#don't write while drunk

[calumfmu]

omfg i desperately need part two of steve stealing eddie’s girl 😭

Here it is!! Part two of Steve stealing Eddie's girl! 2.1k+ words cw: allusions to sex, angst (what's new), swearing, cheating (so serious, don't do it)

It was hard--pretending, but failing so miserably at being so into Eddie, while he was head over heels in love with you. The thing was there was nothing wrong with him, there was nothing wrong with your relationship. The only thing was that you were in it with the wrong person.

"What's wrong with you?" Eddie's voice was careful, pulling you out of your thoughts. The spoon sat in your mouth, cold against the warmth of your tongue, absently caught there as you reflected on the events that occurred last weekend.

"Hmm?"

You looked towards him, blinking the memories away. Steve sat on the forefront of your mind. His toothy smile, lopsided as he hovered above you, wetness across his plump lips, sweat beading down his chest, trailing further, further down until it dripped onto your own bare b-

"You're not even listening to me," your boyfriend huffed, throwing his own items down on the table. He stood up, pushing his chair back from the small table that sat in the space of his trailer.

Looking down at your own setting, you felt that familiar sting of guilt creeping up, warming your chest, coloring the skin there.

"You know I hate to say it, but there's been something seriously wrong with you lately," he began, slamming cabinets as he put away things from your shared dinner. "You've just been so... in your mind, and you never want to spend time with me anymore, it's so frustrating, hon."

Your eyebrow crinkled at the nickname, your heartstrings pulled when you realized that this situation was only getting so much harder.

"I just want to know," he slammed another drawer shut, rattling the mismatched cutlery inside. He grabbed your bowl from you, ignoring your whine of protest as you weren't finished eating yet. "Is it me? Did... did I do something? Spent too much time on my campaign or forgot something?" He thought for a moment, a hand coming up to brush over his mouth. "Oh God, what day is it... was it our anniversary?"

You shrugged, not finding the words to say. He leaned against a counter, arms crossed over the ratty sleep shirt on his body. From the blinds over his shoulder, you saw the twilight hours of the evening creeping in. A warmness settled in the pit of your stomach, you felt like you were going to be sick.

"Eds," You whispered, shaking your head. A few voices from the lot surrounding his trailer began to pour through the thin walls, murmurings that you couldn't make out. "It's not that. No, you didn't forget anything, didn't do anything."

He nodded sincerely, eyes becoming wide as he crossed the short distance of the floor to sit himself again. He grabbed your hand between his, pressing a light kiss to the back.

"Tell me then," He matched your low tone, leaning in closer to you. "You can tell me anything."

Swallowing deeply, you raised your eyebrows, a shaky deep breath leaving your mouth. He was patient as you stumbled over words to begin your confession. It was now or never.

"I don't know how to say, but it's..." your voice was even shakier than before, words getting caught in your throat. He was nodding, intent on hearing you out, being there for you, like he'd always been. "It's-"

A small crash sounded out from outside the trailer, trash bins being knocked over. Eddie rolled his eyes, muttering an apology before crossing the floor, parting the blinds with two fingers to peer out.

Standing up, you moved to follow him, curious as well as to what would be that loud in this normally quiet lot. You were grateful for the distraction, another moment granted to give you more time to think.

"The fuck is he doing here?" You heard Eddie mutter, eyes squinting as he looked out. Your brow crinkled in confusion, squeezing your head next to his to fit your eye line.

Time stopped momentarily, that familiar high hair style, striped shirt leaning against a BMW making snappy gestures to a couple of young kids. The four of them seemed to be arguing, Steve growing more and more frustrated as the three young teenagers gave him attitude back.

Eddie stepped away, shaking his head in disbelief at the scene.

"Leave it to Harrington," he mumbled, placing a hand on your shoulder. You were glued to the window, eyes wide as you took in your secret lover.

Eddie continued his speech, droning on about how he was to make it up to you, spend time that will take away from any wrong doing that he had done to you in the past. "I don't want to upset you or have you think of me differently, I just don't want things to change between us."

It was in one ear and out of the next, not fully processing as you still remained at the window, gaze focused on the man outside. The teenagers he spoke to, you didn't recognize.

"Hon..." he drawled out, close behind you. "Hon... Honey!"

