#the answer was: a frightening amount.

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

I keep listening to different pieces of music that I love and then my brain comes in all helpful with 'this sounds like great music to die with doesn't it'

[boxwinebaddie]

if you don’t mind me asking, how in the everloving fuck did you get mercury AND arsenic poisoning?? is that common??

siiiiiiiiiiiigh.

so, no...thankfully, my dear, sweet darling:

i don't think it's terribly common, ( neither was the arsenic i guess, but i'll get into that ) but it is when you're stupid as fuck like me.

because i am too lazy to type it all out again and don't have it in me to be eloquent ( i am saving that for writing about the boys, now that i, thankfully, can coherently write again ) i will send you the synopsis that i sent elite sickfic style dr. ana ( god's fucking angel )

**it's the updated, more articulate ( give or take ) version because i tried to explain it to the girls the day i got home ( take it easy on them please, i couldn't text or call and gave them quite a fright, ily girlies ) unfortunately, i was still not super good at making words and processing things, so i wrote this now that i am functioning better.

sorry for spooking you all about the parasite; long story short, it was not as deadly as i thought -- I DID, HOWEVER, STILL HAVE A VERY NASTY BACTERIAL INFECTION, LIKE WHEN I SAY NASTY, I MEAN VERY, VERY, VERY BAD AND I WAS FIGHTING IT CONCURRENTLY WITH THE PARA WHICH MADE IT SEEM A LOT WORSE, VERY ASS!

but long story, medium:

alright! gather round kids --

it's uncle nina story time.

tw for gross medical stuff / me being in mentally ill hell

anyways, looking forward to sharing my writing with you all again and answering my asks if we still care!

love you and hyh,

metal head uncle nina

[luxaofhesperides]

the lost brother - damian

There is static in his ears.

There is a baby in his arms.

His niece. His niece from a brother dead before he was born. The daughter of Danyal, his mother's greatest regret, the ghost haunting his childhood, the brother he never got to have.

She is so small in his arms. Still. Quiet.

It frightens him, cradling such a fragile life in his arms. He's not good with most people, let alone a baby.

Danyal must have been truly desperate to leave her with him.

"Robin."

The voice makes the world come rushing back into place. Damian moves before he thinks, turning his body to shield his niece from danger, but it's only Red Robin standing before him. He stares, wide eyed, until Red Robin pushes his cowl back and Drake stands before him, expression carefully neutral. He doesn't look at the baby in Damian's arms. He only looks at Damian.

"Robin, come on. The Batmobile is right below us."

Damian hesitates, then follows Drake to the edge of the roof. He takes the fire escape down, landing carefully so he doesn't jostle the baby in his arms, and Drake grapples down a moment later, carefully maintaining the distance between them.

He knows it's to keep Damian from feeling trapped, and he's stupidly grateful, though he'll never say so.

The rest of the family will be a pain to deal with. They will demand answers he doesn't have, invade his space, insist on taking his niece from him. At least Drake is quiet and willing to observe without interference beyond getting them all home.

As promised, the Batmobile waits for them in the alley. Drake holds the door open and Damian slides in, adjusting his niece to make sure she's comfortable. She blinks up at him with dark blue eyes.

How strange. He had expected them to be green.

Drake drives them, speaking in short bursts into his comm. Damian brings a hand up to his own, realising rather belatedly that it's muted. Oracle must have grown annoyed at the barage of questions heading his way and silenced them for him.

He'll have to thank her later, once things have settled down.

For now, all his attention is on his little baby niece. What did Danyal say her name was?

Ellie.

Ellie Ellie Ellie.

She reaches up with a small hand, curious, and Damian offers a finger for her to latch on to. Her grip isn't strong, and her hand is small and barely warm.

He holds her closer for the rest of the ride home.

Father wants to take Ellie away for tests. Damian refuses to let go of her, going as far as leveling a sword at anyone who tries.

Drake is the only one who offers to only draw the barest minimum amount of blood for a DNA test, all while Damian holds her.

This, he accepts.

The others hover in his periphery, muttering amongst themselves, but Damian cares little for their thoughts and judgements. He was given Ellie for the sole purpose of caring for her. He will not fail in his duty. If it comes to it that he has to hide away with Mother for the rest of them to calm down, then he will. Surely she'll want to be involved with her granddaughter.

He'll have to tell her about Danyal, anyways.

Father stays at the computer, watching as the results load. He does not look away from the screen to even greet Ellie.

Damian pushes down his bitterness. He knows well the kind of man Father is, now. This is expected of him.

It's Richard that stays by him, hurrying across the Cave with an armful of diapers and baby clothes.

"I wasn't sure what to get, so I got a bit of everything," he explains, setting everything down on the cot where Damian sits with Ellie. Richard cut his patrol short as soon as Danyal left and made an emergency run to the nearest store with baby supplies, pulling sweatpants and a jacket over his Nightwing suit. The collar of the suit peeks out from beneath his jacket, and Damian is sure that it's only the late hour that kept anyone from asking too many questions while Richard was shopping.

"Thank you," Damian mutters. He sets Ellie down carefully, and she blinks up at him with tired eyes. Her face is round with baby fat, but not by much. "How do I…?"

"I think I know how to change a diaper," Richard offers, already pulling a fresh one out of the pack. He gets a small pack of baby wipes out of his pocket and quickly undoes the diaper on Ellie, wiping her down. Damian watches carefully, committing each step to memory as Richard changes her diaper and makes sure she's comfortable.

They're all out of their depths, Damian realizes. Have any of them actually cared for a baby? Pennyworth might have had some idea, and though he died a few years ago, the loss of him aches sharply even now.

"We'll have to figure out how old she is before we get any food for her," Richard murmurs, reaching out to brush a finger against her cheek. His eyes are soft, sad, and Damian lets out a slow breath, relived to know he can trust Richard with Ellie. "What happened?"

It's the question everyone's been asking him, and Damian has refused to answer each time.

But he will answer Richard.

"I saw a person on the edge of the roof as I patrolled. I went down to bring them to safety. He was… I had an older brother who died before I was born. But I know what he looks like. It was him, on that roof."

"You think he came back to life?"

"He must have. He was placed in a Lazarus Pit, but Mother said it didn't bring him back. Perhaps it just took time."

"What made you think it was him, if you've never met him?"

Damian thinks back. The man on the roof was a few years older than Drake, thin and worn-down. His eyes caught Damian's attention first; al Ghul's have very distinctive eyes, and it seems they both inherited that trait from Mother. Beyond that…

Lazarus Pits have magic in them. They wouldn't be able to do what they did without it. Those revived by Lazarus Pits carry some of it with them; it's not Pit Rage, which fades within an hour, but something else that leaves them on the boundary of inhuman. Damian grew up around the Pits and people who used them. He knows what the magic of the Pits feels like, and he could feel it in Danyal.

"I just knew," Damian answers. "Should Mother ever meet him, she'll be able to tell you the same thing: that was Danyal. And this is his daughter."

"Do you know why he left his daughter with you?"

"He asked if Batman was a good father. If I was safe here. Only then did he give Ellie to me."

"He could have stayed to," Richard says, sadness coloring his tone.

Damian doesn't respond. What could he say? Yes, Danyal could have stayed and joined them. He chose not to, for whatever reason. They have not found him yet, and Damian doubts they will find him any time soon.

Danyal is the first son of Talia al Ghul and Bruce Wayne. He will not be found until he wants to be.

Damian will have to wait until then.

The DNA results come back after eight rounds of testing.

Ellie is indeed Damian's niece.

The closest matches to her in the database are Damian and Bruce, which all but confirms that Danyal is indeed the first blood son of the Bat.

Father stares down at Ellie with an unreadable look on his face. He doesn't try to hold her; Damian doesn't know if he should be grateful for this or not.

"I have another son," he says. "And neither you nor your mother ever told me."

"He was dead," Damian answers, "What use would a dead child be to you? Even I never met him until tonight. He was gone long before I was born."

"He's still my son!"

"He's a stranger," Damian bites back. "Why do you pretend to care now? He has never been a part of our lives before. You won't even hold his daughter."

Father flinches back, just slightly, but it's enough to know that the barb hit. Damian gathers Ellie up into his arms and heads for the stairs. "I will be going to sleep now. Ellie will stay with me. You are welcome to stay down here to search for Danyal, or you can get some rest to join me in shopping for Ellie. I will call Mother. Good night."

The others don't have the decency to wait until he's completely out of the Cave before they begin shouting amongst themselves. Damian clicks his tongue and looks down at Ellie, who's sleeping peacefully.

"Let's hope you grow up to have more sense than them," he says to her.

He lays her on top of the blankets, then curls up next to her. It's a long time before he's able to fall asleep.

Mother calls first thing in the morning. Damian's barely had time to brush his teeth before his phone is ringing, and he has to rush to catch it before the call ends.

"Is it true?" she demands as soon as he answers, "Was it Danyal?"

Damian bites back a curse. He said he'd call her. It would have been best if he had been the one to break the news, rather than anyone else, but it doesn't surprise him that no one listened.

"It's true," he says. "Danyal was in Gotham last night. He left his daughter in my care before disappearing. I was unable to speak to him more."

"How can that be," she says, breathless, "It's been decades since his death. The Lazarus Pit never returned him to me."

"It was him. That's all I know."

There's a pause as his mother gathers her composure. Then she says, "I will be in Gotham in a week. I will not be kept out of my granddaughter's life."

"I will make sure we have a room ready for you."

"Good. Take care, habibi."

The call ends without any other fanfare. Damian drops his head with a sigh and tosses his phone back onto his desk.

On his bed, Ellie is sitting up, watching him curiously.

"You and your father have caused a lot of trouble already," he tells her, and she claps her hands together.

When he goes downstairs, he immediately makes note of Drake and Brown's presence with displeasure. His hopes for a quiet morning are dashed before he even reached the kitchen.

"There you are!" Brown says far too loudly. She bounds up to him, ignoring his scowl, and peers at Ellie. "Hm, I'd guess around nine to eleven months, accounting for FTT and some malnutrition."

"FTT?" he repeats.

"Failure to thrive. If infants aren't care for properly, which includes cuddling, then they just… don't grow as they should. They end up smaller and weaker than is expected for their age."

"I imagine she was not taken care of properly, wherever she was before. She wouldn't have been left with me otherwise."

Brown looks troubled, but she blinks it away and smiles when Ellie reaches up to grab at her nose. "Hello there," she says in a soft voice, "I'm your favorite aunt. Don't forget that, alright! I'm your favorite."

Damian pushes her away. "She has no favorites."

"Not yet, but it'll definitely be me when she does!"

"Don't you have anything better to do than bother me?"

"No. But, in all seriousness, me and Tim are here to help. He gave me a rundown and what happened and I still have a bunch of stuff from my pregnancy classes that can help you. We also got some baby food and milk and formula for the baby, since she'll need to eat and be burped. I can walk you through all of that so you can start getting some experience in baby care."

Ah. He had forgotten that Brown had once been pregnant. That she gave away her own baby.

It must be hard for her to be on the other end of that situation, to watch someone take in a baby whose parent couldn't properly care for her, to muster up a smile and all the information she has to make things better.

"I would… appreciate that, Brown."

"Good! Well, lesson one starts now."

She throws open the door to the kitchen, where Drake is pressing the tip of a feeding bottle against the inside of his wrist. "Come here," he says to Damian. "Hold out a hand."

Curious, Damian does as told, and watches as Drake pressed the warm tip of the bottle against his wrist, where liquid splots out onto his skin. "That's about how warm it should be when you feed her. Here." He presses the bottle into Damian's hands, and it takes some adjustment before he can feed Ellie, who starts off slowly, then with more energy.

Brown tosses a rag over his shoulder, and instructs him on how to burp Ellie once she's finished eating. She coughs up some formula, then settles back into his arms, eyes closing as she begins to doze.

"I'll handle shopping," Drake says. "You need a crib, right? Maybe some toys… Just text me a list, I'll get everything."

"Why are you doing all this?" Damian can't help but ask. "We are not exactly… close."

Drake blinks at him, as though he's confused. "Because a baby is a big responsibility. And just because we don't always get along doesn't mean we're not family. She's my neice too. Doesn't she deserve to have more people in her corner?"

Damian can't argue with that, so he nods and lets Drake go to buy whatever he thinks is necessary. Brown lingers in the kitchen, making breakfast for them both in between sneaking glances at Ellie. Usually being watched so obviously would have him on edge and snappy, but he understands the urge to keep looking; he also can't take his eyes off of Ellie.

For someone so small to go through such hardship already… he doesn't understand how anyone can look at her and not want to keep her safe.

He wonders if anyone is keeping Danyal safe.

As much as he wants to go after Danyal, search for his resurrected brother, Ellie takes priority.

She's the one who's here to stay, after all.

Father doesn't come up from the Batcave all day.

Damian tries not to hate him for it.

He doesn't think he succeeds.

(masterpost for all parts)

[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶After a lifetime of questionable decisions, you moved from the big city to the sleepy town of Hawkins with your best friend, and took the first job you saw: answering phones for the most boring auto shop in the dullest place on Earth. It wasn't exactly the adventure you wanted it to be.. but attempting to win over the jaded mechanic who insisted on ignoring your existence proved entertaining.✶

NSFW — slow burn, eventual smut, strangers to lovers, flirting, mutual pining, angst, drug/alcohol mention/use, depictions of poverty, sort of grumpy x sunshine but eddie's just tired, reader and eddie are mid-late 20's

chapter: 1/20 [wc: 5.5k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 1: Surprise, Surprise

“Yes.” A simple answer which spawned as many awkward scenarios, as it did great ones. Your name was spray painted on the side of a bridge, you spent nights learning to tango on abandoned rooftops, the amount of tales you accrued of bad dates could fill a self-help book.

Whatever the question was, the answer was “yes.” Life was more exciting that way.

Well, your policy usually lended itself to exciting adventures, anyway.

Currently, you were sat behind a desk with your boss, Mr. Moore, who slouched on his black stool with his cheek propped on his fist, pointing a pencil at a customer’s pink invoice sheet in front of you, explaining who to call in the spiral-bound catalog for the parts to be shipped.

The tall counter top partially obscured the both of you from employees and customers alike, but as you soon realized, the number of employees was slightly above two, and the customers even less; and if any of them paid you any mind, you couldn’t tell from the disorienting mix of exhaust fumes, dirty oil, and grease wafting in from the glass door on the left.

Thus began the first day of your new job at David’s Auto Repair. Boring.

————

Your second and third days were hardly different. Arriving at the butt crack of dawn and beginning the routine that definitely wasn’t in the ad in the newspaper: clean the bathrooms (hey, at least they had two), start the coffee pot after scrubbing off years of neglect caked onto the inside, and organize the paperwork Mr. Moore left for you in his office.

Oh, and most importantly, after locking up your bike outside the front door, you made your way through the echoey workshop and poked your head out the back door to the parking lot–which, by all means, was a gravel alleyway with overgrown trees blocking your view beyond the sleek black car parked next to the dumpster.

“Morning!” you greeted the one employee who arrived early and stayed late. “Eddie, right?”

The man leaning against the gray brick wall didn’t bother acknowledging you. Didn’t lift his head from its dropped back position, nor open his eyes. Definitely didn’t take the cigarette out of his mouth to bestow you the gift of his chipper attitude, nor did he uncross his arms to offer you the bare minimum wave.

And much like the other days, you sat perched behind your desk and beamed up at him as he walked past you to the break room. And as usual, he slid his gaze to you. And like normal, he didn’t say anything.

But he did hold your eye contact for a fraction of a second longer, albeit, he looked a bit frightened when he did, as if he were suspicious of your smile.

You listened to the clunk of his heavy boots fade down the hallway, then return with him holding a mug of coffee.

This time, as he walked by, he remained vigilant, and your grin went ignored by his stupid big brown eyes surrounded by envious lashes.

Lucky you, the reception area was essentially a glass cage. Behind the black pleather seats for customers was the glowing blue sky, and beside you were floor to ceiling windows showcasing the artificially bright garage where the man in grease stained coveralls twisted gaudy rings off his fingers and placed them on a tray with his coffee, before picking up a dirty rag and popping open the hood of the car he worked on past closing last night.

“You’re welcome for the coffee,” you mumbled in a mocking tone, sneering at his red name patch–Eddie. “Jerk.”

————

Friday was different. You locked up your bike, chucked your backpack into your chair behind the desk, and made your way to the back of the garage for the routine, “Good morning.”

For some reason, you decided to reveal your whole self; more than your head stuck out the door, or rising above the countertop customers leaned on when trying to schmooze deals on parts–hell if you knew how to do that, anyway. You didn’t get paid enough to bargain.

You stepped onto the uneven gravel and surveyed the scenery, looking both ways down the alley to the major roads on either side leading to the heart of downtown Hawkins. Absolutely dismally silent. Void of life. Except for the small things you never noticed, like faraway birds, the hum of a distant motor, buzzing bugs before they disappeared for the cooler months. You felt the dew settling on your forearms, and swore you could smell impending rain on the cloudless day.

“Is it always this quiet?” you asked, face pinched in confusion as you took it all in. “I swear I can hear my own thoughts.”

Eddie may not have appreciated your joke, but he did surprise you.

He kept one of his arms crossed over his stomach, and took the cigarette from between his lips to flick the ashes. “You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked the dilapidated fence across from him.

Feeling cheeky, you schooled the thrill out of your voice from getting a response out of him, and said, “What gave it away?”

