#could paint again after months felt so refreshed

[thatgothsamurai]

long time no Porsche⭐

[chrollohearttags]

hershey kisses • armin artlert

armin gives his special girl an orgasm like she’s never had..

content warning + themes: nipple play, p!rn without plot, nipple orgasm, queer bestie armin bc I love him sm, black fem reader, creaming, reader is ovulating, clit rubbing, squirting, ear nibbling, armin being a soft dom (and so hot), back kissing/licking, use of pretty girl, sweetheart and mama

📝: I couldn’t stop thinking about armin + him being a pleasure dom and just caring for his bestie. Like I’m sitting here melting 🥹🥹

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“Here, open your legs, baby..I promise, you’ll like it.”

“Are you sure, Armie? I don’t know about thisss..”

words emitted with a whiny laugh as you sat between the legs of your best friend. Back pressed to his chest and his leaning against your Victorian style headboard..painted in off white, cream coloring and lined with pastel pink pillows and stuffed animals. His tattoos and metal nipple piercings grazing your gorgeous skin. Honestly, he couldn’t believe that the two of you were actually here again…touching all over one another when all it did was lead to more trouble. Even so, you guys always ended up like this: hot, bothered and naked, making out and fucking after coming from a night out at the club or a long week of work. Over the past few months, since the inception of this little entanglement, you and Armin had learned a lot about each other. He had discovered that he leaned more towards being pansexual, rather than outright gay. He felt far more comfortable embracing fluidity in his sexuality and you?

“Relax, sweetheart. Have I ever led you wrong? I mean, you said it yourself that nobody makes you feel the way I can.” cooing to you with gentle kisses trailing along your neck..gentle hands grazing your bare shoulder blades as you had just left the shower..feeling refreshed and warm. Wrapped up in nothing more than a towel that he so delicately removed from your frame..he could sit there and admire you for hours without growing tired.

“You smell so good..and your skin, it’s so soft. You been using my stuff again?” Referring to the peach scented body cream he kept alongside his countless other skin care products he kept in his bathroom. But he didn’t mind. You wore it so much better than him anyways..including the shimmery butter that made your cocoa complexion glistening underneath the pale LED lighting. Besides, you could get away with anything when you smiled at him like that. “And if I was?..” retorting with a soft giggle before turning to kiss him. Your lips met a gentle peck, letting your tongues collide in a passionate barrage of kisses. As you made out, Armin slowly began to snake his arms around to your front. Those big, supple breasts cradled in his veiny hands; perfectly manicured and neat, decorated with silver rings. Suddenly, your breath would hitch in the back of your throat. Those sensitive nipples getting pinched by his fingertips and massages delicately.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to do this..”

what exactly that was? You weren’t sure yet but you’d know soon enough. The friction between your buds and his pads pressing together..rubbing slowly to create and drum up tingling sensations. In your toes, your entire body and especially that core. Dripping with only a few subtle touches so far and this was only the beginning. As your eyes began to flutter, Armin would instruct you to keep them open and strictly on them; twisting your head around whilst he played with your nipples. Tracing slow circles around the areolae before bringing those fingers back up to your quivering mouth to slick with saliva.

“There we go, pretty girl. Open up f’r me..” his higher pitched tone, one some would consider feminine rang out in your ear. He didn’t even have to look and yet he knew your body better than any man you’d ever let touch you prior. He could always sense when you were ovulating and in need of a good session. One that satisfied you mind, body and spirit. Anything to avoid some loser who didn’t deserve to be in your presence, less known getting some pussy get the best of you. Sure, he could fuck you senseless. Bend you over and make you chomp down on your plushies or a nearby pillow. Or even fold your legs up to the headboard and give you deep strokes while your vibrator went crazy but that wouldn’t do. He wanted you to experience a different type of pleasure. One that would have you addicted once you became used to the feeling. Between your trembling thighs lied that little sweet spot..quivering and spasming on nothing more than air. Cream leaking from that freshly shaved cunt as he continued to tease your most sensitive of pressure points. Nibbling on your ear, kissing on your neck and leaving soothing pecks all along your shoulder blade and back.

“Arminnnn…oh my..fuck—“

“Look at you…so cute like this. I swear, it makes me wanna keep playing with you all night.”

when he first told you that an orgasm by merely having your nipples played with was possible, you stared at him as if he were absolutely crazy. You didn’t think such a thing could ever happen and yet, here you were…about to climax and he hadn’t even so much as touched your clit yet! Gasping for air, (y/n) became undone right there in his firm grasp. Armin’s legs coiling you to keep you in place. “Shh..it’s okay, sweetheart. Just breathe with me, okay? I know it feels good and you wanna come so bad…but just hold on.” Those subtle kisses doing little to quell you but when he spoke to you so carefully and delicately, you had no choice but to listen. Faint traces of drool seeped from between your lips as he kept rubbing. Going counterclockwise, twisting in all sorts of directions before clamping down yet again. You’d try to wiggle around, even rut yourself against a nearby pillow to get off but alas, that was useless. He’d pop your leg and command you to stay still..

“No cheating…just let me get you there..” “okay, okay!..please, I just wanna come..”

and soon, your tireless groveling and pleas would pay off. Because alas, he’d let those lengthy fingers glide down your belly and to that fat little pussy, where he spread those lips apart and rubbed that little clit for just a moment. But it was abundantly clear you were far more stimulated than expected. With only a few seconds of gentle massaging, you were flooding the sheets, squirting all over his hands and the bed. So bashful of such a reaction but it was exactly what he wanted to see!

“Aww, good job, baby..you came so hard..” watching you writhe and cry out in pure bliss and ecstasy. There was no way that a little nipple rubbing garnered such a reaction but you’d never question his again! Allowing you to ride out your climatic high, Armin spun you around once more before kissing you. “That feel good, mama? Did you like that?” Questioning with that sweet yet nasally tone, cooing to you like a baby. And you nodded, still dazed with a fucked out expression. Bopping your nose, Armin placed a kiss to your forehead as you lie in his arms.

“I told you, you gotta trust me more often. I’ll do whatever it takes to please you.”

[writersblockedx]

Dependency Problem

Pairing - Conrad Fisher x Fem!Reader Summary - When you return to Cousins this year, you find that Conrad has picked up similar bad habits you once had. Warnings - Use of drugs and alcohol, good bit of angst, NO SPOILERS FOR S2 Words - 2.6k

A/n - Possible part two if people want? Let me know!

Masterlist

Every Summer was spent in Cousins. And every Summer, it was spent with the Fisher and Conklin clan. It was always refreshing, that slow drive back up to the house. The air was sprinkled with salt and the skies seemed always clear, a blue-painted ceiling that you could bathe in all day if you so pleased. But, the most important part of the drive was the reunion.

To see them little differences that had changed in everyone in between the last ten months. For Susannah, she had chopped a good bit of her hair off as her golden locks hung close to her shoulders. Laurel had started wearing less make-up, settling into a more comfortability with herself. Your mom had been the opposite, she was experimenting with makeup and style like she was a teen again; you blamed it on a midlife crisis. Belly had hit puberty, no longer plagued by a pair of glasses. Steven even more relaxed that he had been the year prior, and slightly taller. Jere's hair had grown, giving his curls the space to spiral over his forehead. And then there was Conrad - you noticed it instantly.

It was a familiar essence that was loitering over him. The unironed hoodie he had crowded his more lean figure into. His eyes were dragged down by the black bags, irritated with patches of red within the whites of his eyes. His posture was low, tired, aching. And his expression, while uplifted with a smile of welcome, was a facade. You caught it in a moment.

"Finally!" Jeremiah called as he rushed over to his friends, capturing Steven in a bro-hug first, then Belly and leaving you for last. "Good to have you back." He told you as his head sat on your shoulder before pulling away.

From there, you met Conrad's gaze.

You ignored the way your heart felt heavy. You weren't sure what had happened between now and when you had last said goodbye, but you felt far than enough sympathy. "Hi," You breathed, trying to not let out your surprise at the changes the boy had made.

He greeted you in reply with a, "It's good to see you." And took you into an embrace. It was loose and short-lived, leaving you desperate for more once he finally pulled away.

As the first day back went on, it soon all started coming out. Conrad had left football, barely sailed anymore and, as of this moment, wasn't doing anything at all. Compared to Steven and Jere who already had part-time jobs lined up. Something was wrong and you were beginning to wonder about would you could do. Such was confirmed after dinner came to an end. The boys rushed to play video games and Belly went upstairs to catch up with her friend, Taylor.

Which left you and the mums, clearing up the plates from the dining room table and taking them into the kitchen to be washed. For a moment, you stood alone at the kitchen sink while the others grabbed what was left at the table. And there, your eyes wandered to the window which looked upon the pool. There sat Conrad, legs dangling in the flickering water that reflected the moonlight. His eyes were down, his back facing you but even so you caught the cig he placed between his lips, lighting it and letting his lungs inhale the smoke.

It was there you felt that sympathy, that desperation with the lingering feeling of betrayal. The same exact thing Conrad had felt all of last Summer; it was a role reversal.

"He could really use you right now, you know?" That sweet voice almost made you jump.

A part of you felt flushed as you turned to face Susannah who was standing in the doorway; you'd just been caught staring at her son. "Hmm?" You resulted in responding.

The blonde let a smile grace her lips for a moment, "You two bring out the best in each other." She stated like the wise woman she was. "I think he could really use that right now."

You nodded in understanding, "I'll talk to him." That was a promise.

Once the table was cleaned up, the moms travelled towards the living room, wine glasses and blankets in hand. It hadn't taken them very long to get comfy as they switched the tv on. Though, it was made for only background noise, as their chatter rose above it. It left you with that nagging curiosity, the question that you hadn't stopped asking yourself since you had arrived: what had changed?

Before you could stop yourself, your feet were dragging you to the outside, where Conrad had thought nobody was watching. He didn't care enough to jolt when he heard the back door rattle open. Rather, he simply turned his head and huffed before looking back at the pool and the joint in his hand.

You didn't say anything. Not for at least two minutes as you occupied the space next to him, dipping your bare legs into the water below, almost close enough they could brush along Conrad's. "Theres about a hundred things I could repeat that you told me last year." You didn't look at him when you spoke, you didn't dare glance at the expression you were sure painted his face.

"But you're not going to?" He questioned, brows raised, plucking at his never-ending wonder when it came to the girl he had grown up beside.

You shrugged, swallowed the lump that was growing in your throat and finally looked over at the boy you had known since childhood. "What's the point?" You said, almost with a laugh you ended up suppressing. "You know it's not good, you know everything wrong with it. You're making the decision to do it anyway."

His expression was blank. It didn't seem as if there were many thoughts being processed. "Then what are you doing sat here?" There was a snap in his tone, a way to protect his bad habits from any helping hands.

The answer for you was simple: "Because I care for you, Conrad." As easy as that.

But such statement had prompted an incentive you hadn't meant it to. Rather than something thoughtful in reply, Conrad had started leaning in. You were too close and he was too fast for you to stop it. Within a moment, the sentiment you had just said had been cut off by the boy's lips as he met your own in a deep, yet rushed, kiss.

One hand reached his shoulder, tearing his lips from you. You breathed like you had been gasping for it and looked him in the eye. All that stared back at you was a regret that wasn't fading. "You're high." You reminded him.

"I didn't mean to-" Your other hand took the joint that was still caught between his fingertips. An action which made him shut up as he followed your hands quickly. "What are you-" Once in your grip, you chucked the substance into the pool, making it impossible to smoke again. "What the hell Y/n!"

When you stood, so did he. "Please, just go to bed." You advised him. Though, you highly doubted he would listen. You never did.

"You're not my mother!" His voice rose.

And you didn't step down, "No, but I'm sure she'd tell you the same thing." You took a breath to fight off the fury that was bubbling within the pit of your stomach. "If you can't go the rest of tonight without smoking the rest of that joint, then maybe accept you've got a dependency problem."

He scoffed as he took a step closer. "You can say all you want, I'll just call you what you are: Hypocrite." His tone was laced in more than just a snappy manner, now it was toxic, it wasn't a tone you ever saw Conrad use and it pained your heart to have it aimed at yourself.

