#Probably because I haven’t drawn them in months

[genderlesssnake]

I haven’t drawn my oc in forever so here they are

[danveration]

Sleep well, amour.

Parings: Alastor x reader

Summary: You’ve been very intrested in Alastor ever since you met him. He invites you to see his recording studio, which you accept. Then you ask if you can stay and listen to him host! While listening, you fall asleep. How does he react?

Word count: 2844

Warnings: Ummm not really much? Alastor being Alastor! One mention of not being able to sleep sometimes, mention of seeing people in hell doing dr*gs, k*lling eachother, and fighting, mention of reader having bad social skills (?)

part two

A/N: UM!! this is my first time writing for alastor, so apologies if it isn’t the best. Please give me any feedback you want, I’d love to hear it! Also sorry for any spelling mistakes. I hope you enjoy :’)

Alastor the radio demon. You know of the things he’s done, you know that people are quite literally terrified of him. But for some reason... you feel a certain way towards him that you can’t describe, but it’s surely not fear.

You’ve had a some-what odd admiration of him since you landed in hell, only a few months ago. You got spotted by Charlie when you first got to hell. She noticed you looking around nervously and lost, and put two and two together that you must be new. She very kindly introduced herself which was refreshing because.. well.. it’s hell. Everywhere you looked people were fighting, doing drugs, and even killing each other. You were glad there were kind people even down here.

“Hi, you! Uh, you lost?” Charlie smiled you and waved.

“Um yeah! I’m guessing this is hell, huh?” You awkwardly chuckle. Social skills weren’t ever your thing, it seems they haven’t got better after you died, either.

“Yep! This is hell! You must be new? I’m Charlie! Charlie Morningstar. It’s so nice to meet you.” She smiled and stuck out her hand for you to shake.

“Nice to meet you, Charlie! My names Y/n.” You politely smiled back and shook her hand.

After that meeting, Charlie showed you to the hotel in which you eagerly accepted to stay at, her being the only sane thing you’ve seen down here. It was a pretty nice place, no 5 star hotel like back on earth, but it was something you’re very grateful for. Who knows what would’ve happened to you if you haven’t met her.

While she was showing you around, someone caught your eye. He was a tall man, very polite and respectful looking. He was dressed head to toe in old fashioned attire, with a cane to suit his charming look. He was smiling in a way that made you look at him like he was something you wanted to inspect under a magnifying glass.

He glanced at you and smiled larger, stepping over to you and Charlie.

“My, my! What do we have here? Charlie! You didn’t tell me that we’ve got more guests? It’s a pleasure to meet you, my dear! The names Alastor!” He spoke politely.

His voice was sort of.. Radio-like? You found it soothing.

“Haha yeah! I found them wandering around on the street this morning! They’re a newcomer, their name is Y/n.” She spoke back, excited to introduce you.

“Y/n! Well, my, my. That’s quite a lovely name!” He said. “Say.. do you listen to radio? I host a brilliant radio broadcast that’ll give you some real insight on this place!” He said enthusiastically.

“Oh.. haha thank you” You smile. “I do actually! I love radio shows.” You immediately feel drawn towads him. You cant tell if it’s just the new scenery or what.. but you want to just sit and chat with him for hours.

Alastor perks up at that. “Oh you do, do you?” He smiled more.

“Yeah! Back when I was.. uhm.. alive, I actually had a whole playlist of them! What do you do your show about?” You ask.

Alastor is delighted to have you take interest in his show. “Well, dear, I do all sorts of things on there! Yes, yes, you think of it and I’ve most probably done it! Most commonly known is the souls I entrap and prison, as I broadcast their screams of horror all over this horrible place and people get to hear the noises of their never-ending torture and demise. But! I also just made a wonderful segment on my mother’s Jambalaya recipe!” He stated.

While part of those sentences gave you chills, you still seemed to take interest in him.

“Well,” you chuckle. “I will certainly check it out!” You smile.

“Ah! Wonderful news, my dear.” He said while he twirled his cane.

Charlie was watching you interact with him and noticed how you looked at him, as if admiring. She smile and said, “well! We better finish the tour.”

She motions for you to follow her and you do, waving Alastor goodbye.

He waves back and yells, “goodbye, sweetheart! Lovely to have met you.”

After that, you wanted absolutely everything to do with him. You’ve also got to know the other people staying at the hotel. Angel, Vaggie, Husk, Niffty, and Sir Pentious. They were overall kind people. Husk found your interest in Alastor to be no good.

“Yeah, no. That, whatever thing you have created in your mind about him, isn’t true. He’s vile, Y/n. Trust me on that.” He grunts.

Angel thought you had some kind of kink towards “scary, creepy men.” Which wasn’t true because you didn’t even find him scary. You found him charming.

“Ah.. Alastor? Fucking sexy weirdo if I do say so myself. He’s got some reaaal problems but hey, if you’re into that-“ You cut him off by saying it wasn’t like that & that you don’t think anything sexual towards him.

One day, you were talking to Sir Pentious about his “crush” on Cherry Bomb. He completely denied it but you could tell from his blush and his nervous demeanour that he was very interested in her.

You were caught off guard when you heard that radio voice coming up from behind you.

“Y/n, my dear! I have a question for you.” Alastor came and stood beside you, looking down from where you’re sitting.

“Al! Hey, what’s up?” You ask, containing your excitement.

Sir Pentious excused himself quickly, seeing one of his “egg boys” were being played with by Niffty. She isn’t one to be gentle.

“So, I know how you’ve been listening to my radio show as of late, and I was wondering if you’d like to see where the magic happens!” He states.

“R-really? I’d be honoured!” You say, smiling.

“Ah! Lovely. Come now, this way.”

You get up and he locks arms with you and chats about his new microphone that he got.

Once you guys arrive, you’re shocked. It looks very professional and comfortable. It suits him heavily. There’s a big open window, a desk, some chairs and sofas, a bunch of technical stuff on the desk along with his new mic that you recognize from his descriptions, and a deer coat hanger?

“Wow, Alastor. This place is so actually so sick. I love it. And the new microphone suits you!” You say. “Thank you for showing me, really.”

Typically, Alastor would never show someone something personal of his, including his studio, but you are an exception. He isn’t sure what it is about you but he doesn’t seem to hate you as much as he does with anyone else. At first he was weirded out, but now he just embraces it. He also feels protective of you. He doesn’t know exactly why you’re even down here. For as far is he can tell, you’re an angel. Always being kind even to those who aren’t kind to you, always saying “please” and “thank you,” all that jazz. Jazz! You even like jazz music, his favourite. He told you that he lived on earth the time jazz music was popular. The 20’s and 30’s. That explains his vocabulary and how he dresses. You just find it more interesting and take time to ask questions about what it was like in that time.

“Why of course, my dear! If I’d want to show anyone here, it would be you.” He says, giving you his iconic smile.

You have a thought. “Hey, Al? Would it be alright if the next time you do a show, I could stay and listen?”

You hope he doesn’t think this is odd.

Alastor raises a brow. “Why would you want to do that?” He asks.

You panic, thinking you went too far by asking and now he’s going to cut you off or something.

“Ha! Kidding, sweetheart! Of course you can. I love when my broadcast is wanted to be listened to. Though I love it as well when they don’t want to.” He says.

You’re relieved, a bit scared, but still relieved.

“Say!” He says. “I was going to make one tonight talking about this silly technology box that thinks he is better than me! You know, expose all his lies and secrets to my listeners, and unwilling listeners. Maybe broadcast it all throughout hell!” He starts laughing manically. Then calms down and stares at you.

“Would you want to stay and listen, hm? I can do it now! I didn’t have any plans today going forward and well, getting it out sooner is better than later, I always say.” He asks.

You know he’s talking about Vox when he mentioned the technology box. Him and Vox have a sort of rivalry going on. Though Alastor seems to not care much about him, Vox is sure obsessed. He’s even gone so far as to making posters about him. Which areee.. not much of a resemblance.

This offer strikes you and you immediately perk up. “Yes! I’d love to.” You say.

You don’t think Alastor knows this but whenever you’re struggling to sleep, you put on his radio show and his voice comforts you to sleep. You’re sure if you told him, he would find it weird.

Little did you know, Alastor already knew. He walked past your room one night and heard static sounds coming from your quarters. He immediately was intrigued and put his ear close to your door to hear his voice. He was surprised, but not weirded out. He found it delightful that you found comfort in his voice. It’s not everyday someone does. Usually it invokes terror and anxiety on anyone who hears. This was new, and he didn’t hate it.

“Lovely! Let me get all set up. You can sit wherever you feel the most comfortable!” He says, adjusting his mic and pressing a buttons on his table.

You find a spot and sit down. Feeling honored to even be in the same room as him, let alone HIS room.

“Ahem! Welcome ladies and gentlemen-“ He goes off into his introduction, before winking at you and starting.

After about 20 minutes, you begin to feel tired and put your head on the side of the wall, still listening but with your eyes closed.

Alastor immediately notices and smirks, knowing how his voice effects you. He continues on and after about another 20 minutes, he finishes up. You’re asleep, slightly smiling.

He walks over to you and looks down.

“My, my. You really are an interesting one, aren’t you?” He whispers. He smiles more softly than he usually does and looks around to find a purple blanket hanging on his deer coat hanger, and gently places it on you.

He feels his heart fluttering while looking down at you and he immediately shrugs it off.

“Mm well, my dear.. I guess you can stay here. I’ll just be over there, transferring my broadcast to the other radios around town.” He says and points to his table.

“Sleep well, amour.” He speaks softly.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Fourteen

“Steve,” Robin lets herself in the front door, “Steve!”

“Yeah, I’m through here,” Robin appears in the doorway just as Eddie blinks awake, “I’m sorry baby, we woke you up.”

Eddie looks a little bleary eyed, his usually deep chocolate brown eyes looking a little cloudy.

“Steve, what’s wrong, I was there when Keith answered the phone.”

“I’m fine Robs, it’s Eddie who’s a little under the weather,” and Steve couldn’t exactly explain to Keith that the fish-guy who’s living with Steve is coming down with something, so he had to put on his best flu ridden performance.

“Oh...is he okay? It’s not catching is it, like Upside Down rabies or something?” Steve sighs as Eddie shifts, making no effort to get up.

“Eddie does not have Upside Down rabies,” Steve can feel Robin eyeing them up, how snuggled they are on the couch under Eddie’s blanket. Steve watches as she takes in the movie on low, the only other light coming from the tree, the blinds half drawn, “come on baby,” and yeah, there goes Robins eyebrows, her mouth dropping open, “I’m going to go and make Robin a coffee,” Eddie clings tighter for a moment, but then allows Steve to slide out from under him, burrowing right into the corner of the couch the moment Steve’s gone.

“What’s up with him?” Robin asks, “is he okay?”

“He’s a little off his food,” Steve starts, fiddling with the coffee machine.

“And?”

“He’ll be fine.”

“Steve...come on, no. You think I can’t tell when something's wrong? Tell me what’s up.”

Steve gives her her coffee, cradling one for himself as he leans on the kitchen counter. It’s getting dark outside already, the evenings coming in fast. Steve can just about see where the pool is covered over in the yard.

He can’t look at her as he speaks, he knows he’ll start to cry if he does.

“Eddie is...he’s like a tadpole. But the frog is a Demogorgon.”

“Holy shit!” Robin whisper hisses at him, “what are you going to do? Is it soon? Have you told anyone else? Steve, he could really hurt you, is it even safe for him to be here, you’re alone, if it just like, happens-”

“I haven’t told anyone else, and neither will you,” Steve glares at her, and Robin actually cowers a little.

“Steve...we really should tell someone else, Hopper might-”

“Hopper might shoot first and ask questions after. No.”

“But Steve-”

“Robs, stop, please. Please don’t do this, okay. Please.”

“But Steve-”

“I said no Robin. Eddie stays with me, that’s it. Whatever happens I’ll...deal with it.”

“Steve you...but you could get really hurt.”

I’m already really hurt, Steve doesn’t say. He just sips his coffee and breathes deep so he doesn’t loose it in front of Robin.

“Steve are you- you and Eddie I mean...I mean I know he’s your...friend and everything,” the careful way she says friend speaks fucking volumes, “and it’s upsetting but...you guys are pretty close? Already? You seemed real cosy when I walked in and you’re being pretty defensive over a creature from The Upside Down you’ve known for all of maybe three months is what I’m-”

“Robs.”

“Right, yeah but I mean...Steve, he’s a guy. And a fish. I mean…”

“I don’t think I’m going to spend any time worrying about either of those things Rob, considering he probably doesn’t have long.”

Eddies breathing is shallow, Steve’s sure it is. He’s certain Eddie is...fading, somehow. Steve only moves when he absolutely has to. He has gotten up to get a drink, but only because he felt a headache forming, and then to piss, but only out of desperation. Steve took one of these opportunities to check Eddie’s tail; the splits are longer, the tips starting to spread out into a loose star shape. And it’s dry, inflexible; like Eddie’s dying from the tip of his tail upwards.

Steve’s going to hold him through this, no matter what. The moment Steve slips back onto the couch, Eddie uses his last dregs of energy to, feebly, burrow into Steve.

He won’t eat; Steve’s tried everything, even offering a beer. Eddie refuses, but he can’t seem to let himself give up; he has to try, so frightened that Eddie might be in any kind of discomfort.

“Eddie, baby, will you have some food.”

Eddie sighs out a grumble, Steve lifting Eddie’s head carefully, trying to get Eddie to look at him; when Eddie does finally blink his eyes open, he’s sure they’re even less clear than before. They seem to be clouding over, turning milky.

“Food? Baby please, you haven’t eaten all day.”

Eddie sighs, voice dry and raspy, the first time Steve’s heard him speak for hours, “food bad.”

“Why, baby, why is food bad?” Eddie just shakes his head, trying to snuggle back against Steve’s chest. “Eddie, baby?” Steve’s voice breaks, but he tries not to cry, “baby, how long do you think?” Eddie looks at him, lifting his head slowly, “Eddie.” It hurts Steve on a visceral level, kills him inside to do it, but he brings his hands up to his face, pressing his palms to his cheeks and lacing his fingers over his face, he makes their sign for Demogorgon, “what time Demogorgon?”