A drag on his cigarette was his wordless answer. Fair.

“I’m from New York.” The implied City followed without clarification. “Just moved here last week. My roommate’s from Hawkins, and she had to move back to help take care of her parents. They’re older and her dad has some health problems, and yeah, I couldn’t afford rent on my own, so you know, why not. Why not follow her to a town so small it’s impossible to find on a map.”

All your talking earned you a magnificent thing. Eddie finally opened his eyes, if only to pin you with a mild glare, and a skeptic pinch between his brows.

He said more to himself than you, “You must really like your roommate to come here.” The inflection at the end was both amusement and contempt, no doubt.

“We met in our first year of college and became best friends like that–!” You snapped. “Both theater kids going to school for acting, and we later made a comedy troupe with a few other people. When she asked if I wanted to move with her, I said ‘yes.’” Inclining your upper body towards him, you explained, “It’s sorta my thing. If anyone asks me anything, I say ‘yes.’ Obviously, I can veto shit that’s dangerous or crosses any boundaries, but it’s my policy to try everything. Life makes better stories that way.”

Your unique brand of wisdom furthered his obvious distaste for you.

Eddie inhaled his vice until the orange glow burned to the filter. Smoke fell from his mouth in a rush as if he were about to speak again, but he didn’t. He merely stared at you. And if he were having a staring contest, he won.

“Well, have a good day, then,” you said, spinning on the toe of your shoe.

You sat in your glass zoo for the day shuffling papers, making calls, and filling out forms. Most definitely not talking to the guy who appeared annoyed at your very existence.

Unfortunately for him, Hawkins was tiny and the pickings were slim.

Maybe it was his eyes, or the way the short layers of his choppy hair cut escaped his low bun to curl themselves in face-framing waves, or the fact he was twenty-years younger than the other two mechanics, but you took a liking to Eddie, much to his dismay. And due to your affinity for his annoyance, you noticed the subtle changes in his appearance sooner than you should. 

————

Dark purple circles announced the lack of sleep under Eddie’s eyes before the bags could. Bloodshot and struggling to open past a sliver, he sucked down half his cigarette before the routine minutes of peace he carved into his strict schedule were interrupted by the newest knot in his muscles.

“Good morning!” you said.

“Morning,” he returned without thinking about it. Rookie mistake.

You stood closer this time, inching down the brick wall, approaching him as if he would startle like a wild animal to get a better look at the years wearing heavy on the fine lines etched into his face. Perhaps no longer ‘fine.’

“You good?”

He didn’t have the energy to put up his usual front. With his chin dipped to his chest, he kept his eyes closed, nearly drifting to sleep as he muttered, “Long night.”

“Ah.”

Your clumsy shuffling alerted him to your movement, and he reluctantly observed you standing a few feet in front of him, rocking on your heels. He filled his chest with an incredulous sigh before you even spoke.

“You seem like you could use some cheering up,” you beamed. “I could juggle for you! Should I do three or four?” Eddie’s jaw went slack, and the cigarette stuck to the wetness inside his chapped lips. You bent down to gather large rocks into your palms, opting for four when he didn’t answer.

You stood up and stepped back. Made a big show of tracing invisible arcs above your head with your gaze, readying your hands. Sucking in a breath. Building suspense while his expression slowly crept into one of tempered curiosity.

Tensing, you tossed all four rocks into the air, and made a genuine effort to catch them before they fell unceremoniously around you, bouncing off the gravel in your scramble.

Clasping your hands behind your back in feigned shyness, you announced, “I don’t know how to juggle.”

For a moment you thought he was going to continue to regard you as if you were a bug in his coffee.. Then his veneer cracked.

He snorted. The cute way, when someone’s trying to suppress it. A subtle shake in their shoulders, keeping their head down, and their smile hidden behind the heel of the palm.

Eddie hugged his arm tighter over his chest, and chastised himself, “Why’d I let that get me.”

And truly, when he flicked his gaze to you with the lopsided remnant of his grin, you were imprinted with the heat of his wonderment, and your body remembered that feeling. Sensing it later when you sat at your desk, tapping your pencil, rattling off a series of numbers and letters for engine parts, and you snuck a coy look over the phone at the exact moment Eddie turned around to ask Carl for a wrench instead of getting it himself from the tool box near the window.

And he felt your stare during lunch when you promised an irate customer their car would be ready by the end of business hours, and hung up the phone with the type of heavy-handedness one used when implying a ‘fuck you’ without stating it.

You pushed yourself from the desk and went to the fridge in front of the circular table in the break room, eyeing Eddie’s odd choice as you walked by. A bologna sandwich–fairly normal–but also a stained orange tupperware container with an array of dried out microwaved leftovers. A corner of spaghetti, pale instant mashed potatoes with three peas stuck on top, unidentifiable sludge that may have been beef stew at one point, and a handful of Kraft mac n cheese.

Pitiful amounts of food that most people would’ve thrown out.

Not that you should judge. Your lunch was the blandest rice-based meal your roommate’s mom made the night before. The woman had never heard of salt, much less other spices, but she was letting you live in their attic for free until you and Bobbie found a place to live.

Breaking your chain of thoughts, you smiled at Eddie on your way out.

He didn’t look up from his paperwork.

Wholly ignored.

————

Over the rest of the month, you learned there wasn’t a definitive pattern to which days of the week were hardest for Eddie, but it was clear when he was enduring the worst.

As the evenings grew cooler, you left the lobby door open, and in doing so, were wise to the bite in his words, the edge to his voice. The quick apologies to Carl when he let his frustration show. The fluidity of ‘fucks’ flying past his mouth, the way he wrung his nape while staring into the distance, and the lurking stress of bottled emotions causing his teeth to grind.

He approached you with concern spurned from the windows being painted black with night.

“You don’t have to stay behind, you know that, right?” Eddie got your attention in the doorway. You blinked at him, still seeing the words of the book you were reading swim past your vision. “I have a set of keys. I can lock up when I’m done.”

It was the most he’d said to you in two weeks. Three entire sentences composed of more words than he’d uttered if you added them all up since your juggling stunt.

“I don’t mind.”

A meager response which resulted in a standoff.

Eddie wasted no time bunching his shoulders at your defiance. He left streaky fingerprints on the door handle as he reached for his neck, and tucked his fingers under his collar to run his thumb along his chain necklace in a self-soothing gesture. A layer of grime coated his skin. His disheveled hair stuck to his sweaty, dirty neck. The front of his coveralls were blackened with grease, as was the white tank top he wore underneath, peeking above the unfastened top snap.

On the other hand, you overturned your palms and glanced around the barren room. “Is it really that much of a bother that I’m sitting in here being quiet?” you drawled.

“Yes.” Automatic irritation.

“It’s not like I have somewhere to be.”

“Don’t have a comedy routine to rehearse with your roommate?” he intoned in complete monotony.

“Ha-ha,” you replied, just as emotionless. You thought about correcting him in regards to you and Bobbie no longer doing stand up, but decided to grab your backpack and leave without putting up a fight. His concern about you staying late may not be genuine, but it was evident he wanted–or needed–you gone. You didn’t want to push his boundaries when he showed this level of discomfort, especially when the burden of fatigue wore beyond acceptable exhaustion, and he was ready to snap, no matter how hard he tried to quell it.

You surrendered, “Bye, Eddie.”

No reply.

In total darkness, you unchained your bike and hopped on, pedaling past the mailbox when you heard the thunderous slams of the service doors being lowered shut.

And you made it to the edge of the trees before coming to a screeching halt in the middle of the empty street, cracking your neck at the speed of which you whipped around to gawk.

Your heartbeat skipped, then timed itself with the extreme drum beat and opening wail of a guitar accompanied by high-pitched screamed lyrics.

The music may have been muffled, and the inside fluorescent lights struggled to penetrate the dense fog from the upper warehouse windows, but it was as if Eddie was subjecting the desolate parking lot to his own personal Judas Priest concert, hearing be damned.

You didn’t even know the dusty radio in the shop worked. But whatever helped him blow off steam, you supposed.

————

Today was a good day.

Eddie liked Fridays. Most people working weekdays did, but when he came inside early from his morning cigarette, and you hadn’t finished sweeping the shop, he made a point to idle around the orange car at the center, seeking your attention and offering an apology. Not a spoken apology, mind you. But it was rare he initiated eye contact, and when he did it with the purpose of showing deference in his softened features, you understood.

You forgave him with a gentle lift at the corner of your lips for an incident yesterday afternoon, wherein he grunted at you to leave him alone when you were telling him about one of the plays you and Bobbie acted in. Sometimes you required your own reminder of when you were being annoying, and gave him an apologetic smile for bothering him. He nodded. All was right with the world. All was forgiven and now he could get to work.

He wiped his hands down the sides of his coveralls, and leaned his upper half through the open car window to reach the latch for the hood.

The perfect opportunity to mess with him presented itself in all its glory. But first, you couldn’t resist taking a long.. long look at his backside, head tilted, mouth more than a little hung open.

“Huh?” He nearly banged his head on the roof, rounding on you with the sharpest glare in the Midwest.

Under the guise of perfect innocence, you kept brushing the broom over his work boots and toward the dust pan. “Sorry, sir, just doin’ my job. Gotta clean up the filth.”

“An actress and a comedian, huh?” he posed, allowing his smirk to foster as he gripped the edge of the door. “Gonna tell me you were a clown, next?”

“Actually..” You were interrupted by Carl coming in, followed by the near-retired Kevin who worked two days a week.

You greeted them loud and proud, overdoing it in the joy department at the ripe morning hour. Asking about Carl’s wife, and Kevin’s dog; really laying it on thick for the purpose of sending a message to the looming ghoul behind you: I’m annoying you on purpose now.

Still, as you entered the lobby, you caught sight of the sneaky grin on his face before he turned his back to you. A tight-lipped thing he was clearly trying to rid himself of while pulling his hair back into a low bun, and taking the time to tie up a bandana to keep everything out of his face, thus losing his security blanket from the world perceiving he wasn’t in a permanent bad mood.

And of course, Eddie kept up his act through lunch. Stomping through the lobby in that way people did when they were so very obviously trying to appear aloof, and coming across as anything but. Eyes staring straight ahead, but too wide and too aware to not be soliciting a reaction from their periphery. Chest out, muscles flexed. Posture the very opposite of casual, causing them to walk in a stilted manner like a robot.

And his charade continued when he came back from the break room, rounding the corner with softer steps. Slower. Hanging onto the precious milliseconds where your back was to him, and he could absorb your image freely without being noticed. Then, he lifted his chin and returned to his project, pretending you weren’t there.