You sucked up the tears that were brimming at your eyelids and made your last statement of the night, "What have you turned into?" You left him with that, turning your back before he could spit any more insults your way, making a B-line for your room again.

There, you let the tears fall. You wondered yourself, who had replaced the gentleman, sweet boy you once knew? You wondered if he was okay, if he would go back to normal? Truth being, you couldn't be sure. The year before, Conrad asked himself the same things. You had been just as angry, just as snappy, with a bad temper that could blow at any given moment. It was like living with weights on your back that tired you into a shell of a person until you felt utterly transparent in this world.

You didn't much talk to Conrad after that encounter. To be fair, Conrad hadn't really been talking to anyone other than the odd grunt if you were lucky. It wasn't until Belly's birthday when things got shaky again. This year, the birthday girl had taken the decision for everyone to go to Nicole's party. Nicole who also happened to be Conrad's not-girlfriend.

As much as you lied to yourself, being in her home felt wrong. Being on her territory knowing what Conrad had done two nights prior. The lingering ghost of his lips had never felt more prominent than right in that moment as you stepped foot into her house. You felt guilty being there. And not just because of the kiss, but because you had been yearning for Conrad to kiss you for a long time now. You just hated the fact such a big moment was ruined by the stench of weed on his mouth that soon caught onto your own.

Steven budged your shoulder, "You alright?" He asked, a sweet smile hanging from his lips, breaking you from the oblivious stare you had been making.

You nodded forcefully, "Yeah, yeah I'm good."

Steven wasn't convinced but a feminine voice broke him from his concern, "Steven!" His head spun around and his lips twisted even further upright like a Cheshire cat.

"Shayla." And like that, the boy was gone.

With a sigh, you followed in Taylor's footsteps to get a drink. She filled herself a cup of some red beverage and then grabbed one for you too. She huffed and you watched as her eyebrows raised, "Well look how quickly we've been forgotten." You would have been annoyed if she hadn't been right. Belly had left her for Nicole as had Conrad left you for her too.

You raised your red solo cup, "Cheers to that." Your tone was flat but Taylor clinked your cup anyway.

You weren't sure what the night had planned, but you could tell something was brewing.

Three or four hours later, a good few drinks down (you had lost count) and you were on the hunt for another one. The night was still lively, music blaring through the house, struggling against the volume of eccentric, drunk teenagers. When you reached the kitchen, you became hungry for something that wasn't tequila and juice. Thinking the kitchen was empty, you waltzed in. Only then to find yourself face-to-face with the one person you were avoiding.

You came to an abrupt stop as your gaze clung to one another. He was leant against one of the counters, his own glass in his hand, so casual in his checkered shirt and wavy hair. A thousand pictures ran through your head. You almost became nervous that Conrad could see you replaying that kiss in your mind. It was all you had been able to think about all night with the booze and having him dancing around you all night.

It took resilience for you to tear your eyes from him as you continued around the kitchen, searching the cupboards for something that suited your tastes better. It took a minute of you shuffling through cereal boxes and plates before Conrad spoke up. "Top right." He nodded to the cupboard he was talking about and you dared to catch a glimpse of him.

You nodded and pushed yourself from the floor to your tip toes as you opened the cupboard. A selection faced you of liquors and beers. You took the bottle of your choice and poured it into your red solo cup. Conrad didn't let his eyes leave you. "You're not gonna say anything this time?" He pushed.

You thought about whether it was best to reply or whether he was just picking another argument. "Why? So you can yell at me?" You raised your brow at him, and let your hip fall to lean on the counter as you faced Conrad, a good three meters between the two of you. But you cut it short, taking a step as your eyes narrowed with your next words, "Or so you can kiss me again?"

As if he were scared of the very word, he stepped from the counter, "Don't-" His finger was lingering towards you as he bit down on his tongue.

"What? Scared your girlfriend's gonna overhear it?"

"She's not- my girlfriend." He almost couldn't say it. "I didn't mean to do that." Once again, you found you lied to yourself thinking you weren't hurt by that fact.

You swallowed that pain and looked him right in the eye, "I'm not gonna argue with you if that's what you want. But, if you ever just want to talk, you know where I am."

You stared at him, waiting, willing, for him to say something. To do as you had offered and talk to you like a human being, to open up about whatever was driving him to make all these reckless decisions. The moment fell and you realised he wasn't going to say anything. You accepted it and went to leave, "Okay, I'll see you around Conrad." Said so disinterested.

You were almost out the door when his voice stopped you again, "Wait." It was hesitant but, somehow it was sure it was the right decision to make. When you met his eyes, they were like a child's. Somehow filled once more with innocence, but mostly, desperation. "I don't wanna talk, I just-" His gaze flickered to the floor for a second. "I just want you to be there...please." This time, he was the one on the edge of tears.

Once that left his mouth, you were in front of him, taking him into your embrace. He had never hung on so tightly to you like he didn't dare let go like you were keeping him afloat. Partway through the hug, you heard him sniffle, causing you to rub his back. "It's okay," You soothed. "It's okay."

"Conrad?" The voice cut through your's and Conrad's bubble like a blade.

You spilt from one another, turning to the doorway to find Nicole standing there. There was a familiar look on her face; the same one you had been wearing all night. You could only imagine what she must have been thinking.

Nicole left, taking half the girls with her. And, not long after, so did you and Conrad. Maybe you were drunk and he was drunk, or high, or both, but it didn't matter. He had let that shell open only slightly and because he had asked for you to be there, you would be. That night, you found yourself in his bed, soothing him as he fell asleep in the crook of your neck. It pained you to see him with the same habits you had once plagued yourself with. And, as tonight had shown, it had only gained him consequences. Ones of which you would worry about another day. For now, you would be there for him.

[stayconnecteed]

han jisung drabble    —   993 words !

17 : 29⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀it had been hard not to fall in love with han jisung. you'd been trying for months, your lips curving into smiles that were never quite fake enough, your fingers sliding between his when they should have stayed in your pocket, his eyes meeting yours in a thousand and one places where you should have been looking at something else. it had been hard, and maybe you hadn't tried at all because deep down what you wanted most was that free fall, your heart beating with the chaotic, accelerated rhythm of someone in love, your cheeks turning red for no reason, and that bright aura that showered over you every time he pronounced your name.

but it was monday, the day he had rehearsal with his band, and you had left the gym early so you could go see him, your damp hair wetting the cushioned back of the chair, the ends curling up because they were already drying. he hadn't seen you, but you had seen him, and you could only admire the relaxed way his fingers caressed the strings of his guitar, the rumbling sound on the amplifier accompanying his voice as an eager puppy follows its owner, and the way he pronounced each word of the song's lyrics painting emotions in your chest. when you saw him enjoying the music it was like watching him dreaming with birds in his throat, the curve of a fa clef illuminating his lips with satisfaction.

and then the pianist had stopped the vision that was jisung on stage, announcing in a thick accent that it had gone perfectly, that he didn't think they needed to rehearse much more, though they would still see each other again the following monday. and your boy had looked to where he knew you would be waiting for him, his eyes like crescent moons, his smile drawing a heart between his cheeks, a crooked and irregular one, but one that belonged only to you. he had hurried to pack up, putting the electric guitar away with the rest of the instruments but hanging the strap of his acoustic guitar around his chest, meeting you at the door, with the same devotion with which his hand had met yours as soon as he had you near him.

because since you'd met him, all your mondays had been just as warm. because once you'd walked outside, your hands hanging intertwined in the sweet almond shape that formed the void between your bodies as you told him how your day had gone, his words crowding into his mouth as he tried to explain what he'd done in the morning, everything was blue and home, like dancing barefoot on the beach and the burst of strawberry flavor on a vacation afternoon. it was april, and you could feel summer at your fingertips, close enough to breathe a sigh of relief, but desperately far enough away to feel nostalgic for the one before.

in those moments of enamored reassurance that you had tried so hard to avoid then, you were lost now, his laughter sliding across your shoulders, your lips on his, silences of whispers and sighs that belonged to the both of you as you wandered to the nearest convenience store. and the contrast between the palm of his hand, warm against your skin, and the refreshing coolness you felt once he rested it again after taking the glass of cold ice tea from the freezer at the back of the store, the condensed drops of melting ice trapped between his fingers and your hip, were a reminder of what happened when no one was looking.

and then you stood in line to pay, as he rested his chin on your shoulder, his mouth forming monologues of incoherent worship against your neck, you found yourself unable to untangle his arms from your waist, the elderly store owner gazing lovingly at you. and then, as he drank and coated his upper lip without knowing it, the way his skin took on an instant crimson when you took his face in your hands, cheeks rough against your palms from not having shaved in a few days, you kissed the tea away. and then, as he babbled an excuse for the blushing mess he had become, he offered to share his earbuds until you reached the spot in the park where you always cuddled.

later he would offer his oversized hoodie as a blanket, your dress slipping up your thighs as you sat down, his legs folded under yours, and he would rest a hand on your bare skin while you picked up his guitar, ready to show him how much you had practiced the four chords he had taught you the week before. and you didn't see the way he looked at you, big brown eyes containing the universe in his pupils, lovesick smile, his heart on the verge of insanity, utterly devoted to you, but it was the same way your gaze fell on him when you asked him to play for you a song and he started ripping notes from the strings with an almost painful softness, concentrating on the rhythm, drowning in words that didn't exist to show you how much he loved you.

it had been hard not to fall in love with han jisung, but you hadn't even tried. as long as the birds sang wind songs about you two, as long as you were willing to peel oranges for him even if he didn't ask you to, as long as your memories were poetry and guitars and brief glances, then you'd never forget each other. because then you could smile freely, hold his hand without fear and look at him as much as you wanted to. it was a monday after five in the afternoon and you were awash in music, enjoying the kind of love that only happens once in a lifetime and obsessed with each other.

© stayconnecteed 2024 · do not copy, translate, repost or share this work as yours on other platforms

[answer2jeff]

Life Imitates Art —Carmen Berzatto.

PART 1/2.

warnings: fluff. painter!reader x roommate!carmen. unestablished relationships. clunky overly detailed writing. carmy being concerned. angsty. mutual pinning. (reader is lowkey mentally unstable like Carmen. i can't write 100% healthy relationships i'm sorry!!!)

a/n: sorry i disappeared and didn't write for weeks and decided to randomly drop this!

You needed inspiration.

With your last three pieces bought out from the French art gallery, L'art de L'amour, you hadn't touched your easel in days. Your brushes had gone dry, the paint clumping and staining every bristle. The lack of desire to make art felt like you hadn't seen the sun in 10 years.

You'd been ignoring this dreadful feeling with sleep.

Long day at the studio, the space filled with no one but younger, starving artists who wanted to admire your work for creative flow—but never wanting to know the real meaning behind every brush stroke, or why you used oil paints for specific pieces? Sleep.

The days fell shorter, the nights falling longer.

Even your roommate, a micromanager of his career, noticed.

It surprised you, possibly more than it should've. When you first moved into this apartment, you had every doubt in the world sharing a space would be enjoyable. For a while, you weren't sure if you could call yourselves "friends." Then again, living with a complete stranger—a man, no less, seemed impractical. But after a month or two, it was refreshing in a way. Carmen always cleaned up after himself, and was never opposed to splitting chores. There was no need to set specific boundaries. You felt respected, cared for. Every minute not overpowered by either of your desires to create were mostly spent with each other. It kept you sane.

You woke up to the sound of Carmen walking into the kitchen, cursing under his breath when he struggled to shut the door of your apartment behind him. Reluctantly, you dragged yourself out of bed, only to find that your bedroom door was wide open. You must've gone straight to bed after spending the entire evening trying and expectedly failing at "cleaning" up the apartment so Carmen wouldn't come home to a mess.

Bare feet pattered against the floorboards, the palm of your hand pressing into your tired eyes. You stretched your arms out, your t-shirt, who you weren't sure if it was yours or Carmen's, lifting up and showing just a sliver of your stomach over your grey sweatpants. The sunlight leaking through the windows blinded you.

"Oh, hey. You're up." A warm, welcoming voice greeted you, followed by the fridge being closed shut after restocking it with the necessities he picked up from Whole Foods.

