin. "i wrote that about you, you know."

"you did? aww, baby," you coo, pulling your fiancé's face towards you so you can kiss all over it. "i had no idea!"

"oh, come on, babe, who the fuck else would it have been about?" matty scoffs. "used to daydream about being so intimate with you like this, just hearing you think out loud, as unedited as you'll ever get."

you smirk. "bet you didn't think the thoughts would be about the inherent romance of cannibalism, huh?"

matty laughs, leaning in to kiss you slowly, deeply, passionately. "no, but it doesn't matter. i love you regardless."

"i love you too. and i promise i won't try to eat you, baby."

"nor will i take a heavy object to your skull, sweetheart. however," matty smirks, shuffling down the bed to rest his head in the gap between your legs. "i would quite like to eat you in a slightly different sense, if you'll allow."

"oh, go on then."

[scribbling-dragon]

For the hurt comfort prompts, maybe Jimmy comforting Lizzie over dying first? If you wanna add extra, maybe helping with some new feathers sprouting

caged fledgling

summary:

He wasn’t first, wasn’t the first here this time, so where is she? She is exactly where we want her “And that’s not ominous at all,” he mutters under his breath.

(ao3 link)

(1,971 words)

[these two were driving me mad, they kept joking around with each other and completely ruining the seriousness that i was going for ;-; had to rewrite it several times to get it to a place that i liked hdsjkhsjk AND! have an idea for a sillier follow-up to this fic rotating in my mind already (think, mumbo lizzie and jimmy sitting in a circle like u do at a sleepover)

anyway! hurt/comfort requests are still open if you fancy seeing anything <33]

The ground around him is shattered, chunks of dirt flying into the air as the wither fires off another barrage of skulls, sending people screaming and ducking for cover, and cover, any kind of shelter that would hope to shield them from its attacks.

He can feel his heart racing, beating in his chest like a caged bird desperate to escape.

He ignores the building cry in the back of his head, creeping in and weaving between his thoughts as he ducks again, feeling the brush of withering against his skin, watching the grass beneath his feet darken and shrivel rapidly. Can feel the rapid expansion of his lungs, never gaining enough to keep him steady on his feet.

He can almost feel his throat closing up, lungs beginning to refuse working. His chest spasms as he coughs, throwing himself into one of the pits the wither had already created. It scrapes along his arms, blood sluggishly beading to his skin as he hisses at the small sting.

He doesn’t care for the injuries, doesn’t care for the preservation of himself. His fate is already sealed, his cage already locked and the key tossed away, never to be seen again. The song rises over the rest of his thoughts, drowning out any logical thought he might have.

He’s not sure if his friends can hear it like he can, the rising pitch, building towards a crescendo that threatens – promises – to bring his victory crashing down around him once that peak is reached.

He lays low for another moment, allows himself a second longer of breathing, before throwing himself over the edge of the pit and sprinting as far and as fast as he can.

If he can make it to the mesa, if he can return to their house and their singular bed and their meagre supplies, then maybe, maybe, he can survive beyond the end of his song. Can live beyond the final warning that he’s tasked with crying out.

He doesn’t even see the warden. Only watches the ground darken in front of him, watches the sky fade from view, and feels the final moments of dread, the realisation that his fate will catch up to him, even if it’s late. Even if They had to spend the entire day playing catch up to condemn him once more.

The impact rattles his bones, the weight of sheer volume bearing down upon him and making his ears ring. Probably making them bleed too. He can hear nothing aside from the quickly building song, panicky and pitchy and not at all pleasant to listen to, and the ringing in his ears.

Maybe he could have pulled himself to his feet, away from the dirt pit he’s found himself in – a shallow grave, near to the actual grave that had been built for him in advance, even his friends lacking the faith that he would survive beyond the day – but he finds that he cannot summon the will to his limbs. Cannot gather the strength to push himself up and continue running.

Maybe his friends screamed out for him as he died, a perfect accompaniment to the abrupt end of his song.