Yep, so painfully obvious when he forgot reflections existed and you were surrounded by glass.

~~~

Fridays were the days he anticipated most. Work was grueling, and he had many things to finish before the break for the weekend, but he didn’t mind staying late. He preferred it.

Fridays meant he could rely on someone else handling the stressors at home, and he was free to earn his late hours at the garage, indulging in his loud music, and unwinding the constant state of tension lurking beneath the surface. It was the only way he knew how to cope. To stay sane.

Yeah, he loved Fridays. Until a surprise came running at him in her tiny pink shoes.

Eddie screwed his eyes shut and exhaled a long, hard breath through his nose.

“Sorry,” came Wayne’s earnest apology as his nephew wilted; shoulders sagging, head hung. Tapping the wrench he was holding on his thigh. Trying his best to keep it together. “Don’t mean to drop ‘er off on you, but work called me in, so I came here after picking her up.”

Turning away from the engine he was installing, Eddie assumed his authoritative voice, but it came out as a weary sigh. “Adrienne, you know the rules,” he warned lowly, “No running in the shop.” After a beat, he corrected himself. “I mean, no being in the shop at all!”

She giggled as she skipped away from him, sloppy pigtails bouncing with mirth, plastic glittery shoes slapping the concrete floor where a myriad of items she could trip on laid.

“Adrie!” He called out, but she was too busy opposing him to pay attention.

Lucky for her, a certain receptionist caught her by the shoulders before she crashed into a rogue tire.

“Whoa there, little Miss!”

You looked to Eddie for further instruction on what to do with the girl currently laughing up a storm at your feet, but he was frozen. A bit paler, and wringing the back of his neck. Unable to articulate any of the broken consonants on his tongue as he stared at you. You switched your gaze to the older man beside him, but he was equally confused as to why Eddie was having trouble speaking.

Addressing anyone who would like to volunteer an answer, you asked, “And who’s this?”

“This.. This i-is my daughter. She, I, Goddamnit–I’m sorry, can you take her inside? I swear she’ll be quiet. Right, Adrie?”

Seeing the pure desperation settle around his eyes, you assimilated into the role of babysitter, wanting to alleviate his anxiety despite the sudden surge of your own. You held your hand out for her to take, and she did so without a second thought, grasping onto you with her little fingers and standing up, being the one to lead you to your desk.

As the door closed behind you, you overheard the older man clear his throat under the strain of bad news. “The water heater is broken again, and I couldn’t– ..Before I had to leave.”

Their private conversation was sealed behind the glass. You didn’t care to eavesdrop. It was too heartbreaking watching Eddie frantically catch his fingers on his bandana before removing it so he could tangle his curls into his fist, tugging them over his face as he groaned in a fruitless effort to hide himself from the world.

But on the subject of his brunette waves..

His daughter had the same curl pattern. Almost the same cut, too. Clearly Eddie was the acting barber of the family. Something you’d find adorable if it wasn’t for the pang of rejection in your stomach.

Daughter. Family.

The words repeated themselves in your head as your eyes wandered to the black tray beside the tool cabinet. He wore several large rings. Lots of jewelry, in fact, but you couldn’t remember if any of them were a wedding band, and the embarrassment of developing a crush on a married man for weeks without taking two seconds to cross reference his left hand burned your cheeks hot.

“Hi,” his daughter said cutely, swaying from foot to foot while holding two of your fingers.

You crouched to her level. “Wanna draw while we wait?” She nodded, sucking on the tip of her thumb.

Steadying your spinny office chair while she climbed into it, you made sure she was comfortable before bringing out the black stool from Mr. Moore’s office, and sitting next to her. You opened your backpack, flipped to a clean sheet in your sketchpad, and presented it to her along with your colored pencils.

“Hmm, what should we draw?”

Adrie snatched the bubblegum pink color, and began her masterpiece. “Mrs. Teresa read us a book about a mouse.”

Thank God she said it was a mouse, because you didn’t want to be the one to guess what the two oblong circles on the page were.

Adorably, she filled you in on the parts of the story she remembered, and added a triangle of yellow cheese under the mouse, then waited for you to prompt another thing to draw. You followed the nocturnal theme and asked for an owl. She hesitated on what colors to choose, and you helped her pick out the shades of brown and tan.

“How old are you?” you asked while she inundated her bird with too many feathers.

“Four-and-a-half,” she said proudly. “How old are you?”

You raised your brows. “Certainly not four-and-a-half.”

At some point, your arm had wrapped itself around her. Maybe to help shift her closer to the desk. Maybe to collect her in a pseudo-hug when she completed her art. Maybe to let Eddie know everything was okay when he craned his neck to check on you while conversing with the man outside, and you put on your best face, grinning at the story his daughter reenacted about a cartoon she watched that morning at preschool.

“What next? What next?”

“Let’s see.. Can you draw me a bat?”

She was more sure of herself, grabbing the black pencil and outlining an entire colony of bats mid-flight with more attention to detail. “My daddy has bats.”

“He has bats?” you questioned, sweeping loose hair out of her face.

She pointed to her elbow.

Thinking on it for a moment, you perked up. “Oh! He has tattoos?” She recognized the word, nodding vigorously. “Interesting, interesting.”

She’d hardly begun to fill in their wings when Eddie opened the door, and held up the comically small backpack slung on his arm, signaling it was time to leave.

You helped her down from the chair, and she excused herself to the bathroom, which only contributed to the awkward silence when she disappeared down the hall and Eddie was forced to wait at your desk.

It didn’t have to be analyzed, nor stated. The reality.

He had an entire life outside of work.

Duh. Of course he did, but still. It was one he never shared with you. Not like you earned the privilege to know, or to be included in anything he didn’t want to divulge, but with how private he was, it came as a surprise.

Invoking the thousands of dollars you spent on acting classes, you moved on, and kept your tone light, “The butterfly backpack suits you. Not sure about the color, though. Bright pink clashes with your navy blue outfit.”

Tough crowd.

His sulky demeanor permeated in his dull gaze trained on his stained sleeves. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Dumping her on you like that. Normally my uncle has the day off work and can take care of her, but he’s gotta go in because someone called out sick, so, yeah..”

If it were at all appropriate, you would reach across the countertop to soothe him from picking at his torn cuticles. But it wasn’t appropriate. So you didn’t.

You locked your hands behind your head and leaned back in your chair. “Funnily enough, I worked a brief stint as a clown for children’s birthday parties, so I’m actually quite comfortable entertaining them.”

“I’m shocked,” he said, void of shock. Finding the strength to lift his eyes from the animals she drew on your sketchpad to the encouraging curve of your lips, he tried to match your grin, but it fell flat. “At least you can go home on time today.”

You sucked in a breath for a quick retort, but Adrie interrupted you in her tiny voice, “Daddy! I can’t reach the sink!” And maybe that was for the best before you humiliated yourself more.

Because, the truth of the matter was, you always had the ability to go home on time. It was only because Eddie stayed behind that you made excuses to sit at your desk past your scheduled hours, prattling off some nonsense about memorizing the catalog.

“C’mon,” he said to his daughter, supporting her on his hip. “Let’s get going.” His tone wasn’t unkind, but it wasn’t exactly patient, either. The creeping exhaustion he kept under wraps was breaking through. Stress fractures in the mask he wore around others. The sanity he gripped for dear life for the sake of Adrie.

He caught the empathetic pinch between your brows, and used the last of his energy to turn so his daughter could see you. “Say ‘bye,’ and ‘thank you’ for playing, Adrie.”

She waved with the same enthusiasm as a golden retriever wagging their tail. “Bye! Thank you!”

“Bye, Adrie,” you laughed. “Bye, Eddie.”

Like usual, he didn’t respond. Today that was okay.

————

Eddie was on the verge. He was trembling, failing to loosen a bolt on the water heater to investigate why it broke–again–when his hair was yanked–again–and his knuckles scraped a bent piece of metal–again.

He was kneeling on his kitchen floor, craving nothing more than a shower to wash away the work week until his skin burned, but he was not afforded the simple luxury.

No relaxation. Not for him. No one to call on when Wayne was gone. This was his life to fix. On his own.

After repairing cars all day, he was exhausted. Touched out. But Adrie needed something from him, something he couldn’t understand with his tired mind. All he wanted was a break. All he needed was a break from her using his coveralls to scale his body. All he sought was the energy to deal with her pulling his hair.

But he was not spared the fortune.

“Adrie, please,” he resorted to begging. And when she didn’t stop, he withdrew his arms from the closet, and pried her hands off his hair, peeling her away and setting her on the floor.

She made to grab him again, but he used his waning strength to squeeze her arms to her sides, giving her his full attention she fought for.

“Can I get you a snack? Or put something on the TV? Do you want a nap?” He listed off anything, shaking and desperate.

“I wanna play with Daddy.”

Guilt amplified the shame.

He was a shit dad. He knew. He did his best and it was never good enough.

“I know you do,” the words fluctuated in the wake of water stinging his eyes. “I know you do, but Daddy needs to fix this. I can make you a snack and you can eat it in the living room. How ‘bout that?” Under normal circumstances, that wasn’t allowed. She had a penchant for dropping sticky food on the carpet–which was just another thing he’d have to get around to cleaning–but he was willing to bend the rules for the promise of a shower.

Adrienne thought about his offer for a long while, and settled on his deal.

And yet, it was hours.. hours until he was able to sit down.

The water heater required more service than he initially thought, and his daughter wasn’t entertained by herself for very long. She came to him in intervals of minutes, climbing up his back and hanging from his neck. He stopped caring. He didn’t have it within him. He made sure she was safe, and that was it.

He fed her a dreadful dinner, and she was so happy for her overcooked noodles in pasta sauce. He saved the leftovers. Put them in the nearly-empty fridge and took out two beers for himself, cracking the tops before sinking into the couch.

Adrienne stood between his legs while he wrapped her in her favorite blanket, and placed her in his lap. The top half of his coveralls were tied by the sleeves around his waist. No matter how dirty he was, this was how they ended the night. Him staring blankly at the TV, and her cheek on his chest, ear pressed to his white tank top, listening to his heartbeat. Curling her fists into her tattered quilt in response to him nuzzling the top of her head, and resting there in a content hum. Closing his eyes. Turning off his brain. Tipping back swigs of beer until he felt better, and giving her kisses until she giggled and squirmed.

The kisses were as much for her as they were for him, giving and receiving the only affection in his life. Apologizing for earlier when he couldn’t stand to be touched.

Her hug was small, yet powerful. Clumsy, but what he needed. Another person to gather in his arms and have their weight fall asleep on his chest.

He collected Adrie, and gave her a few more doting kisses while carrying her to bed.

“Stay, Daddy.”

Sometimes he did, just to have a real bed to sleep in, but with how long it took to fix the water heater, there was only enough hot water to bathe her. He’d have to wait until the morning.

“Not tonight, Daddy’s still dirty from work.”

It hurt to walk away. It hurt more to sleep on the lumpy couch. Hurt worse when Wayne came home to crash on the roll out bed, and the sun funneled through the windows, and the day started all over again.

Hurt the most when Eddie thought about the surprised look on your face when you learned he had a daughter.

Hurt the least when he imagined a world in which you wouldn’t care, and still flirted with him come Monday morning, because fuck, it was the only thing he looked forward to after Adrie’s meltdowns on the way to school.

[azfell-ajcrowley]

Something we didn't notice (part 2)

part 1

Overall, the meta is based on close observation of Aziraphale (for the most part) and Crowley. Without speculation or trying to guess what we haven't been shown (well, almost).

The Metatron makes it clear that he is watching Aziraphale delivering the "good news". Aziraphale looks back at him.

The first thing I'd like to explain. The Metatron is talking to Muriel, and then he stares at the window of the bookshop duplicating that gaze toward Crowley. The frame changes and we see Aziraphale looking out the same window, just for a second, but he will do it repeatedly.

As Crowley starts his monologue, Aziraphale tries to stop him by gesturing for him not to say too much, while looking out the window himself. Aziraphale continues to turn to the window with every meaningful attempt to speak.

Let's also note that Aziraphale doesn't usually behave in a similar way in conversations with Crowley. Yes, Aziraphale is characterised by active gesticulation, but the constant pauses, averting his eyes from the interlocutor, nervous and jerky movements - these are messengers that angel is holding something back, hiding or simply doesn't want to tell. Most often we see this Aziraphale in conversations with the leadership - God and Archangels.

https://commonmexicanname.tumblr.com/post/734305363759890432/good-omens-thoughts

Here's a prime example, comparing his interaction with Archangels when he's caught off guard and frantically trying to figure out how to get out of the situation.

I don't think Aziraphale is just lying to Crowley here, no. He just has an audience beyond Crowley. He tries to tell everything, knowing he has more than one viewer.

When Aziraphale mentions the Metatron, he is not just hinting, he points his index fingers - one at the window, another at Heaven, and then in a distinctly active quick motion once more at the WINDOW.

And again - turns his face to the window at the words about Gabriel failing, and then tilts his head towards the transparent panes of the bookshop.

The conversation with the Metatron is important, among other things, to assess Aziraphale's behaviour when Crowley is mentioned by his superiors. At the words about their partnership Aziraphale looks frightened: his facial muscles are tense, his forehead and eyebrows are furrowed, and there is a terror in his eyes.

When the God's spokesman concludes his really suspicious speech, Aziraphale swallows nervously and averts his eyes. He certainly doesn't look like someone who's been offered the fulfilment of his cherished dream. And not like someone who believes it.

Aziraphale looks like someone who has just found out what an enormous amount of incriminating information is in his opponent's possession.

"Tell me you said no. Tell me you said NO." Crowley is definitely shocked and horrified, he thinks the best of his angel. He can't believe what's going on (and he isn't supposed to).

Aziraphale turns his head towards the window again as an answer.

He actually said:

And

We see him right before he walks into the bookshop, he never says yes to the Metatron.

Aziraphale utters his most delusional words while looking out the window. Of course, they're not meant for Crowley. Aziraphale hasn't believed it for a long time, Crowley even more so.

And then Crowley says "Oh, God", without correcting himself afterwards, because this demon can only hope in God here.

For a second Aziraphale has a look of hope on his face that Crowley has realised what he's getting at. Then Aziraphale realises that Crowley is trying to confess. He's waited for so long not to realise. He was about to confess too.

Aziraphale already knows everything Crowley is about to tell him, but more importantly, literally everyone already knows it. It's impossible to stay and start pretending again that there's nothing between them.

Aziraphale has a completely blank stare past Crowley, and then he looks out the window. Again.

And then the most interesting thing happens. Crowley starts his line "And I would like to spend…" But he turns his head and finally looks out the window, where Aziraphale has been pointing so hard since the beginning of their conversation.

Maybe that's the reason Crowley doesn't complete the sentence. And he begins to pick up different words. Maybe not, maybe the sun from the outside is preventing him from seeing the Metatron.

In the final part of their conversation, when they move closer to the bookshop's door, Aziraphale looks towards the window again.

After "no nightingales" line he turns away to hide his feelings and pain.

The cherry on the cake is the kiss, Aziraphale is falling into the abyss. He averts his eyes trying to figure out if the Metatron could have seen what just happened.

When Crowley leaves, Aziraphale thinks he's lost him. But then, even when the Metatron walks in and says devaluing words about Crowley, Aziraphale can't tear himself away from the window, because now he can see Crowley there. Maybe not everything is lost.

Aziraphale retreats back to the clock - to the very spot where Crowley was standing a few minutes ago. He looks out the window at Crowley, as if to say, "I stand where you stood, you stand where the Metatron stood."

[bumblesimagines]

Gold and Green

Request: Yes or No

Summary: To further secure the Lannisters to the Green's side, Otto Hightower arranges a marriage between his grandson, Aemond Targaryen, and the Lannister twins younger sister.

Pronouns: She/Her/Hers

CW/TW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, arranged marriage trope, mentions of Targcest/incest, mentions of Luke's death, kinda short i wasn't sure what to do with this guy, fluff?

Took my time getting to this mf

~~~

Aemond hardly knew what to make of marriage life. 

He knew what one was expected to do as a couple: attend formal events, ensure both houses prevailed, and have many, many children to continue the bloodline. But, as he came to learn, he had little idea what to do outside of expectations.

No amount of histories or studying or even reading childish romantic tales told him how to be a husband, and he hardly had anyone to model what a proper and good lord-husband was supposed to look like. His father had hardly cared for his mother and his brother barely paid Helaena any attention outside of awkward, forced interactions. 

Aemond found it infuriating, simply put. He mastered everything he put his mind to. He'd claimed the biggest dragon in the world as a mere boy; lost an eye and replaced it with a sapphire; excelled in swordsmanship and combat; perfected the art of speaking, writing, and understanding High Valryian; studied the histories and listened to the septas dutifully to the point he could recall any tale down to the smallest of details. The perfect heir, if he had to be honest, but hardly anything that'd help him be a good husband. He refused to be like Aegon, refused to allow himself to steep down to his brother's level of indifference toward his sister-wife. 

His dear mother had been little help, merely telling him to 'be a kind and dutiful husband' when he questioned her, but he understood why she herself would have little experience knowing what a husband should look like. His grandsire simply told him to hurry and consummate the marriage once his wife's monthly blood had finished, to court her with gifts and such if he so wished. 

So, he gave his grandsire's advice a try and searched for a necklace befitting for a lioness of the west. 

"Wife," Aemond instinctively called into their shared bedchambers as he stepped inside, his single eye searching the room as the door slid shut behind him until he noticed her sitting on one of the couches. She looked beautiful, clad in the gold and red colors of House Lannister. He'd much prefer her in green but he hardly found it appropriate to push the subject when they barely spoke. Her handmaidens curtsied upon seeing him before resuming their tasks.

"Husband." (Y/N) responded in greeting, her tone somewhat monotone and attention largely focused on her embroidery. He understood why she and Helaena got along so easily, perhaps he should've inquired his sister instead. "How was your day, My Lord?"

"Busy, as always. War is on the horizon, I fear." He tried not to think about Lucerys, or the memory of watching bits and pieces of Arrax descend into the ocean. He'd meant to frighten him, humiliate him as he and his brother had done to him years prior, but he'd forgotten Vhagar wasn't a mere mindless creature nor a weapon he could control. She followed his orders because she wanted to, not because she had to. 

"Wasn't it always?" She asked, though it wasn't a question meant to be answered. A masked statement to avoid offending him. He knew what the courtiers whispered behind his back since his return from Storm's End. Kinslayer. A title spat and whispered with disdain because who would be cruel enough to kill their own blood?

(Y/N) exhaled through her nose and peered over her shoulder when a handmaiden poured steaming water into the tub. She stood up, handing her embroidery off to one dutiful handmaiden and smoothing out her dress with her hands. She stepped around the couch and strode toward her desk, her fingers raising to remove her earrings and set them aside. Her eyes flickered to his reflection in the mirror as he strode toward her, gently setting the silver box on the desk. 

"For you, My Lady." He murmured and took a step back, clasping his hands behind his back and watching her eye the box. (Y/N) opened it and hummed, trailing her finger over the necklace within. Gold, to resemble House Lannister, with a glimmering emerald in the center to resemble House Hightower. The union of their two houses, of their blood. "I hope it is to your liking." 

"It is quite beautiful, Husband. Thank you." She told him, unclipping the necklace around her neck and setting it down. His wife studied the gift, her eyes lingering on it for a moment longer before she turned toward her handmaidens and dismissed them with a wave of her hand. They finished their task swiftly and curtsied deeply before leaving the room. Aemond couldn't help but tilt his head. His wife still needed to prepare for the night. 

"Wife-"

"Help me undress, Husband." (Y/N) told him, striding toward the tub and casting a glance over her shoulder at him. Aemond followed silently and reached forward, carefully undoing the laces of her dress and helping her slide it off her body. His eye jumped away, out of respect and instinct but he forced himself to look back. She was his wife, after all. 

Offering her his hand, he held hers as she stepped into the tub and lowered down into the warm water, a hum of contentment escaping her. Aemond took a seat on the stool by the tug, his long fingers curling around a soapy rag and beginning to gingerly rub it along her shoulders.

Her lips curled upward, her eyes following his movements before they trailed up his arm and to his face. He paused when her hand raised from the edge of the tub, stiffening when she tugged the eyepatch away to reveal the sapphire in place of his missing eye. 

"You needn't wear this around me, Husband." She told him, placing the eyepatch in the palm of his free hand. "I am not a silly little girl like some of the ladies here. I do not frighten easily." 

His own lips curled at that, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. He expected such an attitude from a Lannister, although her older brother, Tyland, hardly gave the same impression as her. He shrunk back easily when challenged during meetings and had the attitude of a cub over a lion. "I shall like to introduce you to Vhagar then, Wife." Aemond ran the rag along the underside of her arm, slowly lifting it until he could brush his lips over her knuckles. 

"I'm certain we'll get along." (Y/N) responded, her hand turning over to cup Aemond's chin. He leaned into her touch and savored it, for he hadn't received such a gentle caress since the death of his nephew. His mother had shrunk back from him, whether from fear or disgust of what he'd done. No mother would find the news of her child getting their hands bloody appealing. He had to give her time to adjust. 

Aemond smiled against her skin. "Yes, I believe so as well." He agreed, feeling her palm slide against his jawline and cheek. Her thumb brushed over the scar thoughtfully, not a glimmer of disgust on her face.

She'd make a lovely queen, he noted. They'd make a lovely ruling couple, far better than his older siblings and even his parents. If only he'd allowed Aegon to escape when he had the chance. 

"I believe we ought to consummate the marriage soon, Husband." The light teasing tone in her voice made him grin. 

"Yes, we should. Perhaps... tonight."

[mindfulstudyquest]

“ dopamine detox ,, and why you should delete all your social media right now

"just five more minutes" and then you end up scrolling on instagram or tiktok for hours. i know that feeling. even if you know rationally that focusing on the really important things ( such as studying, working, learning from books or whatever ) is much healthier for you and your future, you can't help it.

you know that start studying for the exam you have next week will benefit you much more in the long run, but you still prefer watching tiktoks and scrolling on instagram. you could say that is pretty obvious: one activity is easy, and doesn't require much effort, whereas the other one is difficult and implies that you are focused.

but it's actually like this? so then why some people manage to be consistent in studying, or working, or exercising? they simply just have more motivation than you? and how can you start having the same motivation as them?

to answer this question, we have to take a look to a very important molecule produced by our brain: dopamine.

dopamine is often considered a pleasure molecule, but it's a false belief. dopamine is actually the molecule that makes us desire things, and it's that desire that gives us the motivation to complete every kind of task. for example, your brain doesn't release dopamine while you're eating a cheesburger, it releases it while you're going to mcdonald's to buy it, because you anticipate that the food will make you feel good, even if it actually makes you feel worse.

to your brain, it doesn't matter if the high-dopamine-activity is damaging to you.

your brain organizes priorities based off how much dopamine is expecting to get:

if an activity releases too little dopamine, you won't have the motivation to accomplish it.

if an activity releases a lot of dopamine you'll be motivated to do it, and repeat it over and over

so, which activities releases dopamine? basically, any activity where you can get an immediate potential reward releases an high amount of dopamine. but if you know that there's not an immediate reward invoved ( such as in studying, where the reward is in the long run ) your brain will not expect to release much of it and you'll be less motivated to do that task.

nearly everything releases some amount of dopamine, even drinking water when you're thirsty, but the highest amount of it is released when you're getting a reward randomly, for example while playing on a slot machine. even if you loose money, you eventually expect to get a bigger reward.

therefore it is not so surprising that the most additive social networks ( tiktok, instagram, pinterest ) are designed as slot machines. you don't know what the next post or video will be, but you expect something great, so your brain releases a large amount of dopamine.

in today's society our brains are overloaded with stimuli that induce an unnatural production of dopamine ( scrolling on social media, playing video games, watching internet pornograhy, etc. ).

it's frightening that people don't know how harmful this lifestyle is: our bodies have a biological sistem called homeostasis, which means that our bodies keep the internal physical and chemical conditions at a balanced level, whenever an imbalance occurs, our bodies adapt to it, for example, when it's very hot our body temperature rises and we start sweating to cool down.

but homeostasis manifests through tolerance too. for example, someone who hardly ever drinks alchool will be tipsy after one beer, on the other hand, someone who drinks alchool on a regular basis will need two, three, four beers in order to get drunk, because their body has developed a tolerance to it. it's not much different with dopamine.

so if you get used to large amounts of dopamine, you won't be able to do the things that you did before, because they don't produce as much dopamine and it's more difficult to motivate yourself to do them. once your dopamine tolerance gets too high, you are no longer able to enjoy low dopamine activities.

as if you were a drug addict, there's only one way to get out of it: you have to perform a dopamine detox. you have to avoid all high dopamine activities in order to allow your body to adjust to a normal level of dopamine production and start finding motivation again in the things that improve your personal growth.

it's not easy, you will be nervous and frustrated, maybe you won't make it through a full day without social media, but day by day it will get better and better, and eventually you'll be able to appreciate small things again.

imagine that you're eating your favorite food - for example, chocolate cake - every single day. after a while, chocolate cake doesn't taste good as before, even if it's literally the same cake. on the other hand, if you eat it once a month, it will taste great, because it's not something you've gotten used to.

this is exactly what dopamine detox does. be safe guys, and start recovering now.

