#it's a ruminating kind of day what can i say

[eemamminy-art]

I sometimes think about the person who blocked me out of nowhere on twitter and ao3 when I thought we were still friends, because she couldn't stand to see my words or thoughts or ideas, but admitted she still lurked on my tumblr because "the art is nice".

I also sometimes think about the person who would post my art in discord servers to gush about how good it was but that "it's a shame she's such a bitch" and sent me anon hate for 2 years because I drew my ot3 which happened to contain the two characters of her ship but she hated the third character.

Or the exes and ex-friends who would guilt trip me into making art for them dozens if not hundreds of times, only to tell me my art was shit anyway after we broke up.

I don't think about them because any of them matter or because I'm particularly scorned or anything, but because people like this build up into a bigger problem: people treating artists like they aren't also people.

People who think that art is a commodity that is owed to them, but simultaneously can be used as a weapon to cut down the person who created the art. People who think that the person that created the art is worthless but their creations that took hours, days, weeks, of sweat and tears and sometimes a little bit of their soul are free for the taking without a second thought about how that art came into being. People who will nitpick and complain in tags or replies thinking the artist somehow won't see it, or who will send entitled asks about why the artist did or didn't draw this or that, or who will wish death upon the artist for drawing something that they personally didn't like.

I think it would be cool if we could all start acting like the people behind art are real people. Because they are.

[stormyoceans]

do you guys have like. that one piece of media (any kind of media) that irrevocably changed your life forever. the one that was so deeply formative for who you are as a person standing here today that the you before and after it are just completely and essentially different. the one that if someone asked how to get to really know you you would point at it and feel utterly exposed......

[luveline]

—you meet Spencer again after losing out on the BAU job. he comforts you while you do your best not to flirt. bombshell!reader, 0.9k

You lose out on the BAU job to Elle Greenaway. It drives you crazy.

You work just as hard as Elle does, you’re professional no matter what Jason Gideon has to say about you, and you know you could do it. You have just as many successes as Elle does.

It makes you feel sick. You tried so, so hard.

I’m sorry, Hotch had said, and at least you’d had his support. He was kind enough to tell you in person. I can’t make the decision without Gideon, and if he thinks you aren’t right for it right now, we’ll have to wait.

Wait. As though Jason Gideon was ever going to change his mind about you.

You open your purse and take out the barrel of your sheer lipstick. Your compact is next. You hold the mirror up and angle your face in the sun, popping the lid off of the lipstick, and pressing its flat end to your bottom lip. The line you draw is perfectly precise. Your hand barely trembles.

You drop the mirror down and rub your lips together slowly. No matter what falls out of your control, you can present yourself to your liking. You can be immaculate. You—

“Hi.”

You look up from your rumination, startled. You’d been thinking so hard someone actually got the run up on you.

“Hi,” you say, tilting your head gently toward your shoulder.

Dr. Spencer Reid stands a polite three feet away from you. He’s suddenly changed. The last time you met him he was wearing his long hair in a side part. Now it’s split down the middle, just a touch shorter at the sides, and he’s wearing glasses.

(He’s wearing glasses!)

You’d thought he was pretty before.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m good,” you say, tempted to call him baby, maybe sweetheart. He’s a sweet looking boy. His sweater vest makes you wanna hold his hand. “Thank you for asking. Why are you asking?”

You talk to him with no derision nor malice, just curiosity.

He frowns. It gives his eyes a sad shine. “I know you wanted the open position. You would’ve been great at it.”

“You think so?” you ask, surprised.

“I’ve seen some of your write ups. We’ve used your summaries in one of our profiles, do you… remember that?”

You send Hotch anything he wants to see.

“I don’t know why Gideon doesn’t like you… He’s so rarely wrong about people, but you’re…” He licks his lips nervously. “You’re– you’re smart. You’re inquisitive. I think you would be an asset to the team, and it’s a shame you didn’t get your chance.”

You’re making him nervous and it isn’t your intention. You put your hands in your lap and stop giving him the look, swapping your amicable smile for a proper friendly one. “Thank you. Is it okay if I call you Spencer? Dr. Spencer Reid is a lot to say at once.”

He laughs, still nervous. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

“Spencer, thank you for caring so much, but I’m okay. I think I might still have a chance one day, but with Elle gone, the sex crimes division is going to need me.” You lift your chin. If he’s sought you out to tell you he’s sorry, your premonitions about him when you met a few weeks ago were correct. He’s as kind as he is pretty. “I love your glasses. Are they for reading?”

“I always wore glasses when I was a kid, and then I started working here, and I thought it might make me seem less… childish, if I wore contacts, but they’re the worst.”

You laugh happily. He says it in such a pained voice. “The glasses suit you so much,” you say, shoving your things into your bag and standing. “Did you wanna go for coffee? I need a pick me up before I go back to the office.”

Spencer touches his wrist. “Are you serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be serious?” you ask, again, without a drop of malice. You’re not stupid, Spencer has all the nervousness of someone who’s been mistreated before, and heartily, and it’s easy to be soft with him not solely because of it, but because he seems so sweet. You could happily be his friend. “Do you like coffee? We could get those hot donuts from the cafeteria, have you tried those?”

You close the little gap between you both and raise your hand carefully to his face. Gentle, you try to pull a stray hair from the hinge of his glasses leg without snapping it.

“You can tell me all the stuff I’m doing wrong.”

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” Spencer says.

“Come on, there has to be something.”

His mouth gives him away. ���It’s not that you’re doing it wrong, you’re just– you– you’re not looking at things the…” Your fingertip brushes his cheek as you drop your hand. “…Right way, sometimes.”

“I wanted your recommendations.” You bump his elbow with yours. “I’ll buy you a coffee and you can write me a list. Cool?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes. Cool.”

You’re thinking it’ll be the start of a good friendship. You and Dr. Reid make quite a pair.

[gender-euphowrya]

huge dev update my grandma is gonna see a psychologist

[bunny584]

A Girl with No Name

A/N: This one shot POURED out of me. All because of this incredible art by @chu-cho Thank you for creating this masterpiece. Hope I can do your art justice. 

Ok, let me set the scene. Euphoria, SKINS, and Degrassi procreated in the basement of Kappa Alpha. Keg to the right. A designer tray of substances to the left. The boys in the middle. And you…you crack the whi— what? Who said that? 

CW: Frat AU, implied substance use, mature 18+, MDNI

‘Ain’t a pill that I didn’t take’

Lyrics that feel too familiar tread water between Suguru’s ears. They glide along his skin. Which feels like silk, by the way. 

Silk.

Who ever made that is a Nobel laureate.  

‘Cause Imma sleep when I R.I.P.’ 

Euphoria. 

Who chose the lights?

They’re vivid. Swarming. Like the walls are a tile dance floor. Yeah. Light picker deserves a Nobel too.

“You are so fucked right now.” His best friend’s sharp ass voice dices his lucid thoughts to smithereens. 

“Shut up, Satoru.” He’s not wrong. 

“We took the same shit.” Suguru perches on the solo cup ridden kitchen island. Sitting is good. 

“Plus, I’m bigger than you.” 

“If you wanna compare dicks just say so.” Satoru sneers, he’s cockier when inebriated. 

In any other instance when Suguru is of sound mind, Satoru would’ve caught a jab to the chest. But two reasons why that can’t happen. 

One, he’s currently tripping balls. 

Two, you just walked in. 

Like you own the house. 

Maneuvering your body around the active pong table. Slipping past the chatty women gawking in their direction. Gearing for attack. Shifty and nervous, but the vodka cranberry is courage elixir. 

The boys have about 45 seconds to engage with said women or divert. 

But you are currently leaning over the counter reaching for a shot glass well out of your zip code. A little red dress on. All curves, no brakes. With an ass that could make anyone believe in God. 

Sorry, girls. Tonight, they are going to divert. 

Suguru catches Satoru’s heady gaze. No words needed. They share instincts. The boys have been in stride since the day they met. 

They saunter over to the counter you’re mounting. An easy reach for them both. 

“Didn’t realize your name was on the lease, princess.” 

Satoru plucks the double shot glass down from Mount Everest. Handing it over between two fingers. 

Still propped up on the counter with one knee, you peer down at them both. Letting the white noise of utter disinhibition drape the space between you. 

Suguru planned on softening Satoru’s blow, but then you smile. 

Cavalier and gorgeous.

Like it’s a golden ticket into spaces you don’t belong in. 

The answer to questions people don’t realize need asking. 

The cure for everything. 

And right now? It is. The cure.

Suguru stands stupefied as you brace yourself on his shoulders. Thank God his hands still know what to do. They snake around your tapered waist and pull you to solid ground. 

Speak, dumbass.

“You didn’t? It’s in the fine print.” Your voice beats him to it. And is fucking dessert. 

Bad for you. Horrible for you. But good in the way self-indulgence is.

You take your shot glass (really, anything in the house is yours if you want it). And steer away to the refrigerator.

Your absence jumpstarts Suguru’s out-of-commission brain. 

“Excuse him, he was raised by monkeys. Can I help you find something?” 

Suguru and Satoru reposition themselves behind you while you rummage. Bent over at the waist. Head nearly submerged in the pull out freezer. 

Are you doing this on purpose? 

Are you trying to be a cocktease? 

Satoru isn’t even attempting to stop eye-fucking you. 

Suguru pulls his tongue ring in and out of his teeth. Anything to stop ruminating on the melody of sounds that’ll fill the room when his hips slam into your ass repeatedly. 

“There it is,” you stand back to your full height. Triumphant. Jack Daniels in hand. 

Your eyes are pools of quicksand. Why else would Suguru’s mouth feel more stuck than his feet? 

“You’re a whiskey, kind of girl?” Satoru smirks, amused at your vice choice. 

Again, the boys follow your movements like two expertly trained German Shepards. Flanking you when you settle at the corner of the island. Meticulously over-pouring your first double shot. 

“I’m a good time kind of girl.” The way your slender neck tilts back is immoral. Throating the dark liquid like water.

…what else can that throat handle? 

“Okay, good time girl wh—“ 

“Listen.” You snip Satoru’s snide remark at its base. Leaving both of them silent. Watching. Waiting. 

“Brad,” you pointedly look at Suguru.

“And Chad,” eyes dagger into Satoru.

“Thank you for the warm welcome but I’m not interested in talking.” 

The back of your hand swipes against your full lips. And Suguru can’t seem to pull his eyes off of them.

Satoru, after a moment of stunned silence, lets out his laugh. The one that means you’ve won his undivided attention for the night. 

“Close, but no cigar baby. Try again.” Satoru leans onto his forearms. Tilting his intoxicated gaze up at you. 

“Right idea, though.” Suguru chimes in. Tongue finally deciding to work. 

“Ahh, I hear you loud and clear.” You retort, golden-ticket smile back on your face. 

Your nose wrinkles in feigned concentration and Suguru nearly passes out.

Are you really this hot? Or is he just that blasted? 

 “Preppy,” your hand cups Satoru’s face. And his Adam’s Apple bobs deeply. 

Good, Satoru is feeling this as hard as he is. 

“And Edgy.” Suguru gawks at the way your lips hang open after your snarky guess at his name leaves your mouth.

Satoru’s wolfish chuckle is what re-tethers Suguru to this dimension. How the fuck is he keeping up with you right now? 

“No, no. I got it.” You pipe up. 

Placing one hand over each of theirs. Suguru greedily intertwines his long fingers between your petite ones. 

“Thunder.” You squeeze Suguru’s hand and his soul nearly leaks out of his dick. 

“And Lightening.” 

Cotton candy dusts Satoru’s nose to his ears when you look up at him. Suguru can see the vulgar scenarios on cinematic repeat in his best friend’s mind.

And it’s tame compared to the ways Suguru wants to disrespect you. 

“We can work with that.” Suguru flashes a smile of his own. Purposefully keeping his tongue ring out of your view. 

“And what can we call you?” Satoru probes. Zeroed in because no one else in the room exists. 

Your hands return back to your side, and Suguru misses your warmth immediately. 

“No name.” 

Flippant. Lighthearted like what you said was normal. 

“What was that?” Satoru spurts out. Saliva bubbling in his half open mouth. 

You glide away from the kitchen. Into the den with bodies colliding. Walls thrumming. Lights strobing.

Delicate hands cup around your mouth. Turning back to face your new guard dogs. 

“Not here to talk, boys!” 

The three of you are interwined at the center of the crowded room in seconds. 

But time is warped.

Because Suguru is traversing Death Zone altitude on the mountain. And Satoru is swimming at Abyssal Zone depth in the ocean. 

You are the 8th cardinal sin. 

You writhe and undulate your curves in and out of their grasp. Gripping onto Satoru’s neck, strumming his undercut when he’s facing you. Winding your hips against Suguru’s crotch when he’s behind you. 

Suguru’s cock has never been this hard, he’s half worried it could snap in half. Hissing against your neck. Groaning behind your ear. So goddamn grateful for the music drowning out his desperation. 

But his skin is on fire. He can feel every vessel pulsate.

You are not a want. 

You are a need. 

“Need you.” Suguru gruffs in your ear. Flickering up to Satoru, who is mirroring his hooded gaze. 

Suguru watches your pretty hand trail down Satoru’s chest. Satoru rolls his bottom lip under his teeth. Apt nickname you chose for him, because there are lightening bolts in his eyes. 

“Take me upstairs,” you whisper back, tilting up to capture Suguru in your web. 

And he is so captured. So entangled. 

The boys lead you to Suguru’s bedroom in the frat house. Even though the walk felt like miles, exactly no time passes when you three close the door behind you.

Suguru’s lips magnet to yours. Insatiable in the way he sucks and pulls on your lips. Tongue tasting every corner of your sweet mouth. 

Satoru drops his head to the crook of your neck. Sucking bruises. Tracing his large grasp up and underneath your dress. No time or room for manners with how his cock is tenting against its weak restraints.

“So eager, boys.” You giggle in between their hungry kisses. 

And you’re right. 

It’s embarrassing, their display right now. 

But neither one of them have the capacity to stop. 

And hold it together. 

And lead. Like they both are used to. 

“Sorry,” Satoru grunts into the feminine slope of your neck. You let out an airy laugh when he starts to dry hump you. Tickling both of their incapable brains. 

You know Satoru is so far gone. 

And Suguru is trying to hold on to some semblance of dignity but his cock simply won’t let him. Not the way it’s drenching his sweats with need. 

“Take these off.” Melodic instructions fill Satoru and Suguru’s ears the minute you pull away from Suguru’s kiss. Your index finger hooked on both hems. 

As if your voice is a Pavlovian trigger, the boys step out of their pants and boxers. 

Rock hard. Desperate. Leaking. 

Your personal drones. 

Suguru can’t swallow the whimper that collides with Satoru’s whine when your hands drop to stroke both of them at the same time. Flickering your eyes between your two toys. Proud of the way their cocks are twitching and pumping beads of precum into your hands.

“God, pretty girl.”

“Fuck, princess.”

Satoru and Suguru are dizzy with heat. 

Just in time for you to drop to your knees. Dragging your closed, lipsticked lips along Suguru’s up curve.

“Please,” Suguru whispers.

You’re evil. 

And you ignore him. Dragging your soft, warm hand up the length of his shaft. Interjecting butterfly kisses in between. Working Satoru’s length in your other hand. Drawing punched out moans from the boys. Chests heaving. Clipped breaths. Pitiful. 

“On your knees, Lightning.” You beckon Satoru, while teasing his counterpart. 

Satoru doesn’t hesitate for a second. He couldn’t if he wanted to. Propped on his knees, he stares into the side of your face. Awaiting further instruction. 

“Kiss me,” you demand, circling your lips around Suguru’s sensitive tip for the first time. Evoking a loud hiss. 

Satoru’s eyes widen. Your words startle the breath out of him. 

The lights are dim but Suguru doesn’t miss the blossoming cherry red flush. Spreading along his toned shoulders.

Your wet lips dragging along his swollen cockhead pulls Suguru’s eyes away from his celestial best friend. 

“Mmmgh f..fuck baby,” Suguru chokes out at your slow, mean ministrations. 

“Don’t be shy, Lightening.” Your tongue tickles his lead pipe with every spoken word around his girth. 

Suguru’s eyes fall to your hand. Now working its way up Satoru’s length. His core involuntarily curls into your sudden touch. Gossamer thin whine tumbling out of his lips. Suguru catches the way Satoru digs his fingernails into his milky skin. 

And his cock twitches against your lips at the sight. 

“Kiss me,” You beckon Satoru again, dragging your tongue up Suguru’s length. 

“I—I…“ Satoru stammers. Hips stuttering against your fist. Static fills Suguru’s head. 

He’s never seen him this docile. This pliant. It’s a mind fuck. 

No, no. 

The way Satoru pulls his eyes up to meet his gaze in that moment is a mind fuck. 

Is he hallucinating?

It’s like Suguru is seeing Satoru for the first time. 

Instead of being side by side, he’s across the street. Catching a glimpse of a God. Walking amongst men. 

Satoru’s expression has earned permanence in his brain. Snowy halo of hair. Long, palatial lashes fanning the Aegean Sea in his eyes. A mosaic of lust, desire, a little shame. 

Seeking permission.

Seeking approval. 

He is otherworldly. 

Vulnerable and soft. On his knees. Needy. It makes Suguru want to ram his cock past those pouty, swollen lips. 

But..but that’s wrong. Right? 

They’re best friends. Fucking soulmates. They don’t..they don’t do that. 

But the way he’s pouting.

God. 

Glassy eyed and helplessly turned on. Rutting his hips into your hand. 

Fuck. 

“Fuck,” Suguru mutters. A surge of his arousal landing on your tongue. Eliciting a breathy giggle in response. 

Followed by an out of body experience for the next few minutes. 

Suguru’s hand wires into Satoru’s cloud soft locks. Gentle grasp between the slender webspaces. 

“So pretty.” He rasps through the nails in his throat. 

Satoru’s pupils blow out at the praise. All but purring into his touch. Suguru barely applies any force and Satoru crashes his lips onto yours with Suguru’s thick head in between. 

Filthy. 