You jumped back, messing up the blinds so they landed in a tangled heap, swinging back and forth so they banged against the window. From the small separation, you saw the group of teens looking towards the noise, confusion on their faces. You ducked down, hidden from their view as you crouched, knees close to your chest.

Eddie nodded slowly, licking his lips as he saw you, red faced and nervous, chewing at your thumb nail.

"What's up?" He slowly questioned, ignoring the way he could see Steve staring through the slightly parted blinds.

"Oh, it's nothing," you muttered, shaking your head at him. You remained on your perch, heart beating fast behind your chest.

"Nothing?" He responded, crinkling his eyes at you. Taking a step towards you, he peered through the disheveled blinds, taking a look at Steve who abandoned his car, a few feet closer to you as he squinted. "Then get up."

You looked at him, wide eyed, your mouth parted in a small 'o'. "Oh, I can't do that."

The long haired man was silent, gaze dancing back and forth between the two of you. The emotion on his face was indiscernible, a cold stare as he watched Steve come up the small flight of steps from the window, hovering his hand as he questioned whether or not to knock. You slowly stood up, peering over the sill to see whether or not Steve was still looking at you two, unaware that he stood at the front step of the door, questioning if he even saw you.

Relieved, you sighed, not seeing him in sight. The younger teens were still there, arguing amongst themselves, hands flying in all directions.

Eddie's eyes lingered on you, his lips pressed into a thin line. It was scary seeing him like this, an emotion that you'd never seen him with in the time you had been together. He'd always been happy-go-lucky, a joy to be around.

A knock sounded on the door, your heart falling once more.

"Honey?" Steve's voice carried through the thin door, echoing off of the walls. That sick feeling bubbled up, air trapped in your throat at the nickname.

"Honey?" Eddie repeated to himself, nodding as it seemed he was finally placing the pieces together. He crossed the distance to the door, swinging it open to reveal the Harrington boy, standing there proud, cockiness sitting on his face.

"What are you doing here?" He threw, dragging his eyes over Eddie's frame. He tried to peek his head in, only for Eddie to step into his view, blocking any sight of anything behind him, any sight of you.

"I could ask you the same thing," Eddie matched his tone, teetering on bitter as Steve stood in the door frame, lips pouted out. You leaned against the wall where the window was, out of sight of him, but just enough in line where you could see the full interaction.

"I thought I saw--" Steve started, shaking his head as he cut himself off. "Never mind, she wouldn't even be here."

Eddie choose that moment to look at you, hurt on his face as everything finally clicked. You made eye contact, your own nerves catching up to you as Steve's words left his mouth. Last weekend you had made a decision, had decided which boy to choose and it wasn't Eddie. You told Steve that you were leaving him, was going to tell him that Monday you had found someone new. But when that day came, with Eddie rushing to you to tell you his exciting news about his campaign, his plan with you for when he was finally done, you didn't have the heart.

Steve descended two steps, stopping at the last one before he turned back to Eddie. He opened his mouth to say something, closing it before he could start.

"Just go," Eddie spoke out loud, quirking up an eyebrow as he widened the door. Steve cocked his head, anger crossing his features as he looked up at him.

"I am, asshole."

"Not you, dumb ass," Eddie rolled his eyes, turning his body to look at you. Time stood still, moving in slow motion as you processed what was happening. "Hon." The tone was bitter. "Just go with him."

"E-Eddie, what?" You took a step towards him, speaking up for the first time since the door opened. You heard Steve's footsteps once more, his head peeping around the door frame as he looked at you, surprise on his features.

"I thought you told him," Steve shook his head, a sarcastic smile on his face. It wasn't genuine, something that screamed he was in disbelief at this moment.

Eddie looked between the two of you, how mousy you appeared, scared of your own shadow, Steve looking like a kid who had just won a prize, but lost it all in the same day.

"She didn't," Eddie said, stepping out of the way as you appeared at the door. The temperature outside was cold, in a weird way, welcoming compared to the warmth inside of the trailer. You were tempted to run out into it, feeling it embrace you with this strange boy by your side. "She didn't have to tell me anything. Just... keep her safe, yeah?"

"Eds, what's going on?" You rushed out, taking a step towards him, wincing at the way he took a step back, his head dropping towards the floor.

He refused eye contact, taking a deep breath as he focused on something behind you, wetness welling up at the corners of his eyes. "Just go, it's fine."

