#tumblr put this in the tag you coward

[braemjeorn]

the thing about lucas' departure from wayv-nct is that... unlike woojin or b.i, SM still manage him, he didn't move into another company or anything.

the separation is awkward rn but i'm just saying, if he appears on the next smtown, you know taeyong or kun will just pull him into the row of boys that is comprised of neocity-riize members without blinking.

[stitchwraith-stingers]

THIS IS NOT ABOUT THE SHIPPERS!!!! JUST THE SHIP ITSELF

leave ur reasons in the tags im curious to hear about them, reblog so more people see

[the-kr8tor]

Sink or Swim

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Total Word Count: 16k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), Hobie is mentioned taller than R, CW food mentions, CW suggestive, TW blood, CW injury, CW miscarriage mention, TW violence.

A/N: I've divided this chapter into two because of how long it is and tumblr wouldn't let me draft the post without the app crashing. So sorry for the inconvenience. I'll put the link at the end and on top.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

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CHAPTER 13 >>> CHAPTER 13 II

Hobie's throat feels like he swallowed glass. Yet, he screams until his lungs give out, until his body gives out. Fist pounding into steel, skin splitting, blood staining the metal, he continues to call for you. His ears could only hear your frantic yells, his name falling out of your lips, vomited out desperately, asking for him, calling for him to get you out.

He kicks and thrashes at the metal bars, his mind imagines the worst— nails ripped from your fingers, bones breaking, skin scraped and slashed. He doesn't need to imagine how it could feel for he had lived through it all, survived through sheer will alone. But he promised, he promised to you and in that hollow grave that it will never be filled with your body; that your own blood wouldn't spill in between his fingers.

Yet, like the knife that he is, like the one who breaks skin and bleeds everything he touches— he hurt you, shot you where you stood, when he should've protected you, shielded you from the bullet. But how could he do it when the bullet is from him? When he used the same weapon that has ended dozens of lives to protect his crew, to harm you; the only person he deems worthy of telling all his secrets, you, who is worth more than every single treasure in the world.

Maybe he should've listened to you and stayed on the island.

Hobie calls for you once again, in hopes that you hear him too, in hopes that his voice is enough to bring you hope. The lighthouse that guides you home. But he knows, he knows all you could hear are muffled sounds and the creaking from the rocking ship.

Your voice wavers, like you've been forcefully silenced. So he does the screaming for you. It's loud, tone furious, ready to scratch at anyone who gets closer.

“Hobie—” Gwen tries to get his attention as the door opens, revealing the two guards staying in the doorway, keeping their distance.

Guns are strapped to them, knives glinting in the lamp light, armed to the teeth. Hobie knows it's all for him.

“Shut the fuck up.” One frustratingly said, teeth clenched, hands kneading at his temples.

“Keep screaming and you won't get supper.” The bigger one utters, the large scar on his cheek tightens as Hobie taunts them with a grim smile. The smile he reserves to strike fear.

They stiffen in the doorway, shoulders straight, hands reaching for their weapons.

“Do it then.” Hobie says, voice guttural, hands gripping the bars. “End the screaming.” His sheer tone alone sends everyone's hair to stand upright.

No one in the crew dares to stop Hobie. He doesn't know if they're afraid just like the men in front of him or if they're biding their time to scratch and bite too.

“Come closer and end it.” He doesn't yell, and that terrifies the men in the doorway. “And you'll find out exactly what I did to Admiral Kinney all those years ago.” He can still taste the admiral's ichor on his tongue.

The hulking men share a look, sweat dripping off their brows. And with that, they shut the door behind them, returning to their post with their tails tucked between their legs.

“Cowards.”

If it wasn't a grim situation, James would've laughed.

Hobie hears Gwen sigh behind him, the liquid in her hand sloshes as she practically shoves it in his face.

“At least drink some water. For your throat.”

“No, ‘m not drinking that slop.”

Gwen has had enough, she takes him by the collar, eyes bravely glaring at her captain. “If you want to leave this ship and save her, then drink the slop, eat the fucking bread and keep your goddamn energy for when we get the window to escape. Screaming won't help, captain. It's not helping anyone.” Her jaw is set, eyebrows knitted together.

The rest of the crew stand on the side, ready to get between them if it gets physical. He'll never hurt Gwen, never even thought of it. But he can't stand the thought of his family standing against him rather than next to him. So he fixes it, you'd like it that way.

Hobie gingerly takes the cup, chugging it down in one gulp.

“Good, now eat some bread and sit down.”

“Y/N—” he starts.

“She'll be alright, she's a fighter ain't she?” He nods, “you know her better than us, so tell us, cap'n, that she will survive this.”

He roams his red eyes at his sparse crew. For a brief second he sees the ones he lost behind them. For the first time, he's glad he doesn't see you with them.

Returning his attention towards Gwen, he utters the words with the confidence of a captain.

“She'll survive this.”

—

Sitting down in the corner, he rests his poor throat, the dry bread didn't help much. It was shitty to say the least, times like this, he misses Finn. He'd beat him if he ever knew that he let the famous bloodsail pirates into the hands of a former admiral and you into the hands of someone you fear the most.

Hobie shuts his eyes for a second, he swears it's only for a second but when he wakes up with a start and the door opening with a creak, the moon is already shining outside the large boat.

When he sees you appear by the doorway, he thinks he's still dreaming.

“Ten,” He hears you say between gritted teeth. All he could focus on is you, checking for signs of an injury, he starts from your head—nothing, arms, also nothing, save for a few scratches. Then he settles on your bandaged leg, and he remembers what he did, what he did to you. Guilt and grief overtakes his body, he tries his best to hide into the background, into the wooden walls, to become part of the ship, to hide his shame. Because he hurt you, and he'll never forgive himself for what he did.

Hobie watches from his corner, defeated when you tell him subtly that you're alright. And when you called for him, called his name softly like summer wind breezing by, warm and reminding him of home— he couldn't help but oblige.

Who is he to deny the sky?

When you held him in your hands, he felt anew. Apologies spill from his mouth, eyes forlorn at the red spot on your bandages.

What is the tides without his moon?

He feels lighter when you forgive him. But his past action still haunts him, he knows it'll join the long line of nightmares that plague him at night.

“That's my girl.” He says truthfully and proudly, he feels your heartbeat hasten through your pulse.

You tell him your choice, your decision to give up your freedom for him and the crew. He feels like he was back on the revenge, facing Mathias, refusing to let you go as you offer yourself for their freedom.

His heart beats harder as you ask him to read your mother's letter. He's unsure why you would let someone like him read something as heavy as the letter. It's reserved for someone whose hands wouldn't stain the paper with crimson.

“Because I trust you.” You say, and everything aligns in his mind. Like Poseidon shaking him inside out, like the tides itself is splitting him open.

Hobie reads it with trembling hands and broken skin. Like he thought, it turns the paper pink like ink blots dirtying the pristine paper.

He dictates it, heart shattering at every tear you let out. Wiping your cheeks dry, he's careful not to let his split skin touch your softer ones.

“It's real, innit?” He asks like the earth isn't eating him whole.

“It's real.” You answer and the world caves in around him.

Hobie teases to feel the resemblance of normalcy, “little tomato?” He asks.

And you answer with a “I don't want them, just you.” Like you didn't just mend his shattering heart with one sentence. And you break it right after with a “We'll meet again, in this life or the next.”

He's terrified once again. He shakes his head as the door creaks open. “No, Y/N—”

As you kiss his wounded knuckles gently, you ask him something he can't possibly do.

“Don't follow me, please.”

Reaching for you, he should've read the last line in the letter to you. ‘Don't trust anyone’ it said, whatever it was, it's not your burden to carry, so he'll do it for you.

Hobie apologizes in his head for keeping it away from you and for what he's about to do.

—

With the dinner bell ringing, and heavy footsteps retreating, the crew takes their chance. The key opens the door smoothly. They sneak around the ship, only leaving shadows and footfalls that's barely audible.

Climbing up the steps towards freedom, Hobie spots a door at the end of a hallway. Like two hearts beating as one, he knows it's you behind it.

Miles takes his arm before he could come to you. “Don't.” He whispers to his captain. “Don't waste her sacrifice.”

“She didn't sacrifice herself.” Hobie shakes his head, scoffing quietly. “I can't leave her behind, Miles. I can't.”

“I know,” he pulls him away from the hallway. “she asked you to not follow, so don't follow.”

“If this was Gwen—”

“If this was Gwen we'd be doing the exact same thing. She wouldn't ask us to follow and we'll leave because she asked us to.” Miles spares a heavy glance towards your locked door. “I know it hurts, but we'd be in the gallows by morning if we don't leave now. We'll have another chance at saving her.”

“You don't know that.”

“I don't, but it's better to not know instead of being dead. At least we'd have a chance.” Miles tugs him further away. “Do you think it's better for her to think that she caused our deaths just because you took the chance?” His voice is determined.

“Don't hurt her like that, Hobie. It'll ruin her.”

With one last look towards your door, Hobie nods, following the others to the deck then to safety. As the dinghy drops down into the sea, and into the dark night, he hears Miguel curse his name.

He asks for your forgiveness silently.

—

Hobie and the crew finally make it to the docks without being seen by anyone. It was pure luck that no one saw or even heard them, he thanked the early morning and the still dark sky for lending them a hand.

“We need to wait for her.” He says, stretching his stiff hands from rowing the boat.