Nasty dirty vulgar sounds fill the room. Suguru’s constant stream of precum dripping onto your tongue, Satoru’s tongue. Raining down on your puffy, full tits.

You two exploring each other’s lips. 

Satoru’s angry length, squelching against your hand. 

It’s too much. It’s too fucking much. 

“Such a good boy.” 

Your dulcet voice is a tornado decimating Suguru’s brain. He has to blink a few times to realize that the praise wasn’t meant for him. 

It was directed at Satoru. 

Who is desperately — eagerly — throating Suguru’s dick. Nose flaring. Diamond tears rolling down his blushing cheeks. Unintelligible garbles dribbling out the corners of his mouth. 

“Sa—Satoru, mmgh, god shit, shit.” Suguru’s hips take a cruel pace down his Person’s throat. 

“Mmm, Satoru.” You murmur into his ear. Tasting your new discovery. 

“Look how much Thunder likes fucking that mouth of yours.” 

Satoru’s tears splash against Suguru’s sex. But he opens his throat anyway. Swallowing his rod. Filthy bulge in the column of his throat. 

“Ahh, god..baby..” Suguru huffs when your devilish little hands tug at a palm full of his hair. 

When did you get next to him?

Doesn’t matter. 

Yet another natural disaster destroys Suguru’s brain when you push your tongue back into his mouth. While he violates Satoru’s mouth. 

The wire in Suguru’s stomach coils. Lava surges through every vessel in his body. Groin welling with a deep, carnal pressure. Everything feels too fucking good.

“Fuck, oh god fuck. I’m I—g—“

“Cum for me, baby.” 

You kiss your hushed command into Suguru’s mouth. His hips come to a screeching halt. Both hands down in Satoru’s hair, grazing along his undercut. 

Suguru tilts his chin to the ceiling. Thick loose mane tickling his mid back. Vision completely dark. He has no idea if he’s still in Satoru’s mouth. Or where his cum is landing. All he knows is death by pleasure right now.

You press your moist lips into Suguru’s neck.  

“You’re so beautiful like this.” Sweet words reverberate against Suguru’s skin. 

His head slowly comes back to earth. And just as his eyes pull back open — a shudder and blinding light assaults his vision. Up close. 

“Woah, what the hell?” 

Suguru is met with a Polaroid camera. Printing evidence of his nirvana. His brows crawl together defensively.

“What do you—“

“Relax, thunder.” You coo with that smile that’s decadent, beautiful poison. 

You step over a dazed Satoru. Still on his knees. Lazily stroking up his neglected hard cock. 

Suguru’s eyes track you to his bed. You place the developing film on the nightstand. 

“These are for your eyes only.” 

“I don’t mind.” Satoru huffs. Rising to his feet. Deep within your trance. You could’ve asked him to cut off an arm and he’d offer you both. 

Satoru would follow you into Hell if you demanded it. 

Suguru would too. 

“Boys, come.” You curl your finger at them. And pairs of feet move. 

“Thunder, why don’t you put that tongue ring to good use. While I take care of pretty little Satoru.” 

His name on your lips snaps something buried in his soul. Satoru steps to the head of the bed. Leaning against the wall. Cock heavy with his seed. A string of arousal hanging low from his tip. 

You make a dramatic show to catch Satoru’s leaking string of cum before it wastes on Suguru’s sheets. 

“You’re fucking filthy, princess.” Satoru hisses. He can’t remember the last time he’s blinked the whole night. 

You smile around his bulbous tip, then pull him into your warm heat in one go. 

And fuck, Satoru can feel you sucking through to his throat. 

His whimpers sound so pathetic in his ears. But he is so lust-drunk he couldn’t care less. 

One look down and he sees his best friend whining underneath your precious cunt. As you circle your hips around Suguru’s metal-clad tongue. Taking your pleasure directly from his mouth. 

Suguru’s half hard sex pulsates against his perfectly toned abs. Satoru has to look away. His orgasm threatening to come too soon. 

“Mmmnggh, so good with your tongue, Thunder.” You gurgle around Satoru’s length. 

Arousal flavored saliva driveling down your chin. The sensation drives Satoru to piston his hips until his tip abuses the limit of your dainty throat. 

You shouldn’t have any space to breathe, much less talk. 

“Pl-please. Suguru. Name’s Suguru.” 

“Say his name baby.” Satoru’s order is low. Raptorial. Hips bucking wildly into your mouth. Heat crashing into his groin. 

He’s so close. He’s—

“S-Suguru.”

And Satoru dives off your cliff edge. Hearing his Person’s name tumble out of your mouth and around his cock snapped his self-control in half. 

Ropes off thick, warm heat spill out the side of your mouth. Staining your bunched up dress, the sheets and everything in between. 

“S-so close,” you huff, humping Suguru’s tongue more aggressively. 

A familiar camera shudder and solar bright light fans your outstretched neck. Capturing your cum-stained ascension. 

You flash Satoru a knowing smirk. Another beam of light aimed in his face before he tosses your camera off to the side. 

Satoru crashes his lips into yours. Eager to taste himself off your mouth. 

Your bodies move in perfect tandem. Satoru kisses your peak from your lips while Suguru coaxes your wet orgasm onto his tongue. Your high drenches Suguru and the sheets around him. 

The three of you piece yourselves together. Completely plaited within each other’s warm, moist limbs. Basking in the serotonin showers misting you three in post-coital bliss. 

No one remembers, but you wish each other sweet dreams before the fog settles. And the night re-claims you to sleep. 

                                     ——

Sunlight is downright offensive. 

Suguru forces his heavy lids open.

7: 43 AM

Fucking, hell. 

A freight train is currently doing laps in Suguru’s mind. He flickers around the room. Haphazard clothes. Strewn socks. Satoru in Suguru’s 06 hockey jersey. Long limbs nearly dangling off the other side of his bed. 

Suguru glances down, somehow dressed only in Satoru’s black sweats

There’s a tiny sliver of space between their sodden bodies. Where you must’ve slept. 

Right.

You. 

Heaven’s fallen angel. 

You used to be God’s favorite. No way you still are.

Not with how fucking sinful you looked in that red dress. 

Snapping polaroids.

Taking their souls for play. 

Then having the audacity to leave them on the nightstand when you were through.

Suguru met The Devil last night. 

And she was…exquisite. 

“Fuck, my head.” Satoru groans, rolling over to face his dark-haired soulmate.

Suguru watches his eyes flutter open. And something within him catches. 

How has he not noticed how beautiful this boy is before?

“Here,” A glass of ice water, still sweating from condensation is waiting on Suguru’s nightstand. He takes a long sip before passing the lifeblood to Satoru. 

Satoru briefly meets Suguru’s gaze. Before averting, pretty mulberry blush flooding his face. 

“Was last night…real?” Satoru asks after an extended sip. 

Suguru meets his question with silence. Preoccupied with picture proof. 

Three polaroids neatly arranged on the nightstand. 

The first one is of Suguru. Hair moused, framing his intoxicated gaze. Remnants of his orgasm oozing from the still shot. Lips puffy and abused. Cheeks flushed. Suguru can barely recognize the man in the photo. 

His eyes dance to the cursive label at the bottom:

Thunder 

Alias: “Suguru”

A wry chuckle escapes his lips. He passes his photo to Satoru. 

The next polaroid is of his Person. Post orgasm haze heavy in his eyes. He managed to get his 10,000-kilowatt smile perfectly in the selfie. Also flushed. Also completely debauched. The blue in his eyes reflected nearly translucent. 

He’s a fucking masterpiece, that boy. 

Suguru knows what to expect at the bottom of Satoru’s polaroid:

Lightening

Alias: “Satoru”

“Shit man, these are amazing.” Satoru murmurs, intently studying Suguru’s polaroid. Absentmindedly accepting his.

“They are.” Suguru agrees, unknowingly holding his breath while pulling your polaroid into view. 

And of course.

It’s blurry. 

The only thing in focus is your graceful, arched neck, specks of Satoru’s finish glistening on your skin. Merlot red dress, pulled far below your breasts. Only thing pictured is the apex of your cleavage. Leaving Suguru’s mind to spiral into lucid memory of the rest of your silhouette. 

“Who…was that?” Satoru muses. Eyes now on the ceiling. Undoubtedly having the exact same swarm of flashbacks flood his mind. 

Suguru rolls your Polaroid between his index and long finger. The bottom of the photo reading:

No Name

A lazy smile tugs on the corner of his lips.

You are something else. 

Supernatural, almost.

“She’s a girl with no name.” 

[irndad]

in every other life- s.r.

a/n: my soul is in this mf fic. there's a lil sexual tension lol! this is a behemoth of pining. so much fucking pining. this guy needs you like air wtf!! ALSO the poem is from a book, the lover's dictionary by david levithan. summary: the love of spencer's life is also his best friend, and she goes on a few dates. he does not handle it well, internally. ft. metaphysics by our dear genius boy. wc: 3.3k (holy shit)

While he recognizes that no direct injustice has actually been done to him, he can’t help but feel that it’s so unfair. 

Because Spencer had never actually wanted much of anyone, actually. He was too much of a child through his entire education, and he’d found anyone that he’d even consider had almost instantly had dismissed him. He’d grown used to a life where companionship wasn’t a desire that crossed his mind. 

But he wanted her. 

His lovely friend, his coworker, who was the kind of lovely that it feels unfair you’d ever have to take your eyes off of. She’s the best person he’s ever met, the sort of wonderful you read about but never convince yourself you’ll ever see. He knows the shape of her, has her form memorized from watching, waiting for her to step into the office every day.  

It was only a matter of time until he wasn’t the only one with his eye on her. 

She’s actually absurdly easy to want. There’s nights where they watch something, often what he picked, Doctor Who or some other science fiction which would be great if he could focus on anything but her. Her warm disposition ruminating his too-small apartment with a kind of light that follows his every movement. He’d adore her even if she wasn’t, but it’s impossible to ignore how beautiful she is- the kind of pretty that you hardly expect to see in real life. 

“Hey you,” her so-sweet voice is what breaks him out of his daydreaming, and he looks up at her lovely face smiling down at him. Fondness seeps through her tone, and it’s everything he can do not to preen that her first thought at seeing him is one of pleasure. 

“Hey back,” he says, greeting her with a warm grin of his own. “How was your weekend?”

It’s a calculated question. 

She had canceled their weekly movie night. He’d tried not to look too disappointed, like the idea of her next to him on his couch, of her nimble fingers raking through his unkempt hair while something nice, but far less wonderful than his company played in the background wasn’t all that was keeping him going. These days, and he knows it’s likely delusion, that she sometimes seems to gaze back at him with a similar sort of desperation, hooded eyes and tenderness. 

It’s a liminal space, those nights. How can people be two things at once? You cannot be both in love and not. In the low-light of his place, under his blanket- it’s like Schrodinger’s experiment. She can’t love him like a friend and more at the same time- it resists the laws of physics. She is his best friend, a fact he knows as sure as gravity and the elements, and believing anymore than that- it’s asserting an impossibility. 

When they’re alone together, though. It seems like the impossible exists. 

But she’d canceled it, something she hadn’t done for the months they’d been engaging in their little tradition. So there had to be a reason. She sits next to him, her desk next to his. 

She looks a little disheveled, only in an adorable way- but a little like she’s been busy, like her flow is disrupted.

“It was good! I finally went out with that guy Penelope’s been begging me to let her set me up with.”

It’s all that he can do not to freeze up. 

Penelope has been trying to get her to go out with her friend Ben, which Spencer thinks is a stupid name, by the way, and secretly he’d been so, so pleased when she had brushed off the invite. It’s a dangerous thing, hope. He tries not to have too much of it, tries to savor the thought of her, of more for moments of particular vulnerability. It’s treacherous, to want her the way he does. He knows he can’t let himself feel it all the way. 

And logistically- romance is not a reason for a valid reason for him to be panicking the way he is, but all he can think about is the physics. Two opposite things cannot be true at the same time. 

“You know, studies suggest that even now, the majority of couples are meeting in person or through friends over any other medium.” 

It hurts to say. She’s part of a couple, one half a whole that he doesn’t complete. 

“Seriously? I’d have thought it’d changed by now. I guess it’s safer to date someone you know.”

She’d date someone she knew? Is that what she prefers? 

“How did it go?” He hears Emily ask, and this conversation is already the bane of his existence.

“Guys, it really wasn’t a big deal! We got dinner, it was just a little thing.”

Spencer isn’t experienced in dating, but he does know that dinner is a serious date. Coffee is a smaller thing, but dinner-

Dinner means she got pretty for him. Probably picked out a dress for the evening, spent time on a carefully manicured look. Spent hours of her precious, rare, time on him. 

It’s not fair how much he fucking hates this guy. 

“Dinner is not nothing!” Penelope squeals, and he would love to share in her excitement, except it kind of feels like a piece of his heart is being shredded. 

“Dinner means coming up to my place, have coffee, oh look who doesn’t have her hair done-“

Please kill me, he thinks. Please. 

“Oh, that definitely did not happen.”

Thank god. 

Except he can’t miss her flush, how her expression shifts- and he has the sickening feeling he’d be hearing that guy’s name again. 

When they all settle around the table, her doe eyes focused on gruesome images that were the exact antithesis of her spirit, he couldn’t help but feel that even if it hurt, there was finality. 

The cat was out of the box. Two things cannot be true at once, and so only one is- she does not love him, at least not the way he does. 

Ben, is not in fact, going away. 

If he had more willpower or self-preservation, Spencer would keep his distance from her, but the truth of it is that as much as he wants to be the person she turns to, her smile is most of why he can stand his job anymore. 

It’s a Tuesday, and everyone is grumbling about being pulled in early in the morning, but he’s just happy to have a reason to leave the house.

“Spence!” He hears her excited voice carry, the pretty sound picking his ears up at once. “I got you coffee. It’s hazelnut, and it’s like, 90% sugar. You’re gonna love it.”

She beams at him, and he takes it in his hands. Their hands brush, and he tries so hard not to notice how soft her hands are. Her name is on the cup, and an unconsenting fantasy of her name meaning that he’s hers creeps into his mind before he can bat it away.  

But her cup says Ben. 

“Thanks,” he says her name, tries to sound measured and friendly. “Coffee date?”

She preens, and god, if this guy doesn’t get how lucky he is it might be thing thing that actually sends him over the edge after all these years.

“Just a quick thing, we were just in the same place and he bought me a coffee, I’d already gotten yours.”

If there’s two roles he can fill and he doesn’t get to pick, if he’s stuck with friends, he’s gonna be great at it, and he’s gonna be grateful. Because knowing her is a grace in itself, the kind of thing you should could yourself so lucky to have. 

“He sounds like a great guy,” he hears himself say, “I’m glad you’re doing this.”

It’s the right thing to say. He’s sure of it. The thing he’s not sure of is why the smile she offers him doesn’t reach her eyes. 

The next time he notices the cracks in their relationship, it’s when they’re out. She’d suggested this bookstore-cafe kind of thing, and he’d jumped at the thought, all of his favorite things in one afternoon. He’d felt foolish spending so much time picking out his outfit out, wearing the blazer she’d once complimented-he’d actually stuttered so hard in thanks that Morgan laughed for a full minute when she left the room- but she always looked beautiful, and he knows he sometimes pales in comparison. 

“Oh, I love this one!” She thumbs over the spine of a thin book of poetry. She’s wearing a forest green sweater that hugs her frame, and a bracelet hangs on her delicate wrist. He loves looking at her, though he tries to conceal it. His goal of being a supportive friend includes trying not to make it that known how gone for her he is. 

“I don’t read too much poetry,” he admits, “But I’m sure you have excellent taste.” 

Her keen eyes skim through the pages intently, clearly seeking out a specific passage before stopping, gaze alight with recognition. 

Her tone is molasses-sweet when she begins reading, and his heart skips a beat.

“When I say be my lover,” her voice hitches, reverent of the quote and he is reverent of her, “ I don’t mean ‘let’s have an affair. I don’t mean Sleep with me. I don’t mean Be my secret. I want us to go back to that root. I want you to be the one who loves me. I want to be the one who loves you.”

It feels impossible to look away from her, doe eyes practically sparkling in the low light of the shop, and there it is. His heart’s in his throat. Of all the things you could have told Spencer he’d experience, hearing her lovely voice wrap around the words be my lover in hushed tone, in sacred sweetness, would never ever be one he’d guess. 

He’s not sure how he feels about the multiverse theory, but right now, he can feel all the versions of himself pressing right up against him. Can see into lives he doesn’t get to live, lifetimes where his love isn’t a buried, worn-out tattered thing to keep his ever-frigid chest warm. Versions of himself that in this very moment can smile back at her, warm and open and kind, and kiss her perfect smile. 

Because he would be her lover. He would come home to her, spend the rest of his life building a home that she could fit  into. It’d be easy, actually. She’s easy to imagine- nights of laughing in a shared kitchen, evenings where her company is a fine wine, sipped at leisure with the comfort of knowing it’s never going to slip from your grasp. 

“I like that,” he says, voice too vulnerable for his own good, eyes unable to tear from the eye contact. “I really like that.” 

In the root of it, he already is her lover. He is the one who loves her. She’s just not his. 

It comes to a head on a Friday. It’s a few weeks from he book shop, and the air feels heavier between them now. The last handful of Fridays he’s sat with the ghost of what used to be their plans, empty time lingering where in its’ place used to be her company. 

He doesn’t know if she’s been with Ben. He tries not to think about it. 

The sound of her voice lingers in his mind, sweet and bitter in his mind like old lemon candy, the kind his mother would save for special occasions. He’d spend any amount of money he had to hear her lovely voice say those words to him out of the context of a poem. 

At work, they seem almost normal. Like one of them wasn’t desperately in love with the other; like a genius and his lovely, incredibly empathetic, kind best friend. In the field, their actions flow together seamlessly. She is always the first to listen and to understand (and god, isn’t it intoxicating to have someone meet you in understanding) and there is nothing to suspect is off.

But there’s still a cloud lingering. The poem- the soft melody of her voice curling around the words, the request of it all, the way she had sounded so wanting- and then, there’s Ben. 