He’s dragged back to the place where he would always end up. The point that they always circle back towards. The empty darkness and clinging water that doesn’t end no matter how far you walk, and the watching eyes that prefer not to give a response, no matter how often you pleaded for one

The setting he wakes up to is no less shattered than the one he just left.

He blinks a few times, uncertain that he’s in the right place, before he’s staggering abruptly to his feet, breath heavy in his chest as he whips his head around wildly.

The void around him is fractured, shattering and splitting into pieces. Lines run through the darkness, exposing the pale light of whatever lies beyond. He didn’t even know there was a beyond of this place. It was just a void, somewhere outside and inside of time, exactly where it needed to be for the dead and dying.

He watches as a crack widens, splitting open the darkness further with an ominous sound. A reverberating cry of pain follows soon after, descending into a low humming moments later, seemingly satisfied with whatever They have just managed to do.

He feels the eyes turn onto him, feels the weight of a thousand stares upon his back.

His wings flutter nervously, self-consciously tucking them closer to his back even though he knows it will do little to hide the bright yellow feathers.

You are defiant, Their voices tell him. We do not like this.

“Didn’t exactly ask for your opinion on it,” he scoffs.

He wasn’t first, wasn’t the first here this time, so where is she?

She is exactly where we want her

“And that’s not ominous at all,” he mutters under his breath. He doesn’t care that They’ll hear it anyway, giving a rude gesture in Their vague direction. Which is everywhere. “Where is she?”

Where we need her

A chunk of the void separates from the ‘ceiling’ of this place, crashing down into the water below it. He covers his face, ducking his head, as it summons a wave strong enough to unbalance him. He feels the water soaking into his feathers, making them hang heavy at his back.

“You know, even a vague location would be nice,” the place continues to crack around him, falling to pieces as he speaks. “Maybe I’ll even be the solution to whatever little problem you have here.”

You are the root of the problem. The bane of all existence, They hiss.

“What a way to make a guy feel wanted. Maybe I’ll just leave, then.” He makes to turn around, barely makes it a step before the water latches onto him.

You shall not leave

“Then what is it you want me to do?” The water quickly forms into shackles, keeping him rooted in place. “This is very obviously falling apart, and whatever you're trying to do is not working.”

They remain silent. He’s not sure if they're considering his words, or if they're simply giving him the silent treatment.

“You know I'm right,” he adds, after a moment. “You can admit it, it’s not a personal failing, I'm sure we can work through this-”

Your input is not necessary

“Well maybe neither is yours. Your voices are giving me a headache.”

You are insolent. And rude

“If I'm rude, then what are you? I've never made you fight in death games and kill your friends and betray everyone you-”

You are distracting Us

“Oh, I am so sorry,” he nods along in mocking sympathy, feels the fury of Their eyes grow. “Now, where is it that you're keeping my friend? I’d rather like to see her now.”

If it shall keep you quiet. She has not stopped her wailing since she came here

“Funny that,” he mutters, and almost inhales a lungful of water as his shackles pull him below the surface. He splutters as he’s spat back out, hunching over and trying to breathe again. His wings are truly sodden now, feathers sticking up at odd angles that make him shudder in disgust.

“Jimmy!”

He doesn’t even manage to regain his bearings before Lizzie is throwing herself at him and hugging him tight. It’s like she’s trying to squeeze the non-existent life out of him.

“Hey, Lizzie.” He pats her on the head, a little awkward with the angle. Her hair tickles his face, loose strands of it poking up, as though she’s been running her hands through her hair frequently. “Can’t believe you’d die before me, huh? Trust me, it was a surprise to all of us…”

He trails off as she looks up at him, eyes watering.

“This is horrible!” she all but wails. “How do you stand it if it’s like this every time!”

“I- what?”

“You! How do you stand this? Every single time, here, alone!”

“Don't think you're meant to remember that, Liz.”

“Well I remember it now! Because apparently I've got the same freaking curse as you!” A tear slips free of her eyes, trailing down her cheek slowly.