The sparse pirate crew hides in the shadows, hidden behind the dark alleyway. They lean on the grimy walls, hands cradling their fatigued heads, huffing and groaning at the aches and pains they had from their daring escape. They can still hear Miguel cursing Hobie's name, his voice ringing in their ears.

“Hobie,” Gwen calls for him. “Leave her be.”

“What the fuck?” Hobie turns sharply. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means we leave her alone.” Pavitr says forlornly, eyes downcast at the dirty pavement.

“We promised her—”

“That was when we didn't know it was her actual family. Back when we all thought Miguel was a threat to her.” Yuri pipes up, hands braced on her knees. Fatigued and clearly needing rest. “I love her, Hobie, I really do. We all love her, but she's with family now. Let her be.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Miles scoffs, “We're talking about the same person right?” He stands next to Hobie, arms crossed on his chest.

“C’mon, Miles,” Gwen says tiredly. “We all heard their conversation, it's real, she's noble—”

“And what of it?” Hobie snaps back. “You were too.”

“I was.” She scowls. “But she has a home to go to, a family that's waiting for her. We need to let her be until for whatever reason she decides to stay or leave with us.” Inhaling sharply, she rubs harshly at her eyes. “Let's make a compromise then. We're all clearly feeling conflicted. I don't want to fully let her go, we all agree right?”

Everyone nods, tension running high, glares thrown about the small group. Gwen continues, “Then we stay close to her, we watch her like when we used to observe potential crew members. But this time we make sure she is actually safe and not thrown to the wolves.” Her idea reminds Hobie why he chose her as his first mate.

“I'll keep first watch,” Hobie quickly says, "we switch after I say so.”

“And when will that be, Hobie?” Yuri clasps her hand on Hobie's shoulder, comforting the man. “You haven't slept a wink, add the fact that you were stranded on a bloody island for a month, you're not in the right state for this.”

“I'll be once I see that she's safe.” His voice cracks, “I didn't keep an eye on MJ and look what happened. I-I don't want that to happen again. Please let me do it. You can follow me all you want just let me keep watch—”

“It's Y/N,” James whisper yells, he peeks around the alley, watching you slowly walk down the ship.

They all clammer to see you ignore Miguel's helping hand. Pride swells in their chest, they remember now why they can't exactly leave you behind— you're family.

As if fate is pulling the strings, you crane your neck to look in their direction. The crew ducks away, but Hobie stays, staring at you, waiting for your signal, anything to indicate that you want to run away with them.

He sees your subtle shake of your head, and with that, he hides with his crew.

“Did she say something?” Pav asks, concerned for you.

“No, nothin’” He holds his heart in his hand. “She said nothin'”

—

Hobie follows you quietly throughout the day. Hiding from Miguel's watchful eyes and your sad eyes. The crew left to rest in an inn, Miles offered to come with him, Hobie's glad he did for he found an unhitched horse in a street corner. But it could only seat one so Miles, the angel that he is, let Hobie go on without him.

“I'll take care of them.” He promises before he lets his captain go.

They all know your house, they've raided their ships before. Crates upon crates full of luxury, with the same design on your necklace stamped on the wooden sides. Hobie knows them quite well, the favourite of the king, always giving them special treatment. Yet the queen holds them at an arm's length away, but she never left her eyes away from their business. He guessed sacking random ships has its perks, gossip is one of them.

Hobie silently trots his horse, eyes never leaving the carriage you just left. The cemetery sends his nerves alight, with the crows cawing in the background, he strains his ear to listen in. He's hiding behind the chapel, the irony doesn't escape him.

The truth is revealed to you, and unbeknownst to you, he has learned about it too. His head is in his hands as he listens to how broken your voice is, tone splitting at the seams. Then his heart stops when you tell your mother that you want to stay, that you want to find the person responsible for their deaths, that the same flames burning inside him now have spread to you.

Hobie doesn't want you to go down the same path he walked on, to let the embers singe your skin, to let the fire burn you from the inside out like it had with him. You helped him through his, helped him control it. Now it's his turn to do so for you.

He cares for you, loves you for all your soft touches and gentle tone. But he's prepared to love you through your jagged edges, through all the anger that's inside you. He'd love both sides of you, because it's you, and no one else.

His foot accidentally steps on a twig as he sees you leave. Hobie almost ran towards you when you looked at the source of the sound. This time he ducks away, knowing that there's eyes on you, eyes that are prepared to take you away the moment they see him. So he waits, until there's no more eyes on you.

The next time he saw you again was when you stepped out of the carriage and into the golden doors of the palace. He's terrified for what's to come, whether or not Miguel has brought you on a silver platter for the wolves to devour.

With his guns accompanying him, he readies outside the walls of the palace until you leave, until he sees you again climbing inside the carriage.

He can finally breathe again, he doesn't have to kill this time. Not yet anyway.

Hobie tries his best to stay hidden, he bribes and lies to get inside Hazelside. Then he waits, and bides his time just to talk to you.

—

“Hazelside estate,” Miguel says when the large manor looms over the horizon. “Your family has owned it for two hundred years. Passed down to every first born child of the family.”

Acres and acres of land stretch across the vast space. Primed apple trees and oaks line the road, men and women in work clothes walk near the carriage, not even craning their necks to take a peek inside. It seems this was a daily occurrence for them.

“Two hundred years.” You repeat, contemplating how many generations owned it. “So it's mine once the papers are signed? Where would my…uncle and aunt go then?” Your mind goes through a hundred scenarios where you stay and where you decide to leave it all again.

“They have their own house. Granted it's not as big as Hazelside but it's enough for them. Knowing his majesty, he'd take his sweet time from releasing the papers.”

“How well do you know the king and queen?” You ask, eyes scanning your family's land.

Stone houses are standing miles away from the main estate, employees of the house you think. Chimneys billow out smoke whilst the sun is just about to rise. You imagine them having breakfast with their families, sleep still clinging in their lashes, hot tea wrapped in their cool hands. Opening the window, the smell of fresh apples wafts over you. Home, you think. It smells like home. Or it just reminds you of the apple tarts Jessica made for you when you were younger.

“You alright?” Miguel asks, watching you frown.

“I'm fine, just tired.” You lied, in truth, you miss them all.

“You had a hectic day, I don't blame you. You'll get to rest soon, I promise.”

How could you even think of sleeping alone? After being near him? After saying goodbye?

“You didn't answer my question.” You shift your attention from the trees to the man before you. “How well do you know them?”

“I barely know the queen, but the king? Yes, short answer? He's a moron, a buffoon wearing a crown.”

Lyla snickers next to you, head plopped on the carriage wall, seemingly asleep.

You smile, “You have a monkey for a king.”

“Once you're the Hazelside duchess, he'll be your king too.”

“Christ.” You chuckle nervously.

“Don't worry, I'll help you get accustomed to polite society.” Miguel reassures you and you still have no idea if you'll stay long enough to bear the title.

“Polite society.” You say with a scoff, “What I just saw wasn't very polite.”

“Just remember, everything here is political. Everyone here is climbing the ladder, kissing the royal asses. Some are doing it for their families, some are doing it for their personal gain.”

“Which one do you think I am?”

“Neither.” The carriage stops, horses neighing, hooves stomping on the gravel. “You're not like them, Y/N, that's why you'll end up walking all over them.”

The footman opens the door, Miguel gives you a look before coming down the small steps. He reaches towards you, helping you down. You hesitate. You still don't take his hand even with your bad leg.

The wind blows cold, goosebumps appearing on your skin, face worried at the sheer size of the manor. The glinting silvered birds catch the early morning's sun's rays. Beady eyes seemingly blinking when a cloud passes by.

Vines cling to the ancient walls, small purple flowers run along the plant and along the large windows. Strong columns line the façade, laurels carved on the marble, oak doors displaying the house sigil— your necklace bearing a similarity to it. Flower beds cradling violets lay by the foot of the building, blooming and fragrant. The smell hiding your trepidation from the dozen or so people watching you with unreadable eyes.

The staff greets you with a stiff nod, they stand on the stairs leading towards the manor. Their uniforms are perfect, perfectly ironed and clean; perfect white gloves on their hands.

A couple of them help your drunk uncle off their own carriage. He groans, head swirling, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Fancy clothes sweaty and moist, neckerchief lopsided and dirtied by ale. In contrast to his wife, who looks tired with the heavy eye bags under her eyes, she still looks like a proper noble compared to Frederick.

“Freddy—” She groans, kicking her husband's leg, “get up!”

“Darling…” he slurs, “there's two of you—oh wait…now there's three!” His guffaw fills the quiet morning.

Victoria gives up, leaving the man to the care of her staff. She walks off, huffing and puffing. She gives you a glance, “what are you waiting for? Get inside.”

Her eyes flick to Miguel who stands behind you, she immediately clamps down her bitterness. “Welcome to Hazelside, niece.” With a stomp of her heeled foot, she heads inside, no doubt seething.

“Catty.” Lyla says next to you, elbowing your side. “C’mon, your grace, before the sun gets in their eyes and sends them into a murderous frenzy.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. Something flickers in your peripheral vision, when you move your head to look, whatever it was, it's already gone behind the thick bushes.

“Y/N?” Miguel beckons you over. “It's cold out, come inside before you get sick.”

“Coming,” you call back, eyes darting around the thicket.

—

Miguel shows you around to your room in the west wing. Various historical paintings decorate the walls, wooden simple frames around them, showing the true beauty of the art without all the extravagant gold laurels around it.

