#ch07

[campbyler]

on behalf of walter the bear…

WELCOME TO WILDERNESS WEEK! 🥳🙃⛺️🌌 (etc)

[wayliparker-co]

in fairness if i were will i’d probably react the same way <3

[en-qq]

akari gets me

[waylibee-analysis-firm]

i am speechless.

[sbyzppp]

i want to read another fic rn but i'm so attached to acswy universe mike and will that i literally can't lmfao

[itisaterriblelove]

I WAS SO NERVOUS that I could taste my own heartbeat. Gavin Porter was not asleep, and I had been aware of this for a handful of seconds that were collecting like lifetimes. I don’t know how I knew it for sure, I just… knew. Maybe it was in the tension I could feel radiating through every part of him that was connected to me.

That was a lot of parts.

I wasn’t hungover, not even a little bit, even though I knew by all rights that I should have been. I’d done much too much drinking the night before, and I’d said much too much afterwards as a result. I was still kind of surprised that Gavin and I had even gotten into a fight at all.

I hated fighting, and he hated it even more than I did. Usually when we were mad at each other, we both just kind of bit our tongues and passive aggressively referenced it until we were over whatever the problem was. Not entirely healthy, I knew, but it worked for us.

And I probably should have felt guilty for trying to make Gavin feel guilty about spending time with his girlfriend. Probably. But I couldn’t because if I hadn’t gotten roaring drunk the night before then I wouldn’t have been waking up in Gavin’s bed, wrapped up in his arms. Plus, he��d even apologized for ditching me. And I’d definitely needed that apology from him.

But, see, here was the situation: A very awake Gavin Porter had me spooned in his arms, his hands on the bare skin of my stomach, slipped underneath the t-shirt he’d given me to wear to bed. There just wasn’t enough room between us for him to deny his very obvious reaction to being pressed this close to me.

I tried not to let it get to me—I really did—because I understood the basic biology of boys and the concept of morning wood, okay. And it wasn’t like Gavin and I hadn’t ever found ourselves in this kind of position before… We’d been friends for too long and too absolutely not to have been here once or twice in the past.

I wasn’t a girl with low self-esteem, who couldn’t believe that a boy could be turned on by her. I knew I was hot, and I even knew that Gavin Porter thought that I was hot. He’d never denied it. But see, this was the thing… Gavin was awake and he hadn’t moved his hands.

At least, not yet. And I wanted to enjoy every single second of it while it lasted.

It was usually at this point in the routine that Gavin would roll away from me, put some space between us, and pretend like this little bit of awkwardness hadn’t happened. 

He had to be able to feel the way my heartbeat was slamming against my chest. My back had to be practically vibrating with it. He should have moved—should have changed the subject. What he did instead was curl his fingers against the bare skin of my stomach and bury his face in my neck, so that all of my skin erupted in goosebumps and all my thoughts scattered.

I couldn’t breathe. 

I couldn’t think past the idea of turning around, of sliding my leg between his legs, of pressing closer and closer until there was no closer. Oh my God, I wanted to kiss him so very badly. I wanted to turn around and melt into his arms and kiss him, just to know what he tasted like. Just to know what he felt like with his mouth against my mouth and his hands on my skin. Just to live in it, for just one moment. This perfect moment. I wanted to kiss him until the world slipped away. And I felt about ninety-nine percent sure that he would not only let me, but that he would actually kiss me back.

It was surreal in this freeing, kind of electrifying way. After weeks and weeks, and months, and years of waiting for Gavin Porter to finally open his eyes and see me…

I just couldn’t believe it was finally happening, and I didn’t trust it.

“Do you want a pain pill?” His voice was soft, sleep dragged, kind of lazy. It was the best morning sound in the entire universe, and I had always appreciated it. But this morning it seemed to sound better to me than it ever had. Probably because the words came out practically against my skin, all of his breath dancing down my neck as he spoke.

Sweet baby Jesus.

