#aw this one is v. sweet and earnest

[jucyfruit]

Reeling From Substance Abuse and Questioning God, Julien Baker Sings Through the Pain

by Ilana Kaplan | 1/25/16

When you’re speaking with Julien Baker, it’s easy to forget she’s 20 years old. She communicates about her music and her life with a humble confidence; she describes her favorite songwriters and the experiences she had as a teenager with as if she’s written novels about them. “I want to speak well and be an intelligent person, but not to the degree of being condescending,” says Baker. “I think I accrued a lot of experiences early on.”

With an eloquence beyond her years, you’d be forgiven for wondering if Baker’s ascension was the final act of some strategy, but it’s an accident that her debut record took off at all. The Memphis singer never intended for the songs on Sprained Ankle to go further than Bandcamp. But the music gods had something else in mind for Baker. “I didn’t plan any of this,” Baker tells the Observer. “The fact that this album was released in a formal way was kind of contrary to how I’m used to releasing music, which is sadly limited.”

Baker was used to performing in the band Forrister with her friends, but heading off to college allowed her the freedom to focus on writing her own music. Following a road trip with a friend and a recording session at Matthew E. White’s Spacebomb records, Baker put the record on Bandcamp as she did with her previous work. Soon after, 6131 records asked Baker to pull it down so they could release and promote the record. Baker had never done a structured release—she was accustomed to sending a bunch of random emails and printing out handbills.

‘I acknowledge substance abuse, doubt, fear, sadness and despair in the songs because they’re real emotions that are worth talking about.’

However, Sprained Ankle triggered success for her within the indie music scene—something she never expected. “It’s been a little difficult to acclimate to this world,” says Baker. It’s safe to say Baker’s life since her debut LP’s release has been a bit of a whirlwind—all the while simultaneously studying at Middle Tennessee University.

Sprained Ankle serves as a metaphor for a difficult period of Baker’s life. Dealing with the emotional turmoil that surfaced from a romantic relationship and her separation from her band, the album title came from a joke as Baker’s friends encouraged her to confront her pain. “When you’re a kid and you scrape your knee or sprain your ankle, you have to walk on it to make it better, because if you coddle it, it’ll stay sprained,” explains Baker. “I was like, ‘That’s a great metaphor for my entire life right now—running head forward at pain to assuage the issue.’ ”

Listening to Baker’s music, it’s easy to think you’ve known her your entire life. Her words read like diary entries, which makes sense—the songs were originally just catharsis. It’s a quality she learned from songwriting idols such as Death Cab For Cutie’s Ben Gibbard, mewithoutYou’s Aaron Weiss and Elliott Smith. Gibbard has been a particularly looming influence over Baker’s lyrics. “When I heard the song ‘Title and Registration,’ it totally changed how I thought about songwriting because it’s not overly poetic—he’s having this very mundane experience getting pulled over having to get his registration out, and he sees pictures from an old lover or something,” explains Baker. “All of a sudden it becomes this very relatable, human experience. Then it hurts you.”

That sense of personal connection changed the way Baker thought about songwriting, influencing her to draw from her own life while shaping her music. Baker’s experience with God mirrors that of Weiss—something she’s reflected in her own music and lyrics. “He talks about God in a way that’s not alienating,” describes Baker.

Baker used that vulnerability as a template for recording as therapy: it wasn’t an easy record to write, and it’s certainly not an easy record to listen to, lyrically speaking. But Baker’s heartfelt vocals shine through the confessions she makes about dealing with substance abuse, religious doubt and sadness. “I acknowledge substance abuse, doubt, fear, sadness and despair in the songs because they’re real emotions that are worth talking about,” says Baker of her album.

Substance abuse plays an important role thematically on Sprained Ankle. “I wanna go home, but I’m sick/There’s more whiskey than blood in my veins/More tar than air in my lungs/The strung out call I make,” she sings on “Go Home.” It’s something that’s easier for her to sing about, than speak about, but she does so with a refreshing raw energy. “To admit that substance abuse is something I’ve dealt with in my past baffles a lot of my friends and people I’ve met in the past few years because I’m always the DD, and I’m 100 percent sober,” explains Baker. “It’s something that was a very real issue for me and continues to be because when you have those experiences, I don’t think they ever go away.”

It’s that kind of unrelenting honesty alongside the intimacy of her guitar and haunting vocals that make her storytelling incredibly relatable and hypnotic. She’s used Sprained Ankle as a catalyst to help better herself and help others who may have endured the same experiences. “Choosing to make yourself better and never addressing those issues does a disservice to other people who aren’t there yet and prevents an open dialogue about [substance abuse],” says Baker. “I think it’s necessary to acknowledge those parts of yourself.”

Substance abuse, however, is just one of the topics she covers on Sprained Ankle. Through songs like “Rejoice” and “Go Home,” Baker also sings about her trepidation when it comes to faith.

“One of the reasons why I became disillusioned with God early in my life is because people would be like, Just pray about it and you’ll feel better,’ ” says Baker. “That’s not necessarily how it works. I believe there’s a God that’s listening, but I think that we owe it to ourselves as people who believe in love and compassion to do more than a trite ‘God is listening.’ ” For Baker, it’s about really understanding someone else’s struggle and journey.

Heavy songwriting and dark lyrics aside, Baker maintains a sense of humor about it all. “I saw someone recently, and they said, ‘You quit drinking? You’re not even 21 yet,’ ” says Baker. “I was like, ‘I crammed a lot into a few years.’ “

(x)

#aw this one is v. sweet and earnest #just before she and lucy first met :’) #julien baker #interviews #2016 #january 2016 #archival

[sleepyhead-poll]

BONUS! MOD'S CHOICE POLL!

Mod's Propaganda Under the Cut:

Judai:

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a Yu-Gi-Oh fan. For whatever reason, this series imprinted on me when I was a child and I just never let it go. I've watched the original series, season 0, GX, 5Ds, and Arc V, as well as read the original manga, the GX manga, and the Arc V manga, as well as watched all the movies. The point is: I like Yu-Gi-Oh. There are people who like it more than me, that have watched all the series and what not, but I think I still like it an absurd amount. And out of all the protagonists I know, Judai is my favorite. He's just so lovable, you can't help but like him! He's goofy, he's reliable, he's fun, he has a descent into madness, he's gay, what more could you want in a shounen protagonist? Though being sleepy isn't a major part of him, it's more of a gag of him slacking in class and always going to sleep, it's still super funny and I'm a little sad that he lost in Round 1, though I do like Sonic as well (who he lost to). Give the Slifer Slacker a chance!

Linhardt:

Considering Linhardt is my profile picture at the moment, I don't think I need to justify this too much. But I will anyway. Linhardt is the sleepy crest scholar. Although I will be the first to admit that I am not actually a Fire Emblem fan (and tbh I find the writing in Three Houses kind of bad) (sorry to those who enjoy it) I love Linhardt so much anyway. He's probably my favorite in that very large cost. I love that he's so unapologetically sleepy, like he doesn't care if you scold him to do work, he will do work on his own time. Not only that, but he's actually really smart and dedicated when he wants to be. Linny's friendship with Caspar is really nice, especially since I think someone needs to save Caspar from his awful dad & self-destructive tendencies. Plus, I really like his supports. Especially with Marianne, Hubert, and Edelgard. His supports with Dorothea in Three Hopes is also really nice.

Garfield:

It's Garfield. He's a classic comic. He's a classic meme. Little orange kitty. What more could you possibly want? I love Snoopy, but to be perfectly honest I think Garfield should have gotten as far as Snoopy.

Sleepytime Tea Bear:

Again. He's just a classic. What more would you want but a sleepy bear in pajamas on a chair?

Olruggio:

I'm a big Witch Hat Atelier fan and I love Olruggio. Like yes, I like Orufrey like everyone else, but I also just like Olruggio on his own. I like his scruffy little look and I love the fact that at first he is so intimating but almost immediately he's revealed to be a big softie. I love his light magic motif and I really think it's sweet that he made the thing to keep you warm when you sleep and gave it to the kids-- he's a FATHER. This man needs a nap fr though. Man I need to catch up with this manga.

Osaka:

IT'S OSAKA. Like!!! I don't even know how many clips and comics from Azumanga Daioh make the rounds around Tumblr, but specifically the ones about Osaka are amazing!!! She has the most autistic anime girl swag I love her so much. She's so sweet and earnest and silly... I always lose my mind at "OH MAH GOD!" and she has so many other classics. Like when she makes the Osaka stamp with her eraser or when she struggles to cross the street because she keeps zoning out when the light gets green or when she's distressed about Americans wearing shoes inside... I love her. And to her sleepyheadness, she's always falling asleep in class and whenever she's studying she just starts falling asleep. She's just like me fr...

Takane:

Back in the day I really liked Kagerou Project and so as tribute to my old obsession from middle/high school I have to give a spot to Takane. My favorite part of the series was when we saw flashbacks to the Yuukei quartet and Headphone Actor is still a bop.

Tanaka:

THE REASON WHY I STARTED THIS TOURNAMENT IN THE FIRST PLACE??? Last December during finals I decided to read something light and fun while working and I chose Tanaka-kun is Always Listless because I remember the title from a few years ago when the anime came out and like I loved it SOOOOOO much. He's the ultimate sleepyboy and he's just so funny and relatable. He needs to be carried around by his best friend Ohta and his ultimate goal in life is to minimize as much effort as possible and he's always nodding off and he dislikes being a main character, instead wishing he was a background character... my favorite guy for real.

#judai yuki #jaden yuki #yugioh gx #linhardt von hevring #fire emblem #fire embem three houses #garfield #garfield the cat #jim davis #sleepytime tea bear #sleepytime bear #celestial sleepytime tea #celestial tea #olruggio #orugio #witch hat atelier #tongari boushi no atelier #osaka kasuga #ayumu kasuga #ayumu osaka kasuga #azumanga daioh #takane enomoto #kagerou project #mekakucity actors #tanaka #tanaka kun is always listless #tanaka kun wa itsumo kedaruge #poll bracket #poll tournament #polls

[baladric]

🎈💥🕯️<-- that's meant to be the fandom/social one, the candle emoji is there twice for me (???) and also please don't feel bad for being Earnest it is wonderful and makes me feel more excited about like, being alive in a world where people care deeply about things

see, i agree re: earnestness, it's just didn't know that when it's ME doing it, it's CRINGE? (a;lkdfjalwfd this is a callout for my own fallacious internal voice) thank u and i love u!!!!!!

