#a different fic on my phone

[flowerywhispers]

I had a really vivid daydream that I read a fic where there was one of Bingge’s wives who was like, reincarnated/ time traveled back to when Shen Qingqiu was taken in as prisoner

She’d been a brothel worker and Bingge paid off her debt and then some in exchange for her hand in marriage and she couldn’t say no for the sake of her sisters but she’d known Shen Qingqiu as Shen Jiu because she worked in the warm red pavilion at one point and she didn’t know that Shen Qingqiu was the same person as Shen Jiu because she transferred to another brothel or something?

Not important, in short, she felt that she was in indebted to him as the person who had taught her how to read and write and cultivate to a level high enough that her aging was stunted so that she could pay off her and her mother’s debt. Anyways, she died in her first life helping Shen Qingqiu escape but her soul lingered or something and she found out that he got recaptured and essentially got so distraught she was given a chance to fix things?

So she went back, took advantage of Bingge’s assumptions about Shen Jiu to make it so that he would rather humiliate Shen Jiu? I don’t remember the specifics but Bingge forces Cang Qiong to hand Shen Qingqiu over to be kept as one of Bingge’s brides. He was still tortured even as a wife ofc but he kept his limbs and eye and tongue and such. There was just a really heavy focus on humiliation. I think he was referred to as Shen Fei? F something

At some point, Bingge makes Shen Jiu start to dance for him and his court (something about retribution for the brother workers that he ‘looked down on’ and making him their equal?) and so Shen Jiu got stuck with the wife from the beginning to teach him to dance because Shen Jiu was 1) too prideful to dance being so inexperienced and 2) Bingge would use his blood parasites each time Shen Jiu refused or didn’t do well. So, they start bonding through Shen Jiu being taught to dance

They start dancing together in court at one point? And Bingge starts off pleased because Shen Jiu isn’t resisting and then gets pissed because Shen Jiu isn’t resisting but also that Shen Jiu is really nice and soft with that one wife. I’m p sure they fell in love too? But SJ was in denial because he’s always thought of most women as sisters at most and the wife is already aware but thinks SJ just wouldn’t return the affection or wouldn’t be in the right mind to do so? Something like that?

And SJ gets turned into a girl for a little while at some point courtesy of Bingge but idk what was going on there

Anyways, the torture gets worse to the point that the wife goes out of her way to find something that nullifies the effects of heavenly demon blood? And then they escape?

And then I tried to bookmark it and came to and realised that I’d imagined the entire thing

[icewindandboringhorror]

I know this is just a silly bad quality random screencap of a screencap that I found on facebook lol, BUT it's a succinct enough image to easily describe the concept in a quick/accessible way hopefully :

-

(and of course, feel free to elaborate in tags, etc.! (especially elaborating about other senses as well.. can you "hear" in your mind just as well as you can "see"? taste? etc.) It's an interesting topic to me, as someone who's like a 4.5 at MOST lol. I'm curious what option will be the most common :0c )

[avelnfear]

This is a snippet that might someday make it into my fic.

“He’s the least dangerous one.” Jason snorted at Ra’s Al Ghul’s words. “He’s the civilian in a family of Bats.” Jason let out a short laugh, clamping his mouth shut as soon as he heard his voice. He was clearly struggling to hold in his laughter, but no one could deduce why. “By taking all of you first we have taken away his support, making it easy to deal with him.”

Anyone who knew Ra’s Al Ghul knew that he’d just told them that he’d captured the heroes and then ordered the death of a person they’d left behind. By the destroyed look on all but one of the heroes faces, this person would be dearly missed.

Jason tried to keep from laughing, he really did, but the combined looks of horror on his family’s faces and the smugness coming from a man who was so very wrong proved to be too much. He burst into laughter so hard that one might think he’d been hit with Joker’s Gas. The room’s occupants looked at him with varying levels of confusion, concern, and disbelief.

When his laughter didn’t dissipate for a long time, Ra’s became angry. “What do you find so funny? You’ve just been informed that your beloved will be killed, and you find that funny?” His tone was biting even in his clear confusion.

Abruptly, Jason stoped laughing. The change was so sudden that it was unnerving. Several people, captive or otherwise jolted with the jarring shift in attitude as all amusement had left Jason’s face.

“I don’t find it funny.” Jason leaned forward as much as the chains binding him would allow, locking eyes with Ra’s, his face deadly serious. “I find it fucking hilarious.” Jason waited until Ra’s opened his mouth to continue as everyone else watched in stunned silence. “You think he’s the normal one, the civilian in a group of heroes. You think he’s not very dangerous if dangerous at all. You think your assassins can do anything to him. You think he needs us for support. You think you’ll be able to kill him. You think you are safe. You think he’ll never be able to find you. You think you’ve won.” Jason’s voice was soft and quiet yet piercing. He leaned back, expression blank. “As for me? Of course I don’t find it funny. The sheer amount of things your wrong about it hilarious all on its own, without any context. I can’t fucking wait to see the look on your face when you find out just how wrong you are. You’ve fucked around, now it’s time to find out. Your brilliant fucking strategy is an absolute shit show because of misinformation. If I were you, I’d start praying, hoping that some god is willing to further piss off the one you call a civilian by protecting your sorry ass to the best of their ability. It might buy you an extra minute to exist.”

There was a massive thud from down the hall, coming from an impact that struck the whole structure. Jason tilted his head down, grin sharp and inhuman and eyes flashing green.

From down the hall was clearly heard, “Cucumber on a stick! I overshot!”

The other captives tensed, that was Danny! What was he doing here? How was he here?

The assassins in the room tensed. That voice belonged to the civilian lover Red Hood was just ranting about. How was he here? How was he still alive?

Ra’s felt something odd swell in his chest, tightening his muscles and making his heart race. He knew it was a civilian on the other side of the door, he knew it. There was nothing special about Danny Nightingale except that he’d changed his name from Daniel Fenton. Then why, why, did Ra’s suddenly feel like prey that had wandered into the path of a predator?

[bbb-bbbbbbb]

touched up some daisy, daisy fanart i made at least a year ago but never got to post

[kinokoshoujoart]

romeo!! or rock….? idk he’s the ds guy. y’know

[youchangedmedestiel]

Sometimes I lay in bed trying to fall alseep, and I'm like: "Alright brain, let's figure it out. Where are we going with this fic?" And that's mostly how works my writing process.