Sculpted busts of your ancestors wait at every corner, marble eyes staring blankly at what's in front of them. Large windows line the walls, just outside the glass lies an expansive field of apple trees, bulbs of reds and greens adorning the branches of the mighty orchard. You stand in awe at the sight, workers start flocking the trees, picking and plucking at the ripest of fruits. The sun shines directly at the field, apples aglow with its light like red and green stars.

You lag behind Miguel as you gawp at the scenery, hand tucked inside the pocket of your gown, mindlessly rolling the pearl. Wishing the crew could see it too, wishing that he could see it and harvest the fruits with you.

Miguel calls for you, hand reaching but he retracts it back to his side. “Apples are new around here.” You genuinely smile at him, so he continues. “It used to just be hazelnuts, which still grow plenty in the estate.”

“Why the change then?”

“They didn't change, your family merely adapted. Your grandmother was the one who started planting the apple trees. Whenever she had a—” Miguel falters, you can practically see his brain turning.

“Had a what? I'm a big girl, Miguel, I can handle whatever it is.” You encourage him with a nod.

“A miscarriage,” he says lowly, “At the end of her life she planted seven trees. There was only one seed she didn't plant and that was when your mother was born.”

Your heart aches at the story even though the people in it are practically strangers to you. “Apple of her eye.” You murmur.

Miguel chuckles, turning to watch the vast orchard that spans acres upon acres of land. “It’s an understatement. She was spoiled, your mother. But she had a heart, most of her gifts almost always ‘gets lost’ somewhere.” He smiles fondly. “Strangely enough, it always ends up with someone who would benefit from it more.”

“Which one ended up getting lost in your backyard?” You smile at his rare grin.

“A lot, pocket watches, jeweled eggs, there was a kitten once. Only because her mother didn't like it.” He sighs, hazel eyes shining under the sunlight.

“You loved her.”

“I did,” he stares at you with kinder eyes. “She was my best friend, and so was your father. They both were.”

“What did you mean back at the carriage when you told me that they did the same to you?”

He swallows thickly, staring back at the outside of the opulent manor. “My daughter, Gabriella.” he says after a moment, “She was only a few years older than you. Your parents were her godparents, this was before they eloped and had you.” You can feel the strain in his voice. “She got sick…they poured everything into giving her the best doctors the country has to offer. They were at her side while I was drowning my sorrows in the navy. When they weren't by her side, they were with me. But in the end everything was all in vain.”

“I'm sorry,” you say genuinely, “I'm sorry, Miguel.”

He gives you a tight smile and a pat on your shoulder. “Even after all that they were still by my side, even when I pushed them away.” Sniffing, he subtly wipes his eye. “I didn't cross the sea and traveled thousands of miles to find you because I want us to be even. Or to pay the debt, I just wanted to find the last thing they left in hopes that I also find them in you.” His chest heaves. “I couldn't even say goodbye to them.”

There's tears in your eyes as he chokes on his own words. “I lost my friends but you lost your family before you could even meet them. And for that, I'm sorry, Y/N.” His hand shakes. “They didn't deserve what happened to them.”

“Tell me what happened to them.” You stand toe to toe with him, determined to get answers.

“Pirates, I told you they were pirates.”

You shake your head. “Do you really believe that, O’Hara? Or are you still trying to convince yourself otherwise?”

His jaw clenches, “It was pirates, Y/N.”

“Tell that to the former navy medic I call mother.”

He whispers, “the last time I looked further into their deaths I lost my Job, stripped of all my titles. I almost lost my house because of it.”

“Then tell me what you found.” You challenge him back. “Tell me who ordered it so I can live in this house in peace.”

“I don't have definitive proof—”

“Who?”

“Edward.” He says through gritted teeth. “He wanted to marry your mother, even going as far to ask for her hand. But when she refused him for your father—” he heaves. “I think he has probable cause to order the attack.”

“You were answering the man who might've killed my parents and wanted me dead?”

“How do you think that makes me feel, hm? I had my full trust in the navy, trusting the report they gave, trusted them with my whole life, even dedicating my life to them. And the moment I get a whiff of a planned murder on the only family I've ever had they bar me from the only life I've ever known. How do you think that made me feel?”

“I'm sorry you went through that but you could've done something.”

“He is king!” Miguel's voice booms around the hallway. He shifts his voice, pinching his knitted brows. “His word is law, I couldn't have done anything, even if I had proof.”

“You should've started with that instead of telling me lies, then I would've come to you without a fight.”

“There would've still been a fight.” He states matter of factly. “Hobie was ready to fight the moment I stepped below deck.”

“Could you blame him though? We both know not every single pirate crew is as nice as them, he didn't attack because you claimed it was pirates. Or that he was offended, he knows that he has done unsavoury things too. So what did you say that made him lunge at you?”

Miguel shakes his head, refusing to say anything. “It's best that you don't remember it.”

“Fine, be like that, just know that there will always be a wall between us.” Your heels clack loudly against the oak floors as you leave him behind.

—

The room they gave you was surprisingly comfortable, unlike the apartments in the palace that you explored. It's ten times bigger than the inn you were in, complete with your own bathroom and sitting room. It's all wooden walls covered in beautiful tapestries of various scenes from history— the thick cloth helps keep the heat inside. All the windows are wide open to let the cool air in and the moonlight. So you could hear the rustling of the trees outside, so you could smell the crisp apples. It helps, you think as you sit in front of the large stone fireplace with birds engraved in every corner of the stone.

You're already sick of the bloody birds.

You wrap the fur blanket closer to your body, still in your gown, refusing to wear anything else they've provided for you. You've heard of poisoned dresses before, it's far-fetched but you can't risk it now that you're in a more unfamiliar territory where your own family holds a grudge against you just for existing.

Especially now that you're alone in a large room filled with strange things. And with only his dagger to keep you safe.

Anyone would kill to be in your shoes right now, to be pampered and placed in a household that can provide for all your needs. If it weren't for the hunger in you, you would've left all of the gold in this house just to get back to them. Instead, the fire has you in its hold too.

Miguel's information only fueled the glowing embers in you, you're determined to find who killed them. But you're still restrained in this large manor, and until you can get your answers, you say their names to satiate the hunger.

“Edward and Mathias.” You say through shuddered breath, feeling if you could just say it louder, the sky would strike them down where they stood.

The pearl in your hands is warm, the shiny surface reflecting your scowl.

The flames mesmerize you as it dances in the kindling. Orange and reds illuminate your face, it's the only light in the whole room. You exhale and a puff of clouds escape your cool lips.

It's getting colder, and you're missing him.

Just when you're about to stand up to close the windows, a pebble lands near you. It thuds on the wooden floors, the sound gets your attention.

“What the hell?” You say confused. Standing back up, another flies through the open windows and into your room. “Who the fuck?” Speed walking towards the window, you almost get hit by a pebble if you didn't dodge it in time. “Hey!”

Fifteen feet below your window, you see two people dressed in their night clothes, bundled up in fur coats. They look up at you with wide eyes, like they got caught with their hands inside the cookie jar.

“Cousin!” One exclaims, a wide apologetic smile on his lips, showing you his perfect teeth. “Sorry about that! Can you come down?”

“Who in the world are you?” You ask, confused, you lean down to take a better look, hands gripping the sill for support.

“We're your cousins! I guess?” The girl next to him says, eyes shining in the moonlight, hand holding another pebble. “We waited to see you during supper and around the house but you were apparently hiding!”

“Alright, why do I need to come down then?”

“Because we want to properly introduce ourselves! Without screaming at you from below that is.” The girl shrugs, smiling prettily at you. “Please, cousin?”

“...fine.” you grumble, the dagger is still hidden underneath your skirt in case they're planning something nefarious.

They beam up at you, the girl daintily claps her hands. “Brilliant! We'll be waiting at the entrance.”

As you trudge down the unfamiliar sprawling halls, trying your hardest to not get lost in the maze-like structure. You accidentally encounter another painting of your mother.

Her name is etched on a golden plaque just below the portrait. This one was different from the one in the palace, she was stiff there, lips tightly closed into a line, eyes cold and empty. The one in front of you is warm, a soft smile on her lips, eyes shining and alive. Her dress is in lilac, golden stars adorning the bodice. She still wore the same necklace you're currently wearing, it rests perfectly on her neck. In her hand is a closed locket, you wonder whose portrait lies inside.

“Hi, mum.” You whisper into the cold hallway. “Where's dad's portrait?” You ask like she would open her mouth and answer back. With a sigh, you head downstairs.

Walking the ancient floors, the moon shines down at you, the light peeking in from the gaps of the heavy curtains. Silently, you meet with your cousins in the foyer. Carefully coming down the curved staircase, hand gripping the bannister, the boy who is about the same age as Miles meets you halfway. He reaches towards you, giving you a hand.

“I heard about your leg, I thought you'd appreciate some help.”

“You're Frederick's children?” You say, questioning whether or not you should take his hand.

“We are,” he says with a sigh. “Come on, cousin, or you might miss it.”

“Miss what?”

“The birds.” The girl waiting in the foyer excitedly says. “They're migrating.”

“Oh, I don't see why that would be so interesting.” You say as the boy flexes his fingers, beckoning you down.

“You’ll see why. Take my hand please, you look like our grandmother going down the steps.”

“Fine,” with an exhale, you take his hand. You hold his hand, a feather light touch that he barely feels, giving yourself enough time to react if he decides to do something.

“I'm Jonathan, or just John.” He says as he gently leads you down the steps. His stride is slow, waiting for your own feet to keep up. “And this is my sister—”

“Collette!” She suddenly clasps your hands when you reach the last step. “Sorry–” her tone is sweet and genuine, quickly removing her hands from yours. “I got too excited! I'm Collette, my brother and I are twins.”