🎈 Describe your style as a writer; is it fixed? does it change?

ohh this is a good one! i'd say it's a little of both? i notice that my rhythm and diction change depending on what sort of genre i'm writing in or the fandom i'm writing for (my goblin emperor stuff is less florid than, say, my raven cycle fic, and far crunchier than all the unfinished stranger things shit in my docs, which is a lot punchier and quippier [and VIOLENT ;alkdfjwd and ohh what a weird discovery to find that i enjoy writing physical fights]) but! my motivations as a writer stay the same through each piece! anyone who read both my v old king falls am fic and, say, sweet hope (a person that i doubt exists, since these are both WAY too niche) would see that underneath the very different language and social dynamics, the thing i'm really committed to the bit for is healing and vulnerability (and music as essential catharsis). that said, i will always, always abuse the humble adverb a;lkdfjlaw;djsl

💥 Find your least kudos'd fic - say something wonderful about it.

least kudos'd is this charming man, for whom i will say: this is Punchy, Funny and so evocative of the very very important conceit of First Nohecharis Codependency. honestly i'm still very fond of this one!!!

🕯️ Was there a fic that was really hard on you to write, or took you to a place you didn't think it would take you?

surprising probably no one—yes, sweet hope destroyed me. i say in the intro notes to it that it took me 10 months to write, and i'm not lying when i say that a good 2/3 of that time was me refusing to write anything at all because i wrote myself into a corner and broke my own trust in my writing. that story started as a fairly surface level story about fair turnabout—maia, learning to ask for help, and then csevet being forced into a very ugly position that demanded he figure out how to accept help—and it was, to be mean to myself, very fucking contrived and Not Good. i wrote about 25k words of it, looked back at it at the end of one writing session, and then deleted everything but the first half of the first chapter (so that was about 22k words hucked into the ether) and didn't write for about 5 months. it was awful, but my weirdly routine January Writing Frenzy last year yanked a pearl in my hand out of me in a very harried couple of days, and that not only restored my trust in myself, but like. tripled it, at least, and that's when i came back to sweet hope and it became what it is—which, for all the grumbly things i can and do say about it, is still a rose in my mind. lovely and complete and tender, and i do love where it went and what it became. it surprised me again and again, and it made me three times the writer i was, and i'm so grateful for every minute of its conception.

fic writer ask meme!

#aj answers #anonymous ask #ask #ask meme

[heleneplays]

@carewyncromwell @cursebreakerfarrier i see your tags and im:

#@carewyncromwell i am particularly in love with the way you write #ngl remember that one ask abt having had skipped your works in the tag before then deciding one day to read through them and being surprised #that was also me??? like it was such a big mood #ngl i can def say i love how much thought and effort you give in writing ESP with the little details and nuances thar give your chracters #a lot of space to maneuver in a scene and like #im just really awed and i love how sweet and earnest and kind you are #@cursebreakerfarrier we dont interact much but!!! i see you in my dash a lot and honestly i love love LOVE your arts like!!! the style #the color!!! the COMPOSITION #funky and superb 10/10 am in love and respect #and ur so so so kind im honestly doing that pleading emoji in discord #also u both are v cool and honestly im in awe with the energies u both have to interact with other tumblrs while im just here drifting in my #own worlds like a hermit in the woods #anyways yea #thanks so mcuh for ur words im just out here being v soft #replies #personal.txt #mod lee speaks stuff

[glowingbadger]

SFW and nsfw request for Hilda, Marianne, and Dorothea pls!

Three lovely ladies coming right up ~ (I'm keeping things a tiny bit more brief than some other posts for each character since we have three this time around so this doesn't get too crazy long lol- I'm trying to pace myself a little better these days)

SFW (nsfw below the cut)

Hilda:

- Hilda is so fun as a partner, since she always knows how to have a good time without stressing the little things (or the medium things... or the big things...). She fully encourages you to join her in her lifelong effort to live as easily and comfortably as possible, and she hates to see you anxious or stressed. When you're in a bad mood, few people are as relaxing to be around, as she probably has a cute little craft she could use your help on while reminding you that "we're together, right? So between the two of us, we can get as much done with half the effort- so don't worry about the boring stuff!"

- She's the type to have really cute, thoughtful ideas for dates and gifts, but then to play it off completely when you thank or compliment her. She'll downplay gifts with a glib, "Oh, well, I was just in the mood to throw something together- it is nice though, isn't it?" doing her best to hide the please flush across her cheeks. She's confident, of course, but she doesn't immediately want to let on how much effort actually goes into her shows of affection. Overall, she's a little concerned by how her feelings for you make her want to put in effort, so if anyone comments on it, she'll do her best to disregard the conversation and act like her 'normal' self.

Marianne:

- As you might imagine, she needs a lot of assurance that you're sure you want to be with her- it simply seems too good to be true, when she harbors so many deeply seeded doubts about herself. With a good amount of encouragement though, she's a very loyal and affectionate partner. She's great at remembering birthdays, anniversaries and the like, always putting her whole heart into finding just the right token to show you the strength of her feelings. She'll also do her best to say it aloud, but she tends to murmur and stutter her way through her attempts- at least until a good while into the relationship.

- in a sort of cat-like way, her main way of showing her affection is to simply be near you (though of course, she asks over and over whether it bothers you to have her around). She loves to spend time quietly together, resting her head on your shoulder or your lap. The cutest thing is that, when you're relaxing together like this, if you brush her bangs aside and kiss her forehead, or simply smile warmly at her and tell her something simple and sweet, like how lovely her eyes are- and she just melts. Her face burns bright crimson, and she'll try to hide behind her hands, but it's obvious she's just overwhelmingly flattered.

Dorothea:

- Being with Dorothea is sometimes like dating a celebrity- you're asked for details about her and your relationship with her all the time, and you're considered more of a catch simply for being with her. She is, of course, aware of all of this, and simply rolls her eyes at the attention. For as glamorous as she seems, and as 'wild' as others assume your relationship must be, Dorothea actually has a rather classic idea of how relationships go. She enjoys all of the sweet little gestures and day-to-day expressions of affection- even just casually holding hands as you walk through town, or taking a bite of a pastry you hold out for her over tea.

- It's going to take a lot to make Dorothea feel secure enough to truly settle down with one person. It's always been her ultimate goal, of course, and her feelings for you are true and strong- but she's so accustomed to being self sufficient and independent. Best practice is to assure her that she's still more than welcome to exercise that independence as much as it suits her, and that you'll always be there when she does need your support. That level of understanding is a huge comfort to her. Perhaps paradoxically, knowing that she's free to do as she likes actually makes her far more willing to compromise here and there, and be giving and generous to her partner.

NSFW 18+ v

Mostly Gender Neutral, some AMAB

Hilda:

- It might not be a surprise that Hilda loves being coddled and spoiled in bed- but her absolute favorite is receiving oral. Her clit is very sensitive, and going down on her will have her moaning blissfully and arching up from the bed. If you're really devoted, it won't take long to learn how to get her to squirt like this. Pressing the flat of your tongue firmly to her clit and pulsing against her, moaning as you hold onto her thighs make her cum hard, her vision going white as she whimpers out your name.

- In general, Hilda likes to be with a soft dom. She likes a lover who takes the lead and directs her, but isn't too demanding or harsh, instead cooing to her about what a good girl she is for you, how wonderful her body feels, how cute she is when she moans your name. Her favorite position is to have you fucking her from behind with her lower body propped up on a pillow- and with time, she even discovers that she loves having you grab a hand full of her hair and tug on it while you thrust into her. It's a gorgeous view as well, since she has a nicely defined but plump ass that bounces beautifully against you as you buck into her.

- Hilda is quite fond of cockwarming and similar kinks, and the occasional slow, lazy love-making session with you spooning her in bed as your hips sway against her. She likes this relaxing, low-pressure way of feeling intimate with you, and given her clit is so sensitive, it's not like she requires a huge amount of stimulation to cum. She'll gladly spend a night in bed casually chatting as you slide into her and just savor the warmth of her wet cunt swallowing you.

Marianne:

- You're likely to be her first sexual partner, and it's going to take a long while for her to even feel comfortable exposing herself to you. With enough reassurance and a lot of pre-sex fooling around (one night you may just touch each other a bit while making out, then she may be comfortable with your fingers the next time, and so on), she eventually gains the confidence to realize that you do truly want her, and she wants you dearly as well. Eventually, the trust itself becomes oddly arousing to her, and while it will take a long time to discover this, she actually adores being blindfolded while you take your time touching and savoring her body. Being forced to focus so intently on physical sensation clears her mind of her anxieties.

- Marianne is surprisingly vocal in bed, though she doesn't want to be. It's honestly adorable, the way her hands cling to the sheets or to your body, her face a bright pink as she bites on her lip to stifle an adoring moan. Even light touches down the small of her back or up the curve of her inner thigh cause her to catch her breath, looking up at you adoringly with those big, shining eyes. Trying to hold back her moans is something she's not likely to 'grow out of' with experience, but she's so precious when her eyes roll back and she's whining and whimpering just to keep from crying out your name, it's hard to be upset about it.

Dorothea:

- Dorothea knows what she's doing, and she knows it- and she knows that she's tempting. While not an outright Dom by default (though she can definitely be encouraged into that role and she takes to it marvelously), she is confident and direct in bed. She'll smirk as she straddles your hips and runs her hands down your body, commenting on how she just can't wait to see you completely cut loose. In particular, she loves when you try to play cool and act as though she's not driving you mad with desire, only to fall apart as she pleasures you, gasping her name and leaning into her touch, or even breaking your sense of restraint and pinning her to the mattress to ravage her.