[flowercrowngods]

part 1 | ao3

shattered on the cliff’s edge, trapped by the tides

— a steddie ghost story —

part 2 / 7

Soaked through by the icy water and the howling winds, and weighted down by shock and fright, Steve’s legs may as well have been made of lead as he, slowly, with a racing heart, accepts his fate and enters the lighthouse. 

He flinches, hard, when the door falls shut behind him, as if pushed by an invisible force, and he flinches again when a wave crashes violently. It’s almost as if the lighthouse is shaking with the impact, but maybe that’s just him. 

“Okay,” he breathes, whispering because he doesn’t dare to speak any louder, lest the unending darkness might be disturbed — and something tells him that it wouldn’t take all that kindly to that. “Okay.” Once more, with feeling. 

Before he can move and find an oil lamp or even just a candle to bring some light into this place, something thumps from somewhere up the stairs he cannot see. 

He knows that, just like ancient manors, lighthouses have a life of their own, knows they’re prone to moving and moaning along with the tides, with the wind and the water — but that was not the settling of wood or metal. That was something else.

“Hello?” he calls with a trembling voice, closing his eyes at the echoes of his own voice travelling up and down the tower he is being made to call home for the foreseeable future. “Is— Is anyone there? I’m… Well, I’m Steve.” 

Images fill the space behind his eyes, horrible visions of the old keepers luring him here to murder him, out of sea madness or cannibalistic urges, or just to have a bit of entertainment out here, just for a while. Other images, then, of ghosts coming to haunt him, to drive him to the brink of madness, to the railing all the way up on the tower, and watch his descent into— 

Another thump. The sound of a door opening, the wood groaning, the hinges creaking, everything insists the lighthouse protesting its new inhabitant. 

And then, through the pitch black darkness, a whisper. Travelling down towards him, growing louder as it comes closer and closer and— 

Steve takes a step back, his breath coming in shallow rapidity as he reaches for the handle and finding it unmoving.

Run, the whisper says, sounding more like an inhale than anything else — and is the air getting thinner? Run. 

Another wave crashes into the lighthouse. 

Run. 

The whispering voice is in his head now, loud for all of its tonelessness. 

Run!

Steve stumbles backwards, his body too frozen with cold and fear to catch his fall. His body collides with the wall and he slides down, covering his ears with his hands to keep out the noise, to keep out the world as he tries in vain for the fear to subside. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, hiding behind his knees like a little boy, scared of his father’s raised hands and his brothers' gloating. “I’m sorry, I mean no harm, I’m just— I’m here to fix the light. I’m here to make sure it’s— everything’s, everything’s fine. I don’t mean to disturb, I’m sorry. I’m Steve. I’m sorry.” 

Everything stills then — or maybe it’s the cotton in his ears and the staccato of his heart that drown out everything else and remind him that he’s painfully, desperately alive. And mortal. 

But the whispering stops, and so does the groaning up ahead, and silence falls. An unnatural silence, not even broken by the ocean waves outside. 

It’s like the lighthouse has stilled to listen to him. 

It’s something Robin told him once (or rather, debated at him while he was letting her rant wash over him in a whiff of fondness for his best friend in the whole wide world): 

“Ghosts don’t know your intentions, right? So it’s only fair to communicate with them. It’s you breaking into their house, after all. Well, unless they’re haunting your house, but even then it’s fair to assume they have been there all along and you either deserve the haunting and had it coming, or you’re just the poor lad caught in the crossfires. Either way, worth a try, right? If even those still alive assume the worst, I would think an eternity spent in the aether is unlikely to be beneficial to your judgement of character.”

Steve had waved it off then — or, in his case, smile patiently and waited for her to answer his initial question from half an hour ago before she went on a tangent on aether and ghosts and the supernatural; she’d been spending too much time in the library. 

“You learn a thing or two about haunted houses, growing up in a family such as mine,” he’d said, and then, “Dinner?” 

A pang splits him down the middle, regret and uncertainty tearing at him concerning Robin’s wheareabouts and her safety. She must be safe. She must be! 

“They say you don’t like— you, uh, strangers. The locals said you don’t like when people come here, so I’m sorry, but… I’m sorry. I have to fix the light. I’m Steve.” 

It’s madness, it must be. Early onset, although his father would have a thing or two to say about that, would claim it had always lived in him, would claim the way he looks at men is proof of that and reason enough to have him hanging in the streets. 

It wasn’t madness back then, Steve knows, vehemently, desperately knows. But this? Talking to a lighthouse, speaking into the darkness like it’s sentient even just a minute after he first set foot into it? It must be. He’s never been superstitious, has never been prone to ghost stories or supernatural appearances like Robin. 

But something about this place, something about the way it has been haunting his dreams, something about Old John capsizing is enough to make even the calmest man lose his wits. 

Something tells Steve that talking with the darkness is the right thing to do, if only for his own comfort. 

He looks up, his head thumping against the brick wall behind him, as steps approach. They still, right in front of him, and he’s staring into nothingness, almost expecting to make out a shape. Expecting for the next breath to be his last. 

Expecting… something. 

But nothing happens, and the sound of the ocean returns. The darkness seems less impenetrable as a sliver of light falls in through a side light up above. 

“Thank you,” he says, as stupidly as it is soundless, his voice buried beneath fear and dread. 

Miraculously, the darkness seems to fade a little more. 

Enough, eventually, for Steve to get up and dust off his trousers in an attempt to look presentable, or to shake off the residue of his fright — if only it was merely residue. 

Now that the darkness has lightened, he keeps his eyes fixed to the spot where he feels like he can make out a shape in the dust. Maybe it’s just his mind playing tricks on him, though, maybe it’s just the expectation of finding a spectre that makes one appear. 

Madness, he reiterates. But something about it doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t feel mad. And the steps never receded. If they were not an illusion, something created to steal the grounds from beneath his feet, playing with his senses to warp his perception of reality and the truth, then something — someone, quite possibly — is still standing right in front of him. 