[ source: https://youtu.be/9QiE-M1LrZk ]

[dmitriene]

HEADCANONS ABOUT HOW SIMON RILEY, JOHNNY MACTAVISH AND JOHN PRICE SHOW THEIR LOVE TO YOU.

cw: tooth rotting fluff, comfort, vague smut (johnny's part), maybe a bit of emotional hurt on simon's part (not reader experience), established relationship, kisses, marking, intimacy, touching, pet names, everyone of them can seem slightly ooc, confessions, no femenine terms, just a big amount of love. pairing: bf simon, johnny and john x gn reader

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

SIMON GHOST RILEY:

SIMON'S love language is as gentle as it can be for a man of his coolness and frightening size, whose feelings are buried behind a broken ribcage, a place colder than russia, nothing more than the insides of a real ghost, but that doesn't mean he doesn't deserve love, that he can't be meek.

simon is meager with words, and you don’t blame him, you’re not in a hurry to open an old wound without knowing how it will turn out for you, so you give him time, he himself comes to you with affection, like a dog with his muzzle lowered into accepting warm palms, and you carefully stroke him, whisper reverent declarations of love, without demanding an answer, because one look from his dark, flaming eyes is enough to understand the depth of his affection. this does not stop simon from spending time and money on you, a little embarrassed, afraid that it will look awkward and strange from the outside — but you accept all the tiny manifestations of his love in gifts, new clothes, bouquets of flowers, allowing him to gradually teach what you like and what don't, and every time he gets better, more quickly he reaches out to express his gratitude for your love for him. gradually, the need to admit it trembles on its own, his tongue is knotted with the desire to voice these three words, but he constantly puts it off until later, sets it aside for a few minutes later, promises himself that on a certain day, evening, in a certain place, maybe a restaurant, he'll confesses to you for the first time and forever, but in the right moment he is overcome by such fear that his heart seems to want to come out of his throat, the tips of his fingers sting from the cold and makes them painfully curl into a whitened fist under the table, and he says again to himself — “later, tomorrow, next week„ just to confess this night. it’s been dark outside the window for a long time, your body is enveloped in soft sheets and a warm blanket, warming a little worse than simon’s body next to you, a twisted ball of muscles just to lay his head on your chest, listening to the heartbeat of your heart, he thinks that you’re sleeping, he consoles himself with this thought, while the warm alcohol he drank earlier is flows through his veins and tempting him to take a desperate step, for him this is a cliff, because he does not suspect that this is actually a new streak, but one way or another he firmly goes to stop right in the face of the abyss and wheeze out tensely — “i love you„ he is sure that you are sleeping, he is sure based on the peaceful beating of your heart and the heaving of your chest, but when your hand silently rises and runs through his blond hair, tangling in the strands and sliding to the back of his head to press his face deeper into your chest, tracing a path to his jaw to scoop, his chest bursts at the seams and suddenly blossoms, following the words spoken from your lips — “i love you too, simon„ and your palm burns from the warm moisture of the salty tears that left his eyes for the first time.

JOHNNY SOAP MACTAVISH

JOHNNY'S love language is boyish, bright and daring, like the lights in his blue eyes, a flame that does not burn, but warms, as well as his tremulous touches, bordering on the edge of too enthusiastic, hasty, as if an little puppy running around your legs and whose eyes are focused only on you, he is not interested in anyone else, only you. he feels like a bright flash, as dazzling as his bright smiles, causing his eyes to squint pleasantly at the edges when he looks at you and openly chuckles when you scold him for not being able to hold back even when in public, a massive hand brazenly examines your butt and periodically even squeezes your clothed flesh, and how can you be angry with him when he purrs so flirtatiously, sickly sweetly — “sorry, honey, couldnae handle myself, coud a? ye juist leuk sae pretty„ a real devil, but one way or another, yours, so you allow him to express his love for you in touches that make areas of your skin burn and remember the imprints of his wide fingers, in hot kisses that heat your lips and make them tingle while his tongue intertwines with yours, and your teeth collide and clash in an absurd hurry. johnny does not skimp on signs and, be it his views or words, actions — he is active more like a boy than a man, with a vague, almost wolfish grin, plucking and giving you a single street flower, something small, but so charming, sprinkled sweet words that sizzle on your tongue like candy every time you listen to his speech — “a pretty flower for the love o ma life„ but johnny becomes even more loving at home, it’s amazing how much more affectionate and soft he becomes as soon as you cross the threshold, that insolence, that sparkle — recede to demonstrate his obedience, he sticks to you from the back, his hands constantly squeeze you in his arms, not letting you go from his muscular body even when you are busy with something and scold him for it — “johnny, baby, you're stopping me from laying out the dishes„ but he doesn’t care at all, there is endless adoration in baby blue eyes, he places his chin on your shoulder and bats his eyelashes in a ridiculously seductive way, making you sigh heavily one way or another and drop whatever you were doing, because there is nothing wrong with giving him a little more attention, no matter that it always ends the same way, in the same scenario where you both end up in bed for the whole day ahead. johnny will endlessly cover your body with soft kisses, somewhere biting the skin, somewhere running his tongue, despite the light layer of sweat on your body and the possible unpleasant saltiness, anyways, these are all the tricks of his early actions, but you can’t say a word, except to bury your fingers in his chocolate strands of hair, hidden behind the blanket that covers his body, while he lies half weighted on you and looks into your eyes with a slight squint, kissing, biting and purring again and again — “a love ye„

JOHN PRICE

JOHN'S love language is courteous, confident that he knows how to behave around the person he wants to take care of and whom he loves, this can be seen not only in his words or actions, but even in the warm, peaceful look and stern aura that follows him always and everywhere, and you immediately understand that this is the man who can not only care about you, but also fulfill your every whim. sometimes, looking at him, everything around begins to seem somehow surreal — too good to be true and at the same time enough to remain true, he knows how to not only appreciate people, but also take care of them, support, cherish, everything you can dream of and what his partner, you, knows better than anyone. he does not hesitate and does not regret when it comes to financial expenses — do you want to buy something for your home? you know where his bank card is, as a last resort, send him a list, do you want to buy something for yourself? he will be more than happy to let you do this and later find out about your new purchases out of pure interest, are you interested in going on vacation somewhere with him? john hasn’t rested for a long time and is more than happy with this idea, the main thing is tell him where and for how long, he’ll take care of the rest himself. you may not lift a finger once in your relationship, but this does not mean that he will not be happy if you do something around the house, go grocery shopping, naturally, he usually insists on accompanying you if you need to go somewhere, not because mistrust, but out of care, an instinct instilled in him as a captain responsible for his soldiers, but you are not just a person under his supervision and control, you are a person who has taken his love and devotion for yourself. he loves to please you, strives to support you in any endeavors, hobbies, or just during sudden mood swings, john focuses most of his energy and time on you as a priest would do with the deity he worships, and if there was the same scenario here, he would have no qualms about sacrificing everything to get your blessing, and this is the man who would kneel down in front of you on both knees without shame. it’s also worth noting that john is not at all embarrassed by the demonstration of his love in public, nor by other people’s glances, ordinary or sideways, he is never embarrassed to walk with you by the hand, bend down to softly kiss you on the lips, scratching your skin with his facial hair and smiling warmly, or even hold you on his lap — the only thing he is focused on at these moments is you, especially if it is a special day for joint relaxation — sit at home, go somewhere, have dinner in a good restaurant. the main thing is to be prepared for the possibility that he will not let go of your hand for a minute, stroking the back of it with his thumb and listening to any of your babbles and stories, his blue eyes are focused on your face, the corners of his lips are stretched in a smile and are lost against the background of how his beard and mustache stretch, while he presses your fingers to his lips and gently kisses them up to the knuckles, each time awakening butterflies in your stomach that never get rest in his presence, especially when he whispers in a slightly smoky, but so gentle voice — “i love you so much, dear, your voice is the loveliest sound for me„

[farshootergotme]

Dick Grayson is the type of person anyone from any age group can like.

Toddlers see this much bigger person than them, but don't feel any fear. His too kind eyes are anything but frightening. His soothing voice is calming and warm. And he always knows exactly what to do to make them laugh when they're upset.

The kids think he's really cool, but not in an intimidating way. They can talk to him and he will treat them like he treats everyone else without making them feel like less for being young. Spending just some time with him they already think he's the coolest adult they've ever met and want to play with him all the time.

Teenagers find him to be laid-back and more approachable than other older people they've met. He doesn't judge them and actually cares to listen. He can also relate to their struggles and provide useful advices if they ever need them. He's the type of adult they wouldn't hesitate on calling if they required any help.

Adults his age like him overall. He's a great person, but not a pushover. He's fun while still responsible without becoming overbearing. He doesn't try to seem better than anyone else and approaches everyone as his equals. And everytime someone is in need of support, he will offer a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen. He's a very good friend.

Elders see him as a very kind and respectful young man. Always making sure they're well, greeting them with a smile. He's very insightful and wise, too. Like an old soul in a young body. So, they can talk with him for hours about anything; their philosophies, experiences, life in general... And sometimes they just look at him and wonder why does it feel like he's lived more things than anyone his age should have. Not amount of pondering could give them an answer.

[allfearstofallto]

(Writing more about my OC cause I have a problem, mostly his backstory though!!)

Yandere! Male OC x Reader

Yuri used to be a knight. Although, that was a long time ago. Very few people know about it and even less are willing to ask him for details, if they do he shushes them with a gentle smile and calmly changes the conversation. He'd rather not go into the details. But the subtle change in his eyes says that it's a rather sensitive subject.

He was immediately born into hardships. Terrible eyesight and poverty, it wasn't long before he lost his parents, becoming an orphan wandering the streets. There were few places he could go without schooling and schooling he couldn't afford without a job, it was a viscous cycle. Becoming a knight was his last choice and the only thing that turned out right for him.

The white haired man was known for his brutality, for his lack of care and empathy on the battle field, for his efficiency and ability to get things done quickly. So much so that he was recognized by the king himself. His highness welcomed Yuri up for an audience and offered the man whatever he desired, he deserved it for all the work he'd done for the country.

Yuri answered without a beat, "I wish to be discharged."

Muttering filled the room, immediately silenced by the raising of the king's hand. If that's what he wanted, them so be it. Yuri was honorably discharged and allowed to leave the knights without being considered a defector. His pension was small, but it was something, it was a start, and it'd keep him from going back to the streets.

He thought he'd be once again in a scenario where he was desperate for work, but so much wasn't the case. Almost immediately after his audience, he was greeted by your father. An older gentleman, his hair greying from age and stress, he immediately asked for Yuri to work for him, and for a pretty penny at that.

Initially, Yuri thought he was being hired for mercenary work, a line that he truthfully didn't want to get into. But instead he stepped into a carriage and was taken to a place he'd never been before, a place he didn't think he'd have the opportunity to go to: school. A training school for butlers in specific.

He expected to live his life in servitude of the sword, only to instead be living it in service of another. At times, his training to be an acceptable butler was harder than basic training for the military, but he was being paid to be here and his schooling was paid for as well, he couldn't abandon the job.

Six months passed and he was finally able to meet you, his lady. You were not to know of his past, the idea of how much blood he'd previously had on his hands would frighten you, your father was sure of it, but Yuri was still to keep his sword close. He chuckled at the thought, realizing just what he was being used for, not just a butler, but a bodyguard as well. A personal knight without all the formalities, with all the work your father put into him, his loyalties were surely only going to lie with you.

You greeted him the day after your birthday, the only daughter of the Duke, it was obviously they spent a fortune on your etiquette classes, not a single thing was off about the way you introduced yourself to him. As much as he wished in hindsight that it was love at first sight, that he fell for you upon seeing you on that very first fateful day, that wasn't the case.

It took months before Yuri viewed you as more than his employer, something that seemed to upset you. He could tell you wanted to be closer to him, and the way you smiled, laughed, and even playful begged broke down his walls. He found himself doing more than working for you, serving your tea, arranging your clothes, and planning your schedule, he found himself doting on you.

So when you watched as he placed a few light snacks in front of you, your eyes lingering on his fingers and specifically the large amount of callouses he had on them, he knew you were going to ask.

And ask you did, oh so sweetly, "Why are your hands so rough, Yuri?"

He merely chuckled as he continued to serve you. He'd never tell you that his hands had killed, that he knew the grip of a sword better than he knew how to hold a teapot. He'd never tell you who he was before, it was the life he left behind after all. The him you knew now was all you needed to know, and he loved you far too much for you to look at him differently.

"I supposed I don't take good care of them, my lady," he answered smoothly, quickly changing the subject before you had the chance to ask anything more, "I heard the tailor will be coming soon. Why don't you tell me what you're planning to have made?"

[heavenlyvision]

˚₊‧⁺⋆༄ dearest pt.II first part ˗ˏˋ here ˎˊ˗ pairing: Vamp!Tomas x reader wc: 7k warnings: 18+ only, smut, mentions of injuries, blood drinking, cunnilingus, fingering, multiple orgasms, p in v sex, minor cumplay, -- like tiniest amount, afab!reader, no pronouns or y/n used, pet names used; dear/dearest a/n; i hope you enjoy it !!! i know this took a while for me to finish and i'm thankful to you all for being so patient !!! <333 MDNI | SMUT UNDER CUT

Most of your day is spent being anxious about Tomas’ promise to return tonight, you don’t know what he’s expecting, or if he’s expecting anything at all. Last night… sleeping with him was stupid, he’s not even really Tomas, you mean… he is… but he’s not. What even is his end game here, was it to sleep with you? Does he plan on killing you? And what is your end game? Surely you can’t leave him like this… you don’t want to leave him like this, you miss your Tomas.

The way you’re feeling is getting hazy and the lines are blurring, you’ve grown too attached to someone who isn’t even their original self. How would Tomas feel when he comes back, only to see you left him like that for so long, would he still look at you the way he used to? With kindness and adoration, or would he condemn you and tell you that you’ve broken his trust. These thoughts that plague you are debilitating, whatever you decide to do, you need to do it soon. Maybe you’ll be able to talk to him tonight… or maybe that’s not a great idea.

A knock on your door startles you out of your thoughts, looking to the clock you can see it’s about the time Kuai Liang visits everyday but when you open it, the only person in front of you is Harumi.

“Hi! It’s just me today, Kuai is a little bit busy but I’d like to chat, we’ve not spoken in a while,” she smiles at you, it’s kind but also mildly strained.

You eye her for a few moments, feeling uneasy by her lack of explanation and Kuai’s lack of presence, “…Yeah, uhh… come on in,” you say, stepping off to the side to let her into your home.

She brushes past you and moves to the small dining table, sitting as she asks, “How have you been?”

Lingering awkwardly, you answer, “I have been… fine I guess,” you pass her on the way into the kitchen, “Tea?”

“Yes, thank you,” she fiddles with her fingers against the table and quietly waits for you to return with tea, not speaking again until you’re done in the kitchen and sitting across from her, “I just wanted to come by and check on you, make sure you’re… well,” she blows on her drink, watching you carefully.

“I’ve been fine, not great but nothing has changed since yesterday,” you’re lying through your teeth, you just hope she doesn’t notice.

She has come here for a reason today and you aren’t quite sure what it is but she knows something, you can only hope she doesn’t know about Tomas visiting you nightly. The reactions you’d get from her, from everyone, well, to be quite honest are frightening to think about. You’ve waited so long now and there isn’t any real or good reason as to why – besides the fact that you enjoy Tomas and all of his attention, foolishly, you like him.

This visit is incredibly uncomfortable, you know why you’re uncomfortable but you can’t figure out why she’s uncomfortable. It’s been a good few moments now, of her trying to think of something to say and failing.

Your patience is growing thin and as you sigh, you decide to be blunt, “Has something happened, Harumi? You seem to be worrying about something.”

Her eyes grow wide for a second before she collects herself, “No, nothing has happened… I guess I’m just worried over Tomas, I’m not supposed to tell you… but he’s been moving closer to the village, I’m just a little concerned for you.”

If you hadn’t known her for so long, you’d believe her but she’s still withholding something from you. It is an incredibly good cover though, “I am not worried, I can take care of myself,” you offer in an attempt to ease her nerves, she’s lying but she’s still genuinely concerned for you, you believe that much.

She smiles appreciatively at you but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, “Thank you,” she murmurs, taking a sip of her drink.

The visit isn’t long, she doesn’t linger like Kuai Liang does, she came to check on you, have a small chat and then she’s out the door. It’s something you value about her, not really being one to linger yourself. It’s not often she drops by on her own though, her solo visit has raised alarm bells in your mind.