“Woah, it’s not all that bad. I got some perks out of it.”

“If you're about to convince me you can fly with those tiny wings I am going to hit you.”

“…I got no perks out of it?”

His voice trails off into a silence that lingers. It’s only made worse by the cracking sounds of the realm around them. It’s almost like pottery breaking, cracking apart more and more by the second.

“This sucks,” Lizzie says, a lot quieter than before and far from the almost upbeat bickering she’d seemed all too eager to start earlier. He can feel her shaking, slightly, her skin clammy and cold.

“Yeah,” he deflates a little, energy gradually being sapped away. “Yeah, it really does, huh.”

Lizzie sniffles, a quiet, tiny sound. It’s enough to make Jimmy start to stress a little- he can’t comfort crying people, he can’t comfort people full stop. He sits there, awkwardly, as he listens to Lizzie cry. The only thing he can think to do is wrap his arms a little tighter around her and hope that They don't choose to ruin the relative peace that has settled over their small corner of the crumbling apart world.

“I don't know if I can stand this,” Lizzie says. Her voice still sounds teary, and it breaks his heart, just a little, to hear her so sad.

“You're gonna have to,” he tells her. It’s not the most reassuring thing he could have said, but anything else would be a lie. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and forget about it as soon as you're out of here.”

“But you’ll still remember,” she protests.

“I’ve remembered just fine on my own every time before this.”

“It’s not fair.”

“Didn’t really think the omnipotent beings that toss us into death games for fun would be looking to make sure everything is fair.” He teases.

Lizzie laughs, then sniffles, then hits him. “Don't make me laugh, I'm trying to be sad for you.”

“And I'm trying to make things a little bit less depressing. It’s my job, y’know.”

“Oh, yeah?” Lizzie cocks an eyebrow at him, the effect only slightly ruined by red-rimmed eyes. “You get a contract to sign and everything? Terms and conditions?”

“And paid time off,” he agrees. “Wonderful job, dying bit sucks.”

Lizzie giggles at that, and he does too, finding it unreasonably funny. He’s sure They hate it, hate the levity of the moment when They're only looking for more suffering and agony to feast on. Something that he won’t be giving Them. Won’t be letting Them take.

“You're ridiculous,” Lizzie tells him.

“Made it this far, though, haven’t I?” He’s not sure how far he would have made it, whether he’d have ever made it out of the first endless void without allowing himself this small break. He doesn’t want Lizzie to remember this, doesn’t want her to remember the deaths of all their friends, having to pull them out the depths of the water and tell them they cannot return, that they’ve lost that last life and must remain here, in the darkness, until their other friends come to join them.

At least he has his voice this time, he muses, he’s not sure what he would have done if he were unable to comfort Lizzie.

They both jolt as another piece of the void crashes inwards. He feels the way Lizzie’s grip on him tightens, threatening to tear the fabric of his jacket, ignoring how he’s probably holding her just as tight in return.

He’ll take the small comforts.

[connorsnothereeither]

OKAY SO now that it’s released, I wanna talk about the process of the Ulysses Ambient ASMR video cause I put way too much effort into it lmao-

Over the course of the one hour video, there is a total of 25 individual sound layers, plus the video layer. Within those layers is literally hundreds of individual sounds and clips, but for the most part things can be broken up into what I’ve been calling “ambience levels”!

Level 1: Environmental

The smallest of the levels (3 audio layers) is the first, the “environmental layer”. This includes the crashing waves, the wind outside (since Ulysses study is upstairs I wanted a very attic-on-the-beach vibe with the howling wind) and the occasional seagulls!

Level 2: The Experiments

This is one of the bigger levels, and had a total of 6 layers. There is a consistent bubbling/simmering water sound throughout the video, but on occasion, there is slightly different, more active boiling/bubbling sound layered in to vary it. There is also a handful of sounds like jars being opened, liquid being poured, things being mixed/stirred, and glass vials being clinked together!

