#to not leave anyone out. to give ONE a jar of rocks

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Arcane preference] reacting to a s/o falling asleep on their lap

The reason I have to post requests like this is because, for some reason, if I post them as Tumblr requests, I can’t find them again when I search for them. Making the masterlist was a real struggle. As usual, I’m using the headcanon to promote my longfic on Arcane, Everytime It Rains.

socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky | | Ao3 |

Jayce:

It often happens when he spends the evening working instead of giving you attention.

You know he doesn’t mean it in a bad way, so you settle for climbing onto his lap, letting your limbs dangle, and resting your face against his chest.

He stays focused on studying the documents in front of him, but one hand holds your head steady to keep you from losing your balance.

He strokes your hair absentmindedly.

When he notices you’ve fallen asleep, he feels a warmth, a tender sort of affection. He doesn’t want to wake you but wishes he had something to drape over your shoulders.

After a while, it becomes his signal that he’s pushed himself too far with work.

That’s the moment when he lifts your face to kiss you before carrying you to bed.

Viktor:

The classic "working on the couch" position, where you first sit next to him to avoid disturbing him, then drape one leg over his lap, and eventually both. By the end of the evening, you’re fully curled up in his arms.

He holds your side, resting his cheek against your head while continuing to read his notes, basking in the warmth of that shared intimacy.

He asks you several times if you’re tired, and when you don’t respond, he smiles softly, realizing exhaustion has won you over.

He pulls the blanket up to cover you both, and even when you grumble in annoyance at his movements, he chuckles and just says, “Just a second”

He works for another couple of hours but never stops stroking your side or giving you small kisses on the forehead.

Ekko:

“Aw, someone’s sleepy here,” is the first thing he says when you take the overboard from his hands, and let yourself plop into his lap, already wrapped in a blanket like a cape.

He doesn’t even try to go back to what he was doing. Instead, he pulls you close, rubbing his face against yours, taking in your scent.

He loves it—maybe even more than cuddling lying down. He enjoys the weight, the shape of your body, and being able to cradle you.

Because of this, he doesn’t ask if you’d rather lie down; he stays put, ensuring your rest is protected.

It’s only when you’re fully asleep and start shifting to find a more comfortable position that he decides to carry you to bed, staying there with you afterward.

Vander:

I’ll be honest, would.

The underground city is freezing due to the lack of light that filters in, all the glass and steel radiating cold from the outside. That’s why there’s no place more comfortable than this man’s laps.

You usually do it when the bar is still closed, and only a few close friends are inside. When you know he isn’t on the defensive and you won’t slow him down.

He laughs, keeping one hand on your back to support you, and points out to anyone around him that it’s good for you to get a little rest.

If you stay asleep even after the bar opens, he’ll grab a chair and sit it beside him so he can take care of the larger tasks first and then return to you in his lap.

But if it’s the weekend, when things can easily heat up, he’ll delay opening just to get you to bed, give you a kiss, and apologize for leaving you alone.

Silco:

Can we normalize this man as a piece of furniture?

It’s not even about being tired or wanting attention, sometimes it’s just the comfort the situation itself provides.

The way the swivel chair rocks, the vinyl on the record player, the intense, greenish light pouring through the window, and enjoying his delicate fingers in your hair while the entire city stretches out beneath you.

He doesn’t ask why you do it, nor if you want to move. He assumes that if you wanted something different, you would simply ask, so he continues to give you those small attentions endlessly.

He keeps you on the side of his good eye, so he doesn’t have to turn his head to check on you, but can discreetly notice if your expression changes or if you fall asleep.

These are the moments when Sevika knows that no one is supposed to enter his office, so you can have a bit of peace.

Jinx:

She’s always busy, always active, always too loud. Sitting in her lap sometimes seems almost like a necessity to keep her still and focused on just one thing.

“Awwww, my little bug is sleepy?”

She hums while holding you in her arms, one hand still trying to get her projects done.

If too much time passes, she’ll bend her knees and push herself forward, making the swivel chair move in the direction she wants so she can stay occupied while talking to you about whatever crosses her mind.

If she feels your breathing change, that you’re falling asleep, she suddenly freezes, as if to let you rest.

She pulls you closer, caresses you, kisses your temples, and carries you to her little couch.

Vi:

If manhandling were a woman

When you sit on her lap, she treats you like you’re a cat: fine. It will end there.

Does she need to pee? No, she doesn’t anymore.

She can’t disturb you, or you might get up and leave.

But when it starts to become a constant, she’ll cover your back and simply hold you while she does what she needs to do.

If you complain, she’ll kiss you, apologizing and reassuring you that you’ll be back on the sofa soon, asking you to hang on.

She enjoys that closeness, your breath on her skin, the trust in that action.

The moment she sits back down or rests, she’ll shower you with cuddles, even if you’re asleep or pretending to be.

Caytlin:

She’s the one to ask if you want to sit in her lap, worried that she’s neglecting you.

She keeps you with her, even if you’re asleep, supporting you to make sure you don’t hurt yourself or lose your balance.

Her biggest fear is not being able to express how much she cares for you, how happy she is to have you there.

The quickest way she knows to do that is through physical contact—the reassuring, warm kind.

“How was your day?” she asks, giving you space to talk and feel seen. She doesn’t want the things she has to do to take away from you, from the two of you.

If she still feels like she’s ignoring you, she’ll ask you to sit on the couch with her to watch a movie, or maybe in bed, cuddled up, just being close.

Mel:

I recognize mommy issues when I see them, and so does she. You’ve been caught.

She welcomes you into her arms almost playfully, gently caressing your hands and arms, speaking softly with her head turned toward you.

She knows it’s the easiest way for you to ask for attention, and she simply accepts it, letting you rest either in her arms or with your head on her lap.

She talks to you about her day, her plans, her worries as if telling you a lullaby, letting you rest on her concerns, including you in her mind so that you don’t feel like a burden.

If you fall asleep, she rests her chin on your shoulder and closes her eyes as well, enjoying a few minutes of peace, trying to sync your breathing together.

Sevika:

You live on the lap of this woman.

When she adjusts her arm, when you eat something on the couch, even at the bar while she plays cards or drinks, you’re always there.

The safest place in the underground city is on the massive legs of a woman with a mechanical arm, and that’s a fact.

Her initial fear, especially in public, was that someone might associate you with her and harm you.

But over time, it’s almost become a flex -you, pretty thing, are hers,

Every now and then, she checks to see if you’re okay, if you want to go to bed, if you’re comfortable, and with her healthy hand, she caresses your cheek while doing so.

At home, she always makes sure to cover you, to keep you close.

She doesn’t even go to bed unless you ask, enjoying the feeling of your body against hers.

[revelboo]

Everything Is Alright

Chapter One

Rolling through the clouds, Starscream almost feels free. Everything dragging at him left behind far below. Up here, the paranoia and anger can’t hold him. He can think. So it’s an effort to make himself land, transforming at the last minute so his peds gouge up dirt and rocks as he slides. And reality sinks back in like it always does as soon as he’s grounded again. Up there, he sometimes just thinks about not stopping. That maybe he could just fly away and leave the hurt and frustration behind. He never does, though. He can’t.

There’s nothing really here, just thickly wooded land and a winding ribbon of asphalt running through it. Nothing to indicate there’s energon here. Venting softly, he maps out the terrain. It’s such a little thing that he almost misses it. A branch among the trees cracking. And he turns toward it, arm lifting.

That small move saves his life. There’s no mistaking the Autobot spy lunging at him, denta bared like a feral beast. A blade humming in his fist that almost sheers through a wing and drives into his side. Reeling back with a cry, he spots the little scout raising his own weapon. And he’s transforming even as his wound pour energon and scream at him. Thrusters igniting and bowling Jazz over. Knowing he’s not bought himself any time at all.

Scrap. Just like every other time he reaches, everything’s gone sideways. All the intelligence Starscream had received in his reports had indicated that the Autobots were unaware of the energon deposit the Decepticon scouts had picked up on their scanners. Supposed to have been only a recon mission to get a better lay of the land. Not an ambush. Meaning someone had set him up. He should be used to it by now, it shouldn’t still have the power to hurt him.

Turbines screaming, Starscream can feel the wound in his side and wing pulling. Too much damage to get any altitude, so now he’s down over a wooded stretch of road. Every attempt to climb sending darts of tearing pain through him and spurring the Autobots to double their attacks. Trying to ground him, because once they do it’s over and they know it as well as he does. Pain burns white hot as his own fury through him even as he steadily loses altitude and any hope of just flying away from his pursuers. No, that wing is hanging on by a prayer to Primus and pure, unadulterated spite as he drops even lower. His wingspan too wide for the narrow road he’s flying over as he dips down below the trees and feels the tips of his wings cracking branches to rain down into the road. Every impact jarring through him, trying to tear him apart.

Not that the debris is doing a blasted thing to deter the two Autobots in pursuit. No, Bumblebee and Jazz are right there, still firing on him as they swerve around the bigger branches. It’s almost funny that he’s going to be brought down by only two of them. It’s insulting.

He rolls slightly around a curve, wingtip scraping the asphalt in a spray of paint-scraping, painful sparks. Knows they won’t give up the chase. Can’t now that he’s bleeding energon and running like a startled turbo fox. Because while he isn’t exactly outgunned, he has little doubt that they’ve already called in for backup. Fury twisting about his spark, desperation claws at him.

Calling in his own? Having to beg for help even from his own trine? Weak. And weakness doesn’t survive long among the Decepticon ranks. Maybe Thundercracker and Skywarp won’t exploit that weakness to ursurp his spot, but Megatron would feel that it’s a teaching moment. And beat it into him with his fists. Besides, someone had tipped off the Autobots that he’d be out here. Betrayed again, even though at this point it really shouldn’t be a surprise.  Another tight corner. So tired, but then that spark deep exhaustion is something he’s well and truly used to. He’s on his own, but that’s nothing new. When you can’t trust anyone, you learn to rely on yourself. To push harder, fight with the desperation of the cornered. They might bring him down, but he’ll drag at least one to the Pit with him.

Weapons fire peppering him, he swings another curve and there’s a car up ahead in the distance. For a moment, he thinks it’s over. That this is the reinforcements the Autobots must have summoned. But, no. It’s only a human. And an opportunity.

One more mile to get it together. Except, you’ve been telling yourself that for how many miles now? It’s been halfheartedly misting rain for the last several minutes, but you don’t bother to roll the windows up on your old sedan. Not when you desperately need the chilly feel of the wind sinking icy fingers into your hair and tearing at your ponytail to help numb the anger and stress just there under the surface. Because it always falls apart when you think that maybe this time you got it right.

But even with the speedometer pushing 65 on the wooded country road, there’s no outrunning yourself. Or stopping your mind from sifting through the fallout from your latest boyfriend. Letting the intrusive thoughts in. Like maybe he’d been right, and you hadn’t really made enough time for him. Even if you both worked crappy, full-time jobs that consumed more than their fair share of your time and energy.

If anything, it was as much his fault as yours, right? Hands going white knuckled on the wheel, you crank the rock and roll even higher to let the thump of the bass roll through your bones and send your thoughts flying. You’re out past the county line now, the road just an inky ribbon of asphalt snaking through the woods. Occasionally, the setting sun dazzles you through the gaps in the trees in piercing, painful flares of red and gold.

From the depths of your mind comes the thought that you could just keep driving. See where the road went until it ended somewhere on the coast. It was a lovely dream, but just that. You weren’t brave enough to just go. That’s why you still lived in the nowhere town you’d grown up in. Your foot settles a little more firmly on the gas pedal, slaloming around lazy curves as you try to shake off the mellow ache, because now you’re angry with him and yourself.

You could do it. Flip the proverbial bird to everything you know, especially your awful boss, and just nope off into the sunset without a plan. Probably end up living in the car if it didn’t break down before you even managed to cross the state line. It was funny in a decidedly unfunny way, because your own worst enemy? You. It’s always you.

Snorting at yourself, it takes a minute to register the new sound over the wail of an electric guitar pouring tinnily through your speakers. What is that? The fine hair at your nape prickles as it rolls over you, a thunderous scream that locks the breath in your lungs. Eyes darting up to your mirror there’s a moment of blank disbelief, because no. That’s not a jet right behind you, flying lower than a jet has any reason to as its huge wingspan sheers off branches in its wake. It can’t be.

There’s no time to argue with the impossible vision because the belly of the jet slams and scrapes along the roof of your car with an awful shriek, and panic lights you up. You haul at the wheel, foot slamming down on the brake and then you’re sliding on the wet road. Things get a bit funny after that. Trees right there and the noise of the impact. Your forehead bouncing off the wheel and then slamming back as the airbag deploys with enough force you’re stunned again.