You’re on edge for the rest of the day, leg bouncing anytime you try to sit still, too much anxious energy pent up inside you. You can’t focus enough to do anything though, nothing holding your attention long enough to forget about your situation. The day can’t go by slow enough, you want it to hurry up so you can see Tomas and talk to him, maybe he has answers, or will be able to offer you some comfort… wait, since when did you start seeking him for comfort?

˚₊‧⁺⋆༄

Frustratedly, Tomas did not come by last night like he had promised, you waited, even stayed up significantly longer than you usually do, only for him to neglect to visit. It’s not characteristic of him, not when he’s made it an active habit to see you every night for the past few months. For him to suddenly stop out of nowhere, it hurts if you’re honest. It hurts because it feels like he’s gotten what he wanted from you, like he’s lost interest suddenly after fucking you.

Though, it’s suspicious too, especially since Kuai Liang also neglected to come by, sending Harumi in his steed. The lack of communication here is annoying and there isn’t a damn thing you can do to fix it, having to just deal with it whether you want to or not. It’s not like you can ask anyone if they’ve seen Tomas and you certainly can’t ask Kuai, not when he doesn’t even visit.

You’re feeling a little aimless and still on edge, it feels like every muscle in your body is wound tight and like you’re ready to fight back against anything that could give you a mild fright. You can’t sit in your house all day again, you’re going to go stir crazy, you might start bouncing off the walls. Instead of rotting away in your house, you wander around the village, even visiting people you’ve not spoken to in months, not since Tomas’ original disappearance.

It's nice but by the time you’re done, there is a significant amount of day left and you’re still high strung. This is frustrating you to no end, so you choose to go for a walk, not particularly enjoying the thought of it, only hoping it will expend enough energy and that you’ll be too tired to continue to be anxious.

Walking is honestly, annoying, it feels pointless, you know it isn’t and that there are benefits, you just personally feel no benefits from it. You don’t experience the mental clarity; you experience mental irritability. Almost as soon as you start, you want to stop but you’re determined to waste your time, maybe if this irritates you enough, you’ll be too focused on being annoyed to remember everything else.

You can’t be sure how much time passes, but you sure are irritated, instead of forgetting things though, it’s just piling all together. Frustration reaching a new point, you want to scream and kick your legs and have a full-blown tantrum but you just keep going, keep moving forward. You… aren’t used to feeling this uncertain for this long, normally you know what the right thing to do is and maybe if you were being honest with yourself, you’d realise you already know what the right thing to do is but just because it’s the right thing… doesn’t mean it’s easy.  

When you finally turn around and head back home, you’re sufficiently tired by the time you walk through the front door. The first thing you do is head for the shower, washing the day away before collapsing onto the couch, it doesn’t take long for sleep to find you. It isn’t intentional but you also don’t really mind, happy that you’re finally exhausted enough to sleep at all.

˚₊‧⁺⋆༄

It’s been a couple more days now and you still haven’t heard from Tomas, at first it mostly hurt and was vaguely concerning, now it’s starting to just feel concerning. You’ve seen Kuai Liang once, he visited yesterday quickly, to check in on you but he seemed… similar to how Harumi was acting, like he knows something that he’s keeping from you. No one is saying anything to you, so you’re taking things into your own hands. Maybe visiting people again and talking to them will result in some kind of gossip, someone has to have seen something helpful.

Being nosey proves to be fruitful, people tell you little tidbits and what you’ve gathered is – Kuai Liang has seemed on edge the past few days, he has recently asked people if they’ve seen anything unusual, and has been searching the nearby land a lot more frequently. You don’t have to be a genius to figure out he’s had some kind of run in with Tomas, whether he actually made contact or only saw him, you have no way of knowing but you know he’s clearly had some kind of confirmation of his proximity to the village and he must have witnessed his presence himself for it to have affected him this much.

Knowing Kuai has seen Tomas is worrisome, you don’t think Kuai will hurt his brother, he believes he can be helped. It’s Tomas who might react more…violently, he’s not adverse to injuring people, he’s grievously hurt some people just to make a point. To completely dismiss the idea of him harming Kuai Liang would be foolish, though it seems Tomas is avoiding him at the moment so you can be thankful for that much, he’s not actively aiming to attack him. Small miracles or whatever, you just hope Tomas comes by soon… you’re worried about him, the hurt you felt has passed, especially since it seems like he’s been avoiding getting too close because of Kuai Liang, at least… that’s what you’re telling yourself, until proven wrong.

The sun has gone down by the time you get home, though it’s not quite late, you just spent a lot of the daylight in the village, you think you’re finding joy in talking with people again. That or you’ve been feeling lonely since you’ve been getting less visitors lately. Brushing off the thought, you commence your nightly routine of showering and cooking dinner for yourself.

It’s not until after dinner that you’re graced by Tomas’ presence, you’re washing up in the kitchen when you hear thumping as he stumbles into your house. It makes you jump, all the noise he makes as he clumsily enters your home.

“Tomas! What the hell? Where have you–” moving closer, you take in the state of him, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m all good,” he smiles at you, “How have you been?”

He looks really tired, “I’ve been…” you frown deeply as you remember how you’ve been, “I’ve been worried! What happened to you for the past few days?”

He looks guilty, well… as guilty as he can manage, “A lot happened, I–”

“–You slept with me and then disappeared for three whole days,” you cross your arms, still eyeing him carefully, concerned.

“Yes, I see how it may look like that,” he scratches the back of his neck.

Your eyes scrutinise him, “It doesn’t just look like that, that is objectively what happened.”

“From your perspective yes, but a lot… a lot happened, I didn’t mean to leave you hanging… I just couldn’t get close enough to see you again,” he sighs, dejectedly.

You cross your arms, sizing him up, “Well, now that you’re here, can you explain what has happened?”

“I can, I just need to sit down or something,” he rubs at his eyes.

There is something definitely wrong with him, he looks exhausted, you don’t think he could look any worse, “…Yeah, just… lay down on the couch, I’ll get some extra blankets.”

“I won’t need them,” he reminds.

You pause, “Maybe not for warmth but the comfort would be nice… right?”

He smiles at you softly, so slight that you wouldn’t notice if you didn’t watch him so closely, “Sure.” You know he’s lying for your sake, but you’ll get him the blankets anyways.

When you come back into the living room, Tomas has made himself comfortable on your couch, you go to give him the blankets and his hand brushes yours as he takes them. You aren’t sure if he’s going to use them or not, but he unfolds one and stretches it out over himself, he’s quite large under the small throw blanket, not that he seems to mind. He uses the other to prop his head up on the arm of the couch, he looks a little ridiculous actually, his feet don’t fit under the throw and his head does not look comfortable like that.

You frown at him but there’s an amused smile ghosting your lips, Tomas looks at you, “What?”

“You look ridiculous… you don’t have to use the blankets if you’re uncomfortable,” you move to sit in the armchair facing him.

He frowns, his tone defensive, “No, I will be using them.”

Lightly huffing an amused breath, you say, “Alright! I’m not stopping you…” You let him settle in some more before asking again, in a polite way, “…What happened, Tomas?”

His eyes flick to yours quickly before looking straight ahead, “I ran into Kuai Liang…after I left yours.

You stay silent, mostly because you’re thinking too many things to be able to pick which question you should ask first and you’re hoping he’ll offer that information on his own. But the silence persists, he just lays there, his eyes closing as he sinks further into your couch.

He must feel your increasingly aggravated staring though because he sighs, “We fought.”

The annoyance you’re feeling towards him increases tenfold, “Why are you withholding? Just tell me everything that happened–”

“–Why?” He glances over to you, smirk plastered on his face, “You worried about me? You care about me, about my safety?”

The urge to roll your eyes is strong but you worry that if you give into that urge now, they’ll permanently be placed at the back of your head by the time this conversation is finished, “More worried about what you may have done.”

He huffs at you, amused by your inability to admit you care for him, “Kuai Liang is fine, I had a feeling if anything happened to him you would get upset so I played defence, I didn’t even hurt him… that bad… I think.”

Your tone is flat, “Are you kidding?”

He blinks at you, “I don’t think so.”

When you saw Kuai he seemed fine, so you’re going to assume if he was hurt, it really wasn’t that bad but that doesn’t mean you’re elated by all of this. In fact, you’d say you’re pretty well on your way to being pissed off right about now, you can feel your eyebrow beginning to twitch.

“Okay, listen… before you get upset, just know I really did try my best to avoid a fight,” he moves to try and sit up but winces as he does, only making it about halfway up.

Frowning, you move over to him, kneeling on the floor, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, don’t worry about it,” his hand holds over his stomach as he continues to sit up, his legs still laying across the length of the couch.

You’re beginning to get exasperated, “Okay… so, am I not worrying about it or are you fine?”

He pinches his brows, “Both.”

He’s frustrating you and he knows it, you tug at his clothes to try and see what may have happened, “Stop being annoying and–”

“–You know…if you wanted me to undress for you, all you had to do was ask,” he throws that smug smile your way and you feel like you might start vibrating with your irritation.

Tugging your hands back, you slump to the floor beside him, “Tomas please– just let me look at you…”

“Listen.” He waits for you to look him in the eyes again before continuing, “When I ran into Kuai we fought and I was focused on not hurting him… he nicked me is all, it really isn’t bad.”

You’re confused, “That was days ago… why aren’t you healed yet?”

He looks away from you, “It’s not important.”

Thinking on it, you realise it’s pretty clear why he’s not healing, “Tomas…”

“I’m fine,” he asserts.

You place your hand on his, “You could be finer though… I can help.”

His voice is firm, “No.”

He’s back to annoying you, “Why not?” You whinge slightly, hand tugging away in your irritation.

He sighs heavily, “You don’t know what you’re offering.”

You don’t appreciate his tone, “I’m fairly certain I do.”

He repeats his previous sentiments with a simple, “You don’t.”

You spell it out for him, to show him you do understand, “I’m offering to help you heal faster by letting you drink my blood, there isn’t much to not get–”

He’s growing frustrated with you now, “–You aren’t understanding the gravity of letting me do that.”

You understand his trepidations, but you want to help, “…Tomas–”

“–What if I can’t control myself? You are literally the last person I’d ever want to hurt…” He’s frowning to himself, agonising over the thought.

Reaching out, you go to touch him on his arm again, attempting to offer comfort but it only makes him tense in response, “I want to help and… I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t.” He looks you straight in your eyes, his brow set, tone serious, “You’re not understanding just how good you smell to me,” you have a feeling, that if he could manage it, he’d walk away from you.

His words effect you in a way they probably shouldn’t, at least not in this moment anyways, you push away the feelings swirling in your stomach and refocus, “Let me at least see how bad you’re hurt then.”

The hardness in his eyes softens and he nods, a good choice because you were not about to let this go. He moves to sit on the couch properly, no longer laying across it and you stand to help him undress his upper half. You try to be careful, but he still winces at some movements made, his discomfort more apparent now that he’s not trying to hide it from you. Once you’ve managed to get his layers off, you shuffle to sit beside him and look him over, he lets you get your eyeful.

It's honestly not as bad as you were picturing, still not great, if he were human you’d be running to get your first aid kit, but you know of a quicker and hassle-free way to have this fixed fairly soon.

He must feel how hard you’re thinking because he says, “I’m good, it’s fine.”

“Doesn’t look fine,” you quirk a single brow at him.

He keeps a straight face, “Well…” He looks down at his wound and then back at you, “It is.”

“I don’t want to keep going round like this, you’re being unnecessarily stubborn, let me help or I’ll…” You pause to think of a good threat.

He just smiles smugly at you, waiting for your threat patiently, nodding his head in encouragement.

“I’ll…” You look at him sternly, “I’ll never let you touch me again.”

“Well, that seems like an overreaction,” his expression is still overwhelmingly amused, not taking you seriously at all.

You huff out a sigh and slump slightly, “I just want to help.”

“I know you do,” his hand reaches out to cradle the side of your face, “But it’s not necessary.”

Leaning into his touch, you offer a different perspective, “If the roles were reversed and I was the one who was hurt, would you be so quick to give up your argument and not help?”

“I don’t think that’s the same,” he defends himself, badly.

You go to argue with him, but he predicts that move and instead kisses you, he’s gentle about it, kissing you sweetly for only a moment before pulling back. Frowning, you try to remember what you were going to say, “Tomas… seriously, just bite me.”

He hums at you, “No,” he murmurs, moving in to kiss you again.

You stop him, holding a finger to his lips, “I want you to bite me.”

“You into that sort of thing?” He speaks against your finger.

Choosing to fuck with him, you reply, “Yes.”

He groans at you, “You make everything difficult.”

You drop your finger, “Me!?” You’re shocked by his audacity to accuse you of being difficult when this conversation could’ve ended ages ago.

“Yes, you,” he grumbles out mildly annoyed, before pressing his lips onto yours again, this time less gentle about it all.

His kiss is deep and unapologetic, his tongue licks into your mouth, you moan at his forcefulness. The hand on your face tilts your head so he can have more access to you, his other hand gropes at the fat of your hip, wanting to tug you closer, he wants you in his lap.

Parting from him, you voice concern, “Tomas, I don’t think I should sit on you, right now.”

“I disagree, in fact I think you should always sit on me,” he tries to pull you onto him more.

You place your hands on his shoulders, “No, Tomas, seriously, I’m worried about hurting you–”

“–It’d be worth it,” he smiles but you frown at him, and he drops his smile, instead offering, “It’s fine, you’re not going to hurt me.”

You insist, “I don’t want to risk–”

He gets sick of this back and forth and cuts you off by moving you into his lap with ease, apparently his initial attempts were just for show. “I’m not made of glass,” he leans in close, his lips brushing your cheek, “I could still fuck you stupid.”

Deciding to spin this in your favour, you say, “If you want to do anything more than just kiss me, you’ll have to bite me.”

“I really don’t want to hurt you, dear,” his thumb brushes high on your cheekbone.

“This is my first, final, and only offer, if you want to… go any further tonight, you’ll have to drink from me,” you shrug, playing at indifference despite knowing he’s done an exceptional job at making you wet without trying very hard.

Dropping his hands to your thighs, he shuts his eyes and sighs, his head leaning onto the back of the couch.

Cruelly, you grind your cunt down into his pelvis, hoping to incite some kind of reaction, this is quickly changing from wanting to help heal him, to wanting him to bite you while plowing into you. His response is a deep groan and his fingers gripping your thighs harshly, his dick jerking underneath you.

He opens his eyes to look at you, “You’re not playing fairly.”

Quirking a brow at him, you ask, “Would you?”

“Of course not,” he smiles, leaning up again, “But you know… you’re giving away your intentions.”

You feign ignorance, “I’ve not a clue as to what you’re referring.”

“Keep going, keep rubbing your pretty, little cunt down into me and we’ll see who ends up more affected,” he hums, “But remember… I can smell you,” he moves his lips to the side of your ear, “And dear, you smell divine.”

You don’t move, mostly out of spite, he’s overly confident and there’s good reason for it but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t piss you off, just a little bit, “I’m not doing a single thing.”

His forehead drops to your shoulder and his hands rub up and down your thighs, a faint humming leaving him in thought. Turning his head to the side, he licks along the expanse of your neck, when he reaches your jaw, he presses a small kiss to it. Trailing his lips back to yours but you turn your head just before he can kiss your lips and he huffs a sigh in response.

“I can’t even kiss you now?” He questions.

You pout, looking away from him, “No.”

Sighing, he asks, “You want me to bite you this bad?”

Turning back to face him, you add, “Please?”

“Fuuck–” his brows pull together in thought for a moment, “Fine.” You go to celebrate your win, but he cuts you off, “But you need to tell me if it hurts, or if you’re dizzy or if you just don’t want me touching you anymore, okay?”

“Okay,” you smile at him.

He looks worried, like he’s still not sure if this is a good idea, “Alright, just… relax for me.”

“I am relaxed,” you reach out with both your hands and cradle his face, “You need to relax,” leaning in, you press a chaste kiss to his lips before pulling back and waiting for him to bite you.

He takes a breath, “Kiss me again?”

Moving your hands to his shoulders, you lean in again to kiss him, you mean for it to be quick, but he lightly grabs the side of your neck and pulls you closer, kissing you deeper. His lips are insistent and his free hand gropes at you. His sudden parting from you has a whimper leaving your lips but he’s already trailing his kisses from the corner of your mouth down your cheek, past your jaw, to your neck.

He doesn’t bite you, not straight away, he sucks and licks at your neck first, leaving gentle kisses in between. He nips lightly at your skin, and you stifle a moan at it, not wanting him to know just how aroused you’re getting from the thought of him biting you. The way his mouth quirks against you has you doubting that you’re hiding anything from him though. Thankfully, he doesn’t comment on it and instead presses a single peck to your neck.

Pulling back, he looks you in the eyes one last time, wanting to check that you’re absolutely okay with this. When he’s satisfied, he nuzzles into your neck, you move your head to the side, offering him more room. His teeth lightly graze your skin before slowly sinking into your skin, the pain shocks you but dulls as he lathes over the spot with his tongue, licking at your blood.

It’s a new feeling, the ache of his teeth in your skin, it’s making you hazy. Tomas moans into your skin both from the taste and because you’ve begun absentmindedly grinding down into his lap, seeking friction. When he pulls back, he moves to see your reaction, to make sure you’re still okay.

In all honesty, it doesn’t feel like he drank that much from you, “I thought you would take… more.”