You blinked to see Carmen hovered over the kitchen counter, clad in a navy-blue crewneck and gold chain dangling from his pale neck. His hands pried at a familiar brown wrapper. Blueberry muffins.

"Hey, yourself," you slurred, barely able to keep your eyes open as you hoisted yourself up onto the marble surface. You gazed down at him, grinning at his messy blonde curls.

Carmen smiled back, blue eyes admiring the sight of you: half asleep, your voice raspy while still having that airy cadence, your hair messier than it was the last time he willingly saw you—which he couldn't totally remember. He came home to the sight of your bedroom dimly lit by your bedside lamp.

"It's noon," he muttered, glancing from his phone on the counter, and back to you.

"Shit. Really?"

"Yeah. You've been sleeping a lot lately," he kept his stare on you as he opened the cabinet beside you, reminding you to 'watch your head' as he grabbed a ceramic plate.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

Your mind wandered to your exhibit. The thought of never having the ability to create such extraordinary work terrified you. So much that you hadn't even tried. It was almost embarrassing: Carmen seeing you like this. Rid of the one thing you convinced yourself you knew how to do.

"Not really."

You wanted to laugh. Maybe he just didn't get it.

If you could make even the painfully mundane into something more, than maybe you were more than just existing. Carmen was actually astounded by you and your work, even with the lack of knowledge in other art forms. Culinary was his calling, but for you? Oh, how he tried to grasp every concept you conveyed in your creative works. All in attempt to comprehend every thought in that pretty little head of yours.

Maybe he didn't understand as much as he wished, but maybe he didn't have to totally 'get it' to get you. Carmen found it hard to read people, their feelings, their true intentions, his whole life. But for once, he had confidence in his intoxicating marvel for everything you did. Even the way you covered your mouth when you laughed around everyone except him, or the way you styled your hair

"Well, it was for the sake of art," you smiled, extending your hand out to accept the plate that held the beautifully baked blueberry muffin. "Thanks for these, by the way."

"Pleasure. And I was actually gonna ask you about that. The—the art. Your art." Carmen joined you on the counter, his feet dangling beside yours. Your shoulders bumped past each other, a laugh coming from the both of you.

"Yeah? What about it?" You bit into your muffin, your gaze never leaving his.

"Well, I uh—I kinda wanted to visit your exhibit, y'know? Get to see it in its full form. I would've asked sooner but—"

"Yeah, yeah, it's okay. I know. Um—that'd be great. That's really nice of you, Carm."

A part of you wondered why he wanted to see it. But it wasn't all too surprising. Carmen took every chance he got to see your studio—even taking the initiative to drive you home from it on late nights, where you'd be endlessly analyzing your works even hours after Carmen would leave what was now, The Bear.

"Nah, I mean, I've just seen all that y'do and it's—" Carmen shrugged, struggling to find the right words to express his admiration without changing the atmosphere, "really cool. It's you, y'know?" His bottom lip was barred by his teeth and he looked into you for an answer.

You wished you could understand how the complexities of a kitchen; how it could clutch Carmen's attention to the point of no return, but you were happy for him. He was making something more of "mom and dads piece of shit," as he called it.

You never thought it was anything short of fucking awesome. He had all of this experience, drive, passion. Carmen felt more real, more rawly human to you than anything. Or anyone you'd met before.

He changed you. You were softer, calmer.

And still, you worried for him, dragging him out of the ever all consuming anxiety. Sometimes this was through watching X-file reruns on the couch. And every night, you'd move a little closer. By now, he'd keep an arm around you as your eyes became heavy and the room stirred with darkness and comfortable silence. He prayed to whatever ruled above him that you wouldn't notice, simultaneously wishing you'd want him to hold you gently like this. Even grocery store trips, something so simple, felt this way—which you missed out on this morning. You'd stand on the edge of the cart, your hands supporting your weight as Carmen pushed the handle with both hands, eyes scanning the isle for whatever obscure ingredient he needed for the dinner he planned on making you that night.

Every time he looked away, you stared. His beautifully carved nose, the way he bit the inside of his cheek and furrowed his blonde eyebrows when he tried to focus on making a decision. You were afraid, in a weird, animalistic way. You hadn't stopped yourself from relying on him. What if loving him this way made him pull away–or worse, you? You had to admit, having something this painfully simple in your life that made up for the chaos, was a little hard to accept.

It took everything in you to pretend you didn't notice him cleaning up the bathroom you shared whenever either of you left your belongings lying around. You wanted to convince yourself it was because he didn't want to come off as a slob, or influence you to be one yourself. But it always felt more like he was looking after you. Nothing that belonged to you would ever be misplaced again. Not with Carmen around.

You took pride in the little things. Your shoes placed next to each other near the front door, your toothbrushes leaning against each other with corresponding colored clips to cover their bristles. This was good. Change was good.

[thevoidable]

Does Chief know that Arbiter was behind the fall of Reach?

This is a question that I'm sure has crossed a few people's minds, especially if you're someone who enjoys the dynamic that Chief and Arby share.

Reach was basically Chief's home; he grew up there, he was trained to be a Spartan there. That planet holds a lot of fond memories for him, and losing it to the Covenant was a devastating blow that only made him all the more angry towards them. So, you can imagine that he would be pissed if he ever came face to face with the one responsible. But when he did, there was no malice beyond shoving a magnum in Arbiter's mouth. They're good allies by the end of H3, so, does he know?

Well, the short answer is: yes. He absolutely does.

So, the real question here is: when did he know?

In order to answer that, we first need to look at what confirmed Chief's knowledge of the Arbiter's dark past in the first place.

Halo 2 Anniversary introduced terminals that gave lore fanatics incredibly juicy details about the in-game universe, and the very first one on Cairo Station is a report by Jameson Locke that details EVERY major crime committed by Thel 'Vadamee. Upon opening up the terminal, we are greeted by this:

A "blink and you’ll miss it” detail that I think a lot of people's eyes glaze over upon first watch. Now, I know what you're probably thinking - "Oh, he's viewing this report on Cairo, so he knew this back in Halo 2 then!" Ah ah ah, not so fast.

Locke specifies the date of the report as September 26 2552, but the events of Reach and the original trilogy all took place two months prior in July - if you remember how Halo 3 ended, that means that Chief is stranded in space by the time Semptember rolls around. Unless he has time travelling powers, there’s no way he’s reading a report from the future on Cairo, especially while it’s under attack. 

So, that said, when did Chief have a chance to read the report? 

Well, the answer is actually very simple: directly after the end of Halo 4.

If you need a refresher, Chief was thrown right into the conflict with the Didact from the beginning of the game, and it was non-stop action for him ever since. However, the ending cutscene of the game shows us his armour being removed (presumably for repairs), and he gets his first real downtime in years. This is when we can best assume that he found the report.

Now, allow me to paint you a picture.

Chief has just come back from defeating the Didact, but in the process he’s lost his closest friend. Fresh out of his armour and knee-deep in grief, he seeks to distract himself by digging through some files to find out what he’s missed. The last thing he remembers before entering cryosleep four years ago is discovering that the Foward Unto Dawn was torn in half, and the Arbiter was nowhere to be found. So, what happened to him? Did he survive? Is Chief’s newfound ally okay?

The database has several files listed under “The Arbiter”, but he ignores each in favour of one that immediately catches his attention, marked by ONI as highly classified.

He came looking for a distraction, but found only anger instead.

For the entirety of his time between the end of Halo 4 and during Halo 5, Chief had been dealing with his grief over Cortana and the indirect betrayal of someone he once trusted. Repressing those feelings led him to take on mission after mission back-to-back without rest, so much to the point that even ONI noticed. Blue Team was thankfully there for him through it all, but there wasn’t much that even they could do for him beyond supporting him. 

Fast forward to the end cutscene of Halo 5 - Chief doesn’t see Arbiter until he’s lost Cortana again. He failed to save her again. He’s at his lowest, the worst he’s ever felt, and there’s little anyone can do to cheer him up, if they can even tell he’s hurting.

But then in comes Arbiter, who - thanks to one of the books - provides the perfect distraction, taking Chief off to the side to have their first real conversation together, reminiscing about the past and catching up with each other. Chief gets to see how far Arbiter has come now, and just how much he still wants to do better. In the midst of Chief’s pain and guilt, he probably no longer has the energy to be angry, and he can see how holding a grudge against the Arbiter will benefit no one.

Forgiveness may not be in the cards just yet, and maybe one day Chief will get closure for the things Arbiter has done to him and millions of others, but for now, Arbiter can still inspire him to keep fighting, and he’ll value their alliance for as long as it lasts.

EDIT:

So I appear to stand corrected and have been informed that the original trilogy does NOT take place in July (Halopedia is the most convoluted rabbit hole I s2g) - CE takes place in September, and then Halo 2 starts in October with Halo 3 ending in December.

That complicates my theory a little BUT my point still stands that Chief is a busy guy and wouldn’t have read the report on Cairo while it was under attack (if you take accessing it during gameplay as canon). He also wouldn’t have an incentive to go looking for the information nor would he even know what to look for until Halo 4. There’s also a possibility that he was briefed about Thel at some point prior to H2, but wouldn’t have been able to make the connection that the silver-armoured elite he briefly met via the Gravemind and then fought alongside later was Thel. He just knew him as “The Arbiter”.

Either way, he still knows regardless, and it’s incredibly fun to think about the ramifications thereafter.

[daywalkers-fic]

my plans to keep up with this month's prompts in chronological order have gone out the window so here I am once again, I'm torn into pieces. I offer a short story about meeting a “tall, handsome, stranger” that not only smacks you in the head, but might also be trying to rob you too.

Im a fan of interactive fiction - the community on tumblr is amazing!! writing Daywalkers as one did cross my mind early on—a fun thought I might entertain again someday. here’s my shot at writing in the second person. not proofread, pls pardon me.

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yeehawgust day 7: tall, handsome, stranger

The sun beat down mercilessly overhead as your train pulled into town. You had undone your neckerchief and the first top buttons of your shirt, loosening the fabric to better fan yourself with it. Sensibilities be damned—the only thing on your mind was a bath and a good night’s rest.

“Excuse me,” you said, approaching the nearest station attendant, “How might I get to Charlie Quigg's bar from here?”

“Ser,” he greeted you with a polite nod, “You're looking for Sally's Singin' Spittoon Saloon?”

You couldn't recall the exact name of your uncle’s bar, but you remembered that it was something long with an odd rhyme—Sally's Singin' Spittoon Saloon was close enough. “Yes, thank you.”

“It's a short-way’s walk south of here,” he pointed to the road in front of the station, “Head down towards the post office. Make a left, and the saloon’ll be right across from Ferne's Inn.”

Relieved to hear that your destination wasn't too far from where you were, you thanked him and hurried on your way. You should be at your uncle's in no time.

—Or, so you thought.

Thirty minutes later, you were still melting under the summer sun, still with all your luggage, and still, not yet at your uncle's. Ferne's Inn was easy enough find, there was a painted sign that read “FERNE’S INN”. It was your uncle’s bar that was nowhere to be found. Across the inn was a boarded-up barn. Unless Uncle Charlie sold his business without the family knowing, you were in the wrong place. You went back to the station twice and back to retrace your steps—to no avail. There was no sign of Sally or her Singin' Spittoon Saloon anywhere.

Defeated, you headed to the inn in a dizzying trance. The heat fatigue was really getting to you.

“Hi,” the woman at the front desk chirped, “Welcome to Ferne's Inn.”

“One room and bath, please,” you replied hoarsely.

“We have a few vacancies. Do you have any particulars? Size? View? We have a room ready on our first floor, but many of our guests stay and enjoy the cozy—”

Bless this woman. She was doing a very good job to ensure that your room was to your liking, but you were becoming irritably restless. “I’ll take the first floor.”

“Room 1C it is then! You can go on ahead and get settled in. I’ll come fetch you when the bath room is ready.”

You’re not you when you’re overheating—is anyone? You body was built for the cooler seasons back home. Newbarrow summers were more dry than humid, but it was still too hot for you. Could you last the summer here?