“Unfortunately…” John says under his breath.

Collette jabs her elbow by his side, earning a groan from him. You see the similarities on their faces now that you're closer to them. From the slope of their noses to the curls of their hair, they look very much alike. Except for their eyes, Collette has emerald eyes that shimmer from the oil lamp she carries. While her brother has brilliant blue eyes that remind you of the sea when the sun shines above it.

You get reminded of him again.

“Who's older?” You ask teasingly, pushing the previous thought away.

“I am!” They both speak at the same time. John looks at her sister with disappointment, while Collette scrunches her nose.

“I'm five minutes older than you, Jojo.” She says with a tone you could only describe as annoyed.

“Father told me I'm the one who's five minutes older. Not you!”

“Sure,” she nods sarcastically, the lamp in her hand sways. “Because father was in the room when we were born.” Her head swivels to look at you, and you almost jump at how fast she moved. “He wasn't in the room.”

“Ah, I think I got it—”

“Like you could bloody remember.” John says with a scoff.

Before the argument could go on, you stop them with your hands on each of their shoulders.

“I need to sleep, so whatever you want to show me, just fucking show me.”

Collette stares at you with a gasp, eyes wide like you just said the darndest thing. Meanwhile, John has the biggest grin you've ever seen.

“Wow, cousin.” He says, amused. “I heard you used to run with pirates but I didn't know you got their vocabulary too. Hazelside would be more interesting now that you're here.”

“Gosh,” Collette exhales, clutching her pearls (literally) “I didn't know that word could be uttered by a woman.”

“You should try it sometimes. It's very freeing.” You chuckle at their reaction whilst you make your way outside. “Before we freeze to death, cousins?”

“The oldest should lead the way.” John takes the opportunity to rag on his still bewildered sister.

She groans audibly. “You're not the one with the lamp.”

You smile, there's a warm familiar feeling in your chest.

—

Leaves crunch under your bare foot, you've got blisters from the uncomfortable heels Miguel gave you. You'd take walking on bare feet rather than wear that torture device ever again. The only plus side of the fancy shoe is that it makes you feel powerful with every click of the heels. Walking along a path, tall apple trees carve a way for you and the twins.

“I like your dress.” Collette says right next to you, you sense her wariness by how she keeps her distance. “The color is beautiful, it's our house color.”

“Thank you, but I've been told that red suits me better.”

“Oh, I think they're right actually.” She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Yeah, I'm slowly getting used to this one though.” You lift up your skirt a bit for emphasis.

“Is it true that you were shot?” John asks in front of you, looking over his shoulder. “We heard from the footmen that you were shot by a pirate when O’Hara rescued you.”

“I was, but that's not the whole story. Miguel didn't rescue me.”

“Really?” Collette's brows are raised in question and surprise. You nod at her question. “Huh, I told you we shouldn't listen to gossip.” She slaps her brother on his bicep, he winces, glaring at her. “It's bad to begin with.”

“That's the thing about gossip, Co, it's not always the truth.” He spits out.

“I knew that, pssh.” She crosses her arms on her chest, annoyed and embarrassed.

“Why are we out here again? If you're planning to ambush me—” Colette gasps loudly, like you've shot her.

“Ambush you? Do we look like we know how to fight?” She stops you from going further down the path just as you see a dark river at the end of it.

John knits his brows with a pout. “We're here to give you a warm welcome, cousin. We heard mother and father didn't even give you a tour, so I guess it falls on us to show you around.”

“At night though?” You gesture around the silence of the grounds, save for a few crickets chirping and the flowing of the lake, you're practically alone in the dark.

“Guess we're just living to our house motto, ‘carpe noctem—’”

“‘Seize the night’” Collette finishes her brother's sentence. “The ancestor who established our house was a gambler.” She shrugs.

“That's our house motto?”

“Nope!” Collette answers you. “It was our house motto.” She gestures to herself and her brother. “Before the crown granted us Hazelside, after—” John elbows her. “I'm sorry.”

“It's alright, what's the actual motto?”

“‘alis volat propriis—’”

“‘She flies with her own wings.’” You translate, the siblings look at you with awe. “There's latin in medicine.”

“You know medicine?!” Collette shrieks, the sound echoing through the dark.

“Brilliant.” John murmurs.

“Oh you must tell us more!” Collette loops her arm around yours, walking side by side. “How and where did you learn it?”

“I—”

“Don't pester her, Co.” John clicks his tongue, “have you cut anyone's arm off?”

“How grim!” She exclaims.

As they lead you towards the sparkling lake, you three chat through the night by the banks of the hazelside lake. They ask about the world outside the capital, they ask about the sea and the pirates you were with. You don't tell them about all the blood and violence, deciding that you shouldn't mar their innocent hearts with stories of death. It's not yours to tell, and you don't want to traumatize the only people who don't look at you with contempt.

“So you're not mad at me or even at least a bit annoyed for showing up and taking the estate from your parents?” You ask whilst the sun slowly rises, bathing the lake in bright blue. The hazelnuts in your mouth is a welcome one since you haven't eaten a single bite since you got to the capital.

“Not really.” John munches on his own pile of hazelnuts. He lounges near the water, hand cradling his head, chewing quietly. “We were surprised at first because there have been a handful of girls who claimed to be you. Who were obviously not you.” You raise an eyebrow at his statement. “But when they told us it was Miguel who found you, we were sure it was really you.”

“Wait— there were people who claimed to be me?”

“Mm-hmm.” Collette hums, sitting close to you, hanging on to every word you utter. “They weren't very convincing.”

“The story of Miguel trying to find you was pretty famous around here. I mean, the guy abandoned his post to find a missing duchess who may or may not be alive. That was a big story back then, so a lot of women threw their daughters and young relatives at the manor's gates to get a chance.” John informs you.

“We were quite young back then, but the fakes dwindled away through the years.” Collette finishes his statement.

“‘Quite young’ she says,” he scoffs, “we were barely out of the womb, Collette.” His sister sticks out her tongue at John.

“Huh, that's probably why I haven't heard of it either, I was still young.” You wonder.

“The sun's almost out!” Collette points at the clear sky. “Get ready, cousin, because you're about to see the most gorgeous thing.”

“The birds here migrate at this time of year,” John helps you both up to your feet. You surprisingly take his hand. “like clockwork. Collette and I used to watch it with our parents before they got all…well, too much. Now it's some sort of tradition for us.”

“Look look! The trees are rustling!” She points, jumping up and down.

“Any minute now.” John smiles at his sister as she half hugs him.

The three of you wait for a sign of the birds, a minute passes, then two, then five. Yet, not even a feather flies overhead. The early morning sun shines brighter with every minute that passes. And with every minute, the twins grew agitated.

“Why aren't they coming out?” Collette asks sadly.

“I'm sure they're just getting ready for the journey.” John reassures his sister with a pat on her shoulder. “My calculations are correct, why aren't they here yet?” He questions no one.

Their slumped shoulders and frowns get to you. An idea pops in your head, and you think it's all Hobie's fault.

“Maybe they're still sleeping.” They look at you simultaneously, “I mean it's really cold out, they probably wanted to stay in bed— or nest to sleep more. I know I would want to.”

“Oh,” Collette gives you a small smile at your attempt to make them feel better. “That's probably it. Thank you, cousin.”

You grin mischievously at them, “what if we wake them all up?”

John makes a face. “How?”

You inhale, putting your hands around your mouth, you scream, “wake the fuck up!” The sound echoed throughout the field and across the lake.

Your cousins let out a loud guffaw, you giggle at their reaction. John joins in, copying your actions.

“Wake up you wankers!” He yells, exhilaration filling his chest. “I've always wanted to say that.” Chuckling, he laughs louder at the face his sister is making.

“Johnathan!” His sister gasps next to him.

“What? Try it out! Come on then! No one's out here to tell us off.” John shakes her shoulder, giving you a wide grin.

“Join us in the dark side, Collette.” You sing song, “the birds need a wake up call.”

“You won't tell mother and father?” She asks the both of you. Wiggling, she’s excited.

Crossing your heart, you promise. “I won't, I'm not a tattletale.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die, Co.”

“Alright.” She exhales deeply before letting loud the loudest scream you've ever heard. “Wake up, cocksuckers!” It's so loud that you swear your eardrums are blown out. Smiling, she turns towards your surprised forms.

Now it's you and John's turn to gasp.

“Cocksucker?!” You exclaim, bewildered.

“Where'd you learn that, Co?!” John pokes his sister.

“I heard it when Mrs. Williams stubbed her toe during lessons.” She said shyly.

“Good on you, sis.” He pats her back. “Good on you.”

Collette looks at you expectantly. “Good show, Co.” You wink at her and she giggles happily.

Facing towards the thick trees across the lake, the birds still don't fly overhead. There's nothing but the wind rustling the branches.

“They didn't wake up though.” She says forlornly.

“What if we do it at the same time?” Your words have them smiling again.

“Yes!” They say simultaneously.

“Ready?” They both nod, taking in air before screaming their hearts out.

“Cocksuckers!” The three of you let out simultaneously. The canopy rustles and out comes a hundred or so birds from the thicket.

You all jump up and down, arms up in greeting the birds. Their feathers shine in the sun, light filtering through their wings. Iridescent blues and whites glowing, reflecting in your eyes. Wings flapping loudly, beaks held up high as they greet the sky with open wings.