“No, Eddidie no Demo-gor-gon,” he stumbles over the word.

“But you said you would change. Eddie grow into Demogorgon.”

Eddie shakes his head, “no food. No...Demo-gorgan. Dead later.”

“What? So if you don’t have food, you- Eddie. Eat food.” Sure, Eddie might turn into a Demogorgon, but there’s a chance he might retain some of himself, right? He might still be Eddie, and Steve is willing to take that chance.

“No. Demogorgon Eddidie food.”

“Yeah buddy, you said before, Demogorgon eat Eddie-”

Eddie sighs, clearly exhausted, but he leans over for his coloring book, just able to snag it off the coffee table; he turns to the purple dog. Steve doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before; it’s not just purple, it’s blue and black and all the colors of a Demodog. It’s fucking obvious actually, that that’s what it supposed to be.

“Eddidie eat Demo-gorgon. Eddidie Demogorgon. Eddidie eat,” and he points to the dog, “then Eddidie.”

“How, how though do you eat Demogorgon?”

“Safe dead later.”

Steve thinks, he’s heard Eddie say that before...the bee. Eddie said dead later when he knew the bee was sick, and, heartrendingly enough, he’s just said it about himself. Steve could be pulled under by the grief, he knows it, but he takes a breath and does his best to push it down. “You find one that’s going to die. It’s hurt or weak or...wait, so you need to eat some of the thing you’re going to turn into? Eddie eat this,” Steve points to the page, “then Eddie is this.”

Eddie nods.

“What if...what if you eat something else? What if...Eddie, how much of the Demogorgon do you need to eat? Many?”

Eddie shakes his head, makes their symbol for pea, finger and thumb, close together.

“Small, okay so what if...Steve Eddie food.”

“No. No Stee ow, no-” he protests weakly.

“Eddie,” Steve holds him, holds his face, “it’s only a small ow, please, please Eddie,” Steve starts to cry, he can’t help it. He cries as he begs, “please Eddie, I love you. Don’t go. Stay. Please, I love you. We have to try.”

“I love you too,” and Eddie’s crying. Steve’s never seen Eddie cry, his tears aren’t clear, they stain his cheeks a little, like weak coffee’s been spilled, the palest tear tracks on Eddie’s too white skin. Eddie’s tears smell like mown hay, like fresh cut grass. “Okay.”

“Okay, what else? Just food?”

Eddie shakes his head, pointing outside, “pool.”

That’s going to take hours to fill, most of the night, probably, “baby, would the tub be okay?”

“No. Pool.”

“Okay, okay,” Steve slips out from under Eddie, not bothering to waste time with a jacket, just shoves his bare feet into his sneakers and heads out, bracing for the cold.

It’s the middle of the night. Steve’s wrapped up now, but it’s still really cold. Hard drifts of still frozen snow rest up against the trees and pool furniture; gathered shiny white in all the nooks and crannies of the yard.

The sky is clear now, the stars defined and bright in that way they only ever are when it’s fucking freezing.

The pool is just over half full, but Eddie’s fading, and Steve won’t wait any more.

He carries Eddie out, draped in a blanket, “Eddie, this water’s going to be cold. Many many cold.”

“Cold good,” is all Eddie will say.

Steve’s terrified the water will freeze; that Eddie will get locked under the ice and drown. That this won’t work at all, that Eddie will turn into a monster that doesn’t recognize Steve- he tries desperately to push it all down. “Okay, now what?”

Steve’s standing right on the edge, Eddie suddenly struggles, and Steve, not expecting it, looses his grip on Eddie, and he’s slipping from the blanket and hitting the water with a loud splash. It’s so cold, just the sight of Eddie doing that makes Steve’s breath stutter in his chest in sympathy.

Eddie reappears quickly, and climbs back out half way, clinging to the pool steps as Steve takes his place sitting at the top of them, slipping off his sneaker, and then his sock.

“Small ow,” Eddie says, his voice quavering, he’s soaking wet, hair plastered down, skin shivering.

“Two,” Steve insists, “we need to make sure.”

By the time Eddie’s teeth pierce Steve’s flesh, he realizes he should have brought something to bite down on. It’s strange, he doesn’t feel it at first, not until after Eddie drops back into the water, immediately darting away to huddle at the deepest corner, furthest away.

It’s not until his blood drips into the water; swirling darkly in Eddie’s dissipating wake – that the pain really hits Steve. It’s the burning, stabbing kind. The energetic kind of pain that tells him there’s something really fucking wrong. Then he has to bite back a scream; it bubbles out as an anguished groan instead.

He regrets this instantly – not giving two of his toes to Eddie, not that, they have to try – but not being prepared. Steve is usually the one that plans, the one that thinks of things like this. Contingencies. He has nothing with him. He tries to staunch the bleeding with his sock, his fear for Eddie, temporarily at least, eclipsed with the blinding pain in his foot. Steve takes great shuddering breaths, the frigid air stinging his lungs, unable to control his breathing, and it suddenly occurs to him that this is going to need stitches.

Eddie didn’t fuck about; once he was in, he went all in, Steve’s two smallest toes on his left foot are gone right to the root.

Part Sixteen

[asbealthgn]

wrote this goofy thing as an expansion of this post

It’s very surprising when the door to Eddie’s trailer opens and Eddie is standing there with flowers.

It’s even more surprising when he says, “Happy one month!” with a big grin.

Steve looks back and forth between Eddie and the flowers—wildflowers by the look of them, probably picked around the edges of the trailer park. “Uh, one month of what?”

Eddie gives him an uncertain smile like he’s not sure if Steve’s being serious or not. “Of our relationship,” he says, the last syllable tilting up almost like a question.

Huh. Kind of weird, but at the start of summer Steve and Robin had an ice cream party to celebrate the year anniversary of when they started at Scoops together. So it’s not like this is completely unheard of. Except—

“You and I have been friends for longer than a month,” Steve says, “It’s been like—” he tries to count the months since spring break in his head “—at least four? Unless you don’t count when you were unconscious in the hospital, but that was only a couple weeks, so—”

“I mean one month of our relationship,” Eddie says, putting emphasis on the word. And now his eyebrows are drawn together. Face concerned. And Steve is clearly missing something here.

Did something significant happen a month ago? Some moment where they moved from friends to best friends or something? It was probably about a month or so ago the first time Steve spent the night at Eddie’s trailer, but that wasn’t a huge deal. Steve has spent the night at the Byers’ house before and it’s not like he and Jonathan are breaking out the balloons to commemorate it. 

Steve feels guilty, because clearly there’s something that Eddie thinks he should know that he doesn’t. He doesn’t like this nervous look on Eddie’s face. Steve tries to think like Nancy, tries to put the clues together. But he’s not Nancy. So he’s lost. 

“I’m sorry, dude,” Steve says, “I don’t get what you mean.”

Eddie deflates.

“I know we haven’t necessarily defined it.” His voice is wavering, eyes getting watery. Shit shit shit, what did Steve do? This is so completely out of nowhere and Steve doesn’t know how to fix it. “But I didn’t realize it was actually that insignificant to you.”

Steve shoots his arm out to stop Eddie from closing the door on him. He needs to figure out what’s going on so he can make it right, and that’s not gonna happen if Eddie shuts him out. “Eds, seriously, you’re gonna have to fill me in,” he says, “‘Cause I honestly don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Seriously?” Eddie asks, anger over taking the sadness in his voice, “You’re gonna act like you don’t know?”

“I don’t!” Steve nearly shouts, desperate. “Please, man, I’m not trying to piss you off here. Whatever it is, I wanna make it right. You just have to tell me what you mean.”

“You and I,” Eddie says. Looking at him like it should be obvious. When it’s so, so not. It makes Steve want to scream. “We’re—I thought we were together.”

“Together? Like…together how?”

Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen Eddie look this pissed off. “Use your goddamned brain, Harrington,” he spits, “Like together.”

Oh. Okay. That’s…something. It’s not that Steve would necessarily be opposed, or even that he hasn’t thought of it. It’s just not true. They’re not together. And he’s not sure why Eddie thinks they are. Yeah, they’re close, but it’s not like they’re closer than Steve and Robin. It’s not like they’re closer than Steve was to Tommy back in the day. He and Eddie haven’t done anything that feels outside the realm of friendship to him. And he definitely didn’t realize that Eddie saw it any differently.

“Um,” Steve says, aware that he’s standing like an idiot on Eddie’s doorstep and needs to answer. “Why?”

“Oh my God,” Eddie says, making as if to close the door again. Steve barely catches it in time. It makes Eddie glare at him. “There’s no way you’re being serious,” he says.

Keeping one hand on the door, Steve throws up the other one in a gesture he stole from Robin. “I really am,” he says, “You know what the kids say. I’m an idiot. You really have to lay things out for me.”

That at least makes Eddie soften a few degrees. “You’re not an idiot, Steve,” he says, “You’re just—oblivious, apparently.”

“Yeah, that too.”

Eddie sighs. “Just come in. We can talk about it.” He steps back and lets Steve come inside. The flowers are still clutched in Eddie’s hand, starting to wilt. Eddie sets them on the table before joining Steve on the couch. 

“A month ago is when you stayed over for the first time,” Eddie says. Steve nods. “And you kissed me.” Steve nods again. Eddie lifts his eyebrows significantly. “You’re not seeing the connection?”

Steve shrugs. “I mean, I guess there’s other ways you could construe that,” he says, “But I thought it was, like, a friend kiss. A goodnight kiss.”

“A friend kiss,” Eddie says flatly. “You kiss a lot of your friends?”

“Sure,” Steve says, “Well, Robin prefers forehead kisses and Jonathan’s more of a hug guy, but I used to kiss Tommy and Carol all the time.”

Disbelief is the main emotion on Eddie’s face. And a whole lot of other ones that Steve can’t quite parse out. “So—everything we’ve done,” Eddie says, slowly, like he’s trying to come to terms with it. “It’s all just…been normal friend shit to you?”

Steve thinks back over the last month, trying to think if anything stands out in his head as non-platonic. Maybe there’s been a time or two when he was kissing Eddie or cuddling up to him in bed or sitting on his lap during D&D where Steve’s felt a sort of stirring deep in his belly. But he figured that was one-sided. His body’s reaction to whatever was happening and not a manifestation of, like, feelings or something. After all, the same thing used to happen with Tommy when they’d do similar stuff. And clearly they were just friends.

After a full twenty seconds of Steve not answering, Eddie drops his head in his hands. “Holy shit,” he mutters. Then he lifts his head. “This—you—the other day. You slept over. We made out. You—you took my fucking shirt off, Steve.”

Yeah, that did happen. And Steve doesn’t have a great explanation for it. “I don’t know,” he says, “It was the heat of the moment or whatever.”

“The heat of the moment,” Eddie repeats, and Steve can’t tell if he’s on the verge of tears or the verge of laughing. Eddie puts his arm on the back of the couch and leans toward Steve. “Can you honestly say that you’re not attracted to me at all?”

Annoyingly, Steve can feel his face start to heat. “I never said that,” he mutters.

For the first time, Eddie looks triumphant. “So you are attracted to me?”

“Yeah, man,” Steve says, squirming uncomfortably. Of course he’s attracted to Eddie. What’s not to be attracted to? He’s smart, funny, hot, good with the kids, good on the guitar, good at kissing. Helped save the world. “You’re, like, it for me. I definitely think about you that way. I just didn’t think you thought about me that way.”

Eddie laughs, the sound containing more disbelief than humor, but still overall a good thing. “I can’t believe the guy who’s been sharing my bed for the past month didn’t think I was into him.”

“Hey, you’re not the only person whose bed I’ve shared.” Shit, that was a bad way to put it. “Platonically.”

Shaking his head, Eddie laughs again. “Clearly, your idea of platonic does not line up with mine,” he says. “But you mean it? You’re into me?”

“Yeah, Eds,” Steve says, “I’m into you.”

“So, does that mean you’d want to be my boyfriend?”

“Apparently I already have been for the past month,” Steve says, grinning.

Eddie grins back. “Doesn’t count if you didn’t know.”

“Then we can count from today,” Steve says, “Starting now, I’m your boyfriend.”

He hasn’t finished saying the last word before Eddie is surging forward and taking Steve’s face in his hands. He shifts onto Steve’s lap, kissing him deeply. 

And it doesn’t feel platonic at all.

[dyaz-stories]

in a world of boys, he's a gentleman || Park Chan-Young x f!Reader

summary: Yeong-Su breaks a window at the stadium, and Chan-Young takes the blame for it, resulting in severe consequences. Fortunately, you're here to pick up the pieces afterwards.

word count: 3.1k

warnings & tags: spoilers for season 2 of sweet home, violence, injuries, soldiers being assholes, coarse language, making out, the pronoun "she" is used in reference to the reader

A/N: couldn't find gifs for chan-young so I made this one, but I'm by no means a gif maker, so, yeah. Also, I don't know anything about baseball, so please pretend this makes sense if you know better. I'm not sure which team Chan-Young was supposed to be on, so I picked the Doosan Bears because Sweet Home takes place in Seoul. Finally, it's my first time writing for him, so I hope you'll enjoy my take on this character!

It’s another day at the stadium, which means it’s another day of boredom.

Oh, there are things to do around here, sure. If you don’t mind being ordered around by soldiers who stand behind you with a scowl on their face and remind you that the only reason you’re even there is because of their good will, you’ll find a job to do. Cleaning a corner of the stadium, probably, in hopes that someone will be able to live there — as if there were enough mattresses — or doing the inventory, again, while looking the other way when rations mysteriously go missing and everyone knows who’s doing the taking.

Thing is, you’ve never been one to grovel. In fact, back in the Before days, you were the one giving the orders. Youngest assistant coach for the Doosan bears, the Seoul baseball team, you were in line to become the youngest coach in the history of the country. And, yeah, you weren’t completely in charge, but you were trusted. You had responsibilities. People knew to take you seriously.

You’ve had ideas for how to run this place more efficiently, to avoid making the civilians feel like they’re second-rate citizens, but it’s been made clear to you that you weren’t welcome to make suggestions. So you haven’t bothered, lately, but you also won’t play in that stupid game, where people get to change the rules without telling you.