“Mmm, I want to bite you elsewhere,” he moves in and continues to lick at the blood left behind.

Seemingly keeping true to his word, he shuffles to move you. He’s careful as he does, laying you down against the couch gently. Getting himself comfortable, he leans over you, a smile prominent on his lips. Your clothes are his next focus, his hands pulling at you. You want to help him but as you rise he places a hand on your chest and lightly pushes you back down.

Arching your back, you make it easier for him to take off your shirt, “Don’t overdo it.”

“Mhm,” he mumbles in mindless agreement, though he’s not really listening now, too busy looking at your tits.

“Tomas.”

His eyes flick to yours, “Sorry dear, what did you say?”

Squinting at him, you repeat, “I said, don’t overdo it.”

“I am fine,” he leans back to show you wear he had been injured, “Look, already healing better.”

It is, it’s still there and looks irritated but the minimal amount of blood he took from you seems to have helped a great deal. It’s less open and for that you’re thankful but it still has to be tender, “Just be careful.”

“Someone might mistake that for you caring about me,” he has a giddy look in his eyes.

Smiling at him, you say, sheepishly, “Well, I might not go that far.”

He hums at you with a slight smile on his face, not believing you. His hands move to your lower half, pulling off your bottoms, your underwear are tugged off along with them. He’s not wasting any time tonight, eager to have you naked underneath him.

Maybe if he were to give you a little time to think, you’d feel more embarrassed about how he’s stripped you bare and pulled your legs apart all within the span of a minute but he’s not giving you that time, he’s already shuffling himself in between your legs. Your legs which have been haphazardly thrown over his shoulders, you could’ve sworn you just told him to be careful.

He trails his lips along your inner thigh, his touch so gentle it makes a shiver run down your spine, “Can I still bite you?”

You feel fuzzy, his words not completely registering when his breath is tickling your inner thigh, “You can do whatever you like.”

A big grin breaks out across his face, you can feel it, you don’t get a chance to correct your statement or make a snarky remark though, he’s already sinking his teeth into the soft expanse of your thigh. You jump slightly but he holds you steady, growls leave him, clearly enjoying this immensely.

When he parts, he licks and sucks at your thigh, not letting your blood go to waste, “Still with me?”

You feel a little hazy still, but you don’t know if that’s from him biting you or the position he’s put you in, he’s so close to your pussy and you want so badly for him to just put his mouth on you–

“­–Hey,” his voice cuts off your thoughts and you look down to him, “Are you okay?”

“Mhm, yeah, I’m all good,” your head flops back onto the couch once you’ve answered him.

He sighs, “Mmm, is that so?” His thumbs move to your cunt and spread your lips apart so he can hungrily gaze at you on complete display, “You okay with me leaving you like this?...” His thumb runs through your slick heat, “…Or do you want me to do something to help?”

He places his thumb over your clit, not moving, just keeping steady pressure and it’s driving you insane. You want more, you need him to do more, he’s being purposefully cruel now, he wants it just as bad as you do. He also likes to hear how much you want him though and he’s not going to give you any sort of relief before you do.

On another day, maybe you hold out longer, tease him back, but today you’re all too happy to bend to his will, “Tomas…” His eyes shoot to yours, “I missed you.”

The look in his eyes lower and a huffed breath leaves him, “You play dirty.”

“I wasn’t trying to– ah,” you get cut off by his tongue licking at you, up the length of your cunt.

Genuinely, you were trying to give into him, but you seem to have said something that carried more weight than you expected it too. His tongue drags heavy on your pussy, flicking at your clit just to watch your thighs shake and body twitch. Unconsciously, your thighs go to close around his head, he moves he hands to keep them apart. He doesn’t stop there though, he pulls them open and up, almost folding you half.

His mouth doesn’t leave you, in fact, his tongue enters you, his nose presses into your clit, he’s trying to taste as much of you as he can. The wet slurping sounds he’s making are obscene, the room filled with how he laps at your cunt. He’s getting you close to finishing embarrassingly quickly but just when you think you could cum like this, he pulls his mouth back and bites into your other thigh.

Two of his fingers slip into your cunt just as his teeth puncture your skin, the simultaneous feelings are like a gut punch, you twitch and go to cover your mouth as his thumb reaches your clit and circles it harshly. A loud moan slips from you and is caught by your hands, the resulting sound a muffled cry. You cum around his fingers, your thighs shaking with it, Tomas moans into your skin, feeling your cunt pulse around his fingers and your blood coating his tongue, it has his control slipping.

Retracting his teeth and fingers from you at the same time, he slips the two fingers that were in you into your mouth. You take them, glassy eyes looking at him, your blood stains his mouth now, he was messier about his last bite. Slipping your tongue between his two fingers makes him shiver, the look in his eyes is dumb and sated.

When he pulls his fingers from you, he watches intently as they leave your mouth, he trails them, wet and slick down your chin, neck, sternum, all the way back down to your cunt. You gasp against the sensitive feeling, he pushes them inside you, crooking them up, his thumb already back on your clit.

“I really do love watching you cum,” he mumbles mindlessly. Going to say his name results in a pathetically moaned sound leaving you, it makes him smile deviously, “Trying to say something, dearest?”

You shake your head no at him, huffing out small sounds as his fingers pick up speed, his eyes never leave yours, intent on watching you the whole time, wanting to see every expression you make.

He leans down, free hand holding himself up, “Tell me again.” Your thoughts are garbled, and your eyes get lazy, unfocused, “Stay with me, I want to hear it again – how you missed me.”

You focus back on him, words slurring slightly, “Missed you so much, Tomas– hah.”

His fingers speed up again, his thumb harsh on your clit, you spasm around his fingers, your stomach pulling tight.

“I missed you too,” he smiles at you, his fangs showing through it.

Your back arches against the couch, “I– I was –mmphf– I was worried about you~”

Tomas curses at your confession, his head swimming with affection for you, he pulls his fingers from you suddenly and you whimper at the loss, “No– no, don’t be sad, I just can’t fucking wait any longer.”

The overwhelming need for you has overpowered him, he’s shucking his pants down his thighs carelessly. Pulling his cock out and immediately guiding it to your cunt, he slips the head of it through your folds a few times before slowly entering you. He’s trying to take his time and be gentle, he really is but he’s so suddenly desperate to be balls deep he can’t seem to find the patience to open you up for him more.

He makes it easier for you though, his thumb rubbing circles over your clit. It’s completely unexpected when you cum on the first few inches of his cock like this, a bitten back moan leaving you as shudders run through you. He had gotten you so close before retracting his fingers, the fullness now and way he was playing with you had your forgotten orgasm being not so forgotten.

“Tomas– it’s –ah–” You can’t even get out what you want to say, though you’re not entirely sure what you wanted to say. Cumming on his dick makes you go cross eyed, your hips moving to grind up into him, wanting so badly to be stuffed full as you orgasm.

He grunts out, “Fuck–” before taking advantage of your gushing pussy and slips balls deep, a loud and deep moan leaving him, “So incredibly slick, my dear,” he grinds down into you, his pelvis digging into your clit, he’s trying to give you a moment to breathe but he desires friction. “You never cease to amaze me, so incredibly perfect… responsive.”

Ironically, your cunt twitches at his words and a devilish smirk makes an appearance on his face, as if to gloat about his previously accurate statement, “I don’t know… if I can handle another,” your eyes are wet and unthinking when you look up at him.

“You can handle another,” he groans, dragging his cock out at the same time as he speaks, “Been so good to me tonight, I’m just returning the favour.”

He slams back into you, a high-pitched whine leaving you, matched against his low one, “I jus wanted to help –mmph–”

“And help you did, so incredibly helpful,” his words are coming quickly as he starts thrusting into you more consistently, “Taste absolutely divine, dear. Few moments there –ngh– I was scared of hurting you, you’re such an overwhelming presence in all facets of my life.”

Lewd and wet slapping sounds follow each of his thrusts, his hips fucking into you at a speed that makes your head spin. You’re not really capable of responding to him anymore, you’re as good as gone. His cock hits so deep inside you, he tickles your cervix, a thrilling kind of pain following each of his deep thrusts.

“You wanna know something?” He leans in, getting impossibly closer, deeper.

He’s waiting for your response, “Yeah– hah– mmph~”

He engulfs your mouth in a deep kiss, his tongue in your mouth before you can really register that he’s kissed you. He’s heated and rushed; kissing you in such a needy way that you can’t even keep up with him. When he pulls back a string of saliva connects the both of your mouths, he licks his lower lip, disconnecting it.

“I could smell how fucking wet you were getting each time I bit you,” he huffs breathlessly into your ear, “Fresh arousal drenching your cunt every time my teeth sunk into you, do you know how hard it is to focus on not taking much blood from you when you’re getting horny from it?”

“S–sorry,” you apologise but your pussy clenches down on him, his words working you up.

“No, don’t apologise, dear. You did nothing wrong, nothing.” He traces wet and sloppy kisses down the side of your face and neck, “I just meant to say, I think you would cum awful hard if I were to bite you at the same time, don’t you?”

Before you can comprehend the conclusion he’s given you, his hips switch from slamming into you, to grinding when he re-enters, the added stimulation makes you stupid, slurred words of praise and his name leaving you. Just as you’re about to climax, he bites into your neck, he doesn’t drink from you this time, he just sinks his teeth into your flesh. The pain rockets through you and you finish all over his cock, fresh, creamy, cum leaving you and leaking down his dick, a white ring left at the base of it.

The sound he makes is feral and not human, deep animalistic groans leaving him at the way you squeeze his dick so tight. He forces his way through all the sensations he’s feeling, fucking into your tight, spasming cunt, the slick of you making it easier. You’re so fucked open on him that he’s getting dizzy thinking about it, about how well you take his fat cock.

Raising his upper half, he looks down to where he’s fucking you, at the mess you’ve made, at the bite marks on your thighs, it’s all driving him wild. There’s very clear evidence of him being here and it’s sending pleasure down his spine to his core.

His dick jerks and twitches and as he looks at your face, at the gooey look in your eyes, at the unshed tears sitting in your waterline, he cums. It forces its way through him, the sensation almost making him spiral, he’s already cumming when he remembers what he wanted to do.

Pulling out, he aims the rest of his cum at your cunt and thighs, wanting to leave evidence of him all over you. He almost whimpers at the sight of your pussy leaking and being coated in him. Absently, he takes his hand and places it in his spend, smearing it up your stomach and grabbing your tit, leaving evidence of it there too.

You gasp at how he grabs at your breast, his slick forefinger and thumb tweaking your nipple, “Tomas–” You moan out to him.

His eyes shoot to yours and he looks sheepish, “Sorry…I got carried away.”

Mumbling lazily, you ask, “Are you okay?”

He bites a laugh at your question, “Are you kidding? I feel fantastic.” He moves in and presses a soft kiss to your cheek, “How do you feel? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay…tired,” you wrap your arms around him, pulling him down into you for a hug.

He breathes in the scent of you, committing it to memory, “You should sleep, I’ll carry you to bed–”

You object, cutting him off, “–No… you’ll be gone when I wake up, I really did miss you…”

He can’t hide the way your words make him glow with joy, “How about, we shower and see how you feel?”

“Mmmkay, you’re gonna need to do all the work though…” He’s already picking you up off the couch halfway through your sentence, “…Don’t think I can walk.”

“Wasn’t expecting you to,” he chuckles, carrying you off down the hallway.

˚₊‧⁺⋆༄

IT IS DONE !!!!!! MWUAHAHA!!! i hope you enjoyed it :3

[peachesofteal]

Dead Disco / Chapter 5

Dead Disco Masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.4k words - AO3 18+ Minors DNI, no smut. Protective Simon, Protective Johnny, Possessive Simon, brief mention of children, anxiety, Simon has a lot of feelings, relationship issues, angst, comfort, mention of assault, established throuple.  The three of you go shopping.

Simon does not like this realtor. He does not like the way she looks at you, like she’s looking down her nose, like she thinks you’re less somehow. He does not like how she appraises both himself and Johnny, like she’s trying to piece together a jigsaw puzzle in her mind. He watches in disgust as she tries to touch Johnny, her fingers just missing his elbow, like he’s some sort of prized animal on display for her to take part of. He briefly fantasizes about scaring her, threatening her so she runs far, far away from his family in fear, never to bother them again.

In Simon’s defense, his emotional and mental state are currently sitting on a razor thin wire. He is volatile. He is anxious, and uncomfortable, and frightened. He watches your every expression; he tracks your every movement. He takes note of your inflection, your rhythm, the pitch of your voice. He tenses when he sees you standing next to an open door.

He is afraid if he turns around, or blinks too slowly, you could be gone.

And he already knows that if it were to happen, again, he would not be able to hold himself together like last time. He would not be able to keep both himself and Johnny upright. He would crack. He would crumble.

They would be lost.

Johnny approaches him from the east, from the formal dining room that has the floor to ceiling windows that you were so excited about. You peer from them, eyes darting down and up and all around, and he watches for the tell-tale sign of you feeling overwhelmed, the clench of your nails to your palm. When it doesn’t come, he rolls his shoulders, shaking a minuscule amount of tension free from his bones.

“What’d ye think?” Johnny slides a hand under his sweatshirt, across his ribs and then up, to his breastbone. His heart thumps hard against his palm, and Simon closes his eyes to draw a deep breath.

“I like it. Liked the last one too. And the one before that…”

“The realtor?”  

“She’s a right cunt.” He hisses, and Johnny chuckles.

“’M pure done in, I think.” Johnny opens his mouth onto Simon’s shoulder, and he feels the press, the points of his teeth through the fabric and his skin. His blood heats, and he turns his head slightly, just enough that their noses nearly touch.

“Behave.”

“Always behave for you, LT.” He pauses, watching you. “She likes this one more.” You’re looking down at the hardwood, inspecting the dark stain of a black-grey color that runs through the entire flat, pointing at something and asking the realtor a question. She answers you curtly, and Simon can tell from where he stands that the dismissal in her tone hurts your feelings. His fingers curl into a fist, and then you’re looking over to the two of them, something soft and hopeful written across your face. The light from the very tall windows streams down on top of you, shining onto your hair, your skin, your lips that are turned upwards in a timid smile. It reflects through your eyes, shimmering across your irises and swirling in the depths of their color, pulling them both towards you like they’ve been hypnotized.

It takes his breath away. It takes Johnny’s too, because he whistles out a low murmur that only Simon can hear.

“Bloody hell, Si. That’s our girl.”

“Close your eyes.” Johnny urges, and you chew on your lip nervously while you look between the two of them. “D’you trust us?” 

You nod. Simon tilts his head, regarding you silently, teeth clenched tight behind the mask. 

“You’re not gonna like… do something weird right? We talked about boundaries…” Johnny laughs, and then kisses your clavicle in the slow way that Simon likes, the slow way that Johnny touches him too. 

“No, love. We’d never cross your boundaries.” He tries to reassure you, but your gaze flicks upwards from where you’re sitting in front of Simon, like you’re waiting for him to say something. 

He nods. A burst of words builds up inside of him, a plea, a confession, a promise. He wants to tell you that you can trust him, that all he wants is to taste you, press his lips to yours, savor the breath of your moans and whimpers, promise you that you have nothing to fear. He wants to tell you he’ll take care of you, that he and Johnny will keep you, keep you with them, keep you safe, keep you happy. He wants to tell you all the things you’re not ready to hear yet. Wants to tell you you’re precious, so precious to them already. That you buried yourself beneath their skin, worked your way into their hearts. All without even seeing his face. With baring your body to him, but never pushing him to reveal himself. Never demanding anything from him. 

He says none of it, only nods. Only hopes. 

It’s enough, and he relaxes a fraction when you do close your eyes. 

Johnny’s palm rests across the bridge of your nose, effectively blocking your sight, and Simon pulls the mask away, folding it carefully before pushing it down into his pocket. He holds your chin between his fingers, tilting your face to expose your neck, the beating pulse under your jaw. 

When he kisses you, it’s effortless, and he tries to keep his head straight while your mouth and all its heat meets him equally and unafraid. 

He pulls on Johnny’s wrist, freeing your vision to reveal your eyes still clenched shut, your faith and trust on obvious display, your eagerness to do as he’s asked striking something sharp and pleasurable in his body. You’re so, so good, so sweet for them. So perfect. 

“Open your eyes, darling.” He instructs, and you frown, brows creased in confusion. He strokes your cheekbone with a thumb reassuringly before repeating himself. “It’s alright.” He promises, and you finally relent. 

When you do, and you finally see him, truly see him for the first time, your face breaks into a radiant smile, and it nearly stops his heart. 

“What do you think?” The realtor asks, and her eyes glitter when she glances at Johnny’s position over Simon’s shoulder, where he’s leaning with his hand still wrapped around his torso.

“It’s up to her.” Johnny inclines his head to where you’re standing in the kitchen, inspecting the cabinets.

“Hey, these are like the slow close drawers.” You say over your shoulder, pulling one out and then pushing it back in to show them, an excited grin pushing your cheeks up. The act of selling the old flat and getting a new one is not a cure all for what ails you, what ails them, but it is a step in the right direction. A step that will lead to the next, and then the next, until they’ve cut out all the rot that’s festered in your head. A step you have seemed to embrace wholeheartedly, even if Simon is having trouble letting go of his worries regarding how you’re feeling.

Breathe. She’s right here. You’re all together. 

“Come here, darling.” Simon implores, and you do so willingly, sidling over to stand in front of them, casually watching the realtor who’s lurking at the edge of the room. “What do you think?”