Amidst the beauty of it all, you wish that he was there to witness it.

A tear slides down your cheek. You wipe it quickly before the twins notice. Head staring up at the sky, amidst all the beauty and light, there's a darkness swirling inside you. Amidst all the life around you, you feel the opposite. And you miss him. The worst part is, you see this place becoming your home.

>>> CHAPTER 13 II

[artaxlivs]

WE WERE ALLOWED TO ASK FOR TREATS??!!!?!?

*sobs in too busy to check tumblr yesterday*

Okay - I almost went back to that post and tagged you because you're so damn supportive and your comments always make me feel seen as a writer...but then I got 7 asks all within like 15 fifteen minutes and my brain got frazzled. SO, you're late but it's okay, you deserve it anyway.

"Trick or treat?"

"It's the first of November." Steve scoffed, backing away from the door so Eddie could step inside.

"Yeah....I'm late." He shrugged like 'what are you gonna do?' but then he huffed a laugh, "Or maybe I'm getting an early start for next year."

Rolling his eyes, Steve grabbed the almost empty bowl from the side table, "Well, all I've got left is the Mars Bars and a few Milky Ways."

Eddie stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and tapped his sneaker on the tile of the entryway. His plan had been to do this last night, say 'trick or treat' and then offer himself up as the treat. To just...put himself out there. In a big way. Like he'd never been brave enough to do before. But he'd gotten almost all the way here and turned around - twice.

This was Steve. Steve Harrington. Nevermind the status and the money and the fancy car. This was Steve. The guy who'd dragged Eddie's lifeless body back through the gate and kept watch over him in the hospital to make sure the staff didn't 'accidentally' let him die. This was Steve. The guy who had been valiantly trying to make Eddie feel welcomed and less alone.

And Eddie was 99% sure that Steve has been hitting on him for months. He blushed around Eddie all the time for christsakes! But Eddie was such a fucking coward. He couldn't even bring himself to flirt back because that would mean exposing himself to the possibility of rejection.

Last night he'd dressed up like Danny Zuko from Grease because they'd watched it together on one of their weekly movies nights. Steve really loved that movie and had made many jokes - possibly flirtations - about 'summer lovin' and how he understood Sandy's turmoil about dating someone so different from who everyone thought she should date. It should have been a sure thing but Eddie had chickened out. Just like always.

Eddie blew his breath out long and slow, stared resolutely at the HHS on the leg of Steve's old basketball sweats. "What if...what if I wasn't asking? What if that was an offer?"

The HHS got closer as Steve stepped into Eddie's space, "You hiding candy in your pockets or were you offering something else?" Steve didn't touch, even though he was close enough to.

Eddie dragged his eyes up, meeting Steve's hopeful - thank god - ones and he just....said it, "Me? I'm offering me."

Steve grinned, biting his bottom lip and looking relieved. He stepped even closer, sliding his arms around Eddie's neck, resting their foreheads together, "Then...happy day after Halloween to me, I guess."

[ladykettlechips]

It's Not That Deep

Being kind is a choice. Sadly, so is being a dick.

I absolutely adore being part of a community where I can share my passion with others, be it as a writer of fanfic or simply a bystander. However, there are also downsides to being within a community, and sadly, it is other people who can ruin that joy and our experience of creating something for other fans, who want to devour content while a series is still being created, or has come to an end.

It seems like it is a frequent thing for a handful of people to ruin the fandom experience for others. They become anonymous or hide behind a name in order to actively go out of their way to harass creators within the community. There have been threats and vile accusations thrown about, and for what? To scare people off of AO3 and tumblr, just because you don't like something they created for a FICTIONAL character within a FICTIONAL setting?

Loves, it's not that deep.

Sadly, these kinds of people have run creators off of various apps and websites with their continued harassment. They have gone above and beyond to act horrible towards people they don't know, for a story or a piece of artwork they could have clicked the back button on. For something THEY can actively turn their back on and ignore.

If they had as much passion and energy for real world issues, their time would be much better spent. Instead, they have chosen to take a cowards route and harass other people online for something that is, in truth, insignificant to them. It is as if these people are consciously ignoring tags or warnings, because they WANT to start a fight and act in such a disgusting manner.

I can't understand it, really. Your time is much better spent doing things you enjoy, rather than coming after people who are doing the things that they enjoy.

Now, if the creators were actively promoting bad things, then yes, call them out on it or report them. Half the time though, these creators put disclaimers about how they don't promote certain things, but it is there for fictional purposes.

Our time and energy is precious, and for those taking time out of their hectic schedules to share their passion with us is a wonderful gift. Yet there are those who want to destroy that passion, and it is a sad thing when they win; sadly, cruelty often trumps kindness, and I have seen one too many creators fall to the whims of people who prefer to be dicks over being kind.

I would hope these people eventually see some sense and stop what they are doing, but trolls don't always see reason or see the light. I just hope that someday they get the hug they have been craving, or perhaps the talk they need to understand why they act like this. Until then:

It's not that deep.

It's not that serious.

It is FICTION, not reality.

Your favourites won't notice you regardless of how hostile you become.

You are not making the internet a better place with your harassment.

Have a hug, eat a snickers. I highly doubt you'd act like this in real life to people you know, or to someone else's face, so go have a nap and chill a bit. Don't make a mountain of a molehill, and remember that these fictional characters you are getting into a tizzy over are not real.

Thanks. Peace out.

Edit to add: I have yet to be harassed. I know it will happen one day, because it is inevitable at this point, but I am speaking out for my friends and fellow writers who have sadly experienced it.

[fagus-sylvatica-beech-hedge]

(if you are either dan or phil lurking in your tag right now please look away this does not concern you)

[autumnalfallingleaves]

TUMBLR DOES NOT HAVE AN ALGORITHM*

TUMBLR DOES NOT HAVE A "FOR YOU PAGE"**

TAGGING AS "FOR YOU PAGE" OR "FYP" DOES NOTHING BUT ANNOY PEOPLE

STOP TREATING THIS SITE LIKE TIKTOK OR INSTAGRAM IT DOESN'T WORK LIKE THAT

ALSO STOP CENSORING TAGS JUST WRITE THE STUFF OUT IN FULL SO BLACKLISTS CAN CATCH IT I PROMISE YOU CAN SAY KILL AND DEAD HERE WITHOUT CONSEQUENCES

*There is an algorithm to put stuff people you follow liked on your dash, but you can turn it off. Most people do. It's better that way.

**There is a part on the trending page with posts you can scroll through pretty much infinitely, but tagging with "fyp" does nothing because it's less of a tag-generated algorithm and more based on posts and blogs you've interacted with. It doesn't work like that here. To populate your and other's dashes, you actually need to follow people and reblog stuff. Liking is a bookmark and an acknowledgment, not a way to actually provide engagement. Reblog shit you cowards

[detectivenyx]

being in a fandom where the gender ratio of characters is actually pretty even between the common binary really puts into perspective how much attention people give male characters vs female ones.

bg3 has 5 male and 5 female companions, and while you could probably find a fucking 5 page thinkpiece on astarion or gale's semen and how the exact shape of the fucking splooge on the walls shows how they're reacting to their trauma at the hands of their all-powerful authority figure after 20 minutes of browsing their tags, people wouldn't dedicate that kind of attention to even like. the whole of lae'zel, even if they were Insane about her. or jaheira, an older woman who not only has baldur's gate 3, but two more games to characterize her.

danganronpa's fandom is even worse; each game has around 8 guys and 8 girls, again, a perfect balance between the common binary, but the guys inevitably get more attention, and more nuanced attention at that. when it comes to talking about the ladies in any nuanced fashion - like, i'm the only one fucking doing it on any major scale.

'oh it's because they don't flesh out the girls!' in bg3 the only ones currently lacking in content are minthara and wyll. minthara's a marginalised fantasy race and wyll is Black. it isn't an issue with the ladies not having as much content. and as for danganronpa multiple guys weren't fleshed out well (kiyotaka and gundam for instance), some fleshed out less than the girls you keep shunning. somehow, however, danganronpa fans are always able to invent extensive fanon that ascribes to canon characterisation for male characters but struggle to come up with anything that isn't #Girlboss #Failwife #MommySorryMommy or shit along those lines for female characters, even when it goes straight-up against canon characterisation (looking at everyone who calls Kirumi, a woman 20 at the oldest, a Mom Friend, which she herself outright states she hates).

for men, fandoms always manage to dig deeper into them and flesh them out further (unless they're Black) but are content to just go 'aaaagh sorry uwu your writers were trash and cowards!!!' and leave it at that (or if she's lucky, 2 pictures or one single sentence post about how she's dating/married to another female character) to the women. do you like. think you're immune to misogyny in ways that the writers you criticise are not? do you only ever talk about the women as characters and people when a tumblr post like this or the one that prompted it demand it of you or the Saw Trap Goes Off? do you have to be stuck in a saw trap to pay female characters their dues?

[irl-morros-account]

Hello, tumblr. You might know me as Morro, or possibly the guy from the Stiix thing. This is my blog that I made on a whim and it's recently hit 100 followers:

And I promised this stupid art thing. A DTIYS, and because I'm no coward, I'm going through with it.

So here it is. It's me. I put myself in a very cool cloak. I look cool.

Rules of this:

1. Must be me in the drawing

2. I MUST look cool. No mockery, you must make me look cool.

3. A cape would be preferable..

4. Hmmm. I'll set this for a month, why not. The deadline of this is the 27th of September. I doubt many people will exactly join, though.