It means that you do a lot of aimless walking around in the stadium. Chief Ji implicitly lets you roam around, a testament to the fact that you knew each other well back in the days, when you used to bring her coffee before big games, but you mostly try to make yourself useful in the way soldiers haven’t bothered accounting for.

A lot of that means keeping an eye on kids that are left to themselves otherwise. Their parents are busy, and it’s not like there’s much to do for them, here, so you try to keep them entertained. Unfortunately, you’re no teacher, meaning that it’s a lot of physical activities, wherever you find enough place. Other days, people who are teachers take over for you. That is the case today, meaning you’d have the day ‘off’, if it weren’t for Yeong-Su not showing up for class.

You don’t personally think he should have to attend class. You know how mean the other kids can be to him, and though the teachers don’t do much in the name of keeping the peace, you don’t let that fly when you’re in charge. Which is probably why the kid never misses your classes, a small pride that you keep well tucked in your heart.

Still, the teachers insist that you make sure he’s okay, so you agree to go try and find him. He knows the stadium well, meaning it will be no easy task.

You end up finding him throwing a ball against a wall. It looks like he’s practicing his aim, you think when you notice that he’s drawn a square on it. You’re about to approach him, maybe give him a few pointers, when a particularly hard throw has the ball bouncing too high and it crashes through a window, finishing outside of the stadium.

You freeze. Monsters don’t approach the stadium much — it’s been months since there’s been a case of that happening.

But the mere thought of there being something open here still has your heart pounding with fear. It’s only a few seconds before you compose yourself, but that’s long enough for someone to come running. You rush towards Yeong-Su, prepared to fiercely defend him if you need to.

It’s Chan-Young, and you relax, even if your heart is now pounding for a whole other reason.

“What happened here?” he asks.

He may have been running with his whole equipment, but he shows no sign of being out of breath.

“I’m sorry,” Yeong-Su mumbles. He’s hard to handle, especially these days, but he clearly respects Chan-Young a lot. “I didn’t mean to— I was just practicing and—"

Oh gosh, you realize, kid was practicing pitching, and it’s not lost on you that that’s the position Chan-Young mainly played as.

“…and now I’ve lost my ball,” Yeong-Su sniffs.

He’s trying to hold back tears, and it tears a little piece of your heart away. You know that Yeong-Su had found a ball autographed by Chan-Young, know that it’s one of his most prized possessions. It’s no surprise that Yeong-Su can’t stand the thought of losing anything more than what he already has.

Chan-Young glances at you, still standing a few steps behind Yeong-Su.

“He didn’t mean to,” you say. “I’ll help you fix the window.” Eun-Yu probably won’t mind giving you a hand, too.

Chan-Young nods, and you watch as he puts a knee to the floor, so he’s at eye-level with Yeong-Su. If he was any other soldier, you’d be more cautious, but you know him. Worked with him, when he was on your team, lost him when he enlisted, and now you’re in this strange limbo, where he doesn’t seem to know how to interact with you, even though there is this obvious familiarity between the two of you, every time you do speak.

“You need to be more careful,” he tells Yeong-Su, putting on his Serious voice. “If a monster heard that and came in, it could be very dangerous for everyone. And if you’re in front of the window when it happens, it would attack you first. So don’t let that happen again, okay?”

Then he gives Yeong-Su a small, comforting smile.

“If you want to practice again, come ask me next time, okay?” He glances up at you, and there’s such softness in his eyes when he does. “Or ask the coach. She knows her stuff.”

You’d never become coach, not officially, but his use of the word makes your heart swell.

“Okay,” Yeong-Su mumbles, staring down at his feet.

For a moment, it looks like everything will resolve itself just like that, and you’re already putting a hand on Yeong-Su’s shoulders to pull him away with you, when you hear the familiar stomping of military boots coming towards you.

Chan-Young’s expression changes immediately.

“Go,” he orders.

“But…”

He spins around to grab your shoulders, lowering himself to look straight into your eyes.

“Go,” he repeats. “Please.”

There’s such urgency in his voice that you can’t deny him, even if you’re not sure what is going on exactly. You grab Yeong-Su’s hand and pull him with you until you’re both behind a corner, just in time. You keep an eye on the scene, confused. The soldiers behave like assholes, you know that, but surely—

“What happened here?” the Sergeant bellows in Chan-Young’s face. “You’re lucky it was us, who were standing outside the window, and not something else! You better have an explanation, soldier.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Chan-Young says, shoulders straight, from what you can see. “I was just practicing and—”

Before you can wonder why he’d lie, the punch catches him in the stomach, and he doubles over in pain. You catch yourself before you can gasp out loud, and instinctively cover Yeong-Su’s mouth, which is probably a smart move, because he starts thrashing to run towards Chan-Young. You don’t blame him, but you also absolutely cannot let him do that, not right now.

“Yeong-Su,” you whisper, mimicking Chan-Young’s attitude with you just a minute ago. “You need to go back to Ms. Cha. Okay?”

“But they’re…”

You wince, because they’re still berating Chan-Young, and one of them has just given him a hard kick to the ribs. All the more reason for you to intervene.

“I’ll take care of it, I promise, but I can’t do that if you’re here. So go back to her, and I’ll come see you when everything is okay again, alright?”

He sniffs, rubs his eyes to hide the tears, then turns around and runs. At least he’s got a good survival instinct, you think, even if it hurts to remember where it comes from. The second you’re sure he’s not coming back, it’s your turn to run, but towards the soldiers this time, with a confidence that you now worry is wholly unwarranted.

“Hey, don’t you think that’s enough?” you interject, maneuvering so you can get between them and Chan-Young.

There’s a scoff and they roll their eyes. One of them puts his hand on your shoulder and pushes, but you barely take a step back. You’re used to men trying to intimidate you.

“I thought we’d made it clear that your opinions weren’t welcome,” Seo-Jin snaps at you, getting too close to your face for comfort — like that would make you budge.

“Doesn’t mean I’m going to let you beat up someone because he broke a fucking window, when if you’d gotten to work, that hole would be closed by now,” you reply on the same tone.

He opens his mouth to yell at you once more, a vein bulging on his forehead, when Chan-Young comes to stand in front of you. He’s barely just gotten on his feet, has one hand pressed against his rib cage, and still, he’s already coming to stop you from taking any risk. You want to scream at him and hug him all at the same time.

“Please, sir, she doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

Neither does he!

“That’s enough, Seo-Jin,” sergeant Kim finally intervenes, and the man immediately takes a step back. “Don’t let it happen again,” he tells Chan-Young. “And fix the hole,” he tells you, as an afterthought, before leaving and taking his team with him.

Your blood is boiling. He might try to be the voice of reason now, but you saw him doing nothing while his men got blood on their hands so he wouldn’t have to.

You don’t have time to think about it, though, because next to you, Chan-Young has slowly let himself slide to the floor.

“Are you okay?” you ask, panicked, while he grimaces and leans against the wall.

“I’m fine,” he says, an obvious lie. “You shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You took responsibility for something you had nothing to do with, but I’m the one who shouldn’t have said anything?”

He sighs, shakes his head.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” he says. He looks at you with warm eyes, and you feel your breath catching in your throat.

There’s something about Chan-Young, there always has been. You always have to remind yourself that he’s nice to everyone, because he’s such a kind person. Even that didn’t stop you from falling for him — and it’s the second time that it happens, damn him.

“I’ll go get medical supplies,” you say, pushing yourself to your feet. “Stay here.”

“There’s no need to—”

“Please, do you want to die from an infection after surviving all these monsters? Stay. Here.”

You ignore any further protests as you rush to get the supplies.

It doesn’t take you long. Chief Ji provides you with what you need without questions, and apologizes for not being able to give you painkillers — they’re reserved for emergencies, she explains. You know the other supplies are, too, but you understand her reasoning, and just thank her with a quick nod and a promise to help out for the next few shifts outside the stadium, if she needs it.

When you come back, Chan-Young’s moved to sit on one of the boxes that are always laying around in here, and you grab another one to sit across from him.

“Open your jacket,” you say as you take the disinfectant.

“I— I don’t think that’s necessary—”

“C’mon, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” you say with an eyeroll, because the guys on the team weren’t exactly shy about taking their shirt off in front of you and he should remember that.

He clears his throat and glances away, and you notice his ears turning red.

“Um, right. Yeah. Just a second.”

Under the jacket, he’s wearing a simple white t-shirt, and he lifts it up so you can see for yourself.

And it’s not looking good. The area is red and swollen already, and you worry it will be worse soon. Unfortunately, there’s not much you can do about that, so you disinfect the scratches caused by the boots, and gesture for him to put it back down. You’d normally advise to put something cold on it, to calm the swelling, but that’s not really an option here, not when the little electricity you have is mostly used to keep the lights on.

“Try not to move around too much, okay?”

“I’ll try my best,” he says with a brief laugh. It’s a silly recommendation, and you both know it, but you still felt the need to say something.

“Now give me your hand, I’ll see what I can do.”

He does, and you carefully turn it to check the palm. You’re not sure if he hurt himself when he fell earlier, or if it’s just that there’s constantly manual work to be done and it’s hard not to injure your hand. Either way, you start cleaning it and disinfecting it as well.

“Do you think they would have been as hard on a kid?” you ask.

“No!” he protests immediately, maybe a tad too strongly. “They’re humans. I’m sure they wouldn’t have—” He interrupts himself, and you suspect that he knows they still could have hit him, a thought that makes your stomach turn. “But… Yeong-Su’s had a hard enough life as it is. People here are not… kind to him.”

“I’m not blaming you, especially after that,” you sigh, “I just— You do realize that it’s not your responsibility, right? I’d have helped the kid, and it could have ended better than…”

You gesture vaguely at him, and he closes his eyes for a second. He closes his fingers over yours where you’re holding his hand, rubs his thumb over your skin, which sends a wave of heat through your body. It only lasts a moment, though, before he catches himself and lets go.

“I’m— I was in charge, when his sister— I was supposed to be helping them. And I failed him.”

“What?” Ms. Cha told you that story, in hushed whispers, to explain why Yeong-Su was such a complicated child these days. It had been clear that there was nothing Chan-Young could have done. “You can’t blame yourself for someone turning into a monster and going on a rampage.”

“It happened on my watch,” he insists. “If I’d been more careful— If I hadn’t left the bus—”

You stop yourself to look at him straight in the eye. He’s close, but you don’t feel uncomfortable, not with him.

“That could have happened to anyone. You couldn’t have planned for it.” He exhales, long and slow.

“Thank you for saying that,” he says, but you can tell that your words haven’t sunk in. It breaks your heart, and yet you have no idea what more you can say. After all, you weren’t there. It makes sense that he wouldn’t believe you.

“You still shouldn’t put yourself in the line of danger to—” to what, anyway? Expiate his sins? What does he have to prove? Does he have a death wish or something? “You shouldn’t put yourself in danger when you don’t have to.”

“Better me than Yeong-Su,” he insists. “He’s just a kid, and he has his mom — well, Ms. Cha. And he has you.” You set the disinfectant back down, hands almost trembling as you realize where he’s going with this. “Better me than him,” he just concludes sadly.

“Park Chan-Young,” you say, “you don’t seriously think that, right?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes when he replies.

“He has a family here. I— don’t really have anyone—”

You’re not sure what goes through your head when you put your hand on his cheek and kiss him. If you had to rationalize it — which you’re not really in any position to do when it happens — you’d say that you just wanted to prove him how wrong he was. Truth is, though, that you also couldn’t bear the idea that you were letting him believe that when it was so entirely untrue.

His lips are warm against yours, and you think you feel him leaning into you, but you pull away too soon to know.

“There,” you say as you gather your things. “Now you know you do have someone, so don’t put yourself in danger unnecessarily, alright?”

Then you’re on your feet, hell-bent on fleeing the scene.

Of course, Chan-Young catches up with you in an instant. He grabs your wrist, and pulls you back against him. His eyes are wide as he searches yours.

“Did you mean that?” he asks, his voice catching in his throat.

“Mean what?” Your heart is pounding in your chest. You’re… not sure where he is going with this.

“It wasn’t pity, right? You— I have you?”

The words almost send a shiver down your spine.

“Of course you do. I don’t exactly go around kissing people—”

Next thing you know, his hands are cupping your face and his mouth is on yours. He kisses you feverishly, like he desperately needs you to prove your words to him. You kiss back without hesitation, wrapping your arms around his neck. It isn’t long before your back hits the wall and you let out a brief groan.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling away from you to check on you. “Are you—”

You don’t let him finish, pulling him back down against you. His hands move down to your waist, one of them slipping under your t-shirt to feel your bare skin. He’s kissing you slower now, more sensual, and he abandons your mouth to kiss down your jaw, then your neck, before he comes back to your lips.

“I shouldn’t—” he mumbles against you. “I’m not supposed to—”

“Everyone’s doing it,” you reply, but it doesn’t surprise you when he tears himself away from you. He’s a sight to behold, flushed and out of breath — and is it odd that you enjoy seeing him panting from kissing you when you know he can run for hours without struggling? He’s always been one to stick to the rules closely. It says a lot that he broke one right now, but you won’t push him any further, not until he’s ready.

You take a step back towards him, take his hand in yours, and press your lips to his cheek for one last, soft kiss.

“Don’t forget now,” you say. “You have me. Don’t risk your life without thinking.”

He doesn’t kiss you again, but he leans in to press his forehead against yours, squeezing your hand in his.

“I have you,” he repeats, as if to convince himself. “I have you.”

I hope you liked it! as always, if you did, consider reblogging and letting me know what you thought! feedback is really motivating and is what keep us authors going, so leaving a comment or sending an ask or anything really helps to keep me writing!

more writing for sweet home

[certifiedwhore4slashers]

Death Follows

pairing(s): dark!harry potter x reader, ron x hermione

summary: harry, your best friend, has been acting odd lately, very odd, deciding on one occasion to follow him, leads to your demise.

warnings: obsession, yandere, implied murder, blood, manipulation(slightly), perverted behavior(not from Harry), possessive!harry, toxicity, etc…

reader is pretty much gender neutral since I don’t describe any feminine pronouns or masculine pronouns, or feminity.

also this au has been in my mind a little bit lately lol. obviously everyone is 18+ in this. keep that in mind. dark themes ahead.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You were so worried for Harry. He was your best friend and nonetheless, something obviously was going on with him.