"Eddie--"

"It's fine." It was more urgent, his push of the two words. You knew it wasn't. Nothing would ever make this moment 'fine'. It wasn't fair what you had done to him, it wasn't fair that it had to be Steve, the man who Eddie felt like he was always in subtle competition with, even though they live on opposite sides of the train tracks.

You took a step out of the trailer, chill air hitting your skin. Steve's hand brushed your arm as he slipped his jacket off, trying to offer it. You crossed your arms over your chest, refusing it as Eddie looked between the two of you.

Steve made a few steps towards his car, unsure in his own movements--something that you definitely weren't used to. He was supposed to be the confident one in this scenario, guide you through the unknown. The soft shut of the trailer door had you turning your head, focusing on the young teenagers who had turned their own attention on the scenario.

The crunch of your shoes on the gravel stung with every step, chapters of a storybook flying by to a full end. Your mind raced, you didn't know what to do, how to feel. Everything felt so wrong, yet so... confusing.

"Who's that?" One of the kids asked, his lisp through the words. You bit your lip, turning your head away from them.

"Dustin, not now," Steve sighed, opening the car door for you. You stood there for a moment, turning your head once more to get one last look at Eddie's trailer, yards away. A shadow passed by a window, the silhouette of his body exiting out of sight. You looked at Steve, chewing your lip raw as he was solemn, eyes flitting towards the car, gesturing for you to get in.

As you took a seat in the car, you felt the end of the story completely. This decision felt final, but you weren't sure if you made the right choice. Everything still felt wrong, even with the 'right' one.

a/n: working on an angsty part three, even more than this one. just to summarize it all up. let me know if y'all want it or if I should retire it. anyways love y'all. thank you for being patient with me. Also I am so sorry, I think my weird mood rn is being translated to this text.

Masterlist. Inbox and requests are open!

[kettlefire]

Maybe a Bit High (DpxDC)

Edit: A part 2, Bruce's side of things, is in the reblogs

Really, Danny shouldn't have been there. He had so many other things he should be doing. He wasn't even supposed to in Gotham!

Danny wished he could be safely tucked in bed right now. Or having another fight with his mom. Or dealing with another one of Sam and Tucker's squabbles.

Truly, anything was better than this. Then, being on the run, in a completely different state. Not recognizing anything anywhere and having to somehow find his dad somewhere in this city.

So yes, with Danny's luck, he had assumed the commotion by the docks had something to do with his search.

And of course, with Danny's luck, it had absolutely nothing to do with him.

Maybe things got a little out of hand. Really, Danny wasn't equipped to deal with a drug bust. His experience with crime tends to be of the ghostly nature.

Really, how do people even do these without getting a little bit high?

Was he even high? Could halfas get high? Was the powder he accidentally ingested the drugs? The one he got a giant mouthful of? Or was it the strange purplish liquid that coated like half his body?

Really, Danny wasn't in the frame of mind to try and figure all that out. It sounded more like a Jazz and Sam question.

God, Sam was going to be so bummed out for missing out on Danny's first trip. Not that Danny could even tell her what drugs these were...

Maybe he should go to a hospital?

Or maybe he should mess with this crane. Like, it looks fun! Wait, but people aren't supposed to use heavy machinery when high...

It's fine... probably. It's not like Danny was that high. Right?

Yea, he's fine. Besides, he's a halfa! He's like ninety percent sure he couldn't even get high. And Tucker would be so on board with his idea.

Hold on, the storage units look more fun. Danny couldn't help wanting to find out what was hiding behind all those walls.

Oh, but the sky looks so pretty from here! Even with the city lights and the light smog, Danny could make out the twinkling stars.

Maybe he should go for a fly. Even if he was high, technically, that would be fine, right? Flying is like walking for him. And it's not illegal to walk high! Just to be high...

Okay, okay, a flight it is. It'll atleast keep him away from civilians, and then he'll find his dad. Yes, Danny still needed to do that.

He couldn't lose his objective. He just needed to take a breather, and then track down his dad. Track him down somewhere in this large, bustling city.

It'll be fine, totally fine. Danny was totally not panicking. His current trip was truly not going downhill.

Was he forgetting to breathe? Wait, no, Danny was still Phantom. He didn't need to breathe, he's fine. It's fine...

Unless it wasn't. What if it was all in Danny's head? What if all this halfa stuff was all just a part of his really weird trip? What if he tries to fly and just ends up drowning in the river?

