#because I’m once again in a bad slump but I know feeling better isn’t a linear thing!!

[quins-makeshift-menagerie]

The process is a bitch and I want to fight it

#had the urge to just #delete everything and vanish without a word #because I’m once again in a bad slump but I know feeling better isn’t a linear thing!! #just fucking sucks man #yknow? #I’m fine I’m fed housed watered and loved #for anyone worried #because I know I say some concerning stuff #mostly just venting because I need to yell and sorting out what’s going on in my brain is hard sometimes!! #there is a cat purring on my stomach and another cat between my legs #the other Q is rambling about a hoi 4 game he played with a friend #things are well #so why the FUCK isn’t my brain cooperating with me you dumb clump of hamburger #stop that #I hope everyone is doing well #I need to get to sleep

[queenpiranhadon]

⚡︎⎸⎸ 𝐇𝐚𝐭𝐞 ⎸⎸‎⚡︎

A/N: You all voted on this poll, and this poll, and this poll and after a LOT of voting ((again) again) , I wrote this for all of you :D Thank you to my first not irl moot, Bee (@swans-chirping-in-the-distance) for beta reading this ily girl 😭 Here's my masterlist! Divider made by @cafekitsune

Warning(s): Enemies to lovers trope, mentions of anxiety, night thoughts (iykyk), reader wants to strangle Sirius lmao, maybe some inaccuracies idk man, reader is a Ravenclaw, reader is in the year below Sirius, reader is a bookworm, reader gets stressed apt academics - don't even try to call people like that nerds, anxiety for this sorta stuff is really serious, reader snaps at Sirius, reader’s nicknames are sweetheart, love and angel, slowburn kinda- they're just figuring stuff out, reader is GN but written with f!reader in mind.

Pairing: Sirius Black x GN!Ravenclaw!Reader

The halls were quiet. 

 Too quiet.  

And you knew that, but it didn’t stop you from traversing the halls of Hogwarts, relishing in the darkness that enveloped the halls, and ultimately concealing you from any prying eyes.  

Stars twinkled through the windows that cast soft rays on moonlight onto the empty halls of Hogwarts, you should’ve felt at ease. 

But you didn’t. 

Technically, you shouldn’t be awake right now, and technically, you shouldn’t be in the halls right now, either, given the strict curfew Hogwarts has on its students. 

Didn’t stop you from leaving though. 

You had just finished a big essay for Herbology, and your anxiety had gotten the best of you, creating the twisting feeling in your gut, the one of failure, your subconscious whispering false notions and spiraling into possible timelines of being forced to work as Filch’s assistant because you failed to pass your exams, and- 

Needless to say, you needed to clear your head.  

Which is why you snuck out of Ravenclaw Tower, and why you were walking through the halls of Hogwarts. 

And why you now found yourself hiding behind one of the almost intimidating, looming pillars in the hall, footsteps resounding through the hallways.  

Your heart pounds - you would for sure be screwed if you were caught. Your mind races, thinking of countless possible ways your life would be ruined if whoever was there found you.  

Your body feels like it’s on fire, buzzing with the urge to run and hide, back into the safety of your sheets; better to give yourself to the torment of your thoughts than be caught in a place you weren’t supposed to.  

You curse mentally to yourself, until a husky masculine voice snaps you out of your mental tirade of self-abuse. 

“You can come out, sweetheart; I won’t bite. I’m supposed to be here as much as you are.” the male says smoothly. He had voice of a man who thrived off his confidence.  

Your body physically slumps in relief at the knowledge that it isn’t a professor. And then the tension came back, once you realized who the voice belonged to.  

Sirius Black.  

The boy in question was in the year above you, but it didn’t stop him from continuing his onslaught of pestering you when he could. And you tolerated it- knowing this was just how the Marauders were sometimes- but then Sirius did the unimaginable.  

You were reading your book- one of mystery and romance, each inked word drawing you in more and more until the book was physically ripped from your hands, your progress lost in the process. To say you were furious was an understatement.  

You probably yelled at him for 20 minutes straight, going on a tangent about how you never do that to someone and that he was an unsufferable prick, and yet all that son of a Blast-Ended Screwt did was stare at you with those stupidly gorgeous eyes and an even stupider grin plastered on his face.  

And after that day, he had made a point to poke fun at you whenever he could.  

Maybe running into a professor in the middle of the night wouldn’t be so bad.  

“I know you’re there, love.” he says; you can practically hear the smug grin on his face.  

“Shove off Black, you’re not supposed to be out either.” you bite, speaking in hushed tones unlike the loud boy on the other side of the pillar you were hiding behind.  

“That may be true, but I’ve never been good at following rules, have I?” he teases, trying to rile you up. “But I seem to have caught the Ravenclaw’s self-righteous angel doing some misdemeanors of their own.” 

You want to wring his neck- stupid Black doesn’t know anything- doesn't know how much your anxiety bothered you at night, and the moment you try to get some reprieve, you have to deal with him.  

“Can you actually shut your mouth?! You don’t know anything about me, and you never will, so stop acting like you can read me so easily, because maybe, just maybe, people have lives outside of you and your thick head Black.” You snap, storming off from your hiding place where Sirius can see you, determined to leave for Ravenclaw Tower. 

But before you can, he grabs your wrist, tugging you backward and into his chest- strong arms wrapping around you and securing your frame, effectively trapping you in his embrace.  

“There you are.” he whispers. 

You feel your face heat up, the proximity of the two of you was unbearable, his warm breath fanning over the back of your neck. You tense up, and yet, some part of you melts into his touch- and you hate it.  

“What in the world are you talking about, Black.” your tone harsh but no bite.  

You feel his head tilt up. The arms encircling you tighten as his tone turns thoughtful. 

“Do you hate me?” 

That caught you off guard. “What?” you stutter, taken aback. 

“Do you hate me, angel.” he repeats calmly, still looking through what you think in the window on the opposite wall from the both of you.  

You look down in contrast, mulling over his words. Do you hate...Sirius Black? Sure, he annoyed you to the end of the world, made your blood boil to the point where he could cook pasta with it, and made you want to rip the strands of your hair out, but somehow, hating him didn’t seem right. It didn’t sound right, the words hate and Sirius Black.  

“No.” you whisper, deciding to look up at the window with him. “I can’t.” 

You know he’s smiling when he softly says, “Me neither.”  

You both don’t say anything after that, silence ringing out through the halls of Hogwarts, and after a few minutes of just standing there in each other's presence, you speak.  

“So where does that leave us?” 

#sirius black x you #sirius black x reader #sirius black fluff #sirius black #sirius orion black #sirius x reader #sirius black angst #sirius black x y/n #the marauders #mauraders #maurauders era #the marauders era #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x gn!reader

[lace-coffin]

Can I has soft Moonie and Monty gator fic, where reader is perpetually exhausted and the animatronics drag em off when they’re meant to be working to help them get some sleep in the pizzaplex? (Totally not projecting here)

How would Moondrop and Montgomery gator react to an exhausted reader on their shift?

Thank u for the moon and Monty rq I want to eat it up so bad😌

Requests are open!

Reader is gn! No trigger warnings required

Working for the pizzaplex was definitely an experience. A good one? Thats up for debate. No you loved your job, the actual security aspect of it was pretty univentful, flicking through the camera’s of the empty pizza plex. It’s not like any intruders would get far anyway with the security bots at every turn and moon slinking around in security mode. You did however get to see the dumb stuff the animatronics got up to after hours though so that was a plus. If she doesn’t tell that you’re watching YouTube on your shift then you won’t tell how you regularly see chica rummaging the kitchens like a racoon over the cams.

It was a pretty cushy job overall but the hours were vile, working from 12-6 am isn’t great for anyone and essentially becoming nocturnal because of it meant you were either sleeping or exhausted in your free time.

Today was one of the days that you’d turned up essentially half alive, isotonic drink held in a death grip and a pack of pain meds at your disposal. You clock in and slump on the chair In front of the security camera’s, groaning as the pain is taken off your joints.

Moondrop

Naturally moon has been following you to your work station since you clocked in, floating through the shadows of the pizzaplex in a totally normal and not creepy way. No matter how many times you tell him he can just greet you normally and walk you over he still refuses and watches you from afar, you know he cares but emotional vulnerability is difficult for him.

A few hours into your shift you can’t take it anymore, energy drink only doing so much for you. Your head starts to loll in your chair, finally getting a blissful second of rest-

“Morning glowbug!” Moon swings down from the ceiling in the upside down Spider-Man pose, intending and succeeding in scaring the shit out of you just as you were drifting off.

You jump in your seat and land in a pile on the floor on your ass. Once moon stops laughing at your misfortune and you realised it was just him and you weren’t about to get bite of 87’nd you huff at him from your spot on the floor.

“Very funny moon man, hilarious in fact, you do know the door is an option right? Now help me up you nerd” you say in fake irritation, tugging his trouser leg and giving him your hand.

“Everyone’s a critic, bug. I found it fairly amusing”he lends you his spindly hands and pulls you up with a bit more force than necessary, making you stumble. He snickers into the long end of his hat and you shoot him a glare. “Not the day dude”

Moons faceplate rotates at this, non verbally questioning what’s causing your sour mood, you usually love playing with him and whatever is ruining your mood needs to stop immediately because it’s ruining his fun (and maybe because he cares about you but he’ll never admit that)

“I’m fine moon, I’m just sleeping bad again, I’ll survive” you say nonchalantly, dangling your energy drink in your hand and chugging the last of it.

Moons grimaces as he watches you do this, you know he hates those stupid drinks, you feel better for an hour or two and then immediately crash worse than before, usually leaving moon to scrape you off the desk and take over the cameras.

You realise what you’ve done before moon can even get a word out, squeaking and throwing the can back on the desk. “It’s uh, not actually that bad! I’ll be fine, you know me haha, just a little behind on sleep” you stutter over your words trying to back track. You know it’s pointless and moon being the way he is you’re not going to get out of this.

“Oh no, go ahead starlight, drink your sludge. I can’t wait to peel you off the desk later” he drawls out, if his eyes could roll any further back into his head then they would have.

You rise from your chair, hiding behind it like a shield as if it’s going to save you from the inevitable. “You know the drill bug, either you get over here or I’m dragging your sorry ass over here” Moons voicebox fizzles out over the inappropriate word, stupid filters.

“Moon, you know I can’t, I have to finish my shift, I promise as soon as I get home I’ll go straight to bed, no messing” despite trying to placate him moon remains unimpressed, arms folded over his chest. You should probably run.

“Starlight they pay you peanuts, you can take one nap, they’ll survive”

The jester moves down slowly and sits on his haunches like a cat. Moon launches himself at you full speed. You scream and run to the other side of the security office, not much room to run to considering how confined it is in the first place. You yell and giggle as this continues, moon drinking in the way your eyes crinkle when you smile. Over a few minuets you start to get worn out, having no energy in the first place. This gives moon the perfect opening to land a pounce on you and snatch you into his arms, throwing you over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. You playfully kick and complain but you don’t have it in you to actually be upset.

