#ill just sit here and cope by getting it out in my fic

[qqtxt]

[🌸] a star in my eyes w/ txt

✿ pairing: ot5 x reader / silly, cheesy 🌸🧀 / idol!txt / non.idol!you /minor cursing (none with ill-intention!) / mentions of extreme measures in a light-hearted manner... (don’t call me out on my coping mechanism) ✿ mini-fics with each member for the same situation / less than 500 words for each member / altogether, word count: 2,131 words ✿ regardless of how you feel (good or bad), you’ll always appear to be a star in their eyes (as cheesy as that sounds...) ✿ note: i’ve submitted my submissions for my master’s!!! so i’ll be more active now, hehe! ✨ [masterlist 🌸] / other members under the cut! / @kflixnet​ ⭐️

there are days where you take the toughest days god throws at you like a champ. an absolute champ. to the point where even the most difficult of obstacles or mishaps can’t bring you down... but... some days, the smallest of inconveniences makes you want to wallow in the pit of self-pity until the world swallows you as a whole. you’d gladly welcome the black hole to gulp you in and allow the teeth to sink into your heels to bring you to the unknown. that resembles itself in the form of you face-planting deep into the pillows, arms spread out wide and willing for the earth to open up and...

[🐰] soobin  soobin tries not to laugh at the sight even though it’s endearing to the core. when he coos your name softly, you barely move, only groaning back a let me die... soobin makes himself known when the bed beside you dips down and you feel a hand rubbing your lower back in gentle pats. “augh, and let me suffer living alone? no chance. if i’m alive, you have to be alive,” he taunts, almost effectively granting the view of your side profile when you turn the cheek, blowing part of your hair away from your face to blow a raspberry at him. he snorts and reaches out with his other hand, brushing the hair back as he looks at you with the concern in his eyes that sparks through even if he’s trying not to show it.

“hit a wall?” he asks, calmly.

“metaphorically? yes. physically? i’m about to.”

the way he laughs could be viewed as cruel, but he just enjoys your humour that it makes you laugh in return even though you had absolutely nothing to laugh about in the first place.

“laughing at my misery? asshole.”

“i’m not laughing at you, i’m laughing with you.”

“...”

“...”

“...if i buy you ice cream, will that cleanse me of my sins?”

“...get me the double scoop with the waffle and you’re cleansed for the week.”

“deal. get over here,” he stands up and extends his hands out to you, wiggling his fingers (as if he has to entice you–he is). with a sigh, you roll over and soobin grabs ahold of your hands to tug you to your feet. you nearly bump into him but he catches you with ease, dimples appearing the wider he smiles at you and that alone melts you on sight. well, nothing like a sweet treat with a sweet treat couldn’t hurt.

[🦊] yeonjun yeonjun intended to be more... discrete with his approach but he finds that he can’t when he bellows your name as he steps through the door. when he sees that you remain unmoving, laying flat on the bed with your face-deep into the pillows, you hear him huffing as he storms over, door left ajar as the bed dips down as a signal he’s sitting right by your side. he taps your bum, his voice soon follows: “yah,” he whines, “not even going to turn to face me?”

“just let me be miserable alone,” you groan, voice muffled into the sheets. you hear him letting out a sigh before he starts to chuckle. with light ruffles you feel against you and the bed dipping even more, you now notice he’s squeezed his way through to lay down next to you. despite you buried face deep into the pillow and mattress, yeonjun’s arms are slyly making their way beneath your stomach so he can curl against you.

“i can’t even be miserable on my own?” you mumble, finally turning the cheek to see the way his eyes sparkle at you with a grin. he wordlessly shakes his head, fringe brushing over his eyebrows that accompanies the handsome, cheshire smile that lines his lips. the words already echo in your mind without him needing to say it: i’m gonna be here with you regardless.

knowing you can’t push him away, you let out a deep sigh before you turn your body to cuddle into him. might as well give in if you can’t get rid of it. your hands are pressed to his chest but you’re able to snuggle your face into his neck as he cocoons you in.

soon, he feels the way your breath evens out from deep breaths to shorter, calmer ones with your eyelids fluttering shut. he continues his ministrations of keeping an arm around your waist while the other reaches up to stroke your head, down to your arm and over and over again until he lulls himself to join you to sleep. (ah, a small nap to recharge couldn’t hurt.) ((yeonjun’s most certainly not complaining...))

[🐯] beomgyu beomgyu does what beomgyu does best and it’s–”if you’re gonna kill me, at least make it quick and painless!” your voice is muffled, but mostly because beomgyu’s laying on top of you has effectively rendered you breathless. nearly compressing your lungs until all air is pushed out completely. his hearty laugh is almost enough to make you die happily but it’s not with the way his weight is close to knocking you unconscious.

“augh, can’t have that,” he snickers, sliding to the side and effectively clinging onto you before you can start kicking at his direction. his arms manage to sneak around your body, pulling you flush to his chest as he positions his face as close to your as possible; merely inches apart when you turn your cheek to face him with a huff. “i can’t let you leave me all alone in this big, scary, crazy world.”

“funny how you just described yourself in three words,” you mutter under your breath, using a hand to messily reach out to punch his thigh. he feigns pain with a choked breath but quickly recovers with his gummy grin; eyes crinkling to a smile that somehow... eases whatever misery that’s making you... you know, miserable.

“what’s bothering my golden nugget today?” he asks, in a voice that somehow eases the nerves chewing you up. it makes you rest in his hold and scooting a bit closer to close your eyes, getting a bit of a breather before you respond with: “life... life’s bothering me. just don’t wanna do life right now.”

“then don’t do it,” he states simply. in the kind of voice that makes you curiously raise a brow at him. before you can even ask, he snuggles closer to you with a small grin, “just be you, here with me. we can do everything else except life.”

“you know that makes absolutely no sense, right?”

“yeah, but sometimes life doesn’t have to make sense.”

“...”

“...”

“...so, shall we go for boba? clear your mind a little? have a walk?”

when you don’t answer, eyes moving to stare at a spot at his shoulder then back to his eyes, it’s the way his eyes soften at the way you quietly submit. he leans forward with his lips brushing along your cheek for a quick kiss before he nudges you to–”c’mon, up up up! let’s go!” (on a day that got difficult to get through life, beomgyu made it so effortlessly to guide you along the waves, hand-in-hand–with the other holding onto yeonjun’s card)

[🐿] taehyun taehyun didn’t intend to laugh but he just couldn’t help himself when he pushes the bedroom door, seeing how you’ve successfully buried yourself in the fluff blanket, hair askew, arms lifelessly laying by your sides. you know you’re not alone when you feel the bed dipping down, along with an arm along your back. you turn the cheek towards the door, noticing its left slightly ajar but no one is there. it makes you frown and turn the other way, noticing a pair of eyes that’s awfully close to you with a pearly grin.

“what’re you doing?” you huff, noticing that he’s mimicking your position by face planting his face to the mattress but he has his face turned to face you directly. he shrugs and uses his eyes to point at you, “following you,”

“i don’t even know what i’m doing,” you mumble under your breath, eyes trailing down to the small space between your bodies, staring at the bedsheet. if you had been looking at taehyun, you’d notice the way his features soften as he shifts closer towards you with a small frown. but you weren’t. all you could do is feel his aura near you and it’s the way his calm nature soothes over your nerves like a welcoming blanket.

“you don’t have to know what you’re doing all the time,” his voice enters your ears, like a gentle reminder; a soft kiss to your eardrums. and an actual kiss you feel by the side of your head when you notice he’s crawled into your bubble of self-pity. 

you sigh and lean into his embrace, feeling the way he moves his body to invite you in. it makes your heart swell, warming in his hold with how he turns you a little so you can slot your face in his neck. his arms come around you to cocoon you in, his chin tucked atop of your head to keep you close, just staying like that as he strokes the back of your head as you cuddle into him and part of his cheek leaning against you.

“what if i don’t figure out what i’m doing?” you mutter against his chest, arms giving him a small squeeze. he doesn’t need to look at you to know you’re feeling anxious. he continues his ministrations of distracting you (it was working at least) and plants another kiss to the side of your head before responding with: “then we can figure it out together.” (and though you know that it really means that taehyun would be by your side as you figure out what you wanted, knowing he would be by your side made things feel a bit lighter)

[🐧] kai  kai thought it was funny, initially, anyways. with the way he can only see your back with the way you’ve plummeted yourself into the sheets makes him giggle as he pushes the door wider to step through but the lack of acknowledgement that he’s here with you, half-pokes at his mind if you’re still alive.

“earth to y/n, are you there?” he sits down on the bed by your side, with the little space that’s available due to your body being sprawled out like a starfish but kai always make do to be close to you. 

“hey,” he huffs, using a hand to tap your bum, “are you ignoring me?”

“just–”your voice quips back with a sharp intake of air-”leave me alone to die,” you groan with your voice muffled by the pillow beneath you. if you had been looking at him, you would’ve seen how he begins to pout and actually considers if he should leave you alone to have some space. but when he plans to get up and exit the bedroom, he can’t physically do that so instead, he decides to...

at the sounds and shuffles around the bedroom, you can tell kai hasn’t left you to your demise. it makes you curious, so you at least turn the cheek on both sides to see how he’s not anywhere beside you. it takes all the strength in you to flip around and sit up, now noticing how dim the room has gotten, left with the gentle flickers of ember before the scent of sandalwood and mandarin sifts into the air. you’ve caught the culprit redhanded when you see he was setting up something to play on the laptop (presumably a comfort re-run show you both enjoy) and you notice the packet of snack by the lit candle.

“oh,” he chuckles awkwardly, “i was gonna pull you out of the blackhole when i was done setting things up–”

“kai,”

“–and–hm?” he stops his tracks, train of thought halting with the tilt of his head when you call his name to cut him off. kai visibly stiffens but everything melts away when you stretch your arms out with your legs folded on the bed, a wordless cry of hold me.

he ditches everything he was intending to do and comes right to you. he may or may not have tackled you down onto the bed to hug you properly with a couple of oofs! and sorry! here and there interlacing with each other but... it was perfect. kai watches as your eyes flutter shut, curling into him, breath fanning his neck with your arms meekly around his waist. it was cheesy, but thank goodness no one can hear his thoughts when he’d rather be watching this than the show he had intended to play for the both of you.

[givemea-dam-break]

hello my love <3 can i request fluff with lockwood where y/n is sick and she also has injury on her hand (something like lucy's maybe?) and when lockwood wants to clean it she's not happyy about that 'cause she only wants to sleep and he's like "i'm your fully qualified doctor, remember? you have to listen to me, love", btw i absolutely adore your stories, keep writing cause you're amazingg, mwah <3

a/n: of course!!! domestic lockwood is the best in my humble opinion. and im so glad you like my stuff so much, love you my dear <3 also taking this as an opportunity to apologise for the terrible titles for most of my fics i spend ages thinking but can never think of something good lmao

warnings: minor injury detail gn reader

Perfect - Anthony Lockwood

The library is the warmest room in the house, and by far your favourite, so it's no surprise when Lockwood finds you there, curled up on your designated armchair close to dozing. He smiles at you as he steps in, carrying a tray of something or other that he places down on the little coffee table before sitting in his armchair.

There's something about him today that makes you want to laugh. Maybe it's the way he's been mothering you all day because you're ill. Maybe it's the lack of Anthony Lockwood professionalism he has today, what with his crinkled hoodie and pink fluffy socks - aren't those the ones George has been looking for? He's so unlike his usual self today, but also inadvertently just like himself. A walking anomaly.

"How are you feeling now?" he asks quietly, as if your ears may explode if he speaks too loud. "Any better?"