Okay, okay. Focus Danny, focus. He just needed to find his dad. That's it. His dad would know what to do. His dad could fix this.

Oh, and there he is! It was a little hard for Danny to focus his vision, but he knew the silhouette anywhere! It had to be his dad! Jack has such a distinct shadow!

Danny wasn't sure if he called out Dad or not. He also wasn't sure when he had decided to move. Did he fly or did he run?

It didn't matter. His dad knew, anyways. All Danny was focused on was the feeling of hugging his dad again...

And the strange armor his dad was wearing? It must have been something Jack rigged up to protect himself during these dire times...

But god, Danny couldn't tear his focus away from the texture of it under his fingers. Zeroing in on that alone.

It's fine. Even if he was high, Danny could just explain it to Jack. His dad would understand! Danny was just trying to be a good hero. It's not like he was doing drugs for fun!

Besides, being curled up on his dad's shoulders feels too good right now. Whatever that pointy thing on Jack's head was wasn't a big deal. It was something a little intangiblity could fix!

[necrotic-nephilim]

Tim's unternet suit really is the most glaringly obvious hero worship/crush for Dick thing he ever has. in the unternet, where Tim's subconscious creates what he is. that's the suit his brain comes up with? something so clearly derivative of Nightwing? down to the *finger stripes*?

red robin #19

this is gay as hell. the reason Tim can't wear this soul irl is bc the first thing he would do is jerk off in it. and he couldn't handle the embarrassment of Dick seeing how similar it is. if DC ever made this Tim's official suit the first thing they would have to do is make Tim and Dick fuck in it. i'm so close to writing that fic i won't lie.

[shushmal]

i was going to make a post that was just:

steve, watching took girls he used to be in love with kiss: *in the least creepy way possible* hell yeah :)

and in the tags i typed "steve being besties with all his exes" and then immediately thought of the fact that, yes, steve is friends with all his exes, EXCEPT for eddie

like, eddie and him have a quick summer fling or something, it burns hot and it burns FAST. but then, like in all relationships, they both change. they both start thinking of the ✨future✨ and... steve's not leaving hawkins anytime soon, you know? and eddie wants nothing more than to get out. but they're both attached, more than they thought they were, so it's not necessarily an amiable break. it's not horrible, they don't hate each other or anything. but there's lots of tears and a little bit of yelling, and then...

eddie leaves. and they never speak again.

and they think of each other, sure. in new partners, in new experiences, wondering what it might be like if— except that's not the reality anymore. they're NOT together anymore, so there's no sense in wondering, right?

except... they do. they do wonder, they do wish, they do miss each other, they still want each other. but that ship's sailed. he's moved on, they think. he's moved on and his happy with someone else.

and of course, that's when mike and el's wedding happens to everyone.

[nai-z4ro-0ne]

This is very silly stupid but I'm trying to write some stuffing thing and I thought "What If I get full myself to write it. Like method acting." and there's not really a lot of things to eat in my house rn. So I'm here. Trying to get full for inspiration. Eating (among other things) A FUCKING APPLE 😭. So I can write my kink fic.

[thetentaclecommander]

sitting on my throne always alone then you I condone my crown your collar shoved down like a worthless dollar and I holler

please make me please take me please I’m too dumb too numb to do I can’t I don’t only just for you

I live in your blood draw from the sharp to the hub and yet you snub me bloodied like a club is it wrong the chub that is from suckling you like a grub

please make me please take me please I’m too dumb too numb to do I can’t I don’t only just for you

I’d murder for you let them all view from their corpses new how much I hate them every single one of them filthy flesh bags I live to offend

please make me please take me please I’m too dumb too numb to do I can’t I don’t only just for you

but you my sole exception my wanted possession my repossession the obsession takes hold can’t you blame me I have to need to the world isn’t warm safe or protected enough it’s not enough it’s never enough [when will it ever be enough?]

please I’m too dumb too numb to do I can’t I don’t only just for you +++

(a New Years afternoon warm-up and resolution to still write thinly vielded power dynamic, kinky, wormy emotionally charged fics about these two)

[blankweiss-sb]

Gift "Drabble"

For @hiding-in-the-vault

TW: Prison Arc + Post Prison, references to torture and eye removal

Summary: Eventually, Dream found a cave and hunkered down. He didn’t dare making a fire pit, didn’t know whether he could, but it would surely reveal his position. Instead he curled up in the warmest, most wind-safe spot he could find – and slept.