She doesn’t mention Ben to him, of course, but Penelope does. Penelope, all bows and bright colors and cheeriness keeps bringing the absolute worst news to Spencer with a smile on her face. 

He’s taking her out for drinks! Oh, he’s reading her favorite book, do you know what it is?

This anger isn’t an emotion that he’s familiar with. A roar of possessiveness, the bite of it not tempered at all by rationality. Has he touched her?

It seems almost a tradition at this point when she shakes him out of his jealous storm of thought.

“Spence?” she muses, “You alright?” They’re alone at his desk, everyone having fled for their own evening and weekend plans. This was one of the Fridays that she had agreed to spend with him, and he wonders if he’ll be able to handle the scent of her shampoo so close after such a lapse of the sensation. Will all of his judgement go where he can’t follow?

“Yeah,” he says, tucking his papers into his bag, “I’m excited for tonight.”

His place is actually a short walk from the office. He’d been embarrassed to show her the place at first. It’s all function over fashion, and a bit cramped, but she’d looked at as though it was made of something more, something good. She didn’t even tease him. It had actually been her idea, to start these movie nights. 

Ironic, really. 

The walk was pleasant, the weather a little frigid but still nice, and she looks beautiful under the setting sun. It’s incredible to him, how her lashes catch the light and make her irises look like polished stained glass. His favorite color. Through the looking glass of another life, he sees a version of himself that gathers her up in his arms. In this daydream, she grants him one of her smiles that seems to carry its’ own light, and leans into his body like it’s the only thing that keeps her steady. It’s so clear. On the other side of the veil, he kisses her reddening nose, and keeps her warm himself. 

In the here and now, Her coat is long, and hangs low by her ankles. It’s an elegant thing, like the woman who wears it, and Spencer would be grateful for a lifetime of just looking.They stop in front of his door, some invisible force stopping him from entering. 

She sheds the coat inside his home. It smells like the candle she got him for his birthday, a reminder of her grace. He’s saved a bottle of wine for them, a sweet thing for the sweetest thing he’s known. 

“I’m sorry,” she speaks the warmth of the beverage on her tongue, and it should feel abrupt but it doesn’t.

“What for?” He can’t imagine what she would have to apologize for. 

“I know things have been…off between us,” she says carefully, considering the phrasing of each word. He watches her with a reverence, his hazel eye brimming with affection with nowhere to go. “You’ve been so great through it.”

Her legs are thrown across his own, and she’s dangerously close to sitting in his lap, but not exactly. He’s missed having her this close, the last time she’d been in his orbit was before she’d had reason to be gone. She smells floral. He fights With limited filtering through his already treacherous mind he thinks, He can’t take this from me. I still get her like this. 

“I’m not entirely sure what it is.” 

She slowly shuts her eyes, go for a moment to somewhere he can’t follow. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold. 

“This whole Ben thing.”

“Oh.”

Logically, it always had to come back to this. Someone else had the good fortune to know her like this, to be the person she reads poetry to in deep meaning to. 

He’s been stealing moments from someone who’s not his to take them from. 

“I don’t even know how I wanted you to react.” she murmurs, staring at the rim of her glass. 

“I just want you to be happy” His voice is something low, grit in the sound of it. His hand rests on her thigh. There’s warmth blanketing the room and he wants to kiss her. He wants to kiss her all the time. 

She laughs, but it’s not her normal laugh. It’s tinny and a little bitter. He pushes his luck, and reaches out to brush the side of her face, moving the hair but still holding her face. Her breath smells like strawberry wine and temptation. 

It feels different tonight. Low light and tension that could be sliced with wire. Every part of her is in reach, and something in the air makes all of this talk of relativity, of physics, moot. 

Like maybe he’s not in the only world they don’t end up together. 

Her face is warm and soft under his touch and he loves the sight of her. He’s never touched her like this. Every point of contact feels electric, addicting. 

“What is it? The Ben thing?” He doesn’t know what he’s expecting to hear. What he wants, is for her to tell him that it doesn’t matter anymore, that she picks him-

“I only went out with him the once.”

“What?”

“I told Penelope I was still going because it made her happy and she said I couldn’t keep going to your apartment and reading you poetry and call that romance.”

Romance? 

Wasn’t it romance, though? 

Her eyes widen in something akin to horror. 

“Shit, Spence- I’m sorry, that is so fucked of me to say-“

“You,” he tries to say calmly, “aren’t going out with Ben.”

She blinks. 

“No?”

He has spent so much time living in other lives, existing in the minds of versions of himself he wasn’t lucky enough to be. Drinking coffee imagine a life colored in her presence, falling asleep yearning for the presence of something lighter than what he has to carry. 

He can’t exist in two places. That was the entire basis of the experiment. 

He moves his other hand to hold hers, and somehow she’s shifted to being on top of him, and he looks up at her with unwavering desire. 

Spencer isn’t good at wanting people, but it comes naturally with her. Less of an action and more an urge, a course of motion to which he is at the mercy of. This is what leads him to close the gap between them, and kiss her. It’s 

Her delicate fingers run through his hair, and she can’t be close enough, please, and he could spend the rest of his life kissing her, actually. He probably will spend the rest of his life thinking about the soft sigh he pulls out of her. 

“I want it to be me,” he manages to say through shallow breath, still so close that his lips brush hers every other word, “I want to be the one you pick. I want it to be me.” His hazel eyes seem to shift in the moment, swirling with emotion. 

She brushes a lock of his overgrown hair out of his face. He normally shaves when he sees her, but he’d been so busy that he’d forgotten, and felt embarrassed of it now. That is, until she runs her index finger along the edge of his jawline.

It’s then she leans down and kisses him again, pliant and good, his hands around her waist. He breathes a prayer into her mouth, one that hopes that she never ever comes to her senses about him. 

“Spence,” she says, her voice golden silk, a kindness.  “There was never anyone else to pick.” 

[xamag-draws]

BBR thoughts 2024

Since I mentioned that I finally dusted off an old project of mine and was ruminating on how I'd remake it, I thought I'd elaborate a little, now that I've solidified some concepts. For funsies

This is gonna be a bit of a long and unfocused one, but I don't share my personal thoughts here often, especially the stuff about my projects I always marinate in. And for once it's something that people have existing context for, so hey why not

So for anyone who hasn't been following me for a gajillion years, The Black Brick Road of OZ was a webcomic that I posted around 2013-2015, back when I was in highschool going on college (which is kinda crazy to think about). It was sort of a darker twist on The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, although I definitely leaned a lot more into dark humor more than anything in those first few chapters

I don't think it's available to read anywhere anymore, and I know people have been asking me about it. So here's the full proper archive of BBR, as full as it can be with deceased Flash

I totally used it as an excuse to shamelessly and self-indulgently experiment. It had interactive pages and GIFs and was wayyy too overproduced for what I could handle or what was necessary, but I did have great fun making it while it lasted

Unfortunately, that excess and the fact that I've changed too much as a person by the time I was in college is what ultimately killed it. The direction I wanted to go in was practically unrecognizable from the original idea started back in 2011, so there were many old hold-ups that I felt ruined it

At the time I kinda wished I could start/rewrite it all over, but considering that I pretty much had the entire script done at that point, it felt like a pointless sisyphean task. So I just put it on a shelf and didn't look back for about 8 years, because I didn't know what else to do

Now to be fair, the nature of my art has always been iterative and cyclical; when I feel like my creative juices have run dry I prefer to leave a project to marinate and move on to something else; cycle through other old things and bring in new skills and perspectives into the mix when I'm ready again. Not very productive, but it is what makes me happy to work on my OCs; I'm doomed to hit a wall with them eventually and I need some time to be able to find a new direction

So that said, I'm glad that BBR was left to marinate for that long. I don't think I was prepared, emotionally or intellectually, to tackle it again until now. The Wizard of Oz book (and the entire series of them, really) has always been near and dear to my heart, but there's a lot of context around it that I'm only unpacking now that I'm older

I think I always inherently feel negatively about the stuff I've made in the past, like its faults always jump out to me more than the positives, especially the more time passes. I've never liked that, and I do really appreciate the kind things people have to say about BBR to this day. The fact that it still can be recognized and remembered is very sweet

When I left it, I already found it "kinda cringe", and that feeling only deepened with years. When I took my first look back at it, asking the question "how would I rewrite it now?", at first I took a very cynical approach, as in "everything would have to be torn down"

But the more I sat on it, the more I found that I still see some merit and charm in the ideas I was putting out; I just didn't know how to execute them at the time (not to pretend that I know what I'm doing now, but I certainly know more at least). Turns out a lot of my old concepts could be changed substantially with just a few small tweaks. So I'd say that's a nicer way to think about my previous work

If you haven't seen yet, I posted a first draft of my new designs for some of the characters (the main group, the Goods and the Wickeds). Definitely subject to change, but more or less how I see them now

I'm just playing with these concepts; by no means would I attempt to remake BBR right this moment. Call it a pipe dream among my other ones. But just for fun, this is the direction I'd like to take:

Nowadays I'd probably make it a visual novel, with more emphasis on the visual part than the novel because I'm no English prose writer by any means. It'd still let me play a little with the interactivity while helping cut some corners on the drawing part (only some, I imagine I'd go hog wild anyway)

I've always intended for some events inspired by the sequel books to take place in BBR's past. Stuff like Jinjur's revolt or Ozma's rule preceeds the main events here. So I think it would be fun to follow the past of a few key characters alongside the main story. One chapter focusing on the present quest to see the Wizard, then one focusing on the past events (that are maybe reflective thematically); rinse and repeat

I'm also sticking a little closer to the original text in some regards. Not everything that I enjoy from the books would be translated here, it's still just a very loose fantasy on the material; but I'd like to be closer in spirit at least

I like mature, wise and powerful Glinda, I like kind and vulnerable Tin Man, I like the Wizard being a pathetic yet loveable liar, so I'm sprinkling in more of that for example

I'd like to keep some whimsy, but make it more grounded and a bit more serious to be coherent in tone. I think the original TWWOOZ book was a more realistic fantasy in some ways, even for the standards of the time; I like its simple but vivid tactile descriptions and details like bringing attention that Dorothy needed to eat and sleep

I find it funny that Baum specifically was averse to making his books scary or unpleasant, finding that unnecessary for telling a compelling kids story, but they still can get pretty dark and disturbing, at least for our modern sensibilities. Let's just say that I intend to use the Evoldo and Chopfyt storylines for my purposes. In that way, I feel like a "darker" Wizard of Oz retelling can still mostly be tonally in line with the original and balance it with enough heart and occasional humor

I slowly grew to appreciate the quaint old-timey quality of the original series, as well. The first book is both timeless and very much a product of the 1900s. Originally I tried to give it a little modern or at least anachronistic spin, but it was moreso because it's what I knew best, so these days I'd rather intentionally lean into the time period. Still not fully historically accurate by any means, but at least directly acknowledging the influence

The events of the story span across 40 years of these characters' lives, so I'm drawing inspiration from the entire so-called La Belle Epoque: the time period around 1880s-1920s. Basically I'm cooking, and my soup is old Victorian fashion morphing into Edwardian fashion and slowly inching towards flappers

Some new Dolly outfits

Lots of crazy things, political changes and innovations were happening at the turn of the century, which I think is noted and reflected by Baum in the books as well; the character of Tik-Tok might not blow any minds now, but he was one of the first robot characters in literature at that point; and don't even get me started on Jinjur, etc. Plenty of really interesting stuff one could lightly ponder in an Oz adaptation these days

Aesthetically, art nouveau has always been a big artistic influence for me, and it'd definitely be its time to shine here. John R. Neill's illustrations of the Oz books often keep me company as well. Nouveau architecture in particular fits that fairytale whimsy extremely well imo

I'd allow myself a little bit of art deco here and there, but ultimately its intimidating geometrical splendor is an antithetical to the flowery nature of nouveau and I associate it with a completely different era. Definitely fitting some characters like my Wicked Witch of the West, but shouldn't be overused

One of my main problems with the original BBR was that eventually I lost track of what it was even about; and the original ending felt too mean and unfulfilling to be worth it. Now I'd like to stick to the theme of home and family as my main theme, but in a different, more bittersweet way than in the book

An interesting connection I made is that a lot of my aforementioned older key characters (the Witches, Jinjur, the Nome King, etc) all came from the same reformatory as kids, that's how they know each other. In my recent research I learned that in those reformatories it was usually frowned upon to release the children back to the families, which were seen as the original corrupting influence regardless of the circumstance. The reformatory did everything in its power to cut that connection and make itself the only family those wayward kids were supposed to know and love. That's an unexpected tie into the theme of home that I'd like to explore as well

So yeah that's the current state of it. I have a bunch of outfit concepts I'm slowly cooking, although I'm now sure whether I'd post them... But I do miss these funny guys, and I'm glad some people still do as well :)

[inkskinned]

i know some of the poets outside of their books, like cameron awkward-rich; who was my seminar teacher for a semester in grad school. you know him, he wrote about keeping his hand on the walls of his stupid heart. he gave us a journal without lines in it, so the pages were all blank and naked. we had to write down 3 words every day, ruminations on our own lives.

in pink glitter pen, i watched my handwriting cramp and spill from pristine and well-meaning to the slant of someone deeply suffering. the words stopped being lyrical over the course of february. bad, it said. bad and bad and bad. each day carving out a little bit of marrow, the sparrow of my heart acting as roadkill. that winter i was only allowed to eat apples, like a horse. my ocd had decided i could only touch food if it was red. i was sleeping on the floor and a spider bit me.

i wanted him to be my thesis advisor, but it was covid the next year, and we never spoke again, and i'm worried that i embarrassed myself by asking him repeatedly. for my final project in his class, i wrote about my disability. i called myself a rat, fondly.

his most famous poem is titled Meditations in an Emergency. i didn't know it until three weeks after i had graduated from that university.

at one point, he sat me down after class just to discuss some of my work. it was a night class, and we were all a little drowsy. he blinked up at me. i think sometimes the way you see the world is a little bit alarming. i wonder about that, in hindsight. i wonder if all of us who are walking on thumbtacks always recognize when someone else's spine is the undulating form of a siren. i could see it in him and you can see it in me, if you're looking.

yesterday nat said some of this is worrying.

i told cameron i was fine and i told nat i was fine, but i think maybe all of us had learned a long time ago how to be fine the way a poem is fine - because it happens outside of you. it can be honest, the confession, but it cannot be spelled out across your ribs. we make our art so that the sorrow can hang, limbless, trembling on the fetid walls beside us.

you learn to turn the ugliness into some kind of work, because you must smash the entire human experience of your stupid bones and teeth and tongue into something, so that you have anything to show for it. otherwise, what is the fucking point. why were you suffering, if not to polish the runoff and say - the melancholy is the signature of my art. i took the splinters out of my gums and filed them down into a thesis. the thesis has been turned into a book which is getting published.

cameron, to my knowledge, still has not read it.

i hope he has found his way out of the maze. i hope you and i one day write our own lanterns. i hope we are able to find some kind of peace without viscera. without having to fight for it. i hope we are able to stumble without falling. i hope one day the sky is empty of vultures and we can cross the desert of our memories without starving.

in the meantime we get up and leave the circled shadow in the writing.

[weebsinstash]

I want yandere Alastor being the biggest fucking hypocrite on the block and getting painfully humbled by reality so fucking bad you don't understand

I want a story where you stumble into becoming his friend with benefits, become the person who gets him interested in sex as a physical activity, and then one day you ask him "hey, what are we?" And his response being ABSOLUTELY RUDE AS HELL, albeit unintentionally, and you immediately cut him off from sex because his reply was basically the equivalent of "you're fun to sleep with, but the rest of you? No :)" (and also maybe he didn't even fully mean it, maybe he only partially meant it but he can tell he's forming some kind of new emotion for you and he doesn't want that to become a point of weakness for him so he's pushing you away but once you're actually gone he wants you back more than ANYTHING--)

I want yandere Alastor who laughs in your face if you nervously ask him if you're his girlfriend or something but then when you show up around town with another man less than a week later and he sees how easily you REPLACED HIM, he's just absolutely losing his mind. What do you MEAN you were still sleeping with other men this whole time?!?! The Radio Demon was getting SLOPPY SECONDS??? WHY would you let these-these disgusting bastards DEGRADE YOU-- meanwhile you and him could've been having like hardcore bdsm sex with actual degradation or some semi respectful form of it and he's STILL over here "B B BUT THESE MEN PROBABLY DONT EVEN RESPECT YOU--" and neither did you, you laughed in my fucking face you bitch!!!

yandere Alastor just having to sit and have a fulllll glass of whiskey and ruminate on his thoughts as he tries to come to terms with these sudden EXTREMELY POSSESSIVE feelings and urges he has. What do you MEAN he wasn't providing anything for you that you couldn't get somewhere else AND BETTER AND ALREADY HAVE BEEN? what do you MEAN you're making gifts for and going out and having actual fun dates with some of these men? What do you fucking MEAN YOU'RE 'ROMANTICALLY INVOLVED WITH SOMEONE ELSE NOW' AND WOULDN'T SLEEP WITH ALASTOR EVEN IF HE APOLOGIZED BECAUSE YOU REALLY LIKE THIS GUY--

Alastor hardcore coping, trying not to think about you at all, telling himself he just needs time and this'll all blow over and he wont even think about you anymore, and eventually finds his feet carrying him to your favorite jazz club that he would take you to, AND YOU'RE ALREADY THERE WITH ANOTHER MAN. Now THIS is what causes Alastor to finally have a public episode. No, some RANDO can't come with you HERE, this is YOUR place, OUR place, it's special, it's for Alastor and you ONLY!! basically turns him into a little kid stomping his foot going no no no that's MINE!!!