“Y/n, calm down, Ron said.”You’ve been worried this whole week.” “Look, haven’t any of you noticed that he is well, distant? Doesn’t tell us much? You ask. “I have but, maybe he’s going through stuff and coping with the whole dark lord thing, having to defeat him is a lot, Hermione pointed out.

“True, You say.”I guess. But, I still-“ Ron groaned, you couldn’t help but form a smile as it was kind of funny.”I’ll shut up now, Ron. At least about Harry.”

“Good, Ron replied, wrapping his arms around Hermione, they had been dating for four months now. You couldn’t be more happier for them.

“Where are you going? hermione asks. “Nowhere! You lie. Hermione rolls her eyes. “He said not to talk about it anymore! You say, outsmarting Ron.’

You walk a bit louder than you should have. At Hogwarts, Quietness was rare, and noise was frequent. Also a lot of chaos.

“Where is he? You murmur, trying to find Harry. You were so in love with him you’d be willing to do anything for him.

Sure, this could be because of the amount of pressure he has to stop Voldemort. But there had to have been something else.

Harry, was a introvert indeed, but this bad and distant? That didn’t seem like himself. When you spot him, You secretly follow. Maybe this was stalking or out of pure obsession, you weren’t obsessed with him, just in love, that was all.

You only followed his footsteps as you went to see where he went. Maybe you shouldn’t have. After all, curiosity kills the cat. But this was out of concern for your best friend, who you’ve grown up with pretty much.

You were doing the right thing weren’t you? Harry suddenly turns around and you hide. You almost had been caught. Almost. You were scared of what would happen if you were caught by Harry. Especially since he was more aggressive. That wasn’t like him. This whole situation was odd itself.

You probably would find that it wasn’t as concerning as you thought it was, or completely different to the scenario in your mind. You hoped it wasn’t the scenario you pictured in your mind.

Calm down, you’re overthinking, You thought. And yet, I feel drawn to this whole thing. What’s wrong with me? Am I truly becoming obsessed?

You were more than filled with self doubt, but you prioritized helping Harry with whatever he needed. Of course, only if it was good. Not if his intentions were corrupt.

You weren’t like that at all. And when you finally stopped where Harry stopped, but hiding a bit further so he didn’t see you, you didn’t find anything interesting, much to your dismay but relief as well.

You chuckle softly, for a moment you thought he was working with Voldemort. How silly of you to think such things.

You begin walking back to your dormitory, it should’ve been a short and swift walk, if you didn’t bump into someone.

“I’m so sorry, You apologize. “Don’t be, He winks, and in a suggestive tone. Already, making you feel uncomfortable.”Where did you come from?”

“Um, I was just looking for my friend, couldn’t find him, You lied. “What a shame, The ravenclaw said. You would’ve been surprised if it had a hufflepuff.

Truthfully, Every house had bad people in it. “I better get going…. You say. “I recognize you, He says.”Y/N right? The chosen one’s friend?” He said that as if you were more than that. Which you weren’t, unfortunately.

“Yes, now can I get through? You ask, a bit more sternly and assertive. You weren’t going to get out of this mess unless you did something. And you normally didn’t like doing that. You hated confrontation.

“Oh sure thing, can I walk you to your dorm? He asks. “Sure, I guess, You say nervously. He says his name and you say yours. As awkward as it is, maybe the feeling of someone actually being into you was nice.

Though, you knew his motives were anything but nice. Still, you’d never let it take that far. “Here is my dorm, You smile.”I hope I see… you around.” “You definitely will, He winks, leaving you to your dorm.

It wasn’t a good way either. He’d probably ask you out on a date eventually. “y/n, what did you find? Hermione asks. “Not much, You say.”But, before you say I told you so, I know he is hiding something.”

She sighed.”You are too in love to think logically, Y/N.” You scoff.”I’m not in love with him! I found someone!”

“You did? Both Ron and Hermione say in unison. The common room was empty somehow, making things better.

“Mhm, that ravenclaw guy or something, said his name was Bastian or something.”

Hermione groaned.”Y/n, he’s an asshole who’s only using you for sex!” “I know, and I’m not letting him use me, U just met him, doesn’t mean anything, You defended.

“Thank god, Hermione said. “I heard he’s hot though, Ron said. “Not the point, You say. Ron laughed and so did you.

“Ron, you have something to say? You joke. Hermione looks over, smirking. Ron blushed.”I’m not gay! I love ‘Mione!”

“Cute nickname, Hermione smiled, sitting beside him. “To be fair, he didn’t come up with it first, You smiled.

You looked proud and smug, as you had come up with it in Year 1. Hermione loved it and it stuck ever since. Though, it was a nickname only her closest friends, you, Ron(her boyfriend now), and Harry.

It got darker, and by the time you were in bed, you hear noises coming from the Common Room. So, much to your curiosity, you go downstairs to the common room. Relieved, You say,”Merlin, Harry, I thought you were something else.”

“No, just me, Harry said calmly.”You thought I was Voldemort or something?” “No, you laughed.”You came in really late. Won’t you get some sleep?”

“I’m not that tired, Harry assured you.”You don’t have to worry about me, Y/N.” “I think I do, You tease.”You need someone to look after you, Harry.”

He smiles.”Always putting everyone’s needs over your own, typical of you.” “It’s kind of how you are, You say.”Selfless, caring…” He sighed, plopping himself down on the couch.

“Harry, I’m worried for you, okay? You say, sitting beside him.”What’s going on?” “It’s nothing, he says. That’s a lie, you knew.

“Harry, I know that’s a lie, You say.”And…” you stop, looking down to see blood all over his clothes. You stand up.”Harry, what did you do?”

Confused, He asked,”What do you mean?” “Did you fall or something? Hurt yourself? You’ve got blood all over, You say nervously, about to pull your wand out when Harry took action quicker.”Expelliarmus!”

He disarmed tour wand, making you taken aback. Why did he do that? You weren’t a threat by any means. Pulling out your wand he probably assumed you’d hurt him or something.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I… I’m just a bit scared, okay? I need my wand to-“

He grabs it before you do. His demeanor, you just knew changed. “I’m not giving it back until I can trust you, Harry said sternly.

“God, you sound like my father, give it back! You say, reaching out for it but not succeeding.”And what makes me untrustworthy?”

“The fact you’re questioning me, and immediately go to your wand! Harry said. “Shh! They can hear you! You say, when he grabs your wrist, making you jump.

“You really want to know? He asks, his tone angrier than you’ve ever heard from him. You nodded nervously, more so afraid. This side of him you’ve never seen before.

Pulling you closer to him, Harry whispers in your ear,”I killed that creep.” “No… You say.”He wasn’t a creep. And how did you know?”

“I knew you followed me, and I saw it, Harry added.”I’m not as stupid as you might think, y/n.” “Okay, then what were you doing? You ask.”I know you’re hiding something, Harry.”

“Feeling bold, aren’t you?”

“Maybe, You reply, your voice filled with venom and a bit more confidence as you spoke. You never felt so confident in your life. But you had to hide your fear and intimidation of Harry.

“Alright then, Harry smirked.”I didn’t exactly lie about defeating Voldemort.” “Okay… You say. “I already killed him, he continues.”Which that makes me the new Dark Lord.”

“What? You say.”Okay, Maybe your trauma made you-“ His hand was wrapped around your throat, not choking you but he could.”I’d rather you keep your mouth shut about this.”

You somehow whimper and nodded. He lets go.”Good.” “I have a feeling there was more to murdering that ravenclaw, You whisper.

“The fact is, you’re mine, and I just made sure he knew, Harry said possessively. This side of him scared you.

“What are you going to do as the Dark Lord?”

“Destroy those who wronged me and the people I love, obviously.”

[ash-is-dying]

Temporary Tattoo

A/N: Felt compelled to write a quick blurb after drawing one of these on my own hand. Idk guys the delulu is really getting to me today. Anyway enjoy!

Shy!Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 782

Fluffy / Mildy Spicy Blurb

---

“Just stay still Eddie!”

“But you’re taking forever!”

The pen runs over his knuckles as you outline the bones on his hand. You had spent the entirety of calculus at the back drawing on Eddie’s hand. He had breached the topic of getting a skeleton hand tattoo so you had made the generous offer to be his temporary tattoo artist.

His various rings had been scattered across the desk and the sleeve of his hellfire shirt had been rolled the full way up his arm exposing his actual tattoos alongside the detailed sketch on his left hand. You sat knee to knee with the boy as the arm you’re drawing with pins his arm to the table and the other holds his hand flat.

For someone who was covered in hidden tattoos you’re genuinely surprised by how much he moved while you were working and how whiney he was being about you taking too long.

“How long?”

“Eddie I haven’t even done your wrist yet. Chill your balls. We’ve still got half an hour anyway.”

He throws his head back and sighs deeply. His other hand starts to fidget, miming the chords for some metal song or another. His eyes close and he looks like a toddler who’s been denied chocolate from the shops. His head lolls to the side to look at you.

You’re completely oblivious to the look he gives you as he studies your concentrated face, biting your lip and your brows furrowed as you smoothed over the outlines you had drawn. Unbeknownst to you the real reason he was so all over the place wasn’t because the tattoo was taking too long.

It was because you were the one drawing it.

When you had started your gentle touches had left him flinching, moving towards your warm hands. Hence the need for physical restraint. Eddie’s cheeks flushed the moment you had wrestled his arm under yours, your closeness making his heart jump start. He could spend hours here just having you draw all over him. He’d let you fill every gap between his tats if it meant he could keep you like this.

The only reason he was now encouraging you to hurry was because he didn’t need the artist girl he’d been crushing on for months noticing the semi he was sporting. He had tried to slide further under the desk to make it less obvious but the hold you had on his arm was making things increasingly harder.

In both ways.

“I don’t think we need to do the wrist, just my hand is fine-” he said sharply.

“But didn’t you want a half-sleeve anyway? Thought you wanted me to try the whole tattoo.”

“As cool as that would be I kinda need my arm back sweetheart-” He says with an edge of panic in his voice.

“Okay okay, I’ll be done in ten.”

The next ten minutes were probably the longest ten minutes of his life.

For the fine detailing you had made the decision that you needed to get even closer. You had rotated his arm and had folded your leg over his, just adjacent to where he desperately needed you not to be. He watched anxiously as you shifted to finish off the tattoo. He genuinely tried to sink into his chair and disappear. If you had even a hint of what was happening under the desk he would be absolutely mortified.

“Why do you get so many tattoos Eds?”

Her sudden question pulls him out of his head. “Oh- um. I guess because they look cool? And they help me express a part of myself that I want to show people rather than tell them about.”

“Fair enough.” There’s a long pause. “Can I ask you something?”

Eddie’s brows raise in concern. “Yes?”

“Do you get this turned on for all your tattoo artists or just me?”

The silence is deafening as his eyes widen in shock and realization. He stutters as you move off of his lap unable to find the words. The bell goes and you begin to pack up your things not sparing him a glance until you put your hand on his shoulder and lean to whisper in his ear.

“If you ever need another tattoo done… call me okay.”

You give his cheek a quick peck as you turn away and walk out of the room with a flush on your face, leaving behind an extremely flustered and red faced Eddie. He looks down at his arm. It’s amazing of course. But what really catches his eye is the messily written phone number on the underside of his arm.

Maybe he will get another temporary tattoo.

[mintywolf]

(I wrote this on the train coming home on August 26th although I am just getting around to posting it now because time is a weird soup.)

So okay.

****

I haven’t written a personal journal post in a long time but I want to write down EVERYTHING I can remember about my adventure to NYC to see the Critical Role cast so I don’t forget. It was SUCH a moving experience and I’m so glad I went even though I was scared.

So okay my big goal for this year was to finish the first chapter of my C3 prequel fan comic A Long Road Home (southerngothiccomic.com), have a print edition made, and meet Laura and Marisha at a convention so I could give copies of it to them in person. When the CR cast announced they were going to be at Anime NYC this year I figured that was the closest they were probably going to get to me in Virginia. (And getting autographs at NYCC is reportedly like hunting a unicorn so I figured this would be my best chance.)

I was also terrified, and almost talked myself out of it because I was nervous about giving them the comic, even though I already had a badge and it was what I really, really wanted to do. I know the cast loves to see fanart — and also, it has been revealed, reads the fanfic — but it’s also a pretty well-known taboo for a fan to show their fanfic to a creator and a graphic novel is an unholy hybrid of the two. I was also worried that it would seem presumptuous of me to present them with a fanmade prequel graphic novel because there’s almost certainly going to be an official one at some point, and afraid that at best they might politely tell me they couldn’t accept it (for the reasons that comic writers aren’t “allowed” to read fanfic), and at worst they might be kind of annoyed that it exists. Either way I’d be REALLY sad, and in the weeks leading up to the con I worked myself up into an irrational panic about this. Fortunately my friends managed to talk me into not backing out (and spoilers: it turned out okay in the end!) but I was still very scared.

Also I was so focused on the comic stuff that I forgot until after GenCon earlier this month to think of what I wanted to actually have autographed. I decided to get a big print of the chapter one cover from INPRNT, assuming that since I ordered it two weeks in advance with an eta of 5-7 days that would be plenty of time for it to get to me. Well, reader, it was not. (But please do not let me dissuade you from using INPRNT! To their credit when I contacted them and asked if I could upgrade to rush delivery, they expedited it for free. Unfortunately even with rush shipping it just missed me, arriving at my house while I was on the train to NYC.)

Pâté on the train going to see his biological parents. (Laura and Marisha.)

When I saw that it wasn’t going to arrive in time I was starting to panic because there is nowhere near me to have art prints made. It’s a 15 minute drive (past the alpaca farm) just to get to the nearest grocery store. Grasping at straws I was kind of like Should I . . . draw something? On paper?? With real media that I haven’t used in like 10 years??? I only have 3 days!!!