Your world blurs into a confusing smear of impossibility when you lift your head and feel your heartbeat throbbing at your temple. For a moment, you can’t figure out the seatbelt, everything hurts, and your mouth tastes like old pennies.

In the distance, a rumble of thunder rolls as the buckle finally unclips. The door is partially dented in by the impact, so you crawl out the window, head pounding to match the thunder. But thunder doesn’t sound like that. This is a staccato thumping that makes no sense. Guns? Probably that jet exploding. Your awkward slide out of the car via the window isn’t dignified or graceful. Twisting to land on your hip instead of your face, you lift your head. Everything’s muddled and you definitely have a concussion. That’s the only way to explain whatever the hell it is you’re looking at. There are giant robots in the road and one of them has wings painted like the stupid, low flying jet that had tried to kill you. And they have guns. You don’t even know what to make of this particular hallucination playing out in front of you. Staggering up out of the ditch and onto the road, it feels like you’re on a ship, the ground pitching and rolling under your feet as your stare up at the nonsense. You definitely brained yourself good. Most likely, you’re still in the car bleeding out and this was your mind’s idea of a consolation prize. Except you’d never actually liked sci-fi or robots.

Turning unsteadily as your whole body screams in pain, you stare from the jet and its fiery red eyes to the other two imaginary head trauma robots. One’s yellow and the other is white with red and blue accents. And they’re not shooting the jet anymore. They’re just staring down at you in the same kind of dumb stupor that's weighing you down. Your legs get a bit cute on you and your knee thumps onto the road. Feeling the grit and loose gravel digging into you cuts through the hazy fog of pain and disbelief.

Because it’s real. And then the panic rears its head, screaming at you to run even as you freeze. You’d always kind of assumed you’d do well under pressure. That you’d at least do something. Kneeling there as the misty rain slowly chills your skin, you don’t move. You can’t. Not even when you see the jet monster lunge right at you, big hand reaching.

It's almost serendipity when the human staggers up into the road between him and the two Autobots. Gaping up at them with no sense of self-preservation or fear. Staring at him in the optics like he’s no threat to you. Brave, but so stupid.

Because his options are limited. How long until the Autobot’s backup arrives? Feeling the wound in his side pulling as he lunges, he’s only barely aware of Jazz’s cry. The human is softer than he expects, that soft flesh giving horribly against his servos as he catches you and lifts you out in front of him like the most ineffective shield ever. Aside from a wheezing sound halfway between a gasp and a moan, the human just hangs there in his grip, unresisting. Maybe broken.

All that matters is that Jazz and Bumblebee have frozen. Maybe it isn’t so ineffective. Because the Autobots are forbidden from harming organics. Especially humans. Baring his denta in a feral smile, he backs away from the two.

“Let the human go, Starscream,” Bumblebee says, voice as steady as the weapon still raised toward him in threat.

An empty threat. A laugh escapes him, his smile turning nasty. “No, I don’t think so.”

Whatever is inside humans is hot, sticky, and leaking unpleasantly against his servos. The sensation is almost enough to make him chuck you at the two idiots to buy himself some time. Small hands push at his servos as the thing in his grip shudders. You’re silent, though as you look up at him with big, terrified eyes.

Spark thrumming, he keeps moving back. They’re really going to let him go just because he’d nabbed a human with no survival instincts whatsoever. It’s too sweet to believe. Eerily quiet  in his grip as you sluggishly leak red fluid from a gash on your head, those wide eyes meet his optics. Turning on his heel, he pulls you into his chassis as he transforms, pain rippling through him. There’s a terrifying moment of very real fear that his wing won’t hold. That he and his hostage will crash back down, but his turbines roar and he’s gone. Still can’t get any altitude, but they’re not firing on him. Not pursuing all because they might hurt the weak little organic he grabbed. It’s almost too funny to think something so stupid just saved his life. This pitiful thing’s life is worth more than his to them.

You’re no longer silent, he can hear your rasping gasps. Maybe transforming around you had finally broke through your shock. Something definitely had. He can feel your little hands scrabbling at his interior in a panic, the sensation causing his metal flesh to crawl all over. Because you’re inside him. Touching everything. Leaking that sticky red stuff inside him. The only consolation at all was that you aren’t screaming.

Yet.

“Keep your filthy little hands to yourself,” he snarls as you paw at the seam of his cockpit as if you want to be jettisoned. Nearly begging for it. As tempting as that thought is, the docile, little thing has potential. Namely as a way to keep the Autobots from firing at him.

Snatching your hands back, wide eyes dart around his interior. So, you aren’t quite as addled as he’d thought. Surprising. “It’s talking. The giant, metal death robot is talking,” you mutter, voice soft and raspy with pain as you tuck your hands against your chest.

“Starscream.” The annoyance is immediate and the human flinches at his tone, shoulders hunching. You don’t respond, though. Just make that weird, gasping sound as you look around for an escape.

Aside from a low, moaning when he transforms around you a second time, you’re silent as he keeps you trapped inside his canopy. One of your soft hands slaps against the glass to make him shudder, hearing your breathing becoming louder and more frantic. There’s the fear he’d expected. By some miracle, he makes it inside the base and to his quarters without getting stopped. Though, Skywarp gives him a look as he limps past. A low growl and a flash of denta enough to discourage his trine brother from needling him for the moment. Wondering if he walks past if he’s the one who betrayed him.

Closing the door behind himself, the pain of his ruined wing crests and threatens to wash over him. Servos gingerly touching his side and wincing when they come away wet with energon, he picks up an empty energon cube and pops his canopy. With a startled cry, you fall out into his palm, and he drops you into the cube. The walls are high enough that he doubts you can manage to get free and even if you do, where will you go? Placing the cube on a shelf, his optics narrow as you scramble to the far side of your prison, eyes wide.

Whether or not you’d meant to, and it’s definitely not, you’d saved his life. And he’s not sure how he feels about being in the debt of a human. Venting softly, he turns and leaves you to go find the medic.

You slide slowly down the smooth glass wall to land on your butt as your legs just give up. The apparently not hallucinatory, brain trauma induced, giant robot stuck you in a big, square aquarium and even though the top is open, you can’t get enough air. Or stop shaking as panic sank its teeth into your throat.

Reaching up, you gingerly touch your temple. There’s blood there, but sticky and not actively bleeding you think. And even if you’re not imagining all this, you probably, definitely, do have a concussion. You can’t motivate your shaking, noodle legs to stand, so you crane your neck to study your prison. The walls are much higher than you are tall and featureless. No way to get a good grip to climb out, even as you very briefly entertain and dismiss the idea of parkouring up the corner of the box to freedom, because that isn’t happening, and you know it.

Which leaves you all alone to wander the shores of melancholy regret in the silence of the empty room. There’ll be no seeing where any other roads go now. No second chances. You tunnel your fingers through your hair, pulling on it as you try to gather yourself. To think it out. Feeling miserable, you look around the big room. It's giant robot sized and surprisingly spartan. There’s a flat metal berth along one wall, a desk and chair, what might be storage drawers, but blessedly little else. No mementos of a life lived. No trinkets. Something about that nags at you, but you don’t dwell on it.

You’re not sure how long your big, evil robot, Starscream, is gone. Hours? You’re almost drowsing in your corner even as you shiver uncontrollably in the icy room. Apparently cold doesn’t bother giant robots, but then, it’d been very warm when you’d been trapped inside its interior. Any other time you’d have been ecstatic about riding in a jet. Fear for your life had soured the experience. You’d explored your head wound with tentative fingers and decided it wasn’t that bad. A little gash at your temple.

You bang the back of your head on the glass wall of your cage when the door opens, and your kidnapper returns. Those glowing red optics slide your way before dismissing you. That stare is weighing you and finding you lacking. Shifting to drag your legs against yourself, you watch it move to an oversized chair and slump. Teeth chattering, a new concern surfaces. This horror knows you need food and water, right?

“Almost brought down by two weak Autobots,” it mutters, dragging a hand down its face in a disturbingly human gesture. For an alien robot murder machine, its face is uncannily human. It reaches back to prod at one of its wings. It looks better than it had, you realize. “Nearly ripped my wing off.”

Was it talking to you? Unsure, you dart your tongue out to wet your lips. Somehow you hadn’t yet won yourself a Darwin Award even though you’d blundered into the middle of a fire fight between huge, angry robots while gawping like a hick tourist. Did you dare push your luck? “How dare they,” you say, voice a barely-there, raspy whisper. Mostly being sarcastic, although it’s more tired than anything else.

It hears you, though. That big head turns to stare at you, and you wilt as its wings flit up a little higher and the silence stretches. You shouldn’t have said that.

“Right?” Starscream demands suddenly, growling voice full of irritation. It sounds like a he, you decide. Though since it is whatever the hell it is, who knew. Staring right at you, he bares his denta in a smug snarl. “I could have destroyed them then and there with one servo.”

It’s almost funny as the alien death machine actually puffs out his chest a bit when you nod in agreement, teeth chattering. And then you run with it, playing devil’s advocate, because staying on his good side? Definitely a good idea. “They wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Of course not,” he sneers, rising to tip his head at you with almost predatory interest. Drifting away to a wall, he retrieves a huge blanket and drops it unceremoniously on you. The material is soft as silk, but some chemical smell clings faintly to it. You still cocoon yourself in it, face poking out to watch your evil robot return to his chair and his sprawl. And the silence spreads between you, studying him since he’s studying you in return.

The shivers slowly ease, but don’t go away altogether. That doesn’t stop you from drifting off, though. Your sleep is thankfully a dreamless void that sinks its claws in and drags you under. It’s almost pleasant up until something bounces off your head and the pain you’d left behind in sleep screams through you. Along with the realization that you’re being buried alive. Clawing your way free, you fall on your face, swearing.

And look up to find Starscream staring down at you, his lips twitching in cruel amusement at your expense. Your heart runs wild, rabbit-fast in fear. Red optics shift behind you then back. Wary, you turn to look and find he’d buried you in a mountain of beef jerky, chips, soda, and- its food. He’s brought you food. That has to be a good sign, right? Why bother to feed you if he’s just going to squish you.

Sure, he could have not dropped it all on your head, but you aren’t about to tell him that. Just like you aren’t going to think too deeply about where the food came from either. It’s not like he can just waltz into a store and buy stuff. You’re snapped out of thoughts of sirens and explosions when you realize those fearsome optics are scrutinizing you. Waiting for your reaction?

“Thank you?” Your voice is soft and uncertain, but the big, scary robot freezes all the same. Those wings on his back flip up then back down. Like he’s surprised that you’d thanked him. Just like the complete 360 he’d pulled when you’d agreed with him before. Like your captor isn’t too used to being listened to or appreciated. And he not only loves the attention, he might just crave it. Fawning over him is a small price to pay for your life. And that smug, preening smirk paired with those little wing flutters? For a kidnapping, killer robot, he’s kind of adorable. Not that you’re ever going to admit that out loud. You like living too much for that.

You freeze when he reaches into your cage before scooting back from that massive hand. Unwilling to give up your warm blanket, you drag it with you and suck in a sharp breath when he cages you in his hand and lifts you out. His grip isn’t as rib crushing as the last time he’d snatched you up and you cling to his servos, heart racing as he places you on the desk.

Scrolling through reports, Starscream keeps an optic on his new- what, pet? Yes. A pet. Letting out a long-drawn vent, he works and tracks the human as you stand up still wrapped in the cleaning cloth he’d given you and dragging it along as you cautiously move around his desk. It only takes a low growl under his breath to discourage you from getting near the edge. Those big eyes dart up to him in surprise before moving away from the drop.

Satisfied that you’re not going to launch yourself to a stupid death, he resumes perusing reports. “Can you believe those idiots?” He grumbles to himself out of habit. “I told them that mine was unstable.”

He hears your quiet steps as you move closer to him, little face tipped up toward him. “They should have listened to you,” you say, the words surprising him.and he studies you. While your hair is matted with dry blood, it doesn’t look like the wound is serious since you’re up and about.

Were humans usually this astute or had he just picked a particularly smart one? His wings adjust slightly as he turns his attention to the tiny creature. “They never listen to me.” Reaching out he ghosts the tip of a servo over your head, surprised by how soft your hair is. And you go still under his touch, head lowering as he slides that finger down your back. Feeling the rapid beat of your heart against his servo.

He'd had a petro rabbit once, the tiny, fragile thing so trusting. It would eat from his hand and come willingly to him. Petro rabbits weren’t exactly clever, though. Couldn’t distinguish him from Skywarp and had died for it. And even though Skywarp had claimed it had been an accident, Starscream had never really let it go. Or believed him. Suddenly unsettled, he gently strokes over your head again. Soothing himself and his new pet.

Because this time would be different. He freezes as you lean into his palm, slowly relaxing. Your skin is colder than he remembered, and he frowns as he carefully curls his servos around you. And you shift eagerly into his warmth with a little noise of pleasure. His optics flit to the empty energon cube as you relax further against him, your own big eyes peering up at him trustingly. He'd never actually been this close to a human, he realizes. Certainly never touched one.