My stomach clenched, and I was almost scared to answer him. Like if he knew that I was awake too, then he would become the Gavin that I was used to again. The one completely oblivious to the fact that we had definite chemistry.

“Elle?” He moved his hands, trailing them against my skin until the one underneath me was free and the one on top of me was against my hip. The shorts I had on were a thin barrier and every single piece of me that he touched was aflame. I pushed out a slow breath, slowly peeling my eyes open. 

This was not a dream.

I turned around until we were facing each other, and Gavin adjusted, his head still dropped lazily against his pillow. He lifted his hand to brush my hair from my face, his fingers trailed my jaw and my heartbeat shuddered. “Do you have a headache?” 

I didn’t even mind his morning breath—I was that far gone.

I blinked, coming back down to reality, understanding slowly filtering through for me. His face was a little tenser than I was used to, but that could have been for any reason in the world. It could have been because he was still mad at me for getting drunk the night before, or because I’d yelled at him, or even because he’d yelled back at me.

It could also be because he wanted to kiss me just as badly as I wanted him to… It was hard to tell, and there was just no tactful way to ask!

The logical conclusion was that I was imagining it, of course. Because if you wanted something bad enough then it was easy to trick yourself into believing you could have it. And last night had been emotional for both of us.

The logical conclusion was that nothing had even changed at all. I knew that. And it just seemed all the more true when Gavin just kept laying there, looking at me, waiting for me to say something with an increasingly concerned expression on his face.

I sighed, careful to keep my own morning breath aimed away from him, and shook my head against his pillows. “No. I’m good.” And then I turned on my back to hide my disappointed expression from his searching eyes, because explaining myself was the absolute last thing I wanted to do right now. And Gavin always asked me what was wrong, every time that I frowned.

But—darn it!—I hadn’t imagined his hands. I hadn’t imagined the feel of his face as he nuzzled against my neck. And I knew perfectly well he’d been awake when he did it.

I sighed again. “I need to get up, anyway.” I rubbed a hand over my face, trying not to feed into the annoyance that I was starting to feel all over again. What had I even been thinking? As if this morning suddenly everything was completely different? That didn’t make any sense! 

There was still a Tyler McClain, and I was still not her.

But Gavin groaned and reached, his arms encircling me once again. “Skip it.” He was whining, which was so typical of him at the mention of getting out of bed during the am hours that it really did feel like the status quo. 

Maybe it was part of his idea of what a rockstar was supposed to do with their life? Sleep all day, party all night kind of thing.

I tried to shake out of his hold, but he wasn’t having it.

“You’re allowed to skip a class, Elle,” he complained, and his face found the curve of my neck again and settled there. “Shouldn’t you be hungover?” He said it like a complaint, and I didn’t manage to fight the giggle in response before it fell from my lips.

“I’m not.” I tried to wiggle away again, but he squeezed his hand on my hip and groaned.

“Please fucking stop that.”

All the tension in my body regrouped, goosebumps resurfacing, flames reigniting. I narrowed my eyes, the annoyance growing. “It’s too early in the morning for fuck, Gavin.” He sucked in a sharp breath of air, and I stilled. Because that time it hadn’t been intentional, but there it was, hanging between us. His very unconventional response to girls who said bad words.

“Ah, fuck.” This time I thought he’d let me go, and get out of bed. And then we’d pretend this had never happened. But he didn’t. He kept his hand above the t-shirt, but still on me as he mumbled, “I think you’re trying to kill me.” 

And I felt like all the air was being sucked out of the room again. My stomach clenched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But my voice was much too breathless to be convincing.

Gavin saw through it. He sucked his tongue against his teeth and said, “You fucking liar.” But there was no heat to it, just teasing, and he still didn’t let me go.

He yawned. “Let’s just sleep in, baby.”

It was a stupid, enabling thing for him to do. But he probably didn’t know that. I did, though, so I should have gotten the heck out of there. I knew that. I probably should have told him that this crossed some sort of invisible line in the sand of our friendship, and I couldn’t do it. 