Unsurprisingly you make it to the daycare attendants room in record time, moons huge strides cutting down on time. “You know the drill” moon says as he throws a pair of daycare themed pyjamas from the gift shop at you, hitting you square in the face. You laugh and crawl into the other room through the tunnel to change.

By the time you’ve changed and come back moon has his bed all made and fluffed up and is looking at you expectantly. “Your chariot, my lord” he says dumbly, pulling back the covers and gesturing to the bed. You snort and climb in, snuggling down into the plush bedding. You make a happy noise and look back at moon, taking his big metallic hand in your smaller warm one.

“Thankyou, for this I mean, I really appreciate you caring about me like this, it means a lot”

Moon makes a fake gagging noise but his faceplate tinges a darker blue, telling his real feelings. “Always so mushy starlight” he laughs, but you know he loves the attention.

“Can you stay until I fall asleep?”

“Bold of you to assume I was leaving in the first place”

Moon scooches into the bed and rearranges his limbs into a comfy position, pulling your head against his chest and starting up his music box. He traces little shapes into your palm until you fall asleep for the night.

Montgomery gator

A horrid crash feeds through the security cam speakers. Excellent. You sigh and flip over to gator golf, already knowing who’s most likely to be causing the noise. Sure enough faint mechanical grunting and roaring can be heard. You can’t seem to find Monty on screen though, so it looks like you’ll be taking a trip down to the golf course.

You groan and pull yourself up from your chair, you really don’t have the energy for this tonight.

Not having to look very far you catch Monty red handed a few steps into the golf course. Golf club jammed into the mouth of one of the mechanical gators below the bridge. You pause and just look at him, unamused, waiting for him to explain.

“Uh, howdy twerp, I’m having some…difficulties?” He try’s, almost framing it as a question. You rub your hand over your face in exhaustion and ask him to expand on his problem.

“I uh worked up a rage after screwing up a note in tonight’s show, wouldn’t have happened if stupid fazzass hadn’t bumped into me” he grumbles, getting side tracked complaining about Freddy. “Anyway, I may have taken a swing at one of those gators…it’s turns out once the club is in it’s hard to get it back out” he laughs and rubs at the back of his head awkwardly, hoping your not going to explode on him.

“I love you but you’re a nightmare, green guy”

Monty snorts at the nickname but realises you look a little worn down, your usual bite not as prominent in your banter.

“Are you ok cher? Like you looking after yourself ok? Not to be an ass but you don’t look as with it as usual” he says in a softer tone, a look of genuine concern washing over his face.

“You want the polite answer or the real one?” Monty laughs and asks for the real one. “I’m tired as all hell and I’m essentially a zombie right now, these night shifts are killing me”

Monty frowns at this, he knows the company can be hardasses when it comes to shift patterns, not caring if their employees work themselves to death as long as the schedule is covered.

“So what you’re saying is we’re going to wrestle this stupid club out of that gator and then you’re going to the nest without causing a fuss?” Monty says, phrasing it as an order and not a question.

“I don’t even have the energy to be stubborn, ask moon man to cover for me please”

Monty gives a toothy grin at this and nods his head. You both work on releasing the golf club from its grizzly demise. Combining both your effort and Monty’s unnatural strength you pull the club free! And send it through the window of gator golf…it can wait for the day crew, technically you only came down to remove it from the gator and you’re beyond caring.

Monty throws his arms in the air in celebration. “Nice shot, cher!” You both cackle at the absurdity of the situation until you let out a yawn.

“Ok squirt, let’s get you to bed” he says softly, rosey eyes roaming over your sleepy face. Monty collects you in his arms and makes his way back to his green room, lending you an oversized gator golf shirt to change into. Monty lets out a little huff out of his nose when he sees you in the baggy shirt, adorable.

“Time to hit the hay kid” he pats on the nest he’s made on the floor out of blankets and various plushies/pillows waiting for you to climb in. Once you settle down Monty curls up around you like a big puppy, placing his snoot on your chest. (He’s totally not hoping for some pets before you sleep..)

“I don’t want to hear a peep out of you unless it’s snoring kiddo” Monty grumbles. “Love you to big guy” you hum and pat his nose

You fall asleep wrapped up in the gators tail, your chest rising and falling in time to the gentle bellows rumbling from the now calm and cuddly animatronic.

#fnaf security breach #five nights at freddy's security breach #five nights at freddy's #montgomery gator #montgomery gator x reader #fnaf daycare attendant #daycare attendent #daycare attendant moon #daycare attendant x reader #moon x reader #moondrop x reader #writing #my writing

[alcoholfreenayeon]

Don’t Call Me Again

Chaeyoung x Reader

CW: very light fluff, angst

Word count: 900

Synopsis: I regret from the very core of my heart for hurting you this bad, I am sorry.  

AN: Yes I know this is the wrong day for it😭but I feel it’s relevant right now and also because I need a bit more for the other one. I’ll post it tomorrow instead.

You watched as the car door opened and Chaeyoung got out, you couldn’t help but smile, her cute little jump to avoid the puddle, the way she smiled uncontrollably when she spotted you, everything about her was so cute, so perfect. She walked up to you still smiling sheepishly, looking at you for a moment before quickly grabbing you and embracing you in a tight hug. At this point, admittedly you were beginning to feel a bit emotional, but you managed to fight those emotions off, for now at least.

Still holding on to you, she pulled her head back and looked at you, still smiling happily, “It’s been so long”, she said before slumping her head against your shoulder, her tone changing to a more serious one. That stung a little, you knew it had been, usually her tours make you miss her a lot, but you never really considered that she might miss you just as much if not more. After all, she does become quite loving and needy when she’s stressed. Nevertheless, you both finally pull back and Chaeyoung slips her hands into yours and that’s something you can never get tired of.

The two of you walked a little, going towards the spot where you both kissed for the first time. As you both approached it, you began to brace yourself to tell Chaeyoung but before you could, she suddenly let go of your hand and turned. She was walking backwards, unable to stop smiling at you, her cheeks rosy. You were about to tell it her when she suddenly spoke, “Oh! Pretty!”, she exclaimed, plucking a flower off the ground, smelling it, and smiling at you. She then takes a step closer and tiptoes, tucking it behind your ear and kissing your cheek and smiling lovingly at you, her hand lingering on the spot she kissed. She is making this so much more difficult than it needs to be. Is this a mistake? How were you going to tell her that you wanted to break up…

“Chaeyoung…”, you said quietly, beginning to feel tears build up in your eyes, “This is-this isn’t going to work.”

“Huh”, She said, confused by your suddenness, “What are you talking about?”

Why, why is she making you repeat, you already felt like a monster for doing this to her. She didn’t deserve it, she doesn’t deserve this. But you just can’t keep going on like this, having her go off to the other side of the world for months. You know it’s selfish, you know it’s stupid, but you just can’t keep doing this. You want her all the time and it’s clear you won’t get that from her anytime soon. So its best that you end it now before you lose your nerve, before she makes you change your mind, before she makes promises you she wont be able to keep.

“I think we should break up.”, you said in a shaky voice as you felt tears beginning to fall. You didn’t deserve to shed tears, not after what you are doing. “We-we don’t spend enough time together, we can’t go out half the time or places, it’s just too much. I can’t handle it all. I’m done”, you say the last part more harshly than you intended. “I-I am sorry, but I can’t, I love you, I really do but I think it’s better for us”, you blurt out, regretting each word but you had come too far to back out now.

Chaeyoung looked back at you confused, panicked, hurt, betrayed, she tried to reach out for your hand, but you step back, hating yourself more than ever. She didn’t say anything, but you could hear her breath heavily in panic, she looked like she wanted to say so many things to you right now but couldn’t find the words. You see tears building up in her eyes and it’s too much for you. You turn around and speed off, not looking back once because you are a monster, because you are cowardly, because you are weak. You know if you look back, you’ll cry, you’ll beg her to forgive you, to take you back. And Chaeyoung will. She will take you back without any hesitation, she will cry her heart out, she will ask you what she did wrong, what she can do to change, what she can do to stop you from feeling this way. And the truth is nothing. Because she doesn’t need to change. She was, is perfect. It’s you who’s full of fault, full of insecurities, full of weakness. As you sit in your car, you begin to sob, looking at your phone, at your and Chaeyoung’s messages, knowing you need to block her before she texts you. But it’s too late, before you can gather her strength to do that, you receive a text from her, ‘Please don’t go.’. And you close your eyes in pain, what have you done, you hate yourself, you look at the block button and feel your heart pound knowing its now or never, you take a deep breath and make your choice…  

#angst april #ask me anything #answered asks #anon ask #twice #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #reader x idol #twice chaeyoung #twice scenarios #twice angst #chaeyoung fluff #kpop gg #chaeyoung x reader #chaeyoung angst #kpop angst #twice fluff #son chaeyoung #chaeyoung twice

[hom3landr]

He hears you cry at night sometimes, when you think he’s asleep. You’ll bury your face in his chest as your shoulders shake with silent sobs. It’s usually after he lets something slip about his childhood…about his time in the bad room. The initial flash of pain in your eyes is always brief, quickly smoothed over by a kind word and a hand in his hair. You try to sweep negative emotions under the rug, as though you think you’re protecting him. Self introspection is not something he’s good at but even he knows that it’s because he’s not capable of providing the comfort you need. He’s happy to preen under your hands instead.

But it does start to concern him when he’s being woken up by the smell of your tears more often than not. He doesn’t need to look at the clock tonight to know it’s late. You’re clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you afloat. Your face is hot and puffy with despair. His chest tightens as he watches you without your walls up. Why won’t you share this with him? Do you not think he can handle it? (Can he?)

He gently runs his hand down your spine and you jolt like you’ve just been shocked. You wiggle out of his grasp before he can keep you pressed against him. You try to wipe the tears from your cheeks but it’s a sisyphean task as your eyes continue to well and sting. Your heart is beating like a rabbit’s from being caught and your insistence on trying to hide again causes the tightness to turn to anger. You owe him the truth. Why is everyone always keeping secrets from him?

He grabs your wrist harshly and rougher than he intends to and your squeal of pain makes him withdraw like he’s been burned. It’ll only bruise but it reminds him of how unequal the power balance between the two of you is. You don’t look angry at him. You just look sad and numb and that’s somehow worse. He doesn’t know what to do and the angry flame burns brighter in his chest at how unfair everything is. Your relationship is perfect so why can’t things just be happy for once? Why does it always end this way?

Despite nursing your sore wrist, he can see your expression soften. He knows this look. You’re about to put on your mask again. You’re going to sooth him until he’s cooing under your touch and he forgets all about it. He doesn’t want that. You’re constantly ripping away his walls and exposing that raw aching weakness inside him. You cradle it like it’s a fragile bird. He could tear your arm from your body like ripping apart wrapping paper but he can’t make you trust him the way he does you. It doesn’t matter if he’d only be able to handle it with clumsy hands. At least it would be something honest.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle. “I didn’t mean to wake you up”

“Why are you crying?” He demands. Your shoulders slump at the harshness in his tone. There’s a split second where he hates you. He fucking hates you because you’re supposed to be different.