Venting softly, he uses his free hand to pull his datapad closer so he can finish going through the reports. Stiffening when you lay your head on his servo, little hands clinging as you soak up his warmth. Not sure what to make of your trust when he can’t trust anyone. So how can you trust him when you don’t even know him?

Next

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

What a Mess 6

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: thick!Bucky Barnes

Summary: Your new job isn’t all that you expect. (maid AU – short!reader)

Note: hate me, baby.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You pack away your kit and drag the vacuum to the elevator. You give one last look to the condo then tap the button and wait. You jitter as you stare at the doors, urging on your escape. From this place, from him. 

He didn’t hurt you, did he? He wasn’t cruel but he also didn’t stop. He didn’t ask. He just... did that. But you’re the one who touched him first. But he said yes. That’s the difference, isn’t it? Or did you give him permission by initiating the whole breach of behaviour. 

“Doll,” his hands clamp down on your shoulders and jar you from your anguished trance. You gasp and look over at the metal fingers curling around you. “What’sa matter?” 

You quiver as the elevator doors open. You grip the vacuum tight and try to walk out of his grasp. That’s a foolish thought. He keeps you as you are. 

“You’re in a hurry?” He wonders. 

You gulp and drop your head, the hose quiver in your hand. You wet your dry lips and shudder. You can’t hear over the thumping pulse behind your ears. 

“Hey,” he spins you and the vacuum hose falls from your grasp. You blink up at him, staring at his face if only to avoid another glimpse of his naked form. He cups your head. “Your heart’s about to explode. Why don’t you sit down? You been working hard.” 

You touch the back of his hands as your eyes glaze over, “please...” 

He searches your face, his expression lining with confusion, “what?” 

Your lip trembles and you drop your arms. You can’t fight him. You can feel that same oppression as before. His body over yours, smothering you, suffocating you. This isn’t just a man, this is a super soldier. 

“Are you scared?” He asks. 

You nod without thinking. He retracts his touch and turns away. “I was... nice.” 

You hug yourself as the elevator shuts and descends. Your way out weighs heavily on the wires as it disappears. You dig your nails into your arms. 

“I’m scared too, doll,” he turns back again. You wince and avert your gaze to the wall. “It’s been a long time... long time since anyone... since I let anyone...” He marches toward you and you back up until you hit the doors. 

You watch him in horror as he gets down on his knees. He grabs your wrists and unfolds your arms, clasping them in his and kissing your knuckles. You whimper as he opens your palms to him and brushes them over his thick beard. 

“I need you, doll. You can’t leave me like this,” he begs. 

You don’t know what he wants. You can’t figure why he’s doing this. Why he’s clinging to you like a scared puppy. You didn’t do anything but your job. No, you touched him first. 

“I only wanted to help,” you whisper. 

He kisses your palms and hums, “you did, baby. You did.” 

“Bucky, I have to go,” you quaver. “Home.” 

He hisses and goes silent. He continues to toy with your hands. He guides them to his hair as he shuffles closer on his knees. He grips your hips and pulls you forward. He nuzzles your pelvis with a growl and you squeak. 

“Bucky!” You squeal. 

He purrs and rolls his face against you, his thumbs pushing into your soft flesh. He continues to nuzzle you firmly, rocking his head as he inhales your scent through your jeans. You babble helplessly and push on his shoulders. 

“I can make you feel good, doll,” he looks up at you with beaming blue eyes. “I wanna. So bad.” 

You wriggle but don’t offer much resistance. You feel his strength and your lack of. The doors are shut, in all ways. 

He snakes his hands around to your bottom and suddenly, he stands, lifting you off your feet. You cry out again and latch onto him in fright. He hooks your knees around him and gives a sultry growl over your hair. He carries you away from the elevator. 

You quake against him as you resign yourself to his whims. He takes you around to the front room and sits you on the sofa. You lean back and brace the cushions as he traces along your waist band. He pinches the front and pushes the button of your fly free. 

Paralysed, you watch him, a hollow shell as he pulls down the tab of your zipper. He exhales deeply as he once more feels along the denim and hooks his fingers beneath. He tugs, jerking you, peeling your pants down to your thighs. 

You plant your heads firmly to keep from slipping down as he rolls your jeans past your knees. You shiver as he exposes you to the airy space. His eyes crawl up your legs and frames your waist as he bends over your lap. 

His hand creep down to your shaking thighs and push them apart as he bows further. He breathes into the front of your cotton panties and nips the fabric. He snarls and presses his nose against you, dipping into your slit.  

You squirm as his trails a fingertip along the crease of your leg and tugs aside the cotton. You quiver as he purrs and slides his tongue along your folds. You arch your back, pushing your head into the cushions as you whine. The coolness of his mouth mingles cloyingly with your warmth. 

He flicks up and down as you squeak and twitch, slapping the cushions as your insides writhe uncontrollably at his tending. His finger grazes along your skin and he prods at your entrance, teasing it as his tongue swirls around your clit. You hiss and hum, trying to hold back the moans trapped in your chest. 

You bite your lips as your head lolls and your eyes roll back. Your fear gives way to something more vulnerable, something undeniable. You latch onto his head and arch your feet as the tension winds in your core. 

He’s right. He hasn’t hurt you. If you’re good, then he won’t. If you’re good, it will feel good. Right? 

[satoruhour]

STILL (ALWAYS) HERE

a/n: part two to this but not really? enjoy!

wc: 2.4k

warnings: spider-man!gojo, a little ooc gojo, mentions of blood and bruises, cleaning up wounds, some angst -> comfort, play on that one scene from tasm 2

you’re thinking that you’ve hit another dead end when you groan into your sheets from the headache that wraps around your head. it’s mild and dull but there’s still that throb at the back of your consciousness that you can’t exactly take your mind off of. at least, that was what you were telling yourself — normal headaches caused by the stress of university, and definitely not because of a trivial fight with your boyfriend.

the daunting calculus question stares back at you like it was mocking you, teasing you for getting heated over such a small thing when you knew he was only looking out for you with the best intentions in mind.

with a longing look to your abandoned convo with spider-man!gojo, you sink again into your pillow, lights suddenly looking too bright and the music in your ears, jarring. you haven’t seen him in school today, thinking him to be dramatic as always. but he didn’t need lectures and seminars at this point, either, knowing him to be one of the smartest people you know.

in the midst of quelling your headache and thinking of how to apologise, you don’t notice the way your vigilante boyfriend weaves his web around the trees just outside your window, crafting a sweet message of i miss you along the branches and leaves.

a tangle of webs, stuck like honeycomb to some abandoned shed, a tangle of webbing like his hip to yours. tangles of countless webs like his lips along your forehead when you fall asleep too early during study sessions and finally, his heart beating in time with yours.

one fell swoop of a rock from above makes you head tilt in utter confusion; in no world could a rock fall against your window in an arc like that come from anyone of this world, this dimension, yet you know no other person with wall-sticking and web-shooting abilities and it’s then when the complicated entanglement of letters come into view.

your heart clenches up just a little at the sight, a clear indication that it’s satoru from the similarity of his handwriting that’s on his own pre-calc homework. before you can call out, he shifts diagonally outside your window, mask removed and chest heaving at the anticipation of your reaction — both to the tension of your fight before and possibly another thing.

the darkness of the night hardly provides clarity, though, so when you don’t walk away, gojo feels the pull of your eyes on him, drawing him in and trapping him within your own web like prey. crawling along the side of your house, he gives you one more small pleading look: roughed up hair looking a little dirty and his body just aching so much.

“baby . .” he mumbles, blue eyes softening at the sight of you after not seeing you for just one day. it does things to him, “may i?”

but you’re not truly prepared for until your ceiling light exposes the reality of gojo’s situation, what with his cut-filled face and rips all over his suit. it’s dirty, like he was dragged around and made a fool of fighting god knows who, and he’s — oh my god — is all you mouth out, he’s bleeding from a fairly large wound in his side which he has held pressure with his mask.

“’toru!” you panic and quieten down, “oh— oh my god, fuck, fuck fuck, what do i do? satoru— you’re b-bleeding—” and you regret every single word you yelled at him just the day before, now rewarded (or cursed, rather) with his pristine white suit stained a deep, traumatising red. you’re shaking, rightfully so, and gojo is more calm than you, using his free and clean hand to rub circles into your sides.

“breathe, you gotta breathe, princess.”

“n-no— you breathe! you’re l-losing blood!’’ your throat closes in, your head fills with thoughts of his coffin being lowered. you start to sob, “satoru—”

“hey, hey, hey,” it’s both gentle and strong enough to catch your attention, brushing the stray strands from your face and you already lean into the long-awaited touch. his thumb wipes away the tears that already start falling, “’m still here, ’m still here. i’ve tried my best to cover the wound with extra shirts of mine, just stuffed into my suit.”

sniffling, you speak through hiccups, “why the hell do you have extra shirts in your fighting-villains backpack? w-why do you even bring a fighting-villains backpack?”

through the absurdity of it all: fucking spider-man bleeding out on your wooden floor, your tears mixing in with blood, the branches outside starting to snap and fall from the added tension of the webs, satoru laughs softly, fully cupping your face now and trying his best not to grimace at the increasing ache in his side. 

“and you always laugh at the weirdest fucking times!” you chastise, still speaking through periodic hiccups and sniffles that you keep stuttering, not even able to smack him like you like to do because you know he hurts, “now wait here, you loser.”

a soft thank you is heard, able to breathe a little harsher now that you’ve gone to find the first aid, anxiety obvious in the pattering footsteps heard. without wasting any time, you grab the kit and let him peel off the suit in the bathroom, not even that much focused on his toned body but the amount of bruises and cuts that litter it.

a new wave of panic settles in your bones, a whimper sounding out when your feather-like touches span over his body.

“satoru . .”

“i’m so—”

“no,” you mumble, getting to work fast by taking out the gauze, bandages, whatever you could use. thank the heavens you at least knew some first aid, wincing whenever he hisses at the stinging alcohol. “let’s not talk about our fight now.”

he swallows, knuckles white from how tight he was gripping the sink, “f-first time you’re not asking me to apologise, heh—”

from behind, he can see you lift your eyes from the careful care you execute on his side, meeting your eyes in the mirror that gloss over again with tears and his heart sinks again.

“p— please don’t make jokes when i’m literally stitching you up, satoru,” you whisper, forehead bumping into his bicep, soft but quick breaths fanning over the skin there, “i don’t wanna talk, not while i almost lost you.”

“but it’s hardly any—”

“gojo satoru!” the shout of his full name shocks both of you, not even sure whether you were feeling angry at the fact that he always downplays his injuries, or sad at the fact that he can’t see that he deserves to be taken care of, too. it was always a guessing game with satoru.

“it’s not just anything, g-god! can you have some regard for yourself?” you don’t care that your words echo off the bathroom walls, its acoustics probably making your wails even more heartbreaking for your boyfriend. “look at yourself and tell me that it’s hardly anything! tell me, say it to my face!”

your nose is red, tear stains already making their home on your pretty face while your fingers squeeze the gauze instinctively, and he tells himself it’s all because of him. it’s all because he didn’t want to be a couple in public in fear that his enemies would target you, because he was afraid they’d use you as leverage, as a decoy, as a trade deal. but that has only made the yearning for you more difficult — pinkies barely brushing against each other, an inside joke swallowed into his throat.

satoru is silent, not sure what he could say that wouldn’t hurt you any further and he turns to lean against the sink counter, bloodied hands staining the marble and suit. and if he looked hard enough, he’s sure he can see the ache of your palpitating heart, bleeding down your chest and pooling at the floor from all the pain he’s caused you.

you dance across the bathroom floor, tiles both cold and warm under your feet as you make your move without any sound, afraid, afraid, like he would get pulled away the moment you touch him.

but he doesn’t go anywhere — just jerking a little at the sudden contact.

“satoru . .” hoarse, tired, it’s what he made your voice sound like just yesterday from shouting, and now, today, “i . .”

you cry quietly but never stop your ever loving hands, holding his face to look up from the shame, and you see how dull his cerulean ones look now, softened but dim, gentle but lacking vivacity. you think maybe it’s the tears hindering it. bit by bit, gojo’s tears fall and he apologises.

satoru apologises over and over, i’m sorry’s muttered into your hair, into your forehead, into your lips and both your hands are shaking like on a first date.

“i just can’t bear to lose you,” you mumble shakily, trembling fingers tracing the lines of his features, “and i hope you know how much you mean to me, and— and how much it hurts to see you so nonchalant about being beaten up like this . .”

you stifle a sob when he kisses your fingers as they travel over his lips, having crossed oceans over his eyes and mountains through his nose. his lips, his lips look just like the sanctuary of everything soft and good and righteous, that sliver of perfect time like on juliet’s balcony.