After a wash and quick meal, you felt much better. Alert and refreshed, the change of clean clothes was also very comforting. You were on your way out to speak with front desk again when the door to your room opened. Unfortunately, you were too distracted to notice, fiddling with a stubborn button on your sleeve, and walked right into it. There was a concerning smack! as your face hit the wood.

“Shit!” you hissed, cradling your head.

“Christ alive!” a voice yelped.

A hammering pain shot to your forehead, and the hit to your nose made your eyes water terribly. Your fingers immediately brushed over the tender areas, checking for blood. You'll definitely be waking up tomorrow with bruises, but you were at least glad to feel that nothing was broken or bleeding. Through your tearing eyes, you looked up at the stranger in your doorway.

They stood at least a head and a hat taller than you. You blinked to clear your vision and get a better look at them. As their features came into focus, your breath faltered.

This was not good.

Before your trip, you had read about a string of crimes in the area. A gang of “devishly good looking” crooks were wanted for robbery and assault—their victims were often single, lone travelers.

Here you were, an unaccompanied newcomer that should have been more cautious, and they, a handsome stranger, was almost towering over you in your room.

You retreated backwards, head throbbing and heart racing. To your horror, the stranger stepped in further after you.

“Careful, are you alright?” “I don’t have any money!”

They blinked. “You think I’m here to rob you…?”

You looked away, refusing to participate in whatever mind games they were trying to play. There was no need to stare at your attractive assailant for any longer, either—you had seen enough to identify them later on. Never mind their hair, their rolled up sleeves, their deep brown eyes that complimented their skin and framed their face nicely—

No. Should you die today, you will not go down without a fight. You used your body weight to push them out into the hall and lock the door.

Of course their arms would catch your door before it closed. “I’m not here to rob you.”

“That’s exactly what a robber would say!” you grunted, fighting to close the door on them.

“Hey! I—ok, that might be true. But I’m not here to hurt you!”

“Get away from me!”

“Why are you so strong?”

“I'm fast, too. I'll be at the police station faster than you can even follow!”

“If anyone here is a criminal, it's you!”

Fine, you'll bite. “What do you mean?”

“You were behind the door all small and sneaky. You were waiting to ambush me!”

“What is that supposed to—!” “Will you just—!”

In the moment of confusion, your force on the door faltered and it swung open. You stumbled backwards and they fell forward towards you. They were able to catch themselves on the door frame, and managed to also catch you before you could fall, too. Their hands were firm on your arm, enough to steady you, but gentle enough so as not to hurt you. Wide eyes and heavy breaths met yours, the two of you stayed like this for a few still seconds. You could feel warmth bloom from under your skin, spreading up across your entire face—sore forehead and nose, cheeks and all. You were the first to look away, and they were the first so speak again.

“What are you doing in my room?” they asked slowly, releasing your arm.

Now you were feeling doubtful. You looked at the plated letter on the front door. “No, this is my room.”

They opened their mouth to say something, but immediately pressed their lips shut after looking at the the room number.

“…this is not Room 1E.”

You remained where you were, unsure if this was a part of their schtick or if they truly did mistake your room for theirs. You watched their face ease from confusion to worry, and then shock.

“I am so sorry,” they groaned, their face now in their hands. “My friend got me a room here last night. I was so tired, the only thing I could remember was it being down the right hall”—they dropped their hands with another groan—“I should’ve checked when I went out this morning. I apologize for startling you.”

You were inching back further into your room and moving slowly behind the door again, putting some distance between you. You’ll check their alibi with the front desk later. For now, you just wanted this person to leave.

“Exhausted delirium,” you nodded politely, “I get it.”

“Yeah,” they smiled at you sheepishly.

You couldn’t stand them looking at you like that.

“I, uh”— why were you getting flustered? They were the one in the wrong.

“Right. I’ll leave you to your day, then.” They took off their hat to run a nervous hand through their hair before putting it back on to nod at you.

“Take care,” you forced a small smile before quickly closing the door with the lock.

Shaken, you slumped down against the door. It hadn’t even been a full day yet and you managed to lose your family, almost get murdered, and awkwardly meet a tall, handsome, stranger. Was this worth writing to your friends back home about?

From the other side, you heard their voice trail down the hall, muttering. “The last time damn time Nicky takes me to the Spittoon…I swear I’ll…”

You shot up and scrambled for the door, poking your head out to call after them. “Hey! Wait!”

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I had no one particular in mind writing this :) just two random characters. Gender neutral encounter that also harkens to my aroace panik of meeting attractive people.

alternatively, I had a cursed a idea to write something about a group of three cowpoke friends nicknamed “tall”, “handsome”, and “strange”.

[gisellelx]

Drying Up

(~2,000 words)

The smell of drying paint was still fresh, sharp and chemical and both refreshing and noisome at once. Benjamin Moore’s Sundance, his mother had told him, a pale but somehow rich yellow. A classic choice when you were painting a room for a grandchild whose gender was unknown. The crib was here, too, now, and Edward suspected from the stray thoughts Esme seemed to be keeping from him that there was much more stashed away—bought in fits of her relentless optimism even as the rest of them had panicked. 

He was fingering the crib sheet, his fingers taking note of the soft jersey fabric and the stiff plastic texture of the mattress protector underneath, when the door to the cottage opened and a blast of unusually humid early fall air hit him. On it rode another scent: rich, earth, spice. The scent he’d known first as a vampire. The footsteps came only a short way over the threshold and then stopped, the slightly disjointed thought following quickly thereafter. 

Intruding…

It made sense. Even with all the space he had always been granted, the freedom to stay or go, to bring on his self destruction if he chose to, to return and be held and welcomed…the homes had never been his. Never before had the threshold of a door leading outside belonged only to Edward. 

That his father had stopped was so very characteristic of him.

“You can come in, Carlisle,” he said. 

At once, he was no longer alone in the room. After so many years, Carlisle’s senses felt like an extension of his own, and so Edward took in again the pant color, the delicate curvature of the wrought-iron crib, the plushness of the rug under their feet. Then came the emotions: surprise and pleasure and suddenly, a self-deprecating bashfulness.

Edward raised his eyebrows. 

“You’d think after eighty-five years I’d know not to doubt her,” Carlisle said, chuckling. When Edward said nothing, he added, “She wanted to do this as soon as you came home. I thought…” 

The terrible outcome flashed in Carlisle’s head for a moment, quickly shut down but not before Edward could see the whole thing play out. The funeral. The move. The cover story. 

“I’m sorry,” Carlisle muttered. 

A head shake. He hadn’t been wrong. Edward had worried all the same things, to such a greater depth. Bella’s life slipping from her and with it their child’s, and with that, surely his own. For a brief moment he was grateful that his father couldn’t read his mind, that he would not see how fervently focused Edward had been on the same self-destructive intent that had so tortured his parents scant months before. 

And yet his mother had ignored all that and had gone on what he felt sure had been a frantic spree of catalog and internet ordering, of trips to the True Value on the 101, to what must have been side excursions to Olympia and Seattle and perhaps even LA? She had been gone for a full forty hours at one point five days ago.

“Her optimism is so irritating,” Edward said under his breath, and his father guffawed. 

“It is, isn’t it?” A hand came to his shoulder. “And then on top of that she has to go and be right.” 

This time, they both laughed. 

Carlisle’s hand was as reassuring as it ever had been, and Edward let himself get lost for a moment in the breaths at his side. The same sound that had met him as he sat, internally panicking, four days ago, as his rational brain told him that yes, he’d made it in time, that yes, his wife’s heart was still beating. He had wanted to believe it, but he hadn’t been able to allow himself to until his father had returned.

He played that moment back now in his mind. Alice, his confidante, and his brothers–they had never held an infant and so within a few short hours he had grown accustomed to only handing the baby to Rosalie. He’d managed, therefore, to forget the centuries of birthing beds to which his father had attended, and so it had seemed strange, the utter naturalness with which Carlisle’s right hand had supported the tiny cervical spine and guided the rest of the stumpy body into the crook of his arm. So utterly fluid, as though holding his granddaughter was an everyday thing. 

That the cottage was out earshot of the main house had been the whole point in the first place, but Edward found himself anxiously searching the fleeting, minutes-old memories at the edges of Carlisle’s mind, reassuring himself that his daughter was still napping; that his wife and his sisters were still mapping out the latest round of “normal kid” photo album fakes; that Jacob Black was still standing sentinel at the back door. His father’s footsteps, descending from the back porch, carrying him lightly across the forest floor, both following Edward’s scent but also his own surety of where his son had gone, because he was on an errand…

Edward looked down to Carlisle’s other hand, now realizing this wasn’t merely an idle visit. “What is that?” 

Carlisle looked at him guiltily and held out his right hand. In it was a pile of fur which at first Edward took to be some small animal, but realized at once it couldn’t be for the scent, and then realized that no, it was a small animal but not the kind he thought. He took it from Carlisle, holding it up for inspection. The beaded eyes were slightly loose, one string of the smile had gone loopy as well, giving it a lopsided expression. Its body was jointed, the legs splayed at a strange angle, and he instinctively patted one of the arms back so that it matched its partner. The scents it carried with it were old: sawdust; long rancid cookie crumbs; a few flecks of dirt. An antique, he was sure. 

“Where did you get this?” 

His father shrugged. “Your attic.” 

His attic? Edward’s eyes cast upward, and he frowned.

“Not here,” Carlisle answered, his smile gentle. “The Chicago house.” 

Even at his full, vampiric processing speed, it took Edward a moment to understand. He ran his hand over the head of the bear, feeling the brittle, aged fur under the tips of his fingers. His brow furrowed. 

“How long have you had this?” he murmured.

His father coughed lightly. Nineteen twenty-five.  

Edward turned the bear over in his hands. Its scent was unfamiliar; its texture, too. Like so many things, it seemed whatever wisps of his memory existed for this remained almost completely obscured, and when he tried to grasp them more firmly, they scurried away into oblivion once more.  He ran his hand over the head, gripping it, knowing his hand was now too large to remember what it must have felt to hold this toy, but trying anyway.

And abruptly, the memories came. The corduroy paw, clutched in a small hand; the bear dangling from the fist of a copper-haired boy, hitting him at his bare knees between the hem of his shorts and the white socks pulled smartly up small calves. Sitting sentinel, staring over the bath, fur slightly dark from where it had endured some exuberant splashing, a gleefully naked boy giggling over the proliferation of bubbles. The fake fur, tangled with bits of tree bark and the pungent smell of sap, stuffed in its owner’s shirt as long arms and spindly legs spidered their way up a young birch. The bear, dressed up as a navy soldier; the boy taking aim with a toy gun over the back of a delicate sofa.Tucked in beside its owner, his face barely visible above the quilt, his cheeks full as his hair spilled over a flat pillow. 

A hand reached out. Adjusted the blanket over the boy’s shoulders. Stroked the unruly copper hair. Repositioned the bear so that it nestled more carefully under the small chin. Found its way to the boy’s back, stroking it. With it, a deep sense of satisfaction and pleasure as the hand’s owner watched the boy nestle into even deeper sleep. And beneath it all, there was a longing, searing sharpness of regret; a raw, stomach-churning grief for the boy and his bear and these lost times… 

“Carlisle…” was all Edward could manage, and what he knew now were not his memories abruptly disappeared. 

I’m sorry, came the mental voice, which, after a century, was almost as clear as his own. I didn’t mean to…

“This is why I didn’t know you had this,” Edward whispered. “Because you couldn’t endure these thoughts.” 

His father’s eyes closed as he nodded. And then Edward was seeing again the same image he himself had thought of, what–fewer than ten minutes ago? His father’s hand, splaying beneath his daughter’s neck, except that her face was different; her eyes much paler, the chin the same shape he saw in the mirror. 

It made sense, suddenly. For Rosalie, these sorts of thoughts came almost daily–the chubby baby boy with Emmett’s dimples and his curly dark hair. Esme’s were less frequent and more scattered; sometimes the older boy, a strange mix of her actual husband and Carlisle. Every now and then not her son at all, but other children–the family she had daydreamed of making some day with the handsome doctor she’d met as a teenager. Alice, who remembered nothing of her human life, never thought of children, but Jasper sometimes did: a girl with Alice’s dark hair in a single braid down her back beneath a wide brimmed hat as she sat astride a dappled gelding. 