"No better than I did seven minutes ago," you say with a laugh. "Lockwood, you don't have to keep a constant eye on me. You've got things to do."

"One of which being to take care of you," he says. "Which reminds me, are you finally going to let me take a look at that cut on your arm? It needs cleaning."

"I trust you with my life, but I do not trust you with the first aid kit. You'll shove half a tube of Germaline on it. Besides, I want to go to sleep, and here is cosier than my room."

He gives you a look, but it's halfhearted. "You can sleep once I've cleaned it. I've brought you some of your favourite biscuits and a brew in return."

You lift your head from where it had laid on your arms. "Doesn't sound like a very fair trade for you."

"Ah, I'll cope."

"Well, it doesn't hurt anymore. I'm sure it's healed amazingly and then I'll be back to my wonderful self in no time."

"I'm not leaving until I've at least taken a look at it. Then after that, you can have your tea and go to sleep." His grin is dazzling then. It's the kind he always uses when he's trying to get his way. "I'm your fully qualified doctor, remember? You've got to listen to me."

If you could be bothered, you could push for him to leave you in peace, but your head feels like it's full of water and you want to go to sleep. So, begrudgingly, you shift so that your arm hangs over the armrest of your chair.

The gentleness of Lockwood's hands as he takes your arm and slowly, carefully peels off the plaster you haphazardly placed on shocks you. His fingers are soft, holding your arm as if it's a delicate thing that could break at any moment.

He takes a minute to just look at the gash on your forearm. It's no longer than your index finger, cutting diagonally across halfway up, and it's still oozing some blood. The plaster is covered in it, and he deftly throws it into the bin before taking his little first aid kit from the tray he brought in. Its original purpose was for you to use it on him whenever he got banged up on cases, which was more often than not, but there's something strangely special about him using it on you now. It makes you feel a little giddy.

"You got this from a glass door, right?"

You're acutely aware of his touch as he shifts his grip so as to clean the cut. "Yeah. George knocked me into it by accident. I'm surprised this is all I got out of it."

His reply comes in the form of a quiet hum. As he cautiously cleans the wound, you watch as his brows furrow a little with concentration, creasing a little line between them, and his top lip twitches a little bit. A little quirk, you've noticed, when he's particularly invested in something. Usually, it's the latest gossip rag, in which he always loses sight of the real world, but now it's you. A small flutter arises in your chest.

He wipes over a small part of the gash, and you suck in a sharp breath. The sound makes him falter, the wipe hovering an inch above your skin as he looks up at you.

For a moment, then, you forget about the pain. Through his thick lashes, his eyes are brimmed with worry and apologies, but after insistence that you're fine, he continues to clean the fresh blood away.

"Let me put the cream on the plaster," you murmur. "You'll put way too much on."

He smiles. "Who's the qualified doctor here?"

"In all honesty, Skull is probably better at this kind of thing than you are."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

"Do."

But, even still, he passes you the tube of Germaline and a long plaster. A moment later, you pass it back, and with delicate hands, he places it over the gash. It stings a little, and you hiss at the sudden cold, but the feelings are gone before the minute is even over.

"Perfect," he says with a soft, private smile. "All sorted."

His hand lingers, still holding your arm, and you suddenly feel more awake than ever. It's as if the tiredness has just melted away into the cushions of the armchair and down into the floor with only his touch, and you yearn for him to not let go. To stay exactly where he is.

And, as if having read your mind, he does.

If someone were to walk in, the scene would be strange. You, curled up in your seat with your arm hanging over the armrest, head resting on your own shoulder, and Lockwood, holding your arm as if it's some valuable thing, and simply looking at you with those expressive eyes of his.

"How do you feel?" he asks. His voice is a little breathy.

You're trying not to focus on the feeling of his fingers slipping down your arm until they almost - almost - slot in between yours. You shift slightly so that your head is in a position that isn't causing a crick in your neck, and it only grants a better view of him. His dark hair glowing bronze in the firelight, the ever so faint freckles on his nose, the dip in the left corner of his lip that insinuates another smile.

"A little better." The words almost catch in your throat when his fingers curl around yours just so. They don't hold yours, but they're so, so close. You can feel his pulse - or is that yours beating wildly out of control? "Do you have any paracetamol?"

He takes a second to realise what you've just said, and his hand leaves yours as he rakes about in the first aid kit for the painkillers. Out of pure mothering ability, he pops two out of the packet and hands them to you along with your mug of tea. Not the nicest thing to swallow them down with, but it'll do.

"You need to be more careful on cases," Lockwood says.

"Tell that to George. He's the one who bumped into me." Then, you shrug. "I suppose I shouldn't have gone when I've got the worst head cold I've had in yonks."

A breathy laugh escapes his lips, and you notice how he's looking down at your hand.

It's a bold move, completely unlike you, but you reach for his hand, looping your fingers through his. His hand is warm and, yes, that's definitely your erratic pulse.

It takes a lot to catch Lockwood off guard, but that does the trick. For a moment, it's like he can't decide whether or not to look at your linked hands or at you, and you laugh at the sight of it.

"This is wholly inappropriate," he jokes. "Doctors and patients shouldn't do anything remotely like this."

You must be out of your mind entirely because you lean over and press a kiss to his knuckles. "What about that?"

The expression on his face reminds you of when the TV signal has gotten busted, and the four-person-army of Lockwood and Co, plus a glowing and crude Skull, are sitting around it angrily waiting for it to stop buffering. When the picture freezes, glitches a little bit, and buffers for even longer. You can almost see the buttons and wires in his mind, struggling to compute what you just did.

That's not to say you aren't the complete same. Truthfully, you shocked yourself with the kiss, and you sit here now, staring at the spot where your lips touched his skin.

You're ill, you remind yourself. Maybe he'll pass it off as delusion.

"Would you mind if I weren't your doctor for a little?"

Frowning a little, confused, you say, "No...?"

You've never seen a person move as fast as Lockwood does then. Before you know it, he's leaning over your entwined hands and his lips are brushing yours so softly, giving you room to move if it's something you don't want. But you do. You want it more than anything.

Everything seems to melt away at the moment you press your lips firmly onto his. The library, the fireplace filled with dancing orange flames, your horrible cold, the sting of anti-septic cream on your fresh cut. You're aware only of his lips on yours, his fingers twisted in yours, the warmth of his hand. Every nerve in your body feels as though it's about to combust. Your heart is practically beating through your chest. God, your hands are awfully sweaty.

Only a moment later, he pulls away, but his face stays so close to yours that you can feel his breath on your cheek.

You want to say something romantic, maybe something smart or snarky like you usually would, but all you can think of is, "You're going to get a cold now."

"It's just as well we have Skull, then, huh?" His laugh is soft and airy, and you could catch it between your lips if you so wished. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

His gaze flickers between your eyes and lips, and you're positive that if he weren't holding your hand right now, you'd implode in a burst of sparks and fireworks.

"Well, if you're so sure -"

Knowing where the sentence is going, he presses his lips to yours once more, and it's perfect.

[selfindulgentpixies]

So I wrote a very self indulgent Satoru Gojo x reader fic to cope with a couple of bad sensory overload days I had a week or two ago and it's just been sitting in my drafts half finished until tonight. Got a boost of spiteful inspiration since I spent most of today in bed with a migraine.

Contains: gn!reader, mentions of sensory overload, brief mentions of getting ill, Gojo being sweet and taking care of you, reader has a cat, reader wears glasses

Take me home tonight

Gojo could tell something was wrong as soon as you’d walked into the meeting late, not just late but later than him, looking frazzled. Even if you shared his disdain for the higher ups you played your role well enough, always on time, students cared for, work taken care of with what could sometimes be considered malicious compliance if you were pushed the wrong way. But that wasn’t the you he saw try to quietly slip into the meeting.  You looked washed out, nauseous even. It wasn’t helped when the higher ups tried to lay into you for being so late. You looked panicked which is when he swept in. Taking their attention off you. He’s not even sure you take in anything that’s being said but you at least send him a small and grateful smile. 

The meeting is barely over before you’re getting up to leave, ignoring any protest at your abrupt exit. He quickly finds you when he leaves, between his long strides and six eyes it’s easy to find you and catch up to you. You’ve stopped to sit, heels of your hands pressed against your eyes and your glasses dangling loosely from your fingers. He plops down on the bench next to you and speaks. “Mind telling me what that was all about?” He doesn’t miss how you flinch at his voice.  He’s known you long enough to catch on and his voice is quieter the next time he speaks. “One of those days then?”

You give a jerky lil nod, still covering your eyes. Even though your lenses on your glasses were transitions they weren’t activated by the lights inside the building, the barely there default tint of them not enough at the moment which was probably why you were just holding them and sitting with your eyes covered. “Y-yeah. Had a mission in the city, dealt with a curse that could manipulate light, and everytime it attacked it let out a high pitched buzzing noise, it was like the world’s worst rave and then I came straight here for the meeting.” He frowns a bit at that. Really you should have just gone home. 

“You don’t even like normal raves.” His tone isn’t something you’re able to parse at the moment, but there’s a playful enough note to it that it gets you to smile just a little.. 

“You’re right, I don’t.” 

Still speaking softly, so much so that only you can hear him even as other staff pass by. “You went into the crowded city,” you nod, “went to hell’s light show,” you nod again at his words, “And still decided to go back through the city to sit in a brightly lit meeting room and deal with the higher ups?” 

“That sums it up, yeah.” You part your fingers ever so slightly to glance at him but quickly close them. 

He sighs. “Here, keep your eyes closed but move your hands.” 

“Gojo?” You question as you hear the shifting of fabric. 

“It’s fine just move your hands,” he gently coaxes you and you feel his cool dry hands gently pull your own from your face. Then he’s gently tugging something over your head and you realize he’s putting his blindfold on you, the thick soft cloth finally blocking out all light. Instead of tucking it behind your ears he pulls it slightly lower so it covers them and at least partially softens the sounds around you. You’re both quiet for several moments until he takes your glasses and tucks them into his pocket. You don’t see that of course but you trust him to not break the things you need to see since you’ll want to see again eventually.  “You still with me?” 

“Y-yeah, thank you. Don’t you need this though?”

You don’t see him shrug but he does it anyway. “I’ll be fine without it for a bit. I’ve got my sunglasses if it gets bad. I think you need it a lot more than me right now. Do you want me to take you home? You can’t make it there blind so i’ll-” 

“Gojo, if you teleport me right now I’ll probably throw up on you.” 

“Gross.”

“I’m just being honest.”

He hums in thought. “How about I just carry you to my office then? It’s nice and cool in there and I can draw the blinds.” 

You’re quiet for a moment and he almost asks again until you nod. “Y-yeah alright.” 

When he picks you up he does so with care, making sure he doesn’t do anything unexpected. Normally the idea of being touched by Gojo would be much more pleasant but each point of contact makes your clothes rub more uncomfortably against your skin. You don’t complain though and just let him carry you. You tuck your head into his neck. You’ll probably feel mortified later but right now all you care about is being somewhere dark and quiet.  You think you hear some of the students start to speak to him and maybe begin freaking out when they see that he’s carrying you but his energy shifts slightly and you hear him shush them. Surprisingly they immediately comply. You imagine it has everything to do with the shift in his energy and not respecting the fact that they’d  been hushed. 

There’s the soft sound of a door opening and then being closed again before you find yourself being set on a comfortable chair. “Just get some rest alright? I’ll be back.” 

“Thank you, Gojo.” You curl up in the chair and he smiles a little at you. 