“I love you. I love you so much that I don’t know how to handle it sometimes,” You confess weakly. It’s true. You aren’t lying.

His brow furrows in confusion as tears continue to roll down your cheeks. You’d just told him you loved him. Loving him wasn’t supposed to make you sad. He opens his mouth to reply but you gently hush him. His teeth clench in annoyance but his response dies in his throat.

“It’s not fair. Any of it. I want to help but I can’t. I can’t change anything. You tell me these horrible things and I can only sit there and run my fucking fingers through your hair like that makes what happened to you better. I watch you be cruel. I watch you hurt and hurt other people. It’s just one huge fucked up cycle and the sad thing is that I’m terrified that one day you won’t need me anymore. You come home with blood on your hands and my first thought isn’t to worry about the person that blood belongs too.” You choke out your confession, finally allowing your pain to surface. Homelander recognizes this emotion but it isn’t the one he expected. You feel guilty, as though you blame yourself for the havoc he wrecks. Oddly, it hurts less than he thought it would.

He understands guilt, even if he’s not sure he’s ever truly felt it. He’s protected from it. Slowly over the years it had been beat out of him. Knowing that’s what has you so distraught makes him chuckle. It’s such a human emotion. Your guilty conscious is comforting to him. You wouldn’t feel guilty for the actions that he commits if you were planning on leaving him. It’s flattering really, that you suffer for him so. It is a form of love in itself. He certainly prefers it over fear.

You’re panting heavily in the wake of your confession, body tense as you prepare for his reaction. He knows you aren’t scared, just prepared for battle. He gently reaches for your injured wrist, bringing it up to his lips to kiss the already swelling bruise. You sigh at his caresses, relieved that there will be no argument tonight. You follow his lead tentatively as he tugs you against him.

“Babe, I don’t know how to break this to you but you look like a fucking chipmunk when you cry.” He laughs, holding you tight against him even as you angrily try to shuffle away.

“I bare my soul to you and that’s how you reply?” You huff, the sadness in your voice is replaced with righteous anger. Good. Homelander considers anger to be a very useful emotion. It easily hides all the unpleasant ones that hurt a little too much to think about. That’s how he’s survived so long. Anger is healing…or at least it’s a band-aid to keep the wound from leaking. Not that he has ever needed a band-aid or had an injury that needed tending. He just knows that anger and cold calculated spite feels comforting, like a warm (blue) blanket around his shoulders. He can give that to you.

“Also, you got snot all over my suit so you’re gonna owe me for the dry cleaning bill.” He ducks his head to avoid a swat. He forgot how cute you are when you’re angry. It’s like watching a kitten hiss and spit.

“You’re an asshole!” You wriggle and pound on his chest but he refuses to let you go.

“Mmmhmm but you love me. You can’t take it back now.” He purrs against your ear. You grumble, caught in your own trap. It’s not like you’d be able to deny it anyway. How could you not love him? Even when it hurts you, you press on anyway. It almost makes everything he’s endured worth it…almost.

You don’t cry at night after that, even if the emotions are still bubbling under the surface. He doesn’t know if it’s because talking helped, or you simply became more clever about hiding it. It doesn’t matter anyway. You love him. You love him and he loves you. This love is immolating and painful but beautiful. If he’s being honest…he’s glad to know that you’re as raw and undone as he is. He promises himself that he’ll be as careful with your weakness as you are with his. He owes you that much.

#I have food poisoning and made myself cry writing this #how’s your tuesday going? #homelander #x reader #homelander x reader #homelander headcanons #think of this as the evil twin of morning musings

[vritest]

I love you. (Say it back)

leon kennedy x fem!reader

warnings: angst, angst, angst. kinda all over the place, kinda doesn’t follow the plot??? mentions of sex, younger???vandetta leon. NOT PROOFREAD

PART 2

Knock knock. Stop. Knock… knock. *Burp*

A sound you were getting used to at midnight.

At first you decided wether or not you should just open the door. Maybe you should leave him there. Make him feel like shit, make him realize what he’s doing isn’t normal.

But your heart was too big for that.

You sighed, looking straight at your TV. A random singing reality show playing in the background, their singing cancelling out the knocks coming from your shared apartment. Or at least what was once a shared apartment you and your boyfriend had.

Lately it seems like he lives in the bars instead of your own home.

You sigh again, hoping the knocks would stop and hoping Leon would leave to Chris’s place, or just somewhere where you wouldn’t see him drunk and wasted.

Getting up from the couch, the knocks only got louder and louder. You groaned quietly and rubbed your face with your hands.

“Coming, I’m coming!” You yelled.

As you opened the door, Leon slumped on you hugging your frame and snuggling on to you like the way you snuggled with your teddy bear he had given you on your guys’s first date.

You sniffed his leather jacket, a scent of too many liquors to count, taking over your nose. You frowned slightly.

“God Leon you irk of alcohol. Did you take a shower in that stuff at the bar?” You asked sarcastically.

He chuckled.

“You’re funny, they don’t have showers in bars, silly…” Leon slurred trailing off from his train of thought his grip only tightening. You let out a big sigh and slowly unwrapped from his grip. He groaned.

“Hey… I was comfortable like that…”

“I know… but doesn’t a shower sound nice?”

“No.”

“Well too bad because I’m not letting you go to sleep stinking our whole bed of alcohol”

After an hour, you had prepared Leon a semi-warm shower.

After he took a shower it was normal for him to go straight to bed, after kissing you and saying a quick “Good night babe” but this time it was different.

As you sat on the couch, you heard some shuffling and saw Leon walking straight to your shared room. Not even looking your way, almost like he was being lured in there. You raised an eyebrow confused in his sudden break of the pattern you two have held for too long.

As you walked over to the room, you saw him on his side. Already asleep and snoring. The void in your heart only getting worser.

———

The morning wasn’t any better.

You had waken up with a huge headache, despite not drinking. Which was pretty odd, because you never got headaches out of the random. Not only that but when you turned around to reach for Leon, the only thing you touched were the cold sheets, meaning he had been awake for a while.

You got up, the off feeling you had only getting more prominent as you walk towards the kitchen, the sound of cereal being poured in to a bowl sounding close.

There you see Leon hunched over, his back towards you as he serves himself some Lucky Charms.

Which was kinda ironic thinking back now.

“Good morning.” You said softly. The rasp in your voice being the only thing Leon was looking forward to.

“ ‘Morning” he simply said pouring the milk into the bowl. He turned towards the island, sitting towards you know. Your eyes wondering Leon’s tired futures, trying so hard not to ask him about last night. You didn’t want him to leave you, and you didn’t want to leave him, but this whole thing was just getting to you. It’s like you had to battle a war in your mind 24/7.

You cleared your throat, despite not planning to say anything.

“Just say it. Say that I’m an asshole for not telling you good night. I don’t give a damn.”

“What? I wasn’t gonna-“

“You were! That’s the thing you don’t speak up about shit! You should hate me, I’m a bad boyfriend, a bad friend, an alcoholic but here you are taking care of me every day after I go to the bar. Why?” He said, the bowl of cereal being disregarded.

You laughed dryly.

“Are you kidding me right now?”

He looked side to side.

“I asked you a question.” He asked sternly.

“Have the 5 years we’ve been together proven you nothing? I love you Leon! And the fact that you asked that question makes me feel like shit. I do it out of love Leon everything.”

Silence.

“How do you think I feel after you leave for work? How about when you leave to go to the bar? I worry that I’ll get a phone call and get told your dead, and I hate myself that I can’t stop you. Because it’s your life. Not mine.”

He sighed trying to calm down in order for his words to come out less aggressively.

“You don’t have to worry about the drinking it’s nothing-“

“Nothing?” You laughed dryly again. Something you’ve done a lot more often lately. “Everyday you come home wasted and tell me you love me. Something you’ve never told me sober, did you know that?”

“Babe-“

“No! Fuck. Don’t babe me now. After all this time all I’ve ever wanted to do was to help you. And now you’re asking me why I’m doing all this? This must be some sick fucking prank.” You said. You were slowly loosing it. You never yelled at him. Sure maybe one time while playing Mario Kart when he beat you, but it was never this serious or intense. Leon’s mind went blank.

He was a horrible person.

“Fuck, im sorry about this I swear I can fix this aright? I fucking hate myself, I hate what I’m doing to myself and I can’t stop it”

There was silence allowing you to calm down before speaking up again.

“I know you can fix it.” You said more calmly this time.

“Just not with me.”

His eyes widened at the words that came out your mouth.

“What-“

“I’m leaving.” You claimed.

“What? You haven’t even packed yet-“

“I did, while you were sleeping. Thought you had heard but I guess you were fast asleep.” You mumbled.

He scoffed and let a small breathy “huh”.

“So that’s it?” He said throwing his hands besides his torso in defeat. “You’re just gonna leave me after all these years?”

“Don’t try to gaslight me now Leon. I’m doing this because I love you. Fuck, everything I do, I do because I love you and I can’t stand seeing you fuck up your life because you refuse to get help.”

You just stood there. Looking at him like if this was some staring contest.

Your heart kept telling you to back out, this was a bad idea. But you brain could only thing how this would benefit him.

You sighed. Starting to walk towards your shared room where you had packed two duffle bags that would be enough clothes to stay with your parents for a while.

As you got up, Leon got up as well grabbing your wrist and before you could even pull away (he was too strong) he pulled you towards him, kissing you just one more time. The taste of alcohol filling your mouth and the taste of your cherry lipgloss leaving a delightful taste at the tip of his tongue. As much as you wanted to pull back and tell him that he was an asshole for doing this, the kids only got more passionate and hungry tounges entering each others mouths, suddenly everything was okay. Suddenly it was his first day as a police officer and you and him had just shared your first kiss with eachother.

Maybe everything wasn’t so bad after all…

Right?

———

That morning had been long. The smell of makeup sex lingering the room. Leon’s bare hands hugging your naked frame, the afternoon sun peaking out from the curtains.

You got up, looking for your clothes he had desperately stripped off you.

Surprisingly after you grabbed the two duffle bags, despite making a good amount of noise, he was still asleep. You looked at him one last time , beige you headed to the kitchen and grabbed a napkin and a red gel pen.

Leon had woken up not too long after you had left quietly crying out your shared apartment.

He knew you always kept your promises.

Immediately he looked over at the night stand, your perfume, his favorite, gone. That’s when he saw a small peace of paper, and he squinted reaching out to grab it as he brought it up to his face squinting.

“Good morning afternoon sunshine,

I really didn’t want you to try and make me stay so I decided to leave right away. It’s already noon and by the time you wake up it’ll probably be dinner time, I know you’ll be hungry. Last night I made lasagna, just that you went straight to bed before I could even offer you some. Lol. There’s some leftovers in the fridge, along with some lemonade or coke, pick what’d you like.

Like I said in the morning, I’m doing this because I love you nothing else. If I could stay with you forever I would.

Thank you for what you gave me this morning.. I enjoyed it… (that might be an understatement.)”

He chuckled at your dry humor.

“Anyway… please take care of yourself and become the best version of yourself you can possibly be.