This narcissistic ass man really ain't shit, over here responding to your actually extremely valid question of "what are we?" because you were actually trying to respectfully ask him if there were any certain boundaries or if you were now exclusive, and he hits you with some deflective dehumanizing diversion like "what makes you think I would have THOSE kinds of feelings about YOU?" until he's painfully aware you're sleeping with another man, kissing another man, making hot meals for another man, holding his hand tenderly as you take a leisurely stroll, GOD FORBID HE CATCHES WIND OF ANY MARRIAGE TALK, HE WILL FUCKING L O S E IT

Juat the idea of him being so close to having what he wants - your body, heart, AND mind- and he fucks it up big time and ruins your relationship and self esteem so badly. He tries to pretend that he doesn't need your attention and/or affection but the second he doesn't have EITHER, he's a jealous mess trying to literally one-up whomever you're with, show off, impress you, usually digging his hole even deeper. Alastor becoming more unpredictable over time, literally losing sleep over you, absolutely CONVINCED 500% that all of these, shall we say, "more modern men" that you're choosing are not even worth the dirt in the treads of your shoes.

Just twirling my hair kicking my feet thinking bout yandere Alastor, becoming dead-set on genuinely and fully believing he has to save you not just from these men, but also yourself. Oh honey, he's so sorry, CLEARLY this is his fault for not watching over you better. He already knew you were... delicate and naive, but here you are, running around letting these men treat you like some kind of object just because you need what you perceive as acceptance and validation. It almost breaks his heart, truly, but don't worry darlin'! He's a southern gentleman and, SURELY he can turn up the charm and make it clear to you that you MISUNDERSTOOD HIM, right? :) You're going to GIVE HIM ANOTHER CHANCE, right? :)

genuinely, i feel like this man is more likely to try and gaslight you into believing you completely misinterpreted what he said instead of just apologizing let alone ADMITTING that he himself didn't communicate jack shit about shit, wasn't honest or up front about his feelings, and may have even be intentionally cruel to you in a moment of weakness to try and keep his own insecurities at bay, but then is fully capable of convincing, some may even say BRAINWASHING you into believing, oh sweetie, if these DEGENERATE DELIQUENTS somehow convinced you that your best friend and future husband is somehow your enemy, then, CLEARLY he hasn't been keeping you close enough to properly care for you and help you keep a clear head, has he? guess it's a good thing both of you are Sinners and he has NOTHING but time to show you EXACTLY what his intentions are. So, dear doe, which do you like the sound of more: a spring wedding, or a summer wedding, or maaaaaybe you two could even get hitched during some lovely acid rain so your new spouse can demonically laugh at all your screaming "gentleman callers" captive in the wedding audience who "accidentally" weren't put under any gazebos or any sort of protection while being forced to watch Alastor take you away--

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Please let Astarion meet Tav's family and have a younger sibling like 6 be like im gonna marry the prince points at Astarion.

Tav : Sorry, im married to the prince

NO IM GONNA MARRY THE PRINCE

That's so fucking cute kill me. But I just realized AFTER I finished it I read this wrong 😭😭 I read it as "marry" instead of "married" so whoops now it's an asking for your hand in marriage fic.

Also, I'm going to make this a weird little, unofficial, alternate reality, off shoot of this fic to explain away why Astarion can be in the sun without ascending because I am ~lazy~

Quick summary if you didn't read it, Tav serves Selune, gets a blessing for all the good work, and uses it to cure the anti-light issue of the vampirism (but not all of it). It's not a literal extension of that fic but I'm stealing my own plot explanations. That's it! Now here we go:

~

Astarion wasn't nervous per se. He was just... on edge. And the two-week journey it took to get here wasn't helping things, not when it gave him so much time to ruminate in his thoughts. He never expected to be in the position of "meeting the family," let alone in anticipation for asking for someone's hand in marriage.

Astarion wasn't even quite sure how his life got here. He had always fantasized that a life without Cazador would be one of selfish hedonism, not one where he would be legitimately concerned about a damn six year old sibling's first impression of him.

But then you came along, effortlessly shattering all of his grandiose plans with a batt of your eyelashes. Perhaps the entire journey of falling in love was more complicated, but it felt like it was that simple. In hindsight, he never stood a chance against you, but it was hilarious that there was a time he ever thought he did.

All of his prior dreams and fantasies felt like nothing in comparison to just being with you. It had been a year since you both saved the Sword Coast, a beautiful, fantastic year. That had ended with him somehow more in love with you now than when he first confessed. Selune's blessing had certainly helped with that he was sure. He still couldn't quite believe that you would use a god's blessing on him of all people, but gods, was he appreciative. Because being able to walk in the sun again meant that he could live the life he wanted, with no restrictions. He could be the partner you deserved, the kind that a father would happily say yes to when asking for your hand.

Which brought him back to his current dilemma. Perhaps he hadn't seen any of your family members in the time you'd been together, but he had heard plenty. You loved them all to death, especially your little sister. You wrote to them constantly, the mere sight of a letter from your parents enough to put you in a great mood for the rest of the day. He was aware that your mother was supposedly a saint, a fact that your own father had instilled in you often. He knew that they had a wonderful, loving marriage and were both higher ups in the Church of Selune. A fact that Astarion didn't particularly enjoy.

As grateful to the moon goddess as he was, he was aware that you were an expectation to the very normal belief that vampires were bad. And that marrying one was one of the stupidest things you could ever do from an average person's perspective, let alone a Selunite.

Why you hadn't done the smart thing and lied about what he was, Astarion would never know. But he did know that the thought of their rejection over his admittedly sordid history was putting him in a tailspin.

"They're going to love you," You said for the hundredth time, giving his hand a squeeze as you led him up the steps to your childhood home, "You have nothing to worry about sweetheart. I promise."

Astarion highly doubted that, but you were already knocking on the front door before he had a chance to argue. The door instantly slammed open, a beaming child already launching themselves at you before Astarion could process what was happening.

But you were more prepared them he was. You effortlessly caught them in your arms, laughing at their excited shouting, "Titi! You're late!"

So this was the famous Arabeth.

"No, I'm not!" You laughed as you settled her on your hip, "And what happened to my little girl's manners huh? You haven't even introduced yourself yet."

The child glanced over at him, like she was just realizing for the first time that someone else was standing over there. She looked a little shocked at the sight of him, staring at him with wide eyes. Wide enough for Astarion to start to wonder if something was on his face.

He gave her a little wave only for her to bury her face into your shoulder, peeking out at him with her lips pursed. Which was not the best start to the whole making his darling's family actually like him plan.

"Well, as you've probably guessed this is Arabeth. She's just a little shy," You reassured as you stepped inside, muttering a quick invitation inside under your breath. He appreciated that, he didn't need the whole house to be reminded of his... limitations.

"But she'll get over it soon enough," You continued as you called into the house, "Mom? Dad? We're here!"

And just like that they were rushing into the room, acting just as excited as your sister had been. Your mother wasted no time in smothering your face with kisses while your father swept you up into a hug. It was a rather impressive display of coordination, considering how they hadn't managed to knock you and your sister to the floor in the process. Astarion was pretty sure they were both saying something along the lines of We missed you! But it was hard to tell with all of you so tangled up in each other.

It was heartwarming to see, in all honestly. Of course such a loving person would come from an equally loving family, what else would he expect?

Though he certainly hadn't been expecting for your mother to throw her arms around him next. She brought him into a tight hug before looking him up and down, "So you're Astarion huh?"

She turned back to you, grinning ear to ear with her hands set on Astarion's shoulders, "He's so handsome! Selune help us, do you remember the last boy you brought home? He had a nose the length of my arm-"

"And that's enough of that," You said with a strained laugh, pulling your eccentric mother back a few inches, "And we've talked about the impromptu hugs. What happened to asking for permission?"

"Sorry, sorry!" She said with a wave of her hand, "Let me try again. I'm Seliras, and this is my husband-"

"Marcoul," Your father interrupted, putting his hand out for Astarion to shake, "It's been awhile since we've met a boyfriend."

"He's a little more than that," You said with a sigh as everyone exchanged pleasantries.

"We'll be the judge of that," Marcoul said with a sharp but friendly grin, the grip he had on Astarion's hand briefly tightening before he let go, "From what we've heard, you're quite the character aren't you?"

Ah, so the interrogating was starting early then. It was nothing that Astarion hadn't expected. Besides, turning up the charm was his strong suit, even when he was uncharacteristically nervous.

Astarion smiled back at him, "You've heard right. And I'm more than happy to answer any questions you might have."

"Oh gods please don't say that," You groaned, but it was too late. Your parents were already leading him to sit, rapid-fire questions coming out of their mouth.

Where are you from? How did you meet? Are you serious about our Tav? What's your religion? Where's your family? What are your plans?

But Astarion answered them all, with only mild censorship for the child's sake. The child who suddenly couldn't stop staring at him. It wasn't exactly easy to sell himself as a future husband when he was a vampiric ex-slave, but he made do.

It was an overwhelming experience to say the least, but not necessarily an unpleasant one. That was one good thing about trying to marry into a family of zealots, it was a lot easier to convince them of your virtue when you received a personal blessing from their goddess.

By the end of the night, they were all throughly appeased, enough so to get off the topic of him for a moment.

"You look a little young to have a thirty-year old child," Astarion said to your mother. He was actively trying to compliment her for obvious reasons, but he was also genuinely curious. She barely looked a day over 40.

"Oh we breed young," She said with a laugh, "We had Tav in our teenage years. Arabeth came much, much later. Our favorite little surprise. Gods, I can't think of a single person in our family who didn't have kids young. Our little Tav is the only exception to the rule."

"But maybe not for much longer, huh?" Marcoul added with a grin, yelping when you lightly smacked him over the head for the comment.

"Do not start the kid talk again!" You hissed out, cheeks red, "We've talked about this!"

Astarion couldn't help but grin at your reaction, charmed by your embarrassment. Though... the idea of the two of you having children together sure was an interesting thought.

Astarion felt a tug on his sleeve while you were distracted arguing with your parents. He turned, smiling when he saw your little sister standing there, still staring at him with wide-eyes.

She took a deep breath before blurting out, "You look like a prince. Are you?"

"Not exactly," Astarion said with a small laugh. That couldn't be further from the truth, "There's no blue blood in my veins."

She frowned, cocking her head at him like he wasn't making any sense. But then an idea obviously struck her as she excitedly asked, "But if you married a princess, then you'd become a prince too. Right?"

"I suppose?" Astarion answered with a shrug.

"So if I become a princess, and I marry you, then you'll be a prince?"

This conversation was quickly becoming out of his depth. But luckily enough for him you were swooping in to save him.

You laughed at her question, turning your attention back to the two of them, "No offense Bethy, but I'm going to be the one marrying this particular prince."

But Arabeth wasn't having it. She crossed her arms, looking at you like she was the one talking to a child, "You can't. Because if I don't marry him, he won't be a prince. So there. I have to do it."

She looked so serious, her facial expressions incredibly similar to your own. Astarion was holding back a loud laugh as you tried and failed to reason with her, "I can marry him without the royal status-"

"No! I'm marrying the prince!"

Your parents were doing a much worse job at hiding their reactions, both of them opening giggling behind their hands as you came up with a compromise.

"Okay, okay," You said with a sigh, kneeling down to look the small girl in the eye, "How about this? I marry him first. But only until you become a princess. Then he's all yours. Sound fair?"

She thought about it for a moment before nodding to herself, "Sounds fair."

Well Astarion wasn't going to get a better set-up then that. He turned to your father, his nerves coming back for a brief appearance, "I'm assuming now might be a good time to ask what I came here to ask. Though I do promise I only intending on asking for one of your children's hand in marriage."

Marcoul nodded slowly, his face unreadable as he spoke, "I mean no offense when I say this Astarion, but you aren't exactly who I imagined for my daughter."

"Dad don't-"

"Darling, let him finish," Astarion gently interrupted, his eyes still locked with your father's.

He took a deep breathe before continuing, "That said, I've never seen her so... herself with someone else before. So yes. The two of you can marry. On one condition."

"Anything," Astarion said instantly, nearly giddy at the fact that he was so close to the official yes, "Just name it."

"You have to have the wedding here," Seliras answered for him, a massive smile on her face, "No ifs, ands, or buts."

"And I get to be flower girl!" Arabeth chimed in, her past indignation completely forgotten as she climbed all over you, "And there has to be chocolate cake!"

"Oh gods, help us," You groaned, but Astarion was already nodding along. He couldn't give less than two shits where it happened or who was involved. He could scarcely believe that it was happening at all. But that was the last thing he had needed.

He already had the ring, the most amazing person he could ever fathom being with. Who actually wanted him back.

Now all he had to do was ask.

[sh0tanzz]

Who do you think would be the mtl jealous bf in riize?

OMGG ive been waiting for an ask like this 😭

MTL JEALOUS BF IN RIIZE based on astrology ~

(reminder that this for fun and astrology is something I study for a hobby, these are all inferences based off of observations and not exact fact unless I knew them myself !!)

Most

Sungchan - Tbsh his jealousy would be pretty overboard and extremely obvious like a blaring red signal. He would NOT play about you. His cancer moon makes him pretty sensitive and obvious with his emotions so if he felt jealous he'd get in his feelings or even sulk/ruminate as well as he'd take it pretty personal and have a hard time letting go. His leo venus makes him pretty dramatic 😭. This venus paired with his moon might make him cause a scene or "act out" . His venus+moon leads to him wanting your care and attention on him and him alone. His cap mars screams possessiveness and being restrictive, he'd get so possessive do not let him see you laugh at another guys jokes or be helpful to another guy he'd be FUMING .

Wonbin - I honestly wasn't going to rank Wonbin this high but then I remembered his taurus mars paired with venus square pluto and pluto conjunct lilith so...here we are LMFAOO. From my own personal observations taurus mars is way more possessive in comparison to taurus venus; those pluto/venus/lilith aspects paired with his mars can make his jealousy take a snowball effect leading to an emotional avalanche. Plus a power imbalance fueling the jealousy even more and leading to him being restrictive. However, I ranked him below Sungchan because Sungchan would be VERY petty and loud about his jealousy while Wonbin would most likely silently seethe (due to his pisces sun, aquarius mercury) until he ultimately can't handle holding back, but until then his jealousy would still be DEEP.

Shotaro - His scorpio moon+capricorn venus makes him take the relationship pretty seriously. He craves stability and honesty and once he feels like his jealousy is compromising the security and trust in the relationship he must act ! He won't be too quick to jump into conclusions because of his libra mars, he'd probably think things through before asking/acting on his jealousy..and he might front and pretend he's only a tiny bit jealous/concerned when really it's weighing heavy on his heart in the beginning. When he is jealous he'd be more quiet and less jovial than he usually is. He'd be pretty straight up and might even just ask/tell you about how he's feeling. When things are clarified things will be cool again and he'll go back to being your sweet taro and hopefully stop staring daggers into the random guy talking to you while smiling.

Anton - Very unserious, would text "what position he got you in" and move on with his day. KIDDDING kind of 😭 He'd have short phases of possessiveness due to his taurus venus. His moon square saturn and venus square neptune can lead to slight paranoia and being unable to naturally express his insecurities which could be the source of the jealousy. Despite these things he wouldn't express his jealousy in toxic or overboard ways, he'd probably express his jealousy through jokes or non seriousness hoping you would pick up on it (you probably would with that mercury aries, straight to the point) If he ever did tell you straight up he wouldn't be too harsh he'd just want to be honest and being reassured will patch everything right up.

Sohee - I ranked Sohee this low because honestly when reading his chart I feel like his jealousy would, similarly to Anton's, be quick to come and go. He'd be quick to say something or show that he's uncomfortable. He wouldn't sit you down to have a serious convo about it, but it would have to just passively come out in conversation . As soon as he felt reassured then he'd be fine once again. Now if it was an ongoing issue of scenarios that led to him being jealous then he'd have a more serious even messy approach (his mars square pluto) his temper would awaken. But outside of that he trusts you, even if he doesn't trust and is suspicious of the guys around you he trusts YOUUU at the very end.

Seunghan - Oh the lovely boyfriend that just wants to keep the peace. He wouldn't want you to hound him out of jealousy so he ofc wouldn't do that to you either. If he was jealous he'd be more emotional rather than being petty+aggressive. His mercury is exalted in virgo so he'd definitely want to talk about it or at least let you know how he feels. Outside of that I think he'd want to avoid such a thing in the first place. He'd trust you as best as he can and wouldn't want there to be an imbalance in the relationship to where one of you are restricting the other due to deep seated jealousy (thanks to his libra sun+venus and sag moon). He quite literally just wants you two to be happy and knows that genuine jealousy can poison such a good thing.

Eunseok - I'm sorry fellow briize but this man is quite literally the least of your concern. His aries venus wouldn't want to make things too serious and ominous with jealousy (plus because he values his freedom so in his mind you must value yours too right ?) His sag mars paired with it means he doesn't want to dwell with thoughts of you possibly giving your attention to other guys. He basically has a nonchalant "she knows where home is" mentality lowkey. Plus if he ever did feel jealous he'd probably not say anything because his cap moon+pisces mercury would barely let him properly express it (with words at least). Also weirdly enough he'd be more jealous if you weren't in a relationship compared to if you guys were; once you two are officially together he wouldn't be as jealous anymore .

Least

[dailydivergent]

If you're neurodivergent, taking a break literally requires planning.

This is because we often don't give notice to how much work we actually do in a day, because what constitutes as "work" for us is not "work" for others.

It requires me work to:

walk the dog

make a meal

shower

write a tumblr post

So of course taking breaks is going to require some work, too.

Here's how I've learned to plan for my breaks:

I give worry a time & place; this allows me to say, "now's not the time to worry" once I'm on break.

I accept all work as work (mentioned above)

I focus on doing the top 3 tasks in a day, not all of it; this combats the feeling that I need to do something to "deserve a break" (total bs, btw)

I listen to my body; it's not up to me to decide when it's "time" for a break

I have fun projects within my hobbies; this gives me a focus for my breaks, so I'm not spending time deciding what to do during my breaks

I know it seems convoluted now, but I promise you, this kind of forward planning for my breaks has allowed me to actually rest when it's time to rest.

I can finally rest on a daily and weekly basis without constantly solving problems in my head, ruminating on past conversations, or worrying about the future, because I gave worry a time & place.

I can accept that I do deserve a break every single day no matter what I actually accomplished, because I accepted everything as work, focused on my top 3, and listened to my body when it said it's time.