–

You’re a little surprised later when you open your eyes and are faced with complete darkness. Your brain is hazy and takes a moment to catch back up to you. You vaguely remember the conversation with Gojo and him slipping his blindfold on you- oh. Right. You reach toward your face and push up the dark fabric. You blink in the low light of the room. Gojo is at his desk, looking terribly bored of doing his paperwork in the dim lamplight. At least you think he looks bored with how he’s resting his cheek on his fist and holding a document in his other hand. You can’t really see anything else without your glasses.

He perks up when he notices you looking at him. “Hey there, feeling any better?” His voice is still quiet just in case your ears were still sensitive. He gets up and grabs something from his desk before walking over to you. You can now see that he’s holding your glasses. 

“Yeah, still a lil fuzzy but definitely better.” You give him a sleepy but grateful smile. He almost wishes you hadn’t taken your glasses back because he knows that as your vision comes back into focus you’re now able to see how pink his cheeks are. You look so cute half asleep and it’s not really a vulnerable moment he’d ever thought he’d get to see you in. Especially not curled up in his office with his blindfold sitting part way on your head leaving your hair mussed up. You sit up and stretch, arching your back in a way that gets his eyes to track over your body before you pull the blindfold the rest of the way off your head and press it into his hand. “Really thank you. I hate to say it but I was on verge of tears before you helped me out.” 

He pulls the blindfold over his head but lets it rest around his neck instead of pulling it over his eyes. “It’s no problem really. You weren’t acting like yourself. Next time just go home if you feel that way. I’ll cover for you if you need me to.” 

You scratch at the back of your neck. “You already do so much, I don’t feel like I should be asking you to do that.” 

He shakes his head. “I mean it. Gives me an excuse to give those old bastards a hard time.”

You snort. “As if you need me to give you an excuse.” 

He smiles but otherwise doesn’t respond to that particular comment. “I do mean it. I think you might be surprised by how well I understand what you were going through. It’s not exactly the same but there’s a reason I always have my eyes covered.” 

“Yeah alright then… I’ll let you know next time.” 

His smile widens into a grin, bringing out his dimples.”Good. Now how about I bring you home now? I doubt you want to deal with the trains.”

“Gojo, if I throw up-”

“Then that’s literally on me.”

“Gross,” you echo his comment from earlier. 

—-

You don’t get sick from being teleported but it’s a near thing as you lean heavily against Gojo in your entryway. He raises an eyebrow at you. “You gonna be alright?” 

“Y-yeah I’m good.” You let out a slow breath before taking your weight off him and toeing off your shoes in the entryway. “Did you want to come in for a bit? I won’t be up for long but I should fix something to eat. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. 

Gojo studies you for a moment, and without his blindfold in place you feel exposed. “How about I order us takeout then?”

“I don’t know if I should eat anything greasy right now.”

“I can order you some soup. I know a place.”

You consider his offer for a moment before nodding. “Yeah okay. Sounds good.” You begin to walk toward the main part of your apartment. “I’m gonna go get cleaned up while you order food. Make yourself at home okay?” 

He hums in the affirmative before you vanish into your room. 

—

When you emerge a bit later you’re wearing a clean pair of sweatpants and one of your sleep shirts, which was really just an oversized band-t. You’ve made a half hearted attempt to dry your hair with a towel. The apartment is filled with the smell of food making your stomach growl and drawing you more quickly to the main part of your apartment.  Gojo has made himself comfortable just like you’d told him to. There’s containers of food spread out in front of him on your coffee table and he’s relaxed into the love seat with your cat on the back by his head. The little shit sniffing and chewing at his hair, which you suppose meant Gojo passed your feline companion’s test for being allowed to exist in your space. But what really gets your attention is how Gojo has discarded his work jacket and is just sitting there in a tight black t-shirt that clings to him like a second skin. It takes your breath away a little because while you knew he was probably muscular in theory it just never really sank in because he always wore such baggy clothes. 

“You just going to keep standing there staring holes into me or are you gonna join me for dinner?” His voice is full of amusement.  

You squeak. Of course he noticed you. “S-sorry. I was just surprised. My cat doesn’t normally like when there are men in the apartment he doesn’t know.” It’s only a half lie.

Gojo snorts and glances back at you. “You have a lot of strange men over?” He says in a teasing tone.

“No. Just.. he hates whenever maintenance is here and he attacked poor Nanami’s leg once when he stopped by.” 

Oh now that makes Gojo laugh, loudly in fact, though he quietens himself down to chuckles when he notices you flinch at the noise. “Maybe your cat is a bad judge of character, liking me more than Nanami,” he surprises you by saying at his own expense. 

“No, I think he just picked up on how at ease you seem to be here,” you say this reflexively though a second thought occurs to you moment after when you remember how Gojo had carried you and you’d buried your face in his neck. Your scent must be clinging to him and especially to his blindfold that he's still wearing around his neck. The thought makes you blush and he tilts his head at you for a moment before gesturing for you to come sit down, patting the cushion beside him.

You suddenly wish your apartment wasn’t so sparsely furnished but since it was normally just you here the only place to sit in the living room really is directly next to Gojo. You consider saying you should move to the kitchen table but did you actually want to miss an opportunity to be so close to Gojo when he was offering it? The answer was apparently ‘no’ as you make your way over. He crosses his legs to make room for you and you take your seat next to him. At your arrival your cat mrrps and headbutts the back of your head before leaving. 

“Now-” Gojo leans forward picking up a container and a spoon for you, “go ahead and eat.” Once he’s sure you have a good grip and aren’t going to drop hot soup on the two of you he grabs his own food and sits back, his arm brushing against you. The two of you eat in silence your arms occasionally knocking into each other as you fill your empty stomachs. 

Before long you’re drowsily sagging to the side and Gojo is gently taking the mostly empty container from your hands. This causes you to jerk and blink up at him groggily. “Ah sorry-”

He chuckles. “You don’t need to apologize, you’re exhausted. Why don’t you head to bed? I’ll clean up and head out after alright?” 

You feel a little guilty. “You don’t need to clean up, Gojo.” 

He holds up a hand. “It’s not a big deal really. You just get some rest.” 

He stands and stretches, and he reminds you a bit of a very oversized cat. his fingers brushing your low ceiling. Then he’s holding a hand out to you and pulling you up from the loveseat.  The two of you say your goodnights and goodbyes before you shuffle your way to your room. He stands there in your living room with an impossibly fond smile on his face.  He catches your cat giving him what could be a judgmental stare from the corner of his eye. “Bet you think I should have asked them out, huh?” The cat just flicks his tail unimpressed. You, unaware of the small exchange between Gojo and your feline companion, fall asleep to the sounds of Gojo cleaning up.

The next morning you wake up to the chime of your phone. You bink blearily and fumble for your phone. When you unlock the screen you see you have a message from Gojo. 

Gojo: hey I hope you’re feeling better this morning. if you’re up to it do you want to come meet me for breakfast? i’d like to ask you something.

You sit up and rub at your face before responding. 

You: can’t you ask me over text? 

Gojo: it’s something i’d rather ask you in person. so will you? 

You: sounds a bit ominous but ok

Gojo: it’s nothing bad I swear! 

You grin sleepily to yourself. 

You: yeah yeah you’re just trying to lure me into a false sense of security

Gojo: you wound me!! i would never. sooo meet me in 30 minutes? 

You: not giving me much time to wake up huh? 

His next message is the location of a cafe not far from your apartment. He apparently took your question as a yes. 

So you get up and scramble to get ready, you’re still a bit disheveled but you're comfortable enough around Gojo to not really care. As you shoo your cat away from the door so you can slip out you have no idea that when you return home it’ll be with your soon to be boyfriend.

____

And that's it! I just needed a comfort fic so i wrote it myself. I'm still working on chapter 7 of my Satoru x reader x Suguru fic. It's just taking time to pull together

@nanamikentoseyebags @strawberrystepmom @gojoest

[raving-raven-writing]

Recom Headcanons

So, some of this is from my mind, but some of these headcanons I'm sure are based off others' headcanons I've seen. Also, some of these headcanons may actually be written in terms of some of my fics that I have written for Avatar. Particularly if you have read my story Lost and Found or any of my Recom Smut series. @hellpmeimobsessed You asked me to tag you, so here you go! Warning: Some of these headcanons may contain mention of past abuse/past child abuse/past sexual abuse, and may also contain content in terms of what the character enjoys in the bedroom Brown: -Was SAed when he was younger -Loves karaoke, even though he might be a bit tone deaf -Enjoys cuddling naked with his partner -Did modelling for a brief period of time before he decided to join the marines Fike: -....I got nothing for him, sorry. No hate to him, just don't have any at the moment.

Ja: -Was raised by his grandparents -Seeing the EMTs work on his grandma sparked his interest in wanting to become a medic -A sensitive soul, rather quiet and reserved -Enjoys movies, most genres except for horror; is a bit of a baby when it comes to the scary movies -Has minimal sexual experience compared to some of the others; but has always wanted to titty f**k his partner -Him, Prager, and Lopez are close

Lopez: -Is a masochist and will openly admit to it -Comes from a large family, a middle child of five. Very close with all of them. -Has problems with authority figures, always having to hold his tongue so he doesn't get himself into trouble -Very protective to those he loves or is loyal to -A rather horny drunk...this may or may not be how he and Ja got it on Mansk: -Has a light sensitivity, hence the sunglasses all the time. But also uses the sunglasses as a layer of protection of being perceived by others -Sits somewhere on the autism spectrum but was never diagnosed, comes across as just being "socially awkward" -Gives off the "strong and silent type" vibe -Was sexually abused by his uncle as a child well up until his late teen years -Definitely a mama's boy - The younger of two kids. Has an older sister named Nora -Turned to cooking as a way to cope with his trauma--found he had a gift for it and just kept at it. But also enjoys making others feel good by being able to give them a good meal

Prager: -Is a pothead -Grew up with alcoholic/drug addict parents, but was eventually fostered by an old teacher who took him under their wing -Likes most types of card games and board games -Stress cleans -Enjoys rollerblading and skateboarding -Easy going/go with the flow type of person--both in day to day things and in bed Quaritch: -Grew up on a farm -Raised by an abusive/alcoholic father and a mother that fell ill when he was in his teens -The oldest of three children---lost connection with his siblings when he left to join the military -His relationship with Paz started as her simply flirting with him based on a dare, but eventually turned into a fling as Miles was impressed by her boldness -Smokes when stressed but turns to alcohol as a bad coping mechanism if given the opportunity -Enjoys camping and hiking and being able to be out in nature so he can reflect upon life and to be able to get more in touch with his emotions -Likes to take charge in bed, but Paz is able to persuade him into being a sub in some situations Wainfleet -Has a bit of a crush on the Colonel. He thinks it isn't obvious, but some of the others see it -Is a switch in the bedroom. But prefers to be the sub when he is with his girlfriend, Mina. -Makes jokes constantly despite the fact that he struggles with his mental health--saw being the funny man as a way to make others like him -A middle child of three; has an older brother who is also in the military, but joined the Army branch, and a younger sister, who died when he was about thirteen -Grew up on a farm, although not many people know this -Grew up being rather sensitive and a "cry baby" as his brother dubbed him. Was a big mama's boy and her death damn near broke him -Smokes when stressed

Walker: -Likes to scrapbook in her spare time -Her and Z-Dog have flings with one another, but neither of them would label themselves as an "item" -Likes to sit down with a good book on a stormy day and curl up by the fire with some comforting snacks Warren: -Gives off the "strong and silent type" vibe -Has a crush on Mansk (initially unrequited?) -Is gay, but no one knows this (at first) -Is very much a wallflower, people forget he is there sometimes -In sexual relations, is very straightforward and a take charge type of guy--but makes sure that he is never rough with his partner

Z-Dog: -Grew up in a house full of men. Her mother left when she was young, so she just had her dad and her three brothers -Was very much a tomboy before realizing that she liked girls more then she liked men -Her father was a mechanic so she knows her way around a car -Enjoys physical sports like boxing and kickboxing -Chews gum as a way to manage her anxiety as well as to curb any emotional eating Zhang: -Is one of the three "strong and silent types" (with Warren and Mansk being the other two) -Rarely smiles -Enjoys shibari (Japanese rope bondage) and 69ing -Looks mean since he has a "resting bitch face" but can be quite gentle and doting with his partner -Joined the marines as a way to rebel against his parents since they wanted him to become a doctor or lawyer or engineer.