Or

Dream doesn't escape unscathed – mentally or physically.

The red stone pistons fired, the deep grumble distinctive from the ever present hissing of the lava. Dream didn’t dare lift his head or move his cheeks from the grimy, sticky floor of his cell.

Rule number whatever: Either be on your knees head bowed, or you better not have moved from the position Sir left you in.

Was Dream slightly bitter that even thinking Sir immediately called up an image of Quackity and tides of fear and anger? Yes. Would he show that bitterness? No. (Maybe Quackity would think he’d finally broken Dream but he hadn’t. Dream wasn’t quite broken yet, just brittle and fractured. If – when he got out, he’d just pour gold into all those cracks.)

Faintly, Dream heard it – the rustle of small feathers that could be crushed so very easily, the tapping of fingers against the wooden handle of a tool or weapon and a slight hum, the hum of a song Sap had loved. The lava curtains gurgled – please, red stone, fail, a moment of weakness gave itself a voice – before it fizzled out.

Sir bounced into the cell.

“Hullo, Dreamie, how are you? Comfy?”

Dream knew better than to answer. Quackity didn’t care, he just loved the sound of his voice too much. If Dream was lucky, Quackity would gloat, maybe kick Dream a couple of times and leave. That, Dream could endure, he could endure anything, anything but –

Fingertips stroked along the curve of Dream’s face, the one not pressed against crying obsidian and sticky maroon, and it was only the terrors of existence that prevented Dream from flinching. But nothing could have prevented Dream’s throat from releasing a whine when Quackity gently carded through Dream’s hair, almost petting him like a beloved dog.

“Awww, you’re doing good but being greedy, I see.”

Fuck you. Fuck you, Quackity, Dream thought as his head leaned into the comforting touch Sir was offering. It was his body seeking comfort, not Dream. It was his body being pathetic, wanting his torturer to be gentle. It was his body. Not Dream.

“You can be cute. But that’s not why I’m here, not today, puppy!” Don’t call me that. “I’m giving you a gift, look –“

Quackity burst out in little giggles, giggles Sapnap used to gush about. Sapnap had called them more adorable than a baby piglin. Dream had teased him about that, by that time already missing George pressed against his side and joining in on the fun. Teasing his brother had always been one of Dream’s favorite things and George loved to needle Sapnap, too.

A sharp of burst ripped through Dream’s skull as Quackity’s hand grabbed his hair tightly and pulled Dream up until Dream’s scalp was burning. “Listen to me.”

“Yes, Sir.” Two, three seconds more and Quackity let Dream’s head fall, huffing.

“And here I was about to clean you up, wash you, but no. You had to be bad. A bad puppy.” Dream flinched and Quackity’s laugh was more than delighted, echoing between obsidian walls. “Anyway, here you go, you’re going to need this.”

Something cold settled on Dream’s face and – comfort washed over Dream as he realized it was the cold porcelain of a mask, a mask Dream knew quite well. Greedily he sucked in some air and through the stale scent of copper coils and bracken water and burnt out embers, he caught a whiff of earthy flowers.

(“Earthy flowers? Are you serious?” Dream had laughed, pressing his shoulders against Sapnap’s. George had already been snoring, his legs hanging over Sapnap’s lap and his head nuzzling Dream’s stomach.

“Man, you asked me how you were smelling. Earthy flowers. Deal with it, it’s sort of disgusting.” But the tips of Sapnap’s ears had been a brilliant red.

“Someone’s lying~ But that’s ok. I like your hearth embers and George’s bark and petrichor, too.”

“Pe – tri – chor,” Sapnap had mocked. Yet he had relaxed into Dream and – they had slept, together and bonds untorn.)

It was Dream’s mask, not a replica, but his own.

Despite this meaning nothing good, Dream sank into old comfort. The safe feeling was soured by Quackity once again running his hands through Dream’s hair. “Things are going to get exciting,” he crowed, no, that’d be an insult to the death goddess and her harbringers, Quackity quacked. “Better to keep a few things mysterious, right? I’ll be generous and let you rest up.”

Dream didn’t know what Quackity meant until the next day when the pistons fired up and someone swaggered over the bridge. The bars slammed down, Techno grunted as he sprung the trap and it clicked in Dream’s mind.

Time passed.

Sir didn’t enter the prison.