I can look forward to what I spend my breaks on, because I took the time to plan fun projects with other people, which holds me accountable to doing those things with my friends.

It took me a long time to get here, but I hope this post speeds up your process—even if just a little bit.

[somnambulic-thing]

This fic is part IV of my come as you are universe but can be read as a standalone.

masterlist

messy Eddie Munson x gn!Reader with vagina&boobs, we're early/mid 20s, E 18+

Words: 6.4k

||contains: established relationship/former best friends, outdoor sex, piv, oral, teasing/edging, a little crying, light biting&scratching we're playing with: cum, slick, spit (no spitting tho) and blueberries in various consistencies; fluff, domestic, silly, food mention/eating: it's a picnic situation || you can always dm me and ask for more details

A/N: Oh my god, I finally did it. I've been working on this story since mid-June and it was actually where my ruminations about this universe started. I have no idea why this took me so damn long. I imagined the vision I had for this scenario would fit into something around 3k-ish. Look how that turned out. It's just a lot of sex and a lot of silly banter.

I have to thank @bettyfrommars and R for the help with that story. I probably would have deleted it without you a long time ago

soundtrack

Comments and reblogs are so appreciated you have no idea.

“You have cum in your hair, sweetheart.”

Eddie’s voice, deep and soft and a little raspy, is full of pride; his eyes full of bliss and adoration.

You smile down at him, stretched out on his back with his arms folded beneath his head, the only remnant of his live-wire-brain a slow bop of his feet which are crossed by the ankles.

He’s just as naked and sweaty as yourself and equally covered in the traces of your lust.

You reach out to tug on a sticky strand of wavy brown hair, twirling the end slightly between your fingertips.

“So have you, Munson.”

Eddie hums and nods like that’s good news and closes his eyes.

The wrath of the August sun can’t reach you in your little hiding spot, it only drips through the canopy of the poplar above your heads, heavy and thick like honey, leaving dancing specks of gold scattered all over his pale skin. You try to trace the ever-changing outlines with your fingertips the way you like to trace the ink, your feathery touch leaving goosebumps behind.

“We should venture to the lake,” he says with a lazy smile. “Go for a swim. Clean up this debauchery.”

You lower down to kiss the corner of his mouth as a starting point for the only journey you’re interested in right now; down the sharp edge of his jaw to his throat. Here you follow the string of purple bruises left by your greedy mouth and it leads you right to the dip of his collarbone. The hum swelling low in his throat turns into a sigh when you trace the shape of it with your tongue.

“Okay, yeah, maybe not yet,” he says and cups the back of your head, softly scratching your scalp. “Guess we basically just got here… we have time…”

…

It’s hard to tell the time on days like this. If not for the movement of the sun you wouldn’t be sure that it still existed.

There is a special place for the two of you where the laws of nature seem to bend around your togetherness. A space where it’s safe to strip off masks, armor and cloth, to let the other tend to those tender spots that ache from neglect or need and so often both.

It had always been there, created in the aftershock of your collision when you had become friends over night all those years ago. Eddie had been so easy to be around, so easy to trust with your dreams, quirks and secrets. In return, he’d given you pieces of himself too to keep safe, knowing you would treat them with more kindness than he often could. The presence of that space was always perceptible around you like a softly hummed melody wherever you went. One of you just had to pry it open with an inquisitive look or urgent touch and drag the other in behind them.

Today it had been Eddie.

You had followed the sound of tiny rocks against your windowpane and found him outside with a stuffed backpack over one shoulder and a dragon-slaying guitar clutched in one hand, wildflowers in the other.

“What’s the occasion?” you had asked, sensing something nervous in his smile when you flung yourself into his arms.

“It’s a Saturday and I love you.” He had scrunched up his nose in that silly way he always did when he tried to find the right words for important things. “And I want to fuck you where I picked those flowers.”

It had been a short drive and a short hike later when you saw the first spots of red and blue, sprinkles of white and yellow dance in the breeze and recognized them as the same flowers that now waited on your windowsill for your return.

“Almost there,” he’d said and you had felt the seconds slow and stutter as Eddie’s fingers intertwined with your own, tugging you towards the high grass and right through it, heading for the small clearing by the trunk of the tree and into its shadow.

“Nobody will see us here,” he’d said, arms tight around your waist. “Promise.”

You really hadn’t cared either way as Eddie nudged at your jaw with the bridge of his nose to gain access to your pulse.

There had been a moment - albeit brief - where you’d wondered if one could hear you from the path outside the field where time still existed when Eddie plunged his fingers into you, deep and urgent, his praises and your moans mingling, drowning out the birds and bugs lurking around as your back arched off the giant red plaid blanket he must have bought for this very occasion.

And then, finally, the rest of the world was erased from your mind when he chanted your name again and again, knuckles white from clutching the blanket in trembling fists as you swirled your tongue around the hot tip of his cock in slow dragging teasing circles for an eternity until he couldn’t take it any longer.

…

You smile against his skin, revelling in the soft noises he makes for you when you lap up salty sweat from his chest, when you flick the tip of your tongue against his nipple and in the way he squirms and begs for you to kiss him.

“Please, please, please…” he whimpers as you take your time kissing up his sternum, ignoring the tug in your hair, making sure to worship every patch of damp skin on your way to his lips. Eddie groans, so impatient, so greedy and you want to swallow him whole so you do the next best thing; you bare your teeth against his neck and bite him.

“Holy fucking…” he breathes in sharply but tilts his head up further. “You beast.”

You lick the tender flesh above his collarbone before you blow cool air on it to soothe the bite.

“Too much?” you ask with worry, pushing up to find his dark eyes waiting. You see the flicker of his plan in them the second before he flips you over and pins you down.

“Never.” His nose presses into your cheek before he nips at your jaw. A pointy knee nudges at your thigh and you spread them willingly to let him back between them. “That’s why I’m done begging for more now…”

“Oh no, I’m in trouble…” you try to tease but your voice strings out thin as he moves down your neck and chest; kissing sucking biting. He keeps his eyes fixed on yours and the hunger in them pulls your insides into a tight knot you can’t wait for him to untangle again.

“Let’s earn that clean up at the lake,” he says, his tongue leaving wet glistening trails of spit on your skin all the way down to your hips. There he gifts you a set of pretty teeth marks to remember him by before he settles on his stomach between your thighs, wrapping his arms firmly around them. “Let’s make a mess.”

You prop up on your elbows for a better view. “How will this differ from the average Munson pussy-eating endeavour?”

“Oh, sweetheart… you challenging me?”

“I guess I am.”

 He shakes his head like you’re a pitiful thing, grinning sharply; it’s obscene with the way his mouth hovers over your pelvis close enough for you to feel his breath in the sticky hair above your slit. Your hips twitch upwards in response, impatience flaring up between them and his grip on you tightens.

“Nuh-uh,” he tuts and shakes his head.

There were days when he couldn’t wait to get his mouth on you, cursing each garment that stood between him and the taste of you. But Edward Munson could be unyielding once his mind was set on a particular thing. Painfully so.

“I have a vision here and I need you to hold still.”

“I am,” you grumble, knowing you are not. “As good as I can with you breathing on my pussy.”

“The sooner you comply, the sooner we both get our treat. C’mon. Be good.”

You finally obey and relax, voicing a low, soft “please, Eddie” aimed to break his determination. His lips part in a cunning smile before he sticks out his tongue as far as he can, long and wet and pointed. Hovering.

“I’m not moving,” you whine.

Eddie’s brows lift - demanding patience - and he looks like a demon that way; wide eyes, gaping mouth, teeth bared and spit slowly running down his tongue.

“Oh.”

It’s agony, watching a bead of spit collect at the tip, hypnotizing how it grows and grows and the seconds stretch, just as much as the viscous liquid, before it finally drips down onto your clit and runs down to one side. There’s no controlling it; your hips try to buckle and the pretty pink tongue disappears behind a smile that’s all teeth and tender cruelty and still connected to you by a string of spit.

“Please…”

Eddie chuckles deeply, sticks out his demon tongue again and you force your body into stillness instantly. This is what possession feels like, you think.

“Please, Eddie, please, please, plea—“

The first gentle lick feels like little more than a breeze over your clit, barely nudging it, but it makes your jaw drop and your arms shake. A long stretched whine spills from your mouth as he repeats it again and again and again, adding slightly more and more pressure each time. His eyes are fixed on yours, intense, almost unblinking, and so very dark. It’s adding heat to the electric shocks his teasing sends up your spine. You channel the urge to move, to grind your cunt against his mouth into a pitiful hitching moan.

“Christ, your face…” Eddie groans, stopping his sweet sweet torture, fingers kneading your thighs short of painful. “Could come just looking at you like that.”

“I know,” you breathe out. “Love when that happens.”

He loosens his grip on your tighs, and brings one hand around between them. “I aim to please,” he says with a wink and points a finger gun at you, blowing imaginary smoke away before he shoves the barrel of it inside you.

And then he’s devouring you.

You fall back, your arms finally giving in as the sensation pulls you under, overwhelms you after all the soft teasing. He’s moaning against your cunt and it doesn’t take long for him to undo you again, knowing all the motions by heart that take you out of this world.

Your fist stirs up fine dust as it thumps the ground when he stops seconds before you can fall over the edge.

“No, nonono, why?—“

But Eddie is not listening. “Fucking dripping for me,” he marvels at his hand covered in your slick. He spreads his fingers and watches how your arousal forms shiny strings between his knuckles.

“You’re evil—“

“But my evil methods always get you off so much harder,” he says casually sliding two fingers back inside you while wiping the other hand on your stomach and his glistening mouth on your thigh.

“Fuck—“

A soft smile is curling his lip while he curls his fingers inside you. Your hips twitch up and Eddie uses the moment to press a soft kiss to your throbbing clit.

“Messy, messy pussy,” he sighs dreamily.

You can’t but laugh.

“You’re suuuch a weirdo,” you say softly and run a hand through his hair. You can see the praise lighting little fires in his eyes.

“Well, thank you,” he chuckles darkly. “It’s really inspiring that it gets you wet like that.”

You lose count of how many times he gets you close to the edge again just to pull back and cover you in sticky kisses to your thighs and hips and belly, to run his soaked fingers over your breasts and up your neck over and over.

Every inch of your skin feels sticky, every fibre of your body thrums like vicious reverb when he crawls up to you, eyes wild, lips and chin drenched and glistening with your wetness and kisses you.

“You good?” he sighs, sucks your lower lip between his teeth and pulls until it stings just so before he lets you answer.

“M’ on fire is what I am…”

“Good.”

“You’ve won. I’m such a mess, please, please fuck me.”

The desperate scratch of your nails on his back, makes his head drop to your shoulder and turns his low deep laugh into a moan. It’s contagious, spreads to you as he rolls his hips against you, his hard length sliding through your swollen lips, dragging over your clit.

“You smell like home,” he whispers against your skin as he pushes in, slowly, softly until he’s fully nestled inside of you. Your breath is unsteady, hitches as the pleasure of being so full of him pushes everything else out of your mind.

“Do you feel that?” he brings his forehead to yours, pulling out almost all the way, giving you that full sweet stretch again as he sinks back in. “How perfectly I fit inside you?”

“Feels like home,” you say and feel him smile as he kisses you. It’s slow and dragging at first and he stays close, burying you under his weight and his face in your neck as he buries his cock inside you again and again and over and over with growing speed and urgency.

“C’mon, fall apart for me,” he grits through his teeth, “I got you, always got you.” He peels himself away from you and sits back up on his shins. With his hair forming a wild dark halo around his head and your purple marks scattered over his skin the sight alone of his thrumming, sweat-glistening body straining to bring you to the peak of pleasure is pure ecstasy. His thumb finds your clit, slow dragging circles contrast hard fast thrusts and if you’ve been on fire before, you’re blazing now, hot enough to forge steel.

“Don’t stop…”

“Won’t…”

“So close…”

“I know. Me too…”

“So good…”

“So fucking good… come on… come for me…”

Your heels dig into the ground lifting your twitching hips off the blanket as the searing heat spreads through your pelvis like wildfire. Eddie moves up with you, melts into you, is one with you, fingers digging hard into your flesh to hold you where he wants you to fuck you through it. The world is not a place but a raging pulse and all you can do is surrender your body to him. It’s easy.

He’s your heart anyway.

 He carefully lowers your hips back to the ground, smoothing his palms up and down your sticky thighs while you come down from your high.

“Look at me!”

Your lids are heavy as you blink to clear your view from a few stray tears.

Eddie tilts his head, searching your face with curious eyes, tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth as he backs away slowly, leaving you empty. There’s not much time to mourn the feeling as he swiftly straightens your legs and straddles your thighs.

“What—“

“Shhh, just watch,” he rasps out, licking his lips as he wraps his fingers around his slick, throbbing cock. His voice breaks, strings out thinly—

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuck—“

— as his fist works his flushed tip with precision and a rapid pace. The hair around the base is slick with your ecstasy and as your gaze wanders up his body in search of his face you find it a beautiful display of his own with his jaw slack and brows knit tightly.

His thighs tremble, then twitch and the blur of his hand regains its shape when with a few last long strokes and wide, teary eyes, he spills himself over you again and again in hot thick bursts of white.

The impact of his pleasure brings him off balance and he slumps forward. Your praises are hoarse, insignificant sounds lost between Eddie’s sobbing moans and you run a hand up your body to aid him spread his mess all over your skin while the other hand finds his face to caress a bright red cheek, to brush sweaty hair off his forehead.

“I love you so much,” you tell him.

Eddie sighs softly and turns his face into your hand, presses a long soft kiss into your palm before he sits up and throws his head back to take a deep breath. Above him, sun and wind are engaged in a play, turning the canopy of the tree into a writing, shimmering mass and for a moment, this feels like a dream. Then he sways like the branches, a goofy grin the last thing you see before he lets himself slump down next to you with a thump that makes you wince. He just hums contently, pressing his face to your sweaty neck.

“That was nice,” he mumbles, peppering your jaw with kisses.

“Yeah, uh-hn, really, really nice.”

“Dare say the nicest one yet.”

“Hmm, think I just saw your soul leave your body for a moment.”

“Hmm,” he hums and slings an arm around your waist. “My soul looks great on your tits.”

There is a beat of silence before you both break out in silly giggles, turning into laughter, turning into exhausted kisses and sweet words while Eddie’s soul dries on your skin in the warm summer air.

...

You make him drink some water first because he always forgets and while you have some yourself, Eddie conjures up a meal from his magical backpack.

“I made your favourite,” he says, opening a stainless steel container to reveal a pair of thick sandwiches. “Got some other stuff too.” He hands another container to you. “Just in case… could probably feed us for the next twenty-four hours.”

You remove the lid and find it filled to the brim with blueberries. You lift it to your face to draw in air laced with the sweet, earthy smell of the berries.

You hum with anticipation, mouth watering as you pick one large plump berry and pop it into your mouth, the rich, wild sweetness of the forest exploding on your tongue. “So good,” you sigh and a soft smile curls up the corners of Eddie’s lips. “I take it Wayne was lost in the woods again for a week?”

“Aye,” Eddie chuckles, eyes darting between your eyes and your mouth where two more berries just found their demise. “Must have been a good year. That madman collected enough berries to fill a bathtub with.”

“Now you’re exaggerating.”

He holds up his thumb and forefinger just enough so that a berry could fit between them. “I would call it embellishment.”

You huff and put the container down. Leaning forward, stretching out long over your waiting meal, you place a kiss on Eddie’s cheek. “Thank you,” you say close to his ear. “This is wonderful. You’re wonderful.”

A hand comes up to the side of your head, holding you in place. Eddie turns his face to you, nudging your noses clumsily together. His tongue glides along your bottom lip before his mouth finds yours; a kiss so gentle it feels almost timid.

He releases you with a peck to the corner of your mouth. You watch him lick his lips as you sit back, his eyes are turned down and there’s that wrinkled nose again. You’re about to ask him if there’s something on his mind when he snaps out of it in the blink of an eye, grinning from cheek to cheek and the thought fades from your mind.

“Bon appétit,” he announces with a flourish of his hands.

You mostly eat in silence, leaving the stage to the quiet sounds of nature, recharging while the shadows slowly creep further and further away as the sun makes its journey towards the horizon. There is the occasional protest when you’re stealing bites from each other’s food as well as sighs of appreciation over a simple meal that equates to a feast without even trying.

“Open,” he says, a berry between his fingertips and you pull up your brows.

“You don’t have a good enough aim for that game.”

“And I won’t get any better without practice,” he says with a grin oh so sharp, a voice oh so seductive. “So, love of my life, open. Please?”

It’s hard to stay still like that for long when Eddie is huffing and puffing as he’s missing your mouth over and over. Berries keep hitting your cheeks, your forehead and a few bounce off your lips before he finally lands one in your mouth. He pumps his fist and you applaud him; for effort and perseverence.

“My turn. Open,” you say and he obeys eagerly.

The first one is a miss, the next four find their target with precision.

“You’re cheating.” Chewing much more than one berry requires, Eddie eyes you with his trademark up to no good-expression.

“How would I even do that?”

“Sorcery,” he says, and flicks a berry at you that’s hitting you right between the eyes.

Eddie clasps a hand over his mouth as you wince, eyes comically wide in his shock, breath stuck in his lungs. Before you know you’re doing it, you reach for the berries, feeling some pop between your fingers as you load them up and fling a handful of the sticky ammunition at his chest.

There’s a hollow thud upon impact, followed seamlessly by the smacking of skin on skin as Eddie clasps his hands over his heart, face a mask of anguish and disbelief displayed with such sincerity you’re almost tricked into feeling bad over your attack.

“Crit… hit…” he croaks out before his eyes roll back into his head as he collapses.

You’re on your knees, crawling over to where he lies motionless with eyes closed and mouth ajar. He doesn’t move, makes no sound when you mount his hips right beyond his soft cock that lies now snug against your inner thigh.

There’s dark pulp sticking to his chest; unlucky stray berries squashed in his throes of death. The smudge connects two hickeys, forming one large nebula in a galaxy of bruises. It’s beautiful, the complex hues of blue reacting with his smooth pale skin, turning the mess purple around the edges.