Fortunately my life was saved by @emphaticembroiderer who had the brilliant suggestion of sending my art ahead to a print shop in NYC and picking it up before the convention. There are indeed MANY of those in New York and I managed to find one that was open on Saturdays and able to make my print on short notice. (567 Framing on W 14th street. The owner, Jack Hu, did excellent work and was very kind!) By that point I was frazzled and didn’t want two of the same print so I decided to be self-indulgent and had this one made. Not my showiest piece but it is one of my favorite things I’ve drawn. (This turned out to be the correct decision.) It’s a 6 1/2 hour train ride from here to there (and it got a little delayed along the way) so by the time I got there it was after 5 and the print shop closed at 6:30 so I zoomed over there straight from the train station to pick it up. It turned out BEAUTIFULLY, and the owner was pleased with how happy I was with it and that he’d been able to help.

He enjoys that he is included.

Then I went and checked in to my hotel and that point really just wanted to lie down on a bed but I had plans to take Pâté to see Hadestown on Broadway that night because I wanted to make the most of my trip. (Also it’s important for our scrungly son to receive a cultural education.) In keeping with the theme of the weekend I wore the Laudna-themed sundress I made for GenCon with one of the poppies in my hair. An usher told me they liked my ensemble. :) I had decided to go for a front row mezzanine seat because I didn’t know when I’d ever have this opportunity again and I didn’t want to risk my miniature self being stuck behind a tall person. It was perfect; I could see everything and the performance was AMAZING. Pâté had a very good time too.

The next day was the CR panel and autographs!! I decided to wear my 1950s Laudna cosplay from GenCon. I had some doubts about it when I got there because without the rest of 50s Bells Hells the theme isn’t as clear and outside of a DnD-focused convention the recognizability of a CR character is kind of low, let alone an AU variant on one. But once I found the Critters my Pâté poodle skirt was appreciated. :)

This is Rach @dadrielle, Astoria @astoriacolumnstaircase, Abby @overnighttosunflowers, and me as 50s Hells at GenCon!

And okay I know this said a lot but it’s true, CR fans are the NICEST fandom to be a part of. <3 If you’re ever standing in line for a CR thing by the time you get there you will have new friends. (For comparison the other-fandoms cosplayers I saw at the hotel and on the way to the con didn’t even return my smiles, even though we were all clearly going to the same place.) I fell in with a group of people who were near me in line (including an amazing Owlbearman cosplayer) and we decided to all sit together. The panel was really great. I don’t remember everything that was asked because of everything ELSE that happened later that day but they hinted that Big Things are coming (including multiple live shows!! Please come to Richmond! Or DC! Or at least somewhere on the East Coast!) for the 10th anniversary and Momlan stepped up to the mic during the Q&A segment and revealed that Sam has achieved his childhood dream . . . to become a minotaur. :D

With the mindset of making the most of this trip I had intended to try to get a spot in line to ask a question but I was hesitant about being on camera (even in cosplay) and while I was dithering about it like 50 people got in line. (I was also Suffering by that point because my rockabilly Laudna shoes have like 3 inch heels and after walking from the hotel to the convention center I didn’t have the fortitude to dart over to the line in them.)

My question, which I hope to submit next time there’s a Q&A opportunity, was this: For Marisha. We’ve seen Delilah’s influence manifesting in Laudna’s fashion choices recently. Now that she has the means and the freedom to do so, what kind of clothes would she choose for herself?

(Because I am a little sad that — until a possible post-campaign oneshot — we’ll never get to see a high-level Laudna costume that’s totally of her own design and I’m really eager to know what it would look like! Let her be spooky and free!)

Afterwards the cosplayers were being rounded up for a photo shoot but I was anxious to get a good spot in line for my autograph with Laura at 2pm so I stealthed away with Ken (@elissabrat), a Jester fan I had met in line, who knew where they were and had one with Travis at the same time. When we got there we were told No, go away and come back in an hour and a half, because it was still only 12. So we went to the Artists Alley where we found a girl named Lea whom we had also met in the panel line and collected a few other stray Critters (Ken has a boisterous and inviting personality and importantly, is very tall, preventing the rest of us from getting lost in the crowd) and we wandered around seeking out all the CR fan artists we could find. (There were a lot! It was great. I got some prints.)

by Cait May and Maliveth

Around 1 we decided to go back and see what the line situation was. Before we parted ways I exchanged twitter handles with Lea, who looked at my profile and said “Wait . . . this is you?”

She told me she was a big fan of my comic and looks forward to it every week! and we were both kind of like !!! at each other for a moment. I had never met someone who recognized my art in the wild before. (On ANY other day this would have been the most amazing thing that happened to me, haha.) I was so touched to meet her. <3

I took out the two books I was carrying and explained why I was there and we all got hyped up about it. And it made it feel a little less daunting, to know that there was someone there who understood the quest I was on and how close I was to the end of it.

I was like 5th in line for Laura and since it was still early I got to participate in that bonding experience integral to every con, sitting on the floor in cosplay, with a very good Vex behind me. (Hilariously, even after the dig at them — or maybe unaware of it — in the most recent episode, there were a lot of Funko Pop resellers around us, haha.)

I sent word to Southern Gothic Discord to remember me fondly in case I died here. In fact I'm not entirely sure that I didn't.

It felt like there was a disproportionate amount of fanfare revealing my print because I kept it how it was packed by the printer, wrapped in paper in between two pieces of cardboard so it wouldn’t get bent, so there was this whole ceremony of peeling back the tape, turning under one of the cardboard protectors, unfolding the paper, and turning over the print. But Laura loved it. She made like a happy sob when she saw it (it was really cute) and she looked at it for a long time taking in all the details and said it was beautiful. <3 <3 <3 (No matter how much we love and ship Imogen and Laudna, NO ONE loves them or is shipping them harder than Laura Bailey. She asked if I was going to bring it to Marisha too and was careful picking out a spot so there'd be room for both of their signatures. :))

I told her I was really happy to meet her because I’ve been a fan since BloodRayne (so, um. 20 years) and she said “oh wow, that was OG days!” And she gave me just a really kind look like she understood how much it meant to me to be there.

Then I gave her the comic. You all were right, I was worried about nothing! because she is the sweetest and she loved it. I very nervously pushed it across the table and said it was a comic I had made and wanted to give her. She picked it up and started turning the pages and was surprised when she saw what it was. “Wait, this is a whole novel! You made this?”

I confessed that I had, and she asked how long it had taken, I told her about a year (it was actually longer; in the moment I kind of forgot not how many pages there are in the first chapter but how many weeks are in a year) and she looked just really impressed that I had made it and touched by how much work had gone into it. She said she couldn’t wait to read it and seemed really excited to hear that it’s still going online! (So no pressure on me there if she's keeping up with it now, haha. o.o) And she kept looking between the book and me like she couldn’t believe it.

Then she asked me if I would sign it for her. :')

Somehow I survived long enough to do so! (a little wobbly because my hands were shaking) and someone (I think it was the ticket scanner) made a joke about how I was the first person to give an autograph at a signing, haha. And then she came around the table and gave me a hug. <3 <3 <3

After that my soul was still on the ethereal plane but the rest of me managed to find my way (after a brief wrong turn) to Marisha’s line. (There was a really good Keyleth and Caduceus in line behind me and they kindly noticed and returned the Pâté sticker that fell out of Marisha’s book).

She recognized my cosplay as 1950s Laudna right away! which was very validating after my earlier indecision haha. She loved the Pâté skirt and thought the scissors embroidery on my collar was adorable. She really liked the art too and was kind of like “Awww” about the book like in an “aww it’s an Imogen and Laudna thing” kind of way (she also liked the glass bottle windchimes on the cover and I love that she noticed that detail because Laudna’s penchant for turning things other people have thrown away into arts and crafts is one of my favorite aspects of her character) until she opened it and started looking through it.

Then she said, “Wait, this is actually really good," and she asked me seriously if Liam “Art Dad” knew about it (I said he had liked some of my other art on Twitter but I didn’t know if he knew about the comic) and then she said — still looking at it, more to herself than me — “We’ll have to add it to our art catalogue.” I don’t know exactly what that means (and I don’t want to get my hopes up too high by speculating; I was too !!! in the moment to ask and now I’m going to be wondering) but . . . it sounds . . . exciting??

They also both enjoyed Pâté and his lil sunglasses. :)

I had gone up with the intention of asking my other burning question: How does being cold-blooded affect Laudna in cold climates? If she gets too cold will she enter a state of brumation like a lizard? Will she freeze solid?

But I forgot. And it really wouldn’t have been the right moment. Maybe when I come back with Volume Two. :)

You’re supposed to pay extra to get a quote put on there but they both did it anyway without even asking. I think they must be really pleased when someone brings them something personal that they’ve made to have signed and not something they’re planning to sell.

After that I just kind of floated away from the con even though it was only like 2:30 haha. Nothing else could have happened there that would have equaled or improved upon that experience. Although I did adopt a Tentacle Kitty. The vendor (correctly) guessed “you look like you’d vibe with our spooky collection” so I had to get a new buddy for Pâté. (50s Laudna, still readily identifiable as a witch wherever she goes.) Also I saw a very chill emotional support pomeranian in a backpack.

(On the way back I saw the mark of the Traveler graffiti’d in green on the sidewalk. Truly a blessed day. :P)

Afterwards I just sat on the bed in my hotel room amid the floof of my crinoline wondering what even is my life for the next few hours and being like !!!! at Discord. Then I met up with Abby (whom it was wonderful to see again!! thank you so much for coming to see me) for dinner and had a really lovely time going over the What Just Happened of it all and talking about Imodna over strawberry pancakes. As one does. Perfect ending to an amazing day. <3

It was SUCH an incredible, exhilarating experience, thank you everyone who pushed me into not giving up out of fear. Laura and Marisha are SO nice and gracious in person and it was just so rewarding, after all the work and love and time I’ve put into this comic, to be able to finally bring it to the people who inspired it! And to see it appreciated and admired by them! It was more than I ever could have imagined.

This fandom is the best. My heart is so happy and full of love right now. <3 <3 <3

[starryhiraeth]

Azriel x Reader

Warnings?; Uhm? Angst (fluff ending), (a bit of) Elain Slander (sorry babes <3)

✨spelling errors✨

Italics=Flashback

Disclaimer; for some reason this was really hard to write so I hope it’s okay 😂

Lol I think that’s it ANYWAY-

A part of you expected it, Azriel liked fixing people, making them better, being the hero.

He saved Mor,

He saved You,

And now that Elain had joined the night court he had made her his new project.

You were angry obviously, you hadn’t seen him in a month. A month!

You mate! And all this time he had been a watching over Elain. Perfect flower sniffing Elain. Gods you hated her.

You hated the way everyone treated her like glass and how Azriel gained a thrill from making her better, maybe he just thought you were dumb? You were a lot younger than him in fae years.

It wouldn’t be the first time you were considered dim because of your age, you were young and they assumed you knew nothing.

It wasn’t true, in reality you where probably the most mature person in whatever room you were in.

You knew almost everything even though your young,

You knew the reason why Azriel liked being the hero and saving them was because he felt like a monster and this helped him feel good.

You knew that Elain would never get better if everyone kept on treating her like she were made of china

You knew that Azriel will learn that a friend to all is a friend to none

You knew that Azriel chasing two girl, for whatever reason, he would loose the one

You knew that the thrill would expire and Azriel will release what he had lost and that you’d been cursing him until the day came

And most importantly you knew you were done.

So there you sat in your new apartment on the edge of Velaris, in front of the fireplace cuddled up in your second favourite cardigan, you’d accidentally left your favourite in Az’s room, and you thought back.

“Az!” Your laugh echoed through the streets of Velaris, when coming back from a meeting with some lords from autumn court, all you could do was look at Azriel and imagine all the things you could’ve been doing instead of listing to some dusty old boy of autumn, “sensual politics” you had joked, after that you two left and got completely wasted, which led to Azriel drunk under a street light and you laughing at him in your formal dress and black lipstick.

And the way he look at you, gods the way he looked at you made you feel more seen then you’d ever been, you often felt as if you were just a piece of clothes stuck at the back if the wardrobe or under someone’s bed, but when Azriel looked at you, you felt as if he had brought you out to the light and declared that you are his favourite

Azriel was otherworldly, any scars you felt were ugly, it felt as if Azriel was drawn stars around them, turning them into something Beautiful

But now?

Now, it felt like those wounds were open again and were now bleeding,

Azriel had left his mark on you, like a blood stain, like a tattoo kiss.

Yet despite the burning feeling in your gut, you wet calm, he’d be back, even if they’d gotten romantic, even if he slept with her

You knew Azriel like no one else.

Almost a week later, it was the dead of night at the front door, you’d opened it to find Azriel standing in the front porch light in the pouring rain.

“I fucked up”

You face was blank, showing no emotion,

You stepped aside, silently telling him to come in, after sitting down the sofa, tears shone in Azriel’s eyes, he went to talk but you cut him off

“How far did it go?”

“Barley anywhere.” He rushed out “she went to kiss me and I’ve never flinched away from anyway one quickly”

“If that’s so then why haven’t I seen you for a month”

He choked on his tears “I-I don’t know, I wanted to help, I just got so wrapped up in being a…a good-”

“A hero.” You cut him off again, voice as cold as ice

He tears came out faster as he kneeled in front of you, hands on your legs and head in your lap

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he cried over and over “…I almost lost you didn’t I?”

“You says you haven’t?”

The world went still for Azriel

“I’ll do anything, anything! This was never about her, it was about me, me being a monster, me being not good enough for you, I-I brought this for you” he pulled out your favourite cardigan, it was a cream colour, with red lines around the edges and 3 silver stars sewn onto the front

Your face softened, you’d always known this side of Azriel existed but you doubted you’d ever see it, in truth you thought it was locked away deep down inside him, or it has died, yet here it was, vulnerable in front of you clinging onto your cardigan for dear life,

You slowly wrapped it around you and cuddled up to it,

“I’ve neglected you these past weeks, this month, all because of my insecurities and I’ll never forgive myself for it, I don’t expect you to ether but I can say that it’ll never happen again,” still on his knees, he looked deep into your eyes “I promise,” a mark started to appear on his unscarred hand, it swirled around his ring finger and made to like all the way down to his wrist before swirling around that as well, He didn’t even flinch.