But my heart was vibrating with the need to just lay there with him. And I couldn’t stop myself from giving in. He was warm and comfortable and this bed smelled like him. And he was holding me like he wanted me, which made imagining impossible to resist. Besides, I’d never been very good at denying him anything. That was the entire problem.

[aliyahwritings]

THE CONTRACTED HEART | MASTERLIST

Rafe Cameron's MASTERLIST

Pairing: Basketball Player! Rafe x Supermodel!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Content: marriage of convenience, fake dating, athlete!rafe au

NAVIGATION —

All Of TCH asks and thoughts

ALL THE CHAPTERS —

✦ Ch01 ✦ Ch02 ✦ Ch03 ✦ Ch04 ✦ Ch05 ✦ Ch06 ✦ Ch07 ✦ Ch08 ✦ Ch09 ✦ Ch10 ✦ Ch11 ✦ Ch12 ✦ Ch13 ✦ Ch14 ✦ Ch16 ✦ Ch17 ✦ Ch18 ✦ Ch19 ✦ Ch20 ✦

SOME EXTRAS —

✦ Moodboard01

✦ TCH!Reader's Fashion Style

✦ SMAU01 | SMAU02 | SMAU03 | SMAU04

✦ Rafe being horny

✦ Their Photo Gallery

Obviously, layout credit to bookie @zyafics

[chireikiden]

Quite a number of guest characters this month. Also on MangaDex!

[mxnhoo]

about you. (n. rk)

"do you think i have forgotten about you?" ✎ nishimura riki and reader

CHAPTER 1 OUT NOW! synopsis in an attempt to live your life normally after being discharged from the hospital, it just so happens that many things suddenly feel off. certain objects, people, and experiences spark deja-vu and nostalgia, and it was a feeling you couldn't just brush away. you felt the need to dive deeper. you felt the need to know more about this feeling. you felt the need to find out who nishimura riki was. genre mystery, reader tries to discover a part of her past that is unresolved, haunting past, flashacks, reader wants to uncover the truth, healing, dreams, will add more along the way warnings hospitals, (mentions of) death, some tags omitted to prevent spoilers — read with caution, will add more along the way/add to the specific chapters cly's note every. single. time. i listen to about you, it makes my heart ache in this sort of way. it makes me feel like i've lost a piece of me, and hence i want to use those feelings to write this. if everything goes well and i don't lose motivation, this would be my first series! i hope you guys will support this and follow it through the end!

now playing about you — the 1975

ch01 — a glimpse ch02 - diving ch03 — peace of mind ch04 — the past. ch05 — nishimura riki ch06 — overhear ch07 — flowing ch08 — see you again. epilogue. KEEP IN NOTE everything (number of chapters, names) may be subject to change!

extra note i'm lowk scared but really excited to start writing but i'm really scared that i'll lose motivation and that when my break ends i won't have time to continue. i apologise in advance </3 PLS BE PATIENT W ME GUYS. IM ALSO SCARED THIS MIGHT FLOP

lmk if you wanna be in the taglist! (ill be so embarrassed if there's no one </3)

[campbyler]

i can't fucking breathe, you guys are amazing

we have been Waiting to drop the Ooky Spooky lore for months now. glad everyone is enjoying

[theonlyonesora]

Masterlist : Shades of Love and Loss

Summary: Yuna’s world shatters when Suguru Geto, the man she loved with her whole heart, leaves Jujutsu High—and her—behind. Alone and struggling to cope with the void he left, she finds unexpected solace in his best friend, Satoru Gojo. Their friendship deepens when Gojo shows up one fateful day, two children, asking for her help in raising them.

As time passes, Yuna and Satoru create a life together, unconventional but filled with warmth and love. Just as she starts to believe she’s found her path forward, Suguru returns, reigniting old feelings and reopening old wounds. Torn between the ghost of her first love and the man who helped her heal, Yuna must decide: cling to the past with Suguru or embrace the future with Satoru and the family they've built.