I love you. More than you’ll ever know. Even if you’ve never said it to me sober.

Love, Y/N.”

A single tear escaping his eye.

———

Years have passed and you had already moved out of your parents home you were temporarily living in.

Once you got your new place you decided it was time to move on from Leon. As much as you didn’t want to and refused.

Each date was the same.

They introduced themselves. They cracked a joke. You laughed. Their mouth moved until they asked if you were okay, and you would just nod. Then they would leave and never spoke to you again.

It just wasn’t the same. They weren’t Leon. They’ll never be.

So that’s what brought you right now. At your old apartment complex. The lady at the counter being the same one from a couple of years ago.

“Hey you were that lady that was the girlfriend of the young blonde man right?” She asked as you walked up to her counter. You smiled lightly. “Girlfriend” you haven’t heard that word in a while.

“Yeah.. uh I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

That being said, you had asked her if she knew any information about Leon and if he had moved out.

Turned out it had been only two months since he had moved out, she said he had told her he was moving to the suburbs. Which was weird considering you two would always talk about how you loved the chaos in the city and would never move back to the suburbs. Turns out great minds don’t think alike sometimes.

“Yeah, he seemed pretty glad to move into a house for the first time. Never said the reason though.” She said ducking her teeth. “He said he was staying by this really big park, with the lake and-“

“Oh my god.”

“What? What happened?” Thee asked.

“He moved back to his childhood home.”

———

It didn’t take you long to built up the courage after all these years to find him.

All the signs were pointing to this.

He definitely got better and had taken to advice to move in back to his old home. The reason was still unknown but you assumed that after all these years he was the person you had told him to become.

You missed him. You couldn’t wait to see him. Would his hair be brown like it was when you left? Or had he dyed it back to blonde, how he had it when you first met?

Either way, it didn’t matter if he was bald, you needed to see him. You needed him to be okay.

As you got closer to the house that was once his, you notice, two cars. Which you assumed were both his, unless Chris was over? No, it was probably just both his.

You parked, getting out of your car and fixing your hair as you prepared to knock on the wooden door. You didn’t know if this was one of your smartest moments. You didn’t want to look like a stalker, but you knew he probably wanted to see you too…right.

You knocked three times, a shuffle being heard in a background and a giggle.

The door opened. And the you heard it, his voice. Still sweet like sugar. Except he said some words that could’ve made you faint on the spot.

“I got it honey-“

You looked up noticing a small kid on his shoulders. Looking down at you. Their icy blue eyes they obviously inherited from Leon, staring at you with a small smile.

“Y/n…”

•••••

Y’all this honestly was abt to me cry lmfaoo 😭 but anyway hoped y’all cried lol.

•••••

#leon kennedy x reader #vandetta Leon x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy blurb #damn I can’t believe that just happened lmfao

[five-rivers]

First. Previous.

Okay.  Well.  Taking everything into consideration… and emphasizing safety… Going out was risky as either Fenton or Phantom.  Waiting was… safe.  It was safe, but if he had to do it without something to do other than college courses of dubious utility, he'd go nuts.

Besides, it was like a security exercise.  If he could do it, someone else could do it.  Better to be prepared!  Honestly, locking him out was a safety hazard, too.  What if there was an emergency and he needed to go to the Zone (not unlike now)?

And… just because he found a workaround didn't mean he had to use it.  He could find it, then stop.  Report it to his parents.  It'd- it'd be useful.  

A constriction in his chest he hadn't even been aware of loosened.  His shoulders slumped.

It'd still be useful even if he did go through with it.  He'd be exploring.  Collecting new information.  Learning. 

He pushed away from the lab door and, feeling slightly rebellious, flew up into his bedroom.  He kicked off his shoes and scrunched his toes into the carpet, trying to draw comfort from the sensation of home he'd painstakingly worked into his not-quite-a-lair.  Then, he went to his computer and started to pull up all the information he had on the DNA scanner, the lock, and the portal doors.  

If he was going to do this, even on a theoretical basis, he needed to have a plan of action.  He needed to have things to research, to test, he needed to…

… he needed to call Tucker.  

"Hey, man," said Tucker, and Danny resisted the urge to ask him if his voice had gotten deeper again, because even if it seemed that way it probably hadn't and Danny didn't want to make this weird again.  "How did your talk with your parents go?"

"Bad."

"Ah," said Tucker.  "Did you tell them how you feel?"

"I tried," said Danny, flopping dramatically on his bed.  "They're not listening."

"Maybe you should get Jazz to talk to them, after all."

"No," said Danny.  "I don't want to--She has her own things to worry about, and Mom and Dad and I… we need to figure out how to work out our problems.  I was actually wondering, would you help me hack the DNA lock on the portal?  They disabled my privileges." 

There was a long moment of silence, and Danny bit his lip, worried.  

"Danny, dude, do you really think that's 'working out your problems?'  Don't you think that's a bit, I don't know, extreme?"

“I don’t know.  I just need to do something, and they won’t let me do anything.  I feel like I’m stuck and I hate it.  I’d just– I’d just feel a lot better knowing that I could go, if I needed to.  Could you help me get through it?  Please?”

“Okay, okay.  I'll help.  Just let me think about it for a minute."  

Danny bit his lip.  "Okay."

Tucker was silent for a long moment, but just when Danny started to think that maybe he’d pushed too hard, he said, “Just to be clear, you want this to be, like, some way you could get through at any time?  Not something where you just have to get through once at some point?”

“I mean, yeah.  Because, because,” Danny hurried to say, “I’m not necessarily going through without their permission, I just want to be able to go.”

“Uh huh,” said Tucker.  “Well, if you just wanted to go through once, and have it be one and done, I’d say keep an eye on them and wait for them to open the portal, but I guess we’ll have to be more tricky.”

“That’s not hacking.”

“Yeah, but some of the best hacking isn’t hacking at all, it’s social engineering.  When possible, you go around security, not through.”

“Oh,” said Danny.  “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”  It wasn’t too different from some of the things he did when fighting, after all, or when avoiding fights.  

“And you’re better at the mechanical end of things to begin with.  Less stuff to go wrong.”

“Uh huh,” said Danny.  “But I don’t think there’s much mechanical I can do beyond taking apart the lock.  Which I can do, I guess.  It’ll just take a long time and be really noticeable.  Or the door itself.”

“Yeah, how about we table that for now.  Do they have any of their probes still out?  Or anything else that’s kind of on both ends?  I know you can’t do that tech possession digital travel thing in, like, public anymore, because of the Guys in White monitor, but can you do it on your parents’ stuff?”

Danny considered that for a moment, then shook his head.  “They ghost proofed a lot of it since last time Technus went by.  I don’t think it occurred to any of us to make an exception for me.  If they even could do something like that.”  He paused.  “There is the thermos plug.  I still have access to that.  But it doesn’t open unless you put the thermos in and stand clear.”

“Can’t you make duplicates?”

Danny sat up.  “Huh?”

“Can’t you just, you know, duplicate yourself, suck one of yourselves - man, that sounds bad, somehow - into the thermos, and then have the other one of you flush the thermos?”

“That’s…” Danny paused for dramatic effect, “genius!”

“Thanks,” said Tucker, dryly.  “Glad to know I still have it.”

“Of course!  Like you could lose it.”

“Trust me, I can definitely lose it,” said Tucker.  “Hey, if you do try this, maybe write a note for your parents first?  Because you can’t get back through this way.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Danny.  “That is a problem.  But I think it should be fine…”  This wasn’t like the old days, after all.  His parents would notice if he was gone for any significant length of time.  Which was good!  Just… not convenient for slipping away.

“Don’t do anything too crazy, alright?  Wait for Sam and I to come back for summer break.”

Danny smiled and nodded, even though he knew Tucker couldn’t see him.  “I know!  I’m looking forward to it!”

.

For obvious reasons, Danny couldn’t try out the workaround while his parents were still in the lab.  He had to wait until after they came up for a stilted family dinner, and then even longer for them to go to bed.  

But when they did…

He went down to the lab, thermos in hand, and stood in front of the portal.  He rolled the thermos nervously between his hands, staring up at the portal.  If he did this, his parents would be mad, but…  

His eyes slid over to the comm equipment they used during his excursions.  If he got them good data, maybe they wouldn’t be as mad?

On the other hand, then they’d be able to find him.  

He bit his lip.  He could still back out, too.  Make what he’d told himself and Tucker more true.  Go to bed. 

#danny phantom #poll #audience participation #kingdoms of fish

[likeshipsonthesea]

death and taxes (the ship)

spoilers for 6x15 bc the auditor (debbie) had a ring and honestly natalia’s way out of buck’s league, here you go

Debbie closes the door behind her and immediately slumps back against it. She lets her bag, jacket, and keys fall to the ground in a cacophony of thumps and follows it up with a truly impressive sigh.

“Babe?”

Debbie closes her eyes. “I’m home,” she calls back. She listens to the soft steps of socked feet against the hardwood floors, inhales the alluring scent of fresh coffee, and opens her eyes to see her beautiful amazing wonderful wife standing there in a pair of Debbie’s shorts, holding a mug with a Death Becomes Her quote on the side of it.

“Bad day?” Natalia quirks her lips in a perfect half-smile.

Debbie grunts. Natalia holds the cup out in invitation. Debbie steps out of her heels as she moves forward, hands outstretched and reaching. Natalia, because she’s beautiful amazing wonderful and kind, allows Debbie to gulp down two large, scalding sips before corralling her toward the couch. Debbie manages another wayward sip as Natalia bullies her into putting her legs in Nat’s lap.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Nat asks as she begins doing something lovely to Debbie’s left calf.

Debbie grunts once again, this time muffled by her fourth sip of coffee.

“Talking about it makes you feel better.”

The doubtful sound Debbie makes in response goes through both her fifth and sixth sips, but no longer because with that Debbie finishes her coffee and has nowhere else to go. Too bad it didn’t really scald her mouth, otherwise she would have a valid reason not to talk about her terrible day at work.

“Come on, we’ll start easy. Tell me the best thing that happened today.”

“I just finished it,” Debbie says, staring forlornly at the Now, a warning script at the bottom of her empty mug. Natalia digs meanly into her calf until Debbie grunts and tries to flail out of her grip.

“Tell me the funniest thing then.”

Debbie sighs, pushing the mug onto the coffee table and turning to pout up at her wife’s encouraging face. “This straight couple was called in because they didn’t coordinate their taxes before filing.”

“Huh? How do you mess that up?”

“Straight people don’t talk, apparently, I don’t know. They both put their kid down as a dependent and both filed as head of household. Then they confessed all their tax sins like I was their priest or something.”

“You’d make a hot priest,” Natalia says, which unfortunately pulls a smile from Debbie’s lips. Damn it, if Nat wasn’t so damn cute when she looks all triumphant like that Debbie would be annoyed.

“Maybe I should become a priest. No tax season.”

"You’d get bored of all the pageantry before your first sermon.”

Debbie inclines her head. Nat’s probably right. “What about a bartender? They’re kind of like priests.”

“Whatever makes you happy,” Natalia says, switching to the right calf. “Anything but a firefighter.”