Level 3: Writing

This level has about 5 layers all up, between both writing and drawing sound effects (they’re subtly different, one is broader and the other more scratchy), several variations of books being opened and flipped through, and things being taken on and off bookshelves!

Level 4: Kelpie!

I really wanted something to make it feel more tailored to Ulysses than just a standard ASMR vibe, so I thought including the pets was a cute idea! Kelpie had one of the smaller levels, at only 3 sound layers. At about the 17 minute mark, you can hear Kelpie whining, howling and finally panting happily outside!

Level 6: Victor the Skeleton Cat:

Honestly? This might be my favourite of how the layers turned out. Victor had a total of 7 sound layers (the largest of the levels), and appears around the 37 minute mark!! There was so much going on that I wanted to make sound the way I picture it. Anytime Victor moves, the sound of his footsteps can be heard (either as claws on the wood/desks, or as little pads on the carpet), AND you can hear the rattling of bones layered over it too, since they click together when he walks! Eventually he meows a little bit (I like to think Ulysses doesn’t give him as much attention as he wants and he wanders over to the listener) before curling up and beginning to purr beside the listener for a while! Then, laced on top of the purring is a slight clicking, breathing noise, since he doesn’t need to breath, but I like to think that his purrs and meows do have a sort of hollow, clicking resonance, since he is just like… all bone-

ANYWAY I hope people enjoyed reading me talk about that I adore audio editing and soundscaping and this was super fun to work on! Who knows maybe I’ll do something like this for Virgil, Leopold, or even other Fable characters at some point, if there’s liked,,, demand for it lol. But I hope people enjoyed both the ambience video and the behind the scenes explanation!

[after-witch]

I wanna know how you feel and think about alhaitham. How down bad are you for him? Do you amusedly roll your eyes when you read/hear him hes just a feeble scholar with a six packs you wanna paw and biceps that doesnt skip an arm day you wanna rest on??? Thanks!

Honestly, right now I think about Alhaitham only in the context of the dynamic @j0succ has crafted with him and Kaveh co-sharing a darling, which I've fallen head over heels with. Go read every post they've made on the topic because it really sticks to your gut.

But I think about Alhaitham mostly being overbearing and condescending and (in his reasoning) "academic" about it all.

All of your complaints are easily brushed off to him. You want to go home? You can't, your reputation is in disgrace and you could be arrested for fraud. (Nevermind that he's the one who arranged this.) You want to see your friends? Impossible, even if you weren't disgraced, they were the reason that you acted to irresponsibly in the first place, they're a bad influence on you. He's trying to better you, and it would undue all his progress.

You want to go outside? Ridiculous. Someone could see you. You could get hurt. You could try to run away. He'll rattle off all the ways you've been disobedient recently, and ask, does this sound like someone who can be trusted outside? Of course it doesn't.

(And if you are obedient and you do what he says, well, you wouldn't be asking to go outside at all, because he said you shouldn't go outside and you're supposed to view his word as law. So the mere act of asking shows that you aren't being good. It's a trap, really.)

His goal is to mold you into a better person--the person he wants you to be. Which is someone obedient and sweet and submissive, who looks at him with gratitude, who doesn't cry and whine and struggle when he tells you to undress or when he tells you to sit still and let him kiss you. Someone who profusely thanks him for letting you borrow paper and writing utensils, for buying you something that isn't Spartan and bare-bones. Someone who doesn't cry and ask him to let you go. Someone who trusts that he knows what's right, he's smarter, he's better suited to caring for you than you ever were for yourself.

But then, there's Kaveh--

Kaveh is always there to pick up the pieces of your broken life, wiping your tears, kissing your cheek, rubbing your back. You can sit right with him on the sofa and cry about how you miss your friends and family, you miss the feel of grass, you miss the fresh air, you miss your life.