5. Tag it irlmorro100dtiys

6. And tag this account so i see it.

I have no artistic skill to choose winners or give rewards. I can fucking try though. Hmm... each participant will get an amazing artistic rendition from me, on any topic of their choice.

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Various, online chatter; that’s enough internet for today

For the prompt: How hot is Jared? Twitter's best explainers

Forgive me any formatting sins -- I aimed for clarity over authenticity, but who knows if tumblr will oblige on that front.

“How’s the internet doing?” Dave asks.

“Well,” Andreas says. “It’s — technically good news, but in a way you probably don’t want to hear the details of?”

“That sounds ominous,” Dave says.

“Do you know what shipping means?” Andreas asks. “Not the—“

“You know, you’re right,” Dave says, literally backing into his office. “I don’t want to know.”

“I didn’t think so,” Andreas says, saluting Dave with his coffee, then goes to check out what’s happening on twitter. He thinks he’s had more than enough of AO3 for the foreseeable future.

~

On Twitter:

I’ve decided to block everyone who says something shitty about Bryce Marcus or Jared Matheson in the next while and I think my hockey twitter experience is going to greatly improve as a result

This is absolute genius I’m doing it

WAIT JARED MATHESON IS CANUCKS DILF’S SON?

HOLY SHIT JARED MATHESON IS CANUCKS DILF’S SON

OH MY GOD THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING.

Damn now we know he’s going to stay beautiful.

So does Bryce clearly. Lock that upppp.

HOW COME THERE ISN’T A WHOLE JARED MATHESON FANDOM.

Nevermind fam just found out there is in fact a fandom and they are losing their dang MINDS right now.

~

A selection of tweets liked by Bryce Marcus’ lurking account:

Look if I landed Jared Matheson I too would tattoo his signature on my chest.

I would tattoo his PICTURE.

How is it that Bryce Marcus is a multi-millionaire who routinely is in the top twenty in scoring and clearly takes care of his appearance and dresses better than 95% of hockey players, and yet I’m still like ‘nice work landing that husband, bro’.

You know that if Marcus and Matheson could reproduce they would have the most beautiful children 

Sweet mitts too

Every single picture or video I’ve managed to find of Bryce Marcus and Jared Matheson in the same place Jared is like 😐 and Bryce is like 😍  how did we just figure this out now

I THOUGHT HE WAS JUST REALLY HAPPY TO BE IN VANCOUVER 😭

~

“Babe,” Jared says. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Bryce says. “I’m not doing anything. Go back to sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Jared groans, slinging an arm over Bryce’s hip as he buries his face in Bryce’s good shoulder. Bryce’s hand comes up to absently pet his hair, and Jared falls back asleep that way, Bryce’s fingers carding through his hair as he scrolls through god knows what with his other hand.

~

On AO3:

Tags: Bryce Marcus Matheson/Jared Marcus Matheson/Julius Halla, I was really tempted to put Julius Halla Matheson but I think that’s enough chaos for right now, this is how I’m coping as a Hallason shipper, with OT3s, and threesomes, au just in that erin matheson doesn’t exist, sry erin it’s not personal

Tags: Bryce Marcus/Jared Matheson, no plot just vibes, soft shit, I literally just got here but, Bryce Marcus is a bottom you cowards,

Archive Warnings: Underage

Tags: Bryce Marcus/Jared Matheson, Rafael Sanchez, Just like the regular level of underage jared was when he met bryce nothing sketchy, or sketchier than reality lol, meet cute, my hc of how they met,

~

“If this is about Jared I’m hanging up on you,” Stephen says as he picks up his phone.

“You knew, didn’t you!” Beth says.

Stephen hangs up the phone, and puts it back on the table, face down.

It, of course, immediately vibrates. Gabe looks at it, then at Stephen.

“Don’t give me that look,” Stephen says.

Gabe continues to blink mildly as it goes to voicemail, then starts to vibrate again.

“You talk to her then,” Stephen says.

“Hi Beth,” Gabe says. “How are you? Yes, I did know who my linemate was married to. No, I didn’t think to tell you. Well, because I’m not sure how it’s relevant to you, Elisabeth.”

Stephen smirks at Gabe as his face grows continually wearier. His fault for not just hanging up — it may be mercenary, but it means Stephen doesn’t have to listen to whatever Beth’s telling Gabe.

“Let me give you Stephen,” Gabe says.

Sometimes Stephen forgets that Gabe has spent a little too much time around him for his own good.

‘Fuck you’, Stephen mouths, but Gabe just smiles and continues to hold his phone out.

~

On tumblr:

The Bryce Marcus/Jared Matheson tag has doubled in the last 36 hours. You guys okay?

Can’t sleep gotta write fic.

I think I speak for all of us when I say, from the bottom of my heart: no.

But like in a good way!

Where my Julius/Jared shippers at? How y’all doing?

Well we found out Jared Matheson is actually gay and married to a man literally from the lips of Julius Halla…in the context of telling us he’s married to a completely different dude and also now I’m legitimately worried about their friendship since he just outed his bestie so idk you tell me.

This.

Do we change it to ‘Jared Marcus Matheson/Bryce Marcus Matheson’ or Jared Matheson/Bryce Marcus’ or is it chaos or —

The AO3 tag wranglers have been by and they’ll all redirect to ‘Jared Matheson’ and ‘Bryce Marcus’ so don’t worry.

But why isn’t it redirecting to ‘Marcus Matheson’?

Show us the papers and we’ll do it. Legal name change documentation please.

You have all been shoving these definition of Average Dude hockey players in my face all ‘look at this beautiful man’ and none of you showed me Jared Matheson, Actually Beautiful Man? What is the MATTER with you people.

You have been in the wrong corner of hockey fandom trust me. his beauty was Known

east coast bias even in hockey rpf smh

Want some fic recs?      OBVIOUSLY.

Hey remember a few years back when we all made fun of Bryce Marcus for not knowing his own initials judging by that JBM necklace? Wikipedia says Jared’s middle name is Bradley

JARED’S MIDDLE NAME IS BRADLEY!!!!!!!

I would like to submit a formal apology to Bryce Marcus who a) can spell b) is the most romantic man alive and c) has clearly been TRYING to get caught this whole time.

[respectthepetty]

I know y'all expect me to write some great color analysis for episode 8 of Bed Friend but @wen-kexing-apologist already did it 223% better.

And all I really wanted out of this episode was King being a Blue Boy with no lines dividing him and Uea, only lines connecting them.

So who am I to judge King for releasing that video in a group chat and being a weak ass with spicy food? (Hombre, really? A group chat?)

Because our man has proven himself time and time again as being the Best Boy ESPECIALLY WHEN HE WANTED TO KISS UEA BUT DIDN'T because Uea was in a vulnerable position! (Look at that restraint. LOOK AT IT, YOU COWARDS!)

King's little "weirdo" is safely in King's heart with the red rose appropriately placed on his chest while Uea's heart is intertwining his and King's colors. (I refuse to write King is bi-colored until the finale, so this is as close as y'all are getting to me eating humble pie for two more weeks. Take your win before I change my mind.)

And by the end of the episode, King's love and color is wrapped around Uea

However, we still have next week where the boys will be muting their colors once again as they experience external disruptions to their blooming romance

At least we got this cute product placement before shit hits the fan again in the upcoming episodes

Which reminds me! Let me insert that sponsored Tumblr line so this post shows up in the tags.

Is this what a QL feels like wanting to make queer content but also needing to appease the corporations that fund it? Some of y'all needed this reminder of what our shows have to put up with by finding a reasonable spot to place a random item.

[halsinsheart]

a/n: i got carried away. probably ooc, definitely not logical, absolutely kinky. Act 2 but no spoilers. reposting bc tumblr refused to show it in the tags, cowards.

summary: Dammon tests just how deep reader's devotion is.

tags: NSFW MDNI; DARK CONTENT, gn!reader, branding/physical scarring, light CNC, pain/wounds, exhibitionism, light d/s, petnames (love, sweet little lamb)

wc: 2.2k

kinkmas masterlist || reblogs > likes

The sight of the silver-haired blacksmith slaving away in his shop never failed to captivate you. Dammon was a hard worker and you admired him for that; he worked tirelessly for those seeking refuge at Last Light Inn, knowing he'd receive little in return. Apart from the respect you had for his work ethic, you also harbored deeper feelings that fell somewhere between the categories of love and lust.

You couldn't pinpoint exactly when you started to fall for him, you just knew that those feelings were present now and they wouldn’t go away how much you willed them to. It didn't matter anyways, you had much more pressing matters to deal with given the creature in your head, and you took solace in the fact that Dammon wouldn't return the feelings. Besides, you had several camp members express interest in you, and with them, you would at least be traveling together.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to take advantage of the opportunity to chat with Dammon while you still had the chance… 

“What can I do for you?” His smile greeted you as he put his hammer down and turned to face where you stood.

“Oh, uhm, I wanted to see what you had for trade today. I'm… looking for a gift for someone,” it wasn't the first time you bullshit your way through a conversation, though at least this time it was for the innocent reason of talking with him longer.

“A gift, yeah? Does the chosen one have a special love?” He teased lightly and his smile shifted into a smirk.

“You might say that. Do you have anything that might impress someone?” you rocked back and forth on your feet as you inquired further, “What's something you would want to receive? Uh, just to give me some ideas, of course!”

Dammon leaned away from his workbench and raised an eyebrow at the way you fidgeted nervously in front of him. “The things I'd like to receive are much more binding than any material item. But perhaps I have similar things to what you're looking for in the cellar.”