He looks on even long past the point of impolite staring, searching the dust for a shape that only appears in his periphery when he moves his eyes. 

It feels rather undeniable, though, that someone is watching him. 

“Hello,” he says at last, having regained some of his voice and footing. His hands clench by his sides, though, his body revolting against speaking with an apparent ghost. 

The darkness doesn’t answer, and neither does the dust. But with the memory of urgent whispers still on the forefront of his mind, Steve is almost grateful for it as he carefully reaches for his bags and stars to move so slowly that it might almost be a mockery of the situation if his legs weren’t so shaky. 

The weight of an invisible gaze rests on his shoulders and settles in the bones of his neck. It takes everything in him not to rub at it — he has no idea what the darkness would take offence to, and he already feels incredibly lucky to have made it this far with his life still intact and only his sanity and his pride having taken a crack along the way. 

He thinks of Old John again, thinks of Good luck, kid. He almost asks the darkness about him, but he bites his tongue just in time. The stairs are steep and if he fell, given an invisible push, chances are he wouldn’t remain as alive as he is right now. 

So he swallows and feels his way along the wall up the stairs. When he finds an oil lamp, he reaches for the matches in his bags — blessedly dry — and lights it.

It’s almost blinding, the shine of the flame that sets to illuminate the way, but Steve feels his gaze drawn to the foot of the stairs where the spectre is still framed by the door. Still appearing to look at Steve. 

Stalemate is one thing to call it, maybe, this tension in the air, the weight of their gazes accompanied by the stumbling of Steve’s heart and the trembling of his hands. 

Steve swallows and continues with his ascent of the winding stairs, never once losing the feeling in his neck. He finds more lamps along the wall and lights them until they lead him to a set of chambers that in any other lighthouse would have been down at the bottom or even in another building altogether, leaving room in a large house or a tiny hut for the keepers to reside in. But none of that is possible out here, in the middle of the sea, towering on top of cliffs that already make it nary impossible to get here. 

The lighthouse is prone to flooding if the wind shifts or the ocean remains ruthless in a storm, so everything needs to be located above the threat of sea level. 

He finds two bedchambers, the beds unmade, a richly stocked pantry that will last him several months if he keeps it locked away from wet air, and an almost inviting kitchen. A burnt smell wafts from the oven, grown stale over time but a certain bite has never quite managed to air out, and when he takes a look, he finds what was supposed to be bread still in there. A coat hangs on a rack, another is hung over the back of the chair, and another stool has been thrown over. 

It looks for all intents and purposes like someone was just here. Like someone is still here. 

What happened to the old keepers? — That does not concern you. 

A shiver runs through him and he tries not to succumb to the terror that seems to lurk inside these walls as he starts a fire in the hearth. He is exhausted, adrenaline rushing from his body and leaving behind only apathetic tiredness and a longing for rest. He doesn’t even remember the light, his head filled with fog and exhaustion.

Once the fire is going and he is sure there is enough coal for it to last all night and keep him from freezing to an early death, Steve falls into bed without dinner. He only has enough strength not to retreat into a dead man’s unmade bed, instead finding new bedding and linen to make it his own. 

He doesn’t sleep on that first night, but he falls into a haze thick enough to be unable to move as the whispers return, knocking and hammering along the walls almost rhythmically, as if waiting for a signal. 

There is no time, they say, though he cannot be sure the next morning if he dreamed that or if he really heard it echoing along the walls. 

Run. Leave. There is no time. 

Tick. 

Tick. 

Tick.

And the night remains dark.

tagging: @klausinamarink @steviesummer @auroraplume @dragonmama76

[creamymilkk]

⋆·˚ ༘ * ♡. 🥤 Different Type Of Love 🥤 .♡

Call me (call me) my love . Call me, call me and we'll take a ride call me (call me) on the line. Call me, call me in to overtime Call me

༉‧₊˚ #Vance Hopper x reader

. ˚₊ ꒱ Pairing/Pairings: Vance Hopper and F!Reader.

༉‧₊˚ -Format: Fanfiction.

× &﹕Summary: You got a official date with Vance Hopper

×﹕♺ AUTHOR’S NOTE(S): Chapter 2!! The amount of love I’m getting is crazy! So 2.3k words :) I recommend listening to the playlist while reading.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

masterlist | Requests: OPEN | tags:@niniackerman @steveharringtonnbat @ethanhawkestan @kimbleplays @brady-bo0 @ihearteddie-munson

“It’s Vance…Vance Hopper..” he said, still on the floor. ‘Why did you ask him for his name?! That was so dumb of you already knew his name.’

Your thoughts were quickly cut off short when he grabbed your hand and pulled himself up off the ground. “So are you okay?” You asked him.

“Other than my butt stinging. Yeah… I’m okay.” He joked. You laughed at his comment. You didn’t know what to do, you're not good with conversations!

“Well, I’m glad you’re okay.” You said to him turning your back towards him. Slowly walking away wishing you had talked with him a bit longer.

“Hey! Wait a second.” You turned around seeing Vance quickly walking to you. “Do you ever want to hang out?” He asked, looking at you.

‘Is he trying to ask me out?’ you questioned yourself. You almost said ‘yes!’ Keyword. Almost. Until you remember you already had plans.

“Uh maybe another time. I already have plans.” You answered. He kinda looked a bit sad when you said that. Which made you hate yourself for saying that.

“Or..” he looked a bit confused but brightened a bit. You took out a piece of paper and a black pen and handed the paper and the pen.

“Or you could write down your phone number and we could plan out when we can hang out?” You stated well mostly preyed that he would do that. “Yeah sure.”

Vance took the paper and pen then wrote down his phone number. Then quickly handed it to you “I will call you when I have time. Have a great day Vance.” You said to him.

You quickly walked away with a radiant smile and bright red checks. you couldn’t believe you had the Vance Hopper phone number. He wanted to hangout with you.

You could’ve shouted out of happiness, you couldn’t wait until you could call him. You opened the paper.

‘***-***-**** i can't wait until we can officially hang out :) - V.H’ you went scarlet red. His handwriting was messy, sure. But it was Vance's handwriting.

You sighed happily then you realized that you needed to go with JENNIFER AT THE DINER! You almost forgot after talking to Vance. You quickly ran home to get the money and at least try to look better.