That's all I got for now. Might eventually develop some headcanons for Fike and might add on to what I have here. Hope you enjoyed reading!

[storiesandthingsofthatnature]

You Can Cry If You Want To

Summary: You made a promise to yourself long ago that you would never cry again. However, unhealthy coping mechanisms lead to even worse ones. However, Leon is here for you

Word Count: 1.6K

Pairing: RE4! Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of self-harm, cursing, a single slap that was heard around the world, ummmm, that's it? Do let me know tho!

Disclaimer: Nothing to report :3

A/N: So I'm back again but with something fluffier this time uwu Have a comfort fic :3 I'm probably going to add a rules thingy to my blog and pin it to the top soon so be sure to look out for that if you wanna ask me to write anything for you! :D

Anyways, enjoy!

Being in this line of work you have to come to terms with the fact that you’re going to carry some heavy weight. From the deaths of your teammates to a failed mission that ultimately led to casualties. Not every task ended with a happy ending; human miscalculation and error will always be a consequence. But that wasn’t what bothered you today. No, this was a battle that you had been fighting ever since you could remember; mental illness. 

You had bi polar disorder - an illness that has caused a lot of strife in your life. You had hoped that enlisting into the secret service would be more than enough to distract you from your personal qualms but it just seemed to make it worse. However, jumping out now would just fuck you over financially and you weren’t sure just how long it would take to dig yourself out of that hole. So, you grinned and bore it. In front of your superiors, in front of your colleagues, and especially, in front of Leon. 

Leon Kennedy was a man of high regard and well respected amongst his peers. You were no exception. It was always an honor to work with Leon and a mission became more secure when he was around. But with constant contact comes welling feelings and you couldn’t stop yours from appearing. It was a slow burn, a small cinder that slowly grew into a healthy flame that now resided deep within your chest only for Leon. You could never tell him, however. You were sure that he had someone outside of work and that you were no way in league with him. So, you just let your feelings fester, an unhealthy way of trying to rid yourself of this puppy crush. 

And with unhealthy coping mechanisms comes unhealthy actions - you hurting yourself. You weren’t doing it because of Leon, but the added stress of possible unrequited love was enough to overturn the teetering table that was your fluctuating moods. It always started the same, your manic episodes; you become quiet yet violent to where you go on a small rampage. After you nearly demolish the area around you, you just sit down and sob. 

After a certain amount of time, you made yourself a promise that you would never have such an episode again. And, right before you entered the service, you started your streak. Through all of the shit and harsh training, you never broke your self promise. How embarrassing would it be to shut down like that in front of your team anyway? Especially Leon. 

You could never let them know about this side of you. But because of this you were left with a single, toxic mechanism which was cutting into your arms. You felt lucky that you could wear long sleeves with your uniform but you also wore bandages so as no dirt or sweat could get into the wounds. You craved the pain but you still wanted your arm. 

Lately, though, you were becoming quite sick. Due to your stress your stomach was beginning to twist in an agonizing way and migraines were becoming normal. One day, you couldn’t go in at all. You called in and practically begged for a day off. Of course you were to be given harsher exercises to make up for it but you were let off for the day. You could sob from the relief. You settle deeper into your bed and try to sleep off the pain that your body encapsulated. 

 However, a little under an hour later you heard a frantic knock at your door. You give an annoyed groan and throw off your covers with such force that they fell to the other side. You stomped to the front door of your apartment and you swung the door open with no regard to your bare arms. You were just so tired and sick that you just wanted to be left alone. You wanted to get this encounter over with and go back to bed. But your heart sank to your knees, your sharp tongue catching in your throat. Leon Kennedy was standing in front of your door and your brain was trying to process why the fuck he was here. 

“Leon?..W-what are you…?” You begin to say but stop completely at Leon’s expression. He looked intense, very contrasting to the worried look that was etched on his face when you opened the door.  “Y/N…” He said it in a way that sounded surprised yet heartbroken. You raise an eyebrow at him but when you follow his gaze you see what he noticed; your scars. You go to hide them but Leon’s calloused fingers enclosed around your wrist. “Why?” He wasn’t going to ask you the question of what this was. He knew but he just wanted to know why. 

You hide your eyes behind your hair, unable to look at him. “It doesn’t matter-” “Yes it fucking does!” He didn’t mean to sound so enraged but you were obviously lost in some sort of self depriving darkness and he wanted to know how or why so that he could fix it. But you didn’t want anything to be fixed. Everything was fine as it was, why couldn’t he see that? “Why are you here, Leon?” You ask and the expense of tiredness was evident in your heavy-lidded eyes and Leon’s heart clenched. Have you even been sleeping?

“You never miss a day of training. I wanted to make sure that you were alright.” He explained himself and you sigh. “Well, you see that I’m alright so-” You gesture for him to move back so that you could close the door but he kept his foot on the threshold. “We’re not done here.” He practically growled at you and your sanity was beginning to crack. “Leon, please. I do not have the energy for this.” You rub at your temples, your love for his caring nature now a jab in your side this time around.

He scoffed at you,”Right. And then the next time we talk about it you’ll come up with another excuse - no. We’re talking about this now.” He said as he tried to make his way in. However, you felt something deep within your mind snap and you slapped Leon. He reared back in shock, holding the side of his face that you struck. “I’M FINE, DAMNIT! WHY CAN’T YOU SEE THAT?!” You yelled, a familiar sensation welling up behind your eyes. “Leon please, just go.” You turn on your heel to hide your face, frantically wiping at your eyes to try and coax your body to stop and not betray your promise. 

“Damn it, it won’t stop.” You sniffled, your guard down. You hadn’t noticed that Leon had come up behind you, grabbing your waist as he slid into your apartment with you. “Leon! Let me go!” You struggle but then he sits criss crossed in front of your sofa. He places you in his lap, encaging you in the softest hug you had ever had the pleasure of receiving. “Oh.” You say in surprise from the gentleness and what Leon said next shocked you. “Cry.” You blink once and make a sound of confusion. “You’re not okay, [y/n]. And your body needs to get it out and you’re not letting it. Please. Cry.” He brought your head against his bicep, you subconsciously clinging to his shirt. 

“I don’t….I don’t…Need..to..” You try to reason with him but you feel the first few hot drops fall down your face. Your last line of defense was biting your lip but your whimpers were far too powerful. You let out a small sob which then transitioned into a symphony of wails. Your grip tightens on Leon and you shove your face into his shirt as you let out years of bottled up emotion. And he held you tightly, rubbing soft circles into your back as he threads his other hand through your hair. 

You cried for a little while, but sobs turned into sniffles which led to you passing out. Your body had finally let out everything and now just needed rest. Crystal drops lined your eyelashes as you slept in Leon’s arms, your reddened cheeks and nose leftover from your crying. 

Leon stayed sitting for a while, not wanting to disturb you. But once he felt that you were deep in sleep he rose in place and found your room. He laid you out on your bed, having pulled back the covers to tuck you in. After you were snug as a bug, he hesitated in place. He felt like the respectful thing would be to leave but he didn’t want to go. But, his mind was made when he felt your hand grip his. “Stay?” You ask, your voice a little heavy with strain. 

Leon smiled and nodded. “For as long as you want me to.” He says and you give a smile of your own. “I fear you may never have another day to yourself again then.” You lightly joke but hope that he would receive it in favor. “Is that a threat, [L/N]?” He teased back as he climbed into bed next to you and pulled you into his embrace. When your scars were in view, he would gently leave ghost kisses behind along the raised bumps and you felt yourself falling in love all over again. He was so scared that he would hurt you, but he still wanted to show that he was here for you. “Oh no, Mr. Kennedy. That’s a promise~”

[ughgoaway]

midnight, no headlights // George Daniel- pt 1

content warnings: no smut (yet) but still some kissing so minors go away, drinking, swearing, smoking, awkward flirting and writing because I am not great at either! word count- 2500-ish

a/n: hiii so the vote came out that you didn't mind this fic being split up so, this is the first part! 2014 George has had me in a chokehold recently (thanks to @abiiors) so I had to write something for him!! this is part one of two and I have absolutely no idea when the other part will come out!! I actually kind of hate this but can't cope with it sitting in my google docs any longer. I've been in a massive writing slump lately and I'm really rusty, so if it's awful... be nice about telling me lol. anyway ill stop chatting shit now, here it is

Another espresso martini, great. It seemed like all you had to do for this shift was make them for groups of obnoxious girls. To be honest, you were jealous they were able to go out and have fun on a Saturday night, you were stuck doing a shift at this shitty club for some band's afterparty. The shift started fine, a few pints here, a few ciders there but it had soon devolved into a sticky bar and overly complex cocktails with too many ingredients.

A tattooed hand stuck out from the crowd and soon the tall man attached to it wormed his way through and took a seat on the green barstool in the corner, from just his hand you had assumed you'd be getting another shitty beer but he defied all your expectations when you caught a glimpse of the rest of him.

A pile of badly blonde dyed hair sat on top of his head, either side was shaved. He had a sly look in his eyes but a gentle smile on his face, his features seemed hard individually but when you put them together you were left with a very soft look. His arms were exposed due to the white vest he was wearing, colourful and seemingly random tattoos snaked up them. You couldn't see his bottom half anymore but you caught a glimpse of his black ripped jeans, the outfit was nothing remarkable. In fact, it was kind of boring but for some inexplicable reason, he just looked fucking good.

His eyes had an alluring quality to them, pulling you in slowly. They were so alluring in fact, that whilst you were staring into them and walking over to him you tripped. Luckily, before you could fall on your ass in front of the only hot customer you've seen in ages, you caught yourself on the edge of the bar. His hand caught yours as you fell in an attempt to steady you, “Woah you alright darling? Thought you were meant to be sober on shift” he cheekily remarked.

His deep vocals sent a shiver through you, normally in a club like this you had to practically scream to hear each other but for some reason, it seemed like his voice was the only thing you heard. It sat at a different frequency that went right into your bones. You scolded yourself internally for fawning over a man who had said one sentence to you.

“Haha very funny, I’ll have you know I'm stone-cold sober. But I'm assuming that you're coming up here to no longer be that, so what can I get you?” you retort back smiling politely and leaning slightly into the puzzling man.

“I'll just have a vodka soda please sweetheart” he began but he soon looked around at the hoards of people surrounding him and quickly added, “Actually make that a double.” his correction caused you to giggle slightly. You briefly wonder what about the rowdy people made him change his order but decide not to ask and just begin making the drink.

The small cup of drink umbrellas teased you as you worked. Every time an especially manly-looking man ordered a drink you added a little umbrella, just to see their reaction. Sometimes they say nothing and just look confused but every once in a while, you get an especially good reaction. The best reactions are usually from self-described “gym bros” who are on a date, they scoff and act as if a small umbrella completely negates their manhood. It might seem juvenile, but you'll do anything to spice up a boring shift. You decide this mystery man with the “fuck me” eyes would like one so, you grab a teal cocktail umbrella and stick it in his double vodka soda.