Will love’s second chance be enough to mend her broken heart, or will she choose to protect the new life she’s come to cherish?

.

CH01 - Echoes of a Broken Bond

CH02 - Eternal Flame of Longing

CH03 - Echoes of Abandonment

CH04 - Whispers of Youth (2006)

CH05 - Golden Year (2006)

CH06 - Stay

CH07 - A Glimmer of Hope

CH08 - Joy in the Little Things

CH09 - A Surprise Responsibility

CH10 - A New Beginning

CH11 - Unconventional Harmony

CH12 - Fractured Bonds

CH13 - Shadows of Longing

CH14 - A New Dawn

You can finish reading on my Wattpad or Ao3

[jellyj777]

07; I Wish You Roses | The Patient

THE PATIENT | Book | Ch07;IWishYouRoses

JungkookxReader (smut/fluff/angst)

— Falling in love with a patient in an asylum might not be everyone's tea but you had a thing to fix something you never broke at first place.

Words: 2.3k+

TROPES:: One sided hate, Therapist Au.

SYNOPSIS:: —"Don't trust me, Believe in me"

WARNINGS:: Talk about abuse, Violence ahead, explicit language, Anger issues

<-prev | index | next->

Chugging down another drink, you bury your head into the pile of research books in front of you. You still can't believe that in just one more month, no one will be paying for Jungkook's fees to stay at the mental hospital. And honestly, it's just as hard to believe that you're drinking in the middle of the day. You don't usually drink—especially not during the day when your shift is in the evening.

Another sigh escapes your lips as you press them against the book lying open in front of you. Everything feels like it's falling apart.

Your rent is due. Jungkook will be leaving soon. You're getting a new patient.

Everything is fucked.

And that's when a choked sob escapes you—your lungs tightening like someone just dropped a weight on your chest. You try to control the sobs, but they just keep coming. Burying your head deeper into the book, you cry until it finally feels like you've let enough out to get up. And that doesn't happen until your phone rings—your mom is calling.

You lift your head slowly, teary eyes glancing at the caller ID: "Mom 🤍" Why is she calling now, of all times?

You exhale shakily and answer the call. "Mom, I'm leaving for work. What is it?" you say, half-annoyed—hoping the irritation in your tone covers the shakiness of your voice and the wetness in your breath.

"Oh really? I thought you had a night shift?" she asks. You can hear the clinking of utensils—she must be doing dishes. The water running in the basin gives it away. You're lucky she's distracted, barely picking up on the pain in your voice.

You hum in response. "Yeah, but I gotta get ready. I told you not to call me before my shifts."

She chuckles. "Be grateful to your mom, you brat," she teases. You let out a small scoff, smiling faintly through the tears.

"Stop sending money home," she scolds gently. The clinking stops—she must've brought the phone closer to her ear. Her voice is clearer now.

You sniffle quietly and change the topic. "Just enjoy it... Did you get the flowers Dad sent for your anniversary? Why are you complaning about money?"

That's when she catches on. 

"You're crying," she says softly.

"No, I'm not. Why would you say that?" you lie, your voice still thick.

She sighs. She's always hated how you tried to carry everything alone when she just wants to be there for you and your sister. "We're here for you, okay? You can call me or anyone—anytime. I don't like being shut out of your life, baby."

That's all it takes for you to break.

You cry. Really cry.

Not the silent kind—the raw, ugly kind where your chest aches and your throat tightens so much it hurts to breathe. You don't even respond. You just sob, your mom whispering soothing words on the other end of the line with little tsks and whispers of soft scolding here and there.

She knows. She doesn't ask why. She knows that something—or everything—is hurting you badly. She knows you won't say it, because you've always tried to protect everyone else from your pain. You chose this life, this profession, and it's not easy. She gets that.

You're like her in the worst possible ways—and she knows her shadow still lingers over you, even if she never says it.