“Color me your color, baby. Color me your car Color me your color, darling I know who you are.”

You already heard the music playing inside, the diner was a light colorful baby blue color. With some baby pink color in some places.

There were many people in the diner since it was a very popular hang out spot, for people of all ages.

You walked inside and you already saw your friend. Jennifer is sitting in one of the booths, already seeing the menu. You walked up to her.

“Hey Jennifer, sorry for being late.” “I literally thought you stood me up!” Jennifer said, looking up to you.

You just nodded and sat cross from her, “so why are you late? You normally are always on time.” She stated.

“Oh well it’s becau-“ You were quickly interrupted.

“Hello my name is Jenny. Are you two ladies ready to order?” A lady asked both of you, she was wearing the diner’s uniform.

A bright blue baby dress with a baby pink apron with some white in her dress. She had her hair in a bun, with bright red lipstick that stood out. The lady named Jenny had a smile on her face when she was looking at you and Jennifer. With a notepad so she can write down whatever you two were going to order.

“Two milkshakes! A vanilla one and..” Jennifer said while looking at you for an answer.

“Uh..a strawberry one please.” You spoke.

The lady named Jenny wrote down what you two said, looking up from her notepad. She looked at you both.

“Coming right up!” She quickly walked away from your guy's table.

“Come up off your color chart. I know where you're coming from.”

“Anyways, why were you late?” Jennifer repeated her question.

“Oh right!” You said looking brighter, you slowly started smiling.

In all honesty you couldn’t wait to tell Jennifer what happened with you and Vance. It was a dream come true, the fact you got Vance Hopper phone number. And the cherry on top was he wanted to hang out with you. Yes you!! You couldn’t believe it.

“So you know me and Vance always walk in the same direction for school?” “Duh, you told me already.” Jennifer replied.

“So basically he asked to hang out and he gave me his phone number!” You quickly told her.

It was so quickly that Jennifer couldn’t even process what you even said. Thankfully she did.

“Call me (call me) on the line. Call me, call me any, anytime.”

“No way! No fuc-“ Jennifer was cut off by the server.

“There are you two milkshakes.” She spoke while sitting down with your guys milkshakes on the table.

“Is that all?” “Yeah that’s all.” Jennifer answers to her quickly, trying to make her go away.

The server just smiled and walked away, “Anyways! NO FUCKING WAY!!” She smiled at you. You can totally know she was so happy for you. She was grinning ear to ear giggling like a little girl.

“He totally has eyes on you, I mean Vance never gives out his number.” Jennifer stated she was right, Vance never gives out his number. Since he doesn’t really asks girls, all he does is try to beat his score on Pinball.

“Well I don’t know if he has eyes on me, for sure.” You added a straw inside of the milkshake and took a sip of your strawberry milkshake.

“Oh come on! It’s just the lowdown.” Jennifer said, also sipping her milkshake.

“Call me, call me any, anytime. Call me (call me) I'll arrive. You can call me any day or night.”

“Maybe he just wants to be friends?” You spoke looking at her. You did really think he just wanted to ‘hang out’ and you just got the wrong idea. I mean why you? There are many prettier girls that already have a crush on Vance. But a small part of you really thinks he asked you out.

“Wait what did the paper say?” “Oh here!” You took out the paper that had the number.

Jennifer laughed a bit “Jeepers creepers! He has such horrible writing.” She said while putting the paper down.

You laughed too “I know right!” “Okay how about this. We do a little sleepover and call him?” She said with a smirk.

“Maybe you two can ‘officially hang out’” Jennifer stated like how Vance wrote in the paper.

You smiled “That would be amazing!” You saw Jennifer smile “awww! You really do wanna hang out with him.” “NO WAIT I MEANT THE SLEEPOVER!”

Jennifer laughed hard “I know! I know! Just call your mom if that’s okay. There’s a phone next to the entrance.” She started drinking her milkshake.

“Call me. Cover me with kisses, baby. Cover me with love. Roll me in designer sheets.”

You headed to the phone and put in your mom's phone number for work. Your mom quickly picked up.

You spoke before she could. “Hey mom, I was wondering if I can stay overnight with Jennifer.” You said.

“Of course honey! That would be perfect since I have the Night Shift.” “Okay thanks mom.” You spoke nicely.

“Stay safe.” Then your mom hung up. “I wish you talked to me like that.” Jennifer giggled, you turned around.

“Oh shush!” You laughed.

“I'll never get enough. Emotions come, I don't know why. Cover up love's alibi. Call me (call me) on the line.”

You two walked back to Jennifer's house, the sky already dark and you could see the stars in the dark blue sky. Jennifer unlocked her front door and opened it.

“Your parents aren’t home?” “Nope, they needed to go with my aunt or something.” She answered you with a smile.

You two headed for Jennifer's bedroom, you had already been in her room before. She has a bright and sort of dark yellow wall, with many different types of posters. With different brands and people like the ‘Runways’, ‘Blondie’, ‘The Go-Go’s’, etc. Her room was a mess but still clean at the same time. On her floor, there were magazines, different types of books, and some make-up scattered around.

It was very different from your room. There was a table with a mirror with different kinds of makeup all around. She also had magazines about different places she likes loved to read about. The room smelled like Coca-Cola and strangely enough like sweet food. On her bed there were plushies and on the bedside table was a phone.

“Sorry I didn’t have time to clean my room,” Jennifer said with a bit of embarrassment in her voice.

“Don’t worry about it. I don't mind at all.” You replied. I mean, in all honesty, you didn't care. It's her room, not yours.

You sat down on her bed while Jennifer was going to her Vinyl. Going through a box with records. “Any recommendations?” she spoke with a sweet smile on her face.

“Nope, it's up to you,” you replied, getting a magazine that was right next to you.

“Okay!” Jennifer answered sweetly, grabbing a record. The record quickly started, you remembered this song from the diner quite fast.

“Color me your color, baby Color me your car. Color me your color, darling I know who you are.”

“Wait Jennifer did you pick this from the diner?” you questioned her without looking at her, you have a small smile on your face.