- She's not terribly loud in bed, much more likely to whisper sweet, sultry flattery into your ear. When she does let out an earnest moan, it's luxurious and lustful, almost song-like in its own right. Dorothea is also not shy about telling you what she likes or about trading notes on different positions or kinks you may want to try. She knows that everyone has unique desires, and she sees sex as both a bonding experience for the two of you, and as something that should be fun and easily enjoyed by you both.

- Dorothea loves giving tit-jobs and she is incredible at them. Even if you're just using a strap, she loves showing off her body to you, watching the expression of awe, admiration and a touch of disbelief as she puts on a lewd show of bouncing her breasts around your length. Her technique is impressive, and she's good enough at reading people that she'll easily figure out what you like best. Do you want to see the tip of your length pushing up from her cleavage, or would you prefer the warmth of her lips around your tip? How tight do you like her to squeeze her tits around you, and what pace gets you panting and bucking against her? She'll have you figured out in no time.

#hilda valentine goneril #marianne von edmund #dorothea arnault #hilda x reader #marianne x reader #dorothea x reader #fire emblem #fire emblem headcanons #spicy headcanons #fire emblem smut #fire emblem imagines #fe3h #feh #fire emblem three houses #x reader #fire emblem x reader

[tellmewhytheyswoon]

okay hear me out...... dps princess diaries AU. it would probably lean more towards the books because they’re my true love. yes i’m going to write this eventually.... here is my current casting. 

todd as mia, of course. insecure, shy, nerdy, anxious teenager who loves to write, is failing algebra, and finds out he’s a prince all of a sudden? i know in canonical dps, todd is ignored by his family for his older brother, but i think that changing it slightly here is fun: todd isn’t ignored by his family, they love him..... they just ignore his wishes and his grandmother is really mean to him. also, todd speaking french fluently is really cute.

charlie as lilly, the boisterous, annoying best friend who loves todd so much but also is a handful. smart as all hell and always filming his docuseries on public access, charlie tells it like it is. he’s constantly starting shit but he also is an incredible friend. both his parents are psychologists (aka he’s loaded), and he’s constantly trying to psychoanalyze todd (and make him and his stupid brother realize they love each other). 

neil as michael. of course. charlie’s slightly older brother. maybe even smarter than him, but kind of angsty and quiet and sarcastic, unless he’s around the right people. he’s in a band and he stays in his room a lot, but when he isn’t he’s constantly joking (and flirting?) with todd. him and charlie fight like siblings but they’re super close. the best friend’s brother trope is EXTREMELY active in this one. i know that this pulls neil out of the canonical awful parents concept, but i think that michael’s angst (and probable depression) really fits neil, and makes for a fun (slightly angstier) version of the guy we know and love. 

keating as lars (or joe, in the movie). todd’s new bodyguard who is super wise and kind. he doesn’t look as beefy as normal bodyguards, but todd once saw him take down a man who walked suspiciously close to them on the sidewalk, so he doesn’t doubt his abilities. basically the only adult todd can confide in. 

knox as kenny. the sweet, smart, uh... ambitious boy who has the hots for todd (and eventually charlie). he’s smart and writes a lot of secret love notes and is earnest in the sweetest way possible. 

gerard as tina, todd’s other best friend. loves romance novels, kinda quiet, also has a bodyguard (mccalister). an extremely loyal friend and the kindest person you’ll ever meet. true to todd when charlie is being an ass. 

okay, hear me out on this one..... meeks as lana. mean hot boy. maybe my brain is poisoned by reading too many ste(v/ph)en meeks is popular fics, but i really like a slightly different version of steven, as an initially mean but secretly kind boy. he’s super smart but doesn’t want people to know it. eventually todd sees through his facade. mostly i wanna see meeks become a softie once he meets pittsie. 

stick as josh richter.... ok, yes i’m kind of running out of characters, but stick is hot and so is josh and i would love to project some toxic himbo characterization onto him. sorry stick! 

and finally, probably the most fun one.... cameron as boris. i thought about this one a LOT because of certain events in the books, but i think this is really interesting. if you’re familiar with princess diaries books this makes perfect sense (especially with the gifted and talented students locking boris in the closet when he tries to play his violin). cameron and boris both have that dorky, misunderstood, stickler for the rules thing going for them. does this mean that charlie and cam will date at some point? .... yes. does this ring alarms for a lot of people? i’m sure. will it be hilariously disastrous and not endgame.... absolutely. 

#yes im going to write this #i am ABSOLUTELY going to write this #i call dibs #dps #dead poets society #some of these are a lil OOC but thats the beauty of an AU #and i believe in myself to prove these castings to be accurate #neil and todd as michael and mia #is actually therapeutic to me #dps headcanon #neil perry #todd anderson #knox overstreet #charlie dalton #gerard pitts #steven meeks #richard cameron #john keating

[yespolkadotkitty]

PLEASE pluck Ricky from obscurity like you did Zach!!!

Right so you are all fairly keen on this guy because I also got these:

Pick You Up

Ricky Hauk x reader

Word count: 1700 ~ Warnings: None really. Light angst. Kissing.

Lovely gif by @ithinkwehitametaphor

i

You’ve not lived in this town long. The first time you use the gas station, the tall, skinny guy behind the counter glances at you from under his ball cap, the red brim only serving to bring out the slices of amber in his soulful brown eyes. There’s a crease in his cupid’s bow, the thumb print of a God proud of his work. He rings up your service, gives you a collection time.

When you park up back at home, you see it. A note under your unused windscreen wiper.

Autumn in her eyes

Her hair ropes of burnished gold,

Kissed by corners of the

Falling leaves. Will seasons pass

Before I look upon her

Once more?

ii 

The poem was from him. You know it. You know it because the next time you bring your car back, when winter’s starting to bite chunks out of the temperature, you see him write something on your receipt in the same loopy scrawl. He sees you looking. Ricky is embroidered on his navy blue overalls. A flush creeps up his cheeks, and you wonder how old he is. Twenty? You could cry over his perfect cheekbones. 

“It should be more than that?” you ask when he rings you up.

The corner of his mouth curves up. “Returning customer discount. No one will miss a few quarts of gas.”

There’s a worn, tattered book propping up a wonky corner of the cash register. A Poem for Every Day of the Year.

And when you arrive home, there’s another scrap of paper under your windscreen wiper.

Winter’s grasp is far-reaching

Fingers dug in tight

But footprints thaw frozen ground,

A smile melts frostbite

Inch by Inch

You fold the paper carefully, tuck it under a magnet on your fridge, next to the one you already have. Wonder what it means. If he writes poetry for all his customers.

iii 

Before Winter ends, your exhaust pipe crashes off the end of your car and you narrowly miss swerving off the road in shock at the huge bang it makes. You drive right to the service station, and like a dream, there he is, the huge roller door of the workshop open, and he’s bent over another car, his ball cap on backwards, overalls half-unzipped. Heat is pumping out of the workshop interior and you park your car. As you shut the door, Ricky looks up, and his face goes slack for a second, before he plasters a polite query on the handsome canvas. “Uh, hey. Can I help you?”

“Exhaust pipe fell off on the highway,” you sigh. “I know she’s a hunk of junk, but I just can’t afford to replace her, not yet.”

“I’ll give it my best shot.” Ricky holds out his hand for the keys, a smear of grease on his thumb, and you stare at his palm for a moment, wondering what his hands would feel like on your skin. If he’d leave a fingerprint of grease behind.

You wouldn’t mind much, if he did.

iv

You have to leave the car overnight, eventually. Ricky comes into the tiny office with the noisy watercooler and tiny wall-mounted TV that only shows one God-awful news channel. His hands are shoved into his overall pockets and there’s a streak of engine grease on his cheek.

“Uh, I’m sorry, but she’s gonna have to stay in until tomorrow. My boss has gotta check the weld, and he’s stuck in the snowstorm one state over.”

“Okay.” You’re not cross with him. What would be the point?

Ricky looks from the clock to you. He probably has a hot date you’re keeping him from, you think with a little sadness. “Um, I’ve gotta lock up now. I can drive you home. If you want.” He jerks his thumb at the window to his right. A beaten up red truck sits outside.

“Thank you. That’d be great.”

The snow has started to fall in earnest. Ricky locks up the gas station and pockets the keys as the shutter finally closes up tight. He opens the passenger door for you, waits until you’re safely strapped in before he gets in on his side and starts the engine. “You’ll have to direct me.” He tugs off the ball cap and stuffs it in the glove box.

“Wait,” you say, as his hand hovers over the stick.

He glances at you with an eyebrow raised, that poet’s mouth set solemnly, his tiger iron eyes so large in his face, larger somehow with his thick hair sticking up at all angles, and he looks so young but like he has an old soul. Like he’s seen so much; too much, and he is so tired.

“Why did you write me those poems?”

Ricky looks away, chewing his bottom lip.

“You did, didn’t you?”

“So what?” he throws back, still not looking at you. “I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you wanna hear?”

Your heart cracks down the middle. “No, it isn’t. They were beautiful. I kept them.”

His gaze shoots to yours. “You are beautiful,” he says, very soberly. 

And you lift your hand to his cheek and then he’s kissing you, earnestly, his lips soft and sweet and unpracticed. Not that you’re experienced, but you estimate yourself as perhaps half a decade older than him. He groans into your mouth and desire skitters through you. You part your lips for him and he finally touches you, just a hand on your thigh, his palm warm through your worn, old jeans.

The drive to your house is full of thick, syrupy tension. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice the way Ricky subtly adjusts himself during the ten minute trip.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to help him out with that.

He parks outside your building, and you kiss him again before you leave, nipping at his tempting lower lip, making him curse, low and sweet in that sinful, husky voice, still a little thready with youth.

“I’ll work on your car first thing tomorrow?” he half asks, half informs you, as you open the passenger door. The cold wind arcs in, biting at your skin. “I could pick you up. Early. If you want.”

You nod. “Okay. Thanks.”

Ricky catches your hand, tangles your fingers. “Guys like me write poetry about girls like you because it’s the only way we’ll be with you,” he mutters, and there’s something so sad and resigned in the depths of his butterscotch gaze.

You don’t know what to say, and if you kiss him again you run the serious risk of being arrested for indecent behaviour in his truck.

v

He’s early the next morning. You’re not ready. 