“I like it.” You nod, more so to yourself than to him or Johnny. “It’s… awfully big? But I don’t hate that about it. I mean, I’m not sure what we need with three, four bedrooms if you count the sunroom but I could turn one into an office so I could work from home more.” He feels Johnny’s mouth curve into a smile on his shoulder and he allows one to stretch across his face as well. You look between them hesitantly, and then your fingers curl into your palm. “Or, we could leave them both as spares, whatever you wa-“

“It’s what you want, darling.” Johnny emphasizes, beating him to it, and Simon nods his agreement. “We want you to have what you want. It’s your home.”

“Okay, yeah. Then… I like it. A lot.”

“What about an art room? Didn’t you have in your last flat?” You smile again, face bright and beaming.

“Yeah! That would be great.” You look over at the kitchen and its tall cabinets again before turning back to them. “And I love the kitchen. I think it’s more than big enough.” Simon agrees, and pictures you in the kitchen with them, sitting on the counter while Johnny cooks, half your body covered by a t shirt, feet slipped into too big socks. “But we’ll have to change the tub.” You frown, and Johnny rolls his eyes playfully before he pulls you into his arms.

“You sure about that love? Looked plenty big to me.”

“What? No… definitely not.”

“Definitely yes.” You scoff. “Don’t believe me, go check.” When you push away from him to do just that, Johnny leans his head on Simon’s shoulder as they indulgently watch you walk away.

“A lot of bedrooms.” Johnny whispers and Simon immediately shakes his head.

“Don’t, Johnny.” He admonishes.

“Ya never know Si. All our dreams have come true so far, ‘aven’t they? What’s one more?” Simon scowls at him. “Or two.”

“Johnny.” He warns, voice low. The last thing they need is for you to come around the corner and hear him indulging in his wildest fantasies, his whispered prayers that he’s only ever dreamed about in private, only ever told Simon about when he thought he might die in Las Almas.

Johnny’s quiet for a minute, and then sighs.

“You’re right.” He resists the urge to say I know, and instead leans in for a kiss, brushing his lips against Johnny’s, his mouth opening slowly, slick heat of their tongues against one another going straight to his head, sending blood rushing through his body-

The realtor clears her throat with an annoying, high-pitched cough, and Simon turns with a huff of irritation.

“We’ll take this one.”

“What’re you on about, LT?” Johnny’s hot on his heels, practically breathing down his neck while Simon tries to get free of his tac vest. 

“I said, fuck off Soap.” Get away. Get away, get away, go away. Go anywhere else. The mask on his face suddenly feels suffocating, the entire hall feels suffocating, and he pushes through the door to the tiny four walls that houses his bed so he can rip the skull free from his head and finally breathe. 

The door swings shut. Johnny stands just inside, just enough inside that the door can close, his body pressed between the edge of his dresser and the door frame. 

“Ghost.” Simon trains his eyes on the floor. Maybe, if he ignores him, he’ll leave. If he pretends he’s not here in the first place, he’ll take his bloody mohawk and charming eyes and beautiful face and get the fuck out of his room. “Simon.” Johnny presses, and it’s enough of a match on the gunpowder to set off an explosion. 

“DON’T CALL ME THAT.” Simon throws the mask at the wall, the sound of the hard-shell clattering to the floor while his lungs draw air in harshly. “I told you to fuck off, Soap. Now get the hell out of my room or-“ 

“Or what, LT?” Rage boils in Simon’s blood, hot, burning anger that sears him from the inside out. He steps closer to Johnny, closes the distance until his chest is touching his tac vest, the only barrier left between their bodies. 

He expects to see fear in Johnny’s face. Expects to bask in it, wants to relish in it. He wants Johnny to feel as he does, wants him to know the cold grip of fear around his throat, wants him to understand. He wants Johnny to know what it’s like, to be afraid of losing everything, even things he doesn’t have yet. 

He does not expect to see softness in Johnny’s face. Patience. Kindness. Adoration. He did not expect to step closer, as close as he could, and he did not expect to feel Johnny’s hand take his, the bare skin bleeding warmth through his glove, an intentional pressure pulling him in closer and closer until his face is a mere centimeter from Simon’s, and then a millimeter, and then just a breath’s distance away, the softness in his eyes unchanging, the understanding still as solid as it was a day, a week, a month ago. 

Simon does not expect to press his lips to Johnny’s. He doesn’t think Johnny expected it either. All he knows is one moment, he was nearing a rage filled blackout, and the next, his mouth is tasting Johnny and his honey sweet lips, their sweet, sugar like softness pressed gently against him, opening for him, letting him swipe his tongue behind his teeth and pull him in for more. It’s intoxicating, and more than he’s ever dreamed, more than he’s ever hoped for. 

“Eejit.” Soap hisses, but his mouth twists into a smile. “You’re a bleedin’ fool, Simon Riley.” 

“I know.” He agrees, because he must, and then takes Johnny’s mouth again, rougher, more demanding, before his hand finds the deadbolt and slides it into place. 

“It’s been a pleasure.” The realtor’s obnoxious smile grates on Simon, and he tries not to display his impatience while she speaks to the three of you. “If you’re ever in the market again, I’d love to do business with you.” She hands Johnny a card, but her fingers linger on his skin, and Simon beats back the urge to throw his body between them.

“Don’t touch him.” He snaps, the sharp crack of his tone whipping across the sidewalk to where you freeze with your eyes shuttered, lip tugged between your teeth. The realtor has the guts to look shocked, or offended, but Simon cares for none of it. In this moment, he does not care that she’s been discreet about the fact that they’re buying through a shell company, doesn’t care that she’s made last minute changes to accommodate them, doesn’t care that she’s shown every single listing that you marked down hastily this morning. All he cares about is that she keeps touching what’s his and hurting what’s his along with it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think-“

“Ya didn’t.” Johnny agrees, and you watch Simon carefully from where you stand, until you’re wrapping a hand around his waist, and laying your head against his body.

“It’s alright.” You mumble into him, your face pressed against his arm, doe eyes peeking upwards, something calm, but unsteady, reflecting in your gaze. You’re looking to him for reassurance, for him to agree and say that yes, everything is alright, and he feels a small sliver of weight lift from his shoulders.

You’re still looking to him. You trust them. You’re still here.

Johnny’s head is in his lap, freshly washed strands of mohawk laying against the bare skin of his thigh, Johnny’s hand tucked between his back and the couch. It’s the afternoon, and you’ve been at work late, and both he and Johnny are eager for you get home. Their last mission went a few days long, and they only got in an hour before you had to leave this morning. 

You wanted to call in sick, but he had forced you out the door. All they’d be doing is sleeping anyway, he assured you. They needed to get caught up on actual rest.

When the front door slams, Johnny jerks upwards, an elbow supporting his weight, and Simon turns to where he believes he will see you walking past the kitchen towards them.

Except, you’re not. You’re standing in front of the door. Far enough away that he can’t read the expression on your face, but he instantly knows something is wrong. Uneasiness tugs at his gut and he shifts, pushing Johnny completely upright so they both can see you better. When he does get a better glimpse, his stomach completely sours.

You’re crying.

You’ve got a palm pressed over your mouth like you’re trying to hold it in, but you’re shaking, and tears are spilling down your cheeks.

He experiences a million emotions. Panic. Fear. Anxiety. Rage at whatever’s happened to make you feel this way.

“Darling?” He calls, standing behind Johnny, not even realizing that they’re both practically trying to vault over the couch to get to you, nearly stepping on top of one another.

He gets there first, and slowly grazes a light touch along your forearm. Your eyes are wide, and frightened, and he swallows the nausea that’s building up in his throat. “What is it?”

“There was a… a m-man.” You croak and his vision ebbs with darkness. He looks closer, and sees the red mark on your wrist, notices the way your work bag strap is torn at the top where its sewn in. 

“What happened?” Johnny’s already pulling your bag free from your body, but your fingers are twisted around the strap so tightly it looks like they hurt. 

“I don’t know,” you try to take a deep breath but fail, and Simon tries not to throw up. “Th-ere was a man. I thought he was homeless, and he looked sad… I- I thought he needed help but then he gra-grabbed me.” 

“Where?” Johnny presses and you try to explain what street it was, but Simon doesn’t hear anything you’re saying. He’s too busy staring at your wrist, staring at the torn strap of your backpack. Someone tried to hurt you. Someone touched you. He closes his eyes and counts his breathing, lost in trying to keep himself calm until he feels a hand on the back of his neck, a thumb rubbing a soothing circle into his skin. Johnny’s thumb. “She’s alright, Si.” He whispers, to which Simon nods, snapping his eyes open. You’re still standing in front of him, head tipped back, eyes wide. He steps forward without another thought and crushes your body to his chest, nose indulgently seeking your hair so he can breathe the smell of your shampoo in as deeply as possible. Johnny doesn’t let go of his neck, just rubs gentle touches into him while he holds you, the three of you moving closer and closer into perfectly aligned orbit until he’s settling you on the couch in his lap, Johnny tucked under his arm. 

Safe. You’re here, Johnny is here. You’re both safe. You’re both here. 

You’re exhausted by the time they get you into bed, your body limp and pliable, face sad and confused. 

“I thought he needed help.” You mumble into Simon while Johnny works on a cup of chamomile, and he holds you tighter, arms like a vice grip around your waist. 

“Shhh. I know, darling. You didn’t do anything wrong.” You sniffle, skin still raw from your tears, and he presses you into your body like he wants to consume you, hide you from the world, take you away from anything that could hurt you. Simon is a killer, but you and Johnny have turned him into something more. You’ve taught Simon he has the capacity to care for something sweet, something delicate. Given him and Johnny a chance to have something good besides each other, to love in a way they’ve only dreamt about. 

You sigh, and he strokes a finger down your cheek. A gesture softer than he’d ever thought himself capable of, before Johnny, before you. “Close your eyes. We’ll be right here.” 

It’s later in the evening when Simon watches a crack reopen like a wound that’s been freshly sewn shut, splitting free after being pushed or pulled too much in one direction.

It happens when his phone rings. You and Johnny are in the bedroom, packing items away into boxes, wrapping fragile things in newspaper and bubble wrap, the sound of your voices carrying on floating through the hall to where he sits on the couch.

The entire flat goes dead silent when everyone hears the ringer go off. You and Johnny appear from the room like you’ve been summoned, Johnny’s hand firm around your shoulder, your eyes desperate, seeking Simon for some kind of reassurance.

Simon doesn’t need to check the caller ID to know who it is. Only one person calls him after hours. Only one person has the right to interrupt his time at home, his time with his family.

Price.

[ddarker-dreams]

Entanglement.

Yan Kafka x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, unwanted kissing, mild not SFW implications. Word count: 1k.

“You’re still refusing to wear the clothes I gifted you, dearest?” 

A dulcet voice smoother than the finest silk coos from behind. 

You don’t deviate from your original task. Just outside the window, the cold, unforgiving vacuum of space looms. A mere panel of specialized glass is the only barrier between you and infinite nothingness. The concept used to frighten you, to a paralyzing extent. It got to the point your oh-so-benevolent captor had to make adjustments. Using some technology you’re unacquainted with, the dark canvas morphed into a familiar, more palpable set piece: the scenery of your home planet. 

You’ve since overcome this hurdle and no longer require the mirage’s services. 

Space isn’t what you fear anymore. No, it’s the woman with the future in her eyes who holds that distinction. 

“It isn’t to my taste.” 

“I know,” she agrees. Her perfume is near stupefying when it invades your senses. “It's to mine.” 

Kafka is either aggravatingly unassuming or laser-sharp with her intentions. You’re never given time to adjust to her fickle ways, the second you think you might understand her, she reveals just enough that you’re right back where you started. 

Gloved fingers hover over your wrist, causing your hair to stand on end. As if she’s playing a glissando on the piano, her fingers slowly creep up, from your forearm to your bare shoulder. Presently, you’re wearing one of the few garments you were allowed to bring. It’s a plain, white dress that she longs to stain with her own palette. 

Her arms envelop your midsection from behind. She nuzzles her nose into your neck, swaying you back and forth while she hums a haunting ballad. Can she hear the skipping of your heart? Does she consider it just another instrument to compose her hedonistic harmonies? 

“Are the stars truly that interesting?” she murmurs against your skin. “Surely, they aren’t prettier than I am, hm?” 

“Maybe. At least they understand the concept of personal space.” 

“Oh, I do as well. I just choose to ignore it when it comes to you.” 

“I wish you wouldn’t.” 

You can feel her smile.

“You’d be lonely without me. Maddeningly so.” 

“Insanity is tempting if you’re the alternative.” 

She laughs, the sound low and husky, belying any offense taken, if you had the hubris to think anything you said could hurt her. Before you can register anything, she twirls you around. In this new, uncomfortable intimate position, you’re forced to look her in the eye. There’s no quality of hers that unsettles you more. They draw you in and devour you like a black hole, picking apart actions you haven’t even committed yet. 

It reminds you, similar to the path she walks, that nothing you do will ever amount to any meaningful change in your circumstances. 

Kafka settles her gloved pointer finger and thumb on your chin, tilting your head up. Whatever she’s thinking is as unknowable as the universe itself. Her fondness for you is an illness without a cure — even she must know how sick it is. Something tells you that if a remedy for it ever existed, she’d refuse to take it, and would instead crush the vial before your eyes. 

“What a beauty you are,” she praises through lidded eyes. “There is no greater joy than knowing you feel every second we’re apart, just as I do.” 

Irate, you try moving your head away, but this causes her grip to tighten. Never enough to hurt — it’s only meant to warn. 

“I take it you don’t like the cosmetics I brought back, either?” 

Kafka delights in asking questions she already knows the answers to. If she had anything resembling a hobby, you suppose that would be it. 

The skin beneath her eyes crinkled with amusement at your abrupt vow of silence. You fight off a shiver at the look. It’s all-consuming, dangerous in a way that rouses your primal instincts. She leans down close enough that you can feel her breath fan against your face. Her head tilts in a deliberate show of faux curiosity. 

“Is your tongue frozen? Should I think of a way to warm it up?” 

The hand that isn’t holding your head in place toys with the strap of your dress. 

Swallowing thickly, you shake your head. You know when to surrender in a losing game. 

“... No.” 

“No?” She repeats, mimicking the inflection of your voice. “Ah, well, that’s a shame.” 

You almost sigh in relief when her hand retreats. She reaches into a pocket on the inside of her coat and pulls out a tube of lipstick. She applies the roseate pigment, maintaining smoldering eye contact with you all the while.

After what feels like an eternity, she descends upon you, her lips seeking yours in a fit of scathing passion. You freeze up at the unexpected boldness. She takes advantage of your reverie, interlocking your lips in a languid motion. There’s no urgency to the kiss, she takes her time with you, just how she likes it. 

Her hand presses against your back, urging your chest to arch into hers. It isn’t until her hand starts venturing down that you return to your senses. In a fit of panic, you raise your hands to push her away. The defiance gets you nowhere — she catches your wrists with ease and holds them in place. 

Fortunately, she pulls back, although she doesn’t relinquish her grip. 

“I knew this color would look good on you,” Kafka sighs, almost wistful. Then, she raises your wrist and presses a lingering kiss against your pulse point. It leaves a smudged lipstick stain behind. “That leaves the issue of the outfit. Hm, what to do, what to do…” 

As if hit with an epiphany, her eyes light up in microscopic supernovas. “I know. If you need my help applying makeup, then why should getting dressed be any different? Why, you should’ve said so sooner.” 

Indignant, you seethe, “That isn’t…! Fine, I’ll put it on myself. Just— just turn around, okay?” 

“Of course. Anything for my sweet, shy girl.” 

Surprisingly, Kafka acquiesces. She pivots on her heel and covers her eyes with her hands. A teasing gesture, if you had to guess. 

Just when you believe you’re regained a semblance of control over the situation, she throws in a comment that snuffs out this fledgling hope. 

“I’ll give you to the count of a ten before I come and help you myself.” 

[can-i-see-your-passport-please]

Okay so here's everything I know about TF2. Please no one elaborate on anything I know about, because I think it's so much funnier if I have no context to anything. I have absorbed all of this through Tumblr osmosis

Emesis Blue is an excellent film

Soldier apparently was never an actual soldier, he just loves America and really wanted to kill Nazis (the second one i respect greatly)

Medic would probably give you a lobotomy for fun (i don't think this guy's even a doctor)

Two really old guys are fighting bloody wars over gravel I think and their father is named Grey Mann which was most definitely meant to make Gman enjoyers lose it but to be fair his name could also be Gary Man.

What am I on

Heavy and Medic are apparently gay but idk if this is a fandom seeing two men next to each other and going "gay" thing or a "all but confirmed gay" thing but TVTropes referred to them as "Heterosexual Life Partners" which is very funny

emesis blue is so fucking good oh my godddddd the respawn machine is horrifying just from the concept it turned scout into soup

Scout is half French and loves his mother (who is not french) and does not love his father (spy i think)

Medic presumably died went to hell and told the devil "oh I'm like a cat I have nine souls actually. So I should get to go back to being alive" and it fucking worked??????