And that's okay, he'll cluck and hush you and hold you, and in a few hours you'll have a vase of some gorgeous wildflowers sourced from a market that plucks them in Avidya forest, a new book that you mentioned earlier that Alhaitham refused to buy for you because you told him he's a creepy fuck the night before. He'll snuggle with you and read it to you, if you want? And you could use some alone time, but you feel more beholden to Kaveh than is healthy (he went out of his way to get these things, knowing that Alhaitham is going to be mad about it, how could you turn down his request?) so you let him curl up with you and rest your head against his chest.

And if Alhaitham walks in and visibly bristles at the way you snuggle into Kaveh's embrace, the way you don't try to squirm out of his arms, is it such a bad thing to enjoy it? You have so little to enjoy nowadays, after all.

[thesmollestsnek]

More ghost speak

Hmph. I wanna draw but don’t have any of my art supplies on me, so fuck it let’s do some worldbuilding instead. A while ago I made a post on Danny’s ghost speak, which I headcanon as sounding like a variety of sounds related to a the ghost in question’s death. Usually there’s two or three sounds either layered on top of each other or in sequence, and which specific sounds are used depends on what’s being said. Verbally it’s very much a Vibes kinda language, so not all the sounds are necessarily bad/scary.

So, with all that being said, let’s make this dpxdc and make an incomplete list of the sounds of Jason’s ghost speak!

-a child’s joyful laughter

-deranged, manic laughter

-broken, gasping sobs

-the sound of metal hitting flesh

-the crack of bones breaking

-the tick, tick, ticking of a bomb

-fire crackling

-a young voice begging, please make it stop

-wind rushing past your ears

-a low, rumbling voice, sounding of safety and pride

-that same voice, but sounding of disappointment-anger-you-should-know-better

-which-hurts-worse-a-or-b

-the muffled sound of an arguing father and older brother

-an uncertain voicemail, left for an older brother who isn’t there to hear

-a woman’s voice, desperate and betrayed

-the whistle of a birdarang sailing through the air

-agonized gasps and screams of pain

-a broken, breathless whisper crying out for dad

-a crowbar being scraped along a cement floor

-a childish voice, full of confidence and pride

-the swish of a cape flying through the air

-wet, rattling coughs

-the Robin Cackle(tm)*

-a muffled, desperate cry of ROBIN from the other side of a locked metal door

*if you don’t know what I’m talking about, the young justice show has a p good rendition. I firmly believe it’s something all Robins learn how to do as an intimidation tactic

[ac3may]

What’cha staring at? (Millie Bright x Reader)

SURPRISE BITCHES! @wosoobsessed Thanks for my first request! Ik I said this wouldn’t be out for weeks but I managed to deliver early! I really hope you enjoy :)) Also, I decided this was heartbreak enough so second half of the request will be a part 2 ;))

Part 1 | Part 2

Request: “If you could do something angsty that would be great maybe they have an argument over something silly where they are shouting at eachother and then Millie says something very hurtful by accident and the reader gets rly upset and storms out to go stay with her parents ”

Words: 1.1k

Masterlist 

A little bit of comfort. A little bit of compassion was all you were after from your girlfriend of eight months after she’d been away on International duty for the past two weeks. You guys had FaceTimed whenever she found the chance but between you starting up you’re own business and her training it was a struggle to find the time some days. 

You were curled on the sofa, feeling exhaustion deep into your bones. Another investor call had fallen flat and you’re dreams continued to stand unfunded. Hera and Zeus had snuggled into either side of you halfway through the conversation, as if detecting your frustration with the man on the other side of the phone. 

The crunch of a car pulling up on the gravel was your first indication Millie was home. You’d be embarrassed by the uncontrollable smile which spread like wildfire across your face at the thought of finally being held by your girlfriend if you weren’t so desperate to be in her arms again. Hearing the rattle of keys in the lock the dogs beside you perk up in equal excitement to yours. Hera clambers back and forth between your lap and the sofa cushions energetically as Zeus props his paws up on the armrest, tail wagging enthusiastically. 

“Hello, my babies! The queen is home!” Millie announces herself loudly and jokingly, entering the room, arms spread wide and her suitcase clattering to the ground behind her. 