She takes a deep breath, trying to hold back her own tears. Her baby is crying. It hurts her and breaks her down so much, "Y/N, hey... it's okay, hm? Do you want me to come visit for the weekend?" she asks gently.

"No, it's alright," you reply quietly not wanting to burden her. "I'll be out most of the time anyway, because of work."

She frowns through the phone. The little tone shift could be heard clearly to you, you knew her too well. "So what? I'll make your favorite dish, okay? I'll come. Or do you want your dad to come instead?" 

You stay quiet, knowing her mind's already made up.

You want to say no. You want to tell her not to worry.

But you want to see her too.

"I'll keep the spare key under the mat," you say eventually. "I might be out when you get here, so take your time."

The two of you stay on the call a little longer. She teases you, trying to lift your mood. You don't say much, but you're grateful. Grateful for everything she does, even when you're being distant or difficult. She knows you won't open up completely, but she still shows up. She still offers her shoulder.

That call—her voice—is what lifts your mood as you get ready for work while talking to her on call.

--------

Clicks and clicks of your fingers tapping away at the keyboard fill the silence of your dim office. Hoseok is in his own clinic down the hall while you’re seated at yours—frantically jumping through every website you can find that mentions financial aid for patients. The NHI covers a decent portion of Jungkook’s stay, but not all of it. Never all of it.

You sigh, leaning back in your chair as you close out yet another useless tab. Why is this so difficult? Should you beg his mother again? Schedule another meeting with her in hopes she’ll budge this time? Maybe it’ll work… or maybe she’ll just ignore you again like she always does.

At least you’re not alone for tonight’s shift. Small mercies.

With that comforting thought, you grab the lunch box from your desk and head toward the therapy room. Most of the patients are already tucked in for the night. It’s past 9 p.m., and your session with Jungkook is the last one on the schedule. You had back-to-back patients earlier, so your night has been nonstop. Technically, Jungkook’s bedtime is 10 p.m., but you both know he never sleeps at that time. He always ends up sitting by the window in his room—staring out like he's waiting for something. And if he does manage to fall asleep, he always oversleeps the next morning.

You enter the therapy room and give the nurses a brief nod of approval. They scatter like clockwork, and you take your usual seat across from him.

Jungkook doesn’t look at you. He’s slouched into the chair like he owns it, one foot bouncing, fingers twitching like he’s itching to leave. His eyes are half-lidded and unreadable—he’s physically here but mentally checked out. It’s been like this for three months now. Every therapy session begins the same way: with a tired sigh and you sliding a lunch box across the table to him.

He knows the drill. He takes the box wordlessly and picks up the fork you just cleaned with a napkin. Inside, there’s a neatly arranged display: slices of Asian pear and peeled tangerines with a few scattered rose petals on the side.

He’ll never understand your obsession with decorating these lunch boxes for him. He doesn’t know that you often forget to pack your own lunch but never his.

He stabs a piece of pear with his fork and takes a bite just as you start peeling a roasted one of your own for him to eat.

“The weather’s getting cold,” you murmur, eyes downcast. “I was wondering if you’d want to go to the beach?”

He freezes mid-chew, a beach? The word hits him like a wave, unexpected and disorienting. He hasn’t been to a beach in years. A hard lump forms in his throat, and he swallows it with the fruit.

“What?” he asks, voice unsteady.

“What?” you echo, feigning innocence. “I promised you a place, didn’t I? I can take care of the forms and official statements. You don’t have to worry about that.”

You keep your eyes on the tangerine in your hand—fingers working at the peel, refusing to look up at the wide, vulnerable gaze you know is locked on you. He hates when people talk about his eyes. Hates the way they soften under attention.

“We can go somewhere else if you want,” you offer.

He shakes his head too fast, a soft blush blooming across his cheeks. “No, no. I’m fine with the beach.” He clears his throat, pulling back into himself and putting his usual cocky mask back on. Cool. Controlled. Untouchable.

You nod at him, finally meeting his gaze.