“Here you are! A vodka soda,” you begin to hand the drink over, he reaches out but you quickly pull it away and correct yourself, “Sorry, double vodka soda” A smirk sneaks onto your face as you hand over the drink to the man. His face mirrors yours, a teasing smile overtaking his features.

"thank you, love," he smiles gratefully, going to take a sip but quickly recoiling at the sight of the umbrella in his drink. You think he'll scoff, throw it on the floor and call you a dickhead but no. he smiles, takes the small umbrella out and places it behind his ear, he finishes off the action with a wink and click of his tongue towards you.

A light laugh falls out of you at his action, not expecting him to be so cheeky about your little joke. He holds eye contact as he downs the rest of his drink, the action isn't inherently flirty but still, you feel a pulse thrum through you at the sight.

“Not such a good night then?” you remark. Despite having about 30 people you should be serving right now you remain enamoured by the man with the tiny umbrella behind his left ear.

“What gave me away huh? Chugging the drink or coming to hide in the corner?” he smiles, you can't help but feel slightly sorry for him, out to a cool afterparty on a Saturday night and he's choosing to sit in the corner and chat with the bartender.

It's then you make the decision you're gonna make this guy's night, in any way he’ll let you.

“Any reason you're hiding away? From a particular person maybe?” you ask leaning on the bar and staring at the man in front of you, “ooh are the band assholes? Wouldnt shock me if they were considering this afterparty, they're usually the overly cocky and handsy type when they party this hard” you add. The man across from you raises his eyebrows at you and his smirk grows marginally larger, you have no idea who you're talking to. And he loves that.

Soon the small amount of eye contact you're sharing becomes too much, you grab a rag and begin to wipe the bar in front of you. You figure you should at least pretend to work whilst talking to the curious stranger, still with the teal umbrella behind his ear.

“Oh no, not hiding from anyone specifically just everyone really. I was dragged here by a couple of mates but I'm hoping to make an escape soon.” he chuckled out whilst swirling the ice in his cup. Wordlessly you grab it from him and begin to make another drink.

“I won't give you an umbrella in this one handsome, not lucky enough to get two in one night” you wink at the man in front of you. The nickname slipped out thoughtlessly, you were used to flirting for tips so it felt like second nature to use them whenever you spoke. A light blush flushed your cheeks at your realisation, it didn't go unnoticed by the tattooed man.

“Handsome huh? Wow, do all your patrons get such good service?” he says looking at you whilst taking a small sip of the drink you handed him. A smile breaks over his lips as he realises it's another double, he briefly thinks of making a quip accusing you of getting him drunk but your bashful smile distracts his mind.

Your heart flutters slightly at his comment, hoping he would just ignore your slip-up. Quickly you rectify the situation not wanting him to have any more power over you than he already does, “Well when I don't know their names, yes.”

“Ahh, well nice to meet you..” he pauses briefly, indicating you to fill in the blank.

“I don't know about giving my name to a random customer… what if you're an axe murderer? I think I’ll keep that to myself” you smile, trying your best to mimic the teasing look in his eyes. The tall man opens his mouth to reply but before he can a voice comes across the bar.

“y/n! Will you stop flirting with that douche with the man bun and help? Im stuck making 25 pornstar martinis on my own!” your coworker chastises you.

You turn back to the noise of a cackle coming from the so-called “douche with the man bun” his laugh makes a mortified smile come across your features as you sigh and throw the rag you were holding to the bar in front of you.

“Calm down Tony! I'm coming you dick” you shout back in the direction of your coworker, only receiving an unimpressed glare back.

“Okay then, I'm going to work now and hopefully never see you again or I will die of embarrassment, bye douche with a man bun” you sigh jokingly at your conversation partner.

“Bye y/n” he replies with a teasing wave, you begin to walk away with your head hanging in shame but soon a loud voice from behind you catches your attention “It's George by the way, only my mum calls me douche with a man bun” he smiles cheekily, obviously proud of his comment.

In your hopeful final words to the now not-so-mystery man, you say, “Well it was nice to meet you George, may our paths never cross again” With a flourish you turn around and start grabbing ingredients to help Tony deal with the hoards of people.

Your paths did cross again, about 2 hours later in the smoker's area behind the bar. The cool air was just beginning to soothe your running mind when you heard an unmistakable voice ring out behind you.

“You got a lighter sweetheart?” he asks, the handsome man you now know as George comes to stand in front of you, with the same alluring eyes and smile but now with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. This was your first chance to look at him in full but you couldn't pull your focus away from the cocktail umbrella that still sat behind his ear.

‘Shit’, you thought, he asked a question and here you are just staring at him like a deer in headlights. Why is it that whenever an attractive man was within 5 feet of you, you suddenly stop acting like a human fucking being?

You cough lightly clearing your mind and your throat before silently passing over your lighter, he twisted it in his hand and admired the engraving on the silver case.

“All my love, A xx” he read out loud, “from a boyfriend maybe?” he cheekily asked before flicking it open, lighting his cigarette and taking a deep drag. You watched as his cheeks hollowed around the end of it, the deep contours of his face only becoming deeper as he breathed in the smoke. You weren't sure what it was but despite the fact you had met him not even 3 hours ago, you were comfortable.

That felt dangerous considering you weren't exactly known for thinking decisions through, especially after a few drinks.

As soon as Tony said you could clock out, you did. And then promptly had 3 shots of tequila minus the lime and salt. No time for that when you're trying to get drunk quickly. The mix of the alcohol running through your bloodstream and the enticing combination of cigarette smoke and whatever cologne he was wearing gave you the confidence to do what you did next.

“Nope, no boyfriend, you trying to sus out my relationship status Georgie?'' Once again the nickname slipped out easily, feeling like old friends already. He placed his arm on the brick wall behind you and leaned in slightly closer as if he knew what you were thinking.

“Georgie already huh? And what if I was darling, is that such an issue?” he drawled out, smirking slightly as he places the lighter back into your hands, holding them slightly longer than necessary. You were shocked at how warm he was considering it was 3 am outside a club.

“No, no, absolutely no issue,” you begin, leaning up into his face, eyes flicking down to his lips and back up to meet his unwavering gaze. His eyes soon followed suit, mirroring your actions back at you, staring at your lips longingly.

The closer you got the more sure he was, even placing his other hand behind your neck, but soon you swerve left and pluck the umbrella from behind his ear and lean back to place it behind your own.

A groan comes from the man in front of you as he places both hands on the brick wall behind your head, effectively caging you in, but you didn't mind. He looks down at you and can't help but smile at the overjoyed look on your face. The small umbrella sat behind your ear just like he had done earlier in the night.

“What a tease” he complains cheekily, leaning ever so slightly closer whilst protesting, almost as if he wasn't feeling that rejected after all. You used this opportunity to study his face closely. A very light stubble dusted his jaw. A small freckle sat under his left eye on his cheek, both of which were a rosy red from standing in the cold air with you. His hair sat crazily on top of his head but not in a messy way, in an effortless “I'm so cool and I don't even try way”. God, if he wasn't so attractive and nice, you would have to hate him.

All your staring wasn't lost on George, his ear tips going slightly red from the embarrassment of being analysed. Before he could look too bashful your drunk mind said the only thing it could think in that moment.

“God you are so beautiful,” you whisper, feeling as if you spoke too loud the air between you both would be disturbed. Just as George opened his mouth to no doubt correct you, you shoved your mouth onto his without a care in the world.

Despite you all but jumping on George, he adjusted quickly. The groan you let out at his lips on yours was hastily replaced by a shocked moan as he licked into your mouth. Despite his possibly rough looking exterior, his lips were soft and gentle as they moved over your own. It wasn't long before his hands were grasping your ass and you threw your own around his neck.

George pulled away and you whined at the loss, he breathlessly giggled at your response and asked, “You live round here?” you quickly nodded, desperate to keep kissing you but just as quickly as you leaned in you shot back and threw your head back against the wall and groaned frustratedly.

He threw a questioning look at you and you swiftly told him your issue, “My place is only about 10 minutes from here,” he began to look hopeful but you shot him down, “But my roommate has her boyfriend round tonight and I've been given very clear instructions to come home and go straight to bed. Absolutely no disturbances allowed. And I'm pretty sure a 6ft man called George is a pretty big disturbance” You patted his chest dejectedly as you finished.

“Firstly,” George spoke holding one finger up, “I'm 6ft 4 thank you very much.” you giggled lightly at his insistence to get his height correct. “Secondly, we can go back to my place it's a bit… strange. But it's got a bed so?” he asked with a questioning lilt to his deep voice.

He waited with bated breath for your answer, hoping you wouldn't as too many questions he can't answer but all you said was, “Call the Uber” before attacking his lips once again.

[memberment]

Magical Girls 2.0

GOOD MORNING EVERYONE UPDATES ARE GOIN HERE TODAY BC I WILL PROB BE GOING AT THIS FIC ALL DAY

5:56pm: 16.6k deep. Craig trying to gaslight Wendy is arguably the funniest fucking thing in this rn bc they both know it's not gonna work and he STILL tries to do it.

7:12pm: I'm working on both chapter 6 and 27. No, they have absolutely no connection, I just keep getting ideas for 27. When I tell y'all I am obsessed with 27 rn, I really mean it. Like the end just UGH. I hate it. It's so sad. Anyways I'm 17.5 into the main story rn. More art may get posted today though bc I'm currently over writing and I have nothing to watch LMAO

11:40pm update: I'm 21.2k deep and chapter 7 is DONE‼️

I am not yet certain if it is on the shorter side or six is on the longer side. Guess we'll find out soon. Average rn is like 3kish. I kinda want them to be longer but I also like keeping the chapters like majority one character centric bc of what this is so Ill prob be keeping it this way. On my way to chapter 8‼️🦅🔥

4:03 am update: Howdy I'm 24.6k in and shutting down for the night. I have gotten distracted too many times and honestly I'm about to reread what I have so far and make sure it reads well because I feel like I've blacked out the entirety of writing this. Like I just keep going. But chapter eight is done. (Hopefully.) Also it's looking like this is gonna be a 3k per chapter fic which I will begrudgingly cope with. And lastly, let me just say. Clyde and Kenny are so fucking cute in this fic I'm sick.

Actually that wasn't lastly. I'm debating on having art to post for every chapter. Someone tell me why that's a horrible idea because this is gonna be around 40, possibly 40 and change. And that doesn't include parts two and three. Okay actually no one has to tell me why that's a bad idea I already talked myself out of it as I'm typing this. There's still gonna be a lot of art for this fic though. Like everyone has their fun wire pic, not just Stan and Tweek. And I kinda wanna draw all the angels I throw in. And there's a few other things that I AM NOT TALKING ABOUT BC I WILL SIT HERE AND SPOIL WAY TOO MUCH.