You just sit and stare.

“Wanna have a taste?” he says, one eye cracked open in curiosity before he opens them both. “Clean me up?”

A blush appears high on his cheeks, giving away his anticipation, just like the glint in his eyes and the hands kneading your hips.

“Don’t think I will.” You run your fingertips over his skin, from navel to neck and back again; slowly, softly. “Only fair that you’re a little filthy too.”

“Come on,” he purrs, “have a treat.”

“Nu-uh.”

His nostrils flare, his ribs expand to greedily suck in air and with it, all the mirth and silliness. Suddenly the air feels thick and crackling like in the wake of a storm.

“Alright, alright, I hear you,” he says calmly and reaches for the berries across the blanket.

“There,” he says, his clenched fist oozing purple juice and bits of skin. Dark drops run down his arm as he squeezes the berries to a sticky pulp before he coats himself with the mess from chest to throat. “You can leave some behind.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” you say with the calm of a preying beast and lace your hands with Eddie’s dripping fingers. 

“Oh nooo,” he mimics you from earlier and grins like a blade. “I’m in trouble.”

Leaning down slowly, you pin his hands to the ground next to his shoulders. “There will be teeth.”

“W-was coun-ting on it.”

The stutter in his breath is delicious, a first taste of what’s to come. You want to make him whine and writhe under your hands and teeth, you need him crying and shaking and out of his mind.

His nipple is already hard when you flick your tongue against it and sweetness fills your mouth as you lick and suck and tug on the sensitive thing while your fingers find the other hard nub and pinch. Eddie barely breathes. He sucks in all the air he can get, then holds it holds it holds it before he lets it out as soft groans and moans. His fingers flex hard against the back of your hands, nails biting your skin every time you take your teeth to him.

You reach between your bodies and follow the trail of hair down with a featherlight touch to find his cock hot and hard and waiting. You slide your fingertips along the soft skin like a breeze, barely even touching. Eddie’s hips buckle up—

“Shit— hnng…”

— and you take the sensation away. Eddie’s face is flushed, his voice pressed through his teeth.

“Please…”

You lap at his skin, bit by bit uncovering a deep blush that’s more of a crimson compared to the bright red where his skin isn’t stained. He tries to grind against you but you lift your hips—

“Please…”

— and sink your teeth into his shoulder, over and over, inching torturously slow towards his neck. Some bites you kiss better, some you leave to sting a little longer. Desperate hands scurry over your arms, your back, your hips trying to pull you against him. Strands of hair stick to your face that must be stained up to your nose by now. You pull back for a moment and Eddie’s hands find your cheeks—

“Pleaaase…”

— to pull you into a kiss. You press a quick peck to the side of his mouth, then marvel over the shape of your lips printed there like a blue shadow.

“Fuuuck, you’re so gorgeous,“ he rasps with dazed eyes and chases your lips again. You press your foreheads together before he can succeed and his frustration is a cool draft on your wet skin as a long groan spills out of his mouth. “Please, please, lemme taste you, I really want to—“

His pleas are sweet and thick, just like his neck that taunts you with taut tendons and the slide of his Adam’s apple when he swallows hard around his desperation. You’re all over it, raking your nails down the sides while your tongue slides up right under his chin and—

“Fuck, no, wait, fuck—“

— everything moves as Eddie sits up and pushes you with him.

“Are you oka— hng—“ He stops your inquiry; fingers digging into your chin, keeping your mouth from closing, freezing it mid-vowel.

There’s this look again. His gaze flicks between your eyes and mouth until he’s just staring at your berry-coated tongue.

So you open up a little wider.

He moves slowly; it’s almost timid when his tongue finds yours and steals a little sweetness from you.

“Weird?” he asks, softly nudging your nose with his while holding you in place to keep you from swallowing. You barely shake your head before he’s back for more with a bruising kiss that’s full of nipping teeth and greedy tongues. Most of the remaining berries find a sticky end between your bodies before they are lapped up from various body parts and shared through devouring kisses.

You’re grinding your hips against his lap enough to make him shiver and moan but not enough to get him close to the edge and you’re determined to keep it that way until he’s losing it with desire. Which doesn’t take too long.

“You trying to kill me?” he whines with his head dropped to your shoulder.

“Just a little… as the French say.”

He groans. “I’d like to go out soon then, if you please.”

“No.”

He groans again and bites your shoulder. “M’ so fucking hard.”

It’s just a subtle shift of your hips but the next three, four times you move them, Eddie jolts and curses enough to damn whole bloodlines. You reach into his hair to pull his head back so he has to look into your eyes and you take a moment to admire the mess that he is; blue and purple and flushed red in between, jaw slack and breath stuttering under your gaze.

“On your knees. Palms to the tree.”

You lift off and Eddie scrambles to all fours to get into position, knees placed wide apart. There are stains on his back in the shape of your hands, layered over a pattern of slightly raised lines left by your nails.

Eddie’s shoulder blades ripple under your gentle kisses as you embrace him from behind. You run your hands down his belly to the V-shape between his hip bones and a little further to cup his balls with one hand while the other traces a thick vein on the underside of his cock.

You chuckle into his shoulder when he sighs with relief as you wrap your fingers firmly around him and start to stroke him oh so slowly. You don’t keep it slow for long, couldn’t keep it slow without stopping him from thrusting into your fist but you don’t want him to be still; you want him twitching and trembling.

Eddie takes care of the pace and your fingers do all the things that drive him crazy, your wrist twists just the right way and he’s holding his breath again, every muscle in his lower body ready to snap and so you loosen your grip before he can.

His head drops, a fist hits the bark of the poor old tree—

“Godfuckingdamnyou—“

“Shhh,” you whisper close to his ear. “Good things come in threes—“

“M’ not— can’t— hm-m, please—“

You wait another moment for him to calm down, or to hear the agreed-upon words that tell you he really can’t take any more teasing but they don’t come. He just breathes hard and shallow. You swipe your thumb over the hot tip of his cock, rub soft circles over the sensitive slit that dribbles under your touch.

“Whenever you’re ready,” you say and tighten your grip again.

The next time he’s about to burst, you just let go of him—

“Fuck— fuckfuck, fuck you—“ he whines, hips thrusting into nothing and he sinks against the tree, resting his forehead against its roughness.

You caress his back, smother him in soft kisses and hold him close with gentle hands.

“Regret being cocky?” you ask, watching a bead of sweat run down his spine.

“Fuck you—“ he chuckles groggily. You think it sounds a little wet. “Never regretted a second spent with you, demon.”

“That’s just the impending orgasm talking,” you tease, a beaming smile pressed against his skin where he can feel it.

“I dare you to fucking make me come and I’ll tell you again— ah— Christ…“

“God, I barely touched you,” you say slowly wrapping your fingers around his aching cock. “You’re really sensitive now, hm?”

This time, the wetness in his laugh is unmistakable. “Oh, you think?— Hmmng, that’s gooood, please, please don’t stop!”

There’s no more frantic thrusting into your hand; Eddie finds just enough strength to push himself back from the tree to make it easier for you to reach where he needs you.

You work him slowly, no need for fast strokes when he’s crumbling like this and you know exactly where to rub and squeeze and circle to take him apart. High-pitched whines and groans mix with something that sounds like pieces of bark chipping from the trunk of the three. You drink in every noise, every twitch, every oh-so-small sensation; it’s all intoxicating.

Eddie is vibrating. Every atom in his body tuned to a frequency only you can receive. He’s begging you for a kind of mercy that one must be ready to receive.

“If your eyes are closed, I need you to open them now, Eddie. I need you to watch.”

“Oh g-god…”

“Good boy.”

You shift your stance slightly to one side and reach through his spread legs from behind to find that firm, plump patch of skin right behind his balls. Circling your fingers without any pressure, you let him adjust to the sensation first—

“Oh shit—“

— meanwhile, you press his cock flat against his belly, your palm stroking the underside, your thumb placed to grace his frenulum with every slide and—

“Shitshitshit—“

— it doesn’t take much; one two three circles against the tender spot and his breathing stops, four five six and Eddie turns to stone in your hands—

“Come on, Ed, make a mess—“

— and then he comes and comes and comes all over himself.

...

The setting sun sets the sky ablaze.

No pinks, purples or blues; everything is swallowed by a deep, burning orange that turns the surface of the lake into a raging inferno and in the middle of it all, floating on his back, is Eddie.

You’ve been watching him drift along for a while now - long enough for your skin to be as good as dry again - and if it wasn’t for the opposite shore that separates the sky from the water, you would worry he could just drift off into the sky and vanish between the few stray clouds that dare enter the flames.

It’s a fitting scene, you think, as you rewind your memories from the day over and over, matching the heat spreading from your chest into every last corner of your being.

Out in the water, the arsonist turns over and disappears, feet kicking up a small splash of water. You wait and watch until he emerges again a good distance away from where he dove in before you get up from your spot on the lakeside and cross the small distance to the van that’s parked right behind the treeline.

The back doors are wide open, left that way in your hurry to get into the water and you climb in to grab your Polaroid in an attempt to capture some of the colours before they turn into endless blue.

You cover the flash with your palm, listen to the motor eject the picture and tuck it out quickly to let it develop safely in the darkness of a worn copy of The Hobbit that lives in the back of the van. You leaf through the pages that shelter the pictures you made earlier that afternoon.

Two are a little blurry, one is overexposed because you left it face-up in the sun after the noise from the camera woke your subject from his slumber. He’d been curled up against your chest and upon waking demanded instant attention in the form of head scratches. All the pictures are full of colour - blues and purples, mostly - and blissful faces. Even the teary ones.

Looking at Eddie’s bright, sleeping profile makes you aware that the tiredness started to slowly creep into your limbs. You put the book down and get busy shifting stuff around to make room for the fold-up mattress and prepare a bed for the night.

You’re sitting at the foot of the mattress with your back to the lake, unrolling a sleeping bag you probably won’t need when cool wet fingers sneak under the hem of your tank top and damp lips find the side of your neck.

"Sorry,” he says softly when you flinch with surprise. “Didn’t think I was so quiet… Hi.”

“I was engrossed in nest-building and you’re like a cat,” you say and turn around. The soft light from the lantern inside the car renders his smile almost unbearably soft. He’s dripping wet from head to toe and strands of hair stick to his cheek and chin. You brush them away. “A wet, sneaky cat.”

There’s still a blue tint faintly staining big patches of his skin; you suppose you soaked a little too long in berry juice. You trace the outlines with your fingers. “You had a good swim?”

Eddie hums affirmatively, snatches your hand from his chest and presses a soft kiss to the tips of your fingers. “The fucking sky was on fire,” he says in an almost pensive way, eyes fixed on a spot somewhere behind your shoulder.

“Eddie?”

“Hm?” He quickly blinks a few times before his eyes focus on you again. It’s like he’s coming back from far away.

“Where did you just go?” 

“Uh, just… I’m… just a bit tired I guess…” he wrinkles his nose and scratches the back of his head as if another thought is stuck there. “You know…” he pauses again and then the expression melts into a smile. ”Someone interrupted my well-deserved nap after an almost deadly handjob.”

You huff a laugh, but the thought that there is something on his mind that just won’t make it over his lips starts gnawing on you.

“And I kinda wish I had a fucking towel. Don’t feel like waiting out here until I’m dry.”

“Have you tried shaking yourself very quickly, like a good boy?”

Eddie’s brows vanish under his wet bangs and then a wicked grin that can only be the harbinger of mayhem spreads over his face. You regret running your mouth even before he widens his stance and starts to bang his head like he’s at a Metallica show with his dick out.

Drops of cold water fly everywhere, too cool on your skin now that nightfall takes the heat away and you scramble back over the mattress to get away from him. “You animal!”

“As you have suggested,” he laughs, coming back up while trying to get the wet hair out of his face. “Hey, where did you g— hmpf.”

You’d thrown a blanket at him, hitting him right in the face. “Oh shit,” you laugh and crawl back to the edge. “Sorry—“

“Can’t quite take your apology seriously when you cackle like that,” he grumbles unconvincingly, peeling the blanket off his face.

“Dry your wet cat ass with that thing, throw it over a branch or something and then come in here.”

He does just that.

You’re already drowsy when he finally settles in behind you and wraps an arm around your waist, a soft low melody deep in his throat that seems to rest heavy on your eyelids. Eddie turns off the light, mumbles something about mosquitos and nestles his face into the back of your neck. You can hear him sniff.

“This is what you’d smell like if you were a lake monster.”

“S' that good?”

“Very sexy,” he sighs and holds his wrist under your nose. “Verdict?”

You sniff; it’s Eddie but more tart. “Highly erotic,” you say truthfully but half-yawning. “We could be lake monsters together. Share a lake. Just you and I and—” another yawn, “—and the algae.”

Eddie doesn’t reply and you think he must have fallen asleep.

“G’d night, love of my life,” you drawl just as your consciousness slips away.

people who asked to be tagged about a century ago:

@mrsjellymunson @streamafterlaughter @bebe07011 @dr-aculaaa @whenshelanded @spenciesprincess @spiderman-stilinski @nailbatanddungeon @toomanyacorns

[cry4mina]

BloodRedRoses

(Chaeyoung x fem!reader)

Word count: 4.1k

Angst/Smut

Summary: Best friends to ???

TW: weed, blood, sex, cheating, Sana?, mentions of Jihyo. I think that’s it.

A/N: hey hi hello! Happy Chae day (early edition!) pls enjoy! :)

*edit* my dumbass forgot to tag @nr1chaedickrider for the pics! 🖤

—

The couch is cold, leather against your face as you lay there numb, eyes freely releasing tears. Sniffling into the emptiness of your living room, reliving memories of you and your best friend’s last night of hanging out together.

—

“Chae! Let’s gooooo!” screaming from the edge of the sand. It’s 3 in the morning, humid as hell but she wanted to go to the beach. Her stress from her schedules made it hard for her to relax and you just wanted to see her smile.

God, her smile? She radiated diamonds when she giggled. Glowing and sparkling, refracting pure joy into everyone who saw it. It melted you instantly every time and she knew that.

Chaeyoung runs from your car, black sweatpants too big for her and your hoodie swallowing her whole, catching up to you and linking your arms together. Now she’s the one tugging you to the shoreline as you find your spot on the rundown lifeguard stand.

Studying the carvings of initials into the salt-soaked wood, taking your pocket knife out and getting to work on a new addition while Chae lights the joint carefully, taking a long drag and then passing it to you.

“Do you ever think about what the future holds?” exhaling the smoke as she stares into the waves from her seat on the rickety railing.

Joint hanging out of your mouth, looking up at her in awh, trying to actually hear what she just said. You were mesmerized by her, always.

“Y/n? You okay?” Glancing over to you with concern in her big brown eyes, knowing you had something to say and giving you the opportunity to speak your mind.

Panic flashes through you, pulling from the joint and then passing it back to her, trying to figure out what to say as she pokes you to tell her why you’ve been stuck in your own head.

“Yeah I’m okay.” melancholy laced in your words, continuing to carve a heart big enough to fit initials in, almost dissociating into the deepened grain of the wood. Imagining what life would be like with her as your girlfriend, you sigh heavily and she catches that too.

“You’ve been off for weeks…are you going to tell me what's up? I thought we told each other everything…” looking down at her hands and watching the smoke cascade off the joint before snuffing it out to relight later.

“Chae…” looking up at her again, immediately enthralled by her soft expression towards you. The care in her eyes visibly tracing your frame, waiting for you to let out what you’ve been holding in.

“I…like you.” immediately shutting your eyes and returning your attention to the carving trying to escape the discomfort of having just told your best friend of years that you had romantic feelings for her.

Through your peripherals you see her rotate to face you, expression dripping with grief, watching you chip away at the heart with your blade.

“Y/n…I’m kind of…seeing someone.”

—

Tear after tear falling from your eyes, face not even contorting at them anymore. The night you stopped speaking to Chaeyoung flashes in your mind at least three times a day, so the sting isn’t new but reliving that night definitely rubs salt into the wound.

It’s 2 in the morning when you decide it’s time to go to your favorite getaway location for the first time in about a month, wanting to create a new memory there by yourself so you can heal that part of you.

Rolling a joint for your adventure as you set off, trying to escape the sorrow of the wound that keeps reopening.

—

Arriving at the parking lot and parking in your usual spot, you sit for a second. Sniffling and ruminating in the disdain you were feeling for the crisp ocean air, taking in the changes to the setting around you.

Hedges still line the sides of the parking lot, a few palm trees sway in the breeze, beach roses consuming the foliage even more than before, blooming in the moonlight.

Stepping out of the car and walking over to the flowers, you smell the rich sweetness they give off and go to pick one for yourself, only to be pricked by the thorns immediately.

“Shit!” dropping the flower instantaneously, thorns sticking out of your finger. Pulling them out one by one under the moonlight, dripping blood onto the rose on the floor, staining it with the sanguine colored liquid.

Putting your finger in your mouth to ease the bleeding, you head towards the tranquility of the beach and the familiar place, the lifeguard shack, to be alone with your thoughts.

Climbing the slope and viewing the graffiti, more initials than before etched into the frame of the small shack that was raised off the ground to avoid the water.

The heart you chipped into the paint a month ago has someone’s initials in it that you didn’t put there…suspiciously, they’re your initials.

Perplexed by this, you try not to assume who added to your art installation as you light your joint, attempting to burn the ends evenly so it doesn’t canoe. Something you were never good at, that’s why Chae was always in charge of the weed.

Pulling on the joint as you stare into the sea and think about how much you miss her. The long silly conversations, the meaningful moments, the way she always got you a little snack when you were grumpy, her knowing your coffee order by heart, and it was understandable she did. She was your best friend.

Always showing you unconditional love, even through telling you about her new boyfriend, your memories slip back into the night you last spoke.

—

“Y/n…I’m kind of…seeing someone.” whispered to you through the waves, words causing a small wind within you, taking in the information that makes you nauseous.

Humidity sticks to every part of your skin, hiding the sweat from the rush of adrenaline when your hands start to shake. Seeing someone? Who? She hasn’t mentioned someone to you…

Spiraling at the thought of someone else taking that place in her life. Why hasn’t she mentioned her? Why wouldn’t she tell you about seeing someone? Weren’t you important to her?