All she did was nod while mumbling the lyrics, you still had the magazine in your hand and you turned it around. It was some sort of boy band? There were three boys in total. The first boy was in the middle with long blonde hair sitting down, the second one was on the right side standing with short brown hair, the third boy was on the left side with jet dark black hair looking kinda mad.

“I see you have taste.” Jennifer spoke sitting on the bed next to you.

“I totally think the black hair boy would be a nice kisser.” She said, smirking and giggling.

“Really? He looks like he hates life.” You laugh pointing at his face.

“I bet you like the blonde one.” She replied giggling winking at you.

“Come up off your color chart. I know where you're coming from. Call me (call me) on the line.”

You didn’t understand what she was trying to say until you looked at him again. His hair kinda looked like…

Vance’s hair.

You blushed hard “w-what! No.” You said, shaking your head.

“Aww someone’s blushing,” Jennifer said cheekily.

“Wait!” Jennifer spoke rather quickly, her face looking like she had a bright idea. Though you couldn’t know what her idea was.

“Call me, call me any, anytime. Call me (call me) I'll arrive You can call me any day or night”

“We- I mean YOU should call Vance’s” Jennifer quickly added.

You were lost for words, you had Vance's number. You should wait for him to call you right? I mean what could you say to him?? Without being weird about it or awkward. Should you guys just talk about something random or should plan out when you two can hang out?

Jennifer could easily tell what you were thinking. It was like she could read your mind. “Ok, you could know… Do some small talk and go on a date,” she states like it was something easy.

“Easy said than done,” you replied to her.

“Call me. Cover me with kisses, baby cover me with love. Roll me in designer sheets.”

“Since you are such a baby.” Jennifer quickly reached into the pocket of your jacket. And swiftly grabbed the note with Vance's number on it.

Then typed in his number on her phone. ‘Shit.’ you thought. “Wait no-” “it's ringing!!” Jennifer said quietly.

The phone was picked up. “What's cracking?” a sort of rough voice answered.

Jennifer was gigging and she shoved the phone onto you. You were lost with words, you didn't know what to say or even do. Your thoughts were quickly cut off by Vance.

“I'll never get enough emotions, I don't know why. Cover up love's alibi”

“Uh…hello?” He sounded annoyed. “Hey it's me,” you told him your name.

“Oh hey.” His voice was much softer and nicer than before. There was an awkward pause. Until Jennifer gave you a soft push on your shoulder.

“Right, so I was wondering when we could… You know hang out,” you spoke a little quiet since you were shy. You didn't know what to do.

“Oh! Uh tomorrow??” “yeah..that works,” you replied to him. Before you could end this really awful conversation. Jennifer took the phone.

“IT'S A DATE.” then hung up. “WAIT WHAT?” you said to her.

“Call me (call me) on the line. Call me, call me any, anytime. Call me (call me) I'll arrive when you're ready we can share the wine.”

“Come on, you two were so awkward in an annoying way and also in a cute way.” she answered smiling.

“See it wasn't that bad!” “It was bad. It was awful.” you spoke.

“IT'S A DATE.” Vance heard in a different voice, not yours. Then the person hung up. He didn’t know who the hell that was, but right now he didn’t care for one second. He got a date with you.

He was blushing just a bit. Then he grew a love struck smile on him, he couldn’t wait to see you on your guys official date.

“Call me.”

[manofthepipis]

One thing that I’ve been thinking about is a possible route(?) this story could go, and that is Spamton’s trip to the Ambyu-Lances’s office. And boy do I feel bad for the Addisons because it’s gonna be hell on earth for all of em. Spamton has the mentality of a feral cat and this feral cat is going to the vet in the first time in forever. I don’t think Spamton is a big fan of large syringes, and when you have one of those chasing you down because well, look at him. He’s a walking talking corrupted program. If masters his glitches like Survey says, I can totally see him glitching through the doctors to make his grand escape™️. I feel like all the Addisons are gonna have to be here for both moral support, as well as making sure that he doesn’t attack his doctor. (Maybe they’ll sedate him a little? I know that’s what some hospitals do with rowdy-er patients LMAO, but then the Addisons have a whole new problem on their hands because now Spamton is high as a mf kite or something 😭) the last time I was under anesthesia my doctor said I wouldn’t stop laughing until I burst out into uncontrollable sobs and then I immediately blacked out💀

god a trip to the doctors office would be hell in a handbasket for this guy ;v; because he 100% has the energy of a feral cat finally being checked out

though i think once he gets closer to the addisons he'd agree to go, just to see if he can be set back to normal (spoiler alert: he can't cuz fate has handed his ass the bad luck card from square one) but he immediately regrets it and the addisons have to calm him down

them sedating him would probably be the best course of action as to actually get ANY results (because he will bite and attack on instinct hfjkkdjfkks)

though i feel if i were to write an ambyu-lance scene in the future this is how id imagine it would go:

[gatalentan]

HOTEL ROOMS | AO3

Summary: The Young Melissa/Barbara cross an invisible line at PECSA.

She could feel herself sinking into something that might burn them both alive. This wasn't a game anymore.

------------------------------------------------------------------

"Oh my god, I think my feet might actually fall off."

"I told you to wear comfortable shoes, but did you listen? No..."

Mel had been so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when Barbara had invited her to PECSA with her, a year-and-change into their friendship. "It'll be much more economical if we share a room and carpool," - she'd said - "and also a lot more fun." She couldn't say no to that argument, really - not that it took a whole lotta arm twisting. She was excited about going to the convention in general - it was such an amazing learning opportunity. But it had come at a weird time in whatever it was they had going on.

She'd caught Barbara, on the highway, staring at her just a little too long, acrylics digging notches into the steering wheel, and figured that this was maybe getting a little mixed up for her too. Mel knew she was hot, she wasn't a complete dumbass, had had enough (unfortunate, messy) relationships through high school and college and after it too. She was pretty self-assured about all that. Saw the look in mens' eyes whenever she went into a bar. But as far as she knew Barb was straight. Married, even. Which didn't explain why she occasionally felt, saw, her eyes, intense, on the side of her face, or sometimes, well, her tits, in the break room, like she was a Rubix cube or something that she was trying desperately to solve, like she'd somehow invented gravity, like she'd hung the moon, like she wanted to rip her shirt clean off, her hands knuckling her coffee cup like it was the fuckin' Titanic door. Maybe she wasn't as straight as either of them thought.