“i’m sorry, i am so sorry, darling. i—” gojo sighs, pain now turning numb but still trying his best not to move an inch, “i guess i just become so used to taking care of aunt may that, i . . am not used to being taken care of.”

you nod in understanding, “i’m sorry too, for lashing out, for dismissing your efforts to make me feel safe. you were only looking out for me.”

gojo’s eyes avert from yours again, looking down at the one thing that signified his place in society — never that much seen, not much recognised, but still revered as the city’s hero. it represents anything from something as simple as getting back an old lady’s handbag to fighting off a scientist-turned-reptilian. but it also represents the why.

why he fights so hard. a star student like gojo definitely wouldn’t pass off the praises when he saves a falling civilian, but it was much deeper than that when it came to it, wanting the city he grew up in to be safe and to seeing the grateful, relieved expressions of passers-by.

it was for you, when the last face he sees before he closes his eyes for the night is your pretty one and he’d be damned if that changed any time soon.

that night where satoru is all patched up and lying like a statue because he’s afraid he’d tear your nicely done stitches (you assured him it was mediocre at best), his hand finds your hand naturally again, playing with the strands aimlessly.

all thoughts of the news articles showing his cheeky spider mask expression, to the funky poses he pulls (from a camera so high up it would really only be one person who plants it there), phases out the cool, suave spider-man persona and centres the stupid, goofy, annoying gojo satoru.

and you smile softly to yourself knowing you’d be the only one to see gojo satoru like this. 

“i should’ve told you why; it wasn’t fair of me to just stop acting like we’re head over heels— hey, why are you smiling?”

“no reason.” and your smile brightens.

“that’s not no reason,” he matches your grin, pulling on your cheek playfully before his hand goes to your nape like clockwork and tugs gently. like you were just a normal couple after a long day, without any indication of a gash along his side, but gojo satoru was far from normal in the grand scheme of things, “there’s always a reason.”

“is that the motto that the great spider-man lives by?” you inch closer to him, smiling from above in the dimness of the room so much so that it makes you look like royalty and him a mere commoner.

“uh . . no, pretty sure it’s ‘with great power comes great responsibility’,” gojo jests with sarcasm laced in his voice, roping you in and you, letting yourself get caught always as you lower yourself on his chest, but not before your lips meet his in a soft, quiet dance with you both being the only ones in the ballroom.

the rush of love that fills you overflows in the way your mouth moves against his, not wanting this sweet, sweet dream to end. especially if you come out empty-handed at the end of it all with spider-man’s, gojo’s blood on your hands, so you keep your eyes shut tight with a promise to yourself to welcome him with welcome arms the second, third, fourth, nth that he climbs through your window, bloodied and tired.

“i’m still here,” satoru whispers against your lips when he feels just how tense you are, easing out the lines of your face and holds you in that moment, held frozen in time like a scene in a snow globe, “i will be here for as long as we are alive,” he takes your hand and puts it up to his heart to remind you of its status, of how it speeds up a tad bit when you stroke his chest, “and i am alive whenever you are near.”

the quiet moment is shared with another soft kiss, features now relaxed when you smile against his lips and inspire the next few moments of endless laughter and jokes, falling into the same breath when sleep catches up.

in the bathroom lies his white-turned-red suit, left abandoned for the normalcy you both chase in your bedroom for at least a few hours until spider-man has to go back to being spider-man and you have calc questions to finish up on. but until then, with the alarm you set at 6am in secrecy before his classes, you’d wake up just to soak and hand wash the red out, returning the blue and white suit back to its glory.

when satoru wakes up the next morning, he finally knows why your warmth in bed was missing for a brief moment of time when he sees the clean folded up suit with his mask on top. you don’t miss with a sandwich either, and a cheeky note — all the best for your most dreaded class!!! if u can fight and come out alive i believe u can survive prof. masamichi lol.

and he laughs softly, sparing a glance to your sound, peaceful self and he finds a renewed sense of the reason why he decided to become spider-man.

spider-man— satoru seals his love with a kiss to your forehead and a messy mumble of i love you, long overdue from the night before.

“thank you for loving me.”

[hchom]

I'm boiling inside my own flesh after that trailer, so please accept this old, maybe objectively too creepy Cole drawing while I find time for new DA art. I can claim that it has a Haloween vibe, at least...

The reason it's so weird, by the way, is because I drew it using the poem "Wodwo" by Ted Hughes as a prompt. My bff @klovharun gave me the whole poetry book at the height of my DAI obsession because she thought "Gog" had Solas vibes; and it occurs to me right now that this has to be one of the best examples of friendship ever. Not just "I was thinking of you", but one step further, "I was thinking of your all-consuming fixation". She also made a Solas breakup playlist for me, which I still listen to. That is love!

Poems below for anyone who might like them.

Wodwo

What am I? Nosing here, turning leaves over

Following a faint stain on the air to the river's edge

I enter water. Who am I to split

The glassy grain of water looking upward I see the bed

Of the river above me upside down very clear

What am I doing here in mid-air? Why do I find

this frog so interesting as I inspect its most secret

interior and make it my own? Do these weeds

know me and name me to each other have they

seen me before do I fit in their world? I seem

separate from the ground and not rooted but dropped

out of nothing casually I've no threads

fastening me to anything I can go anywhere

I seem to have been given the freedom

of this place what am I then? And picking

bits of bark off this rotten stump gives me

no pleasure and it's no use so why do I do it

me and doing that have coincided very queerly

But what shall I be called am I the first

have I an owner what shape am I what

shape am I am I huge if I go

to the end on this way past these trees and past these trees

till I get tired that's touching one wall of me

for the moment if I sit still how everything

stops to watch me I suppose I am the exact centre

but there's all this what is it roots

roots roots roots and here's the water

again very queer but I'll go on looking

Gog I

I woke to a shout: 'I am Alpha and Omega!'

Rocks and a few trees trembled

Deep in their own country.

I ran and an absence bounded beside me.

The dog's god is a scrap dropped from the table,

The mouse's savior is a ripe wheat grain—

Hearing the Messiah cry

My mouth widens in adoration.

How fat are the lichens!

They cushion themselves on the silence.

The air wants for nothing.

The dust, too, is replete.

What was my error? My skull has sealed it out.

My great bones are massed in me.

They beat on the earth, my song excites them.

I do not look at the rocks and stones, I am frightened of what they see.

I listen to the song jarring my mouth

Where the skull-rooted teeth are in possession.

I am massive on earth. My feetbones beat on the earth

Over the sound of motherly weeping....

Afterwards, I drink at a pool quietly,

The horizons bear the rocks and trees away into twilight.

I lie down, I become darkness—

Darkness that all night sings and circles stamping.

-Ted Hughes

[littleplantfreak]

Hobby headcanons

Not particularly hobbies they definitely have but one's I can see them enjoying

Nirei - I said it before but he's crafty. He'd like to make things for his friends and seems like he'd originally learned this stuff from either his grandparents or an elderly neighbor he was fond of. Sakura's Furin jacket button pops off? Give it to Nirei, he's re-stitched it on in minutes and it's stronger than before. One of Kotoha's new earrings broke a loop? He's got a set of jewelry pliers at home somewhere he can dig out for that. It calms him when he's at his most frazzled to work his hands on something for a bit so he has like 15 WIPs at once going on that he cycles through.

Sakura - Hiking! Not like the walking on a path hiking, but the full-body, climbing over and onto rocks, hiking up a mountain or across rivers hiking. It's physical, but not something he has to worry about learning, and it's not an activity he has to converse with someone during. The first time he makes it to the top of a mountain and just...sits and takes it in? A breath of fresh air doesn't begin to cover it. Takes blurry pictures of the animals he sees and sends it to his groupchat later with no explanation, leaving the rest of his friends baffled because he didn't even tell anyone he went hiking.

Kiryu - hummm I'm tied between nail care, and making cute crafts somewhat similar to Nirei. Like those cute marbley drink tumblers or those phone cases that look like a decorated cake that will absolutely not fit in a pocket but why would you wanna hide it anyways its cute af. He definitely knows how to give a good manicure and takes great care of his hands in general. I imagine whatever girl's nails he's working on, she's flustered unless she's got nerves of steel because the gentle, but firm way he works on each nail? The little hand massage he does to rub in the cuticle oil ( ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵ ) how relaxing too.

Choji - Legos or origami or both! He'd leave little origami animals everywhere. Total cutie giving them to little kids he sees on the streets or at festivals. Really quick with it both in the time it takes to learn them and the time it takes to fold them. Also does one of those star jars that have an activity or something nice/motivational written on it.  His gang will make some to sneak into the jar, though you can tell right away from the unpracticed folding that Choji didn't make it. That just makes him happier though and he'll try and guess who wrote what. Loves to do legos on rainy days or when he's stuck inside when he gets a cold. Otherwise, he tends to do a bunch all at once and then leaves it unfinished for like 3 months.

[someonesrealityshifting]

.・✭・. Life Explanation .・✭・. ・

✭ My life is like a 2010s coming of age novel, but one of the ones with a shitty ending, like Before I Fall. Except it doesn't have a shitty ending, you just worry it might. My life is dancing in the rain and forgetting a coat and ending up with a cough but not caring because I was dancing with him. My life is climbing into abandoned buildings and befriending the rats who live there, leaving them food and telling them how pretty they are. My life is finding roadkill and bringing it home to pray for it and to send it to Thanatos gently, as he would want it.

✭ My life is making stupid decisions because I never got to as a kid. My life is smoking cheap cigarettes and coughing so hard I vow to quit, only to come back six hours later when he pulls out his lighter. My life is drawing on myself and loving it so much I go get it tattooed that day. My life is incohesive playlists and rants about movies and bugs I love. My life is collecting rainwater and rocks and bones I find, pressing flowers and leaves between the pages of limited edition books.

✭ My life is collecting soda pop tabs and butterfly wings and walnut shells because I can. My life is crying over the dead things I find and mourning them, giving even the worm I find on the sidewalk as it pours the simple respect of life. My life is constantly defending my position as an ambiamorous gay trans man as well as a leftist, an anarchist, quite possibly a communist, because my idea that all living things have inherent worth is apparently 'radical'.

✭ My life is tiny jars and using watercolor on canvas even though you're absolutely not supposed to use watercolor on canvas. My life is painting my nails outside because I don't want to risk my dog inhaling the fumes and feeding my gecko by hand because he's a diva but I also can't touch him because it frightens him. My life is car rides to vibe-based playlists, sticking my arms out the window and screaming when I see a puppy in the next car.

✭ My life is loving, endlessly and without remorse. Giving my love to anyone who will take it, accept it, regardless of whether or not it's reflected back at me, because if one can hate without cause, why can I, too, not love the same way? My life is shamelessly blocking and cutting off toxic people because I'm worth more, because the people I love are worth more.

✭ My life is holding a cat like a baby, because I'm a bit too fucked up to have a real one, and dancing around the house with it, telling it how much I love it as shitty music blares from the phone in my pocket. My life is putting stickers on my canes and headphones and every electronic device I have because they deserve to feel pretty, too. My life is putting too many layers of dye in my hair and not caring because it makes me feel better. My life is asking "would you still love me if I was a worm?" a thousand times and never getting bored of the answers.

✭ My life is keeping Loki's altar in my kitchen because it's never not chaotic as all hell in there, even if the odd assortment of things he likes is a bit of an eyesore; that's where he belongs. My life is keeping Christmas lights up all the year round because they're pretty and I love them. My life is finding a spot where I can see the sky without light pollution and staring at the stars for as long as I can, even though I know so very few of them, just because they're beautiful and I can. My life is getting a shitty camera from, like, 2015 because it's cheap and it has decent exposure, and even though the pictures always come out a little blurry, I pin them to the wall over our bed anyway.

✭ My life is writing poetry on every available surface, buying a shit ton of notebooks in August when they're 25 cents each and them all being full by March. My life is texting him "this song reminded me of you" at 3am when I know we should be asleep but neither of us are. My life is freaking out anytime I see a cat, because fucking look at him, he's such a cutie, aaa he booped meeee. My life is listening to Taylor Swift because they like it, and because I'd do anything to make them smile, even if I think "Antihero" is the single stupidest song I've ever heard in my life.

✭ My life is the word 'paladin', which is not only my dad's favorite WOW class, but it's my mom's favorite episode of bones. "Paladin" means, "I will always protect you. I will not choose violence for myself, because I can keep myself safe enough, but I would burn the world for you, because I love you, and I will hurt anyone, even myself, to keep you safe." My life is my parents telling me at age 9 that to love a hero was to hate one's self. That a hero would sacrifice you to save the world, that a villain had no such obligation. To always love the villain, the person most likely to hurt everyone but you.