Goodnight everyone. Hope y'all are coping well with existence this evening. I am personally making mine everyone else's problem. 💖

[noxexistant]

Hiya! this might be really out of the blue but Ive been thinking about mother Delancey recently and like, what do you think happened to her? what do you think her relationship was like with Oscar and Morris if she was ever around?

hi! don’t you worry, i am literally always down to be asked literally anything about the delanceys - and i’m particularly excited about this question, because i do have a lot of thoughts about both of the delanceys’ parents. there’s lots of things i’ve slipped into fics in sort of one-off mentions, but haven’t been able to properly do anything with just yet, but i definitely have a lot of ideas. the topic of the delanceys’ mother interests me a lot, particularly how oscar “i guess he didn’t take care of me” delancey doesn’t mention her once.

cw suicide, mental health issues, abuse, standard my-delanceys stuff

first off, just to establish my basis in my own personal lil universe: ‘delancey’ isn’t their real name. oscar made it up on the spot - based on a nearby signpost - when snyder asked for their family name and he couldn’t stomach saying their father’s. i don’t have a solid idea for their real last name, i believe blaze uses ‘williams’ - i just like it as this clear distinction between the delanceys and their parents. not even a name linking them. harder to trace them, behind the rumours that follow them and race who knows their father’s face only because he saw them kicking it in.

their mother was deeply mentally ill. deeply emotionally absent too, checked out in the face of this clearly volatile relationship the boys had with their father, one which i imagine involved a lot of violence from a very early age. both boys are unwanted, a bastard and a son tying their mother to this man she had to marry to rectify mistakes she’d already made - oscar - and now she’s stuck, she’s here, on this isolated farm with nothing but her awful family to cling to. she ignores the boys being hurt and neglected and mistreated, out of this mixture of self-preservation and her own resentment for them - she hurts them plenty too, on her bad days - and it’s so much easier just to drink and drift. pointless to get involved, defending boys she doesn’t care to defend. her focus is survival, just living one day to the next with whatever she has to do and take and think to cope. she gets a factory job when the farm starts failing and money gets tight, and suddenly she’s gone long hours working too hard rather than sitting for hours listlessly at the dining room table or on the porch, often praying endlessly and muttering hail marys. and then suddenly she’s dead. it’s almost like she was never there in the first place.

i see her having bipolar or something adjacent. something the boys understood as something unpredictable, pushing and pulling her between good days where she’d be absentminded and daydreaming, and bad days where she’d be on a hair trigger to attack them or start screaming over anything they’d done. she’s overworked and overwrought, a woman who needed help and love and never got either, so the boys only ever really knew her as a shell of a person. a ghost of a mother. morris loved her most, desperate for her attention and most likely to get it, albeit just in a brief stroke of his hair he’d struggle not to flinch away from, but oscar resented her. cut all his own desire for her love into pieces and sharpened them into hatred, same as he did for their father.

she killed herself when the boys were still living on the farm, maybe about ten and twelve years old, just a year or so before their father disappeared and they both left for the streets and then the refuge. their father never told them that she killed herself, just came home drunk a few days after the fact and told them she was dead - they assumed it was a factory accident - but wiesel let it slip to oscar years later while spouting cruelty at him. maybe she threw herself from a factory window, from a bridge, into the hudson. it’s a secret oscar keeps fiercely from morris, though he lives terrified that someday wiesel’ll tell morris, drunk and angry and mean, just like he told oscar.

(i also think that jack’s dad killed himself, and it adds a whole other element because Foils.)

oscar thinks a lot about catholic views on suicide and whether ma would’ve made it to heaven, whether pa might. he doesn’t even know if either was baptised, and he’s pretty sure suicide sends you to hell anyhow, but he tries not to think about it. tries not to think about their mother in general, a woman who never did much for them except doom them to being alive and then leave them to it. a sentence she couldn’t even serve herself. he thinks about her whenever he sees the virgin mary, madonna, our lady. he thinks about the prayer cards she kept, and sometimes tore to shreds when she was having episodes. he thinks about her looking on, emotionless, whatever their father was doing. he thinks about her silhouette at the dining table. she was beautiful, beneath everything. morris looks just like her.

morris feels a lot of sympathy for her - or tries to. he searches for answers in his prayers, in his sleepless nights. he wonders if he might’ve done something wrong for her not to love him or oscar. unlike with pa, it’s harder for him to think that his beatings from her weren’t caused by him being bad, deserving it. when oscar spits disparaging words about her, spits on her memory in his bitterest moments - usually when morris brings her up - morris will argue for her. even if it gets him hit just like how she used to hit, a sudden manic burst of anger that leaves him reeling, oscar breathing hard with that fire in his eyes and looking like ma even with all of pa in his face, morris will defend her. try to remember her face and fail, only able to see her silhouetted in lamplight. see her in his own reflection, if he catches himself at the right angle.

if their dad’s a monster loose on the city, she’s a ghost haunting them.

[sword-dad-fukuzawa]

got an ask on curious cat and wanted to crosspost it here because it's trigun meta!

hihi, really really loved your thread on knives/vash and the masks they wear. it was an insightful read and i admire your grasp on vash and knives' characters! (your post-trimax kv fic is also one of my favs in this fandom, GREAT shit right there) i would be curious to hear your thoughts on vash and how he experiences/deals with his trauma in trimax (PTSD/C-PTSD, rem and tesla, guilt from the big fall, the separation between him and knives, aftermath from the July/fifth moon incidents, plant body horror and all that jazz) i know there's a lot sjdfksjh you don't have to touch on all of those points but only if ur interested ofc!

HELLO. I REALIZE YOU SENT THIS TWO WEEKS AGO. IIII UHHH FORGOT I EVEN HAD A CURIOUS CAT SKNFDKLMFKDSSD HI, SORRY!!

thanks! i'm glad you enjoyed the meta and the fic!! seriously i think i blacked out while writing "we've got to get back to that stinking garden," i was so ill about them. still am. 

anyway. trauma, huh? i think i usually gloss over talking about vash's trauma only because it feels so clear to me. knives's is so easily misinterpreted for the purposes of lambasting him or woobifying him but vash wears all that pain on his sleeve. uh. literally. because of the. the arm thing. but the way he deals with it is so!! it's /so./ 

short answer: he runs away. all the time. 

long answer: it's his coolest thematic motif because his name is "the stampede," right, a horde of animals sprinting for their fuckin lives because something behind them spooked them so bad they're going to trample everything in their path just to get away. and occasionally, when he feels he /really really has to,/ because of a sense of sheer responsibility, he runs toward the Bad Things. said bad thing is usually knives because vash believes that his brother is inherently his responsibility, and also all the guilt from the big fall. that's trauma, as you mentioned, that manifests over and over again as soul-wrenching guilt. 

the reason vash fashions himself into gunsmoke's friendly neighborhood jesus figure is because he's tortured by that guilt, especially in stampede, because of that lil addition the writers made to the canon: that vash is partially responsible for letting his brother Commit Atrocities. and that's something that clearly drives him batshit insane. how can he laugh when the suffering of a whole planet sits partially on his shoulders? how can he eat when they're starving? how dare he /not/ be their meat shield over and over again when he's the reason they need one in the first place? 

his trauma drives him to atone for a sin that can't really be atoned for and can't really be ascribed solely to him. he was, of course, 1 year old (mentally ~6?) when he helped knives perpetuate the fall. it's an impossible, Sisyphean endeavor, but because he's functionally immortal and never /really/ had a chance to grow up properly, he's going to fuckin try. 

mf i'm running out of characters here this is evil!! anyway. i think his guilt about rem is why he develops such an, uh, oedipus complex about her that has even wolfwood thinking he's talking about a dead girlfriend. and i think with tesla he just. put her out of his mind. how the fuck do you even begin to cope with a sister dismembered and brutally killed, a sister kept in a jar, a sister you never knew you had or got the chance to love. i think vash just avoids it. it's too big, the ramifications too Much, when all he wants to do is move on and live his life. 

(in contrast, nai is forever stuck in that room, in that horrifying moment. he can't escape it even as vash runs and runs and runs away.)

The same thing happens post-July. Post-fifth moon. Vash sees the horror he’s wrought (that knives has wrought) and goes. Fuck this shit i’m outta here. Fight or flight more like flight or flight even fuckin faster amirite. But knives always catches up to him in the end, is the thing—nai is the physical symbol of his trauma, the narrative vehicle for vash’s pain. He is everything that has traumatized vash made flesh. It’s part of what makes every fight between the two so gripping, imo. By overcoming knives, by putting his brother in the ground, that’s him trying to atone and appease the guilt. This is vash overcoming his trauma. Trying to, anyway. 

Which is what also makes the ending of trimax so. So utterly vash. Because he says fuck this there’s another way, and it happens in a split second when he has to decide if he really and truly wants his brother dead. His trauma!! Does he want to overcome it like this!! With violence and blood and the corpse of nai rotting in the ground!! 

No. the answer’s no. 

He saves knives. He declares that even though nai has done all of these things to him, he still doesn’t have it in him to kill his brother. And that’s a way of coping with trauma, too, isn’t it? The declaration that you won’t let it rule you. Won’t let it dictate what you do anymore, how you live your life. It makes me so, so fuckin emotional ;-; 

Anyway, thanks for the ask! Didn’t touch on the plant body horror as much because i haven’t. Uh. read enough of trimax to properly talk about all that. My reading order is a little unhinged. Hope it satisfied regardless <3

[stitchthesewords]

I see your tags about the rendubs divorce arc + Ren running off with Bdubs' ex + Bdubs declaring himself king because he can do it better, and I hear you loud and clear

But I am now here with a counter offer, aka you got my thoughts spinning and this relates to a fic I started but never finished because writing angst makes me too sad. (this ask that ended up way longer than I thought it would oops)

What if renthubs polycule (or some flavor of poly hermits i'm not picky) where the three need some time to mentally recover and process the whole king arc. Ren goes to Doc, Etho goes to his single player world and Bdubs goes to Empires.

Doc ends up helping Ren get through his anxieties and fears after being king, including his dynamic with all the people in the rebellion and the feeling that his friends and partners would hate him for everything, which is of course not actually true. And I think that Ren is the type of guy to process things relatively quick and be able to bounce back. So once he is more stable, he follows everyone to empires.

Bdubs runs away through the rift and declares himself a god on Empires, which shows you about how well he is (not) coping with everything. To me, he is the type to loudly declare that he's over it, but he ends up festering the emotions, particularly when no one else is really talking about the king anymore. He's fine, why wouldn't he be fine, he's a god. (side eyeing joel here as well after dl)

Then Etho. Hmm. I think he isn't as bothered by it by the other two but I'm not 100% sold on that either. There has to be a certain melancholy to knowing your partners aren't in the best headspace and not really being able to do much about it. And the guilt about fighting against them and having to be part of the group to kill them. The third life memories would have to be coming in at full force. It may be lower stakes on hermitcraft but I don't think that matters when the memories are that emotionally charged.

I think that in the chaos of the empires collab and then the start of a new year with new projects and tcg and everything, the three don't really get a chance to sit down and talk. Bdubs is hiding away in the monolith drafting up visions of another grand castle base. Etho and Ren see each other more often with tcg matches and, through a number of casual interactions surrounded by other hermits, decide that maybe it would be time to talk. And there wouldn't be a better excuse to talk than a big project.

So the boat race idea is born. Etho and Ren go out to the ice spikes and scope it out. They end up around a fire made of some spare wood and end up talking well into the night. It starts out with plans and slowly ends in a heart to heart, where they finally express their struggles with everything and their commitment to each other going forward. They fall asleep cuddled together in a sleeping bag under the stars.

And bdubs is still festering. He doesn't stop long enough to realize. His days are filled with planning and designing and gathering materials. He works himself to exhaustion so he is too tired to think about who and what he is missing. He's fine. He builds a throne room.

Em you have no idea how insane this ask made me I am. HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

GOD! GOD! You are soooooooo right about how they would each react and recover/not recover tbh. And its like - Ren isn't 100% but he's like. He's getting there and being up and moving around will help him out - and Bdubs just. HHHHH Bdubs throwing himself into his work to hide from his woes while putting on the 'I'm FINE! ACTUALLY!!!" im ill. And Etho just having. No clue really god bless him he's looking between the two of them and trying to figure out what the best way to approach everything is.