“Your all I need, love, forever”

Your exhaled,

Holding his face and leaning his head against yours, he relaxed into your touch,

“I knew you’d come back” you muttered and graceful smile appeared on your face as Azriel stared back almost completely and utterly in love with you,

He picked you up bridal style and placed you in his lap, both of you sat in front of the fire place, and you felt a sense of peace wash over you,

You knew, of course you did,

And finally here his was, back with you in his arms, wearing your favourite Cardigan

[milkytheholy1]

TMNT Masterlist

2003:

Leo:

Third base - Leo x Female Reader

Hey everyone, I currently have two requests left to do but I really want to get some stories that I personally came up with as well. I really want to try writing for different versions of the turts besides 2012 and Rise even if they are my fav versions. Sorry if the character interactions are a bit iffy in this one, I haven't seen much of the 2003 series I'm only up to season 2.

Donnie:

Drawn to you - Donnie x GN Reader

No, the tech-savvy turtle was drawn to you by your persistence, by the way you poured yourself into your work, how you understood the need to complete something no matter how long it took.

Mikey:

Turtle titan to the rescue! - Mikey x Female Reader

Okay so far warning, I haven’t really watched past season 3 of the 2003 series, I have been working my way through it though. So some characters might not sound or act like how they should from the show and I might end up getting some stuff wrong, so sorry in advance. This story will flip between 1st and 3rd person narrative.

2012:

All Turtles:

Turtle Power part 1

What if you included even more turtles in the hit tmnt movie, TMNT:Turtles Forever? This isn't an X Reader fic and takes places in the 2012 universe...well, for the start at least.

Leo:

Dear diary - Leo x GN Reader

Leo practicing how to ask them out with many many scripts for acting in front of a mirror:") or maybe they find out about his diary! You can pick

A confident strut - Leo x GN Reader

Went with the first one since it's been some time since I wrote for my 2012 boy! This is going to be set before the whole sister reveal, but I wanna make it clear that I do not ship Karai and Leo together cause that shit is gross. Enjoy!

I heard you - Leo x Female Reader

The reader,who has a crush on Leo, waits by Leo's side for him to wake up in the farm house and she is so relieved when he wakes up after months

Not traditional - Leo x Male Reader

The reader is giving Leo a whole sexuality crisis so Leo asks April if it's weird for a guy to like another guy and April reassures him that it's perfectly normal, and later that week Leo accidentally slips that he likes (y/n) and in a flash the have this little moment of understanding that they both like each other and want to be more than friends.

Goodbye Leonardo part 1 - Leo x Female Reader

I know what you're thinking, two stories in one night? This is somewhat based on the season four episode: Broken Foot. Also sorry it's so long but I had to fill in some blanks to get to the build-up of the story and sorry for the rushed ending it's currently past midnight where I'm from and I'm very tired.

Goodbye Leonardo part 2 - Leo x Female Reader

Okay, okay, you'll get your stinking part 2. This is probably one of the most requested fics I've ever done, the original intention was to leave it as a standalone fic. But, because you all seem eager for more I eventually broke and decided to do it. This is set a few years after the original and doesn't follow the episode 'Broken Foot' like the original oneshot. In my opinion, it's also waaay more angsty and it might actually be sadder than the first one. So I hope the wait was worth it, enjoy!

Donnie:

Wrong about me - Donnie x Female Reader

Donnie gets cheated on by April and (y/n) finds out and hurts April's feelings then comforts Donnie?

Hot - Donnie x Female Reader

Donnie was talking about some science stuff the last 20 minutes, but reader can't fully pay attention to what he's saying because they're just thinking about his voice, his gestures and everything. They think "don't you realize how hot you are?", but Donnie stops talking and reader realizes they just said that out loud and now they want to die.

Happy birthday - Donnie x GN Reader

it’s the reader’s birthday and the turtles just find out and they have to quickly set up a surprise birthday for the reader.

Well done science boy - Donnie x GN Reader

Had this idea in my head for a few days so thought I'd post it, I wanted to make it a shorter story than what I normally do but I got too lost in it and it ended up being just as long, oops. Hope you enjoy!

Hello nurse - Donnie x Female Reader

Literally did this so I could pull off one reference, that's all. Enjoy!

Raph:

Hots for you - Raph x Female Reader

Raph finds out that his girlfriend is bisexual?

Heard you from a mile away - Raph x GN Reader

not going to lie I had to search up what it meant, decided to do Raph since i've never written for him before in the 2012 version. So if this comes across as out of character, apologies. Anyway, enjoy!

2014/2016: Leo:

Red lips - Leo x Female Reader

“Don’t give me that face, it’s so cute I might not be able to hold back.”

Donnie:

Five years - Donnie x Female Reader

Donnie creates a portal that transports them to 2021.

Five years alt ending - Donnie x Female Reader

It’s weird how many people have asked me for them to have kids, but I guess if that’s what you guys want to see then here is a short version 2, if you will, of five years. Be sure to read the original or it won’t really make much sense, this is just the ending. Enjoy!

Life is a dream part 1 - Donnie x GN Reader

You felt the small vibrations of your phone in your pocket, pulling it out you saw Donnie was once again calling you crap, "H-hey Donnie, I promise I'm on Allen Street. I'm like less than a minute away." you panted into the device. You could hear his sigh through the speaker, "Don't worry about it, I'm just wasting valuable pop tart time." he joked, your laughter was his reward.

Part 2 - Donnie x GN Reader

Speaking of the brothers, Mikey was sat playing some video games while leaning over to slurp his coke, you could hear panting and the sounds of something being destroyed coming from the dojo Raph. Finally taking lighter steps into the lair, you could smell a sweet fragrance waft through the air Leo.

Part 3 - Donnie x GN Reader

"Do you remember that video where the cat plays chopsticks with the chopsticks?" Mikey asked, pushing aside Donnie and getting closer to your face. You flinched at his close proximity, your mind still trying to adjust to your bright surroundings. "Can we focus here?" Leo argued, pulling Mikey away from you, he securely wrapped his arm around his younger brother in case he felt the need to jump at you again.

Final part - Donnie x GN Reader

"What?" he asked, "Can I ask you something?" You pondered why you were willing to tell Raph some of your deep, dark thoughts and not someone like Donatello "It's a free country," he quipped going back to his knitting. "Right," you said, glancing down to avoid making eye contact "It's just that...do you think- feel like something is off?"

Mikey:

Parading in style - Mikey x Male Reader

So I don’t know much about pride parades in NYC but I can only imagine they’re triple the ones from where I’m from, I’m also not going to give you a description of Mikey’s human form as that can be up to you. I’ve learned from experience that everyone has a different view of these characters and it’s unfair to the reader to force them to take my view of what he could look like, so yeah he looks like whatever you want him to. Hope you enjoy!

Raph:

A cold night in new  - Raph x Female Reader

Reader's apartment building's heat went out during a really chilly spring day, so when raph comes over he's all like "why tf does she have the thermostat on 5 degrees", but then he finds her cuddled up with tons of blankets on the couch, watching tv. after turning down the volume, reader explains the situation with the heat while shivering and clutching the blankets. raph has a brilliant plan for this.

Begging - Raph x Female Reader

Bayverse Raph and his S.O get into a huge fight and he hurts her feelings and Raph found her on the rooftop crying and he asks for forgiveness

Seeing you - Raph x Female Reader

The reader feels invisible and lonely, so she confides in Raph and telling him how her current boyfriend is using and abusing her. Then later on Raph confesses his feelings for the reader but her abusive boyfriend catches the reader and raph together.

I promise - Raph x Female Reader

The reader has scars from her mother and she shows Raph while crying about them and Raph listens and comforts her.tumblr

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

I love your TMA swap AU so much and love seeing posts about it

do you like, have any more info on it you haven’t shared yet?!? you don’t have to share if you want to, it just kinda consumed my mind 👉👈

CRASHING IN AT LIGHTNING SPEEDS

I absolutely have info and I love talking about it — It’s consumed my mind as well!

I realise I haven’t really talked about one of the key aspects of the AU which is Elias and his slow descent into becoming a vessel for Jonah Magnus, albeit with a twist.

I’m always particularly fond of Swap AUs that really play around with the idea of characters in different roles, and for Elias, that meant he couldn’t simply be the Archivist. While Jon’s story revolves around humanity, Elias’ story in this AU is more an exploration of identity and how the lines blur.

I had to play around a bit with canon, give reason as to why Jonah hasn’t just taken Elias as his vessel yet or taken someone else, and is having to retreat to his old body, using the last few years it has left in it. The idea I settled on was that his vessels need to be specific, preferably someone already touched by the Eye, and a body who he Knows can withstand the shift. These potential vessels aren’t as common but he knows one will been drawn to the Institute eventually.

The problem with Elias Bouchard, is that he still has people left who would notice the change, people he’s close to - Sasha, Tim, Gwendolyn, etc. I have mentioned before that this is why he was made Head Archivist. The Archive is the most dangerous place to work and the easiest place to set Elias on the course of becoming an Avatar himself, making him even more suitable, and isolating him, whether it be through his friends dying, or him isolating himself due to the stress and/or paranoia. Anything like that really.

And, while he isn’t the Archivist, he does develop his own set of abilities, more centred on Watching, similar to Jonah. In late s2 for example, his eyes have started to adjust to Seeing, and he becomes distinctly aware of Not-Sasha, hence his attempt at attacking her with a metal pipe.

He doesn’t view these abilities as negatively as you’d think really, namely because they give him a sense of purpose, a feeling of importance and power which he has longed for his whole life. He often believes he deserved better than what he has, deserves to be respected, stemming from his relationship with his father. He only realises a little too late that what’s happening to him isn’t a good thing, and that he’s losing the people he cares most about.

It’s during his coma in s4 that the identity aspect truly comes into play.

Jonah decides this is the perfect chance to take Elias’ body, and Martin is left with the task, mainly due to Jon being in jail and Martin’s ability to go unnoticed. This is one of the things Martin would really rather avoid doing but Jon asked, and so he obliges.

It doesn’t… work out though. He’s only able to replace one eye — very clumsily at that — before someone walks in, and while they don’t see Martin, they do see the mess he’s left behind.

Elias unfortunately wakes up not long after, and Jonah decides to put the other eye on hold for a short while. He’s… curious, really. He wants to Know what will happen, what this will feel like for the both of them.

S4 is probably my favourite era of the AU solely for the exploration of Elias and Jonah and how the other characters interact with that. They don’t know what’s happened to Elias, a man who had looked an absolute mess for months, suddenly looking pristine, with his hair cut short — he’s always hated short hair — and an eye that definitely isn’t his own. I should add, before now, he’s never gone by Elias. He never liked it, mainly due to the disappointed or angry tones it was often said in by family. He insisted on being called Eli, but, in s4, suddenly he’s rather insistent on going by Elias.

It’s disturbing, to say the least, and the thing is, he’s aware something is wrong, aware he’s acting differently, that his dominant hand has changed from right to left, that his wants and beliefs are being clouded by something else, but he doesn’t know what’s happening anymore, and he doesn’t know how to convey his own distress. He’s acting in ways he otherwise wouldn’t, and it just comes naturally to him. Anytime he even considers breaking down, begging someone to hear him, to recognise he’s just as scared as they are, he’s struck with the thought he doesn’t want to do that.

Everyone tells him he’s changed, and he knows, and he can’t do anything about it.

I’ve wrote a lot already so I’ll probably go more in depth on that another time, but for now, I did actually start writing a Transcript Style thing for an interaction with Gwen, who’s convinced her brother has been replaced entirely, so I’ll share a snippet of that!

I am so very normal about the Swap!Siblings <- lying so badly

[strawbrygashez]

A few random Horrid Henry hcs :3

Warning tho I haven’t seen every single episode yet (I’m working on it) so maybe some don’t make sense or whatever 🤷‍♀️

•Henry and Ralph share new bands/music they find all the time. They trade cds or just listen to music they wanna share with the other, together! Music is one of the biggest things they bond over. Henry was particularly excited to find out someone liked the same type of music as him because alternative music is one of his special interests. He could talk about his favorite bands for hours!!!

•Henry has sensory issues. They even say two of them in the theme song, brushing his hair and washing his face. Yeah, yeah u can say it’s just cuz he’s a kid but whatever.

With the hair brushing thing in particular, I think that’s why his hair is always drawn as wavy/messy. His parents ended up just mostly giving up on trying to get him to brush his hair because it would usually end up with him getting overwhelmed and angry. So now they usually only ask him to when they are going somewhere ‘nice’. That or Henry barely brushes it every day and they just give up and say it’s good enough.

•The sweater Henry always wears is his favorite sensory wise. Yes, I know it’s just cartoon logic that he wears the same clothes everyday but again, I don’t care. I think he’d even learn how to sow a little to fix up any really bad rips in it. Knowing his mom, she probably would try to get rid of it and tell him he has other clothes he needs to wear but that causes like, the biggest breakdown ever with Henry so she gives in and lets him keep it.

•For some reason I see Henry liking to wear TONS of bracelets. Maybe to fidget with or just cuz he likes the look or feel of them. Some would be ones he made and others would be stuff like band or tv show merch. I also see him liking fingerless gloves.

•In his teen years I see him messing around with hair dye a lot. Some looks were better than others. Sometimes he would let his roots grow out for months or a year and other times would dye his hair like.. every other week. He dyed Ralph’s hair black a couple times. (💔rip book emo Ralph)

•The more fantasy type things that are shown in the show are just Henrys imagination (for the most part I guess). Like the cat controlling day and night and him turning into animals when he gets extremely frustrated.

•Can barely sit ‘right’ to save his life. I know this in particular wasn’t shown in the show from what I’ve seen but I feel like when he’s genuinely just upset and not angry, he curls up into a ball and hides somewhere small :,/

•He’s very smart! Not just when it comes to plans. I feel like once he gets older, I could see him expressing himself very poetically in writing. I think he has a lot he’s kept inside and would word it all very nicely in writing.

I mostly think this because of a clip I saw where he was trying to explain to Peter how nothing in life is fair. Like yes some of what he was complaining during it was ‘normal’ stuff kids don’t like but I think it’s much more impactful because he’s clearly undiagnosed with something. Things that are ‘little’ to most people like going to school, eating certain things, and etc are worse for him but almost no one will take him seriously. Life isn’t fair for him at all since no one will genuinely listen to him, he has to find his own ways to cope or get over whatever life throws at him which is a lot for a kid.