✭ My life is painting on a 60 year old denim jacket and having no idea how to get the paint off so I just take a razor to the paint to get it a bit thinner and then saving up money so I can buy a Vincian flag to hide the marks it left behind. My life is having a bunch of scars from stupid things, and being proud to share each misadventure, because they define me, because I let them. My life is wishing I wasn't clean until I meet him and them and maybe deciding that I prefer having marks from love than self loathing.

✭ My life is waking up with my legs tangled in theirs only to get up before they do, going to make us shitty coffee because it's the only kind I know how to make, but they drink it anyway because I also make French toast so it's palatable. My life is house plants that I take care of exquisitely for years only to leave them in his care for a week and find them to be on the verge of death. My life is eating too much chocolate and dragging them both into the living room to build a pillow fort and watch Bluey for 6 hours on a random Friday night.

✭ My life is thrift shopping and buying shit I know I'll never use, simply because I can afford it, and because I love it, and because I can. My life is gardening all of spring and summer and never leaving the woods in autumn and shoveling until my knees buckle in winter. My life is learning how to swim in a creek because I don't trust anyone but the two of them to teach me.

✭ My life is love. My life is light. My life is making myself feel whole, and being able to give myself to the people who love me and the people whom I love. My life is happy, and warm, and safe. My life is starlight and wholesome until it's dark moons and dirty jokes, and even then, the sun comes back the next morning, and so do the gentle kisses and caresses. My life is safety and comfort and value, inherent and known, in every person I come across.

[tac-the-unseen]

Pebble

König x reader fluff

A pebble.

A single pebble lay on your desk.

A dark Grey stone with little clear specks giving the illusion of sparkles. Not terribly unusual if not for the fact that rocks in all different smaller sizes keep showing up around your stuff. You have a jar filled with them. You had no clue why they keep showing up. Everyday one pebble just appears.

Its became routine. Wake up, get dressed, find the pebble, go to work.

You're pretty sure someone's fucking with you. Like 80% sure. You told your supervisors and higher ups. They've sent some to the labs and each time it was simply just a rock. Then will hand you back the shattered stone.

It puzzles you and everyone who knows about the mystery stones. You've asked night sift if they know anything and they just shrug their shoulders.

Some people think a bird of some kind trying to court you. Others think someone is pranking you. And you leen to the latter here. Someone has to be joking with you. Why else would anyone do this? At least the pebbles make you somewhat happy.

To König the pebbles were a simple act of affection without having to get to close to you. Every morning he would get up, go outside and find a rock he likes. Then after putting all his love into it (squeezing the pebble in-between him plams and say nice things to it) he places it somewhere you'd notice.

He's mesmerized your routine so you never catch him in the pebble-placing act.

He thinks that because the pebble makes him happy it will in return make you happy.

Sometimes he finds the rocks on his missions. The pebble catches his attention for a brief moment and then it's in his pocket.

He thinks the rocks are beautiful and wants to give you that beauty.

He would love to tell you it him gifting you pebbles but he's terrified you'll call him weird and file a harassment claim. So he just keeps it up.

He even found tomorrow's pebble.

Tonight was the night. Tonight you finally had the night shift. Tonight you were gonna catch the pebble-placer.

Buuuuut you forgot one thing......the night shift was sooooo boring. Your eyes bore into the green lit monitors. Watching for intruders who dared to step into the base.

Coffee slowly became your best friend. You and the other poor soul on grave yard duty alternated making rounds about the base.

You read the clock....0200....2 AM....Mina stood from her chair. She stretched like a she was praying to a God and then made a hum. " my turn then." You nod as she swayed to the door. She stopped then turn to face you "Should a bring back a snack?" You nod again "Fuck yeah. Anything is good." She smiles lightly at you." alright, see ya."

"see ya." You repeat.

You watch on the monitors as she wanders around. Then you foot steps outside the door. You look down at the screens once again. Only to see the person just out of frame. Just barely out of sight.

You grab the gun from your hip. While the chance of an intruder are slim it will never be zero. You point it at the door and stayed there.

The door knob slow turned. A tall figure pushed into the dimly lit room then it paused.

There stood König. Eyes blown wide from what little you could see under his sniper hood. His shoulders tensed and hitched up. His arm slowly come up as to look non-threatening.

"König? what are you do here this late??" You whisper shout as you put your gun back in the holder on your hip. He seemed to relax for a moment. You and König have been friends for a few years. Not super close but close enough to hang out sometimes.

He started to panic trying to find an excuse. "I-I...got lost...." he stuttered out. You don't buy it. Before you can say something, Your eyes travel to one of his hands. it looks like he's holding something. He follows your gaze and snaps his hands to his chest. "I'm sorry I'll leave." He scrambled to the door. Out of instinct you grab him.

"König get back in here!" You yank at his shoulder. He freezes again then turns to you. His eyes are filled with fear but he listens and steps back into the room. You close the door behind him and take a breath.

You move to look in his eyes. "König why are you actually here?" He responds with the shaky breath. He looks around and then looks at the door, planning his escape. He looks down at his hand. "Can....Can I show you something and you not make fun of me?" He says softly.

You nod your head. "of course König. What do you want to show me?" He trembles and slowly holds out his hand to yours. He grabs your hand and opens it. softly a little light Grey pebble fall out onto your plams.

Your eyes blow wide as you stare at the pebble. You look up to meet König's eye only to see him make a run to the door.

He's gone before you have the chance to say anything.

 ∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

Minor editing to format!

This was my first post and it blew up on AO3. So if you've ever wondered who wrote the pebble head cannon, that me!

[immeasurablesaladagere]

may i get sum lil chase headcanons pretty pls :3

YES I've been waiting for this request!

“Wilson, where do babies come from?” (Genuinely forgot and just wants to know, House and/or Foreman told him to ask)

Politely reminds people who swear around him that “That’s a bad word.” And manages to sound like a condescending parent even in his little high-pitched voice.

His voice gets really soft and high when he regresses.

Very polite little sweetheart. Draws pictures for people, says his pleases and thank you’s, makes a point of saying goodnight to people, etc.

Really hates alcohol being around him while he’s regressed. He usually just gets quiet if he sees it but god forbid someone is actively drinking or heavily intoxicated, he shuts right down or cries and it's hard to settle him.

Has more inhibitions about crying in front of others and in general if he’s on the upper end of his age range (6-8), but on the younger end cries pretty easily.

Scarily good at hiding, not good if he’s doing it because he’s upset and very very not good if he’s regressed and upset in the hospital.

Bit House one (1) time.

Doesn’t like reading anything that isn’t a simple children’s book even if they’re technically below his reading level for his regressed age. He likes things to be simple and straightforward when he's little.

Likes drawing with sidewalk chalk and colouring in general. His favourite drawing utensil are those thick Crayola markers that bleed through the paper.

Avoids being an inconvenience at all costs to the point that he keeps quiet about what he wants  or needs to his own detriment. He needs his caregiver to remember to feed him or water him like a plant because if they don’t he won’t say anything.

That being said, he will throw tantrums/have meltdowns if his needs go unmet for long periods of time. When he’s really upset he does that yell-wailing thing. He’s intense but then calms down pretty quickly and is just exhausted.

Gets very fussy if he’s tired. If he’s feeling younger than 5 he needs his nap time! This is a warning, not advice.

Reads children’s bibles and watches a lot of Veggie Tales and The Wiggles

Looney-Toon enjoyer.

Semi-verbal in baby/toddlerspace. He'll say one or two words and otherwise just make little noises.

Favourite snack is cheese and crackers with a bit of fruit, usually grapes (he likes to eat all three at the same time in little sandwiches).

Regresses to cope with stress, reclaim his childhood, and even to have fun sometimes. It's mostly voluntary, but he does have a few triggers like aggressive drunks or something that reminds him too much of his childhood, positive or negative, like a nostalgic toy for example.

If his regression is triggered he has a hard time getting back out of it, but otherwise his hold on his littlespace is frustratingly weak. He has a hard time staying small when he's trying to be, and House, Wilson, and Cameron help keep him in it by helping him with things and actively mentioning how little he is.

"Ah ah, you're too small to put the cookies in the oven. Why don't you help put the milk away instead? Two hands, okay?'

When he's little he has this doe-eyed innocent look to him, and anyone who knows him can see it immediately.

Very naturally curious about the world, nature specifically. Likes looking at and keeping bugs in jars, collecting leaves and rocks that are cool, etc.

Gives his caregivers bouquets of dandelions. Cameron was so flattered when she got one that she bought fertilizer to keep the flowers alive in a glass of water as long as possible.

[bluestjayy]

Life update:

I didn't make my deadline.

After approximately 200 applications, only 6 (first stage) interviews, 3 (second stage interviews), and more rejections than I could cope with some days, I unfortunately haven't been able to find a job since being laid off in September. This means I can no longer stay in my apartment. Which. Sucks.

I'm lucky enough to have my parents to fall back on, so I'll be moving back to their bungalow until I can find something to support me and save up enough money to come back to the city, so that's something. But it's also not going to be great for me while I'm there.

My hometown is an incredibly small mining town in the rural north-east, it's ridiculously close minded and conservative. I'm not out to any of my family for this reason, so I am for sure signing up for a minimum of a year being misgendered and stomaching casual bigotry from everyone I'm surrounded by.

And I love my parents, but our relationship isn't the best. They have a lot of really unhealthy, toxic, and occasionally abusive behaviours, and the way they treat each other and me is really... well it's not always good. Which is part of the reason I not only moved out but to a city that's 3 hours away in the first place. Their home is not intended for anyone but the two of them, it is incredibly small, and I will be living in a second room that only fits a camp bed and a small desk with very little privacy as this room is also where some of the utilities are. It's something, and I am so lucky to have this option at all vs complete homelessness. But I also know the toll this is all going to take on me physically, mentally, and emotionally.

I have already had to start looking at my current possessions, over 4 years of the life I built here, and decide which parts I get to keep and which I now have to leave behind.

Being back there is going to be... I don't know. I get into dark places whenever I go home for the holidays for a few days so living there again... I really don't know.

I guess the only thing keeping me going is the idea I will be able to come back to the city I'm in right now, the one I call home, eventually. It's just going to take some time.

And I have a plan, I am already job hunting for remote roles I can do back there, I'm open to taking on two or three if necessary, and I've started working on opening an Etsy store for some of my crafting creations that may also help me fundraise the money to leave a lot faster. Perhaps I'll even consider commissions again.

But it's definitely going to be a long long year getting myself back on my feet again.

One of the only upsides currently is how much time I have to be working on fic and art (whenever the muse allows me!) so that's something I guess haha.

Anyway, thoughts and love and support and virtual hugs go a long way for me rn, and if you're so inclined (absolutely 100% not necessary but every little helps) here is the link to my tip-jar:

Ko-Fi

Even just giving this post a share would really help me right now. Those who know me know I find it really difficult to ask for help even when I'm in desperate need of it but I think, after six weeks of this reality slowly creeping up on me, I have reached a point where I am ready to say I really need it.

The fandom communities I have found myself in the last year have been an absolute rock for me. And I am so glad I get to be a part of them with you all.

In the end, it will be okay. That's what I have to keep telling myself. Positively rebellious and rebelliously positive.

Thank you for reading, I hope you have a wonderful day and I appreciate you all so much 💛

[fandom-madness69]

I'm a day late and a dollar short but what's new?!

We have GOT to talk about the REST of the Thrill Ride O' Love scene. Especially the animatics along the walls telling Hephaestus's story. Because as jarring of a song as What Is Love? was in that scene if fucking fit so well!

First we get the Shadow Hera! Larger than life. Big regal gown, tall adorning crown, Mother of the Gods of Olympus, Goddess of Marriage.

And we get her getting pregnant with Hephaestus! All the way down to his little baby blacksmithing tools :3

And then we see her throw Hephaestus off Mount. Olympus. As is told in his story.

But there's a thing that really caught my attention here. Because in the rest of the story we see him leave out not a single important character to his story! So where is his father? The big guy himself Zeus?

Unless! They're going with the versions of Hephaestus's story where Hera miraculously convinced Hephaestus. Because we've seen Rick switch up the Medusa story. And wow do we love him for it!

But that's not my only point! Circling back to the song and then later on to the story about how Hephaestus trapped Hera, his own fucking mother btw in case that flew over anyone's head like it did mine the first few times I watched ep. 5, and so the gods offered him Aphrodite's hand in marriage in exchange for Hera's freedom.

The whole rest of the time Hephaestus has painted himself the tragic dude in the story. Not necessarily the hero but definitely the victim. We see him get rejected by his mother. By Aphrodite for Ares, from the fucking BEGINGING, and then so on.