Without giving you a chance to ask any more questions about what he meant, Dammon turned and started towards an inconspicuous hatch. You weren't aware there was a cellar beneath the stables area, but it's not as if you could snoop around everywhere. The entrance was rather obscured, but Dammon opened it with ease, gesturing for you to descend the staircase. The trust you put in him was tested at the moment, yet you were unable to refuse, out of both curiosity and adoration for the man ushering you into the dim light.

The hatch slammed heavily behind him and you didn't think anything more of it as you walked down into the room. Looking around, confusion filled you and heat scorched your cheeks as your heart quickened. This wasn't a storage shelter for his trade items. These items were of a much more scandalous nature, shocked was an understatement, but it wasn’t an unwelcome revelation that he had some sort of sex dungeon at his disposal.

“Pray tell, how dedicated are you to this special love?”

You gasped when he spoke right behind you, causing you to spin around and face him. He was closer than you expected and you stepped back before his hands wrapped around your forearms. The pressure was gentle but prevented you from going far and avoiding his question. Swallowing the lump that was in your throat, the intense eye contact he was giving made you aware he wasn't asking about the faux love interest you were shopping for.

“Wholly,” the word was spoken breathlessly before you steeled your nerves and returned his gaze, “I'm wholly dedicated to them.”

“And would you do anything for them?”

“Anything.”

His pupils dilated at your answer, the sight taking your breath away as his hands slid up your arms before cupping each cheek. “Would you do anything for me?”

“Anything,” you answered him again and put your hands over his, turning your head to one side to kiss his palm, “I would do anything for you. Just ask it of me.”

“Pick one. Then rejoin me upstairs,” he nodded towards the back wall and his hands fell to find yours, kissing the knuckles on each hand.

After you shook your head in acknowledgment, he returned to the surface and left you alone with whatever exactly the items on the back wall were. You mulled over the events of the past five minutes, scoffing at the thought that so much emotional development happened so quickly when you had been agonizing over such a thing for… well since you arrived. Not that you were complaining, for you told the truth when you said you would do anything for him and let him do anything to you.

This was a good mindset to have because, as you examined the items on the back wall all fashioned into different shapes or letters, you realized you were looking at branding irons. Your blood ran cold as his request fully took hold of you. Perhaps because it was unexpected from the sweet blacksmith. Or perhaps more because you were appalled at how okay you were with the idea, how the thought of Dammon marking you made your thighs press tighter together. 

The shapes sat in front of you and you took each one of them in, feeling for one that called to you like the man awaiting above called to you with each waking moment of your existence. Your fingers traced over the cool metal of a few of them until you paused on one and picked it from the shelf. Making your way back up to the workshop, your heart tightened when Dammon’s expression brightened at the sight of you with an iron in your hands.

“This one. I want you to mark me with this one,” you stated plainly as you took the branding iron with the letter “D” fashioned on the end and held it out for him to take.

Callused hands gently plucked the metal from your hands and twirled it around as you watched him do plenty of times before. Though this time, you would be the victim. His oh-so-willing victim, who nearly begged him for it with their sweet doe eyes. A final twirl and then the shaped end was nested into the ember red coals, allowing Dammon to turn his attention to you.

“A fine choice,” he barely contained his pleasure at your pick of brand shape, and the simple praise inflated your confidence, “now everyone will properly know you belong to me.”

Guiding you into a simple chair, he sat you in front of where the iron was heating up, allowing you to watch as your fate was being prepared for you. It was a simple test in his eyes. Not to give him satisfaction, but to allow you the time to contemplate what was to come, and to bow out if needed.

“It’s going to hurt,” he stated plainly, not sugarcoating the obvious.

Your eyes met his over your shoulder, “I know.”

“You don’t have-”

“I want you to mark me,” you repeated from earlier, this time more forceful in tone, “I want it.”

His eyebrows raised ever so slightly in mild surprise before he looked off to the side and coughed to try and steel his resolve. The last thing he needed before doing this was to be distracted by the sweet temptation you offered him, at least, that’s what he kept telling himself. He stood up and moved to instead squat in front of you.

“I just wanted to be sure. I’m more than happy to follow through,” his hands slowly rubbed up and down your thighs as he looked up at you, “I want you to touch yourself while I do it until you can’t anymore. Would you do that for me? And, where do you want me on you?”

Briefly, your eyes scanned over the members of the Inn who bustled about just outside of the blacksmith’s shop, yet you nodded eagerly and echoed your promise from before, “Anything,” peeling your shirt off, you tossed it to the workbench and bared your chest to the sweltering heat of the smithery, “I want it here.”

“Consider it done, my sweet lamb,” he smiled and leaned up to kiss the area of your chest you pointed to while his hands roamed up to play with the newly exposed flesh, reveling in the way you moaned softly when his rough fingers pulled at your nipples.

A pleasured sigh left your lips as you rolled your head back and closed your eyes, allowing yourself to feel the sensual gratification he offered you: the proverbial calm before the storm. Kisses adorned over your chest and up your neck as your hand slipped to your crotch and you slowly began to play with yourself through your pants. The anticipation of the pain soon to come only made the satisfaction heightened now. One of his hands replaced yours and his kisses finally reached your lips, the sensation better than what you had daydreamed it would be.

“Are you ready to become mine, love?”

Slowly, your eyes opened to meet his, pupils wide with lust as you nodded, “Please, take me.”

His jaw clenched at your reply and his plans shifted all at once, morals becoming skewed as he tugged you down the chair ever so slightly. He rid you of your pants, exposing you further to anyone who wished to pay attention to the innocent-looking blacksmith. Tugging his own down, he dripped his shop oil onto your entrance and over his cock before he slowly stroked it. So responsive to his touch, you shuddered feeling him stretch you delightfully.

The first thrusts were slow and testing as he cleaned the area where you wished to have his brand. His touch was full of reverence for the mere existence of you and the movement of his hips was equally praising as he was driven solely by the sweet sound of your noises. Your mind fogged with sweet bliss as you touched yourself like he asked, nearly forgetting what was to come when Dammon leaned over you. His body was surprisingly heavy, his line of work was something that required strength and bulk.

One arm braced over your upper chest, pressing into the bottom of your neck slightly while his hips never faltered and earning a sultry string of curses from you, “Oh fuck, please.”

They were the last words you uttered before the brand was pressed into your skin for the longest four seconds of your life. The action didn’t register until it was nearly done with and only when the brand was discarded to the ground did you finally let out the first garbled cry of pain. Your burnt flesh smelled revolting, stinging your nostrils as the pain radiated through your nerves and you thrashed and wailed within Dammon’s arms.

He put more force into restraining your body until you were left immobile and mentally grappling with the pain. Still, he barely slowed his thrusts down during the ordeal, if anything he ached harder watching your skin scorch. Your nerves were going into overdrive as he fucked into you rougher and admired your new mark- his mark.

“By the gods, look at you, absolutely perfect,” his tone was darker than any you’d heard him speak with before and it made you throb around him pathetically.

Noises from the common area of the camp made you acutely aware once again that you were far from hidden from anyone, but the man fucking you made it hard for you to care. And Dammon himself didn’t seem to care a shred, if anything he wanted others to see how primally and wholly he claimed you. The sight of your raised, angry skin beginning to blister over spurred him on with the promise that you would indeed scar with the mark he bestowed upon you.

“I’m-” your words broke off, voice weak from expressing your pain, but the rest of your sentence was inferred.

“Go ahead, cum for me now that you’re branded as my sweet little lamb,” he kissed you once before continuing his movements and offering one of his hands to get you off faster, nearing his own high as well, “People will see you and know you belong to me.”

His fingers ghosted around the broken and angry flesh, making your back arch and you gasped as his other hand still aided you until your pleasure finally peaked. Dammon groaned as he watched you cover him in your juices, returning the favor as he did the same to you. Your body ached, with most of the pain rightfully centered around the pulsating wound on your chest. Still, the chair did nothing to help as you tried to right yourself, leaning into the help the blacksmith offered you.

Although it throbbed with pain, the newest addition to your bodily scars also twinged with pleasure as you thought about everyone knowing the depraved things you had been up to. Let alone the thought of those who stuck around to watch… 

©halsinsheart ~{2024}~ you do not have permission modify, copy, repost, or enter works into AI.

[kuno-chan]

Hopefully One Time Vent about the Morally Dubious Callum Discourse Thing

I've been seeing a lot of weird discourse in the main TDP tags since I posted my thing yesterday and...

@theredhairedmonkey I'm not talking about you even if you are one of the people against morally dubious Callum. And I see you vagueblogging me. I know you're going to deny it, but you've been posting and commenting on this since yesterday and putting your little rants and pointed posts in the tags since I made that post yeesterday. (And tumblr's for you tag keeps showing me your posts)

I see the argument sometimes in the main tdp discord because I mod there and get to see a lot of the takes. It isn't always about you. If you wanna hash it out you can just message me.

I don't normally call out people, but I'm also not afraid to if you wanna be sneaky about it. If you wanna come and directly tell me "Hey, I think you're wrong and and you're an idiot and Rayla is your wish fulfillment character (which she's not because she does nothing I actually aspire to tbh)" do it. I can Respect that, at least.

Call me out.

Say my name publicly.

Or come into my dms and we can talk about it privately. Don't be a coward who keeps vagueblogging me because I said it feels like a lot of incels project onto Callum then hypocritically directly right after that start complaining people use Rayla as a wish fulfillment character because you automatically think I was talking Specifically only about you and not a wider group that maybe has the same take.