But Carlisle’s thoughts of this nature had always been rare and when they did come, they seemed guarded; the face of the child obscured, the images fleeting. Sometimes, Edward had caught the edge of a nickname, the meaning of which was abruptly clear as day…

“Spaghetti,” he murmured. “It’s a rhyme.” 

The boy and the bear reappeared, the boy’s eyes casting from side to side anxiously even as a smile played on his lips. And then suddenly there was a thud of two heavy feet jumping out of the shadows and the roar of a grown man’s voice. The boy dissolved into shrieking giggles and took off running, the bear tagging beside him in one hand, slowing him down so that the man could catch up to him. The strong arms coming around the small waist and pulling the boy into the air. 

“I caught you, Eddie Spaghetti,” came the deep voice. “I caught you!” 

The boy kicked and shrieked and laughed, and the man laughed even more heartily. Edward pulled the bear to his chest with one hand as the thoughts faded back to the nursery. 

“It’s me,” he said, dumbly after a moment. “It’s always been…me.” 

The hand on his shoulder squeezed, and Edward heard the wet sound of the reluctant gulp as his father nodded. 

“Anyway.” Carlisle gestured to the crib and his voice was suddenly cool and professional. “The AAP would suggest you shouldn’t put it in there until we feel like she’s about whatever is going to be the equivalent of a year.” But she can play with it when she’s awake.

It was something Edward had inherited; this tendency to get clinical when he was on the edge of something overwhelming. The bear still clutched in his fist, he flung his arms around Carlisle, and took a deep, steadying breath. A moment later the embrace was returned, his father’s strong hand in the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Thanks, Carlisle.” 

Just don’t waste this time, came the forceful thought, and then they were back in the imaginings so rich and detailed they felt like memories. Edward let his own thoughts wind around Carlisle’s. The copper-haired baby girl blended with the copper-haired baby boy. Bathtimes imagined, both ones in the past, and ones yet in the future. Toys from the turns of two centuries, expressions of wondering glee on two so-similar faces. 

Edward nodded. “I won’t waste it. I promise.” 

He placed the bear in the corner of the crib, and allowed his father’s arm to come over his shoulder once more. And together, they stood there in the brilliantly yellow nursery, just the two of them, together contemplating the wonder of two childhoods: the one lost forever to them both, and the one before them to behold.

Montage masterpost

[ironmandeficiency]

i miss sparkling

pairing: dieter bravo / reader

word count: 1234

summary: dieter is feeling himself after breaking off an unhealthy relationship and meets you, finding that you’re bejeweled just like him

a/n: the idea of dieter just strutting into the club post-breakup with the confidence of yung gravy has me on my knees. there’s VERY little dialogue in this, heads up

rummaging through his closet, dieter realized it had been far too long since he’d worn an outfit worthy of the vip sections of clubs he would frequent. for weeks, it’s been the same rotation of sweats and threadbare band tees from concerts he didn’t remember attending.

his excuses for basically yeeting himself off the deep end have no legs to stand on and he knew it. the lack of clean clothes? he has people on his payroll that could easily be goaded into washing a few loads. his regular haunts not having food he felt like eating? there have been at least two occasions where he brought an entire rotisserie chicken to the club and no one stopped him.

after weeks of moping and recovering from the heartbreak caused by the one who shall not be named, he was finally ready to face the world once again. most importantly, he was ready to face himself again. 

sadness became his whole sky once the truth came out, every painting he tried to throw himself into subconsciously tinted with sapphire. it made him throw out every shade of blue paint he owned in a fit of melancholic rage, wondering why why why did this happen as wet diamonds fell from his eyes.

he bathed for the first time this week and made it look like he put effort into taming his wily hair. in all honesty, he couldn’t remember the last time he wore underwear and putting a clean pair on felt oddly satisfying. he was putting himself back together piece by piece and damn was it refreshing.

dieter has been (slowly) getting clean for the past several months with help from his na sponsor, an army vet who could cook mean barbacoa. it was francisco who kept dieter from relapsing at the revelation of what the one who shall not be named did to him. he was the one who brought home-cooked meals and stayed to watch shitty action movies on the pretentious leather couch dieter planned on throwing out as soon as possible.

but he couldn’t remain a hermit for much longer if he wanted to keep his head on his shoulders, so going out was tonight’s plan.

the vip sections of his normal clubs would be crowded with people who would ask too many questions about what happened, and that was the last thing dieter needed. he just wanted to get drinks and dance his feet into nubs, so he found a place he’d never been and had his team feed false rumors to the paps about where he’d be.

tonight was about him.

░

work has been royally kicking your ass. there was always something going wrong, someone who took issue with how you ran things, and several ill-timed disasters in your personal life that almost had you pulling your hair out. your friends were sympathetic to your plight, but instead of encouraging you to curl up on the couch with a gallon of blue bell, they all but forced you to get ready for a night on the town.

of course, they wouldn’t be going with you. this was a night “destined” to be about you and you alone, about you taking much-needed time to recoup from the shitstorm your life has been lately. having other people come with you would only “inhibit the good vibes from focusing on you” and they couldn’t have that.

by the time the makeover fairies left your place, you were glammed up and genuinely excited for a fun night out. you were looking forward to dancing with strangers to loud music and having just enough to drink so your edges are just this side of blurred.

with a spring in your step, you get in your car and set your destination for your favorite club. the excitement is already flowing through your veins and you haven’t even pulled onto the highway. this was definitely what you needed.

░

dieter sent a quick text to francisco to check in before heading inside the club, a ritual dieter adopted early into their sponsor/sponsee friendship to hold him accountable. it worked for him; knowing that his friend cares about him works wonders to curb his now-seldom urges to use. upon telling him that he’s finally going out, francisco sends a congratulations and wishes him luck.

it’s a sign he was meant to be here when he realizes the dj is playing one of his favorite songs right as he walks through the door. he proudly struts to the bar, his easy confidence granting him a spot at the counter. he really is proud of himself, he thinks; enjoying and being himself again is progress.

he orders his usual and once it’s in front of him, he downs it in one gulp, eager to dance with the first person that piques his interest. the bass reverberates through him from the floor up and it gets him moving to the dancefloor with vigor. he has returned to himself and it’s an amazing feeling.

dieter suddenly feels like he’s surrounded by dozens of people like him who simply want to enjoy life while they can. all eyes are on him not because he’s an oscar-winning actor, but because he’s a diamond among playground pebbles, he’s the sun beckoning to the sunflowers in the fields. the combined energy of everyone in the room feeds his confidence in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.

he’s dancing, basking in the flashing lights. all of his focus is on embracing these feelings and acting on his desire to find the happiness he’s missed. drinks are passed to him like offerings to the gods from devoted worshippers. nothing could bring him down, and he doesn’t think he could soar any higher.

then his eyes find yours and just like that, he’s among the stars.

you’re sitting at a table on the outskirts of the dancefloor, casually sipping your drink with an amused smile. there’s a fire in you that ignites the gasoline that flows freely through his veins. before he knows what he’s doing, his feet are carrying him towards your warm flame.

normally, when a man approaches you with that much confidence, they have one solitary goal: sex. that’s not what you’re looking for tonight and you’re about to tell this stranger to go away, but there’s something about him that makes it difficult to look away. you notice his outstretched hand and then he asks you to dance. just like that, you’ve been pulled into his orbit and onto the dancefloor with a laugh.

names are quickly exchanged before you’re both drowned out by the music.

what dieter lacks in skill he makes up for tenfold by his enthusiasm and the vibrance of his personality. all the attention was on the two of you, but you were oblivious, too focused on dieter and the shimmering of stray glitter on his sweat-kissed skin. this is what you’ve needed and it was exhilarating to share this moment with someone who understands.

he’s enchanted by you and the shared energy that carries him along the dancefloor. he missed sparkling the way he did before his world went to shit because of- no, he’s not important enough to remember. this is my night. his attention returns to the wide grin on your face, your aura absolutely sparkling like moonstone.

you’re bejeweled, just like him.

[dimorphodon-x]

Force of Habit

In which Starfall ends up on the Lost Light and life is finally looking up for him.

But certain habits die hard.

--

--

Perhaps it was a good thing Starhawk didn’t remember him.

It meant that he was comfortable around him, unaware of things that happened in the not too distant past. It was… refreshing, Starfall decided.

In fact, everything was refreshing.

Just a few short months ago, Starfall was a Decepticon prisoner, a slave under the terrifying Corvalis. But now he was here, aboard a ship called the Lost Light, surrounded by (mostly) Autobots, and regained the badge that had been clawed off of his chest years ago.

He’d also been getting help with frequent visits to the ship’s therapist, Rung. Things were seemingly starting to look up for once in his life.

“Pardon?” Starfall blinked as he was pulled from his thoughts. Starhawk gave him a wide, friendly smile.

“I said I got you a surprise,” the obsidian flier repeated, biolights pulsing excitedly, “it’s in your room.”

“My room…” It was still surreal to think Fall had a room of his own now. A place for himself, that wasn’t a prison.

“Mhm,” Hawk’s wings fluttered, catching Starfall’s attention. Starhawk had such long, shiny wings. From the brilliant gleam in his iridescent paint job, it was obvious that he took great care in polishing his wings and armor to perfection.

Starfall’s wheels spun in his back as he stared at his once-brother’s stunning wings, how the light bounced off of them, how they were carefully held against his back to avoid bumping into things, how they oh so barely twitched and fluttered as he talked. Only another Star Seeker would notice such minuscule expressions.

Starfall missed his wings.

The wheels that were crammed into his frame after his wings were torn from his back felt unnatural, but they’ve been there for so long, he could barely recall how it felt when he flew for the first time. But most memories of flight weren’t his to begin with, so maybe that was another’s memory anyway.

Starfall hadn’t stolen a memory in a long while. He had only done so as a prisoner, and had only ever attacked Decepticons. He was pretty sure the memories he stole helped keep him sane. But he couldn’t do that to an Autobot, let alone a fellow Star Seeker. They were already so hard to come by.

But… surely Hawk would be ok with… one or two missing memories. Small ones, unimportant to him. Fall had poked and prodded at his brain twice before, it would be easy to do again. He still bore the tiny unseen scars, too, meaning that nobody else seemed to notice them.

Starfall licked his lips as he glanced down the empty hall. He couldn’t hear anyone behind either, and they were almost to his quarters. His fingers twitched impatiently and his wheels spun.

Starhawk was still distracted, talking about who knows what as the two stopped in front of Fall’s door. The mnemosurgeon simply couldn’t wait any longer.

“-and then Whirl went in guns blazing and-hh!?” Air was sucked into Hawk’s vents as a set of needles quickly yet perfectly slid into the back of his neck. His eyes widened in surprise and confusion as he wordlessly glanced at the slightly shorter mech standing behind his shoulder.

“Shh,” Starfall’s mismatched optics flashed wildly and his lips twitched as he smiled, “I’ll be quick.”

Hawk’s eyes widened further and his mouth opened. Fall could tell he was starting to grasp what was going on. But that was ok, because he wouldn’t remember this.

Starfall chewed on his lip as he quickly found a few small memories of flight. They weren’t anything special, just a few short joyrides with friends. He had many better memories than these little things.

The wheels on the orange mech’s back spun faster as he sighed in satisfaction, the itch finally ebbing as he replayed the newly acquired memories in his mind and removed his needles from Hawk’s lifecord.

Starhawk slumped forward, eyes dim and lights flickering. Starfall gave the hallway another quick look around to make sure things were clear before quickly retreating into his room, leaving his brother standing in the hall. He’d be back to normal in a few minutes, none the wiser, if only a little confused. Nothing to worry about.

Starfall sat down on the edge of his berth, engine purring happily as he continued to replay the stolen memories while they were still fresh. After a few hours, they started to lose their effect, so he decided to stop for now to save for later. Fall’s smile faltered and he opened his eyes, staring silently at the door.

Right, Starhawk had gotten him a gift.