But what really fucking gets me is not only did he do this ride exactly like this as a trap for his wife and her lover BUT that he had no fucking clue they were there! He was willing to force Ares to sacrifice Aphrodite, his OWN FUCKING WIFE, over a shield and not think twice of it. He wouldn't have fucking known they were there because as we can clearly see by this counter

He clearly wasn't alerted to the presence of his wife and her love affair! Meaning they just fucking materialized in his amusement park, like gods do.

And the words of the song. Oh the words. "Baby don't hurt me no more?" How about you're the only one who has caused any harm since your mother tossed you off Olympus? And NO I AM NOT EXCUSING WHAT HERA DID! Don't even go there. That's for another time.

You repeatedly got rejected and bro I get it. That shit hurts. As a fellow Black Sheep of the Family™️ I fucking understand my dude. And I also completely understand how much gods don't fucking understand humans. And so it wasn't even a concept in his mind to do anything other than what his family had already done to him. Backstab, betray and barter.

But to have the audacity to beg the woman who didn't want anything to do with you, still doesn't, and was forced to wed you to save her mother, YOUR MOTHER, not to hurt YOU anymore! Sickening.

But he gets it. Now anyway. Or he's starting to. Because of Annabeth. Because she found a friend who is giving her unconditional love. Who isn't making her earn it despite having told her he would earn hers! And she's doing the same. She's falling apart and building herself back up all with this one (1) boy's help. And neither of them know it yet. But ohohohohoho they will soon.

And these few moments Hephaestus spent with Annabeth gave him the biggest vibe check of his fucking immortal life. "Maybe some of us don't want to be that way anymore either?"

Like Sir are you realizing that you TOO took things too far? Not even this time like you said Athena did, which btw she's always taken it too far just throwing this in here, but really? Are you getting it now? Did the twelve year olds fighting to sacrifice themselves despite everything fucking shake your world? Rock you to your very atoms? GOOD! You victim mentality, hero complex asshole.

[altruistic-meme]

HI @spaghett-onaplate YOU SAID YOU WOULD LISTEN TO MY SPEECH ABOUT GEOCACHING SO HERE IT IS :) admittedly, i haven’t really done it in years and also i am going to go mostly off my memory so a lot of the technical aspects will be dodgy since i was. 8 or 9 years old when we started doing it and thus everything was handled by my dad. but. Here we go anyway!!

So geocaching is, at its core, a world-wide treasure hunt. You go around to different locations and look for some type of container that was put there, sign your name in the log, and then put it back to be found by the next person. 

What is a “cache”? What does it look like?  That’s one of the best parts: it can look like literally anything! One of the most common caches and perhaps the most well-known is the ammo can:

But people will use anything! Other common cache containers include: peanut butter jars, pill bottles, tupperware containers, and fake rocks. Geocaches come in all kinds of sizes, shapes, colors, styles. Things that my family has found used as geocaches include: a literal battery, a bird feeder, fake pinecone, gatorade bottle. As long as you can fit a little bit of paper inside it, it could be used as a cache. 

Some paper? What is the paper? The log! Whenever you find a cache, you write your name (usually your username on the official geocaching website) and the date. This is used as a way to keep track of the cache, who has found it, how long it has been there. It’s really cool when you find one and find out someone had found the cache the same day you did!

Always bring a pen to sign the log!!! For some caches, there might be a pen inside the container, but it is always best to assume there won't be!

Official geocache website? Yep! This is where my knowledge is incredibly rocky, but I did watch my dad using it sometimes. But from what I can recall, the website is where all of the caches are logged so that you can get the information you need to actually, you know, find the cache! And it’s a community as well; people leave comments on the individual caches, saying that they found it and sometimes giving anecdotes about their experience in looking for it (ex. My family went to the bottom of a canyon here to get a cache once, and we were all dying on the way back up because of all of the stairs. We still make jokes 10 years later about the hellish canyon!). And, sometimes, they’ll say that they couldn’t find it, which does happen quite a bit! Either the cache was too well hidden, or a well-intentioned muggle found an old peanut butter jar covered in camouflage duct tape and thought it was just trash in a National Park, so they took it to dispose of it.

(Wait- muggle? Yeah, it’s unfortunate that the term is shared with that series, but muggle just refers to anyone who is not a geocacher!)

How do you know if a muggle has disposed of the cache you’re looking for? Really, you can’t. It can be assumed if, say, there are a lot of people saying they couldn’t find it and no one saying they could. But sometimes it really is just that well hidden. Oftentimes if it starts seeming like it might be missing, the person who originally placed the cache will go to see if they can find it since they know what it looks like and where it was originally hidden to verify if it’s still there. 

It is for this reason it is always advised to put a geocache back EXACTLY where you found it! This is not always possible, and my family has had to semi-relocate caches in the past if the spot it was sitting is flooded or it otherwise seems dangerous for the cache to be there. But as a general rule, try to leave the cache exactly how you found it in the first place so that others can find it after you!

Who can place geocaches? Anyone! I do not know what all is involved in it, but caches are made by people in the community! It’s not as though there is an official group of people who place every cache. There are way too many for that to be the case. 

Are geocaches only in parks? Nope! They can be found anywhere! National/State Parks (at least here in the US) are very common, but some other places we have found caches include: water towers, highway guard railings, the woods just off the highway, cemeteries, parking lots, people’s yards, community centers, libraries, museums. (Let me tell you, it’s really fun to be 14 years old with your dad, standing outside of your minivan looking at the guard railing on a busy highway. We have had people pull over to ask if we need help before.)

Okay, so what information do you need to find a geocache? The information that we used was usually: 

What size is it?

Micro (battery)

Small (pill bottles, fake rocks)

Medium (ammo cans, pb jars, some tupperware)

Large (water jug, birdhouse)

How hard is it? Easy, normal, hard, etc. 

Coordinates As in, the literal coordinates. We had a handheld GPS for this, but from what I can see they also have an official app which should be able to do the same thing – assuming you don’t go somewhere without signal!

Fun fact! Some large enough geocaches will contain swag! Swag is usually just small, cheap items that are a take-one-give-one system in geocaching. I assume it is something used mostly for kids, but it can be fun to see what kind of swag a cache has! I got a few fun trinkets this way. If you are going to look for a cache that is medium or larger, it’s a good idea to carry a piece of swag with you in case something catches your eye!  Travel Bugs are a special swag item! They’re different from normal swag in that you aren’t meant to keep them. They are often on journeys! You can pick up a Travel Bug from one cache, scan it’s tag to see where it’s been before, and leave it in a cache you find later down the road.

Where can caches be hidden? Anywhere – with one exception: caches should NOT be buried. They will never be underground. But other than that, pretty much anything is fair game! One of the most common places is in a UPS, an Unusual Pile of Sticks, which just means a pile of sticks that looks a little too well-positioned to have fallen naturally. But other places include: gardens in front of businesses (the first cache we found!), hanging from a tree, magnetized to the previously mentioned highway railings, underneath the cover at the bottom of street lamps, inside tree trunks. 

What countries do geocaching? From what I know, every country! I have only ever found US geocaches because I have only left the US once and we didn’t get one in Canada, but I know my Uncle has found them in France as well. This is a world-wide game! I hope to get a geocache next time I leave the US :) 

OKAY that is all of the information I can think of right now. I kind of really want to get back into geocaching now, make my own account! My family found I think over 5000 geocaches from when we first started until now, from all across the country, including at one point I think almost every cache in Georgia. So I would be starting way from scratch, but it would be my own adventure :) plus I would get to revisit some places! (maybe not the canyon.)

Questions? I am open to answering further questions, though again I definitely don’t know everything, I just spent a lot of my youth doing this! But, I do also have access to my dad who knows a lot more of the specifics and details than I do. I also recommend looking at the official website for more information as well!

[eepy-weepy-silly]

Jonathan 'Johnny' Booker

"Johnny Booker. Genuinely one of the good guys on the football team. Seriously, its unbelievable that he hangs out with Ram Sweeney and Kurt Kelly of all people. I mean, sure, they've been best friends since kindergarten, like me and Martha, but its still jarring. He's pretty smart, maybe even smarter than Kurt. And he's nice. Even to me and Martha. He was one of those types of kids that he gave everyone a Valentine so they never felt left out. There's a rumor he's dating Heather McNamara, and honestly, they would be cute together, now that I think about it. But at the same time, there's a rumor he's crushing on Kurt Kelly. Of all guys. And he obviously tries to shut it down, but people just keep whispering about it. I almost feel bad. When it comes to stuff like its no one's business his." - Veronica Sawyer's diary, 1989

Westerburg High's Mr. Perfect and the running back for the Westerburg High football team

Age: 17

Gender: Male (he/him)

Sexuality: Bisexual (🚪)

MBTI: ISFP

Birthday: December 8th

Family: Unnamed parents, Felix Booker (younger brother)

Backstory: Johnny has always been pretty popular, but he never quite liked being under the spotlight all that much. All anyone really knows about him is that he's a pretty great guy, is pretty damn smart, and is the running back on the football team. That's about all that's set in stone to his peers. So obviously rumors about him started up left and right. He's running drugs out of his locker when the hall monitors aren't looking. He's hooked up with almost every cheerleader on the squad. Ram and his last girlfriend's breakup happened because Johnny stole her away. He's stolen a bunch of girls' v-cards. Just all kinds of stuff. Only Heather McNamara knows the truth. That he's actually such a sweetheart. That he makes it a principle to pet every stray he finds on the street, and even take them home and take care of them. But even she doesn't know the whole truth about him. And that he has secret feelings for Kurt Kelly he'd rather die than confront his friend about.

Hobbies/interests: Football, animals, reading (he likes sci-fi!), Queen, rock music, The Karate Kid movies, Ralph Macchio, Kurt Kelly

Hair: Light brown

Eyes: Greyish-blue

Face-claim: young! Emilio Estevez

"I don't get why these assholes can't just shut up and have fun with their own lives! I mean, why the hell is mine so special that they can't leave it alone!?"

lowkey he LOVES Billy Joel

Dynamics

Veronica: They've never talked on a personal level, but Veronica can tell he's a good guy, and Johnny respects her a lot (they've only ever crossed paths due to running with a similar crowd, but there's mutual respect)

Heather C: DOES NOT QUITE LIKE HER. One of the few people at Westerburg high who doesn't bend to her will and grovel at her feet. Doesn't mean he isn't slightly intimidated by her, though

Heather D: DOES like her. He is nice to her when he's around the Heathers, and whenever Heather C tells her to "SHUT UP HEATHER" after she leaves, Johnny looks at Heather D and goes, "Hey, you had a point. I agreed with you :)" (HE'S SO SWEET YOU GUYS-)

Heather M: His girlfriend (I might make it an au that he has a crush on Kurt, and in this au he's gotten over that crush). Classic football player and cheerleader couple. They're actually so cute together it hurts. AGHHH HE MAKES IT A PRINCIPLE TO HOLD DOORS OPEN FOR HER AND GIVE HER HIS JACKET WHEN ITS COLD AND OMG- he also seems to always find a way to convince her everything will be okay :,) OH AND he helps her with math homework and is a patient tutor

Ram: They've been friends since kindergarten and Johnny always seems to be the one cleaning up after him and Kurt. He's the most mature one in the trio, without a doubt. Some of the things that come out of Ram's mouth, Johnny can only put his head in his hands and sigh and pretend like he doesn't know him💀

Kurt: As I've mentioned, there's an au where Johnny is crushing on Kurt. But in the actual "canon" au, Johnny had a crush on Kurt in the past, but he's gotten over it now. When Ram and Kurt die, Johnny is devastated. No matter how stupid and and borderline mean they were, they were still some of the first friends he ever had, hell, they were his best friends. Now they're gone. And in the au I mentioned, he gets heartbroken in the lie that Kurt and Ram were boyfriends, because.. you know... Yeah, its just sad :( Lets just hope he doesn't find out the true nature of their deaths.. He might not ever look at Veronica the same again.

[boizandgurlzinthehouse]

𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑����𝐏𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 ; 𝐧𝐢𝐤𝐤𝐢 𝐬𝐢𝐱𝐱 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏. 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐. 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑.

word count: 3.436k trigger warning: lots of cursing, drugs, smoking, flirting, y/n sings like a goddess, basically simple mötley crüe things, sleeping in one bed (YEAH GIRL), nikki is jealous of y/n's ex

long story short, vince came. y/n sat it the kitchen, tried to open a jar with a knife. nikki was probably getting something to eat. after getting away from the party 'convincing' vince, she went to her rent to pack up her things.

♡

knocking on the door, jessica immediately opened it. the other guests used to be the cops, but they banged so loudly on the door that everybody in the whole building could hear hat.

"where were you, y/n?" she asked, following her as she went to her room. "i was thinking you are dead or beaten up, or overdosed!"

y/n turned back to hug her. jessica was just as vulnerable as she, they tried to keep their head above the water, but sometimes, it was really complicated. one night, y/n was watching the commercials against drugs and alcohol, she just took a hit from the weed they had. if you lived here, you'd know why people love it. sure, she could blame herself for being uneducated and not having good grades, but around her in the orphanage, it was average.