Debbie lifts her eyebrows. “Your date with the dead dude not got well?”

“It wasn’t a date,” Natalia says, like she’s said every time Debbie’s called it that.

“Did he know that?”

“I hope so.” Natalia gets to a tight spot and Debbie winces. Pausing her sentence for a moment, Natalia bends down to press her lips softly against the spot before continuing. “He talked about his post-death coma dream the whole time, so if he thinks that’s what a date is, I worry about his chances.”

Debbie smiles and reaches out to twirl a strand of Nat’s hair around her finger. “Did you have fun at least?”

“Totally. It’s weird to meet someone with the knowledge that isn’t, like, about to die, yaknow?” Natalia leans her head into Debbie’s hand so Debbie can play with the baby hairs at the base of her neck. “He felt like a kindred spirit. He knows how precious every moment is, the beauty of our mortality. I don’t know. It felt--good. Like a book club when everyone actually read the book.”

“You’re never going to let Sandra live that down, are you?”

“We had a whole month, who shows up without having read a single chapter?” Debbie massages the base of Natalia’s skull. Nat’s shoulders lift and fall with a deep breath. “But anyway. It was nice. And the coma dream stuff was a cool insight into how our brains work when we’ve experienced death. I bet it has something to do with how our bodies flood with...”

Debbie is a horrible wife because she tunes out all the sciencey stuff Natalia adores to just take in her wife’s joy as she talks about her favorite thing in the world. The flush to her cheeks, the brightness of her eyes, the flyaway hairs stuck to her forehead. Tax season always burns Debbie out, but the thing that gets her through the long days is the thought of her wife at home with a hot cup of coffee and her masterful massages.

Debbie will admit that she enjoys a good bit of certainty. Her job is about making things add up. She likes knowing that everything’s accounted for, everything fits, everything’s certain. She likes knowing what she’s coming home to every night, her wife and coffee and some cuddling on the couch.

Some people might find it boring, but Debbie likes knowing what her life will look like. Maybe they’ll move, maybe she’ll become a priest or a bartender or anything but a firefighter, maybe they’ll decide they want kids or a dog or that ferret Natalia’s been gunning for. But Debbie knows, through it all, she’ll have Natalia and her everlasting joy for life, borne of the certainty of its ending.

Maybe it’s more faith than certainty. But what’s life without a bit of faith?

Nothing but death and taxes.

#9-1-1 fic #9-1-1 #9-1-1 spoilers #how the fuck do i tag this #natalia x debbie #debbie is really her name i checked imdb #their ship name is death and taxes just btw #pj coined that one #my writing #sort of fic #ficlet #look i ship buck and natalia lowkey BUT #i love lesbians #and the auditor had a ring #so you get this #here you gooo

[ogdoadfates]

It was only a cough: #4 Blazing arrow

Here is the long awaited Chapter four! sorry it took so long and also sorry if it isn’t the best, I don’t think I’m that good at writing percahlia :’3 Here’s a link to the story on ao3!

Percy keeps pace a few steps behind Vex as they make their way to the motel's kitchen.

His mind is going to a million places at once, stress, fear, the ever present anxiety all balling up and becoming a giant lump over bearing his heart. Like someone attached and latched a chain around his heart and is trying to pull it down to his stomach. He’s always had a ever present worry for Keyleth and her health even before the world ended, for fucks sake the woman is like a sister to him, his best friend! And now she’s painfully ill for the time being due to her own lack of self care, which isn’t that just a kick in the gut.

Percy, the man whom thinks of himself like a brother to Keyleth, didn't bother to think about how her own lack of self urgency might lead to her letting herself whittle away. Yet another thing to add to the list of his failings.

But there is nothing he can do now and all he can hope for is to keep a better eye on her from now on. For now though Percy keeps his eyes forward and on Vex, whom seems to have been lost to her own mind since the beginnings of this most recent crisis and he can’t blame her.

Percival can see the stress corrupting her posture, her shoulders knotted and stiff and her gait fast and snipped, the longer they walk the worse it gets. Till eventually he can’t handle it anymore and grabs her arm and takes her into what appears to be a janitor's closet.

“I know this is going to sound redundant considering everything but, are you okay?” Percival says looking into Vex’s eyes, to which she averts meeting. “Vex, please.” He begs her. She releases a long sigh and slumps against the wall.

“I don’t know, it’s just getting a bit much I guess. Medicine is so hard to come by and Keyleth needs it more than most even more so with the fact if keyleth is right soon everything's going to be encased in ice basically and she’s always done worse in the cold.” She says quietly trailing off at the end, Percy’s shoulders slump as he takes Vex into a hug which she gladly returns, holding onto him tightly.

“We’ll check the maps again, maybe there's a small clinic we missed that's on our way?” Even when saying it he doesn’t have much hope, they double checked every damn place they’d pass on their journey to be as efficient as possible. But the idea of going forward with no meds? Not a rather pleasant thought.

“We might need to visit that one hospital in the next city.” As soon as the words leave Vex’s lips Percy’s entire body feels drained of his blood, as if he’d been submerged in a glass cage full of mosquitos for days.

Hospitals were the worst places to scavenge, not only because they usually are swarmed with the undead but survivors found at hospitals are never not hostile. Percy remembers a rather bad encounter they had during the early days, they almost lost Pike that day.

Noticing his sudden frigid posture Vex sighs. “I know it’s a risk but meds are a necessity not a want, fuck it’s not even just for Keyleth’s sake.” She releases him from their embrace to stare into his anxious eyes. “One bad infection and a person can die, and if it’s something that can spread? We’d drop like flies before we even were aware of it.”

Vex watches as Percy processes the information before he releases a ever so slightly shaking breath, nodding. “Yes, you’re..You're right..Fuck I do not wish to visit another one of those gods forsaken places.” Vex agrees and she knows everyone else would too, but what choice do they have? In this world even the most mild of illnesses can speak death for anyone.

“I know darling, let’s just hope Kiki’s right and the in coming cold makes the dead slower.” And that the hospital isn’t already picked clean.

“She hasn’t been wrong about the weather's effect on things yet.” He says before he smiles a little. “On a lighter, less dreary point, did you notice what Vax grabbed during our last stop?” Vex knows he's trying to distract her-himself as well probably-, they should be going and seeing what the others have found and if it’s useful, but Vex can’t help but let him. She needs a damn break or she’ll finally lose it.

“Can’t say I did, he’s always grabbing something ridiculous.” She says with a fond roll of her eyes, Percy chuckles.

“He grabbed a damn fidget spinner, a bright and garish pink one with what seemed to be little daisies on it, pretty sure he gave it to Grog too.” Vex snorts before releasing a few chuckles at the pure absurdity of her brother’s antics, though sweet and good for morale it is still at times hilarious.

He smiles at her and gods does she love this man, she never thought that she'd ever end up with a man who looked at her the way Percival does. Love and admiration dance within his soft gaze which she can’t help but return. “Thank you, darling.” She says barely above a whisper but just loud enough for him to hear.

They’ve been through so much together even before the world ended and she’s not sure how well she’d have survived without his love and care.

Vex raises her hand and cups his check to which he leans into the comforting contact before he reaches and takes her hand, bringing it up to lay a light kiss to her knuckles.

She takes her hand out of his gentle grasp, letting his hand fall to his side as she cups his other cheek. Leaning forward and kissing him, his hands coming up to rest at her waist and kissing her back.

The two only separating when they need air, Vex’s arms coming to rest around his neck. “We should probably go check on Pike and Grog.” He says softly, gently rubbing his thumb along her waist in a comforting manner.

“I Think they’ll be fine for a few more minutes.” Vex says before leaning back in.

#apocolaypse au #percahlia #percy de rolo #percy x vex #vex #vex'ahlia #criticalrole #critical role #criticalrole fanfic #critical role fanfiction

[nhstadler]

A/N: So, I wasn’t going to post this because I wasn’t sure if this scene might give away too much, but since I got a lot of requests to post another James POV and I feel absolutely terrible for not being finished with the new chapter yet (I’m honestly working on it!) I decided to publish this bit here. 

I have a lot of these snippets from James’s POV because it helps me to understand him better and the way he acts, but they are often kind of spoilers for the story so I can’t post all of them. I took out one bigger reveal that I wrote into this scene to not take away from the main story, but I hope you enjoy this little glimpse into James’s story nonetheless.

For orientation purposes: This scene happens after Chapter 38: An Anthology of Almosts, in which Henry Pennington showed up at the Three Broomsticks.

B A T H R O O M F L O O R A E S T H E T I C S

I’m pathetic; like this, slumped over the toilet bowl like a heap of misery, my brain takes delight in throwing tonight’s highlights at me in a never ending sequence of awfulness. Of course she’d end up with someone like Pennington; fucking wholesome, well bred, all-around nice guy Henry Pennington.

Fuck.

“Mate.” Freddie is frowning at me, looking so worried that I instantly want to tell him I’m OK. Unfortunately, the alcohol in my system has other plans.

“Fuck, James, why did you get this shitfaced?” Augustus says when the retching finally subsides and I can rest my cheek against the blissfully cool toilet seat for a minute. I’m fairly certain my exorcism isn’t quite finished yet.

“Fuck off… Like you’re never pissed…” I slur, barely able to keep my eyes open. It’s a dick move to insult my friends when they’re spending the wee hours of their Sunday morning on the cold bathroom floor with me, making sure that I don’t choke on my own vomit, but I’m still too out of it to be even vaguely coherent.

“You’re beyond pissed.”

“Here, drink this.” 

I open my eyes to find Freddie holding a water bottle out to me, but my limbs feel more like decorative appendages at this point. Even reaching for it is an effort - one that is only successful because Freddie practically presses the bottle into my hand -  but I’m unable to bring it to my mouth.

I close my eyes, trying to breathe through a fresh wave of nausea as I let my head drop back against the wall. 

“James! Oi, Jamie!” Freddie’s voice is urgent as he grabs me by my shoulders, shaking me with all the ferocity of a really good friend trying to keep his unsavoury drunk mess of a cousin from slipping into unconsciousness. 

“I’m here.” I force my eyes to open but my head is too heavy to lift. Gravity is pulling on me - smothering me - and all I want to do is to give in and pathetically curl up on the floor until the room stops spinning.

“Remind me again why you did that to yourself?”

I try to focus on Augustus, but he keeps swimming in and out of focus; much like my thoughts, which are scrappy and jumbled and all about Seth. “I should go talk to Woodley.” I peel my back off the wall, just to end up slamming my head against it instead.

“It’s three in the morning, mate.” Freddie has put a hand on my shoulder when I once again try and fail to get to my feet like a confused bird that has crashed into a window. “And you can barely stand. Drink your water, come on.”

“Fucking Merlin, he’s a mess.” I can hear Augustus say in a low voice as I struggle with the water bottle, tipping most of its contents down my chin instead of into my mouth. “Maybe we should get him to Hagrid.”

I shake my head, which is a very bad idea considering everything is already spinning violently around me. “No, I’ll be alright,” I slur, even though it doesn’t feel like I will be at this point, and close my eyes again against my swaying surroundings. “Fuck, why do I feel like shit?”