“Y/n?…can you say something?” eyes shifting down at the floor. She knows what you’re going to say, just needing to hear it from your own lips before she assumes your next course of action.

“…I don’t have anything to say…” through soft tears you were hiding from her. They drip against your will, unable to hold them back when she gets up to hug you from behind. Hands on your stomach, cheek on your back and eyes closed, sniffling with you through the sadness.

“I don’t want to lose you…please say something…” the crack in her voice ruins you, reflecting the fracture she just chiseled into your heart.

“Who is it?” reverberates through your torso to her ears.

Chaeyoung can hear how shooken up you are, lungs quivering as you try to keep your breathing slow. She’s known for a while you felt this way, choosing to ignore it because she didn’t want you to vanish from her life because she wasn’t ready, only to assume you didn’t feel the same way now.

“I don’t think you truly want to hear about him…” replied coldly, still holding you tightly, unwilling to release you.

Heartbeat now racing at the pronoun she just laid out for you, realizing she was gripping you so tightly so you would run away from her.

“Him?! Chae I thought you we-” unhooking her from your body with some effort so you can face her, eyes drowning in your tears without your consent. You wipe the streams on your face, emotionally exhausted and sleep deprived.

She winces as you do. She knew this day was coming.

“Y/n, please just let me explain.” somewhat begging for you to hear her out, pulling on your sleeves and looking up at you, peering into your soul, framed in sadness.

“I’m happy for you…Can we leave?” flatly falls from your tongue.

“Y/n, please…” begging for another moment with you.

“Chae, I want to leave.”

—

It rings in your ears.

“Y/n please…”

Hearing it clear as day in your mind. You haven’t heard her voice since that night and thinking about it just pulls at your heart strings, playing the melody of regret for words unspoken.

Back against the front wall of the guard station, sliding down slowly until you were firmly seated on the ground. Pressing the filter of the joint to your lips and pulling a huge drag before you ash on the floorboards, watching the breeze sweep away the dust of gray and white.

Calm quiet waves and the weed comfort you through the ache of not having her around. Chest always swelling at the thought of her, wondering if she was happy, wondering if she remembered to eat that day…does he treat her right?

Sighing into the darkness, another pull, another ash, another gust as you sit in the depths of your emotions. Allowing your brain to take you through your thoughts of Chaeyoung without resistance.

“i was hoping you’d show up here eventually…Is this seat taken?” cuts through your mind's eye like a cleaver, startling you. Looking over to see a pair of familiar pajamas and an oversized hoodie, black hair flowing down from under the hood.

Those big brown puppy dog eyes glancing down at you, seeing your disheveled state, studying the faint tear streams down your cheeks and the small wet circular water marks on the floor beneath you. Pouting at you…Chae always hated to see you so sad. Especially because of the decision she made to date someone that wasn’t you.

Unsure of what to say, you just raised the joint up to her- extending an olive branch, a peace offering.

This made her absolutely beam at you, taking her place next to you and happily puffing away at the joint, giving a satisfied shimmy of the events currently taking place before plopping down next to you in the wooden floor.

Unable to contain yourself, you giggle as your body finally lets you relax. She was here, everything was going to be okay…right? Even with a false sense of security her presence gave you, you wished you could shake the feeling of missing her.

Exhaling quickly and turning to face you, making sure to make eye contact as she nudges your shoulder playfully.

“I missed you, dummy.” through the smallest smile you’ve ever seen, she was just too precious and you were completely wrapped around her finger.

“I missed you too…how are…things?” hesitantly questioning how her life was going, worried about the answer.

“Better now.” pulling the joint again before handing it back to you carefully. You wished she wouldn’t do that. Implying that you improve her life when you know who she’s calling every night before bed.

Shifting your focus to anything but what she just said, fixating on her hands, tracing over her finger tattoos with your eyes before grabbing the joint between your own fingers, lightly putting it out.

Feeling her energy was almost enough, the decompression of your muscles from just being near her was substantial enough to push the devastation away, even if it was temporary.

“How is he?” reluctantly flows through clenched teeth, oozing jealousy and spite.

“He’s…good.” tapping her fingers against her knees as she curls within herself, knowing you’re only asking because you feel obligated to. Knowing you’re hoping for a different answer.

Nodding your head and biting the inside of your cheek, fiddling with the ankle cuff if your joggers and trying to keep yourself seated. Discomfort sneaks in, thoughts of her being happy with someone else being a wave of nausea, imitating sea sickness as you wobble a little in the feeling.

The signs of your care for each other was always there, you were just too nervous to face her about them and she was anticipating you making the first move. There were plenty of moments to do so and you just couldn’t bring yourself to say anything sooner. Locked in your own fear, ruining your own chance.

“Can I ask you something?” Chae's curious eyes peeked up at you while resting her chin on her knees, a pout placed on her perfect lips.

“Yeah.” refusing eye contact out of a familiar fear, wondering if she was going to ask where you were or where you’d been.

“Why’d you stop taking my calls?” cheek now resting on her knees, you can see how she’s trying to calm her breathing through the difficult question. Never being one to ask them, hating confrontation but she had to know why you took so many steps back from her. She just need to hear you say it.

A deep breath, eyes shifting anywhere but on her. How were you supposed to tell her the truth?

“I…uhm…didn’t want to talk to you.” little lies through your clenched teeth, grinding away at your heart like sandpaper.

“Don’t lie to me.” Chae’s brows furrow as she lets out a little annoyed shriek. It’s hard not to giggle at her when she makes what she would call her “angy” face at you. It’s too cute to be considered “angy.”

“Fine.” Sighing heavily and turning to face her, hands roughly running down your face as you prepare to tell her what she definitely already knew. Swallowing roughly, deep breath, and go!

“I stopped talking to you because it’s hard to see someone else making you so happy…I wanted it to be me…and with how we are or I guess were, with each other I thought that’s what you wanted too.” attempting to not sniffle as the tears trickle down your cheeks again, stinging your eyes and adding to the salt on your face.

Feeling a warmth on your right side and the pressure of a head resting on your shoulder, you lean into Chae and continue to silently cry a little harder.

Tears staining her hoodie as they fall, a hand reaches around you and holds your waist, lightly scratching in an attempt to comfort you.

“You’re right, you know.” matter of factly uttered through the breeze of the early morning hours surrounding you.

“About what?” lifting your head to look at her while she elaborates on what she means.

“That is what I wanted…I just didn’t think you wanted to try because you never said anything or reacted when I dropped hints” nervously from her shaky lips while her own tears fell, her face now matching yours in the same sorrow.

“What? When did you drop hints?” confusion layered your words heavily, racking your brain for Chae’s attempts to show her feelings, completely oblivious to any hints she might’ve dropped along the way.

“Come on, don’t pretend like you don’t remember. I would always hold your hand, cling to you, cuddle with you…we even made out a few times over the years.” frustrated at your lack of knowledge, even though she never blatantly told you the level of what she was experiencing.

“Chae, we were young…I thought you were just an affectionate person or that it wasn’t serious. Like how Sana is?” a weak attempt to defend yourself from not making a move or telling her sooner.

“Sana likes you.” cold, flat tone, maybe a hint of jealousy uttered from her lips, body language shifting to show a little discomfort.

“What?!” complete shock consumes you, trying to take in the overwhelming amount of data you just received.

“Yeah, that’s why I never invited her to hang out with us after the first time…I didn’t want her to be that close to you” grief weighs her voice down to a whisper, the confession fresh even after years.

“Chae why would yo-” hands cupping your face almost immediately. She presses her lips on yours, tears mix into a painful spiral of what could’ve been between you.

Stiffening at the contact, you aren’t really sure what to do at the moment. Fighting to not lean into it, but not wanting to pull away either. She pulls away for a second to look at your face before placing one hand on your hip, pulling you into her, laying her lip on you again.

Not being able to help yourself after years of pining, you melt into it, quickly turning heated as she slides her tongue in your mouth. Her hands feel so comfortable on your skin, wrapping around your waist under your shirt, fidgeting with the hem of your pants laid on your hips.

Pulling away to press her forehead against yours, her hand descends down into your underwear before she whispers into your mouth.

“Is this okay?” eye contact is absolutely excruciating, completely drenching you in the dream you were living. Nodding your head aggressively and pulling her back into you for more.

The passionate make out session she started completely derailing into a full blown hook up, moaning into her while she’s gathering your wetness on her fingers to make small circles on your clit, eliciting more of the sweet sounds she wished she heard years ago.

There’s no way you’ll get caught here, it’s almost 3 am and the sounds of the sea will cover any noise you make so you allow yourself to be loud for her so she can see how badly you need her and how badly you want her.

Chae slides a finger into you, eliciting a gasp that she swallows whole. Curling her fingers up, you’re grinding into her palm and chasing the pleasure she knew she was giving you.

Breaking from the kiss, laying her lips down your cheek to your jaw and then to your neck. Biting down on your pulse point coaxing more whines from you.

“That’s right, baby, let me hear you,” softly spoken into your ear before she ran her teeth over your lobe, tugging at the skin, and resting her chin on your shoulder before whimpering when she felt your hand rubbing into her over her sweat pants.

Suddenly pulling her finger out and replacing it with two, she takes your hand and pushes it into her harder so you can feel how wet she is under her sweatpants.

“Can I..?” half moaned, clenching around her digits tightly, pressing into her so the seam of her sweats hits just the right spot.

“Not yet, gotta take care of you first” whined into your neck, still pumping her fingers deep into you at a steady rhythm, you thrust into her hands as you feel the knot tightening into your stomach.

“Fuck, chae…I’m gonna cum” hips sputtering, let out a string of obscenities and moans out, next to her ear.

Chae immediately removes her hands from you, kisses you and stands up, unable to look you in the eyes.

“I’m sorry.” walking away and down the slope of the life guard tower, leaving you to figure out your feelings and question everything that’s ever happened between the two of you and wondering why she would fuck you just to leave you here feeling unloved and unwanted.

—

“Do you think dinner will be weird?” Sana asks from the passenger seat of your car as you pull into the parking garage in front of Jihyo’s apartment building.

“I don’t think so. At least I hope it’s not. It’s been a while since I have seen her, so I can avoid her through conversation with everyone else.” putting the car into park and looking over at your lovely girlfriend of a few months.

Her eyes soften, she knows the details of what happened that night at the beach. Sana knows how detrimental that memory is to you, but it was Jihyo’s birthday and you were a good friend. You weren’t going to miss it because of Chaeyoung.

“Alright, Honey. But if you get uncomfortable, please let me know. I don’t want you to put your own mental health at risk for the sake of a small party, okay?” Placing her hand on your cheek to make sure you keep eye contact with her.

Putting your hand on hers, you move it over and kiss her palm lightly. She giggles at you, before leaning in to lay her lips on yours.

“Thank you, baby.” smiling at her after pulling away, getting out of the driver's side door and walking around the other side to open hers, offering your hand out for her to hold while she steps out of the car, intertwining her fingers with yours and squeezing softly.

—

“Oh my god! Y/n! It’s been so long!” Jihyo runs at you and envelopes you in a bear hug before giving you a once over, taking in how you’re glowing and happy.

“You look good!” knowing the last time she saw you was when a week or two after the beach incident. You didn’t have to tell her what happened for her to understand who it involved and why you were distraught.

“I’m so happy to see you and that smile of yours again. Thank you for dragging her out of the house, Sana.” giving a wink and then passing you off to the others, giving them a chance to greet you.

Everyone gave a similar reaction to seeing you as Jihyo, except the one person you expected to barely interact with. A small wave behind an even smaller smile.

“It’s good to see you.” eyes on the floor, hands awkwardly fiddling with themselves, feet shuffling and biting the inside of her cheek. Her anxious tells were showing in full force and you weren’t the only one to notice it.

Sana places her hand on your lower back, rubbing small circles to soothe you through this uncomfortable exchange.

“Good to see you too, Chae.” before stepping away to gather with the rest of the girls to start the birthday festivities, finding you and Sana’s seats next to each other with Chaeyoung placed at the complete opposite end of the table.

—

Stepping outside for a second to get some fresh air, being too full to even think about the discomfort of Chaeyoung being within such close proximity. You lean against the railing of the patio taking in the calmness of the night sky when the door opens behind you and closes softly.

Without even having to look, you already know who’s present behind you. A long sigh expels from your lungs, you know what’s coming.

“We broke up… I broke up with him…I’ve been trying to get into contact with you since the night after…the beach.” stated before you could even blink.

Finding a place next to you on the railing, she pulls out a joint and lights it before trying to hand it to you. Politely declining, she takes a few pulls and then speaks again.

“After that night…I couldn’t get you out of my head. Every time he touched me, I wished it was you.” Glancing to see what emotions were present on your face, finding stoicism where love used to be.

“I blocked you that night, Chae…can we not do th-” she pushes your shoulder to open up your stance and takes a step towards you, getting close to your face trying to initiate something more than she should.

Tilting her head lightly and leaning into you as you take a huge step back from her, you tell her the absolute truth.

“Chae, we can’t do this. More importantly, I don’t want to do this. You had the opportunity and you wasted it. You used me that night at the beach for your own selfish gain and then left me there…alone. Cheating on your boyfriend and ruining our friendship on the same night…I don’t want to date someone like you.” stern in your words as you relive the night in your mind, again and again. Still grieving the past.

“I thought the love we had was pure and I’m trying to keep that memory alive so please, don’t remind me of what you did.” Stepping towards the door, pulling it open as fast as possible. You needed to get away from her. Now.

“I’m sorry.” muffled by her tears and the creaking of the hinges as you try to run away when she grabs your wrist and places something in your hands, not bothering to look at it before leaving her outside.

Not wanting to show your emotions to Sana, you rush into the bathroom before she can see the state you’re in.

Closing the door behind you and flipping the bright fluorescent lights on, you look into your hand and see a dried up beach rose that’s stained with dark crimson. You stare at it as you remember the thorns, looking at the tip of your finger where the scars were from that night.

Into the garbage it went as quickly as you saw it. Splashing cold water on your face, arms locked, leaning on the chilled porcelain sink trying to collect yourself so you can be present for the rest of the party when you hear a knock at the door.

“Baby? Are you in there?” the sweet voice warms your heart, as you turn the knob and crack the door to let Sana in.

“Oh, honey” immediately grabbing you to hold you while you silently sob into her. Rubbing your back and telling you that you were safe but you couldn’t help but keep wishing it was Chaeyoung. Always wishing it was Chaeyoung .

[heavencanbeaprisontoo]

Strip Me to My Bones

Slowburn!Tommy x autistic!fem!reader Prologue: An Odd Woman

Summary: Tommy meets you in 1919, the beginning that feels like an ending in hindsight. Among betting men there is a vibrant culture of superstition and mysticism. It was in this industry you found your trade as a “psychic,” and met a man with a Red Right Hand.

Warnings: Period-typical sexism, contextual use of g-slur, Canon-typical violence, author is autistic, spoilers for series one possibly, slow burn, Tommy is shallow and confused at first. WC: 1.6k

1919 was an odd year for Mr. Shelby. His eyes were still bright, the boy who died in the tunnels still clung to his ankles as he stalked the roads of Birmingham. In those days, Tommy was still starving for money. For any sort of gain in power. He still slept on an old mattress with his drug of choice within reach. He still delivered his horses to mystics and magicians to psych out the competitors of the next day’s race. It was this Thomas Shelby who brought himself to the door of your flat. You, the newest little medium in Small Heath.

He had heard many things about you. How you seemed to just “know,” things. You weren’t gypsy, but there were whispers that you could see inside hearts and minds like no other. For a reasonable fee, you would read a person like a book tell them the next chapter of their life without hesitation. He was not normally the sort to seek your kind out. Thomas Shelby could see ahead just fine without the guide of psychic, genuine or charlatan in nature. Until, of course, a crate of guns came into his possession and an Irish woman sang to him from atop a table. Even the devil needs direction, sometimes. 

That morning, the devil had sought you out.

Your flat looked the same as any other. There were green vines and a purple curtain blocking his view inside your window. Plain bricks on the outside. Gutter hanging off slightly from your roof. Thinking it best to just get it all over with, he knocked. You answered. And he froze.

When he first saw you, there was nothing extraordinary about you. You didn't wear a silk turban or line your eyes with black to convince your customers of some supernatural gift. You were just a young woman dressed comfortably in her little flat. A long, thick robe suited for the winter chill was tied around your body and sensible slippers on your feet. Nothing overly frilly or fanciful. Tommy would almost call your presentation "dowdy." However, what had made him freeze were your eyes. He knows the power of his own stare. Your stare was something truly unique. It was something he couldn’t quite put into words. The color of your eyes was not exceptional, nor the size of your eyes or their shape. There was a force behind the stare that had him fixed to the spot. The sound of your voice was all that put him back into the world.

“Can I help you?” your tone is flat, but he can’t decide of its intentional.

Tommy takes a glance from the corner of his eye to ensure there are no onlookers. The roads are empty. He looks into your eyes once more and says, “You see the future, I hear.”

“I see people, for a price. Not the future. Nobody can do that. It’s rather early, so I hope you’ve got money in that big coat,” you step aside to let him inside. He almost hesitates. Second thoughts are not something Tommy likes to entertain. To falter, to ruminate, is to dance at the edge of cowardice. Tommy pushes onward and crosses the threshold of your home. Thus begins the start of a most unusual affair.

The lighting was dim in your little flat, and on the walls were dozens of shadowboxes were every assortment of insect on display. In fact, nearly everything in your home appeared to be some sort of collection. Orderly in their presentation but crowded due to lack of space. All the furniture looked inherited rather than new, but that was typical. There was the scent of lavender and cedar in the air. As he passed by two sticks of incense burning on the mantle of your fireplace, he found the origin of the fragrance. 