The smile on your face gets wider, if possible, the tension in your body easing slightly just at the sight of your love. 

“Mills,” the word left your mouth in a sigh of disbelief. 

It takes you milliseconds to scramble from your seat and into her arms, the clattering of claws on the wood floors as the dogs follow and you welcome the security of her strong grip. 

“Hiya, my love,” Millie breathes softly as she nuzzles closer to you, pecking her lips to your neck, grateful to be back in your presence again. 

. . .

Settling back into a routine again, a couple of hours later you and Millie find yourselves together in the kitchen. She leans on the island, two freshly brewed cups of tea in front of her awaiting the trip upstairs where you plan to relax and catch up, completely enthralled with each other for the evening. You were opposite her, back to the sink as your dried the last dish of the night, running your eyes over your girlfriend shamelessly, appreciating her return. 

Catching your gaze Millie smirks at you, a bashful smile appearing on your lips as your cheeks tint red. “What’cha staring at baby?” She asks as if she didn’t already know. 

“Nothing much,” you reply gently, “just missed you.” Your last words are more of a mumble, the guilt you felt at the fact you hadn’t made it to any of the England games played the past few weeks had only been adding to your stress. The games had been played overseas across Europe and you had spent every day for the past months in and out of meetings, not returning home from the office until the early hours of the morning some days. 

“I thought you didn’t wanna see me?” Millie’s tone stays consistently jokey as she speaks, typical of your girlfriend. You can’t help but hang your head in shame at the thought of her believing such a thing anyhow, the guilt had been eating away at you since the very day you rejected her invite. 

“That’s never been true!” Shaken by your own thoughts, you don’t even register the defensive tone you take in your response but Millie certainly does. While you’re caught up in your own head she takes your forcefulness as overcompensation. 

“There was always a ticket with your name on it and you know it! If you really missed me that much why didn’t you just come and visit?” What had previously been causal pre-bed banter had quickly become accusatory.

“I-uh- I- I couldn’t!” Your shock at the allegation has you stuttering over your words, something Millie is quick to interpret as you being caught in a lie.

“Why? Because you ‘had to work’? YOU DON’T HAVE A JOB Y/N! Look around! This house! That car! Shit, even the clothes you’re wearing! All mine, they all came from my paycheque!” The words hit you like a brick. It physically feels as if your heart is ripped from your chest. You grip tight to the countertop behind you, fighting to stay standing despite your buckling knees. There is truth to her words, of course, but you and Millie had discussed your finances many times before, and you thought she was fully supportive of you setting off on your own business venture. If there was one thing you never thought she would throw back in your face it was money. 

Once Millie begins she can’t seem to stop herself, all insecurities spring to the forefront of her brain and her fight or flight reaction is screaming. Which results in her screaming, the shouts pass right through you however, you don’t process a word she says, lost in your own head. That is until her final sentence, which bursts your bubble. “It’s a stupid dream anyway! No wonder you don’t have any worthy investors!” 

Those words are the final straw in your rough week and you breeze out of the room. You refuse to look up and you refuse to look back, entirely ignoring the blonde. She follows you all the way to your bedroom, where she watches you grab a duffle bag, confusion washing away her anger. Her eyes follow you as you make your way between the bathroom and the wardrobe before she slowly settles into a concerned panic and suddenly realises what you’re doing. 

“Y/N? Y/N! What are you doing?” Millie’s cries remain unanswered as you moved robotically through the house the only ounce of emotion you show is when you meet the dogs at the bottom of the stairs, brushing your hands softly through their hair. Millie follows you aimlessly, begging you to stay as apologies spew from between her lips and tears begin to drip down her cheeks. 

Reaching the front door you can’t help but slowly turn back to the girl who held your heart and crushed it in one evening, “I thought you understood?” Pin-dropping silence meant Millie heard your heartbroken whispers clearly, so loudly in fact that they echoed around her head as she stared hopefully after you. 

“I-I do, I love you!” But her words fall on deaf ears as she is left staring at the front door slamming in front of her.