“Well, you drank half your weight in Fire Whiskey, so…” Someone - I don’t know who - says and I snort, because this is so dumb; all of it. 

I can’t do this. I can’t feel like this every time she looks at me like she knows I’m full of shit. Like all she’s ever going to see in me is a mildly amusing diversion. I’m that guy she drunkenly snogs, not the guy she’d ever smile at like that; like she was smiling at Pennington tonight.  

“I really like her.” I don’t think I meant to say the words out loud, but I can hear them tumble out of my mouth like they’ve been waiting at the tip of my tongue for forever. And though they are slurred and barely intelligible, they are terrifying.

“Yeah, we know.” Freddie sighs and I can feel his hand on my cheek, patting me softly. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

#hntbaw #hpfanfiction #nextgen #fanfiction #jamessiriuspotter #hownottobeawoodley #james pov #aesthetics #aesthetic

[neverendingparable]

Challenge 1 - The Phone Call

WARNING: mentions of parental death, alcohol abuse, domestic disputes.

CALL UP YOUR BROTHER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. IF HE ANSWERS, HANG UP AND CALL AGAIN UNTIL YOU GET HIS VOICE MAIL.

TELL HIM ABOUT THE WORST THING HE EVER DID TO YOU. BRING UP EVERY UPSETTING DETAIL. TELL HIM YOU DO NOT FORGIVE HIM.

SEND US THE RECORDING.

W.BG

~

Stellan stares at the text through the blurry haze of alcohol, his mind fighting off fatigue and incredulity. They want him to do...what?

What kind of cruel, twisted joke is this?

He should delete the text, block the number and go to sleep. What the hell was he thinking, giving away a number to some assholes on the internet. It isn’t his own personal number but still, people can track you in all kinds of ways. They somehow know he has a brother. That is creepy on its own.

He shakes his head and puts the phone down, reaching for a glass of water. His hand curls around his half empty bourbon glass instead.

“…”

~

Hey, this is Stanley! I’m not available right now, but I will get back to you as soon as I can! Leave a message please! Have a nice day!

“Heyy...Stanley. This is Stellan. I’m a little drunk, I’m sure you can hear it in my voice. Just a little whiskey though, nothing to worry about. I mean, you’re going to worry anyway. You always worry, or you always act like you worry, despite being younger than me. It’s honestly kind of annoying, but that’s not why I called.”

It is like a train wreck, Stellan finds. He sees himself slumped over the kitchen counter, phone pressed tightly to his ear, the other hand clutching his once again full glass of whiskey. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this, he knows this is a bad idea and he hates himself for entertaining it, but he doesn’t stop because the second he slows down, his thoughts will creep back in and he’d rather sit here at three am and ruin his relationship with his brother than lie in bed and think about the gaping void in his chest that eats him alive in the most painful way possible.

When their father died, there was numbness for a while. Stellan felt numb when he received the news, he felt numb when he called Stanley, he felt numb when he organized the funeral and he felt numb when he watched the coffin lower into the ground and get buried under mounds of dirt.

And then the pain set in, slowly spreading from his chest outward until he found himself crouching on the kitchen tiles, gasping for breath, certain he was going to be put into the ground just like Stanford Sommers had been a week prior.

The panic attacks didn’t fully go away but they felt less insurmountable when his head was clouded over with alcohol. He believed he could think better when he couldn’t feel anything but the stinging warmth of intoxication, even though he would be useless the next day from the killer hangover. It didn’t matter though. He would just do it all over again, the next time he felt helpless.

Stanley has been insufferably supportive. Stellan knows he handles grief in a different way; Stanley had booked a counselor soon after the funeral, joined a support group and started reading books about how to best handle the loss they both suffered. Even when he cried at the funeral, it was a quiet, collected cry, like he had practiced how to best do it.

It’s unfair to think that way about his brother, but in the face of his own helplessness, Stellan had started to feel resentment at how well Stanley was holding up.

The fight came only two weeks after their father’s death, one week after the funeral.

Stellan recounted it all into the phone.

“Do you remember the fight, Stanley…? Yeah, that one.” He slurs, once again feeling horror well up at what he’s about to put his brother through. “How did it even get started, I think you were trying to convince me to go to therapy with you or whatever. Oh- no, no, no. You booked a counseling session for us both without even asking me if I wanted to go. I know you were just trying to be nice but- really, Stanley? Just thinking about it makes me angry all over again.”

He straightens up, gritting his teeth. “I’m not some kid who needs his brother to hold his hand through grief, Stanley. I’ve felt it before, when Mom left us for some fucking asshole. I was old enough to remember that, you were sheltered from the worst of it by Dad. You always were. No matter what happened, I had to carry the burden of knowing how bad it had gone while you were coddled and protected. You never knew how bad it was, Stanley. And now you don’t get to pretend you’re better at grieving than me. You actually had the gall to snap at me when I told you this, like I went too far reminding you of it. At least Mom is still alive. At least you can see her whenever you want because you’re fucking shameless and can’t pick up the hint when someone doesn’t want your presence in their life. You got angry at me like I’m in the wrong when you’re the one who thinks he can bullet journal and meditate his father’s death away?

Dad is dead and you just put it on your to-do list, like it’s just another chore to get you through the day. Do the laundry, check. Take out the trash, check. Mourn for Dad, check. Tell your older brother he’s killing himself and pour his alcohol out when he’s not home because you’re ‘worried’ for his health, fucking check. If I want to go the same way Dad went then it’s my fucking right, Stanley.

You don’t get to make choices for my life when you’re breezing through your own like nothing can ever fucking touch you..”

He’s yelling now, unsure how much is even coherent and the tears are hot on his face, his chest is no longer a gaping hole but full of fire, full of rage. He wants to fight, he wants Stanley to pick up the phone so he can shout back, he wants to feel anything other than the looming emptiness that will crash over him the second he hangs up the phone and so he keeps shouting, he keeps talking.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re even capable of feeling anything. Perfect Stanley, who always says and does and thinks and feels the right fucking thing trying to tell me how to live my fucking life like you have the slightest hint of how it’s like to be me. I grieved for Mom and I grieved for Dad and you’re out there like nothing ever happened. Moving on with your life after not even a month has passed, it’s like you never even cared to begin with. I- I hate how you do it.”

Tears fall onto the kitchen counter, the alcohol impeding his ability to hold back sobs.

“I hate how good you are with keeping your feelings together, I hate how unaffected you are. I hate how you make me feel like I’m broken for not being able to move on as quickly as you. I hate this. I hate talking with you about this, Stanley. I wish you would just stop coming over, I wish you would stop trying to help me, I don’t need your help, I don’t need you.”

Stellan gasps for air as he chokes on the next words, his voice strangled and weak.

“I hate how you’re forgetting to mourn Dad. And- and I don’t forgive you for it.”

The phone clatters as it falls onto the counter and for a while, Stellan just stands there and weeps into his hands. It doesn’t feel like relief. It feels like he’s dying, the walls crashing in around him and finally pulling him under. It doesn’t look like there’s a way out this time, and all he can do is wait for the inevitable darkness to take him.

He doesn’t know when he uploads the recording and presses send, his body is on autopilot, doing what it needs to do. Maybe he wants to be punished for what he just poured into Stanley’s voicemail. One more person to witness how far he’s depraved himself.

He drops his phone on counter once more and then stumbles to the couch, where he quietly weeps until exhaustion takes him.

~

Stellan awakes groggily about three PM to the sound of buzzing. He blearily sits up, his mind in a heavy fog. Just how much has he had to drink yesterday?

The events don’t come back yet, not until he stumbles over to the kitchen and picks up his phone to see who is making all that noise.

STANLEY IS CALLING…

All at once, everything comes back to him. The drunken voicemail, the shouting, those hateful words….

He presses ANSWER before he could chicken out. He made this mess. He needs to face it.

“Hey, Stel!” Stanley’s chipper voice is on the other end of the line.

“H...hey…?” Why isn’t he mad?

“Oh, tough night, huh? You sound horrible, no offense!” Stanley laughs lightly, and then launches into the next part of the conversation. “Listen, Dad and I are going to go drive out of the city this weekend, we thought it would be nice to take a walk in the warm weather today! Do you want to come along?”

“...Dad?”

“Yes, Dad and I! ….hello? Stel? Are you still there?”

The fight. The funeral. The dreaded phone call. It never happened. Reality comes crashing down around Stellan. It never happened. It never happened. He remembers a time when it did happen but- but he just saw his Dad yesterday. He looked just like how he had before the death that never occurred, tired but happy. He had mentioned something about a weekend getaway too and-

“Earth to Stellan!”

“S-sorry.” He feels sick. Part of it is from relief. “I- I’ll have to call you back, Stanley. Sorry. I’ll think about it.”

“No need to feel sorry! We’d love to have you there too!”

“Okay. Yeah. Thanks.”

“Drink some water, Dummy! I’ll talk to you later. Bye!”

Click.

Stellan fumbles with his phone, checking the call history. The phone call from last night is gone, but the text from ‘WOE.BEGONE’ is still there.

Someone had undone the conversation and his father’s death while he was passed out on the couch last night. But why? For what? Was this part of the game? And...what’s going to happen next?

#wbg au #parent death #death mention #alcohol tw #alcoholism tw #the real stanley #stanley #drabble

[anneimaginesundertale]

Happy SO snaps — angry outburst, forgive me, going self indulgent again but with Blue? Since me and Blue have the same problem of people not taking us seriously cause we look younger than we are, I could see myself having a bad day and snapping

Self indulgence is encouraged here, and you know it! Here’s what happens if Blue doesn’t come rescue you from the Karen at work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You let the door slam shut behind you and kicked off your shoes, letting them land where they might.

Blue called from the kitchen. “Is that you, love? Sit down! I’ll be right there with you!”

You sat, but only because your feet were aching. Your mood simmered and bubbled. You could still hear that bitch shrieking at you, making demands, giving commands…

Blue bustled out carrying a plate of cookies and a glass of milk. “Hi, sweetie!” he said, setting both things down. “Did you have a good day?”

“No.” You couldn’t help the nasty snapping tone of the word. “No, as a matter of fact, I didn’t. I had a really, really shitty day, and you treating me like a kid who just came home from school isn’t helping. I don’t need milk and cookies. I’m not five. Just leave me alone!”

For a moment, Blue looked taken aback. You’d rarely snapped at him like this. You watched your husband’s face flicker with a range of emotions before he finally settled on a stiff and forced smile. “Okay,” he said, and he picked up the milk and cookies again. “I’ll put them in the kitchen for if you do want them later. And I’ll see you later.” He reached out for just a moment through your bond, sending a little trickle of love and comfort, and then walked away.

You slumped down into the couch cushions, feeling worse and worse. You didn’t even try to stop the tears.

A little while later, once you’d cried a really good cry, you went looking for Blue. You found him out in the backyard, weeding the flowers. He was pulling things up with a manic energy you hadn’t really seen in him before.

“Blue?” you said hesitantly, reaching out through your bond as much as with your voice.