Fall glanced around his room. He had no possessions of his own, so he quickly spotted the datapad on the desk next to the window and retrieved it. Maybe Hawk had downloaded a few games or something into it so he could entertain himself.

He flicked the screen on and blinked, surprised to find a medical document. Curious, the orange mech skimmed through the writing, eyes widening as dread and horror started to sink in.

It was an offer to try to restore his wings. 

The datapad slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the floor. He couldn’t accept this. Not after that. He didn’t deserve his wings anymore.

‘What have I done?’

[colemacgrathtkz]

Fellowship of the Hexoleos

Previous Next

[The Boiling Isles, a week after Drift away]

Luz was sulking around the old Hexsquad stomping grounds. She kept her distance from everyone. Her regrets about her mother, and everyone chipped away at her usual silly self.

Willow: "I challenge you to a witch's battle."

Turning her head, she saw Augustus and Willow posing defiantly.

Gus: "What battle to the death do you have in mind, o great one?"

Willow: "No one's dying this time either, Augustus."

Gus: "Not with that attitude."

Luz(smiling fondly): "It's 'I challenge you to a witch's duel', not 'witch's battle'."

Her cherry self was quickly drowned out by the memories of what had happened since they last met.

Luz: "You've been talking to Amity."

Willow: "I do work for her now."

Her friend approached her without any signs of caution.

Gus was a bit more hesitant about getting closer.

Gus: "There's that attitude."

Willow: "We've got business with you. You're coming with us to a place of drama, flair, and face paint."

A smile crept up on Noceda's face. It was pretty refreshing to see someone so relaxed around her. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

Luz( suspicious): "You should be terrified."

Willow: "Things have been weird."

Gus: "And terrifying, for sure."

Willow: "But we do still have our fun memories with you. And they're reason enough not to give up on you. Even if Augustus doesn't trust you, just yet."

Augustus: "Willow!

Ahem, even I have to admit, you didn't give up on getting back to us. Luz, the human, never gave up on her friends."

Eda: "Us weirdos have to stick together."

Luz turned to see her old mentor had snuck up on her.

Eda: From one cursed witch to another, you've got to let them help."

A warm feeling started to swell within the young girl. She sniffed back her tears.

However, she felt something land on her back. As she turned her head, a small paw met her check.

King: "Boop."

The creature's claw began to wipe stray tears that had escaped.

Luz: "Hey, buddy."

They nestled their heads against each other's, for a brief moment. Then King returned to Eda's side.

In that time, the empress appeared once again as a hallucination.

Empress: "This seems forced. They're up to something."

Before Luz could entertain those doubts, Willow wrapped up one human in thorny vines.

Willow: " Don't get the wrong idea. We did come to challenge you, after all."

Clover and Emmiline Bailey Marcostimo crawled out from behind their respective witches.

Luz: "Whoa, when did that happen?!"

The young witches summoned their staffs and flew circles around her. Willow halted right in front of the astonished latina.

Willow: "You know about flyer derby?"

Luz couldn't quite recall watching that magic sport.

Willow: "Nothing a little team spirit and a training montage can't solve, right?"

Gus: "Just to be clear, we won't be on your team."

Willow: "But you've got until tomorrow to figure all that out."

Her friends began to take their leave. But Luz had definitely noticed the absence of a certain someone.

Luz: "So, do any of you think there's a chance Amity would...?"

She didn't even finish her sentence. The hallucination hadn't disappeared just yet. The empress shook her head, visible only to Luz.

Eda: "The owl beast caused a lot of trouble and hurt people I care about, too. Bossy boots just needs a bit more time."

The owl lady sent a hand straight for Luz's shoulder.

Eda: "Just give her some space. You and your adorably sick antics snuck into her heart, after all."

King: "It feels like just a few months ago, you had us locked up after we captured you. "

Gus: "That was a few months ago."

Willow: "So, don't think that means we're finished with you."

With that, her friends and mentor flew off into the sky.

All Luz heard was, "we're not giving up on you".

Now, all she needed was to learn an entire magic sport and assemble a team by tomorrow. No biggie.

After freeing herself, she healed the few layers of skin cut by the thorns.

Luz: "Wait, I've been gone for how long?!"

Luz had "Belos" arrange for the younger scouts to participate on her team.

[The next day, Hexside flyer derby field]

Willow( as captain) had Gus, Skara, Viney, and someone she didn't recognize.

The match went about as expected. Willow may be Amity's right hand. But she always made time for her real passion.

In the past, Gus partook in Willow's games. The two supported each other, even after Luz's banishment. He gained a lot of experience with his own style of flying.

Skara worked as a student teacher at Hexside. Skara was a fast learner, which didn't hurt her teaching skills.

Viney's healing magic permitted any mistake around her to come at a small price. Almost everyone on Willow's team was familiar with trail and error. Just like how all of Hexside were familiar with their results, both on and off the field.

The new guy was very obvious in his hatred towards Luz. Practically, all his plays were focused on her. He kept threatening to force her into the boiling sea.

She just assumed he was someone affected by the tyranny of the empress.

There was one thing that stood out to her. The need for a staff to fly on.

Empress: "This is clearly a ruse to bring it out for them."

Luz: "A scheme? A plot?"

She actually laughed for the first time since...

Luz: "Good old shenanigans."

She brought a staff that looked an awful lot like the real thing. With it, she was able to soar alongside her own team. But she was still very much in the underdog position.

Despite losing the game, Luz hadn't felt that good in a long time.

Luz: "Not bad for someone who just started playing."

Willow: "But pretty embarrassing for someone who claims to be empress of the isles."

Gus: "I guess all the magic of Isles doesn't make up for pure skill and raw talent."

Her friends lighthearted teasing was brought her guard down.

That is, of course, until she noticed the eyes of Augustus were locked on to her staff.

Gus: "Is that the genuine article?"

Luz scoffed at inquiry.

Luz: "You think we'd be crazy enough to bring it out for a game?"

Willow: "That depends? Would you hand it over?"

She extended out her hand. Luz contemplated how to play this.

Willow Park retracted her hand and combed her hair back.

Willow: "Too slow."

Amity(?): "I see you're enjoying yourselves.'

The trio noticed Amity's approach. Except, she was wearing that little demon creature that was usually on Bump's head.

Luz: "Amity?"

Amity: "Not quite. As part of the agreement with the New Coven's request, Amity Blight will assist in matters of the school."

Willow: "Basically, she's going to have more work on her plate. We'll both be busier than usual."

Luz: "That's my awesome girlfriend for ya.

Please tell her I said that."

Bump(?) turned to leave.

Bump: "I am here for the students of Hexside, Ms. Noceda."

Gus followed to get their team a proper victory celebration.

Willow decided to hang back for a second.

Luz(whispering): "I knew that thing on his head was the real principal Bump. If that little guy is Bump, then who's been the old man underneath him?"

Willow chuckled at the small ruse around Frewin. More and more, Luz's shortcomings were becoming apparent. In these last few months, she had missed out on a lot.

Willow: "I'm sure Amity will get your message."

Luz looked down at the empress staff.

Willow: "Don't worry. I'm sure you two will talk again soon. Don't forget, she did stick her neck out for you."

Luz: "I know she tried to smooth things over when I got back."

Willow: " I'm not talking about before you turned the tables on us."

A small version of Luz's grom tree was conjured up.

Willow: "I've been the reliable one for so long. It made sense for me to be where I am now. Especially since my boss was missing her girlfriend so badly. Even after sending you away, I don't think she ever lost how she felt about you.

And now, after that stunt you pulled, I was sure that was the last straw. You hurt all of us. That's the truth.

But I asked for her opinion on how to get your attention. And we talked about getting my friend back. She even proposed the offer with Bump to let us use the field.

All that extra work for one game."

Luz: "And how are we supposed to get our friends back?"

Willow smiled as she petted Clover's head.

Willow: "By seeing who they really are."

With that, Park began her ascent on her staff.

Willow: "It's was fun. Remembering how things used to be. I mean, there's one thing that hasn't changed."

Willow wasn't going to worry about whether Luz heard this last part.

Willow: "She's still trying to protect you."

Author's note:

I know Frewin isn't actually Principal Bump.

[lex-n-weegie]

Its like 3 AM but shhhh I felt the sudden urge to ramble about my version of Glamrock Bonnie soooo

Under the cut cause long and rambly and worldbuild-y lol

Okay so as a quiiick refresher, here's my version of the dude (old art grahhhhh)

(Yes I got a special version of Foxy too called Captain Foxy but that'll be for a different post maybe xvkanxka)

Okay okay before I fully talk about Bonnie I gotta talk about the Pizzaplex itself. Monty was around before Bonnie was decommissioned, he was a special animatronic for the golf course attraction, made as a sort of "experiment" on adding more special animatronics for different areas. He worked well, and it let to DJMM and The DA to be made soon after. Monty and Bonnie were buds, but Monty got along pretty well with all of the main four. He fit well within their dynamic, even the workers could see that. And if course, Freddy and Bonnie were the absolute best of friends, the dynamic duo. The bear and bunny.

However, Bonnie had some chronic issue: he simply didn't care much for rules. He'd follow most of them of course, like don't bite the children, but for others(such as stay in your greenroom after-hours) he'd ignore them if he simply felt the urge to. He was really laid back, maybe even too much so sometimes. He didn't care about how much the workers would scold him about it, nothing bad ever happened so what was the harm? They weren't his dad, they couldn't tell him and the gang what to do. Eventually the others followed his example, leaving their rooms at night, cause the workers couldn't do much in terms of retaliation when it came to the main four. Just empty threats it seemed.

Sometimes it was a good thing, breaking that particular rule, as it let Bonnie be the first to kind of "meet" Hazel.

Ramble about Hazel(can probably be skipped): Hazel was originally going to be a bare, boring animatronic, made to help with freelancing costs by simply being a Jack of all trades when it came to art. Painting, sculpting, construction, repair, even mechanical engineering, put in as a just in case if a Glamrock needed attention and no one else was available. However the first person who worked on them made them look heavily like an old Fredbear's character, one that existed for an extremely short time, a golden bear with heterochromia named Daisy(the worker found some old remnants of posters with her in them). The company however, freaked out when they saw that, as they wanted zero trace of Daisy in anything they did, so they fired them and asked someone else to "fix it." That resulted in his brown fur and poofy dark brown hair. They also programmed him with a more quiet, almost shy esque personality to hopefully avoid any rampages with his extreme strength(it was needed in order to do all the construction they wanted). All of this is just a long winded way of saying that due to unique circumstances, she stood out among all the other staff bots. Also fun fact! He wasn't called Hazel at this point, just referred to as "Bear."

All bots were ordered into their rooms, again, and told that something in Rockstar Row broke and someone would be fixing, "Do not speak to them under any circumstances." "Bear(Aka Hazel)" was told the same, don't talk to any of the Glamrocks. Bonnie of course, being Bonnie, ignored the orders and went out to say hi. Bear originally didn't want to respond, but ended up chatting a bit when Bonnie asked what exactly they were fixing. He actually first put the idea in his head to do other things than what he's told or programmed to do, even if he didn't follow that until much later.

Other times however, leaving his room didn't end so good.

It had been a good couple months, possibly half a year since "Bear" and Bonnie talked, Monty was having a particularly bad day. Monty wasn't a Glamrock, so he was "lesser priority" and often treated badly. He wasn't the only one, any animatronic that wasn't part of the main four was treated like garbage("fun" fact again, at this point in the timeline "Bear" had been locked away in an old room for a couple of months, forgotten about and honestly expected to lose power). Sometimes, unfortunately, Monty would take out his anger on the others. Never physically mind you, but he stilled yelled and snapped.

There was one time he was slightly physical though.

That night was a bad night, and Bonnie left his greenroom to go to Gator Golf, Monty's "room," to talk to him about it. He was up on the rafters, and he tried to talk to them about it. They were being pissy though, refusing to talk about his feelings and anger. Through his anger, he shoved Bonnie away him, only intending to get some space when he put his hand on his shoulder. Instead, he slammed again the guard rail, it snapped, and Bonnie plummeted to the floor. Similar to the game, he hit a pole on the way down, severing his top and bottom half of his body, but he did also break from other stuff.