‘No trace of any other resident in the home. No husband. How modern’, he thought. As he made his observations, Tommy was painfully aware of your eyes on his back. You guided him silently to a small room with two sofas facing each other. He sat opposite to you, not bothering to remove his cap. As you sit across from him, your eyes are everywhere but him. Roving about the room as you tap your thumb to the tip of each finger on your hand. By the way you were sitting, someone just entering the room might assume you were a guest by how stiff your posture was. Back completely straight, both feet firmly planted on the floor. This was your home, your time, and Tommy looked more at ease sitting on your own furniture. 

“I normally have tea prepared, but you don’t drink tea anyway, so I won’t bother with the kettle this time,” you say as your bottom hits the sofa cushion. He hears you. He hears you make a correct assumption about him, but he does not show his acknowledgement. 

Tommy threads his fingers together on his lap, “They say you can see inside of people, tell them things about them that even they don’t know.”

Blinking owlishly at him you reply, “My, that’s a lovely review of my services! Should put that on a sign outside my doorway. Though I would rather know why you came to see me, Mr. Shelby. You are Mr. Shelby yes?”

“That I am,” he nearly laughs, “and I am not entirely sure why I came to see you either.”

Your eyes snap onto his own and again he feels caught off guard by it. Slowly, you lean forward, “It’s not like you to need help. You avoid seeking it. Something has happened to you that has never happened before, you do not know how to carry on because you cannot fall back on learned tactics to navigate the storm.”

He says nothing. Tommy finds you don’t require his input to carry on speaking as you tilt your head and continue. As you speak, you never break eye contact. Your gaze is one that leaves him feeling stripped to the bone. Flesh peeled back and pinned so that you may inspect him further with an objective, curious eye, "One of the walking wounded, soldier come home from war. You don't sleep well. None of you do. But, you hide it better than most."

"Quite the assumption," he deadpanned.

You carry on as if not hearing him, “A Catholic without Christ. Guilty but without remorse. You only follow yourself and yet you have lost faith within. So, you act out of your own character to try to find a solution to a problem you’ve made yourself. A problem with solutions you can't commit to.”

Tommy’s heart is beating faster in his chest. The plain-faced woman who greeted him at the door has been replaced. Your face seems to change, the sir around you shifting. There is a thrill in being seen. A thrill, but also annoyance. “And what would you do to solve such a problem?”

“It wouldn’t help you to know what anyone else would do. Even if my way was best, you wouldn’t obey it. Obedience is not something you do willingly,” there’s a smile in your eyes that makes his hands tighten around each other. “Is your greatest problem above, below, or beside you?”

His face remains stoic as he mulls over your odd question. He thinks of those beneath him, the factory workers who riot and cause him distraction. Beside him, his brothers in arms and brothers by blood. Ada. Freddie…. Grace. And then he thinks of Campbell and Kimber. “Above me, always.”

You nod, “There was no need for you to come see me. You know the answer to the question before you asked it. The greatest woe for you is that there are matters of the heart keeping you from stabbing upwards to the enemies who stand over you. You aren’t used to having that sort of obstacle... You need to decide what you want more and act accordingly. To have both things will end poorly, but I can't stop you. Nobody can but you.”

For a moment, he feels a sense of relief. It had been many years since the words of a stranger had done that to him. This feeling was overtaken by an immediate realization. He had come to you under the assumption that you were gifted by second-sight. Yet… You had no cards, no crystals, did not say a prayer or even a hymn in a nonsense language.

“You’re no medium,” he states it as fact. Not as a question or accusation. Though, he watches to see how you take it. Tommy likes to see how people respond to being caught, he finds it to be the most revealing time for most. For the third or fourth time since he laid eyes on you, you defied expectation.

With a slow shrug you say, “I’ve never made the claim that I was one. Everyone started saying so one day and I decided not to correct them. I just read people.”

‘What an odd woman,’ Tommy leaned back in his seat. Face still as stone. As he looked at you, your posture returned to that stiff, nearly-too-straight, position from before. He could see why the average man would see you as something beyond the natural. Ordinary to otherworldly. An odd woman indeed. You stand from your couch with a small, crooked smile, “That’ll be ten quid, Mr. Shelby, a discount for a first-time reading. It'll be thirteen for the next time.”

He pushed the money into your hands and said, "Won't be a next time." You gave him no audible response as you walked him to your door and released him from the dreamworld your home had trapped him in. Tommy did not look back as he walked three paces from your door and lit a cigarette. No one had seen him and he had a feeling you wouldn't share his visit with others.

Tommy pushed you from his mind to focus on what may come next.

The rest of the day moved quickly and slowly all at once after he left your little flat. He swore to himself that he would never go back. Swore that he hated every instant spent in your dark home that smelled of lavender and cedar. Swore that he despised the way you peeled back his skin with that glare so sharp. No, he couldn't feel them on him. Not at all.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Less Talk | Part IV

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: Jake can't stand Bradley's best friend. What's more, he's probably in love with her, which really pisses him off.

CW: mild angst, brief violence, unresolved sexual tension, swearing, drinking, SO MUCH PINING

Part I | Part II | Part III | Masterlist

“So?” Bradley asks, smirking up at Jake as he gulps down some orange juice with a slight cringe. “How was last night?”

Jake gives him an annoyed look, turning off the burner on the stove with a little more aggression than necessary. He lifts the lid off the egg poacher and grabs a plate in silence.

“That good, huh?” Bradley says.

Jake shakes his head crossly and lets out a disgruntled sigh, sliding a couple of eggs onto his plate. He holds up the poacher and looks at his roommate. “Want some?”

Bradley nods, rising from the table and walking into the kitchen. “Thanks.”

“You can thank me by being less irritating,” Jake says tersely.

Bradley snorts. “My, my,” he says, taking his breakfast back into the dining room. “Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Jake sets his plate down and looks at Bradley sourly. “What did I just say?”

“Alright, alright.” Bradley holds up his hands to indicate that he’s done riling him. “We won’t talk about it. We can pretend it never happened.”

Jake takes a bite out of his toast. “Nothing did happen.”

Bradley is watching Jake with a sympathetic grin. “Does that disappoint you?”

Jake rolls his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Bradshaw. What’ll it take to get some peace and quiet around here? Between you and Y/N, I haven’t had a moment��s rest.”

Bradley eyes him patiently. “I’m sorry, man,” he says. “I’ll stop. But I’m here if you need to get something off your chest.”

Jake gives him a flat look. It bugs him when his friends demonstrate love and compassion, and Bradley Bradshaw is notorious for that shit. His genuine desire to help makes Jake uncomfortable as fuck. He prefers the ribbing any day of the week; at least he could respond in kind. “There’s nothing on my chest, Rooster,” he says harshly. “There’s nothing on my mind,” he continues. “Nothing going on anywhere.”

Bradley nods at him skeptically. “Okay.”

Jake sighs loudly, ensuring that Bradley is aware of just how irritated he is. “Except,” he says, pausing to take another bite of toast. “Your damn bestie is a fucking nuisance.”

“How so?” Bradley asks, trying to contain a grin.

Jake scoffs. “Well, for one thing,” he says. “She unplugged our fucking fan.”

Bradley’s eyebrows converge. “She what?”

“Yeah.” Jake nods. “And she called me a moron.”

Bradley makes a face. “She did not.”

Jake shrugs. “More or less. Whatever. She told me I ‘helped her’ yesterday, whatever the fuck that means.”

 Bradley squints his eyes, smiling. “I think it means you helped her.”

Jake stares at him bitterly. “I’m not planning on being her friend,” he says.

Bradley shrugs. “You don’t have to be her friend.”

“I don’t like her.”

Bradley raises his eyebrows. “Okay.”

“Why are we even talking about her?” Jake lets out another frustrated sigh.

Bradley grimaces. “I don’t think I started it this time.”

Jake looks up at him, distressed at his escalating resentment toward you and Bradley and the damn grackles outside the kitchen window that just won’t shut the fuck up. He steadies his breathing. “Have you heard from her this morning?” he asks quietly. “Is she okay?”

Bradley nods at him calmly. “Yeah,” he says. “She’s okay.”

…

“Whose idea was this?” Jake asks, walking into the Hard Deck with a sullen expression. For an entire week, he’s been expending an unthinkable amount of energy just to keep you off his mind. He hasn’t, for a second, let himself think about your unbearable tendency to debate every single word that comes out of his mouth. Nor has he been ruminating on the way your eyes flash with excitement whenever you’ve constructed an irrefutable argument. He hasn’t thought about your smile, or the way you had wrapped your arms around his neck. He certainly doesn’t remember what you’d said to him, or your warm breath bathing his skin, or how the curve of your waist felt in his hands.

And now, apparently, he has to spend an entire evening with you because your boyfriend wants to get to know your friends. Jake isn’t your friend. What the fuck is he even doing here? Except trying desperately to not think about you.

“This is a big step for him,” Bradley says under his breath. “He’s never even wanted to meet her friends.”

Jake inhales deeply, trying to relieve some of the aggravation he feels. He sees that the rest of the squad is already settled near the back of the bar, and that you are standing by one of the pool tables, watching Mustang line up his shot. Jake holds back a grin because you look bored stiff and, just like that, he forgets all about his endeavor to keep you strictly off his mind.

Payback shoves a shot into each of their hands the moment they arrive but Jake glances over his shoulder to look at you. You’re already watching him so he gives you a polite nod, unsure how the two of you should interact now that you no longer blatantly hate each other’s guts. You approach Bradley to give him a hug and then hesitate when deciding how best to greet Jake. He gives you a sympathetic smile, which you return with noticeable relief.

“How are you?” Jake asks, pointedly eyeing Mustang, who hasn’t even looked up from his game.

“Great,” you respond, a little too cheerily. But Jake knows you better than to buy that shit. He gives you a skeptical sort of grimace and you end up shrugging with a soured expression. “I’m fine,” you amend your statement.

Jake nods. “That’s more like it.”

You snort. But just when Jake begins to relax into the comfortable routine of back-and-forth quips, Mustang straightens his back and saunters over to where the two of you are standing.

Jake lifts his gaze, looking at him lazily. “Mustang,” he says commandingly.

Your boyfriend furrows his brows as though he’s confused by the nickname, which Jake finds hilarious, because what an idiot. “Actually, it’s –”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jake responds curtly. He turns to you with a tight smile. “Enjoy your evening,” he says, and then he walks away. He doesn’t check to see your reaction to his, admittedly, ill-mannered exit, but he’s not about to waste his time chatting up a man he absolutely loathes. Even if it’s what you might want.

But he doesn’t get far before he feels your fingers curl around his arm. He glances down as you try to yank him backward with your tiny hand, accomplishing nothing but drawing an amused smile from his lips.

“Yes?” he says, eyeing your hand before meeting your gaze.

“What the fuck was that?” you ask. “He just wanted to talk.”

Jake shrugs. “I don’t want to talk to him.”

Your grip on his arm tightens defiantly and you say, “You didn’t want to talk to me either, remember?”

Jake watches you with a smirk. “What makes you think that’s changed?”

You stare at him impassively, not in the least impressed with his jibe. You let go of his arm with a hard look. “My mistake,” you say coldly.

Jake raises his eyebrows in response to your irritation. “Why does it even matter to you that I talk to him?” he asks, glancing at Mustang who’s gone back to his game without a second thought. The only person Jake’s resistance seems to be bothering is you.

“Forget it,” you say moodily.

Jake watches you walk back to your boyfriend with a mixture of disappointment and jealousy. He grimaces when you lean your head onto Mustang’s shoulder and he shrugs you off to walk around the pool table and observe his opponent’s shot. Jake closes his eyes for a moment, imagining what he’d do if you were to rest your head on him. He’d probably be paralyzed with shock, for one.

“Cheers,” Bradley says, bringing his shot glass to the one Jake is still holding in his hand.

Jake nods. “Bottoms up.” He hisses as the vodka burns its way through his system.

…

Several drinks in, Jake is failing miserably at his self-imposed task of disregarding your existence. Every so often, he glances in your direction, incapable of ignoring you entirely. You’re wearing ripped shorts which fit loosely around your hips, and he makes every attempt to suppress the desire to strut right up to you and sink his hands – or his teeth – into the flesh that’s exposed whenever you lean into the table to aim.

And don’t even get him started on the utter mayhem that descends upon his body every time you bend over. Your perfect ass is not only a distraction but a downright detriment to his sanity, which he’s feeling slip away little by little with every successive turn you take. You have no clue how to hold a cue stick and you’ve yet to sink a ball, but watching you try is unquestionably riveting.

Mustang is no longer playing; he quit the minute you decided to participate. Jake notes that he hasn’t made a significant effort to socialize with your friends and is rather spending the bulk of his time conversing with a couple of women at a neighboring table.

Jake considers joining you for a game, maybe showing you how to position your bridge hand. Maybe standing right behind you as you bend forward to take your shot. Maybe bending down with you to help you aim.

He sucks in his cheeks uncomfortably; if the mere thought of teaching you to play pool is arousing him, he should probably stay as far away from that table as possible. He gulps down the rest of his drink and stands up anyway, watching you giggle as you pocket the cue ball. He cringes, bothered that he finds you all kinds of adorable when you’re laughing at yourself. You seem much happier when Mustang isn’t by your side, and yet, when Jake finally resolves to approach you, you set your pool cue down and glance around in search of your boyfriend. Jake lets out a heavy sigh and heads instead toward the dartboard where Payback and Fanboy are starting a fresh game.

Jake’s barely concentrating on the board, however, because he keeps glancing over his shoulder to watch your conversation with Mustang. The two of you seem agitated with one another which isn’t altogether surprising considering your less than agreeable nature. He smirks to himself, pleased at the apparent instability of your relationship.

Jake returns his attention to the dartboard, trying to focus on the matter at hand despite the ridiculous hold you seem to have on him. Except that, a few minutes into the game, he hears a commotion at the far end of the pub. He turns to see you aggressively skirting tables as you try to outrun Mustang, who is chasing after you. Instantly, Jake drops his darts on the nearest surface and starts in your direction through the crowd. When he closes in, he can see that you’re visibly shaken as Mustang seizes your wrist and pulls you toward him forcefully. You try to twist away in protest, but he only clings harder.

Jake grits his teeth as he pushes past the last patron standing in his way, and then he grabs Mustang’s forearm while simultaneously driving an elbow right into his jaw. Not a second later, Jake delivers another blow with the back of his elbow. Mustang pivots from the strike and Jake uses this momentum to hike Mustang's arm behind his back and bring his palm down on his spine, sending him, face first, into the ground.

Mustang scrambles to his feet the moment Jake releases his arm, staggering slightly. But Jake doesn’t wait for him to recuperate before shoving him backward into an empty table. In his weakened state, Mustang easily loses his balance and crashes into the table with a thunderous clatter.

A chorus of cries erupts in response to the brawl and Jake can hear you screaming for him to stop in the background. But he’s too far in it to stop now. He lifts Mustang off the table by his shirt and sends him flying backwards once again, this time with his fist.

That’s when Bradley appears, dragging Jake away. Jake runs a hand over his mouth, breathing heavily. His mind is somewhat foggy despite the overwhelming rage in his gut.

“He’s down, man,” Bradley says under his breath. “He’s down.”

Jake nods, steadying his breath. He turns to look at you and the moment he sees the tears streaming down your face, he’s struck with an awful sense of regret. You’re watching him lividly, shaking your head.

“Y/N,” Bradley starts, but you hold up a hand.

Without a word, you spin around and head for the exit. Jake goes after you, despite Bradley’s compelling arguments against it. He crashes through the door and sprints after you across the lot.

“Hey!” he yells. “Slow down!”

You whip your head around aggressively, coming to a halt. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” you cry.

Jake comes to a stop before you, slightly out of breath. Only, now that he’s here, he’s got nothing to say.

“What? No elaborate comeback? No stupid joke?” you ask in revulsion.

He watches you soberly. He can tell that you’re pissed at him, but it’s different from all the other times he’s upset you. This time, you aren’t looking for a sparring partner, you’re looking for a fight. “Are you okay?” he asks.

Your eyebrows twist in outrage. “What do you think?”

Jake exhales sharply. “I meant your hand.”

You blink in confusion. “I wasn’t the one who punched him, Jake.”

Jake gives you a flat look. “He grabbed you, Y/N,” he says, his panting amplified by the anger coursing through him at the mere memory of the event. He reaches for your hand and lifts it to eye level as you watch on with a slight cringe. He weaves his fingers through yours until your palms connect as he examines your wrist.

“Are you insane? He barely touched me!” you exclaim.

Jake meets your gaze sharply. He watches you gravely, his eyebrows creasing in slow motion. “Has he done worse?” His fingers tighten around your hand. If you respond with anything other than an emphatic ‘no’, he’ll be leaving the Hard Deck in a cop car, and Mustang in an ambulance – if he’s lucky.

You viciously rip your hand out of his grasp and start walking. “Mind your own business, Seresin,” you mutter.

Jake watches your back as you march away. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and curls them into fists, contending with the riot of emotions assailing his person while trying to keep his cool. “Stop walking,” he says firmly, wincing at the authoritative tone in his voice.

You freeze at his words, which takes him completely by surprise. He’s watching you cautiously as you turn back to face him, bracing himself for your wrath. But you simply glance up at him, silent and utterly unreadable.

Jake steps forward hesitantly. “Progressive contamination of aquatic ecosystems, I can’t get you to shut up about,” he says levelly. “But when it comes to something as important as –”

“Water pollution is important!” you protest.

Jake gives you a critical look. “Is he hurting you?”

You avert your gaze. “No,” you answer quietly.

Jake shakes his head and starts walking back toward the bar.

“Jake!” you call after him. “Stop.”

Jake slows his pace but only stops once you’ve caught up with him and put a hand on his arm to keep him from going any farther. He glances at you, ignoring the surge of heat generated by your touch that’s unequivocally clouding his judgement.

“I’m the only one doing the hurting,” you say guiltily. “And you, apparently.”

“What are you talking about?”

You sigh. “I just broke up with him.”

Jake stares at you, speechless.

“Which is why it was really shitty of you to beat him up,” you say, looking back at him pointedly.

He glances over your face in a mild stupor, still reeling from the news. He furrows his eyebrows, trying to snap himself out of the reverie, and retorts, “I barely touched him.”

Read Part 5

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