He turned around and his eye lights turned into hearts. “Ray!” He dropped the dandelion he was holding and hurried over to you. “Are you feeling better now?”

You nodded. “I’m sorry, love,” you said. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

He closed the distance between you and wrapped his arms around you. “I know why you did,” he said. “You said you had a bad day. It’s okay. I didn’t mean to baby you. I just like to pamper you when you get home. But I don’t have to anymore, if you don’t like it.”

You leaned against him, relishing the feeling of his soul humming against your chest. “No,” you said. “I do like it, most days. I like having you to take care of me. I just…there was this lady at work today who just totally treated me like I was about four years old and stupid. She went on and on about how I didn’t know how to do my job, and I couldn’t read, and why didn’t I just go back to school…” You groaned. “You know how it is.”

Blue hummed agreement. “I hate when people do that,” he said. He held you for a few more minutes. Then the two of you headed inside and enjoyed the milk and cookies. You’d talk more about the argument later, and about how to handle bad days in the future. And, once Blue got a description of the nasty lady who had had it out with you, you had a good revenge plotting session as well.

#pureangleda #blue and ray #us sans #us sans x reader #drabble #imagine #what if prompts

[wiw3]

Approaching Equilibrium; Playing with the Dials

Blargh. This is some shit, isn’t it? My voice doesn’t feel like my voice as much as it usually does. I’m sober a month starting today, and it’s starting to encroach on unbearable. Reality is terribly-difficult to cope with lately, but I’ve been meditating, sitting in my room and eating breakfast in silence.

I stare out of the window and listen to the birds chirp, and I’m not sure if it’s working, but I suppose it’s faith in it that would bring me out of the slump I’ve been in. I’ve gotten myself out of my bad living situation, and into a new, slightly-better one. Now, I write from the comfort and safety of my parents’ home, once again. 

It’s pathetic, but at 22 in this economy, I’m without a lot of options, especially after my income was heavily rinsed by two slovenly people with no aspirations, dreams, or any bit of importance inherently attributed to their existence, what-so-the-fuck-ever.

So let’s write something, because it’s been a while, and that guilt is creeping in that you’re secretly disappointing *someone* by not writing. Maybe that someone is myself, I’ll have to think on it for a while before I’m ready to make that assessment.

You’d hope that would be the case, right? That I strike the perfect balance between being true to myself, talking about what I want to talk about, but also crushing the game in the quality of my writing. The Performer’s Trinity, which usually calls for some kind of compromise on one of those pillars of said Trinity.

I’d hope to find attention from babbling, so that it can draw eyes toward whatever project I’m currently digging my nails into, with the God’s-honest-truth being that I haven’t written a page of a script in months that I was happy with; the process is actually grating without a steady schedule and consistent reliability of time.

Maybe it’s my mindset, getting in the way of me being creative. I’m running out of time, every day is another day wasted when I don’t have a job. I think it’s fair to take a day to myself, to hammer out my routine solidly, and try to build a nice, steady foundation to relax more prominently this weekend, but once Monday hits, I’m going to be interviewing around for a position I’ll pretend to care about for the purpose of obtaining mucho dinero.

Job or no job, though, this is where I leave you. I’m slowly adjusting myself and what works versus what doesn’t from a writing standpoint, and I feel like I’ll always be doing that, from this point, onward.

So enjoy it, watch it, laugh at it, or with it, or just ignore it if it’s not your cup, but just know that I’ll be here, consistently-inconsistent with the types, lengths, and subjects of nerdological rants.

I’m sincerely sorry.

#writing #blog post #self help #foundational #building something #lot of potential

[fitrahgolden]

I wrote a Lilies and Soap drabble. Hope you enjoy.

“What happened? All of a sudden, it feels like I’m shadow boxing.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ve given up. We don’t give up. You’re messing up our…” Kate gestured vaguely between them. “You know, ‘creative process.’ Keep fighting with me.”

“No.”

“No? Why not? We need to finish this bit.” Kate sat back down at the keyboard. Curious, her eyes followed Anthony as he moved to sit beside her on the bench. Kate started playing the incomplete phrase they had been bickering over, but Anthony put his hands on top of hers. Once they were stilled, he captured her gaze.

There was silence for a few moments before he spoke, softly. “We’ll finish it tomorrow.”

Kate’s eyes narrowed, her voice still light and conversational. “Why? Do you suddenly have something better to do?”

Anthony’s response was a dry chuckle. “I hope so.”

Kate searched his eyes, shaking her head. “Anthony, what the hell is going on?”

“I’d like to kiss you.” His eyes were still relentlessly boring into hers.

Kate surprised Anthony with a knowing, “ah.” Her hands moved off the keys, and Anthony’s followed them into her lap.

“Can I?”

Kate looked to the ceiling in mock consideration before looking at Anthony again. “Yes, you can. Go on, then.”

Anthony’s grin felt ridiculous and wonderful. He leaned in, Kate following suit, before he schooled his features and asked, his lips centimeters from hers, “I can… what?”

Kate was confused again. She backed away. “What? You just said–”

“Now I want you to say it.”

Kate released their hands, which had been clasped. “Ugh, for Christ’s sake.”

As she got up to cross the room, Anthony laughed, “Lamb, Kate, Kathani, all you have to do is–”

Kate grabbed her bag and turned to him, her face a beautiful mix of frustration, annoyance, and, yes, arousal. “You want a game of chicken?”

Anthony rose from the bench to gather his things, sparing glances at Kate as she stood with her arms crossed at the studio door, waiting, ostensibly because they had driven there together.

“By all means, take your sweet time, Tony.”

Anthony sauntered towards the door, his bag slung over his shoulder. Once he reached Kate, Anthony lifted her chin with his finger, bringing their lips back to the brink. This time, Kate kept up an impressive poker face. “Just tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it. With wild abandon.”

Kate’s resolve faltered for a brief moment, but Anthony caught it and smiled, smug.

She looked like a petulant child. She looked adorable. “I. Want. To. Leave.”

Anthony cackled as they exited the studio–straight into a downpour of rain.

“Fuck!” Kate backed up against the door, underneath the poor excuse for an awning.

“The car isn’t far. Let’s just make a run for it.” Anthony extended her hand for Kate to take it.

She exhaled sharply before moving to take his hand. A bright flash of lightning and booming thunder had her retreating back inside. Anthony followed.

Kate slumped against the hallway wall before sliding down to the floor. “Fucking pop up storms. How are we both already drenched?”

Anthony sat against the wall opposite Kate, concern written all over his face. “It sounds like it’s right over us. It’ll pass soon.” He pulled out his phone. “Want me to check?”

Kate’s gaze was fixated on the door, but she answered quickly. “Yes.”

After a few moments, Anthony held up the radar image on his screen. “See, Lamb? It won’t be long at all.”

Anthony stared at Kate as she stared at the door. He’d seen her like this several times. He knew she didn’t need help, that this one wasn’t too bad. 

After about 10 minutes, Kate turned to Anthony, eyebrows raised. “Tony?"

"What do you need?"

"Will you check?”

“The radar, or can I open the door?”

“The door, please.”

Anthony hopped up and opened the door about a quarter of the way.

“All’s clear. Well, it’s still spitting, but I can see some stars, and it’s pretty quiet.” He reached out to Kate. “Shall we, Lamb?”

Kate took a deep breath before getting up and taking Anthony’s hand. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Anthony put his arm around Kate’s shoulders as the rain misted them on the way to her car. Once they reached it, Kate leaned against the door as Anthony was moving to open it for her. “Um… Are we getting inside?”

“If I told you I wanted you to kiss me right now, would you think it was because of the storm?”

“Hmm.” Anthony put his hands against the car door on either side of Kate, leveling their gaze. “No. If you tell me that’s what you want, I wouldn’t think that.”

“Why not?” Kate tilted her head, curious.

“You’ve never kissed me after a storm before.” Anthony reached to twirl a lock of Kate’s wet hair around his finger.

“I’ve never kissed you at all.”

“You know what to do to change that, if that’s what you want.”

Kate’s eyes volleyed between Anthony’s lips and eyes. “Tony?”

“Yes, Lamb?” Anthony’s whispered.

“I’d like you to kiss me.”

Kate had barely finished her sentence before she felt the force of Anthony’s body against hers, the gasp she let out immediately being swallowed by Anthony’s mouth. He dropped his bag to the ground before grabbing hers from her hands and doing the same, wet pavement be damned. He placed his hands on either side of her neck and pushed her chin up with his thumbs. She welcomed his tongue into her mouth as her hands fisted his jean jacket.

When it didn’t seem as if she would push him away, one of Anthony’s hands moved to the back of Kate’s head. The other moved down, temporarily stopping at her breast before continuing its journey down to the hem of her pleated skirt. Kate widened her stance to bracket one of Anthony’s legs, pulling him impossibly closer by his jacket.

Again, Anthony waited for a few moments for Kate to stop him. When those moments passed, he leaned his head back before resting their foreheads together, letting them catch their breath while also allowing himself to look directly into her eyes as he glided his fingers up her inner thigh. Staring back at him, challenging him, Kate moved to start unbuckling his belt. It took reaching past her knickers and hearing her sharp intake of breath for Anthony to tap out. He took a step back and raised his hand up, forcing himself to ignore Kate’s desperate whimper.

“Shit. We can’t do this here.”

“No?” Kate’s doe eyes almost had him taking it back immediately. Almost.

“Kate, please don’t do that. I’m not gonna fuck you against your car in public.”

“But you are gonna fuck me?”

“Jesus, you are killing me. Yes, if you’ll allow it.”

“I’ll allow it.”

Anthony closed the space between them again, and once their lips were barely touching, he whispered, “You’ll allow… what?”

Kate pushed him away. “Nothing, if you keep entertaining yourself with how cute you think you’re being.”

He laughed as she let him open her door. “I am gonna need to hear it, Lamb.”

“I promise you will if you’d just get in the damn car.”

#anthony x kate #bridgerton #kanthony #kanthonyedit #kate and anthony #kate sharma #kate sheffield #kate x anthony #kate bridgerton #bridgerton au #anthony bridgerton #lord bridgerton #anthony and kate #lilies and soap au #lilies and soap

[never-enough-whump]

Out Of Spite

Whumpril Day 6: Bad Coping Mechanisms

Summary: In the midst of her divorce, Milah seeks out Killian and starts to open up about having been abused. Set in the same modern AU as Second Time is Not the Charm but can be read as a standalone.

Read on AO3

--

Killian answers the knocking to find Milah standing outside his front door. She's wearing a formal pants suit, a large glass bottle in one hand, and her eyes are puffy as if she's been crying.

"Hey," she says, voice hoarse.

"Hello," he responds, giving her an encouraging smile. Are you all right? he almost asks, but it's too obvious she isn't.

"Can I come in?" she asks. Killian nods and opens the door wider, just as she lifts up the bottle, already open and drinken out of. "I brought rum. Thought it might help me convince you."

"You don't ever have to convince me to hang out with you," he says earnestly.