She never mentioned it, or caught her eye. But it did stuff to her. Made her wanna preen, a little. Show off, a little. Dress nicer. 'Platonically' (yeah, right) touch her arm, knee, just a little bit longer. Push her luck. Just to see if she could get a reaction outta her. Test how well she could keep up her mask. It was the uptight ones, y'know? It did it for her. The challenge was fun, and this was just a game, just teasing. It didn't have to mean anything. They were both just really, really, enjoying the view.

If she told herself that, it made it easier to live with the fact it was never just that.

So the thought of their bags sitting side by side for a whole weekend was, well, a little terrifying, if she'd been honest, ‘cause this wasn’t part of the game. It’s like they were driving, Thelma and Louise style, towards something else. Entering a third space, not home, or work, but neutral, untested ground, an unknown territory with less rules, no witnesses. The domesticity of it all wasn't lost on her, either. The thought of getting to see Barbara Howard in the wild, outside of her natural habitat, in her pyjamas and no make-up, comfortably away from the pressure of public view… the thought that she was being trusted with that came with its whole, additional, set of baggage that felt so fucking heavy. Like she was being offered something just to see if she'd take it. Of course she would. Every time.

They somehow survived that first day, knee-to-knee at the crowded panels and hand-in-arm in the busy hallways, swapping notes and sharing overpriced concessions at another, foreign, table, orbiting each other like they were somehow still the most interesting people in any room they were in. The baggage was up in their (shared) bedroom, though, and she could feel it hanging over them like a promise or a threat.

By the time they made it back to the room though, after so many hours of travelling and sitting and standing and queueing, she was that dog-tired and sore from her stupid (but hot) outfit that all she wanted to do was collapse and not think at all. Definitely not think.

Melissa peeled off her jacket and flung it on the floor before collapsing in an undignified heap face down on her bed. She wiggled her boots off with some difficulty and kicked them across the room with two loud thunks that would definitely piss off the people in the room below. Ha ha.

"Uggghhhh. Do we really gotta go back out?" she mumbled into the pillow. Her whole body ached. She wanted a hot shower and pizza and wine and clean, white sheets. Well, she didn't know how clean these hotel sheets were, probably better not to think about that. But they were white enough. Better than having to get up.

She peered at Barbara with one eye in the low lamp light; Barbara, who was in the process of neatly removing her blazer and placing it on one of those weird, non-removable hangers in the open closet. Her posture was rigid and upright, looking as fresh-faced and unbothered as she'd ever seen her, like they hadn't just spent the same 10 hours together that had left Mel feelin' like she'd been hit by a semi and probably lookin' like it too. Her ass looked absolutely ridiculous in that skirt, too. What a bitch. So unfair.

"Do you really feel that bad?" Barb turned to look at her, looking all concerned, hands hovering in the air as if ready to fix her. Cute.

"Ehhhhh. I'll live. Little sore." Her ankles throbbed like punctuation. Who the fuck invented heels? An ass man, that's who. Not someone who had to wear 'em all day.

Barbara shook her head at her, tutting, returning to the closet. She knew better than to expect Melissa to be honest about her discomfort.

"Well, technically, no. We don't have to go. It would be nice to go for drinks, though. It's been a long day." She looked at her over her shoulder briefly, smile bright as the sun, looking like it hadn't been a long day at all. "You don't have to come though, if you're too tired." She smoothed down the sleeves of the white blouse she'd worn all day, a little rumpled but still professional, tucked into her purple vest. "But I'd like you to."

Aw, nuts. 

Guess she was going for drinks, then.

What a sucker.

Mel grumbled again, louder this time, kicking her bare feet for dramatic effect and smooshing her nose back into the pillow. 

Barbara clucked at her fondly. "Stop it." 

"Ugh. Fiiiine." She rubbed her tired eyes, and a little eyeliner smudged off on her hand. "Ah, shit. Hey Barb, do I need to put my face back on before we go out, or can I get away with it?"

"Hmm. Let me see." 

Melissa swung her feet off the bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress, self consciously pulling her own dark shirt over her belly. Bottle blonde hair curtained her face in messy strands, which she puffed at to blow away but it didn't do much.

Barb hummed, her eyebrows furrowed a little, taking two steps over from her side of the small room and, with no preamble, no warning, gently pushed her hair off her forehead, tucking it behind her ear to take a closer look at her, fingers landing and making a home near the crest of her jawline.

Melissa's traitorous eyelids slipped closed of their own accord, whole face suddenly slack, her whole body slack. 

“Oh fuck.”

She’d said it, moaned it, before she could take it back. 

Even she could hear how thick with want it was, like shattered glass.

Like she'd been waiting for this.

(She had.)

The panic crested like a wave.

She needed to do something, make a joke, break the tension, apologise, but couldn't, was trapped in space, heart a hummingbird, pinned down in a museum case just by the light touch of Barbara's tender hand.

And Barbara, she didn't say a word, didn't make a sound, and that was somehow worse than pity or shame or disgust, gave her nothing to read into.

But the hand moved, now, in slow motion.

(or maybe Melissa was dying, stretching out her final moments as a last kindness. It felt like dying, or floating away.) 

Barbara's knuckles carved a smooth line from ear to chin and crooked it gently between her thumb and forefinger, cocking her chin up just-so. Her thumb was perilously, dangerously close to her mouth and felt white-hot. If she just parted her lips a little more, she could kiss the pad of her thumb, take it into her mouth.

She didn’t. Because that would be insane. But she thought it, as the tension held, in a loop.

She couldn’t help feeling like a prize, somehow, being displayed, admired, in the crook of her hand for much too long to be easily explained. Like this was an indulgence Barbara shouldn't be taking, being savoured. It did something to her. Something that pooled low in Melissa’s belly, lit her up like a roman candle.  

I asked her to check my make-up. She’s just looking at me. That's all.

Shaking, now, the hand left her chin, beat a matching path along her other cheek, pushing the hair off the other side of her face and over her crown, holding her there in her warm palm. Every hair on her body stood on end in a long shiver, crying out to be touched too. Her breathing was ragged, she knew she must hear it; she could hear Barbara’s, tense as a bow string, as it coasted across her lips in the dark.