I don't wanna make the tags toxic and I am sure you'll take this post and break it down paragraph by paragraph with your response instead of responding like a cordial person but you're being a jerk and I don't appreciate it. Like, I barely talk in this fandom anymore.

So, call me out, talk to me or leave me alone.

Okay I'm done and I'll try not to do this again

[silversmoke-20]

I'm very sorry if I am not answering your requests, Tumblr for some reason got rid a few of the drafts and I had to write them down all over again! So in a moment of sadness I was Playing my comfort game Spyro Reignited trilogy. Also why did Tumblr deleted my drafts? So I decided to make a demon Slayer HC with a reader who is a half-dragon half-human.

I just started to get into Demon Slayer. I'm already at the hashira meeting episode, so no spoilers of the show please!

Tanjiro, Zenitsu, Inosuke and Nezuko with a Dragon!Reader.

Tanjiro Kamado

This Boy would immediately assume you are a Demon. But that's when he notices that he can't sense you are a Demon.

You tell him that you are a dragon of legend, who has fought Many foes and has lived to tell the 'tail'....heh.

Tanjiro would be amazed at your feats and the adventures you had been on.

Tanjiro would tell His sister to stop touching you without your permission, who merely began to pat your Dragon features, such as: Tail, Horns, Facial scales and Wing's.

_________________________________________

Tanjiro: "Ah! Nezuko don't do that, they might not like that."

Nezuko: "Hmmm!"

Nezuko tries to make grabby hands as she was pulled away, she just wants to feel those rough yet smooth scales of your tail as you let out a literal 'Fiery' laugh.

Y/n: "Hahah! You Guys are adorable, mind if I tag along?"

Tanjiro: "That's alright, we can't bring a civilian in danger."

Nezuko: "Hmm-Hmmmm-Hmmm!"

Nezuko got out of Tanjiro's hold and immediately put her hands in your mouth to feel the sharp teeth that occupy your mouth, Which you immediately cough and gag at the sudden hand in your mouth.

Tanjiro: "Nezuko!"

Nezuko: "Hmmmm!!!!"

A little while later Nezuko was sent to her room [box] as she attempted to grab your wings without your permission.

_________________________________________

Out of compensation for Nezuko bizarre behaviour, The older Kamado sibling allowed you to tag along.

You proved yourself to the stories of your acts of heroism to Tanjiro when fighting demons.

You and Tanjiro are considered best buddies.

You showed tanjiro your scars that you gained from various foes.

Tanjiro would immediately get Angry when you told him that you are hiding from Dragon Slayers because of what you are.

You and Tanjiro make a good team... you're both still confused with Nezuko's behaviour and curiosity of your existence.

Zenitsu Agatsuma

When Tanjiro and you met this boy, you had a look of disgust at how he was begging a girl to marry him.

He screamed at the very sight of you.

Look at those Teeth! That tail! Those sharp horns! And those Claws. HE'S GOING TO DIE!

He then calmed down when you didn't attack him and just continued to look at him with disgust. DON'T LOOK AT HIM LIKE THAT, STOP IT!

You begrudgingly agreed to let Zenitsu tag along when Tanjiro asked you.

_________________________________________

Zenitsu: "Please stop looking at me like that!"

Y/n: "ಠ_ʖಠ"

Zenitsu: "Tell him to stop judging me!"

Tanjiro: "ಠ,_｣ಠ"

Zenitsu: "AAAAAAAHHHHH-"

_________________________________________

When Zenitsu becomes part of the group, you have taken the job of flarking around with him.

Showing him your sharp teeth, when you tore the cooked meat as he swallowed his saliva as he grabbed his neck.

When Nezuko got out of her box, she immediately began to chase you to grab your Tail.

He chased you and Nezuko...mostly Nezuko....mostly you as well for hiding a beautiful girl because tanjiro asked you to.

Inosuke Hashibira

He wanted to throw hands with you the moment he saw you.

When you denied him that request, he decided to display his "Strength" by somehow suplexing himself into the ground.

What.The.Fuck

Will you fight him now? Nope! Coward!

Inosuke basically reminded you of a Crazy Earth Dragon back home.

_________________________________________

Inosuke: "Fight me you nerd-ass-Gecko!"

Y/n: "at least speak to me in a respectful manner."

Inosuke: "thoust thou wish to duel my good bitch?"

Y/n: "somehow that's much more worse than before."

_________________________________________

He's basically always trying to fight you.

You haven't realised it yet, but he's been beating up any Dragon Slayers without your knowledge of them somehow founding you.

It's because you told Zenitsu and Inosuke about you being hunted down by dragon slayer's for sports.

Inosuke basically took it upon himself to kick the sh!ts out of Dragon Slayers.

Nezuko Kamado

First off, she didn't mean to touch your dragon features.

It's just you are a literal Dragon and she just wants to see what your scales feel like.

When she was Human, she always loved hearing the stories about Dragon's and what they can do.

Nezuko practically sees you as her best friend.

_________________________________________

Nezuko: "Hmmm!"

Nezuko looks out of her box to see everyone asleep.

Nezuko: "Hmm!"

Nezuko would 'Whoop' in her own way as she made her way towards your sleeping form.

She then practically started headpatting your soft but unruly hair as you let out hum of comfort as Nezuko smiled at how she wouldn't get caught by her brot-

Tanjiro: "Nezuko....Box....Now."

Nevermind it's back to the box as her brother stared at her with that "I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed" look.

Tanjiro: "you can touch their hair when you have permission."

But Nezuko wants to braid your hair and she can't do that in the day cause you like to be in the sun!

Maybe she'll have to be even more sneakier.

_________________________________________

Nezuko would probably kick any dragon Slayers flying if her friend is being hunted down by them.

Nezuko would practically enjoy listening to your Stories of your adventures.

When Nezuko becomes Human again, she's going to braid your Messy Hair.

I just see Nezuko as a hair braider ok!

[artaxlivs]

Excerpt:

He died. He fucking died. Finally, Eddie Munson - lifelong coward, lifelong runner away from all things scary - did the brave thing, took the stand against evil and what the fuck is his reward? Death.

This is just fucking great.

“Eeeeddie.” An eerie voice creeps from inside the darkness of oblivion that Eddie has found himself in. “Eddie Munson. I want to make a deal with you. For your life.”

Eddie’s not an idiot. He knows how this goes, he’s been playing Dungeons and Dragons since its creation. He knows exactly what happens when a disembodied voice promises you things while you’re in the fugue state of death.

“Thanks, but no thanks!” He tries to shout, but it doesn’t come out any louder than his regular voice, and gets swallowed up by the darkness almost immediately.

“Oh, Eddie. Are you sure?” He can almost feel the voice curling around him, cloying but empty like cigarette smoke. “I can promise you vengeance against those who’ve wronged you. I can make you powerful. Unstoppable- unkillable, even. I can give you a second chance at life. All you have to do is pledge your allegiance to me.”

Usually Eddie sleeps through his history classes, but even he knows that pledging allegiance blindly is how genocide happens, who the fuck does Vecna think he’s fooling?

“Fuck that, man!” He attempts to yell into the void again. “Eddie Munson is no champion for the evil bad guy. No, thank you!”

An echoing voice breaks through the mist in answer. It sounds like two voices layered on top of each other, one hopeful, the other weary, but both resolute. “We can offer another choice. We can put you back. You can save everyone, but you’ll have to start at the beginning. It will not be easy, but you can stop him. Do you accept?”

Well. Fuck.

* * * * *

Read the whole fic on Ao3: End of The Beginning

Relationships: Will Byers & Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Characters: Eleven, Mike Wheeler, Nancy Wheeler, Barbara "Barb" Holland, Jonathan Byers, Dustin Henderson, Lucas Sinclair, Joyce Byers, Jim "Chief" Hopper

Additional Tags: Canon Compliant(kind of), Everybody Lives, Alternate Universe (but also the same), Stranger Things Reverse Big Bang 2023-2024, Inspired by Art, Time Loop (but not really)

Word count: 12,440

Rated M but just for language and themes (no smut, sorry my dudes)

No archive warnings

Artist: @alduade-art

Betas: Ash (who’s not on tumblr) and @alduade-art

Thanks to the mods @strangerthingsreversebigbang for being totally easy to work with and on top of everything all the time! This event was great!

[uldahstreetrat]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers (ू•‧̫•ू⑅)♡

okay well I got a bunch of these today too so we'll do a second round of them aha - this time I was also sent/tagged in this by @communitycatboy, @captainqster, @avaritia-ffxiv, @amalthea-felsblood, and @wpip-raham!

story telling! which for me includes extensive world building, writing, and drawing - I have a google doc of world building notes so long that it lags, dont ever let it be said that I dont think way too much about things that dont matter

stamps! this is a much more recent one, but I have started stamp collecting and have a very lovely binder for it and I'm thrilled about it

my blog here on tumblr also makes me very happy because it's a great social outlet for me and I genuinely just love love love getting to see and talk to people about their ocs and blorbos, the community here is great and im so glad to have found my little corner in it all

elden ring, though I have played little of it so far because im a huge coward but it is very fun! it took me two hours to figure out how to level up but hey i havent died yet

I also just fuckin love bugs aha much to my husband's annoyance cause he fucking hates them but at least we can compromise with my butterflies lmao I actually have a necklace that's a real butterfly wing pressed and soldered between two sheets of glass, it was a gift from my sister a couple years ago and I wear it all the time <3