“Come up,” you say through the buzzer, and in a matter of moments you’re opening your apartment door to him. He holds the service station ball cap in his hands, wringing it nervously, and his overalls are half-unzipped to reveal a plain white t-shirt. He smells of cheap cologne and minty toothpaste, and his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Want a coffee?” you ask. “I’ll be five minutes.”

“No, thanks. Uh, I’m fine.” He stands by the door, like he needs permission to sit down. 

You rush around, calling your boss to remind him about your car situation. He’s stuck at home anyway due to a snowdrift, so he doesn’t chew you out.

Pulling on your winter boots - hopefully they’ll see you through to March - you step out of the bedroom. Ricky’s leaning over your kitchen counter, scrawling something on a post-it note. He jerks up, guilt sketched on his angular face.

“Sorry.”

“Not at all.”

He folds the paper over. “Don’t read it.. Til later.”

He turns to face you, hesitates, wariness and want and need laid bare in those gorgeous hazelnut eyes.

“Could I… kiss you? Maybe?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, and Ricky cups your face in his broad, callused hands, and lowers his mouth to yours, and the kiss starts soft and sweet, explorative, and then you slide your hands up his shoulders and tangle your fingers in his thick, tattered-silk hair, and he backs you into the wall, his lips urgent on yours, licking into your mouth, and you drink him in like you’re starved for the taste of him. He groans against your lips, one hand slipping down your back to palm your ass, and-

And your phone rings shrilly from your bag. Your work mobile.

You and Ricky spring apart. 

“I’d better get that.”

It turns out to be a shitty sales call, but the moment’s been broken. You mostly manage to ignore the distended shape of Ricky’s jeans, but his face is red the whole drive to the garage.

When you arrive, a man who you guess to be Ricky’s boss is already there, opening the shutter. Ricky turns to you, his hand hesitant on your thigh. “Maybe…. Maybe you’d wanna see me again? 

You cover his hand with yours, link your fingers. “I’d love to see you again, Ricky.”

His smile lights up the dreary winter day.

*****

Special thanks to @dornish-queen without whose watchlist, this fic would never have happened.

Tagging the Pedro pals! @gamingaquarius @a-seeker-of-imagination @songsformonkeys @alldatalost @dornish-queen @lackofhonor @alienprincesspoop @beccaplaying @cryptkeepersoul @keeper0fthestars @winters-buck @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @jaime1110 @nelba @heatherbel @thewayofthemandalorian @agirllovespasta @seawhisperer @holographic-carmen @mrschiltoncat @mourningbirds1 @emmy-dandiliom918 @trippedmetaldetector @starlight-starwrites @oloreaa @thegreenkid @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @buckstaposition @pedropascallion @pajamasecrets @knittingqueen13 @skdubbs @opheliaelysia

[maybankiara]

can I request one with rafe where he struggles with being sober, and he’s v emotional and reader takes care of him

I DON’T KNOW HOW I FEEL WHEN I’M WITH YOU

pairing: Rafe Cameron x Ex-Girlfriend!Reader

summary: Dating Rafe Cameron was a roller coaster and eventually, you’ve had enough of it. Now, six months later, he shows up at your door and you’re the only one he can help him.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: drug abuse, mild cursing, mention of an overdose, suicidal thoughts

additional: heavy angst with a happy ending

thank you for requesting this! it was a challenge to write, and included a bit of a backstory. that being said, i do not condone toxic relationships, but i do believe in second chances, and that people can get better. take that as you will.

requests are open

Rafe Cameron is only trouble; that’s the thing everyone around you kept saying from the moment you began seeing each other. He was the supposedly golden boy, but people who knew him from the parties he’d go to, knew that it was as far from truth as possible.

  Rafe Cameron only cares about himself and the coke in his nose, is what not just one of your friends would tell you. They warned you about him – they warned he doesn’t stick with a girl for long, they warned you that at the end of the day, he’ll pick coke over his girl.

  You didn’t believe them. You didn’t, not for a long time, and you didn’t even believe that he did coke in the first place.

  How could he? you thought. He was from the good part of the island, from a well-standing, reputable family; he was the heir of the Cameron enterprise. His sister was just two years below you in school and she was as close to the princess of the island as it gets.

  When Rafe Cameron, the very one you’d spent a long time hearing stories about, approached you at a party, he was sweet. He was chatty and considerate, and full of flirtatious touches but never crossing the line. You didn’t see a sign of the person everyone had been warning you about; Rafe Cameron was as much Kook royalty as Sarah Cameron was.

  You gave him your number and he texted you the next morning. He put no pressure on you to say yes when he asked you out, and when you explained you needed to stay focused on school for the next month, he didn’t stop talking to you.

  No; he waited, until the month was up, until you told him you could do anything you want, that’s when he took you out for the best day of your life.

  Falling in love with him was easy. He was sweet, and understanding when you said you weren’t really a fan of parties, and he smothered you with so much love you thought it wasn’t possible.

  Things were good, for a while. When school finished and you started spending more time with him, you started noticing how he’d get into these moods, where his reactions and words were harsh, with a dangerous edge to them, and how sometimes you’d flinch if he moved too quickly. Then he’d leave, come to your place hours later, apologising for everything, and you’d fall back into his arms immediately.

  ‘I love you,’ he’d say. ‘I’m sorry for whenever I get like this. It’s not me, I promise.’

  And you would forgive him. Every single time, you forgave him.

  It took you months to realise that you didn’t know anymore who Rafe was. The person you loved and the person that scared you were interchanging so fast that sometimes you’d be looking at him, wondering if he’ll yell about something, or whisper sweet nothings into your ear instead. He looked dishevelled all the time, as if he was missing something, and eventually, you stopped being enough.

  You came to find him at a party. A friend of yours had texted you, saying that Rafe was behaving like a complete moron, and you came to get him away from that.

  As soon as you pulled up, you saw him jumping around the terrace, tugging arms with some boy you hadn’t seen before. You walked closer and he looked bewildered – he didn’t see you even when he looked in your direction.

  It’s not him, you told yourself. But then you wondered, Is this the Rafe I don’t get to see?

  In the end, you marched right up to him and put yourself between him and the boy, and dragged him away from the party. ‘Get in the car,’ you told him, unable to even look at him.

  ‘You don’t need to baby me,’ he snapped back. ‘Why’d you even come here?’

  ‘Rafe, shut up and get in the car.’

  ‘Oh, fuck off! I’m not going to let you tell me what to do.’

  At this, you were taken aback, but you held your own. The passenger door to your car was open and you were sitting in the driver’s side, looking out to where your boyfriend stood. He was fuming in place; pacing, almost. His hair was a mess, his shirt had been torn in one place, and he was breathing heavily.

  This wasn’t the person you fell in love with. You looked at him, and saw nothing.

  You turned the engine key. The car roared. ‘Rafe, if you don’t get in the car, I’m done with you.’

  ‘What, am I not allowed to have fun?’

  ‘You weren’t having fun. You were being an asshole and now you’re treating me like one, too,’ you told him. You waited for a bit, waiting to see if there was any reaction, but there wasn’t. ‘I’ve had enough of your antics. Get in the car and get your head straight and stop being a shithead, or go back there, and we’re through.’

  Rafe snickers. He slams the passenger door close, then leans through the open window. His eyes are looking into yours, but there’s nothing behind them.

  Certainly not the person you care about.

  ‘Nobody tells Rafe Cameron what to do.’

  Instead of giving him a reply, you revved the engine and looked away. You didn’t look back as you drove away, and you didn’t reply to his texts when he’d come to his senses. The next morning, he tried catching you at your house, but you wouldn’t open the door.

  He tried, for weeks, but you made it clear: you or drugs.

  He’d made his choice. You were going to stick to yours.

  After that, you move on with your life. It’s different; your friends treat you differently, as if they’re scared you’re going to fall apart, but you’re okay. Well, for the most part, anyway.

  ‘The Rafe I fell in love with hasn’t been around for a while,’ you tell them when they get worried. ‘I broke up with someone I hardly recognised.’

  Occasionally, they’d tell you how they tried to warn you, and all you do is smile and agree – but you know it’s not that. Something changed for Rafe, and when you fell in love with him, he was just a boy with bad habits. Not someone who’s on the way of becoming a monster.

  It’d be a lie to say you don’t miss him, but you understand you’re better off without someone who’d trade you for a line of coke.

  Who did trade you for a line of coke.

  Once it’s been six months since the party, you haven’t heard from him in a while. Your friends know better than to talk to you about him, so you haven’t heard about him, either.

  That’s why you’re surprised when you open your door, not checking who it is, and the face you’re met with is his.

  You slam the door shut – or you try to, at least. Rafe yelps when his hand gets caught between the door and the wall, and he pushes himself through.

  ‘Please,’ he says, ‘hear me out.’

  ‘Go away, Rafe.’

  ‘Y/N—I need you, I—I don’t have anywhere else to go. I don’t have anyone else.’

  ‘Rafe…’

  ‘Please,’ he begs, and your defences shatter.

  You step to the side and open the door, letting him in. He tires to smile at you but it’s as if he can’t even bear to do that. He holds his hand, shaking it a little, and you see there’s a bright red line where he wedged it between the door and the wall.

  Rafe stands at your door, shoulders hunched, and his usually slicked-back hair falling over his eyes. It’s unwashed and greasy, his skin is pale and blotchy and with a slight, unhealthily pink hue to it, and his cheekbones are more prominent than you remember. He looks skinnier; more worn out.

  An awful thought pops into your mind, and it goes like this: Good thing I got away from this when I did.

  You shudder and shake it away. ‘My parents aren’t home. Go to the living room, I’ll join you in a minute.’

  He nods and lingers, on the verge of saying something, but then doesn’t. You watch him go to the living room and you go into your room, close the door, and take a big breath.

  Can I do this?

  You still love him. You thought you didn’t, but it has never gone away, you just pushed it away. You’ve always had hope that someday, he’d come back to you – and you can’t help but to wonder if this is the day you’ve been waiting for.

  But then you come back to reality and remember that Rafe is an addict and you’re a dreamer.

  The living room is quiet when you walk in. Rafe is sitting on the couch, fiddling with his fingers and looking out of the window – he doesn’t notice you come in.