GOD and then the way you thought about rentho bonding and finally talking bc of the TCG and then going out to build the boat race while bdubs unknowingly is festering back home im hhhhhhh. I am normal about this i am so normal. [They should. play clocks against each other in the tcg where they bond. For no reason. ]

Imagine coming back from having a boat race and doing fun stuff out in the ice to find bdubs having completely thrown himself into an insane task without break and its like. you've gotta figure out how to approach it he cant just fester but he's closed off and hiding behind work to not have to address his feelings. I am normal I am feeling soooooooooooooooooooo normal.

[saltbind]

lets hear about ur omegaverse spn fic! -hellhoundlair

yeyeye! so my take on omegaverse is based mostly on the idea of john as a beta and mary as an alpha who rejected most of her alpha traits when she rejected hunting. john was raised before mandatory sex education on alpha and omega traits was introduced so his only experience with A/Os is his wife, who was very atypical. and this is a huge reason for the friction between him and his sons. their lifestyle is really, really ill-suited for raising kids who are alphas or omegas - they have no 'territory''. but john thinks he knows best, just like in canon.

dean's an omega and sam is an alpha. john's military tone mimics an alpha's enough that dean feels like john's his pseudo-alpha, and sam starts Not Coping well with that as soon as he hits puberty. mates can't recognise each other until they both reach maturity...but sam can tell dean's his mate as soon as dean reaches maturity, and that's why he leaves. not because it's wrong, necessarily, but because dean's going to go through over a dozen heats in the interim before sam matures and sam can't handle that.

here is a lil snippet:

The full extent of the problem only gets clearer when Dean goes into heat for the first time in Billings, and when Sam calls John he gets told to stay in the room and make sure Dean’s safe. He tries to explain all the reasons that’s a bad idea - for one thing, even if his scent isn’t all the way mature he’s still an alpha and Dean would probably fuck a zucchini if it stayed still long enough for him to get on - but he gets told off and then hung up on.

He sits on the ground outside the door to their motel room and waits.

Eventually the night receptionist comes over. She’s pretty. Blonde hair, brown eyes, a tangy omega scent that’s a little bit like juneberries.

“Are you locked out?” she asks, then she seems to scent the air and her eyes widen.

“Nah. My brother’s in heat. Dad’s a beta and he doesn’t get why we shouldn’t be sharing a room right now.”

She makes a sympathetic noise, wincing.

“Is it his first one?”

He nods. “Should be over fast at least.”

He just has to ignore how good Dean smells, even through a locked door. Has to ignore how hard he is in his jeans. How tight the base of his dick feels, like even a brush will set his knot to expanding.

“Look, I’ll bring you over a chair, alright? So you don’t have to sit on the cement. And if you need someone to check on him let me know.”

He smiles up at her. Dimples up properly and is amazed to see that she blushes, even though she’s gotta be at least six years older than him.

When she brings the chair over she gives him a kiss on the cheek before heading back to her desk, and the pleased feeling that gives him is almost enough to make the night bearable. 

Almost.

Still. By the time the sun rises he knows he’s going to have to get out for at least a few years. He can’t do this every time Dean has a heat, especially since only the first one is this quick.

[doctorweebmd]

so i saw you reblogging this https://www.tumblr.com/doctorweebmd/738744278835150848 (i hope the link will work?? it's the post about wanting to write soul snatching stories etc) and i wanted you to know that everything you wrote for a litany of love and loss is this to me. these two fics are some of my favorite pieces of mha fanfic and honestly count among my favorite pieces of writing of all time. they killed me dead. i left a comment but i keep thinking about it so i thought i'd reiterate because i cried my eyes out questioned my existence and dissociated for two (2) whole hours while listening to the playlist. i still listen to the playlist on the regular and think about the Themes and Execution and Story Choices and how well everything fit together and ahgghhgh. there are sentences in the first part that just. live in my head rent free. ("when i was god, i weighed the scales of the world against your continued existence, and found the answer obvious" aaaoughhhh oof i can't cope) i don't have the words but i'm so excited to read it again when it'll have settled in my mind a bit.

(and like. in general while im bad at commenting i love your writing, ive ate up everything you've written for mha and i kinda want to get into bsd just so i can read your recent pieces. so. there you go qidjkskfif i hope it's ok to send this. i'm going on anon because social anxiety is a bitch)

(╥﹏╥) i literally have tears in my eyes. honestly honestly. this is embarrassing i dont even know how to express my gratitude - i've just been sitting here trying to find a way to thank you for this without sounding insane lmao. it feels like you reached across time and space and pulled me out of a self-deprecating spiral lmao thank you so much for your kindness and for taking the time to write this like. you dont know how much it means. haha. lol?

ESPECIALLY BECAUSE THATS ONE OF MY FAVORITE LINES. Because Deku literally IS a god in the shape of a boy. He has infinite power and such a finite heart. And he loves so completely and so deeply and not only could it destroy him it could destroy EVERYTHING around him. Every time I think of Izuku growing up never having met Katsuki... just how gray the world must have looked in front of him... aldfjalksdfjlaks argh!!! don't have me thinking about it i am ON MY KNEES

and. honestly. i'm 100% there with you on the social anxiety thing. obviously i'm a huge slut for comments but still kinda struggle with leaving them which is SO HYPOCRITICAL AHHH. this is more than i could ever ask. like. i am kissing you sloppy for this. no joke i screenshot-ed this. it is in my camera roll. you are a part of me.

(also YES YES PLEASE come to the dark side. watch bsd. become mentally ill about a significantly inferiorly written this batshit anime. i'm struggling out here. its so good to be a bkdk honestly)

[meirimerens]

what is stakh's view on peter and their relationship? what does he associate peter with? how does he deal and view his monologues about the wenches and the daemons and his internal emotional turmoil?

there are chances i've already said something of the sort in the peterstakh lore tag + also kinda here + also i've written a fic about them meeting and hanging out but i love to talk about it regardless + i carry the lore on my shoulders like atlas does the sky so see

what is stakh's view on peter and their relationship?

he loves it/him, otherwise he'd leave. mostly it's that. for a while he sees peter as. This Weirdo. and by all means it does not dissipate as he comes to know him better, but he's Weird in a way that's almost endearing (to rubin at least). he's passionate and impassioned and dramatic but all of these things make sense for him, to him. peter's the One Guy who he has no previous attachment to, who he didn't grow up with, who he didn't meet in the army, so there's this feeling of... what he sees is what he gets. peter cannot know him "how he was before", because he didn't know him before; there is no frame of reference, a "better him" to compare him to. the broken, mad, grieving rubin peter gets is all there is; for now. & vice-versa: peter is, at first, a stranger to rubin, and he has to learn to live with his quirks if he wants to keep the bond steady. their friendship starts as a meeting of two people who are Going Through It and who find in the other someone who is Going Through It in different ways. they're mirrors of each other, at first. it feels better being alone with someone who's alone with you. alone together.

what does he associate peter with?

in some maybe twisted way, comfort. Rubin's life is kinda real sucky at the moment (& it has been sucky for a while): he just got back from war (p1 canon) having had a close brush with death, lost his mentor & father figure & has to deal with the fact that said mentor/father figure gave the heritage to his cringe fail son who spent 10/6 years away while rubin the whole time was working his ass off to prove himself worthy, he struggles with his place in the Kin etc... like he's not having a very good time ykwim. so he associates peter with the comfort of 1) in a... maybe twisted way, being in the company of a guy who has like. Way Weirder Things Going On and of 2) being able to talk openly about his problems in ways he wouldn't be able to with Burakh (because he's actively fighting him for the heritage/recognition in Isidor's eyes) or with Lara of Grief (because it feels like driving a wedge in their friendship(s)). for a while, peter is a friendly (if weird) stranger Rubin feels inexplicably drawn to because he feels like he can learn from the way he copes with things + feels like he can tell him things he wouldn't anyone else + peter is kinda Magnetic in his own, kinda wet and soppy way. comfort, and a weird sense of familiarity because they're two people Going Through It in different ways. they're both kinda... hollow where the other is pointy, and pointy where the other is hollow, so when they sit side by side they seems to fit.

how does he deal and view his monologues about the wenches and the daemons and his internal emotional turmoil?

rubin is very pragmatic at first about them he's like. oh this guy has psychiatric problems. which is very much true. oh this guy has the brain eaten by alcohol and illness and guilt. all very true. then the more they talk the more rubin realizes there's something Else, something that transcends (nbc hannibal voice) Mental Illness and borders on the supernatural. rubin listens to him and his monologues and he comes to know that peter has a very chaotic inner life, and he finds it... for a lack of better word, fascinating. he's eaten and bitten and torn by Passions that rubin doesn't have. everything feels kinda flat and grey to him. and peter... for the better or worse, puts a lil color in his life. he comes to want to help him because peter, by his very like. Presence of being a guy who's Weirder. helps him. it feels good to talk about peter of what's eating them inside, and for Rubin it's very Grounded shit, and for Peter it's completely fantasque stuff, and they both kinda.. bounce off each other like that. peter nods and hums and pushes him to talk & he nods & hums & pushes peter to talk. it goes from "you're kinda weird weird buddy" to "you're kinda weird i understand baby. i didn't say that". peter's very theatrical and passionate recallings of his Problems and Issues make rubin feel safe in sharing his as well + he realizes very soon because is not Just that impassioned in Bad Feelings but also. like in general. as they kinda grow to stabilize each other, rubin gets to see he's impassioned talking about a/Art and history. and love... at their core they're just two guys who Really Need To Talk About Their Problems, and in the beginning they're that for each other, they're that for a while before they realize they like each other's company regardless of what they talk about (once they've come to know each other, they talk about a lot of other stuff than their own selves, and it's really here that the Twirls Hair Coyly begins)

tldr: him and the weird guy he pulled by being weirder

[oonajaeadira]

You make a really great point. Like for example, I specifically disclose its a female reader in most of my fics but provide no other physical disclosures. I absolutely try to make it inclusive, but almost none of us can say we never do those things. Especially with reader inserts, we typically imagine ourselves to varying degrees and so things slip in, like physical acts of running through your hair, or inferences to a reader who may not be thin, because accident or not, most of us will include descriptors beacuse its natural to do.

I don't subscribe to coming across reader attributes that arent matching to yourself and getting angry about it, beacuse most of them aren't done in malice or to be exclusionary. You are right that if you claim the reader has no descriptions then you should be more careful about how you write it, but when screw ups happen, people need to remember that we make mistakes and gently pointing it out so we can fix it and learn from it will ALWAYS be better then storming into the writers inbox with hateful rhetoric.

I think theres a tendancy to turn annoyance into outrage and claim that it comes from an negative place on the writers side when thats not true. We write readers to be inclusive, but if small mentions of things we may not even have noticed we wrote will upset someone so greatly, maybe they need to take some time away from reading fics and learn how to cope with that frustration, rather than taking it out on the writer. If I dont give any specifications about the reader one way or the other, it doesnt mean Im only targeting one type of person, it means I am trying to be as broad as possible and when there is a standout factor that matters more than others, I'll point it out beforehand (i.e female reader, plus size reader ect)

We as writers truly do our best to be inclusive but it will never be perfect, and I think the fandom needs to take a step back and rethink the tendancy to attack for small upsets to an aggressive degree as if they are ill intended. I just agreed with your take a lot beacuse sometimes writers in this fandom arent given the benefit of the doubt.

I agree with you. Nobody does this out of malice. And, *laughing at myself* I'm going to be honest here.

Sometimes I'm just frustrated because I have an instinct to reach out and help the author do better so their fic is better received.

In my day job, I assist new producers/writers/makers of theater. I help run an organization that helps put new work out into the public eye and we actually run marketing workshops. And one of the big things we teach new producers is how to correctly market their work.

If you promise something and don't deliver, or you pull a bait and switch, your audience may get upset because of that unmet expectation, and then you know what happens? Negative reviews.