How Techno didn’t realize one tiny but largely important fact was beyond Dream but he couldn’t help being grateful.

How Dream managed to escape with Technoblade was also beyond him.

(Sir had managed to shatter Dream – after Technoblade vanished. Sir had not only dug into all the cracks he’d made but also ensured that not even respawning would ever give back Dream’s sight. There had been a slight, incredibly miniscule chance that Dream could have regained his eye sight but… hard to do that without the vital part of eye sight.

Sir had left Dream cold and raw and – there had been moments.

Dream had even hallucinated at one point, must have imagined trembling hands cleaning him up, a lullaby he hadn’t heard since he was ten being sobbed against his ears and a determined vow being seared against his temple. The voice had sounded like Bad, but Bad hated him, guarded him even, offered suggestions like Dream’s loathing of being alone in the dark to Sir. )

“I refuse. You have done more than enough, he can look after himself now.” The coldness in Philza’s screech was more than biting, was cutting when Technoblade didn’t refute his statement.

Once again Dream’s weakness took over and he wasted a minute on hope, begged Technoblade without the right words or gestures but surely, surely Technoblade picked up on it – “See ya later, nerd, stay safe.”

I’m not seeing anything, settled heavy on Dream’s tongue but – Philza was there, feathers scraping against wooden planks. He must be flaring his wings before refolding them. Rinse and repeat.

It wasn’t pride stopping Dream from saying those words. It was Caution. Philza already was irritated with Dream – Dream, objectively, had harmed the man’s family greatly and in various ways. And in an altercation, there was no world in which Technoblade wouldn’t side with Philza.

So Dream bowed, once, the proper Admin way, and darted off into the forest, barely hearing a sudden intake of breath behind him, probably Philza’s. Technoblade wasn’t an Admin, he wouldn’t have known what Dream’s bow had meant.

They didn’t chase after him, anyways.

That first night Dream almost died five times.

The server refused to reconnect to him – a weak Admin was something no World wanted, vulnerability was undesired – and so Dream had to trust his ears and nose, rather than an innate sense of the World.

Twice the rattling of Skeleton bones was barely enough to get ready for the screeching of arrows flying through the air and aiming directly at Dream’s heart. Muscle memory was, thankfully, enough for Dream to land crits against the Skeletons, even though his own frame didn’t differ much from the Skeletons.

Once a zombie almost ripped into Dream’s leg and would have infected him. Dream was already on the ground, having tripped over a root and landing on a patch of ice that sent him careening through the snow. He’d been contemplating just curling up and sleeping when the zombie fell over him. A kick and crit had taken care of the zombie.

Twice, the environment itself, the World – hadn’t that smarted – had turned against him, giving him no warnings as ravines opened up in front of him. Only hearing the echo of stones crumbling and falling, falling, falling before the unbreakable hit the bottom and shattered into a thousand pieces not even gold could glue back together had warned him.

Eventually, Dream found a cave and hunkered down. He didn’t dare making a fire pit, didn’t know whether he could, but it would surely reveal his position. Instead he curled up in the warmest, most wind-safe spot he could find – and slept.

That first night ended and his first day in freedom dawned – judging from the birdsong sneaking through the tree leaves and into Dream’s cave.

Dream didn’t have the energy to stand up.

More hallucinations haunted his sleep – if it was sleep. His body felt too heavy, his thoughts too hazy for him to be sleeping but – at one point, the hallucination of Bad took root in his mind. Dream heard Bad coo, felt Bad heave him into a bed that Dream certainly hadn’t made, cried while Bad tucked him and drew covers tight around him.

“Sleep tight, good dreams will arrive, cupcake,” the hallucination’s voice quivered as rough, scarred fingers slipped underneath Dream’s mask and tugged it off. The hallucination wanted to card through Dream’s hair and it did, detangling the knots, casting Dream’s drifty mind back to the days of happiness and – “Shh, Clay. I’ll protect you, don’t worry.”

Dream wailed, his throat giving out on him. All the while, the hallucination kept touching him, gently, like Bad loved him, like Bad was here, like Bad cared.

(Love and care were two different shoes. Surely, Sapnap and George still loved Dream but they had shown that they didn’t care for him.)

(Dream was forgetting something. Or someone. Heat was lancing through his brain, pain a deliberating force on everything that was him. How his mind still had enough force to call upon a hallucination with the ability to mimic the sensation of touch he didn’t know. But there was someone else, an agenda, Dream was forgetting.)