Milah gives him a long, hard stare. "Of course I do," she grumbles and pushes past him into the apartment. Killian closes the door behind her and doesn't argue. He's had his own "of course I do"s over the years (still has a few of them), so he knows it's better not to fight the issue.

Killian leads Milah into his dining room and sits with her at the table. She wordlessly passes him the bottle of rum. He takes a distracted drink, recognizing it instantly as the cheapest variety the liquor store sells, something he hadn't had to resort to for a long time. “What are you doing here?” he asks when it becomes obvious that she isn’t going to volunteer an explanation on her own.

“I’m getting drunk to spite my husband.” She spits the word "husband" with disgust and immediately takes a drink as if to wash it away. Then, her shoulders slump, making her look even more defeated than she already had. “I’m sorry to show up unannounced,” she says. “But I can't have alcohol where I'm staying and the bar's too public, so I figured here…"

"You're always welcome here," he reassures her, looking deep into her eyes and wishing there was some way he could communicate just how much he means it. "But," she breaks the gaze quickly, eyes darting to the side then fixating on the bottle of rum where it sits on the table between them, “how, exactly, are you going to spite him by being self destructive?" In Killian's extensive experience, drinking never actually helps as much as it seems like it will. Sure, it makes him feel better for a time, but once it wears off he's always left with not just the problems he started with, but also the despair of knowing that "feeling better" is so far out of his reach by any other means. And usually a headache. Not that any of that usually stops him, and he knows he should feel worse than he does for his hypocrisy in challenging her like this.

"Self destructive my ass!" Milah bursts out, finally meeting his eyes again, anger flashing in her own. He places a hand on her arm just below her shoulder, trying to comfort her. She sighs and leans slightly toward him, then continues in a much calmer voice. "I haven't gotten drunk in two years because the last time I did, my husband beat me." Killian inhales sharply, unable to entirely contain his shock and horror. He's suddenly acutely aware of his hand on her arm, and his stomach turns with the unwelcome thought of did he hit her here? The thought is almost enough to make him pull away, but he doesn't, knowing she'd see it as a rejection. "And after I had to relive those memories, after I had to humiliate myself by saying that out loud in court, he said 'that means it worked'." Her voice pitches higher but doesn't waver. "If I let him be right, that would be self destructive."

Killian can't argue with that. He understands the need to prove people wrong. He knows what it's like to have someone say something so terrible about him that he'd do anything to make it not be true. He knows what it's like to hear someone try to justify hurting him. His heart aches at the thought of Milah having those same experiences.

"He was never right," Killian says softly. "Even if you never touched another drop of alcohol, it wouldn't mean he should've done it. But," he grins, trying to shake off the seriousness of the moment, "a little spite never hurt anybody. Should I get us something nicer for the occasion?" He pulls back, letting his fingers trail down her arm as he prepares to go into the kitchen for a bottle of higher quality rum. Before he can stand, she catches his hand with hers.

"This is fine," she says. She takes another drink, as if to prove her point, and doesn't let go of his hand.

They pass the bottle back and forth, hands still clasped, and Killian does the one thing that has never failed to help Milah relax. He talks. He tells her about driving home late at night from an evening repair up north earlier that week - how he had noticed the sunset and stars so much more for just that slight change of perspective. About the one and only vacation he and Liam had taken as children - a camping trip to the desert in New Mexico with their one and only decent foster family. How ironic, isn't it, that for someone who loves the sea as much as he does, his happiest childhood memory would be of the driest place he'd ever been? He tells her about storms he's been caught in and has her laughing along to the most fascinating ways he's seen people try to fix their boats with duct tape.

He could keep talking for hours more, but when the bottle runs out, so does Milah's contentment. "I should go," she says fretfully and Killian feels a pang of disappointment.

"You could stay," he offers. "You should, in fact." Their hands are still joined and despite his words he uses the contact to help her to her feet. She spins toward him but stumbles with the momentum. He hurriedly grabs her shoulders, swaying with her as he squeezes her to his side to keep her upright. For a brief, flustered moment once they've regained their balance, Killian notices how good it feels to have her tucked under his arm like this, but, given the circumstances, he doesn't dwell.

"And why should I?" Milah asks playfully, and it takes Killian a second to remember what words of his she's responding to. "Do you think my husband's lurking outside your door?"

"But of course," Killian says, feigning seriousness. "Lurking like a crocodile." The statement isn't funny, but the laughter it elicits from them both has them nearly toppling over again.

Milah forces a sigh, keeping up the game of exaggeration. "I suppose I'll be sleeping on your lumpy old couch, then," she says, casting an entertainingly dubious look at the cracked blue leather of the couch that's just as lumpy and old as it had been accused of. Killian gently angles her away from the couch, toward his bedroom door.

"Ah! Now what kind of gentleman would that make me? You can sleep in my bed and I will graciously take the lumpy old couch."

He's reluctant to let her go, but he does, promising "I'll get you something to wear" as he goes to grab a t-shirt and pair of flannel pants from the dresser. He turns to see Milah sitting on the bed and is about to make another joke, but stops when he sees the way she's looking at him. Her eyes are shining with that same astonishment, almost confusion, at being treated kindly that he remembers from the night they met. The more he learns about her husband, the more he understands that look. And the more he hates the man responsible.

"Thank you," she whispers as she takes the clothes from him.

Milah hadn't been drunk in two years, is the thought he can't get out of his head that night. Laying on his couch in the dark, Killian thinks back to all the times he'd drank with her during those two years, and the times before, trying to pinpoint when she had started caring if she got drunk. When had she gotten more cautious, started ordering fewer drinks? Were her drinking habits the only thing that had changed? If he can just pick out the point at which it happened, then - what? The knowledge won't help him. If he can work it out in retrospect, it won't absolve him of not noticing at the time. It will do quite the opposite, because the real question isn't about the alcohol. It's: when had she come to the bar covered in bruises of her husband's doing? It's: how could he have helped if only he had realized?

–

Milah gets up while he's making breakfast the next morning. She comes into the kitchen, dressed again in her pants suit with the jacket over her arm, and leans against the counter.

"Thanks for keeping me company last night," she says. It sounds stiff and Killian winces internally. They were friends, at least as far as Killian was concerned, and he'd even go so far as to consider her his best friend (his best friend who he'd been falling in love with for as long as he'd known her, but that might or might not be relevant). Nights like last night were what friends did, but maybe Milah didn't see it that way. Maybe she really had only come for a place to get drunk and really thought he'd only sat with her because she was in his home. "I'm sorry," she adds, catching him by surprise.

"What ever for?"

"For last night. Getting drunk like that was a bad idea and I shouldn't have done it."

"And why does that mean you need to apologize to me?" She snorts at the question like the answer should be obvious.

"Because you had to deal with me, of course." Suddenly, it clicks. Why she'd been so quick to try to leave, why she was acting so odd about it now - it wasn't that she didn't want to be here. She genuinely thought he didn't want her here.

"Milah, no, there's no 'dealing with' about it. I like spending time with you."

"Even when I do stupid shit like drink half a bottle of rum because I'm too caught up in how I'm apparently just some kind of trained animal that can be beaten into - " she stops and furiously wipes tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry. You don't want to hear this."

Killian leaves the stove to lean across the counter towards her. "If you want to tell me, I will listen," he says, taking her hands in his. She shakes her head."That's the thing. I don't know if I want to tell you. I don't know if I was ready for you to know… that. I don't want it to change things.""It doesn't have to." Killian gives her hands a light squeeze and turns back to the stove, checking the bacon and starting to get dishes out of the cupboards. "Breakfast?" he asks.

Milah smiles. "Yes, please."

#whumpril2023 #whumprilday6 #bad coping mechanisms #whump #emotional whump #lady whump #trauma #support character #comfort #once upon a time #milah #fanfic #my writing

[hylianengineer]

Comfortember Day 8: Afraid to ask for help

I almost didn’t post this fic, because it’s intensely personal to me, so please be kind. This is a story about chronic pain, and being scared to ask for help because no one has ever taken you seriously before. I wanted to write a story in which someone does take it seriously, and does try to help, because everyone deserves to be believed about their own experiences with their own body.

Content warnings: chronic pain, angst with eventual comfort, mentions of past bad experiences with medical professionals, hiding medical problems.

“Caitlyn? What’s wrong?” Hugh sees her wince as she rolls her shoulders, and it's clear to him that she’s in pain.

“Nothing, I’m just sore today,” she answers, perhaps a bit too quickly.

Hugh is unconvinced, but decides not to press her further. 

The next week at dinner, she seems distracted. She stares off into space and is once again wincing every time she moves. She doesn’t speak much, but when she does the strain is audible in her voice. 

This time, Paul picks up on it, and is understandably concerned - the kid is slumped against his shoulder like a ragdoll. “Caitlyn, you look miserable. What’s going on with you?”

She lifts her head up to look at him, but the movement is sluggish and stiff. “It’s nothing, my body just does this sometimes. My joints hurt.”

Now even more worried, Paul looks to his husband with a question in his eyes.  Did you know about this? Is she okay? 

“Caitlyn, you never told me that.” Hugh tries to keep his voice neutral, not wanting to scare her off, but it worries him to know that she’s been suffering and hasn’t felt like she could say anything.

She shrugs, burying her face into Paul’s shoulder, “Didn’t seem relevant.” Her face is turning red, and from her body language it’s obvious that this is the last conversation she wants to be having.

Hugh sighs: he really had thought she was comfortable asking him for help, but it seems she has a few of Paul’s bad habits. “I’m your doctor. If something’s wrong, we need to talk about it. I might be able to help, but I can’t do that if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Caitlyn lets out a frustrated sigh, “I’ve had this for years. I’ve tried bringing it up to other people, doctors from my time, but they didn’t seem worried about it.” A note of shame creeps into her voice as she adds, “And I know I should have told you, when you did my initial physical, but there was a lot going on then. And I just… didn't know how to ask. I was afraid you'd brush it off and not take me seriously, because that's what's happened before. I’m sorry.”

Hugh’s heart breaks at the pain in her voice, and he reaches out to wipe a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m sorry you’ve been dealing with this by yourself, and that you didn’t feel safe coming to me. It’s not right that you asked a medical professional for help and they ignored you. I promise I’ll do better. I promise I’ll listen. So, please, let me help?”

“Thanks, Hugh.” Her voice breaks, “I wish I had more energy right now to actually process that speech, because it was awesome, but I’m not exactly feeling great right now. Can we have this conversation sometime when my entire body isn’t screaming at me?” She lets out a breath that almost could have passed for a laugh - Hugh is very aware that humor is a coping mechanism for her, and that whatever this is has caused her a lot of emotional as well as physical pain. He’s certain she hasn’t yet told him everything. She wouldn’t have tried to hide it from him in the first place unless she had a reason, and it’ll take time to unravel all that. 

So he makes sure his voice doesn’t betray his frustration or worry as he says, “It might be easier to explain what you’re feeling in the moment, but if you’re not up to it right now, that’s okay. We can talk about it whenever you’re ready.”

#comfortember #comfortember 2022 #my writing #my fanfic #this is such a wish fulfillment fic omg #if you relate to this i'm sorry it sucks doesn't it?