[meanscarletdeceiver]

Hc for Edwards coaches? Its weird to me that we know nothing about them

Oh, there’s a short answer to this: Edward doesn’t have a dedicated set of coaches.

(But I'm gonna make this a long answer, because I can’t help myself)

He’s not in Thomas or Duck’s position for much of canon. The ‘Locals’ we see him taking would have coaches drawn from the main line common pool. There are two push-pull trains for the bulk of Brendam line stopping traffic but, obviously, Edward doesn’t handle them.

He probably could have a dedicated long-term set of coaches for the Tidmouth-Brendam fast but, well, here’s the thing. One, those twice daily trains are not exclusively his because he’s very ready to offer them to a visitor who shows any interest (if they’re capable — Edward did learn something from the affair of Thomas and his trucks lol).

But there’s also the matter that, after a while with a steady rake on the Tidmouth-Brendam route, Edward is awfully prone to arranging for some other set of coaches that he notices is under-utilised getting to take over the job in turn.

Given his own experience out of service, he’s very sensitive to that sort of thing. It makes him great at managing coaching stock on the Wellsworth and Suddery section as a whole. They have a bit of an excess coaches, including a good many survivors from the N.W.R.’s earliest days (some of these survived because Edward discreetly hoarded them during the worst days of the Depression... and then helpfully procured them in good working order when WWII hit... and sometimes hid them again, in the early days of nationalisation, until things settled down...), and they’re kept around to deal with special charters and periods of higher traffic. Edward’s very good at keeping an eye on their maintenance and matchmaking temporary/visiting/new engines with coaches that they will work well with (and mediating, on the rare occasion when it’s a mismatch).

As a result of all this, coaches in his sphere have great affection and respect for Edward — but, over the years, he has at times had a “To know what we want, you do need to sometimes Ask Us and then Actually Listen” problem.

Not everyone wants to wake up early every possible day and push themselves a little behind their limits forever and ever and ever. Most vintage coaches do not actually secretly pine for a turn on the Brendam fast, with its sprint down a fifth of a main line and the sharp turn onto the branch combining to make your vacuum start to really tear into you if you have to do it too often. Thanks for thinking of us, but some of us are perfectly content only working three months out of the year. No, we don’t feel this way because we’re depressed, the problem is not that we’ve been neglected and given up, because we haven’t a problem and this isn’t actually about you, dear. (Edward, with his engine brain: '... impossible!...') Sometimes there is a set of coaches that are actually amenable to being retired (!) and Edward has had to learn to, y’know, accept that, rather than try to “fix” things. (He has so many resources these days to fix these things! It’s never been easier to fix these things! It’s ever so much easier to fix things than coming to grips with others having different ideas about (im)mortality than you do…!)

[jreads]

A Total Coincidence (Part 01)

Rating: totally family friendly 👍🏼

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings: Foul language, Mentions of blood, It's pretty angsty

A/N: OHHHHH we're so back. If you're new here, welcome. If not, welcome back! I am extremely excited for this. Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated. You can comment on this post or the masterlist to be added to the taglist!

You work a tiring and thankless corporate job. It pays well but it’s draining. You put a façade on in the office, one of polite, unruffled professionalism, but it slips quite quickly as soon as you push your way through the polished revolving glass doors of the modern high-rise.

He knows all of this because he watches you.

It’s not creepy, he attempts to convince himself, because he goes to that coffee shop too. The cozy, dim-lit one that overlooks your place of work. Granted, he used to only go once every blue moon. He’s there far more often now, in a darkened back booth, at the same time in the day. 

A total coincidence.

Simon Riley never used to spend a lot of time in London. He has a permanent address there, under a fake name, just to smooth over certain legalities. He never bothered too much with the details. In between assignments he comes back to ensure everything is as it should be, and to water the small cactus on the windowsill, a joking gift from MacTavish following their op in Las Almas. It’s one of those low-maintenance ones; you should soak the soil once every two months just to ensure it doesn’t turn a duller shade of green. Simon is half certain he could feed the thing gasoline and it would still flourish. But he liked his routine. It was touch and go, busy, never too much time in one place. The injury threw a damn wrench in it all.

The team had been deployed somewhere in the South American jungle, attempting to uncover part of an elusive arms trafficking operation. While the job had been successful, Ghost had been rewarded with one in the gut. Hemorrhage, internal bleeding, the works. They had patched him up real well, but the Captain had insisted he take some time, at least until after Christmas. He hadn’t wanted to. There’s nothing to do. It gets all too quiet when he is left to his own devices. He gets restless. But in this café, under warm string lights and surrounded by chatter, it isn’t as lonely. Especially for the ten minutes just after 17:00 hours when you come in to place your order.

He isn’t entirely sure what had drawn him to you in the first place. I could have been any number of things. The light gait of your walk, the way you struggle with the heavy door, your sweet voice, or the way you treat the serving staff. They all like you. Especially the ginger kid with the glasses… he likes you a bit too much. It could have been the way you shrug off your blazer in the late summer heat, folding it into the crook of your elbow and rolling your neck. It could have been the way you usually fumble to hold everything in one hand, always one cup, one paper bag, along with your purse, jacket, blue light glasses. Peppermint tea, he had found out when he had walked too closely past you one day. You were delicately trying to pry the lid from your cup to let the drink cool and—even through the mask—he had smelled the fresh aroma of it. He lists all the possible causes of his interest as if there is some hidden, puzzling meaning behind them. Realistically, it’s probably just because he finds you real fucking pretty.

Whatever the reason, he has formed some strange one-sided connection with you. You haven’t noticed him, maybe you never will, because he sits in the darkest corner of the shop, hood pulled over his head and medical mask in place whenever he isn’t eating or drinking. He’s been reading a lot recently, James Patterson, John le Carré, but George R. R. Martin is his current. It’s a welcome change of pace. And a good excuse to spend the bulk of the afternoon here, nursing a black coffee and croissant BLT. 

It's still summer and in central London, it’s sweltering. The café has their AC blasting, but as the sun dips low between the buildings it reflects off city glass and into the tiny shop, heating it like a microwave. The warmth feels oppressive today, even with his change to an iced coffee. The hoodie doesn’t help. That’s one of the only downsides of being here; he can’t shuck the damn hoodie. The tattoos would draw enough eyes, but the scars would make people stare. If there’s one thing he can’t stand, it’s people not minding their bloody business.

The ginger kid, Harvey, as his name tag says, sets an oscillating fan atop the espresso machine. Fat lot of good it’ll do on a day like this. As if in spite of his inner dialogue, its artificial breeze flutters Simon’s bookmark right off the table and to the wood-panelled floor. Reflexes faster than his memory, he bends down to grab it and bites his tongue to fight back what would have been a rather nasty string of curses. 

“You’ll have to watch it for a bit. No folding forward or back, or to the sides.”

“So I can’t even fucking move now, hey?”

“Just be careful. The stiches should hold, but I don’t want you testing it, alright?”

Well now he had just gone and bloody tested it. Fucking hell. He had copious bandages overtop, but he needed to make sure nothing had pulled. If it had, he’d be sitting in a pool of his own blood by dinnertime. Masking another grunt of pain and fighting off his dizziness, he heads for the bathroom. No one will bother the shit on his table, the employees are usually pretty good about that. 

The fluorescents flicker on automatically as the door shuts. He lifts his hoodie up and inspects the damage. Nothing is showing through, thank fuck. But he bets when he changes the wrappings later tonight, the gauze underneath will probably hold evidence of his stupid mistake. 

He hates it, the wound. And hates himself for it. It’s a reminder that he’s not invincible… that he’s anything but. That despite the skull mask and the layers of armour and the assault rifle slung over his shoulder, he’s only human. Weak. He’s had injuries before, stabs and slashes and broken bones. But none quite so severe as one well-placed gunshot wound. Usually he bounces back pretty fast, but this time…

Simon hates the paleness of the face in the mirror. He thinks, just for a moment, of throwing his fist into the glass, just to rid himself of the reflection. Opting instead for a frustrated sigh, he rearranges the sweatshirt once more before throwing the door open and rounding the corner, stopping just inches from where you lean against the wall, waiting on the barista.

Fuck, he hadn’t even noticed the time. Your back is to him and you’re on your phone, texting away. He snoops, just a little. He’ll reprimand himself for it later. It’s your mother. She’s asking if you’ve eaten and sending pictures of a mischievous looking grey cat. He watches your shoulders shake in a light laugh. There’s a lock of hair obscuring the pulse in your neck and he wants to brush it away.

Enough, you bloody creep.

“Pardon,” he mumbles, pushing past you.

“Sorry.” You press yourself close to the wall as he moves, barely looking up from the screen. He can smell your fragrance. You’re so small compared to him; he can’t stop himself from picturing what his hand would look like splayed possessively over the small of your back.

Fucking hell, he needs to stop.

You’re oblivious to his thought process, engrossed still in the conversation with your mum. Only when the employee says your name do you look up, smiling even wider and profusely thanking as you reach for your cup. He likes your name, he thinks. It suits you. What would it sound like on his tongue if he said it aloud?

He’s going bloody soft. Simon theorizes that Johnny is largely to blame. He had been introverted before that op, preferring to work alone, avoiding interaction with others unless completely necessary. Since then, he found himself missing the raucous laughter of the task force, the cracking of army humor jokes. He couldn’t find it in himself to care much, though. After all, it’s not like it was making him any worse at his job.

His reputation had preceded him in the jungle. Once the cartel had caught wind of 141 touching down, they were talking about him, fear lacing their voices. El Crânio, they called him. The Skull. The kill count had been fucking brutal.

It feels strange to be thinking about that in a place like this. It’s like two different lives that don’t ever intersect. Three even, if he counts his real identity. Ghost, Simon, and William. Will is the name he gives to the barista here, the one on the bills that come to the flat, the one attached to the SIM in his phone, the one on the fake driver’s licence and motorbike certificate in his wallet. He hates it, but he wasn’t the one who got to choose it.

He watches the way you play a coin from your change between your fingers, spinning it over the back of your thumb before catching it. You tend to fiddle with things while you wait: debit card, pens, hair pins, like your hands are aching for something to do. He can empathize. He’s started biting his nails again.

The employees have worked fast today, and you have your tea and biscuit in hand in record time. It almost seems unfair. Five minutes he gets with you, watching at a distance. At least he knows he’ll see you again tomorrow.

And he does. Again and again and again. Over a few weeks, the hole in his gut starts to heal, but it’s replaced with a new one. Something more insistent and far less easy to treat.

One day, you’re late. He starts to ruminate without meaning to but naturally, his mind goes down darker routes. He shakes the unwanted thoughts off, trying not to dwell on just how much they unnerve him. But you show up eventually, smile still plastered on. He wonders if it’s real. 

“They’re extending my day,” you’re telling the server. “Not by much, just one or two hours.” Something about an expedited move from digital to hardcopy files. “At least it’s overtime pay.” 

He doesn’t like it. The days are getting shorter; it’s getting darker earlier. He doesn’t like the idea of you walking home alone in the shadows of the London streets. Crime is on the rise; there’s all sorts lingering around the city at night. But then again, it shouldn’t bother him. It’s not his commute; you’re not his.

He sticks around most days though, just to make sure you get out alright. 

Today is different. It’s different because it’s 19:00 hours and you have dark circles under your eyes and you’re staring at nothing in particular and when the barista hands you your drink you say thank you, but you don’t smile. You always smile. And he’s trying to tell himself that it’s none of his business, that it’s not his problem but it is. Suddenly, it’s his biggest problem.

He holds the door open for you as you leave because it’s all he can do. You thank him, quietly, but don’t even look up from the floor. He won’t follow you; that’s crossing a line, a breach of privacy. So, he turns towards his own flat, looking back only once to see you disappear behind a street corner.

He sees your haggard face in his dream that night.

The next few days are more of the same. Even the coffee shop employees are starting to talk about it. How you look tired, shaky. Harvey talks about asking for your number as a way to cheer you up. The baristas all shut him down pretty quickly.

Weeks pass. He’s almost done the Game of Thrones series. But you’re only getting worse.

It’s October now, and the autumn chill is starting to set in. You wear a black trench over your office clothes, tugging it closed to fight the cold of the wind. Your eyes look bloodshot, hollow, like it’s been weeks since you’ve slept. He knows the look intimately; he sees it enough in the mirror. Ginge has asked for your number anyway, and you’ve politely declined. Ever the diplomat. He feels bad for smiling at the dismayed look on the boy’s face. Luckily, it hides behind his mask.

It rains the next day. Torrentially. It’s the kind that can dampen a thick cotton sweater within seconds, so he begrudgingly takes an umbrella with him. The shop is warm and ambient, a world within a world. The coffee tastes better on a day like today, warm, bitter, and reviving. He loses himself in his book, looking up only to realize that it’s passed your time. He thinks for a moment that he might have missed you, but that’s impossible. He could have blindfolds on and still feel your presence. 

You haven’t shown up. There’s a twist of something akin to anguish in his chest and he tells himself to calm down. Maybe they kept you late; you’ll show up eventually.

Except you don’t. 

Soon, the workers are wiping down tables and raising chairs. He has no choice but to abandon his station and venture back out into the cold. Something is off. It might seem silly, but he’s learned never to discount his hunches. So, he sets up camp in the courtyard, umbrella obscuring what little is visible of his face, and he waits. And waits. And waits. 

It’s nearing 22:00 hours when you finally exit the elevators and break for the revolving doors. He knows something is wrong immediately, your feet are moving too fast and you’re casting glances over your shoulder as if you’re being followed. As soon as you exit the building you’re running, as fast as your heeled pumps can allow.

“Fucking hell.” He’s up within seconds, umbrella closed and leaving him open to the onslaught of rain. He jogs to try and keep up, a safe distance behind but you’re too fast. By the time he rounds the corner, he’s lost you.