That would have been fine, fixable even, but unfortunately the top half landed into one of the many ponds Gator Golf had going around. Normally, they all were waterproof, but when their circuits were exposed...yeah.

Monty was soon quickly made to replace the bunny, and they went to dump the box of him and his parts they gathered into some random room in the basement. Instead, a worker accidentally found "Bear," still on and drawing brand new concepts and things they weren't asked to. It eventually led to them becoming a new attraction, Bonnie being left in that room she was in to rot.

A year and a half later, a bunch of stuff happened with "The Gang"(Freddy, Chica, Roxy, Monty, and Hazel), but the main thing was that they all had found out they were given "birthdays"(only the main four got them, Hazel wasn't given one). Not exactly the days they were made, but when their characters were born. Hazel immediately set out to make the best gifts ever for all of her friends(her and Monty weren't a thing at this point, just dumb crushes). Freddy's was the farthest, being just the month before they learned all this, so Hazel had a whole year essentially to figure something out for him. And she absolutely stumped him. Chica, Monty, hell even Roxy was easy, but Freddy they couldn't think of anything.

And desperate for any ideas, and figuring maybe some of her old doodle paper from years back could still be in there, she sought out the old room she used to "sleep" in. She found no papers, but that box they brought in the same day she was brought out was still there. Now with more free will, they willingly let curiosity win and peeked inside. Bam! The old parts of Bonnie! Not only was part of her actually furious that Bonnie was essentially, put through the same thing she was put through, but it fueled her to rebuild the guy best she could, as she still had everyone's blueprints in her memory.

At first she gets the head working, and from there they chat while she fixes the rest of him. Unfortunately, due to untreated water damage(being allowed to soak in), some parts couldn't be salvaged and needed to be replaced. Mostly motors, but also his memory card. She saved as much as it as he could, but it still resulted in him "forgetting" memories and skills, such as playing the base and the scattered memories from before. Good enough for him though, he could relearn it if he wanted(or have Hazel program the knowledge back in), and he can make new memories with the gang. With her fixing him up and the time they spend together afterwards, he develops a little crush on her, similar to Monty.

After he's fully fixed and revealed to be at Freddy's "birthday," he stays in the basement during the day for a month or so, at least until Vanessa and Mason(BF's s/i) can come up with a reasonable excuse and a convincing lie about how they fixed him, all outside of company time and "for free." Eventually, Glamrock Bonnie was able to come back, simply explained away with "he retired and went on vacation, but now he's back to teach you how to bowl!" He doesn't rejoin the band, he's how similar to how Monty was and what Hazel currently is, a mascot for the bowling alley. Unfortunately it does mean he's treated a similar way to the two(aka treated badly), but it doesn't bug him much cause he's just happy to be back.

As for the selfshipping side of stuff(him and Hazel + how the poly relationship happened), it's sorta a funny story. After Monty got over some guilt and whatnot, the two were quick friends again, and ended up expressing their crushes on "a certain animatronic." Neither wanted to say who, cause they both knew the other would have teased them mercilessly, but they both convinced each other to try and confess.

So naturally, they both end up trying to confess at the same time. And kind of fight over it(they didn't really MEAN to, just kinda happened yk?

Hazel didn't wanna choose, she honestly grew to crush on them both, and eventually yelled at them to snap out of it and "I'll date you both then!! Okay?!" If you've ever read the original Archie comics it's semi like his relationship with those two girls(I forget their names fjsnsj). They both kind of "share" him I guess, lol. As for the two of them, they're not into each other, not romantically at least, but they do have a close and deep bond. They're not a couple, just a couple of besties ♡ dying

[tobias22nickless]

Chapter One: PILOT

Word Count: 0.8k (800 words)

Draco Malfoy x fem!Reader

Although it was sad to leave Hogsmeade after what seemed like such a short period of time spent there, it was refreshing to be back inside the warm walls of Hogwarts.

One of the most fascinating mysteries of Hogsmeade was the fact that it was always somehow snowy in the village, despite the areas around it experiencing normal seasons, including Hogwarts. Currently, outside of Hogsmeade, it was the last month of summer, and all students would be returning to school shortly.

To celebrate this, the start of a fresh new year and the congregating of the students again, there was a great feast to be held that evening.

I was so busy reminiscing the countless memories I have made over the years with my friends in the village that I didn’t realize the opening from under the painting of the Fat Lady had closed.

I collide with the border of the painting headfirst. Stumbling to the ground and clasping both my hands on my nose, “ouch,” I groan.

The Fat Lady lets out a bellowing laugh which echoes throughout the hallway. “That,” she laughs, “made my week.”

Continuing to my rub my sore nose, I mumble, “I’m glad. Flibbergibbet.” I stand myself up and collect my belongings from the floor as she reveals the Gryffindor common room to me, the painting swinging open.

As I climb inside, I scan the room for a familiar face, but Hermoine finds me first and shouts across the room to get my attention. “Y/n!”

My gaze sets on my friends who are sitting on a large, red couch in the centre of the room. Their heads turn in my direction and welcoming smiles spread on their faces.

“Show us everything you bought!” Ron says, nodding his head at my suitcase beside me once I’m standing before them.

“Don’t tell anyone else,” I say in a hushed voice, looking behind me to see if any prying eyes were upon us, “but I brought a bunch of lollies for us to share around.” I begin unzipping my weather-beaten suitcase to reveal a stash of acid pops, butterbeers, Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, sherbet lemons, and many other tasty snacks.

“How did you get your hands on the butterbeers? They sold out before I could get there!” Ron exclaims, his mouth watering.

“Don’t worry Ron, I’ll share,” I say, patting the ginger on his back.

“Now that I think about it, I didn’t see you a majority of the time,” Harry points, raising his eyebrows impatiently.

“You seemed to be getting along with the Slytherins pretty well,” Hermoine added, “especially Malfoy…”

Ron ducks his head, muttering under his breath, “scumbag.”

Hermoine quickly snatches my hand and guides me away from the rest of the group, over to a corner of the red and gold decorated room. “Y/n…,” Hermoine whispers, “there’s nothing going on between you and Draco, is there?”

I am taken aback, frowning at her words. It is true; I did spend most of my time at Hogsmeade with Draco and his friends. But there was nothing remotely romantic going on between either of us; I was sure of it. I felt comfortable around him and his friends, but I couldn’t quite place my finger on why this was.

“Of course not! What would make you think that?” I chuckle awkwardly, curious to how it could have been perceived that way.

“Well, every time you hang around him and his friends, he would always have his arm around you and… he seemed to get quite close.” Hermoine gives me a concerned look and I scrunch my face from how serious the expression plastered on her face looks.

“Friends put their arms around each other too. I swear it wasn’t weird at all,” I say.

Hermoine doesn’t look fully convinced, which annoys me. “I’ll help you take your things to the girl’s dormitories,” she chirps, cleanly changing the subject, but still with a worried look on her face.

“Thanks,” I say, politely handing her the lightest item.

As we walk away, we can hear the boys in a heated debate about Quidditch, at which Hermoine and I roll our eyes. However, I can feel Harry’s eyes burning holes into my back.

Before I even realize it, six hours have passed. I had been thriving on the snacks that I had purchased the entire day. My stomach grumbled, yearning for real food.

“The feast is soon, don’t worry,” Hermoine says, not looking up from the book in her hands.

I groan and crawl into a ball on my bed, pouting, “not soon enough.”

A girl, who I do not recognise, abruptly pops her head in the doorway, “the feast is starting, we’re all going to the Hall.”

Hermoine smirks and gives me an ‘I told you so’ look.

[rosiewildcard-art]

Molten Slice Drive

Driving was something that provided a comfort in those early days, when time could be frittered and our time felt loose, aimless, drawn out. Sitting on the cusp of Spring and change. Awaiting bureaucratic news and scheduled momentum incoming. Driving required me to focus, to attune to the conditions, shadow stitched to the tarmac, the white painted line cutting neatly through the flanks. I used to think of the vehicle shaped shadow eating up the road as we pelted down it on long journeys. We ate up a lot of miles within our first month, covering a complete route from North to South covering both motu of our great nation. Strange wanting to put those words into diction after a life-time of disdain at the pomp and cirque of our warmly departed United Kingdom. Great Nation. Wild. Alive. Here the Commonwealth shadows took up inches less each year and the sky grew taller above my head and I stood taller. The austerity laced anvil around my neck began to shrink. I tasted, despite the conceptual mind-advert of New Zealand from afar, that this was a place the pasty colonials could not break and I was to feel its mightiness press all around me. It would push me around, consuming, pushing all of me through a new doorway, stretching and uncomfortably so. But like birth the pain followed by all that peace felt a single drop amongst a storm. I could speak to Aotearoa and feel alive, not lived upon. Free, and on the road. It all relented to be strange for a while though and only now with the passing of time can I see the endurance dug down to gold.

There was a sense of purpose garnered on the road that I knew in the beginning I would be fraught to find anywhere else and so we drove. Something about watching those median lines and cats eyes rise, slip out from under you and out of sight that felt like cashing strings of pennies at the bank. Never enough at once, but something all the same. Paying it up in my own little way. I could count thousands and not be done. Lone riding on the highways, a roving shepherd, responsible for watching the markings and potholes. For knowing the layers of the horizon even in only shadow. Deep dark nights alone. Dark knights alone? The hills around to rise and fall like cloaks that hang long, pooling in waves on horses backs. I am thundering.  A long flock to follow and keep watch. Aiming for just a few more miles, until the next big sigh, the impasse, the clearing, the place, to pause. We drove enough for me to know I would never tire of the rays of the moon, to discover true moon-light, to feel a child; new to its glow. To hear the stillness of the whenua, to grasp at something that called deep or far away, I wasn’t sure, but I knew it turned the seasons and made the birdsong, filled with power it did not trouble to pander to me. On the road, I would come.

The road itself afforded me partnership at an early age, its formulation always differing, asking a different question. Moving me along. I was grateful for the movement this time, its self given duty, its scenes anew at each kilometre passed. The dipping sun across the river fragment, wind ripples on forest banks, clouds chasing stars, feeling compacted in the grandeur of the landscape and equally free, wide, fleshed out, for all of you is embodied in the road and your little understanding of it. A few times a little crumb of the past, a street, a snippet, a scene refreshed from brief childhood memories. Reminders that felt like the soft warm that poured in the passenger window. A hopeful circular joy to remember and discover all over again. To be eastbound, then west. To see the sun swallowed by the roto only to be spat out on to a pink dawn another season, not too far from now. Weaving the routes together, peering back at the year past, my four wheels and a hopeful little grin. 

(original work, aug 2022 1st draft & refined sept 2023)

[deadlydemon]

I'm sure if I could find any of my old writing, I would melt from inside out, cringing at every word. I suppose it's like hearing your own voice. And your answers make sense, so don't fret on that. Maybe this could help or maybe not. Whenever I'm stuck in a slump, I search for other art forms, as a refresher. Paintings and the essays on the story behind, perhaps it sounds most dull. What was your project about? If you don't mind me asking.

My project was something very silly. I play D&D with some friends, and we have this established world where our campaigns take place, so there's lot of space to create lore and just some storytelling, I guess. I was keen on writing a little story about a throuple — more specifically, a dark and sexy romance about this human woman falling in love with two vampires, a female and a male who were in relationship already — because I actually really wanted to play a character like this but in that moment it wouldn't be possible, so I felt like I needed to "get it out of my system". I started writing, but then... Well, let's just say that I can read the filthiest smut on this website, but for the love of god, I cannot write a sugestive dialogue. It doesn't even have to be sugestive actually, I'll die of second hand embarrassment after writing "they kissed passionately". And the ideia of letting my friends read something like that would probably bring me back to life just to kill me again — and I actually wasn't even going to add sex scenes, just tiptoe around it. I plan on going back to write it, even if I never allow anyone to read it, but time truly hasn't been on my side these last few months.

I love the fact that thirteen year old me wrote a smut one shot and even published it on some website without batting an eyelash, I swear. That girl was going places. But present me? Not so much.