  ‘This is the last time,’ you say. His head snaps towards you. ‘I’ll help you this time, whatever, but then I don’t want to see you again. I can’t keep doing this, Rafe. It’s not—it’s not good for me.’

  He chose coke over you.

  You chose yourself over hurting.

  It wasn’t the same.

  You expect Rafe to protest, to beg you for more chances, to try to get it his way, but all he does is nod. He nods and it’s soft, and earnest, and you can tell that this time, he’ll do what you want him to.

  If you won’t talk to him again, he’ll respect that.

  ‘What happened, Rafe?’ you ask, your voice giving up on you as you take a seat next to him.

  Rafe looks at you and his lip quivers; he’s on the verge of falling apart. The sun shines bright behind him, making him seem like a dark spot in your vision, and you hate how realistic that is. He gulps, loudly, and lets out a shaky breath. You see him holding himself together as much as he can, but not even that is enough, not anymore.

  Your hands want to take hold of his, but instead you just clasp them together, biting your lip. You can’t let yourself feel.

  One last time, you think, and Rafe tells you everything.

  The sun falls as you learn, for the first time, how he started doing coke because his dad was overworking him. Ward expected him to do things that were unrealistic, to be a person Rafe just wasn’t, and coke helped him focus, helped him socialise with Ward’s friends he’d always been scared of, and without it, he wouldn’t have been able to do any of that.

  He tells you that he understands that’s not an excuse, and that maybe he would’ve managed without drugs, but that was the only way he could see at the time. He was seventeen and weighted down by the newfound pressure on his shoulders, and he couldn’t bear it.

  By the time he turned eighteen, by the time he graduated, he was beginning to rely on coke to survive. He tells you how sometimes it was just a party thing, how it helped him get money for what his dad was expecting him to do, until he started being impulsive and spending all the money he earned. It took over – he couldn’t function on coke, he couldn’t function without it, and life was running away from him.

  His eyes leave yours and you see tears sliding down his cheek; you’ve never seen Rafe cry before.

  Your hand reaches out to him before you can stop yourself, and you wipe the tear away with your thumb. You know you should move your hand, but you let it linger instead, and when Rafe finally looks at you, he places a hand on top of yours.

  A shiver runs down your spine – this feels right and forbidden all at once.

  But then Rafe shakes his head, and puts your hand in your lap, letting go. ‘I don’t want you to be hurting because of me anymore.’

  Before you have the chance to say anything, he continues his story. He tells you how when he met you, things were still manageable, as much as a cocaine addiction can be. At that point, he was only using it to keep up with his father’s demands, but eventually it got worse.

  He tells you he tried to keep you out of it. ‘You were my safe haven,’ he says, quietly. ‘When you were around, I tried to keep myself off of it, as much as I could.’

  But he couldn’t. You know this from your experience – you think back to the days where he’d be irritable, annoyed, and nothing you did would make it better. Even then, you knew what was happening, but it was easier to pretend it wasn’t.

  Rafe clears his throat. ‘I tried to keep you out of it. But it got too bad. I thought I could control it, but it’d taken control over me already, and I was needing it too badly to be able to see it.’

  When he comes to the point in his story when you leave him, he glosses over what happens next, and that’s how you know it must’ve been worse than anything he’s previously said – and it kind of breaks your heart. You know it was the best decision you could’ve made, but knowing that it caused him so much pain still hurts.

  He trails off, eventually. He keeps coughing so you get him a glass of water, taking the moment away from him to think.

  Except you can’t think. The only thing you can do is feel, and whatever it is that you’re feeling, it’s weighing down your heart.

  You come back into the kitchen and and hand him the water. He thanks you, and you notice how he’s much calmer than he used to be. His body doesn’t shake, he doesn’t fiddle as much as he used to, but his eyes look more tired than ever before.

  He looks like a ghost of the Rafe you knew. You wonder what’s changed.

  So you ask, ‘What happened then?’

  Rafe puts the glass away and stares at you for a long second. ‘I OD’d. Topper saved my life, three weeks ago. I’ve been clean since, but—It’s a lot. It’s harder than I thought.’

  The realisation settles in and you lean back into the couch, looking away from him. You run your fingers through your hair, trying to calm your breathing – all you can see is Rafe, unconscious on some random bathroom floor, Topper trying to wake him up—

  ‘Jesus Christ, Rafe.’

  You stand up from the couch and began pacing around the living room. This – this is not what you were expecting.

  ‘I’m clean,’ Rafe reminds you. ‘But it’s – it’s been the worst three weeks of my life.’

  There’s nothing you can say. Do you cry, do you yell? He broke your heart, he chose coke over you, is this what you were hoping for? Is this what you thought would happen?

  You stare out of the window, your hand clasped over your mouth, and you let silent tears roll down your cheeks. Rafe can’t see them – he’s still sitting on the couch.

  Fuck, you think. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ you hear Rafe say, his voice breaking. ‘I shouldn’t have come here, I—’

  Before he can leave or say anything else, you turn on your heel and pull him into a hug. He doesn’t expect it and it takes him a moment to reciprocate, but his hands wrap around your torso as if they’d never been anywhere else. He pulls you close, buries his head in the crook of your neck, and begins to sob.

  You cry, too, but you don’t let him hear that. ‘It’s okay. I’ve got you.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Y/N.’ His voice is muffled against your hair and your shirt. ‘For everything I’ve done. I—You deserve so much better, but I can’t—You’re the only thing that makes it bearable. Thinking of what we had is the only thing that keeps me from ending—’

  ‘Don’t you say that.’ You pull back and look at him, holding his face between your hands, no longer caring if he sees the tears running down your face. ‘Don’t you ever fucking say that again, Rafe Cameron, or I swear to God—’

  You pull yourself together, and you feel him tremble. You wonder how much effort it’s taking him to stay here, with you, off of cocaine. Softly, you push hair out of his face, letting it fall to the side. His skin is slick with cold sweat, but you don’t care.

  ‘Please,’ you tell him, ‘don’t ever say anything like that again. It’s not the end of the world.’

  Rafe’s smile is bleak and thin, but it’s a smile nonetheless, and you find it in yourself to smile, too.

  ‘Thank you.’

  It’s not what he says, but you know that’s what he means – thank you for not giving up on me; thank you for loving me when no one else would.

  ‘I won’t let you give up on yourself, okay?’

  He nods, and you hug him again. All you want to do is kiss him again and make all his worries go away, but you know that’s now how it works. Instead, you tell your parents he’s going to stay here for some time, and they’re thankfully okay with that. There’s a free room that your brother used before moving out, and you pick out some of his old things that Rafe could wear.

  It’s not easy, getting better. You see him when he’s on the verge of giving in, when he’s raging and when he’s falling apart, but you understand that’s not him, and you don’t let him hurt you anymore.

  You promised you wouldn’t let him give up on himself and you stick to that promise, no matter what it takes. With time, things get better, and some of his friends come to visit. Topper is the first and he thanks you, because he knows that you were the only one Rafe would—did—trust with his own life.

  Time goes by and Rafe moves back in with Ward, eventually, and you visit. He keeps healing, but some days it’s more difficult than others, and that’s when you take him out to your lodge, up in the mountains, just the two of you.

  He never tries anything. You see him looking and you see him longing, just as much as you are, but you’re both aware that he has different priorities. You settle for being his friend instead, and he opens up to you, healing in every way possible. Taking a break from the world does him good.

  It’s nearly six months later, when he has nearly recovered, seven months clean, that you kiss him for the first time.

  You’re back in your lodge for the week, and it’s winter, so you’re sitting in front of the campfire. Some old vinyl of your dad’s is playing in the background, and you and Rafe are playing a board game you found in the attic.

  His skin is flushed all over, and the sickly paleness has been gone for a while. His cheeks have filled out a little, his hair is fuller and healthier, and he stopped wearing it slicked back in front of you. It’s all over his face instead, and you like how simple it makes him look. He’s putting no effort, because he’s finally accepting who he is, and you find yourself falling in love with him all over again.

  Rafe catches you looking. He smiles, and you realise how much you’ve missed his genuine smiles. ‘What?’

  You giggle and look away, shaking your head. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Is there something on my face?’ he asks. ‘Between my teeth?’

  ‘No, idiot.’

  You’re laughing, and so is he, and he’s more carefree than you’ve ever seen him. Every day is a little step away from the bad life, and you’re proud of every single one.

  He keeps looking at you and this time, you don’t glance away. Instead, you lean over the table and place a chaste kiss on his lips.

  You go back to your seat and watch him go red in the cheeks, mouth slightly agape, wondering what just happened.

  ‘Would you choose me, this time?’ you ask.

  Rafe smiles, and takes your hand. He brushes over your palm with his thumb, never letting his eyes leave yours.

  ‘Nothing else could even be an option.’