He’s checking each cross street, turning back on himself. The patter of raindrops is almost deafening, the cabs sending sprays of sludge up from the gutters as they race down the laneway. But through it all—as he’s been trained to—he hears sounds of a struggle. A scream, half muffled. It’s yours. He knows it immediately. Simon follows it as if he’s tracking you. One block north, one west. A half. Retracing his steps. There’s no sounds past the slick splash of car tires on wet asphalt. An alley lies to his left, no streetlights. He’s about to venture down it when you come hurtling around the corner, straight into his chest. Your coat is ripped, hair soaking, and he swears there’s blood on your clothes. Your tired eyes are panicked and laced with fear, looking at him with desperation. He doesn’t have time to be shocked. Because from behind you comes a hooded man, tall build, muscular, though not nearly as big as him. Taking hold of your forearm, he draws you behind him. The man pauses.

“Can I help you?” Simon asks. His voice is anything but friendly. The man seems to size him up and decide the fight is unwise, turning on his heel and walking briskly back the way he came. Good. He’d go after the guy, but he sure as shit isn’t leaving you alone in the middle of the street.

You ‘re clinging to the sleeve of his hoodie and shaking like a leaf. He has slid into that lethal calm familiar to field work, assessing the location, noting information, protecting. Once the man is out of sight, he’s got your face in his hands and your skin is so soft but so cold.

“You alright?” he asks, already fully aware of the answer. You can’t even speak, barely looking at him, just back down the alley as if your pursuer might remerge. Shock, he thinks. What was he supposed to do with a civvy in shock? Get them to a safe place, speak calmly and stably, check for injury. 

“Right, come on.” He pulls you lightly by the arm and you follow without much resistance, probably too weak to refuse. Like hell he’s letting you go anywhere by yourself right now. It’s almost unsettling how small your wrist feels in his hand, fragile, too easily breakable. 

His flat is warm, but you’re still shivering. Simon had deposited you on the couch after helping you shrug out of your destroyed jacket. A blanket sits around your shoulders now, and the kettle is boiling. He’s retrieved his somewhat depleted med kit from the bathroom, kneeling on the floor in front of you. Distantly, he curses himself for not replenishing bandages from the drugstore. There’s a nasty cut on your upper arm, open and bleeding, a knife slash. Anger isn’t something he can afford to feel right now.

“Let’s have a look,” he says, more to himself then anything. You haven’t said a word to him. But when he dabs at the wound with clean gauze, you grasp at his forearm, inhaling sharply. 

“I know. I gotta clean and stitch it though, alright?” He’s never been great at patch ups, but he has been trained. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but you can’t keep bleeding either. Fucking hell, he wishes he had gentler hands. Or something stronger than ibuprofen. 

“You drink?” he offers. You nod. Good enough. He brings you back a glass of whiskey. You down it, wincing at the strength, offering the empty glass back to him. He takes it, placing it on the low table before assessing you again. 

Clean. Disinfect. Needle, thread, vertical mattress stich. Under up, under down and tie off. This would be a breeze for the field medic. But his fingers are thick and much less nimble. You keep clutching at his arm through the sleeve, squeezing to stave off some of the pain. His eyes flicker up occasionally to check your face, but your own are tightly shut. He can tell you’re gritting your teeth, but you barely make a sound. Impressive, though it’s probably partially due to adrenaline. He ties off the final stitch. “Done.”

When you open your eyes there’s relief in them. And a loosening of tense muscles that is worrisome because it’s happening too fast. Your upper body is swaying, and your features are going unfocused, and he knows what happens next. 

He manages to cradle your head just before it hits the arm of the sofa.

Bloody fucking hell.

You wake up in a bed that isn’t yours. 

It’s plain. In fact, the whole room is. Grey-brown drywall and exposed brick. White sheets, white bedspread. The only real piece of décor is a bookshelf, spanning a considerable length of the wall, practically exploding with titles. What the hell? 

You rise onto your elbows only to gasp in pain. 

It’s a nasty looking cut, red and swollen around the edges but tied together with neat stitches. The sight of it opens a floodgate of memories, one after the other, ending with the man who saved you, shrouded in darkness.

Shit. This wasn’t good. None of this was good. You need your phone, but all of your belongings had been in your handbag, lost in that alley. You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, onto cool tile. Tiptoe out the doorway, taking in pieces of the quiet apartment as you go. Industrial design, morning light, a view of the city, a tiny cactus on the sill.

“You’re awake.” The Manchester accent is heavy and laced with concern. You spin on the source only to stop dead. 

His brown hair is so light it might as well be blonde, eyes dark with the shadow of lowered brows, skin peppered with pale pink scars. Prominent ones over his left eyebrow and bottom lip. The hint of a tattoo peeking out the collar of his t-shirt. Though eerily beautiful, his face is one that might send people running. But you find you aren’t afraid of him, not in the slightest.

“You wanna tell me what happened back there?”

If you liked it, please let me know! 🩶

[cloversugar]

i haven’t drawn in forever because i lack motivation (kind of) and also my ipad is seven (7) years old and really slow and miserable but months ago i told my best friend i would draw us as little farmers on our co-op farm and then didn’t finish it until three minutes ago. also i don’t know what happened to the quality guess i’ll just die </3

i haven’t done any digital work in probably about a year (?) so i wanted to keep it simple and not go too crazy. just cute and silly!!!! but we also opened our farm up to her partner and our other friend so there’s actually four of us now that i might need to draw too because they’re cool people and the farm is more fun with them around!!!!!

[niallsgoldhoop]

Chapter Seven

Wren

“I saw the changes you made to the list.”

Using the spoon in my hand, I scoop up a piece of chocolate cake from the plate that sits between us before eating the bite of decadent dessert.

Niall watches me, his deep blue eyes dropping down to my lips for just a moment. “You’ve got— Right there.”

Heat floods my cheeks as I wipe at the corner of my mouth hoping to get the remnant of chocolate off my face. Only when I look back across the table, he only shakes his head with his perfect lips drawn in a soft smile.

“Here.” Leaning over, my breath catches in my throat when Niall drags his thumb just under my bottom lip, the moment so small yet leaving a trail of fire across my skin. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

As he sits back in his chair, my eyes follow his movement as he lifts his finger to his mouth, his tongue darting out to taste the sweet treat. A low, satisfied hum falls from the back of his throat for only a moment before reaching for his own spoon from our shared dessert.

“Tastes divine, don’t you think?” Those eyes sparkle under the lights.

Clearing my throat and shaking my head, anything to get myself out of the spell I’ve been put under, I nod. “Yeah, it’s great.”

Niall’s focus goes to the plate in front of us which gives me the chance to take him in. Wearing the short sleeve pink shirt, the gold of the thin chain around his neck glitters against the low lights— just like the two gold hoops through his ears.

When he cuts a piece of the cake off, even the simple movement showcases the ripple of the vein in his forearm under his skin.

Niall Horan really is… Yeah.

I almost didn’t even show up tonight.

The note left in my desk had his messy scrawl on it telling me when and where to meet him. It was right on top of my desk along with the list of rules that I’d printed off for him.

Only now there were doodles and that same messy scrawl scratched along the edges along with a handwritten list of his own rules along the bottom.

As ridiculous as they seemed, not to mention his changes, there was no way I was going to argue with them.

Niall didn’t have to be tied to me for the next few months to trick my family into thinking I was in a happy relationship. We barely even knew each other other than what google told me about him and what he could probably find out from my social media if he even cared to look at it.

My sister had already planned for me to have a plus one in a million different circumstances so the thought of having to tell her that my plans changed made me nauseous.

If anything it would send Jenna into a tailspin.

Then everything would be my fault, just like it always is.

“I figured those changes wouldn’t be so bad.” Raising his eyebrow at me, Niall drags his spoon through the chocolate on the plate. “Besides if we are going to make this believable— we’re going to have to put in actual effort.”

My entire life I’ve hated being wrong and right now is no exception.

“Fine.” Crossing my arms and leaning back in my chair, I level my gaze with his. “We can abide by the amended rules but no other changes.”

“So, girlfriend—“ His smile makes me want to punch him. “Tell me every detail I need to know about you.”

Blue eyes pour into mine as I squirm in my seat, hating the attention. “There’s nothing to know really.”

“I think you’re wrong.” He smiles. “I think there are endless things you could tell me about yourself and I wouldn’t get tired of learning.”

Rolling my eyes, I look down at my glass of water. “You’re just saying that because you have to say that.”

“Wren, look at me.”

The low timbre of his voice draws my eyes back to his, a softness I’ve never seen there, just for me.

“I promise you when I say that just because we decided to do this as a team— It doesn’t mean that I don’t want to know you.” Niall runs his hand through his dark hair. “You haven’t told me the whole story of your life and your family, and that’s okay. But I want to be here for you, I want to know you.”

Sincerity drips off his words like a sweet honey in the summer, something that feels so foreign to me.

It feels like a lifetime I’ve spent as the black sheep and the loner, the person who doesn’t mind being on the sidelines.

Watching people step around me like I was invisible felt fine until it had me crying in the closet at work.

I was still fine.

I was still strong.

But as I open up a little bit and start talking to Niall, the way he looks at me like his favorite book of poetry stirs up an emotion I can’t nail down, one I’ve never felt before.

So for what feels like the first time in a long time, I decided that letting someone in might not be all bad.

It might just be my favorite thing yet.

_________

“You did so good!”

Wiping the sweat from across my forehead, I look at Marcy like she has two extra heads and at least twelve arms.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” My breath is still ragged from the kickboxing class she managed to talk me into. “I need a breathing treatment and a dozen margaritas.”

Stretching her arms above her head, she looks perfectly poised. “I can get down with the margaritas for sure.”

Marcy was my best friend.

Really, my only friend.

My circle was small and I was okay with that.

We met in college and have been nearly inseparable ever since.

While I got my degree in marketing, she got hers in teaching. The two of us couldn’t be any more different but at the same time that’s why our friendship works the way it does.

We just click.

“Or ice cream. I could go for some ice cream.” With my hands on my hips, I take a deep breath.

Macy points at me. “Sold to the brunette.”

Reaching out, I laugh as I push her hand away before we make our way to the locker room of the gym to grab my stuff.

Bernie’s is only a block away and with the warmer weather hanging one for just a little while longer, we decide to walk and enjoy the breeze over our skin. Once I’ve got my waffle cone stuffed with ice cream and we sit at a bistro table outside, only then does everything seem right in the world.

With everything going on with Jenna and the wedding we haven’t been able to see each other very much.

If at all.

“So how is everything going with the evil sister?” Taking a bite out of her chocolate ice cream, her eyes meet mine. “Have you told her to go tuck herself yet?”

I can’t help the laugh that falls from my lips as I shake my head. “No, but I wish.”

“Seriously like, not only are you dealing with her but Lucas too? He’s even worse if that was possible.” She mutters.

“I don’t know.” Pushing a chunk of cookie dough around on the end of my spoon, I blow out a breath. “Now that I see him for what he’s worth, it feels like him and Jenna make the perfect couple.”

“You should take me as a date to the wedding.” Pointing her spoon towards herself, Macy smiles. “I’ll get wasted and throw up in her dress for you.”

Looking down into my bowl, I can’t help but bite in the inside of my lip. “Actually, I kind of have a date.”

“What?” Sitting up and putting her ice cream down, Macy stares at me. “Wren… What are you not telling me?”

“So maybe my boss found me crying in a closet and somehow saved me from utter humiliation and we are sort of fake dating until everything is over.” Putting my cup next to hers, I bury my face in my hands. “It’s literally a whole fucking thing. With rules, Mace! Rules!”

“Oh my god.” Peeking through my fingers, her face is one of total shock. “Are you talking about like, Rory? The guy who runs everything?”

“No.” I groan. “It’s not.”

“If it’s not him then— Holy fucking shit, Wren.” Realization dawns on her. “Niall Horan? The Niall Horan?! You’ve got to be shitting me!”

“That’s the one.” I squeak.

She squeals as she reaches across the table and playfully shoves my shoulder. “You’ve been holding out on me with this?! Wren, he’s like— Have you seen him?”

“I have, a few times.” Laughing, I finish off my ice cream. “It’s not a big deal. Everything is strictly for the wedding stuff and I have to go to a few work events with him. No feelings, no attachments.”

“Oh this is going to be so good.” Crossing her arms a sly smile pulls at the corner of her lips.

A crease cuts between my brows as I stack our trash together. “What?”

“Nothing.” Macy stands up with me as we walk to the trash and then start our trek back to our cars. “I’m just writing my speech in my head for when I have to speak at your wedding.”

“Stop!” I laugh. “It’s not like that. Yeah, Niall is— He’s— Okay, he’s attractive and incredibly nice… But it’s not going to go anywhere. It can’t.”

Rolling her eyes, she bumps my shoulder. “May I ask why?”

“I don’t know— It just can’t. He’s just helping me out and trust me, he wouldn’t ever actually be into me.” I kick a pebble along the sidewalk. “Niall is a whole famous golfer who owns the place where I work— Not just like he’s another coworker. Besides, who would actually want to try and date the same girl who spilled an entire jar of pickles on them?”

Reaching into her bag and unlocking her car, Macy stands behind the open driver's side as she looks at me. “Wren, literally anyone would be crazy to not fall for you. I know that you feel like it’s not possible that someone would find you perfect— But you are wrong and I’ll be here to tell you ‘I told you so’ as many times as you want when you realize that.”

“Stop being nice.” I say, opening my own door. “I’m leaving before you get too nice. Text me when you get home?”

Climbing into her car, she calls out an ‘I love you’. “Yes, mother.”

Driving home, her words bounce around in my head and even after I’ve taken a shower and packed my lunch for work, they are still playing on repeat.

So much so that I pull out my phone and open the text thread with Niall’s name at the top, his last text sitting at the bottom without an answer from me.

Away on a business trip, it took me by surprise when the picture came in yesterday, the pinks and oranges of a sunset along with a sandwich sat on the table in front of him.

A reminder of how he found me not that long ago when I needed an escape.

I focus on the words under the picture, the ones that I’ve tried to figure out a response to at least a million times.

Niall

The sandwich just doesn’t taste the same without someone else here.

Just like every other time I’ve tried, I type out a response only to delete it and back out of the messages.

I couldn’t let myself get invested.

I wouldn’t let myself get invested.

—————

eeeeeep !!!!!

-a 🍀