THE FUCKING SCENE IN?? IN EMESIS BLUE??? WHERE. WHERE SOLDIER TELLS MEDIC "YOU'RE GONNA MAKE IT OUT" AND MEDIC SAYS "i KNOW" BEFORE HE JUST FUCKING DIES AND HE'S THE PROTAGONIST SO YOU'D EXPECT HIM TO LIVE RIGHT??? AND THEN HE JUST DIES AND DOESN'T APPEAR AGAIN FOR SO SO LONG

Pyro is an any pronouns warrior and it commits great atrocities while also having so much sillyness in his heart. I love her

I think Engineer blowed up his arm. I think

Spy is a cunt and also French. I do not think this I know this. I look at him and I sense his cuntery. It radiates off him. I can feel it.

SOMETHING ABOUT THE LETTER M BEING BRANDED ONTO MEDIC'S FACE BEING A REFERENCE TO THE MOVIE SCOUT WAS WATCHING WHERE THE LETTER M IS USED TO MARK A MURDERER. HE'S LITERALLY MARKED AS A MURDERER BY PYRO. SOMETHING ABOUT THE SCENE WITH DEMOMAN AND DELL'S BAR BEING A REFERENCE TO A SCENE IN THE SHINING WHERE THE MAIN CHARACTER IS LITERALLY TALKING TO A GHOST. SOMETHING ABOUT SCOUT'S MOTHER'S HEAD BEING HELD AROUND A CORNER AND DROPPED PARALLELING PYRO'S HEAD BEING HELD AROUND A CORNER AND DROPPED. SOMETHING ABOUT SCOUT'S "IF THEY EVER HIT YOU WITH SOMETHING, YOU HIT BACK TWICE AS HARD" WITH MEDIC SHOOTING SPY TWICE IN THE HEAD AFTER BEING SHOT ONCE IN THE GAME OF RUSSIAN ROULETTE WHY IS EMESIS BLUE SO GOOD

TF2 is in an eternal war with Overwatch for some reason

I was doing a poll a few days ago and the tags psychic blasted me with the information of "by the way people pay like fifty dollars to see medic's tiddies in game." I have gotten varying answers between ninety dollars to three hundred fucking dollars but the constant remains that people will pay Valve comically high amounts of money to see Medic's boobs. What

Scout almost got Earth exploded because he died a virgin???? But then God was like "Okay go back down to earth I'm giving them one last chance to all have sex with you" I'm so confused what does any of this mean none of this makes any sense but it's hilarious

Scout might be legitimately named after Jerma and bears a frightening resemblance to him (though to be fair scout is every white boy in one)

You should watch Emesis Blue it's free on youtube

Demoman's eye is sentient even though he doesn't have it????

I can't decide who's my favorite the white boy the unethical scientist or the silly nonbiney war criminal

Conclusion: What the fuck is team fortress the second one about

[hiraethwa]

ִ ۫ ּ ֗ – lost and found.

pairing: miya osamu x reader a/n: my ushijima fic procrastination/trying to get the creative juices flowing attempt word count: 700

miya osamu has few regrets in life. one of them was breaking things off with you when things got rough. that was a few years ago back in high school when he was immature and too caught up with trying not to be left behind by atsumu. 

his last words to you then were “i don’t have time for us right now.” he thought he had time on his side after volleyball, after high school, at the next stage of life, but he realizes now that it was childish of him to think that he would have more time in the future. 

with onigiri miya being a success in the city far away from your childhood home of hyogo, he is kept busy with the day to day operations of the shop. not that it would have mattered, since your family moved away from hyogo when he returned from nationals, and he has not seen or heard from you since. 

the eleven digits are still stored under your name in his phone, transferred from his old flip phone he used in high school, even though he had it memorized by heart. he had stared at the numbers for an unhealthy amount of time, unable to bring himself to dial it. 

it wouldn’t have mattered, he told himself, what was the point of barging into your life again when he was the one who ended things? no, he did not have the right to do so. heck, you could have moved out of the country for all he knows.

except he does know, he just can’t remember it. it was a few days before winter break. he vaguely recalls you calling and telling him something about moving in hysteria when he was busy with practice or some other thing that felt insignificant now that he thought about it, but he had brushed you off and told you that he will talk to you later about it. 

and then like the worst boyfriend in the world, he forgot all about it. in fact, he had gone and broken up with you before the team left for tokyo like the inconsiderate asshole he is.

if only he could recall where you told him your family was moving to. 

he taps into his call log, staring at the most recent entry dated last night. atsumu had gotten him drunk after yet another amazing win by the msby jackals, and like the lovesick fool he is, osamu had fucking dialed your number when he went to the bathroom. 

the call had gone through, each ring a steady succession after another, instead of the rapid beeps that signaled an out of service number. to his eternal horror, someone had picked up, his muddied brain registering the change when the ring tone he had been listening to stopped. that was enough to snap him out of his drunken daze and press the red button in a hurry.

but that piece of information did nothing to give him any answers. it could have been you, if you were still in japan and kept your old number. it could have been someone else who is using your number now. and he still didn’t know where you were. 

osamu groans, resting his head against the counter and closing his eyes briefly. it was late at night near closing time, and the person he was waiting for to show up at such an hour would be his horrible twin brother who was running late.

the ring from the doorbell has him perking his head up. finally. “i’ve been waiting ages for ya, ya scrub–” but the insults die in the back of his throat as he realizes it is not atsumu staring back at him with wide eyes.

the customer stands frozen in shock at his words, her form-fitting dress with intricate lace detailing, possibly tailor made, seemingly out of place at his casual establishment. her face is obscured by a mask, and osamu thinks that he may have frightened this poor lady, and is about to blurt out an apology when he meets her eyes. 

he would recognize that pair of eyes anywhere, he’s seen them in his dreams so many times he lost count since that fateful day in hyogo.

“y/n” he breathes.

looking for more? browse the library

[mostlymarvelsstuff]

Moi Devochki: Chapter 5

Warnings: talk of attempted sa, canon typical violence, slight angst

Word count: 2621

WandaNat Masterlist Marvel Masterlist Moi Devochki Masterlist

The sight your Alpha’s met with makes her see red. Steve next to your naked body, his pants off and his cock hard, his one hand is wrapped around your throat so tight she can tell you're struggling for air as the other holds your legs up as prepares to enter you. She hopes and prays she's not too late.

   “Get the fuck off her!!” she shouts as she rushes for him

    He shakes his head and growls, “My Omega.”

    Her fist collides with his face repeatedly and he stumbles away from you, allowing you to breathe normally again. He growls and swings at her, she doges and lands a kick to his abdomen. He grunts in pain and Yelena runs into the room to help. She gets there in time to see Steve land a hit to Nats face but Clint quickly pulls him away from her and Buckys metal arm wraps around Steves neck as he holds him there in a choke hold. The blond struggles to free himself from his friends grasp.

   Nat looks at him, her rage burning like a fire in her eyes, “You grebanaya svin'ya(fucking pig)!!” she shouts as her fist connects with his face several more times. “I should kill you for touching her!!” she growls

   Yelena pulls her sister from Steve, “Go, take care of Y/n. I can handle this bol'noy ublyudok(sick bastard).” she says, sending a kick to his ribs. 

   Natasha eyes him wearily before her eyes drift over to you. She can see how frightened you are, she rushes to you. Her nose crinkles as she takes in your scent, its none of you and all of Steve. Her hands quickly untie the rope holding your legs before she pulls your pants back up for you., “I’m here medovyy(honey), I’ve got you.” she says before moving to untie your hands as well.

   You had felt relieved when you first saw her enter the room and attack Steve, but now you just wanted to be untied and get away from everyone, the amount of Alphas in the room was almost overwhelming to you. You felt violated and disgusted and you wanted nothing more than to be alone in your old bedroom after a very long and hot shower.

   After she frees you from the ropes she quickly hands you her sweatshirt which you gratefully take from her before slipping it on. She reaches a hand towards you but you brush past her and dash through the apartments living room. 

   She sadly watches you run from her, “What did you do to her?” she growls. Steve chuckles at her question but gives her no answer. “What the hell did you do to my Omega?!” she shouts as she punches him once again

   “Maybe she doesn't want to be yours anymore. Maybe she sees how bad of an Alpha you really are.” he wheezes out. 

   Yelena kicks him in the ribs again and Clint punches him as Bucky tightens his hold on the soldier's neck, “Shut up Rogers, Nat’s ten times the Alpha you are.” the archer says

   As you go to flee the apartment you don’t even bat an eye as you walk past Sharons unconscious form on the floor before stepping out into the hallway.  You do however still when you see Wanda infront of you in the hall.

   “Y/n…” she whispers, she is so relieved to see you, but she doesn't miss the look on your face. Were you not happy to see her, did you not want her there? You simply nod in greeting as you move to continue down the hallway. Confused by your behavior she grabs your arm but retracts her hold immediately when you let out a growl.

  You quickly head for the SUV they arrived in and get in. You sit there mad at yourself, you hadn’t meant to growl at Wanda but right now you really didn’t want to be around anyone or touched by anyone. Still you could have used your words instead of just ignoring and upsetting both your mates.

   Tears fill Wandas eyes as she watches you head for the car. You had never growled at her before, and honestly she's not sure she's ever heard you growl. Her attention is brought to the apartments doorway when movement catches her eye.

   “Did she say anything to you?” your Alpha asks, sadness on her face despite the relief of finding you

   “No. She…she growled at me.” the Sokovian admits. This worries Natasha even more, why would you growl at the Omega. 

   Back inside Buckys grip on Steves neck never loosens as the other two continue to let him have it. Nat had already given his face a few bruises but Clint decided it wasn’t enough. His fists pound into the blonds face, he can see the blood drip from the Alphas crooked nose and split lip, still he's not satisfied. He throws a few more punches, only stopping when he sees a tooth fly from Steves mouth. 

    Yelena had focused her attacks on Steves rib cage. Her kicks were hard enough that she was sure his ribs and lungs would be bruised for weeks. She adds in a few punches for good measure. When they're done Bucky releases the soldiers neck only to shove him to the floor.

   “What the hell is wrong with you?” he growls out

   Steve shakes his head, “I just wanted what was mine. My Omega.”

   Yelena kicks him again, “Not yours. Y/n was never yours, she's my sisters mate and you are a sorry excuse for an Alpha and Avenger.”

   “If you ever try to pull something like this again or even come near Y/n, Wanda or Nat I will gladly put an arrow between your eyes.” Clint tells him sternly

   Eventually they join your mates out in the apartments hallway. “Where's Y/n, and why aren't the two of you with her?” Yelena asks

   “She's in the car.” Nat replies, “I don’t think she wants to be around us right now.”

   “Of course she wants to be near you both Nat” Clint says

   She shakes her head, “She couldn’t even look at me Clint, and she ran when I tried to touch her.”

   “She growled at me.” Wanda adds

   Clint sighs, “Well why don’t we get her home? Maybe being there will help calm her and we can get her talking to make sure she's alright.” 

   The rest agree with him and fill the SUV. You don't speak the entire way home and refuse to even look at any of the others, you can however feel their eyes on you the entire ride home and the attention puts you further on edge. Upon arrival at the compound you allow them to lead you to the elevator which you ride in with them from the garage level to the level you all lived on. 

   Once the doors open you don’t wait, you shuffle past them all and head straight to your old bedroom, double locking the door behind you. You quickly strip, the sweatshirt from Nat is the only thing that doesn't get thrown into the trash on your way to the shower. 

   Wanda lets out a whine as she sees you enter your old bedroom without saying even one word to anyone. Nat worries about what Steves done to you.   

   Bucky notices this and his brows furrow, “I hate to ask, but did he…” he can’t bring himself to finish the question

  Your Alphas lip trembles, “I..I don’t know.” she admits. She was too busy freeing you from being tied and helping you redress that she hadn’t looked to see if he claimed you. What would she do if he had and you weren’t hers anymore? Or what if Steve was right and you simply didn’t want to be her mate anymore because she failed at keeping you safe?

  “She smells just like Steve, what was happening when you found her?” Wanda asks as she sadly looks at Natasha. 

   Your Alpha lowers her head, “She was tied to his bed with her shirt ripped off and her pants around her ankles. Steve was…he was naked from the waist down.”

   Your Omega whines again. She hates Steve for hurting you. She wants nothing more than to wrap you up in her nest and cuddle you. Your Alpha wishes she had beat Steve more, if he shows up at the compound anytime soon she’ll break his jaw. Her mate is hurting and she doesn't even know how to help, hell she doesn't even know if you still were her mate.

   You turn the water on and wait for the steam to fill the bathroom before you get in. The feeling of the hot water on your skin is exactly what you needed, you don’t care that it burns slightly. You wash your hair and scrub yourself at least four times before you finally deem yourself clean enough. 

   You can’t help the lump that forms in your throat when your eyes catch a glimpse of your wrists as you put on clothes. They're practically rubbed raw from the rope and are bright red in color. You put Nats hoodie on in order to cover them and feel the familiar warmth that comes from breathing in her scent.

   Suddenly there's a knock at your door, “Y/n, medovyy(honey)?” Nat says. You hesitate to answer, not sure if you'd be comfortable around your mates yet or not. “My Omega please, I need to see you” Your Alpha tries again

   She holds her breath as she hears you undoing the locks. Her eyes light up as she sees you in her sweatshirt, but her face falls as she sees the large bruise on your cheek. She hates how sad your eyes are, empty of their usual light and warmth.

   “Can I come in? To look you over or injuries, to make sure you're ok?” she asks, you can see the desperation in her eyes. You were gone from her for almost two days, she felt helpless and scared. She needs to be with you so she knows you're really here. You don’t say anything but you open the door wider and step aside, giving her room to enter. She quickly does and after you've shut the door she motions for you to take a seat on your bed.

   You sit, rather stiffly at first but when she slowly reaches out and runs a hand through your still damp hair you relax. Her touch is caring and gentle, just like her and nothing like him. Your arms suddenly wrap around her hips pulling her closer to you, you bury your face into her stomach as you begin to cry uncontrollably. 

   Her arms wrap around you, “You're safe now, I’m right here. I won’t let him touch you ever again.” She goes to shift positions but you tighten your grip on her, afraid she’ll leave. “Hey, I’m not going anywhere. I just want to be able to hold you. Is that ok?”

   You nod and release her, she sits next to you and pulls you onto her lap and you snuggle into her. She holds you securely as if she's afraid Steve will reappear and try to pry you from her hold. Her fingers caress your side and you purr for her, god did she miss that sound. 

   “I was scared” you mumble into her chest

    “So was I.” she admits

   .“He hurt me…” 

    “Show me where, please?” she asks. You nod and turn so she can see your cheek, you watch as her brows furrow. Her hand gently cups your face and she leans down pressing a soft kiss on your bruised skin. “Did he hit you?” 

   You nod, “He didn’t like that I fought his advances.”

   She lets out a protective growl as she cuddles you closer, after a bit you pull away from her intent on showing her your other injuries. You raise your hands and pull the sleeves of her sweatshirt down far enough for the burn marks from the rope to show.

    Her hand grabs both of yours and gently tugs them up to her face, she plants a gentle kiss on the angry red skin before placing your hands in your lap. “I’ll see if Bruce has any sort of ointment we can use to help those feel better.”

   You nod before wordlessly reaching for the hoodies neckline, you pull it down and when she sees the bruising imprint of Steves hand there, her anger reignites in full. She growls again as she gently nuzzles into your neck, covering you with her scent. She's so relieved to see the only bonding marks you had were hers and Wandas.

   “I missed you, my Alpha” you admit

   Happy tears form in her eyes, she has you back. “I missed you too, my Omega. So much.” 

  “Can we go cuddle in our nest? I want to see Wanda.” you tell her

   “Of course we can. She’ll be so happy to see you.” She says as she stands with you still in her arms. 

   Your arms wrap around her neck as she carries you to your shared bedroom. She walks in with you and you can see Wanda curled in the nest. She looks so sad and lonely, she doesn't even turn to see who has entered the bedroom. You motion for your Alpha to put you down. She does and you carefully make your way to the nest.

   You sit down next to her and her gaze moves to you, “Y/n?” she asks, as if she's afraid you're a figment of her imagination

   “Hi baby.” you say as your hand reaches for her. You can see her eyes light up as she hears your voice. She grabs your hand and pulls you into her arms, you let out a chuckle as she snuggles into you. “I’m sorry I growled at you earlier, I was very upset and overwhelmed.”

   She nods, “I understand detka(baby), I forgive you. Are you ok?”

   “I have some injuries, but I’ll be ok.” you say as you turn allowing her to see your cheek

   She gasps as she takes in the deep bruise, her hand gently cups your face and she runs her thumb over your cheek, “He hit you?” You nod.

   “Svoloch'(bastard) choked her too, his damn handprints on her throat.” Your Alpha growls as she joins you both in the nest.

   Wanda looks at you with unshed tears in her eyes,  you pull her closer to you in an attempt to show her that you're ok, that you're right here. “I missed you so much, I was scared I’d never see you again.”

   “I was scared too, but I knew I’d see you again. I knew our Alpha would find me.” you admit, you watch as Natasha subconsciously puffs her chest out with pride 

   Wanda settles into your embrace, “You smell like Tasha” She hums

   “She might have gone a little overboard with scenting me.” you tease

   The Alpha blushes slightly, “I-I just want to make sure everyone knows, you're off limits. You're mine. My Omega, my mate. I only share with Wanda”

   You smile at her words, and smile even wider when you feel her cuddle into your back. Wanda's tucked into your front still and her purr rumbles in her chest. You purr as well when you feel your Alpha drape her arm over your waist to hold you, she laces her hand with your Omegas. 

   You were still upset about your ordeal but being here with them like this, it felt calm and safe. You never wanted to leave them again.

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