#rafe cameron #obx #outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks fic #obx fic #rafe x reader #requested #my fic #my imagine #hannahbabyy13

[crimsonandcloverwrites]

bhah ch10 i can’t believe I’m doing this

oof Dani and her letters. RIGHT IN THE HEART

aw she just needs someone to comfort her through her nightmares god I just want to squeeze her

Ed reading to her is v sweet

she misses Jamie so much this sucks

god her letters hit like a freight train. so just... sweet and kind of casual conversation but this deep longing to just have her friend back but she also just wants to know she’s ok. this is too much to handle

the t-shirt... the anguish... my little gay heart

noooo her little tin of tea and her star mug gone in the same day this is awful

Dani so broken and her mom finally showing her an ounch of compassion is just... unsettling but like. at least she has someone, something, anything right now

oof the thread of the grocery store and what feels like home aaaaaaaa

it’s 1.30am but I am going to finish this chapter or die trying

her little Jamie momentos hidden away from her mom’s prying eyes :(

ick eddie wearing her down until she finally agreed to go to homecoming with him feels bad scoob

Dani is such a people pleaser and like... she obviously likes making people feel good but NOT AT UR OWN EXPENSE PLS

this thread of Dani stealing Eddie’s sweaters is actually super cute

oh no not the ‘inevitable’ kiss at homecoming oh dear

oh the Jamie song ouch

Jackie....... mystery woman I want to know more about you. this is... a weirdly nice moment from her what is ur deal.

god her letters are so earnest and heartfelt and sadddd. “I miss you more than I remember you” I’m going to throw up from emotions. that lil fleabag “I don’t know where to put it” reference always gets me too :(

“the girl who only ever referred to Eddie as ‘the boyfriend’”... a queen

lmao Dani having a small gay meltdown watching two girls kissing. that could be you babe!!! open ur heart and let it sing

oh my god the figure in the mirror moment nice nice

sfkjdhsgkjh Dani inviting herself into girls bedrooms almost accidentally. gayyyyyy. god there’s cute tension between these two give me the universe where Dani and Lila happen

that um... the way she keeps denying these feelings and telling herself that’s not who she is whew boy I am having some deeply personal Moments

“that was nice” akjdfhsdkjfhkjdh god Eddie if u ever find a girl to really rock ur world ur not gonna survive

oh god Eddie’s failed proposals this is.... so wild he just keeps asking after she says no

she really cannot get away from him huh? just run. leave

Carson is always so sweet thank fuck Dani still has him by her side

her lettterrrssss god. the like.... knowing she can’t contact Jamie but still writing them because she misses her so much still and she doesn’t know how to deal with it

Dani’s car excuse me while I cry

and Carson god I love Carson so much

dfgkldfkjg they are so cute on their runaway adventures god u know that thing that’s like queer kids gravitating together bc they just see something in each other n feel really safe around each other? yeah... yeah

aww the travel fund helping out w the car and concert tix. i am. so in love w the idea of Dani actually getting to travel and I am dreaming of Jamie giving her a new travel jar and making her go on adventures. pls

Dani settling into this kind of.... ‘he is a warm comfort’ sort of relationship. nice i guess but????? u deserve more my love

 ‘Dear Jamie,

  Come home.’

god that really is the most heart wrenching ending

i love how much subtle but really substantial character development is in this one. bless

#bhah #it's the final countdown

[consumedkings-archive]

mayhaps 4. “You’ll play this game with me, won’t you?” for john/elliot?

BABES I AM. SO SORRY that this has taken so long but i am really pleased that i finally hit a stride with it and how it came out!! i hope you enjoy this absolute tooth-rotting fluff piece. i’ve been having a rough few days so it was so nice to get the chance to just write something sugary-sweet for once. (❁´◡`❁)

v. we can change or part ways ✤ pre-cult au

john/elliot + “you’ll play this game with me, won’t you?”, or: john picks a fight with isolde and immediately loses. hints of joseph/isolde mentioned very briefly. sort of a  sequel to this oneshot!

word count: 2.3k of pure fluff. also, some john bullying.

warnings: does john being an idiot count?

“This is a stupid game.”

It’s eleven o’clock on Christmas Eve, Elliot is snowed in at the Seed Ranch, and Isolde and John won’t stop arguing.

It’s almost enough to make it all worthwhile; the fact that they’re trapped, or that Elliot didn’t even want to come to this family dinner because she hasn’t forgotten about John impulsively asked her to marry him and her kicking him out of her apartment shortly thereafter, or that Jacob keeps looking at her from across the living room like, so uh, this is the one, huh?

“It’s not stupid,” John defends. “It will prove the superiority of Elliot and I over you and Joseph as a couple, and I think that’s not stupid at all.”

“It is,” Isolde replies flatly, “because any couple that has me in it is far superior over any couple that has you in it. No offense, Elliot.”

“None taken.”

“Offense is definitely taken,” John interjects.

“My point is that it could be Elliot and I versus you and Joseph, and I would still win, because anyone with two eyeballs probably knows Elliot better than you know her.”

“Then there’s no reason why you shouldn’t want to play!” John snaps, and then he looks at Elliot. Something in his expression shifts—something that Ell can’t quite read, and she thinks it might be because they haven’t even really made up yet from their last argument but have sort of been forced to play nice in close proximity.

And then his expression clears, and he flashes his teeth at her in that crooked smile, and he says, “You’ll play this game with me, won’t you?”

Elliot stifles a sigh. The idea of the game is simple enough—a couple stands back to back, is asked a series of questions about who-is-more-likely-to-whatever, the person who thinks they are drinks. And so on, and so forth. It sounds like a quick way for Elliot to get pissed at John, and also get piss drunk—there’s like, five rules about making them both drink—but he looks so earnest and—

And, well. He’s been trying. And that has to count for something, doesn’t it?

“Yeah,” she relents at last, “I will. If you stop fucking whining.”

“See?” John says, looking at Isolde pointedly, needling, and she groans.

“Can’t wait to watch you get drunk off your ass because you can’t get on the same page as your girlfriend to save your life.”

John rolls his eyes, almost so hard that Elliot can hear it more than she can see it, but he reaches out and snags her hand to haul her off of the couch. Isolde is prompt in producing two glasses full of alcohol—champagne, if Ell knows Isolde at all, and by now she does—and they stand, back to back, in the center of the living room.

Elliot says, “This is stupid,” with a withering sound, and John reaches behind him and gives her hip a squeeze. She still hasn’t forgiven him for his impromptu proposal, and yet he’s finding himself awful comfortable acting like everything is completely fine.

“Don’t be a poor sport, hellcat, you already agreed.”

She cranes her neck to shoot him a dirty look, with half a mind to tell him that she’d like to instead dissect everything he’d once done to piss her off rather than play this stupid fucking game, but her thoughts are quickly interrupted by Isolde settling onto the couch next to Jacob, looking quite pleased with herself.

Probably because she’d wriggled out of having to play a drinking game.

The first few questions are easy; softballs lobbed in their direction to get them to more relaxed. Things like, who’s more likely to get injured doing something stupid (Elliot), or have an embarrassing tattoo (John), or sell all of their belongings and move to Tibet (in which neither of them drinks, so then the rules are that they both must drink). In hindsight, Elliot thinks that Isolde is sending these easy ones on purpose, just ramping up for something better, grittier.

Halfway through, Joseph brings her a glass of wine just as the questions shift a little; who’s more likely to forget the name of someone they hooked up with (John), and date two people at once (John), and go home with someone they just met. The last one, they both drink, thanks to their most fortuitous first meeting in the club, and because they both drink they must then both drink again.

“These questions feel a little pointed,” John snips out eventually, when he’s drank six or seven times in a row, and Elliot can see Jacob grinning at them from the corner of her eyes. She’s pleasantly warm, but certainly nothing close to how toasty she’s sure that John is—how he must be after heartily drinking expensive, highly alcoholic champagne.

“They’re just fun questions, John. Aren’t you always talking about how you’re the fun one?” Isolde asks playfully. Elliot swallows back a laugh—it would be cruel, of course, to laugh at John’s expense—but she can’t help it. He’s put himself into corners too easily. “Who’s more likely to have the highest number?”

“Oooof?” John prompts irritably. “Candles? Chris—Christmas ornaments? Dog hairs on their clothes?” All things that he knows Elliot would beat him in and thus, have to drink for.

“Bedwarmers,” Elliot says, at the same time as Isolde does, and now she can’t help but laugh at the sound that comes out of John; long, and suffering, and fully aware that had he not insinuated that he is superior to Isolde in any way, she would not be specifically targeting him.

He drinks. Jacob asks, “More likely to hit someone with their car?” And she can feel John’s shoulders sag in relief, because she drinks dutifully.

“Thanks, Jake,” John murmurs, his words slurring a little now after enduring an onslaught of pointed questions. Elliot sees Joseph lean towards Isolde, murmuring something into her hair.

“Joseph says I have to stop torturing you,” Isolde announces, resulting in another breath of relief.

“I only suggested perhaps John has reached his limit,” Joseph admonishes. “You enjoy twisting the blade, a little.”

“You’re right, that is very sexy of me.”

John finishes whatever’s left in his cup—which can’t be much and then sets it on the table, nearly taking a headfirst dive over to the other side, and Elliot steadies him and sets her own glass aside.

“Easy, Slick.”

“Unfair,” is what John whines at her in response. “Isolde likes—she—you better.”

Looking awfully smug, Isolde suggests, “Should probably get that one to bed, Elliot, it doesn’t look like he’s gonna make it much longer.”

She stifles a sigh. The last thing that she really wants is to spend Christmas Eve with John completely, absolutely shit-faced; though considering that she’s so much more of a light-weight than he is, it is nice to have there be that kind of disparity for once. Let John be faced with his crippling vulnerability that he’d can’t laugh off because he’s so toasted.

By the time Elliot gets him up the stairs and into his bed, John has moaned and groaned his way through seven different thoughts. He settles against the pillows and lets out a breath, eyes closing.

“Gonna be stuck here,” he says after a minute. “For a few days. ‘Cause—the snow.”

“I know,” Elliot replies, perched on the edge of the bed. And then: "Fuck, I hate this," the alcohol in her system making her painfully unable to filter herself. At her words, John laughs, sitting up and sliding his arms around her waist so that he can look at her at her.

Drenched in dimly-filtered moonlight, all sharp elegant lines and eyes so blue she thinks they might swallow her up—he’s infuriating. Infuriating. So handsome, and also somehow smart and dumb at the same time. The idea that John wants to marry her is incredibly absurd, not only because of their track record but—

"Do you remember," John begins, fanning out the blanket across their laps, "that storm? A few months back? Took out your, uh....?"

“Power?”

“Yeah, that.”

She does. Elliot hates the dark, and with the power out that meant all of the small little lights she'd spread throughout her house didn't work. "Yes. It was awful."

"I remember it fondly," he continues in that still-warm lilt of being inebriated. He settles more comfortably in his spot and thumbs the slope of her hip, easy and affectionate.

“That tracks. We tend to have different views on how things go.”

He narrows his eyes, but the gesture is playful; he seems to be in a better mood than before, the tension between them less aggressive, waning and waxing the way it likes to do. John will contest it to his death, but she thinks that maybe he had intended for them to be equally as inebriated, not one more than the other, when he suggested the game before.

“It was awful,” John concedes, “but also—good. A moment in time can be many things. Should I state my case?”