(Clay hated getting sick, not only because he couldn’t play with Pandas but because he couldn’t help demanding attention. To be fair, Bad would always give it to him.

“I’m dying,” Clay sobbed, writhing against the covers Bad had forced him under. “It’s too hot, it hurts, I am dying!”

“Shh, you silly, silly cupcake.” Bad chuckled, gently stroking over Clay’s head. Those fingers were so good, they spanned half his head and… Bad was starting to mindlessly but gently tug at all of Clay’s knots, tutting whenever another appeared in the long locks of Clay’s hair. “You’ll be ok, I’m here.”

Whenever Bad acted like this, Clay could pretend that Bad wasn’t only Pandas’ Dad but also his own, and fierce, fierce love wrecked Clay’s body together with the many illnesses he suffered.

One day, one day Clay would create a server for them, for Bad and Pandas and himself and anyone else he loved. He knew he was strong enough, as were his convictions and dreams.)

Energy trickled back into Dream, day by day. The hallucination stayed, far longer than Dream expected it to, offering comfort and safety and the weakness was too strong. Dream, shamefully, gave in.

Until one day the rustle of wings, the wind whistling through feathers just outside his and his hallucination’s cave broke the spell.

“Mate?”

Not Sir, not Sir at all but –

“Get out.” His hallucination growled and the air pulsed with heat and old power – and there was no way that Dream’s stitched together mind could have replicate Bad’s aura when he was pissed and protecting someone. (Someone, not something, an important distinction.)

“Bad Boy Halo, I –“

“Leave before I make you leave. You offered no help, worse, you rejected sanctuary.”

“I didn’t know.”

Bad snorted and responded. Philza said words as well but – Dream had already lost the thread, his mind fuzzy with realizations and too full, too broken to comprehend anything. Until –

“Had I known he was blind and a baby Admin, he wouldn’t have left my house!” Feathers hit the stone walls. Or did feathers scrape along obsidian, crying in sync with the dripping walls? Sir was back, wasn’t he –

Scarred hands cradled Dream’s cheeks and a pair of leathery wings sneaked around and under Dream’s frame. The hands didn’t move. They just held his face and provided an anchor for his mind.

“Bad…” How to say the things he had to say, how to ask questions, how –

Dream’s head is pressed to a dark throat and his breath hitched. Too often Dream had been in this position whenever the world got too big, or he got too big for the world and it bared its fangs at him. Being settled against the thrum of Bad’s heart hadn’t rightened all the wrongs in the world but it had always – always – made them manageable.

“I’m here, Dream. Don’t you worry.”

Dream believed him and let himself fall into trust.

One more time.

[fluffle-writes]

I wanna. Pick them up in my mouth and shake 'em around like a dog obliterating a squeaky toy

[meteorstricken]

I'm writing a one-shot called "Hunger", and hooooboy...it's looking to make "The Tower" appear cute and naive by comparison. Wasn't expecting to lean this damn hard into the eldritch, but the moment I wrote, "If our vessel would know what it is to be filled, we shall cause him to run over," things just started getting out of hand and I'm certainly not in the business of rescuing them from that. 😈

[that-was-anticlimactic]

the name of someone i no longer know

“Do you like… know who you are? Like, your identity?” Tachihara asks Gin and Hirotsu one day, fiddling with the strings on his jacket.

He doesn’t know why he brings it up. Well, he kind of does. He’s just… really confused. Because he’s a Hunting Dog, he isn’t really a part of the Port Mafia. And yet…

Somehow, he feels like he’s been here his whole life even though it’s only been four months. Working with Gin and Hirotsu and even Higuchi and Akutagawa is different from working with the Hunting Dogs. It feels more natural here. And he hates it because he does love the rest of the Hunting Dogs—they’re basically his family at this point.

It scares him, how easily he slipped into this.

[or, 5 times tachihara asked someone about their identity & 1 time he knew his]

🌘4,979 words | tachihara-centric🌒

written for @zukkaoru's birthday!!! ily babes <333

[longagoitwastuesday]

I actually like the last chapter. I think the ideas are very good. I have my qualms on how some things were managed, as I always do, but I think shonen authors get tangled in the expectations of a shonen to the point it jeopardises their writing, often even when they're not lacking in skills

[purpledanser]

true media literacy is rewatching all of supernatural but when you get to season 11+ only putting it on when you've had alcohol

[artdecosupernova-writing]

kind of simultaneously a pro and a con of having your wedding anniversary be the day after April Fools Day: you tend to be so caught up in that that you forget about the wacky zany stuff going on the day before

[realdyke]

honestly i can't even fucking cap anymore

[acquelus-ussy]

Hear me out...