"Lovely." Barb whispered into the silence of the room, like she hadn't meant to say it, just an exhale of a held breath, seeming to somehow fill the whole space with it, filling Melissa's ribs and cracking them open. 

It was soft, too soft, like she was being smoothed out. 

She could feel herself sinking into something that might burn them both alive.

This wasn’t a game anymore.

Beyond this point was a conscious choice.

They couldn’t.

Her ring shone in the dark.

“Please.”

“I know.” Her hand, a whisper, a spectre, against her lips, an apology, before falling away.

They couldn’t.

She suddenly felt all of the strain in her body and fell backwards onto the mattress, staring up at her, heavy lidded and her underwear undeniably very, very wet. She felt loose all over, like her marionette strings that held her up had been slashed. 

She could see a whole theatre of emotions playing on Barbara’s face, like she’d become fully unhinged, fighting an internal war that Melissa couldn’t see, eyes not really seeing. It hurt her, badly, to see her hurting this much. To have instigated it, poked the bruises.

“Do you want me to go?” A small voice. Must be hers, because Barbara looked like she might cry. 

“No.” Assertive, determined, immediate. “No, stay. I’m sorry.”

To respond Me, too felt like an admission of guilt, and she was undoubtedly to blame, pushing this whole thing between them too, too far, maybe impassively far, maybe broken beyond repair - but couldn’t burden it, right now, couldn’t take it, couldn’t bear if she’d ruined this, and the shock hit her, then, like cold water, all over, what she’d maybe done, played with fire too recklessly, with a woman with a husband, a man who loved her, let herself get too close, took too much, got greedy. She breathed, but didn’t, not reaching all the places it should, her heart hammering to compensate, curling into herself, the mattress, the floor, the earth.

“Hey, Melissa. Hey. Look at me.” Far off, away. “Melissa, you’re ok, it’s ok. I’m here. I’m…”  a hand, careful, on her arm, not tight, just there: “I’m still here. I’m here. Breathe.”

She tried, she breathed, she counted, she looked at her, her dark eyes almost feral with concern, it pulled her in and out at the same time, slowed the scrambling, eventually, caught her breath, eventually, faded back into the sheets again, hollowed out.

The hand stayed there, a warm weight.

She shifted back into her own body again.

It wasn’t tension that was killing her anymore, it was the silence.

It held all the potential for Barbara to care, to pity having seen what she just saw.

She couldn't take that, right now. Didn't deserve it.

“Do you still wanna go out?”

She punctured it.

Barbara barked out a laugh that sounded like it had been locked away for a thousand years. It rang through Melissa’s body like church bells. 

“I could use a drink.”

“Me too.” She sighed, feeling fully deflated. Somehow, the floor between them felt more even again.

“Room service?”

“Did you win the lottery?”

Barbara just looked at her, where she laid curled up on the bed, for a moment too long, like she almost said, kind of. Then sighed, stretching a smile across her face that was just a little too wide. Melissa knew a mask when she saw one.

“We’ll figure it out.”

They just wouldn't talk about it.

[hailsatanacab]

new chap new chap new chap 👻🎉

[spid3r-trans]

my writing process would give a normal person a stroke i think

[whumble-beeee]

Whumptober 2023 | Day 10 | The Bee’s Whumptober Masterlist 

“Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”

Broken Phone | Stranded | “You said you’d never leave.”

CW: yandere whumper, maybe broken bone, kidnapping, noncon drugging, syringe

------------

Whumpee held their phone up to the sky, waving it around fruitlessly as they squinted up at the screen, hoping to be blessed by tiny bars of cell service gracing the hotbar of their phone. No such luck. They groaned much too loudly, enough that their friend would overhear and hopefully come to their heroic rescue.

“WhumpeeEERRRRRRR,” they called out, imitating a particularly annoying preschooler they used to hate. “There’s no signal. If you were gonna take me camping in the middle of nowhere, the least you could do is provide high-speed wifi.”

“Mm, yeah, my mistake, many apologies, m’lord.” Whumper deadpanned with a smirk as they scouted out the campsite, matching Whumpee’s banter. “I’ll take you to the Bermuda Triangle next time. Even less service there, so I’ve heard. ”

Whumpee let out an exaggerated gasp. “You wouldn’t! That's it, I’m canceling you on Twitter!”

“Right.” They made their way over to Whumpee, leaning against the car with their arms crossed, head tilted to the side. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that without cell service?”

“As soon as we get the high-speed wifi I requested, it’s over for you.”

“But then you couldn’t cancel me for not getting you wifi because you’ll have wifi, right?”

“Don't try to sway me with such trivial things as facts and logic!” Whumpee decreed hautilily. "You must be punished for your crimes. Your execution will be glorious!”

Whumper grinned despite their exaggerated tough guy act. Whumpee always knew how to make them smile. Their heart had been racing ever since they left, wondering if they were making the right choice here. They could still back out, just have a regular nice, normal camping trip with Whumpee.

But no. Whumper had to bite their lip to not fully oggle at Whumpee as they stood on the edge of the trunk, bantering without a care in the world. A warm all-consuming pressure filled Whumper’s chest and they had to make a physical effort not to squeal like a child when their crush noticed them for the first time. Soon they would have this all the time. This was the right choice.

They jumped up to join Whumpee on the lip of the trunk, awkwardly slouching down under the trunk door proper. “Well, might be kind of hard to execute me if you can’t cancel me in the first place, no?”

“You gonna do somethin’ about it?” Whumpee raised a challenging eyebrow at them. Whumper had to manually remember how to breathe. 

They snatched Whumpee’s phone out of their grasp and lept down from the trunk, sprinting halfway across the campsite and turning around to dangle the phone tauntingly before Whumpee even had a chance to jump down.

“Can’t cancel me without access to the outside world at all, yeah?”

“Oh, fuck you, Whumper!”

“You would!”

Whumpee snorted, jumping down and sprinted toward Whumper, but Whumper took off again in a different direction, so they were still the same distance away by the time Whumpee made it to Whumper’s original spot.