Elliot groans. She’s drunk, and he’s more drunk but also a lawyer, and there is no way she can out-talk him anyway. Not in a million years. “John, you know I can’t out-argue you.”

“Maybe you’ll end up agreeing.” The brunette shifts again, reaching out and taking her hand. He does it very easily, like the argument doesn’t exist, like she hadn’t told him to fuck off and kicked him out of her apartment those nights ago. “Consider this: you’re me.”

“Hate it.”

“You’re me, and you’ve been dating this girl,” John continues ceaselessly, winding their fingers together. “That you really like, and you keep—messing it up, but this is the first date since the last time that you messed up, and the power goes out.”

Elliot grimaces. Even like this, even with John leaning in so that there isn’t a lot of space between them, telling her the story like it was the greatest thing in the world—all she can remember from that moment in time is the panic.

“And she’s really pissed off,” he adds, for flavor. “So you light every single candle you can dig out of her cupboard, because if you don’t you think she might actually come unglued from hitting her berserk button so much. And when she finally calms down, she ends up falling asleep right against you, and just before she’s really asleep for good she says that she loves you.”

Oh, Elliot thinks, her chest tightening painfully. She doesn’t remember that. The adrenaline crash, sure, burying her face into John’s neck and smelling his cologne as she fell asleep; but that does sound like something half-asleep Elliot would say, the traitorous bitch.

“Stupid,” she murmurs after a moment, when she thinks she’s recovered. Her words elicit from John a half-cocked grin as he’s leaned in, studying her. “That you remember that.”

“I remember everything,” John replies, his voice pitching low, “about you, Ell.”

Bad. This is bad, a mistake. It’s cozy under a blanket, away from the bustle of his siblings, knowing how much it’s storming and snowing outside, and she keeps thinking about how he kissed her in her apartment that night he’d tried to sneak the proposal in—like he wanted more, like he wanted to kiss her more than that, but he was trying to behave.

He was trying.

“I can’t,” Elliot manages out, soft. “John, I can’t—this—back and forth, and—”

“I don’t want to either,” John insists. “I want you, Ell, I mean it—I meant it then, and now, and I’m sorry that I thought a ring would fix it. Or, not even fix it, just that I thought—”

Her chest feels tight, and hot, and she swallows thickly as he speaks before she interrupts. “It was really stupid, really really fucking stupid, like—the meanest joke you could—”

“It wasn’t a joke—”

“So what did you do?” she asks, suddenly, blurting the words out before she can stop herself. John blinks at her.

“What did I do?”

“That night,” she presses. “That night in my house, when the power went out. When I said...”

Her voice trails off. She knows what she wants him to say, deep down inside of her. She knows that she wants him to say, I love you, I loved you then and I love you now and there’s nobody else I want more than you, because she’s a hopeless romantic and there’s nothing that would make her life into a Hallmark movie than John whispering a profession of love like this, right now.

John starts, “Elliot, I’m—”

Panic. If he says it, it’s real, and then she will have to face it. Really, truly face.

“An idiot,” Elliot interjects, her words overlapping with his and strangling them until all she can hear is the tail end of him saying, “—with you,” and his mouth sets down in a deep frown.

She looks at their hands, intertwined. He’d been so sure of himself that night, sliding the ring on her finger, and it’s less that he seemed sure she would say yes but more sure that he thought he had been making the right decision. More than anything, all I want to hear is that you missed me.

“Go to sleep,” she says at length. “We’ll see how you feel when you wake up in the morning.”

John, true to form, heaves the most dramatic sound possible out of his body before he lays back against the pillows, still in his jeans and button up. Elliot stands, and leaves him like that, because there’s plenty of things that John Seed deserves and Elliot thinks waking up in tight jeans is one of them.

“Hellcat,” he says, when she reaches the door. She pauses, glancing back; he’s quiet for a moment before he says, “Mean it, you know.”

I’m in love with you. She knows that’s what he’d been trying to say before she’d spoken over him.

“I know,” Elliot replies softly. “We’ll see if you mean it tomorrow, too.”

She hopes he will.

#my writing #pre-cult au #otp: death keep off; i am your enemy #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #i'm soft!!!! #elizabeth thank u for sending this prompt in my love and being so sweet ;----; #and PATIENT my god #this only took me a thousand years #i hope you enjoy!!! #far cry 5 fic #fc5 fic #meowthvevo

[tosikoarts]

SFW Alphabet | Shiraishi Yoshitake

Long live the King! You can check tosikowrites tag for more. Warning: there’s a lot under the cut.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Relationship for Shiraishi is more about friendship with intimacy than a long tradition-based order of courtship and conventions. His affection does not manifest in standard gestures like buying flowers or singing serenades, acting all gentlemanly and saving the day pompously like a romantic novel protagonist. If he ever does anything from list above, it is his daydreaming that he doesn’t try to bring to life.

One of Shiraishi’s main goal in the relationship is to keep his partner happy, and the main sign that they are happy is their shrill laughter. It doesn’t matter if they are laughing because stray toothy animal bit his head or because the joke was funny (yay!), mission accomplished and he is satisfied.  Seeing them cry is worse than being hit hundred times with a baton.

Every single soul in the one kilometer radius know whom Shiraishi loves and why he loves them and how amazing, adorable, lovely, cool they are. Sugimoto and Asirpa are making earplugs because Shiraishi can’t shut the hell up. He managed to piss off the men who kidnapped him with bragging about his loved one. Kiroranke puts maximum effort not to bury him in the nearest snowdrift. His admiration doesn’t die down through years.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

The best friend to get dumb with. Sing inappropriate songs, prank others, annoy boring elders and all this jazz. His jokes are never offensive because Shiraishi wants to have good time only but they are unpredictable and never repetitive. His instinct of self-preservation goes m.i.a. in the process so it’s literally life-saving to have a reliable person by the side.

If you need a friend to gossip with Shiraishi is you best choice. He got hot tea on everyone, I mean e v e r y o n e, from old man Hijikata to naïve Koito and he needs best friend to spill it. Damn, Shiraishi is definitely that bih with neon acrylics and golden hoops.

Probably the friend that introduce you to people and brings you into new circles. Wide range of characters, social statuses, affiliations gives a chance to meet potential partners. There is one unspoken rule though: you come here as Shiraishi’s bff, you leave this place as Shiraishi’s bff.

Speaking of which, he comes across as possessive friend. Restriction of other’s social circle and constant need in validation aren’t his behavior traits, but Shiraishi is sensitive to subtle changes in communication. Sole possibility of losing the established connection gives him extreme anxiety. To avoid it he can make concessions and sacrifice his own interests for them.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Eeh, indifferent? He doesn’t seem like a big fan of cuddling but will do it on occasions. When lights are down and they are in a private of the room, Shiraishi may spoon them to feel the comfort of another person and a little bit of safety he finds in their touch. He doesn’t have a preferred position as well: whatever his loved one wants he will do without hesitation.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

The closest home equivalent that Shiraishi knows is a dark prison cell and this is how he sees the stability in its best light. Yep, same food every day, funny inadequacies behind the adjacent wall, and a guy in not-so-sexy uniform who checks his asshole now and then. What a paradise. Seriously, he needs time to get used to concept of comfort zone. Maybe, after few years Shiraishi himself will offer to find a cozy place for both of them. Average cook. Doesn’t know how to hold a broom.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Breaking up with Shiraishi is a whole three-ring circus because he is hot and then cold, yes and then no. Get ready to prepare sad clown look for both you and him because it will be a long story: as soon as the idea settles in his head, Shiraishi will turn into giant wreck. Everybody around notices him walking in circles as well as asking Sugimoto how to properly show person that he is not interested. Of course, he ignores rational “just tell them, set a record straight”. Of course, Shiraishi plays dumb and tries to distance himself in all ways possible and impossible. The only way to end this agony is to break the relationship yourself before the mutual sympathy and respect turn into disgust and tension.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Doesn’t experience a burning passion to get married but doesn’t completely discards this possibility either. If person seems to be the only one, the meant one, Shiraishi will pop a question after 3-4 years of stable relationship. Cruel push and pull game, sudden break ups and get backs together kill his will to settle down. He may stay with them but Shiraishi will never bring up thought of marriage, wedding bells, and family.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Even the prison could not knock softness out of Shiraishi: he is utterly gentle with his partner, dreading hurting them or jeopardize their life with the hunt of tattooed skins. Choosing the right words is a little more complicated so translation of an emotional mess in his head does not always convey implied sentiment. That’s the reason why Shiraishi may be unintentionally harsh when it comes to serious conversations: he is torn between being tender and showing firm character.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Somehow, loves hugs but rarely initiate them. He is almost always cold, his skin feels cold and rough like papyrus paper, therefore, his partner frequently serves as a living heater. When they are busy with work or chores, Shiraishi catches their hand and embraces their arm, practically immobilizing it. Hints fly left and right when Shiraishi wants a hug: he really comes to the partner with puppy eyes and  index finger pointing towards one another because no, he won’t go for it himself, he want his loved one to do it.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Mentally, he already did it when they met for first time but it takes at least a month for Shiraishi to say three magic words aloud. Two would be even better. He's not serious enough to wait for the friendly phase of a romantic relationship when people have already got used to each other. The longer the relationship lasts, the more serious Shiraishi gets though. You can hear it in the changing of his voice when his playful “I love you so so much” shifts to calm and earnest confession.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Easily jealoused walking disaster that will follow his partner like a poodle if they give him a reason to doubt their faithfulness. Sometimes Shiraishi overreacts, he even thought Sugimoto was looking at his loved one somehow weirdly but quickly brushed this idea off just for it to come back to him next day. Shiraishi gets extremely needy and tries to show everybody that this is HIS person. He is NOT sharing. They love ME. He gives them extra kisses, hugs, grabs their hand and squeezes it few times, smiles at them as much as he physically can.

If his loved one is the one being overly flirtatious, Shiraishi feels awful. Wave of insecurity knocks him off the feet and he doesn’t know what to do. He is overthinker so without proper explanation Shiraishi comes up with the worst scenarios possible. In this case he distance himself until person reassures him in their relationship.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

In the beginning, Shiraishi seems the worst kisser in the world. He has little experience, almost no experience to be honest: yujo do not have time to teach clients the art of kissing. So, yeah, he is pretty average, goofy, sloppy and eager. Wants to kiss everywhere anyhow.  