"don't worry, i was at nikki's. he's a good guy, really, he's normal. i'm moving in to him. you can move in with the guy you mentioned." y/n talked, jessica helped her to get a bag big enough.

"forget it, we broke up." the other girl shrugged her shoulders, lighting a cigarette. y/n grimaced.

"what an asshole!"

"come on girl, hit one with me before you go. they tucked it into my bra last night." jessica said, giving her the cigarette. y/n took it, sitting down on her bed.

"so, you never stay at the boys' house you fucked, so this nikki is... special?" jessica smirked while crawling up to the head of the bed, making y/n roll her eyes despite smiling.

"well, we didn't had sex, but... it's kinda crazy, because we're gonna make a band. a band, can you believe that?"

"a band? are you gonna be the singer?" jessica looked surprised, making y/n nod.

"or at least i hope so. i can be a whore on los angeles' streets too, but yesterday i sang a song to prove that i'm good enough, and... it seemed like they were liking it."

"really? and what's the band name, sweetie?"

"uh... we don't have a name yet. and i just invited the other singer, vince to come today. but if that's good enough, i think we can hit."

"invited?"

"well, i told him i'm gonna cut his dick off if he doesn't come, but... it works... maybe?" they laughed at that.

"my girl. nikki has probably fallen in love with you already." jessica wondered, taking the last hit.

"i don't know... doesn't it fuck up the band if there's a relationship?" y/n rolled the hem of her coat between her fingers. jessica seemed like she was sinking into deep thoughts, but then, she shook her head.

"no. i think it's the coolest shit that can ever happen in los angeles. a pole dancer and a sleazy rocker rocking the world? craziest shit i've ever heard around!"

"wooo!" laughter and long applause filled the room, y/n began to pack her things.

after everything was done, her room seemed only a little bit empty. it wasn't unusual her to just be a passenger, but leaving jessica and this place was a strange. the two girls just got swept together by life, y/n was always like this: going with the flow, arriving to one place and then packing and walking towards.

"don't be corny right now, y/n." jessica stepped beside her. y/n turned and hugged her, stronger than anyone. she didn't know why. she just wanted to be like a normal school girl who is moving out from her parents' house.

"i'm not. take care of yourself, please." y/n said to her, inhaling and exhaling.

"don't forget the post code, i want vip tickets. fuck everybody who doesn't believe in you, who think that you are just a skimpy pole dancer. if you can get higher, get higher."

if you can get higher, get higher. it ringed in her ear as she walked up to nikki's.

y/n didn't have much things; she could pack in a big bag containing make-up and her clothes, shoes and some little things she thought it's going to be useful.

"that's all?" nikki asked as she packed her things to the drawers. he received a nod.

"yeah. i had more stuff when i got out from the orphanage, but i sorted some things out when i had to move. mainly clothes, so it's okay."

"it's so crazy that we both got into the system. well, i got by myself, but... yeah, it's crazy."

"how did you arrest your own mother?" y/n asked, slumping down on the couch. nikki sat beside her, she offered him a cigarette. maybe it's easier this way.

"she was the worst person who i knew. she had another boyfriend every week, and she said... she said that my dad doesn't call us because he doesn't want me."

"that's stupid", y/n said, "i only got to know what a phone is when i was twelve years old. we had none in the orphanage, not like anyone wanted to call us." she laughed bitterly. he looked at her.

"what happened to them?"

y/n shook her head, shrugging her shoulders.

"i only speculate, based on the rumors around. my mother was deported to russia after i was born. sometimes i think about, why she didn't want me with her? is russia that bad you don't want your child in it? or... did she just peeled me off 'cause she didn't love me? it's so confusing."

"i think she loved you. but she didn't have the time and the chance to show it. and... your father?"

"i guess my mother doesn't remember him either. but that's fine, fathers are assholes. every father i knew is an asshole."

♡

"tommy, could you help me with opening this shit?" she asked, cutting up her palm doesn't sounded good. tommy was nowhere to find, and y/n was way fucked up to go out for a cigarette. forgetting she had a knife in her hand, she sat down on the stairs outside.

suddenly, a red car stopped right in front of the house, making her watch it. then, two blonde haired chicks stepped out -no, it was just one chick. the other was vince. walking up on the stairs, she nodded and waved as they walked by.

"hello, y/n. is that the notorious knife from yesterday?" y/n looked at her hand. fuck, did she really bring it out? nodding, she inhaled the smoke.

"i was just getting ready to go after you." she replied, making the girl beside vince frown. "hello to you too, girlie. i'm just finishing this, everything's ready in there." she nodded in the direction of the door.

"thanks." vince and the girl walked up. his girlfriend had nice hair.

walking in, they just waited for y/n to show up.

"so, here's the lyrics, this is 'live wire'."

"yeah, i like this one." nikki plucked in the guitar, y/n picked up both microphones, but she could feel and see that vince's girlfriend was uncomfortable.

"what's wrong, babe?"

"i'm just trying to make sure these guys... and this girl is good enough to play with you. do you think she's really innocuous?" at this, y/n looked at her. excuse me? everybody excluding the two looked each other, making y/n sniff.

"i don't care what the fuck is your problem, okay? vince, hold this, and sing." she said, pushing the microphone into his hand. y/n looked at his girlfriend. we're not here for your fucking catwalk, sweetheart. mick began to riff his guitar, and the chick finally sat down.

plug me in, i'm alive tonight out on the streets again turn me on, i'm too hot to stop something you'll never forget take my fist, break down walls i'm on top tonight, no, no

"this isn't right!" the girl yelled, but y/n almost didn't hear it.

"all right, stop." nikki signed to the others, making the noises stop.

"this music's way too heavy, baby." at this, y/n giggled, looking at tommy who snickered too.

"thank you." nikki answered sarcastically.

"why don't we just tune it all down a whole step, so that he can..." mick started, making tommy get in.

"let's play it faster, too." he said, making vince's girlfriend smugly smile.

"if you really stretch out the chorus... y/n come here, look at this. you're gonna take part in here, and then you and vince sing the whole bridge, okay?" nikki asked her as she ran through the lyrics.

"yeah, sure. everything for her majesty." she bit the last part, making the girl glare at her.

"...and punch the top, man."

"right, okay."

"hit this note, right here... and muzzle that." he said, pointing to his girlfriend. this was the breaking point, she got up to yell about fucking assholes, but mick's bass pushed it down into the dirt.

as vince began to sing, y/n waited for her part, bathing in the music, smiling at him. then, he pointed to y/n, and she knew that this gonna be the best fucking thing that ever happened to her.

take my fist, break down walls i'm on top tonight, no, no

better turn me loose, better set me free 'cause i'm hot, i'm young, running free little bit better than i used to be

'cause i'm alive, live wire 'cause i'm alive, i'm a live wire

pulling the whole song, at the end, when the last riffle was over, y/n panted, feeling sweat wetting the valley between her breasts.

"guys," she began, looking at tommy, mick, vince and then nikki, "i had some doubts until now, but i think we're gonna fucking make it."

"yeah!" tommy screamed, jumping at them from behind the drummer set. getting beer for everyone, vince's girlfriend long forgotten, they clinked their bottles and began to drink.

♡

after beers, cigarettes and a couple of hours, they sat together to get the band a name. tommy was burning cockroaches with hairspray and a lighter, while y/n pointed them out for him.

"there's one too, toms! over there!"

"fucking roach! i'm gonna fix it, y/n! burn fuckers!" after he eliminated two with his improvised weapon, he sat back as nikki was ready with writing. y/n sat between tommy and vince, she threw her legs on tommy's lap, while leaning her upper body to the other boy.

"so here's my theory, okay? if we want to knock people on their asses, then we've gotta give them a show. the punks, they're doing the minimalist thing, so let's take it in the exact opposite direction." he began, getting the others nod. "i'm talking about stadium show in the clubs, man. like, costumes and lights and-"

"pyro! flames and shit!" tommy shouted, using the hairspray again.

"exactly!"

"explosions!"

"exactly!"

y/n looked at mick, they communicated with their eyes like do you have some sedatives? no, sorry. oh, leave it.

"look, it's a fucking war out there, and the only way we win is by showing these kids something they've never seen before."

that's right. and a rock band with four guys and one girl isn't a good start already, huh?

"so what we do call this thing?"

"here. you know, it's all about being, like, fucking larger than life." nikki searched between his notes, his tongue poking out. y/n almost licked her lips, she searched for the glam and shine in his eyes when he was talking about things he loved or fancied. it was his new band, actually, but y/n didn't mind it. it was like another world showed through his eyes, into his mind.

he showed up a paper with 'x-mass' written on it. x-mass? he surely knew better than that.

"on a scale to ten, that gets a 1.9." y/n tried not to laugh at this, pressing her mouth together, her cheeks puffing out like a hamster as she looked at tommy.

"it's a play on christmas." nikki explained annoyed. "you can use all the christ imagery and shit. it'll piss people off, and make them think, you know. it's got shock value." he looked at y/n for reassurance. her heart began to strangely warm, just like her cheeks. when they were at the party, it was the only two of them, but now with the others, it was... public. fucking strange feelings. she pouted a little and shook lightly her head.

"yeah. i'm shocked by how much it blows." why mick got to be this sarcastic and funny? tommy slapped her shoulder as he laughed, and her back shook to because of vince. y/n got to cover her mouth with her hand to cover the bubbling giggle.

"all right then, assholes. you give it a shot, but make it fucking big!" y/n slumped down in her makeshift seat, and after laughing at tommy's 'foreskin' brainchild, they looked at mick. "come on mick, you've gotta do better than that."

mick just looked on his notes, turning it. motley crew. wow. y/n could only one thing, this. wow.

"i've been waiting a long time for this day."

"alright." nikki asked from him the paper, grabbing a pen, doing some moves with it. then, turning it finally, y/n smirked when she saw what was written on it.

mötley crüe.

the beginning of a ride like nothing else.

"i think today was fucking wonderful." nikki said as he sat down beside y/n. watching the tv, the girl didn't watch what was going on, just letting her thoughts wander. or so she was doing until now, when she felt him plopping down beside her.

"yeah, we killed it. mötley crüe... didn't know old man has tricks like this."

"i hope he has more, because i think we're gonna need it." he replied, making her nod. drinking some from her beer, she felt a yawn coming up in her chest. "can i tell you something, y/n?"

this made her stop right in the middle of the yawn. what the fuck? this is the part where he tells her that they don't need her? or that he realized that she's really just a bitch?

"you already told me a lot of things, go on, niks." she nodded, looking like she zero fucks, but on the inside, she was listening with every nerves of hers. nikki exhaled, and looked serious. oh my god, no. no no no no no no-

"look, y/n, i was trying to chase away these thoughts since you decided to part in the band, but every time i tried to push it down, this thing just came up again and again in my mind."

for fuck's sake, just say it!

"yeah, and...?"

"...and fuck, i know you can protect yourself and handle your things, but... i'm gonna be there for you. i'm not the smartest guy, not the most precious one even, i know." y/n looked at him, swallowing hard. she didn't know what to say. "so, the main thing is, you're the most badass and though girl i've ever know, and trust me, i wouldn't say that after a couple of days, but you made more impression on me than anyone, ever."

"wow. now, i really don't know what to say. but thank you, nikki."

"was is too sentimental?"

"really? yeah, it was fucking sentimental. orphanage fucked me up, i could be a much better person, but here i am, fretting our frontman with a knife and breaking bottles on other's head."

"i think that was fucking cool."

"which one?"

"um... both." snickering at that, y/n shrugged her shoulder.

" look, nikki, it's gonna be simple, because i don't really know how to care about others. since you don't have anyone... and i neither have anyone... fuck, we can team up, if you want." she looked at him, smiling, reaching out her little finger to shake it. nikki smiled too, grabbing into it. maybe it's gonna be more than just a companionship, but now, this was enough. "cool. now, we can cut off the other's fingers." she said, standing up to search for a cigarette.

"cut off? in my rules, we just broke each other's fingers!" y/n turned to him with furrowed eyebrows.

"really?"

"yeah, really! fuck, when you do or say things like that i always think you came from fucking new orleans."

"don't care about me, snort some instead." y/n spilled the little packs of drugs on the table. "i made some groceries."

♡

"and then me, and then some other girls accidentally lit fire because somebody didn't pressed her cigarette good enough!"

nikki and y/n almost lived all of the drugs she has stolen. she was released from all the boundaries, telling stories from the time she was in orphanage, and sneaked out from there to party and drink all night. nikki and her played a game that they gotta tell something about theirselves, and then the other did the same.