Yandere!husband × wife!reader

You already know he would do anything and everything for you. So when you woke up in the hospital bed, Yandere!husband was already crying.

Hold on who is he? You look around, confused, slowly sitting upright. Then you see a man crying near you. He must be a family member or something.

He looks at you, and the moment he feels that you don't recognize him, his heart drops.

"Honey? Are you okay? It's me, your husband."

Hold on husband??? Since when? Your head starts to hurt again, but before all that... You got into a car accident. You were driving back from the grocery store when a drunk driver hit you.

At least, that's what they told you. But heck, having amnesia hurts a lot.

Every day since you regained consciousness, your so-called "husband" brings you flowers and food, staying by your side until the day of your release.

"So, if you're my husband, where did we meet? How did our love story begin?"

"Of course I'll tell you anything you want to know, anything for you, honey."

He talks about your relationship while driving you home. Once you arrive, you see proof of your marriage blossoming in every corner of the house you supposedly share pictures of the two of you, from your engagement to your second anniversary. You can't believe it... You got married so young.

But don’t worry a silly thought in your head its a reminder that your husband loves you very much. He provides for you, and might I say, he pleasures you. In fact, he's so addicted to you.

While you and your "real" husband were driving home from the grocery store oh, silly! It's nothing he just crashed into you both. And well...

He's the one who drove the truck.

He disposed of your husband’s body, got rid of your friends, redecorated your house, and convinced the doctors and nurses that he was your husband. Don’t worry about anything. He has connections for everything and anything.

So don’t move an inch. Because he will provide.

He knew from the start you were his wife.

But don’t worry, baby.

You won’t remember a thing if I keep fucking you this good.

Heck, you can’t even remember your name when I make you orgasm.

---

I really love this trope so bad i need more people to write about this 😭😭😭

Again i hope you guys like this one heheuwhwuwheh

[hexhomos]

isnt it wild how jayce is the most heavily misunderstood arcane character..everytime i see takes about him being upper-class and rich or mean and condescending or not caring about viktor in s1 or whatever other garbage ppl say about him i lose a year of my life

It's crazy to me that I've been saying jayce is working class for years and this got confirmed in the draft 1 board for arcane christian linke posted on twitter sometime ago lol

house Talis is a MINOR HOUSE of toolmakers whose most prominent contribution is the 'collapsible pocket wrench'. They're literally blacksmiths. This is a service and labor position. Jayce can't even afford to use gold in his inventions in act1 because he relies on the Kiramman money for everything. This is not the life of a rich guy in Piltover this is middle class at best lol his drive to finish up hextech and succeed academically is him trying to build a better life for himself!

Blacksmithing is historically a very intensive work position. The work wears you down & eventually disables you very early in life (jayce's injury in act3 seems to be a metaphorical speedrun of that, in some ways) we're never told how jayce's dad died but it is very fair to imagine it was a work related. he's fucking aware of this, its true In Real Life and it brings such an interesting context to his interactions with Viktor and how they want to create things that help common laborers and make the work better if it wasn't for the council. (in s1 act2 their progress day showcase to heimerdinger BEGINS with jayce complaining that they've been stuck fulfilling the council's demands these past 10 years and now, finally, *finally* it's their time to decide what to do with hextech. and they're not even allowed that.)

Also, the perfected hexgems in s1 are kept in Kiramman-crest boxes. I noticed this just the other day. JAYCE AND VIKTOR DON'T OWN SHITTTTTTTTTTT they're getting exploited big time while all that 'investor' money is charged back with deep dividends

just like real life academics they probably spent most of their life writing up grant proposals like dogs and begging for funding that will wring them dry later on. Where the hell is all my jayce and viktor class solidarity 'getting drunk off their mugs and complaining about their dipshit bosses' content?

[related post]

MARCH 2025 UPDATE: just got my Arcane artbook and it directly confirms the Talis family legacy is not big industry, because those weren't even part of the world. It is only post-timeskip that we start to see ramped up production + Jayce's focus is giving magic to the common people.