His eyes shift again—doe-like and curious, before hardening into half-lidded indifference.

You try to get him to talk after that. About anything. His thoughts, his memories, the smallest spark of who he is. But for the next fifteen minutes, all you get are clipped answers. Yeah. Hm. No.

So you take a breath and go for it. The one subject he never touches.

“So,” you start gently, fingers threading together on your lap. “We’ve talked a lot about your mom. But I’ve noticed… you always skip over your dad. Why’s that?”

He flinches.

Just slightly. But enough for you to notice.

He doesn’t answer.

“Is it because it’s harder?” you ask quietly. “Or because he wasn’t there at all?”

Jungkook shifts in his seat. His fingers pull at the elastic band on his wrist—snapping it again and again, each time a little harder. The muscle in his jaw is working overtime now.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” you add, cautious. “I just think… it’s worth exploring. When you’re ready. You always mention how he—”

“Shut up,” he mutters.

You blink. “Jungkook—”

“I said shut the fuck up!” he roars, suddenly exploding out of his chair. The metal legs screech back against the floor, the force pushing the empty lunch box flying off the table, clattering near your feet.

You don’t flinch.

But your spine straightens like a steel rod.

His chest heaves with every breath. His fists are clenched, trembling at his sides. His eyes aren’t numb anymore—they’re on fire. Burning. Angry. Wounded.

“You think you know everything,” he snarls. “Just ‘cause you sit there in your pretty little chair and take notes? You don’t know me.”

“I’m not claiming to,” you say, steady despite your racing pulse. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Help?” he spits, bitter. “Is this helping? Digging up shit I’ve buried for a reason? Is that fun for you?”

“No,” you reply, voice softer now. “But I think you need it.”

That’s when he punches the wall.

Not you—thank god, not you—but the wall next to him. His fist slams into the drywall with a sickening thud, and you flinch before you can stop yourself.

The silence afterward is thick.

He stands frozen, staring at the dent he’s left in the pale lavender wall. His knuckles aren't bleeding, but they’ll bruise by morning.

You rise slowly from your chair, keeping your distance. “I’m going to call the nurse to check your hand.”

“No,” he rasps. “Don’t—just… don’t.”

“Okay,” you nod gently. “Okay, we won’t. But I need you to sit down, Jungkook. You’re not in trouble. You’re safe.”

He stares at you, then back at the wall, and finally slumps into the chair again—like all the rage just drained right out of him. The elastic band on his wrist has snapped. He stares at the broken pieces like they’re sacred. Like they were the last thing holding him together.

You sit across from him again—slower this time, quieter.

“You didn’t hurt me,” you say softly, watching the shame settle in his eyes. “That matters.”

He doesn’t speak. His expression is blank now, clean-wiped. But you see it. You see what’s left behind. The aftermath always lingers.

You know he's reassuring himself that he didn’t touch you. Because if he could snap his elastic, he could snap on you. And that thought terrifies him more than anything.

You clock every emotion flickering on his face, making mental notes. He’s a human after all.

“I get it,” you whisper, barely audible. “It’s not just anger. It’s pain too.”

His jaw twitches. And then, after a long, loaded silence, he finally speaks. “He used to hit her. And I never did anything.”

His voice is so low, so broken, you almost don’t catch it. But you do. And it hits like a blade to the chest.

You don’t reply. You don’t press.

You let the silence hold him—gentle, steady. For the first time, he’s not fighting you. And somehow, that’s worth more than a dent in a wall.

It’s a breakthrough.

And beneath the ache in your chest, you can feel it. Hope.

He sighs, eyes still fixed on the snapped band. “I broke the elastic.”

You glance at it, then back at him. “I’ll buy you another. Ten, even more if you want. Don’t worry about it.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but the quiet firmness in your smile stops him. God, you were always like this—kind, steady, too good to him. And he hates it. Hates how, for the first time in a long time, he wants to be better for someone. Maybe even for you.