"and that girl, audrey i guess? she almost got an infection from the needle that we used to her tattoo, and holy shit, it was really disgusting! so you, nikki?"

"the night we met, i'm outed from the band i was in. the frontman was a prick, so i just punched him in the face, but i got some too."

y/n snickered, then looked him, in his eyes, leaning closer to him.

"come on, niks. we both know that's not the hardest story you can tell."

"well... nikki sixx is not my real name. like, it's my real name now, but not what i was born with it, you know."

the girl nodded, faking a wondering face.

"wow, i never would've thought." nikki rolled his eyes while smirking.

"my real name is frank feranna. well, franklin, but that's more shittier, isn't it?"

frank feranna. frank and y/n. nikki and y/n. frank feranna and y/n y/l/ln. nikki sixx and y/n y/l/n. in the haze of drugs, she envied the visionary herself as the media and the tabloids. she didn't even read tabloids.

"i think it's cute."

"fuck cuteness. do you think anyone could take me serious with that name?"

"yeah! i'd take you serious!" the girl tried to contain her smile, but she couldn't.

"don't lie, y/n." she laughed at that. frank feranna could be a sweet schoolboy in a big, beautiful house with rich parents. nikki sixx was the fire that burnt through the veins when you did something illegal.

"okay, okay!"

"you're a shitty liar."

"i'm not."

"yes, you are. but at least this way, i'm gonna trust you."

she yawned, the drugs suddenly sucked out themselves from her veins, leaving tiredness and a slight lethargy. it was unusual, but she had a long day. standing up, she brushed her eyes.

"i'm going to bed, are you coming?" she asked, grabbing her coat and throwing it on a chair.

"do you want me to come?"

y/n shrugged her shoulders. jessica was no longer her roommate, and she hated sleeping alone when she was sober.

"i'm showering first."

after stepping out from the steamy cabinet, digging into her clothes, y/n got the big t-shirt she always slept in. it was her ex boyfriend's, and while she hated him now, keeping his clothes and using them was better than burning it in the kitchen.

"what the fuck is that?" nikki asked as she sat on the bed, nodding at her pyjamas.

"my sleeping cloth?" he surely noticed that it was way bigger than her size, and with rugged moves, nikki tossed his own t-shirt to her. "what the fuck, nikki?"

"ain't no way a dickhead's shitty clothes will exist in my house."

"it's not shitty, and it's mine!"

he didn't even listen as he went to shower. y/n laid down in the bed, almost falling asleep as she turned down the lamp. after ten minutes, nikki came out, a couple black strands sticking to his skin from the steam she left there. almost hitting his toes in the leg of the bed, he crashed to the mattress, turning to her in the dark.

"i know it's your shitty ex's. i tould you, you're a bad liar."

"well, then fuck you, niks." y/n muttered, burying her head into the pillows. it smelled like him, she pulled the blanket on herself.

"i like you too, y/n." he whispered. the street lights painted the room walls orange and dark blue, but y/n only blinked twice before closing her eyes for deep, black dreams.

they slept facing each other.

a/n: i got carried away but it was soooo good )): i hope you liked it, dm or write here for taglist!!

[starsfic]

if your prompts are still open may i request monkey king getting groomed by someone after not being groomed in centuries and swk just up and falling asleep to the touch?

Anon: prompt of monkey king shuddering into macaque’s platonic touch after being groomed for the first time in centuries Anon: Prompt: Wukong gets nightmares one night and Macaque is left to hear the agony as Wukong talks in his sleep

Sun Wukong ended up moving in with him.

Macaque wasn't sure how, exactly. He just knew that Wukong needed a place to stay while the hut on Flower Fruit Mountain was rebuilt and the kid, for whatever noble reason, refused to let him stay alone at the temple. So, somehow, he ended up with him.

It...wasn't too bad.

Sure, it had been centuries since they had actually lived together. (Macaque didn't really count his dipping in and out at the mountain since Lady Bone Demon was living with Wukong.) But Wukong was pretty, almost weirdly, polite. He made some messes here and there but quickly picked them up, and even made dinner. He had started working at a garage he supposedly owned to help out with rent. (Macaque hadn't yet told him that the landlord was too scared to collect rent from anyone since he moved in. All the money was being saved in a jar under his bed to give back to Wukong when he eventually moved out.)

It was a nice change from when they first lived together, but Macaque had a feeling it was because Wukong worried about being kicked out and possibly disappointing the kid. When he returned back home, he would return back to his usual annoying self.

What wasn't nice was Wukong's sleep.

Macaque was a light sleeper. He often awoke thanks to a weird noise that his ears caught, and then he couldn't go back to sleep for hours. Usually, he would work during that time, focusing his awakeness on a project that would eventually lull him back to sleep.

Wukong slept like a rock. A crying rock.

It took almost a week for Macaque to catch it, suggesting Wukong must've tried to hide it.

It happened usually around one to three in the morning, when Wukong was deeply asleep. Silence, except for the shuffle of his sleeping body adjusting positions. And then, a noise. Soft, almost easy to miss.

A sob.

The sobbing would continue for a few hours, leaving Macaque the only one to hear what sounded like Wukong's heart being ripped out. Occasionally, he mumbled in his sleep, soft whispers of names or words that Macaque didn't try to listen to. It felt too private.

Eventually, they would die down, and the silence would return. The next morning, Wukong and his weird polite elf would come out, and then they wouldn't talk about it. Macaque never moved from his bed, tried to ignore the whispers.

Until, tonight, when-

"MACAQUE!"

The scream jostled Macaque right out of bed. "What the-?" he grunted, sitting up and rubbing his head. The yell of his name echoed in the silence of the apartment, excluding the quiet sniffles and whimpers from down the hall.

Despite the pity and grief at lost time that had been stirring in his chest recently, Macaque couldn't help an annoyed noise. "Of course, Wukong wakes me up- probably something stupid-" Still, he got up and headed down the hallway.

The guest room was almost too neat and tidy. The only point of mess was the bed, where Wukong had shaped a rough nest. Faintly, in the glimmers of moonlight, he could see the amber fur of said monkey. It was visibly trembling, Macaque's hearing picking up the noise of the individual hairs rubbing together.

He stepped closer. Before he could raise a hand, shake Wukong's shoulder, the monkey rolled over. Macaque froze at the sight of Wukong's eyes wide open, the glamor fading to be replaced by deep blood red. He raised a hand and waved it in front of those red coals.

Wukong didn't move.

Oh. He was sleeping with his eyes open.

That probably gave those soft tears easier access.

Macaque, for a split second, was tempted to run back and hide in his bed. Whatever could make the legendary Monkey King cry was nothing to sneeze at. Still, he stayed put. He watched those tears roll down his former king's cheeks, unsure of what to do, fighting that urge to run.

Instead, his hand raised up.

The moment his fingers brushed against that soft amber fur, Wukong's trembles suddenly stopped. Macaque dared to push his hand in, feeling his skin prickle at the touch. Wukong's eyes stayed open but dead to the world.

Macaque scritched.

His other hand rose up and joined the first. It took a moment or two, but they began to move in a familiar motion, something Macaque hadn't done in years.

He sat next to Wukong and groomed him.

He wasn't sure why. His own sleep was being disturbed by this, after all. Still, he stayed put, making sure to untangle every knot and bite down on any pesky bugs. Macaque, maybe, needed the comfort as well.

All he knew was, slowly, Wukong's eyes slid close and relaxed.

[thateldribitch]

Rock and a Hard Place

No warnings, just the Octatrio being fluffy after a panic attack. Can be read as platonic or romantic.

***

“Jade~” Floyd singsongs, as he flops into his twin. The more composed of the two hums tolerantly. Drinks fly through his hands, colors and herbs and syrups galore. For a moment, Floyd is mesmerized…. But then he remembers his point. “He’s in a mood again.”

“Mm?” Jade tilts his head, thunking it slightly into Floyd’s. Floyd responds in kind, bonking his head into the other’s with jarring force.

“Azul,” he rolls his eyes, as if his point were obvious. To anyone but his own twin, perhaps it would be absolute nonsense…. They’d think the housewarden were angry, about to go on a rampage, who knows. But there’s something in the flow of Floyd’s speech, something in the way he seeks physical reassurance.

“Ah,” Jade blinks, as it finally clicks. He flicks his hand, summons a junior, and has them take over. “Shall we, then?” 

“Mm~” Floyd gives a goofy smile… full of sharp teeth.

***

There’s an itch in Azul’s skin.

It’s this crawling sensation that something is off, and he can’t quite reach it. It’s this… need that he can’t voice, this craving he can’t feed. It makes him dig a hand in his hair, tugging at the strands as he glares a hole through the Mostro Lounge’s profit sheets. Sighing, he pinches his nose and takes a deep, deep breath. Ah, the itch is in his throat–his breaths feel wrong, constricted, hot. He coughs into his glove. His hands shake. Blearily, he looks around his office and it’s. It’s too big. Perhaps the itch is in the room. It’s too bright, too bright, too big. 

Azul stumbles to his two left feet, panting as he leans into his bookshelf. He needs somewhere– somewhere dark, somewhere safe— so he goes to the one place he can think of. The most secure place. Dark, cold, safe. Safe. A nice corner. Good. Yes. It’s… better, but why is there still an itch–?

“Ehhh~?” Footsteps outside. Ah. Floyd’s stomping around his office. Probably both the twins, actually; there’s never one without the other. Azul snorts softly, shaking his head. “Did he take off already?”

“No. He’s still in here…. We would’ve seen him leave,” Jade’s thoughtful tone slips through the room like mint in a refreshing drink. It’s… strangely soothing. 

“Azuuuuul. Azuuuuul,” Floyd calls out, as if searching for a lost puppy. Something thunks over. The brutish eel probably kicked something over, probably not something expensive if Jade isn’t yelling at him but—

“Azul.” Fuck. “Why are you in the vault?”

…

…

…

“I’m cleaning it, Jade,” he tries to keep his voice calm. Even though having both the twins here makes his itch worse, so much worse, but— but why? 

“Come out, Azzie~” Floyd whines, thumping his hand against the door a few times. He jostles the vault door with enough force to make the hinges rattle. He grits his teeth, and digs himself further into the metal corner. “Pleeeease?”

“I’ll be done cleaning in a bit!” He snaps, curling into a tighter ball. Silence is never good with the twins. They must be exchanging looks.

“...You leave me no choice.” Jade sighs.

Ah. He forgot about the—

The vault door swings open. The moray twins lean in through the sliver of light.

—back up key. 

Throat constricts. Hearts pound. He’s dizzy. The light blinds, the air’s so thin, it’s hot. He feels as if he blinks and the twins swim into view. Floyd’s face drifts in front of him, wavering like a mirage. They’re speaking. He knows that. “...’m fine,” his mumble rings hollow. Maybe he didn’t even speak at all. 

Arms hook around his waist. Pressure. Weight. One of them is squeezing him into the corner and it shouldn’t feel so nice to have the wall and the warm body cramming against him. But it does. Fuck, it does. His breathing feels… not easier, maybe, but it feels right. He pants against the familiar scent of salt and decay. The smell of home. He’s dizzy, but he has enough awareness to be offended when his left hand man scoops him up in a bridal carry.

“Ghk! Floyd!” He snarls, twisting in his grasp. 

“Nnnnope!” Floyd just constricts all the air from his lungs. “C’mon. Jade cleared the lounge. No one’s gonna see ya.”

…Except for them. Ugh. He digs his eyes into his palms, trying desperately to ignore the way he’s trembling. It’s no secret that they’re all equals in each other’s eyes. Clearly, they’re smelling blood in the water. This is a test, he can’t let them push like this. Though, a smaller voice recalls small bodies pressing into a hiding spot with him. Piling in together like puppies. Warmth. Calm. Safety. Small echoes make small sparks of warmth stream between his three hearts.

Azul barely notices when they’ve slipped into the water. He just knows the temperature is right. It’s dark. Ribboned bodies twine around him. And he twines around them and his hearts settle and. Belatedly. He realizes he’s winding his tentacles around them. And the vault wall has faded to sand and rock. And even if it feels so right, it makes his nerves flare. 

“You—!” His tone pitches with rage.

“Hush,” Jade bonks his head into Azul’s chin, making him clamp his jaw shut. “You need this.”

“I— let go,” he… pleads. His struggles die down. A vulnerable sound creaks in his throat. 

“Mmmm. No.” Floyd murmurs, and presses his face into Azul’s neck. Right over the sound. It instinctively makes him go limp. A content croon escapes Floyd. Jade rubs his cheek over Azul’s head. And his tentacles, with seeming minds of their own, wind around his eels.

He can only sigh, resigned to his fate.

***

I don't think this is my strongest piece but it's been pingponging around my head for weeks so-- here you go XD I saw a post about Azul liking compression therapy from the eels and it reminded me to finish this.