And your piece of advice is actually great, Gargoyle. I adore paintings, but I understand nothing of art. I've been trying to learn about the actual process of painting since I hope on taking on this hobby. I suppose it's a good place to start, rather than forcing myself to read for the sake of it. Anything you would like to recommend me?

[project-sonamy]

At the Edge of a Cliff

Written by @luescris

Fanfic Masterlist

There were only a few times after the war with Eggman had ended where Amy Rose had been able to find time for herself.

Knuckles had come into her office that morning, and as soon as the words "you need a break" had left his mouth, she was out the door faster than she ever thought possible--for her, at least. The pink hedgehog wasn't at all concerned about who would be taking care of all the papers and mess the war had left behind; all that had been on her mind was to get out and get a breath of refreshing, cool air for a change. If she had been there any longer, she felt as if she would crack, and Knuckles was her sign that her prayers were finally being answered.

It wasn't like she didn't want to help, far from that of course. There was just so much to do, so much pressure, and Amy would much rather be out fighting robots and keeping others safe than stuck up in an office. Just like the rest of them would, just like they were used to. But as they grew older, so did their responsibilities, unfortunately, and things had changed. And this war… It was the reason it all had changed in the first place.

Amy couldn't help but give a sigh of relief when she felt the warmth of the sun hit her face and the sound of the grass underneath her boots reaching her ears. It was relieving, to see the blue sky above her, for what felt like the first time in so long.

Finally.. Her thoughts breathed.

She began her walk down the barely seen trail to her left, leading towards the sparse forest in the distance. She planned to only be gone for at least an hour or two, grab some food, and be on her way back. They would be fine without her for that long.

Hopefully.

Her legs felt as if they could go on for miles, having been sitting in a chair for hours on end had made them cramped. Having this moment, it had made her feel lighter and happier than she had ever been in these past few months, and the joy she felt spread across her face in the form of a grin, and suddenly, she was running through the forest, giggling with glee. So the plans for a peaceful walk through the forest were botched; oh well! A run was just as fun!

It didn't take her long to get past and beyond the trees, and by that time her breath came in gasps of air, chest heaving as Amy finally allowed to slow herself to a stop, wiping the sweat off her face as she bent over for a moment. Thanks to all the past years of running after Sonic though, she recovered quickly, and she straightened herself upright with a small smile gracing her lips. Then, she gave a small gasp at the sight that awaited her.

Just a few feet away, was one of the most beautiful sunsets she had ever seen. The sky was painted with pinks, yellows, and oranges, clouds wispy and small in numbers. The sun itself set over a small city below, and that was a little bit destroyed, sure, but Amy couldn't help but find it symbolic. And just barely touching the edge of the cliff in front of her, with his arms crossed over each other, stood Sonic the Hedgehog himself. The light illuminated his outline, the sun's shine making it seem like he was glowing. She couldn't see his face, but that didn't make him any less handsome.

A grin split once again on her face as her eyes twinkled excitedly. This day just got even better.

"Sonic!" She cried, jogging up to his side, fighting the old urge to jump on him with a bone-crushing hug. "Lucky finding you all the way out here, huh? I was able to--"

Amy stopped suddenly, grin dropping.

He hadn't so much as looked over at her. He stayed as if rooting to the spot, his eyes glued to the distant horizon below them. The only slight indication he had heard her was the tiny flick of his ear turning to her and back to almost pressing against his head. She would have at first thought he was ignoring her, if it weren't for the small frown on his face, or the way his ears were positioned. No one else could ever tell what emotion he'd be feeling at any given time, no one else but her, and perhaps maybe Tails. Amy could read him like an open book.

The pink hedgehog tries again, though hesitantly this time, reaching out a hand to place on his shoulder, but stops herself, letting it fall. "Sonic? Are.. Are you alright?"

Sonic doesn't answer her. Not at first. She knows it takes a little while longer to figure out how to voice his emotions, despite being the fastest thing on Mobius. So she waits patiently, staring out as the sun slowly falls past the horizon. Just as it had barely reached half way, he spoke.

"It's my fault, isn't it."

Amy turned to him again, a brow creased slightly in concern.

It was voiced as a statement, but said as a question. He didn't turn back to her still, but his frown seemed to have deepened a little bit more. She blinked at him, then took a small breath. "What is?"

He seemed to think on her question, she could almost see the gears turning in his uncharacteristically darkened eyes, like a storm of thoughts were brewing. Sonic shifted, as if already uncomfortable, and quickly threw a hand to motion at the city below.

"The mess." Sonic murmured. "The war."

His statement and mood suddenly clicked in Amy's mind.

He hadn't been staring at the beautiful sunset before them like she was, not at all. He had been staring at the city, at its ruins, and the smoke that had seemed to slowly die down when she had gotten there, which meant people were already dealing with it. That was a good thing, she reckoned, but he wasn't looking at it that way. Instead, the blue hero had been regretting how it, and the world, had been turned upside down. Regretting that he wasn't there to help.

Blaming himself.

At this, Amy finally reached for him, gently grasping his arm almost desperately and staring up at his face, brows furrowed.

"Sonic, look at me." She demanded gently. "None of this was your fault."

He didn't look at her, but he did smirk, without that same attitude she had come to associate with it. "Isn't it? If I had been here, we could have prevented.. Well, a lot."

"If I hadn't gone in alone, I wouldn't have been locked up."

Amy shook her head. "No, Sonic, you tried your best, like you always do, you just--"

"Underestimated the situation? Greatly?"

Now, he was looking at her. Waiting for a response almost. There was something he was trying to hide in those emerald green eyes of his, something deep. Something heavy. A great pain.

She had only ever seen that look on his face very few times. And most of them were when they had been on the battlefield during the war. She sometimes heard it in his voice, too. He would show glimpses of regret and hurt when they had saved some recruits, or went past a destroyed home, and it was only when someone wasn't paying attention or when he thought he was alone. But the second someone came up to him or called his name it was gone, as if it was never even there, and Sonic was back to smiling, carrying on and inspiring others to do the same. Amy couldn't help but to feel sympathy for him; there was so much on his shoulders, so much expected of him, and he thought only he had to carry that burden.

Slowly, Amy looked down at his chest, staring at the long scar that stretched on top. It was just barely noticeable, but if you looked close enough, you could see that it was there. And it wasn't ever there before. Hesitantly she touched her fingers to it gently, letting sorrow pull her under for a moment.

"... You got this when you were gone, didn't you?" She just barely murmured.

This makes him inhale quickly with shock, and when she blinked Sonic had apparently stepped away from her. Not too far to where she couldn't reach for him again, but far enough. He crossed his arms over the scar, seeming to hide it away from her, turning his head with a small scowl. His ears were tilted once again.

"I don't want to talk about that." He grumbled, voice tight. To anyone else, it'd sound like annoyed anger. But she knew it was panic.

"But, that's my point, Sonic." Amy tries again, stepping forward just a bit, though stops when he takes another inch away from her. This breaks her heart a little bit, but not for a love reason. Because she knows that's how hurt he truly was. ".. You were trapped. And, and being hurt. There was nothing you could do, not to escape on your own, and not to help down here, and that's okay. Everyone here on Mobius understands that. You're only blaming yourself, when there's no need to."

Sonic scoffs at that, rolling his eyes as if he was offended. "No need to? Amy, take a look around." He pointed to the city again, glaring at her. "That happened, because I wasn't here. The war happened because I didn't try hard enough to get out on my own. I had promised to protect the world from people like Eggman," He spat the name out like it was venom. "And then look what happened. I broke that promise."

His last statement seemed to have let something loose. He paused for a moment, brows only barely rising with slight surprise, and suddenly, he had his quills turned to her.

"I had failed everyone."

Amy stands there for a minute, staring at his backside with a hand pressed to her chest. She felt the prickle of tears behind her eyes. She didn't know just how deep he had fallen into this lie of his. How long had he been suffering with this? She slowly began to walk towards him, the grass crunching under her feet signifying her approach. Thankfully, Sonic doesn't move away from her, and as she nears him, she can just barely see his chest heaving faster than normal. Again, the pink hedgehog walked to his side, closer this time, but he had turned his face away from her, hiding it.

".. Sonic." She murmured after a moment. "Look at me."

For a moment, it seemed as if he wasn't going to oblige. She has to hold in a gasp when he does, slowly.

He was crying.

It wasn't a full on sobbing; just hot tears streaming down the sides of his muzzle every few seconds, his eyes glossy and reflecting the sunset that just barely was starting to turn the world dark with stars. But the pain Sonic was hiding earlier was there now, had broken out past the wall he had normally tried to build around his emotions. And he was ashamed of it.

He made a motion as if he was going to turn and run suddenly, and to stop him Amy took his face into her hands, her eyes now also filling with tears as she met his eyes again. She had never in her life seen him cry before, and again her heart broke, into a million different pieces onto the floor below them like glass. Sympathy, sorrow, and anger flooded her as she gently wiped a stray tear off his face; how dare the world, dare Eggman, hurt her Sonic this way. He didn't deserve this kind of pain. His eyes widened at the action with slight surprise. But he didn't seem to want to move away now. Which was good.

"Sonic," Amy whispered past the lump in her throat, and swallowed to lessen the tightness of her throat as she continued. "You have not failed anyone. You are not a failure. No one blames you for anything that has happened, because this was all because of Eggman." She too allowed her voice to drip with rage, but she blinked, and a few tears slipped from under her lashes, ruining the effect. "He was the one that took you away, took you off guard, cheated. And ruined everything afterwards. What matters most, right here and now, is that you are here, that you came back. When we needed you the most. And even when you weren't here physically, you were here in spirit. We fought for you, because of you. The ones who.. Who lost their lives, understood that, and agreed to that." She dipped her head when Sonic tried to move away, keeping her eyes on his. "And if anyone tries to say otherwise, they are wrong."

His eyes flicked over hers. "B-but Amy, I-"

Amy pressed her forehead to his, effectively shutting him up, her eyes closed. "Mobius loves you." She murmured. "I love you. You could never be a failure after everything you have done for us. Don't you ever forget that."

Nothing really happened at first for a few seconds. Which was fine to her. She knew his limits, and had caught him in a time where he was emotionally vulnerable for a change. She was more than okay with just standing there for him. But then, surprising her, Sonic had wrapped his arms around her waist, and suddenly his head dropped into her shoulder, hugging her tight. His shoulders shook with silent, soft sobs, and for a moment Amy's arms were raised in the air, unknowing on what to do. But she eventually hugged her hero back, kissing his cheek lovingly before burying her own face into his quills. They stood there at the end of the cliff for a while as the sun finally slipped away, and the stars shone around them in the dark, night sky. Even after Sonic had cried all that he would let himself, he held onto her, as if she had been the one thing he had needed.

At some point, though, the moment had to end. In the distance, someone had called her name, and her ear picked up and pointed in the direction the voice was coming from. But she wasn't ready to let go yet. There was a few minutes that passed before the voice--which Amy now recognized as Knuckles'--called again, closer this time. This was what made Sonic finally move, and he slowly pulled away, looking down at her, not letting go of her waist.

And he looked at her in a way that made her heart flutter.

There was still a lingering sadness, but it wasn't heavy, the brightness and glint in his eyes seemingly having returned.

"... Thank you." He had whispered, and so quietly it had almost gone unheard, but the genuine sincerity of it was what made it heard.

And before Amy had a chance to say anything back to him, he had kissed her--not on the cheek, but on the lips of all things--and though it was more of a simple peck it left her blushing madly.

Then, with a rush of wind and a flash of blue, Sonic was gone.

She had been standing in that very same spot, staring after the blur he had left behind with a hand on her red hot cheek when Knuckles had found her, mind still going at lightning speed.

"There you are!" The echidna called, stepping up to Amy with an authoritative aura. "We were getting worried, you've been out for almost three hours and--! .. Hey, you alright?" His voice dropped to concern upon seeing the starstruck look on the girl's face.

Amy nodded in response just barely, still swooning with the butterflies in her stomach as Tails seemingly came from the bushes as well.

"Yeah.." She muttered to them both, and a smile slowly bloomed across her lips as she sighed. "Just watching the sunset…"

Art by @marpple