The #1 way to please an audience (besides putting out stellar content), is to set up promises you can keep and fulfill any expectations you set before them.

So half of my frustration often sits not in that "hey, you offended me by not including me" it's in that "oof, this is bad practices for your art and you should not be setting up promises you can't keep" pet peeve of mine.

At the same time, as someone that's been making art for a long time, I still make the mistakes I warn new producers about. And as a fic writer I KNOW I've done these things. I am--as I believe everyone is from time to time--a raging hypocrite!

But. I think we're living in an age where any infraction is treated as a life-or-death situation and people can get really shouty about their criticisms. I understand that it's hard to see there's an individual behind the blog/counter/whatever and that emotions can us all feel like shouting at one person means everyone who should hear it will hear it. No.

And by that same token, it's easy to believe that everyone who comes to you with shouty, mean anons is attacking you and only you when in fact, they are just hurting and want someone to know it and fix it all.

That's why I wanted to clarify my post and say more here too. I think it's worth looking at myself and trying to see WHY I'm frustrated and where it comes from. And that any time I've been frustrated with an author that promises what they can't deliver, it's not a life and death situation. They're not doing it to personally offend me. They have learning and growing to do. I have learning and growing to do.

Gentleness is key. We should--as the post that's been circling lately says--approach every situation as if best intentions are meant. And be gentle with each other.

[unsettlingg]

I am foaming at the mouth on my knees begging to GOD. I AM SO UNWELL. The sight of this man and I am in SHAMBLES. A SINGLE piece of that man. A CRUMB. I have dug a hole to bury myself in my own grave and am rolling in it. Truly irredeemable

[emerald-chaos]

Daydream

**gif not mine! credit to the owner**

So, I couldn't help myself. This is a continuation of my previous Bucky fic Insomnia because I just really enjoyed the dynamic between Bucky and the reader. I had a lot of fun writing this part and I love building things up between the two of them. If you guys like this or are interested in seeing more - please let me know! I love talking with people and hearing their ideas and such.

Much love xo.

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 2079

Warnings: cursing, struggles with mental illness, mentions of sex (nothing entirely explicit but better safe than sorry), alcohol use, and really poorly written jokes lmao

Fingers threaded into hair.

Hot, opened-mouth kisses marking every surface of your neck.

Nails trailing down his back leaving raised, red lines in their wake.

“Oh my god,” you groaned as you let your head fall back and continued to rock your hips into the man in front of you.

Strong hands tighten their hold on your hips, sure to leave purplish-blue bruises for the morning.

“C’mon, baby,” he grunted, face buried in your neck as he helped your body to grind against his, “I got you. Let go, fuck, let go for me.”

A pair of slender fingers snapped in front of your line of sight, tearing you from your daydream and bringing you harshly back to reality.

“Hmm, what was that?” You blinked a few times before you turned your attention to the redhead who you, apparently, had been having a conversation with.

“Are you serious?” She laughed, “I’ve been talking for the past 10 minutes! I looked over and you had that far off, glossy look in your eyes. Not to mention you’re bleeding.”

A hand found its way to your lower lip and you realized she was right. You had been so lost in wet dreamland that you chewed a layer of skin off of your lip. You hoped she didn’t notice the heat rising in your face as you cleared your throat, grabbing a tissue from the coffee table.

“Sorry,” you muttered, pressing the tissue against your injured lip, “guess I got lost in thought.”

“Is it one of those flashbacks again?” She asked kindly, facial expression softening.

You nodded quickly, knowing fully well that the statement was a lie. Your gaze drifted over the woman’s shoulder to the subject of your previous thoughts. It would be easier to explain the common occurrence of your PTSD than it would be to explain that you were reminiscing on the hot, steamy, passionate sex you had the night before.

Bucky was situated across the room, leaning against the counter as he talked to Rogers and Wilson. The unfortunately tight, black, short-sleeve t-shirt he was wearing left nothing to the imagination. It accentuated every muscle of the body you had gotten to know so intimately not more than 10 hours ago. His muscular arms were crossed at his chest and he was sporting his signature scowl. Everything about the sight sent a shiver down your spine. You finally had a taste and you wanted more.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Your friend’s voice gained your attention once more.

A small smile found its way to your lips as you met her gaze again. Apart from Bucky, Nat had always been a good trauma buddy of yours. From the beginning she had been someone you felt like you could confide in and someone who would understand your troubles. Sometimes you wondered if a requirement of joining the avengers was to have a fucked up, tragic backstory.

“I’m okay, Nat.” You reassured, “Just got lost in my head again.”

“Whatever you say. Maybe the party tonight will help you get your mind off of things,” She mused as she pushed herself from the couch to stand up. She paused briefly before she turned to you again, “you are coming, right?”

“Yeah,” you snorted, “Tony actually threatened me if I didn’t go this time, so, I guess I have to.”

After the last party you skipped out on, Tony cornered you in the hallway and gave you quite the interrogation. Then he went on a spiel about how staying in your room all day and all night was bad for you and that if he didn’t know better he would think you weren’t appreciative of what he’d done for you and blah, blah, blah. Tony really was a good person underneath all that hair gel. All he wanted was to help you break out of your shell and give you the family he knew you were lacking. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be a pushy asshole.

“Good, I’ll see you there. I’m sure Barnes will too.” A devilish grin painted her lips as she watched your jaw drop. Before you had a chance to say anything she was off down the hallway.

Fuckin’ Natasha.

*******

A pile of clothes littered your bed as you slipped another dress over your form. Not once in your life had you ever been concerned about what you were wearing or what you looked like, but there was something about tonight that made you want to turn heads. Your eyes raked down your figure as you twisted from side to side, admiring the way the black dress hugged your body in all the right places. Not to mention the thigh high slit in the dress showed off probably the only body part you weren’t self-conscious about. Tony, being the theatrical and over the top man he was, once said that you shouldn’t show up to his parties if you weren’t dressed to court a royal or to bring a man to his knees. Guess you were shooting for the latter.

As you put the finishing touches on your look for the evening, you felt that familiar heavy feeling settling into your chest. Your body always had a tendency to go into fight or flight mode when you became too familiar with anything or anyone. It felt like every fiber in your body was screaming for you to retreat into sweats and stay in your room, to not allow yourself this opportunity to enjoy the people you’d grown so close to. You know what happens when you let people in.

Grief, trauma, coping - it made it really difficult to live a “normal” life. Everyday tasks are daunting, it can be next to impossible to have intimate friendships or relationships, and not to mention the intrusive thoughts that infect your mind on a daily, if not hourly, basis. Here you were, the happiest you’d been in years. You were finally in a place where you felt loved, comfortable, safe - and yet your mind was trying to self-sabotage again.

You took a moment to close your eyes and take several deep breaths. When you opened your eyes you locked eyes with your reflection in the mirror and made a pact with the girl staring back at you. The intrusive thoughts and self-doubt couldn’t continue to have a hold over you anymore. You gave yourself a small smirk and nod as you made the decision to throw caution to the wind and give the party a try. What’s the worst that could happen?

*******

Come to find out, the worst that could happen would be your competitive nature overcoming the rational, thinking part of your brain; which in turn would lead you to enter in a drinking contest. Thankfully a small portion of your pink, smooth brain was still functional enough to tell you when you’d reached your limit. Now you sat comfortably on the couch, legs tucked underneath you as you joyfully watched your friends argue.

“Dr. Banner, my friend, you are one of the most intelligent people I know. However, you are wrong.” Thor stated simply as he finished the rest of his drink.

“Thor, for the last time, water is not wet!” Bruce retorted, throwing his hands up in frustration.

You let out a loud snort before thinking, “Oh yeah, water. I should drink some water.”

Your feet planted themselves on the floor and slipped back into your pair of shoes. As you made your way to the kitchen you were pleasantly surprised by your balance and coordination, considering how much alcohol you’d consumed. Seems that drinking with Thor has done wonders for your tolerance.

While you were busy searching the refrigerator for a bottle of water, you were also oblivious to the soft sound of footsteps coming into the kitchen. After retrieving the beverage, you closed the door and turned to leave. Instead, you turned right into the chest of a figure that was definitely not there a moment ago. You yelped as you clutched a hand over your chest dramatically, your face filled with horror as though you’d just come face to face with the grim reaper.

“Jesus Christ, Barnes!” you scolded.

Bucky was holding his abdomen as he leaned back, consumed with laughter at your reaction. You huffed and wanted to be offended, but he looked so damn cute laughing that you couldn’t help but join him. You pushed his chest playfully and grumped as you hopped up to sit on the counter, opening the water to gulp about half of it down. Bucky couldn’t help but grin at your pouty state as he finished up his laughing fit.

“My apologies, sweets. Didn’t realize I’d be makin’ ya scream twice in one day.” He teased, grinning even wider as he did so.

Your jaw dropped at the comment, quickly looking around to make sure no one else was in the kitchen to hear what he had said. After seeing that the coast was clear you kicked your foot at him out of annoyance, only for his metal hand to catch it smoothly. The two of you locked eyes, motionless for a moment before he moved closer, sliding his hand from your ankle to your thigh. In the moment, you damned yourself for choosing this particular dress. The closer he got, the faster your breathing became. The contrast between his cold embrace and your flushed, warm skin sent a shiver down your spine. Abandoning the water bottle, you ran your hands up his abdomen and chest until they rested on his shoulders. Following a small nudge from his knee, you parted your legs to allow him space to stand between them. The heat in your face at an all time high as he pressed his flesh hand to your cheek.

“Haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ about you.” Bucky whispered as he stroked the apple of your cheek with his thumb. Each word that left his lips had you feeling way more intoxicated than any liquor you’d had all night.

As quickly as it started, his touch was gone and his back was turned as he opened the fridge. Before you had a chance to open your mouth to ask what the hell just happened, Tony was entering into the kitchen.

“Well, well, well. Surprised to see you here, Annie.” Tony beamed as he laid eyes on you.

Yes, Tony had nicknamed you after little orphan Annie. Yes, he also referred to himself lovingly as Daddy Warbucks. Yes, any person in their right mind would probably be offended, but you were just fucked up enough that you found it kind of hilarious.

“Wish I could say that it’s a pleasure, Tony.” You grumped back, upset that you’d been cockblocked and by Tony no less.

“Never lose that spunk, kid.” Tony winked as he turned to see Bucky retreating from the fridge with a beer in hand. “Inspector Gadget! Good to see you too.”

As much as you didn’t want to encourage him, you couldn’t help but laugh. Much to your dismay, Bucky simply raised his bottle to Tony as if to say “cheers” and padded out of the kitchen.

“He has such a way with words.” Tony teased as you rolled your eyes.

A sigh left your lips as you slipped off the counter and back onto the floor, muttering a “goodnight” before leaving the kitchen and heading back to your room. Although you wanted nothing more than to find Bucky and finish what he had started in the kitchen, you came to the conclusion that you were probably too drunk and definitely too tired.

Back in the comfort of your bedroom, you went about your normal nighttime routine. As you exited the bathroom, you couldn’t help but notice a piece of paper that had been slipped beneath your door. Grabbing the paper from the floor and plopping back onto your soft mattress, you opened it to read the note that was scribbled in black ink.

Never got the chance to tell you how gorgeous you looked tonight. Gotta say, I’m a big fan of that dress.

Sweet dreams.

- B.

When you finished the note, it felt as though you were floating on cloud 9. Even when you laid your head down and tried to welcome sleep, Bucky’s words were still replaying in your head over and over again - like they were lyrics to your new favorite song.

Turns out you were down for Bucky Barnes, and you were down bad.