Whumpee blew some air up their face, their bangs fluttering up in the most adorable way. They made their way toward Whumper again, this time walking normally, panting lightly and holding out their hand. “Okay, seriously, I need my phone back please."

Whumper squeezed the phone in a death grip and bit the inside of their cheek, so hard they almost drew blood. They cherished moment, the way their heart fluttered. It may be a while before they and Whumpee could have moments like this again, but after that, life would be nothing but these moments.

Whumpee grabbed onto Whumper's shoulder to leverage themself up to the arm holding their phone toward the sky, but their hand fell just short of reaching. One of the advantages of being the taller one. But then Whumpee used their shoulder as a boost to jump higher, and Whumper had to stumble back to keep the phone away from them. Whumpee’s knees buckled from the sudden absence of Whumper's body to brace the fall and they fell on their ass with a shriek. Oh no. No no no.

“Sorry, I’m sorry!” Whumper yelled, backing up further.

Whumpee hissed. A telltale redness of the eyes betraying held-back tears as they cursed to fire shooting up their tailbone. 

“What was that for?” They demanded, more confused and pained than angry. Even when Whumper accidentally hurt them, they didn't get mad; Whumper could have cried. Whumpee really was perfect, weren’t they?

“Just give me my phone, would ya, man? Jesus, I think I bruised my tailbone or something. We might need to actually call someone now, or go to urgent care…”

“You can’t do that, Whumpee. Sorry.”

Whumpee, for the first time, groaned in annoyance and tilted their chin up at Whumper. That would need correcting later. But even still, the actions made Whumper want to squeeze Whumpee until they popped.

“Why not? You break the cell service on purpose? Or did you actually take me out here to kidnap me, torture me, then leave my remains strewn about the woods so they’d never find me again?” A wry smile crept onto their face again, one which quickly disappeared as soon as Whumper spoke again.

“Well… one out of the three.”

“What?” Their eyes widened into a brief flash of fear before the mask of confusion settled on their features again. Whumper always took the joke too far sometimes. They knew that. With some effort and a clenched jaw, they pushed up to their knees. “Whumper, stop fucking around and help me up. I need to get to a doctor.”

Whumper closed their eyes and took a deep breath, a loud roaring in their ears. No turning back now. 

They threw Whumpee's phone on the ground and smashed the heel of their hiking boot into the fragile glass, and Whumpee cried out, falling out of their precarious squat and straight onto their tailbone, then spasming out so they laid trembling on their side. Whumper stomped on the phone until it more resembled broken spare parts than an actual device, then swished it around in the dirt just to make sure.

Whumpee stared at the dust-bitten parts with wide eyes, mouth agape. Then their fiery gaze shot up and found Whumper. “What the FUCK?! WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!"

Whumper stared at Whumpee, hardly able to breathe. This was it. The Confession.

“I’m sorry I have to do this, Whumpee, but I can’t let anyone else have you anymore. That includes people on your phone. You’re mine. And I’m yours. They might try to get in our way, and if that happens, I wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate the problem entirely. I know you might be in shock right now, but I think you’ll find that in time... I mean, I’ll make sure you never want for anything and no one–... no one will… Are you– Do you need help?...”

Whumpee struggled to their feet with shaky legs, wincing the entire time, breathing heavily, almost like a panic response. They never took their eyes off Whumper. It would have been perfect, except for the terrified and hurt and still slightly disbelieving expression that etched into their features. Whumper tried to go and help them up, but Whumpee practically lept backward, almost toppling over again in the process.

“The fuck?! No, stay away from me! This is– What is this? You’re actually kidnapping me?”

“No, no, Whumpee, look, you’re in shock,” Whumper rushed forward and grabbed them by the forearms to hold them steady. Whumpee tugged away violently, but still, Whumper held them fast. “I have a cabin out here, no one will find us, we’ll go there and we can patch you up and you can–”

“No, no! Let go of me Whumper, let me go, I don’t want to be kidnapped! Let me go, please, please I can’t– I can’t– please–... don’t–…”

Whumpee was getting hysterical, their breaths shallow and fast, their face so much whiter than normal and tears falling freely down their cheeks. This was all wrong. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

Thankfully, Whumper was always prepared. As gently as possible, they wrenched Whumpee’s arm downward and Whumpee collapsed to their knees at Whumper’s feet. Whumper slipped the syringe out of their pocket. A pre-measured dose. Just for Whumpee.

“Whumpee, you’re hysterical. I’m going to put you to this’ll help you relax, almost like you’re asleep. You won’t be able to move, but know you’ll always be safe from now on. With me.”

Whumpee tried to tug away from Whumpers iron grip, breath hitching intensely as they unsuccessfully tried to back up, shaking their head and pleading, “No–, no no no–, I don't–, please don’t, just– let me go–  I don’t– stop, stop, stop stop no stop stopstopstopSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOP PLEASE!!”

Then they plunged the needle into Whumpee’s arm, more forcefully than they meant to. Whumpee was starting to get on their nerves. They let out a strangled cry, still trying desperately to pull away, struggling with all their might. Until they couldn’t anymore. They swallowed, doing their damnedest to fight the drug overpowering their body, slowly shutting them down. All that did was work the poison around their body faster. Their actions slowly got weaker and weaker until they collapsed into Whumper’s arms, eyes slowely blinking and unfocused, barely seeing through the fog.

Whumper smiled down into Whumpee’s eyes, scooping them up into a bridal carry, their head lolling against their chest.

“See, isn’t that better? Let’s go home and get those injuries all fixed up for you. I’ll make sure you get settled in nice and snug. You’ll love it… I’m so glad we’re finally going through with this. I’d be lost without you, dear. And you’d be lost without me.”

[dhmis-autism]

SORRY. JUST REALIZED I ORIGINALLY SKETCHED THE STUFF FROM THAT LAST WIP POST IN. MARCH.

GODDDD...

[forerussake]

trying to write guardian novel fic after only ever writing drama canon fic is hard bc im in a constant state of panic about mischaracterizing these characters i have already written over 150k words about. bc the vibe is different.

[finniestoncrane]

running around in a circle tugging at my hair and holding back tears: too many things too many things too many things too many things too many thi