By the end of the session, you realize it’s been your best one with him yet. In the three—maybe four—months you’ve spent trying to reach him, this was the first time something really cracked open.

He didn’t let you bandage his hand, despite your insistence. A nurse took care of it instead while you stepped out to sign for a delivery made in your name.

When you return to leave him in his room, you quietly hand him a new purple hair elastic—your own, soft and worn but still strong. He just shrugs, feigning indifference, but his fingers curl around it before you turn to leave.

You make your way to reception, where a delicate bouquet of flowers sits waiting—your name scrawled neatly on the tag. The roses are a soft winter blush, sent by none other than your father.

The note is simple, but you read it twice anyway.

"I wish you all the roses for the winter. The roses will bloom brighter than they do during spring. I wish you roses."

A smile tugs at your lips, warm and uncontainable. You thank the receptionist, holding the bouquet gently in your hands like it might shatter.

Back in your office, you call your father just to thank him. As always, he brushes it off with a quiet laugh and tells you to keep working hard. “Your mom’s already home, don’t worry about dinner,” he adds casually before hanging up.

Even though the day started rough, you feel deeply, quietly grateful for the people around you. With a soft stretch and a sigh, you sit back at your desk, returning to your work—but this time, with a smile.

Winter is here. And you’re ready to welcome it.

With love. And with roses.

wattpad:CH07 (read on wattpad)

A/N:

taglist; @seokout @khadeeeeej @bybyash @kookietkk ‘to be added in the taglist : comment’

godd, i love this chapter so much and i actually sobbed so much while typing it down but guess who actually posted on time. On a friday! Me! Anyways love yall. It's still cold where i live, so we ain't got no spring but lots of love to you guys!!

jelly <3

[waylibee-analysis-firm]

trying to catch up to at least ch05 today. btw.

[luckynumberslcb]

Time Ripper Rodion

( inspired by the sprite edits made by 3TH4N-CH07 and RealmOfRoses on r/limbuscompany )

[unironicallytes]

A WIP A Wednesday Keeps The Work In Progress ... ay 🐦

Tagged by: Antoinetta from the actual picture, I'm one of those little birds and she managed to boop me

No-Pressure Tagging: @miliabyntite @dirty-bosmer @orfeoarte @areggo @ulanxxxs @thegrunkiest @touyadraxon @bloodofblue @unrepentant-heliocentrism

No new writing this week as I tinker away at Ch08, but I have been working on this random picture in between other stuff! It's Lucien noticing Antoinetta in the Arboretum District before recruiting her later. This isn't a scene which occurs in the fic proper, but Zath does speculate about it in Ch07 here.

Lucien had mentioned recruiting her from Imperial City while meeting with a client. From the looks of her, she was probably a beggar or thief there. Street-living was a plight he may have even offered some kinship and sympathy for.

[wayliparker-co]

call me when you get a second: masterpost

“I have to go, actually,” he says finally, though the expression on Mike’s face plainly tells him he knows he’s lying, and had expected the response before it came. “Like, now. Preferably.”

“Oh,” Mike says, decidedly disappointed but not exactly surprised as Will tosses a twenty onto the bar and hops out of his seat in one fluid motion. “Oh, well- wait, Will, hang on, I want to talk to you-”

“Yeah, well,” Will huffs, adjusting the collar of his jacket, “thanks, but I’ve actually had quite enough of hearing about what you want for one lifetime, so. I think I’ll pass on this one.”

OR: two boys, ten years, and a hell of a lot of drama <3

cmwygas is a multi timeline fic/universe crafted by yours truly, with chapter uploads every two weeks beginning friday, april 5th, 2024

ch01🫶

ch02 🫧

ch03 🫶

ch04 🫧

ch05 🫶

ch06 🫧

ch07🫶

ch08 🫧

ch09 🫶

ch10 🫧

ch11 🫶

ch12 🫧

ch13 🫶

ch14 🫧

ch15 🫶

ch16🫶