After a little bit of training his kisses become more sophisticated, and Shiraishi himself doesn’t try to jump on his partner with smooches. He is still impatient when they put their hands on him and tends to get touchy even in public places. When Shiraishi gets in the mood for kissing session, he is unstoppable.

There is a sweet spot right under the earlobe kissing which send Shiraishi on the cloud nine. One kiss and he surrounds to the will of the partner. Ask whatever you want. Besides that he doesn’t care where to be kissed. Likes to give his partner gentle pecks on the nose and cheeks.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

If you remember chart going around the Tumblr with categories like “wine aunt, great at babysitting, mediocre at babysitting” Shiraishi would fall both in “God is dead, house is on fire” and “Is a baby”. Kids absolutely love him because they are on the same level *cough cough* and he is overall funny guy unlike the most adults around. Shiraishi likes active games and never sits still. For every crying child he got a candy and few tricks in his sleeve. He would love to be a father one day so he has few more minions to annoy grumpy people.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

People who sleep in together stay together. This is the rule of Yoshitake house. No matter what time his partner wakes up Shiraishi wakes up later. Nine in the morning? He is in the bed until noon. Three in the afternoon? He is still sleeping, squeezing his partner tightly in his arms. Even after waking up Shiraishi stays under the blanket. He playfully asks the loved one if they want to keep him company and cuddle too but if they are in hurry, he will lazily crawl out of bed and cook something for them.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Prefers to spend night outside gambling or drinking, skinny-dipping, lying in the grass and telling fables with varying percentage of truth. In the cold season Shiraishi still likes to go downtown but mainly to meet old friends and have dinner with them and his loved one. Rarely he chooses to stay in the comfort of home. Shiraishi teaches his partner different board games, and soon playing turns into a competition. From time to time Shiraishi loses on purpose, gifting sweet victory in shogi/igo/karuta to the most significant person in his life.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

You don’t have to ask anything unless you want to spend next hour listening to Shiraishi’s biography. He will tell you about the relationship with parents, about childhood scar on the knee, about search of Sister Miyazawa, and what a bastards his cellmates were. The list is endless, and every day Shiraishi remembers one more story he forgot to tell. There are only two things that can stop him: firm “no, not now, Shiraishi” from the partner and lack of mutual openness on their part.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

It is impossible to piss Shiraishi off. His ability to reduce everything to a joke does not help only in advanced cases where person wanted to break his neck from the beginning. Even when his patience runs out, Shiraishi cannot explode in anger, he just grimaces, stomps, and spits sarcasm. In everyday life, he avoids conflicts as much as possible and does everything to find a convenient compromise so you won’t catch him slipping. He would rather go for a walk and leave another person to cool down than get involved in heated argument.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He doesn’t remember shit if his partner doesn’t indicate that it is important information. Worth remembering. Shiraishi, please, listen. At the same time he notices slight changes in their appearance, from new haircut to ring, and keeps in mind such details like eye color, favorite clothes, maybe, particular qualities like never buttoning shirt up completely or writing notes on the wrist. Anniversaries? Baby, he doesn’t remember what day it is today. Just give up.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

The first kiss. Not only did it happen completely by accident due to a bet, but it was so awkward and unexpected that Shiraishi forgot how kissing works. Yep, he froze feeling their warm lips on his, only eyebrows slightly raised up in disbelief. After this incident, Shiraishi could not stop thinking about them. God, he is disgrace, to embarrass yourself in front of the person you like. It could not be otherwise. To remedy the situation, Shiraishi pulled himself together, remembered the cheesiest lines in the reserve, and suggested to try again because he was astonished by their daring attitude. He has no idea what happened after that but that spontaneous kiss with a touch of childishness and innocence stayed with him forever.

Oh, one more moment! Meeting them after coming back from Karafuto. Honestly, Shiraishi didn’t believe he will make it out alive. Ogata or Kiroranke could slice his throat, hide the body, and tell Asirpa he left with his tail between his legs. Therefore, it is miracle to see their adorable face again.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Let’s be real, he is the one who needs protection. He also needs some ass-whooping for getting in troubles regularly too but that is not the point. Shiraishi rarely stands up against obviously strong opponents and chooses famous Joestar backup plan – run for his life with loved one under his arm. Another option includes involvement of threatening allies, mostly Sugimoto, to save them both. Sometimes courage overwhelms him, and Shiraishi comes up with risky but bold plan how to save them without outside help but it happens much less often.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Most of the time, Shiraishi hopes that everything will be fine by itself, every event will run like clockwork without excessive effort. Dates are unpretentious: no fancy restaurants, exquisite gifts, long intricate confessions of endless love, etc. To his credit, Shiraishi takes chores more or less seriously and does his best. For the anniversaries he transforms in person you've never seen before: dressed immaculately Shiraishi holds a small bouquet of bright moss phlox and box of sweet sakuramochis, his face glows with happiness and love, however, you can sense a nervousness behind the wide smile. On days so special, he is afraid to ruin the mood with usual tomfoolery.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Canonically, Shiraishi is not the tidiest person around. For some it may be stumbling block because constant battle with desire to throw him in hot springs and scrub ingrained dirt with the hardest sponge can be too tiresome. Also Shiraishi bites his nails until they bleed as well as pulls the hangnails until his fingers start to hurt.

A sense of proportion leaves Shiraishi as soon as a bottle of sake appears on the horizon. Even though he is funny and harmless drinker, he goes overboard with alcohol to end up throwing out behind the nearest pine.

Little lies always slip through the conversation no matter what it is about. When the truth is revealed, it is too late to blame him.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Shiraishi doesn’t care about his appearance but likes to get compliments on it. He knows bunch of tricks how to remove different stains from clothes in the wild and doesn't know how to avoid them. One look is enough for Shiraishi: he could wear his old prison uniform for life time because it is strangely comfortable and universal for any event. Except the pursuit by guards, of course.

Has mixed feelings about his tattoos. Living with them is to sit on a powder keg: you never know when the new man with the gold rush will try to scalp you alive.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Gets very, very attached to the friends and loved ones so break up feels like punch in the gut. Unlike the rest, Shiraishi basically refuses to let go. He gets clingy, keeps acting like nothing happened, like they are still the best friends, just to cover up growing emptiness inside. No matter how hard he ignores it, Shiraishi can feel how part of him fades. Sometimes even abrupt refusal doesn’t work, but it’s simply his way to deal with sadness.  After few weeks, he has an insight that things will never be the same and that when it hits him. Shiraishi tries to distance himself and it takes all of his strength since by this time he becomes easily distracted, irritated, and whiny. He needs months to get over it.

If they died or were killed, Shiraishi puts effort to maintain his clown image. Only closest people can notice small detail that give away his sorrow and melancholy. Doesn't attempt to get revenge. The time to recover increases to year.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Do you think Shiraishi went to jail so often because of negligence? Partially, yes. Besides the fact Shiraishi is being hopeless fool, he finds prison cell a great place to take a break from fleeting life. If you think about it time slows down behind bars. There’s no point to worry what tomorrow will bring, how to survive and make it through another scuffle, and his impressive skills guarantee him easy escape.

Shiraishi has joint hypermobility syndrome which helps him bend joints at unusual angles and even pull bones out of the fossae. Prolonged arthralgia is a side effect that Shiraishi had to deal with from the first conscious days. There are days when the pain becomes so excruciating that he just wants to lie still and stare at the sky for 24 hours.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Continuous scolding when there is a reason and when there is not. Yes, with his behavior it is difficult to resist the urge to say a couple of strong words or raise your voice, and Shiraishi is totally okay with it until rebuke becomes daily tradition.

Shiraishi's thoughts are always in motion, usually Brownian motion, his body twitches even when he tries to sit calmly in one place so stagnation in any form would be the death of him. This includes repetitive thoughts, boring behavior, and general passivity.

Shiraishi is genuinely upset if his partner doesn't like children. This is an inexplicable feeling, he really hurts if they ignore little ones or, worse, openly express dislike for kids.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Prepare yourself to unexpected awakening in the middle of the night, you will have a lot of them. Shiraishi keeps running from guardians of the law even in his sleep: he kicks, turns, throws his arms out to the sides for the most part of the night. Accidental elbow blow to the nose is not uncommon either. Worst of all, he does not wake up after that!

In the morning Shiraishi likes to sneak closer to his loved one and just presses him onto them. Like, completely. He throws his leg over them, hugs them, presses his cheek to their back, and if it feels just right in winter, in summer such cuddle can be a real test.

Abrupt sleep schedule changes do not bother Shiraishi at all. His organism is so adapted to the crazy lifestyle that he stays fresh even after sleepless night, after waking up at 3 a.m. and going to bed at 3 p.m.

#golden kamuy #shiraishi yoshitake #yoshitake shiraishi #golden kamuy headcanon #golden kamuy imagine #tosikowrites

[inquisitivewordsmith]

Messy Thoughts on Zack Snyder’s Justice League

I never thought I’d have to write a “review” again. Actually, I’ve been tempted to write so much about media I consume, but I guess everyone’s breaking think-pieces about this, so let’s go. SPOILERS after the cut. TLDR: A slightly better, but too long version of a bad movie. 

* I completely understand why Ray Fisher felt robbed by the theatrical version. Cyborg was easily the best part of the movie, and this is coming from someone who always felt the push to put the character in the Justice League was ridiculous. His whole plot with his dead mom and absentee dad was played completely straight, free from forced humor or Snyder’s indulgences, and that’s why it worked. I also liked him exploring the digital world. It ran a bit long, but it kept my attention long enough. 

* That’s about it for the long scenes in this movie, though. Everything else felt super indulgent and way too long, especially when most of the movie is essentially the same as the theatrical version. The intro with Superman’s death and the scream heard around the world was tedious. 

* I couldn’t tell what in this movie was just Snyder’s quirks and what was genuine humor. We get this ridiculous “meet cute” where Barry Allen just stares at Iris West, and then they just keep staring at each other even after he’s inside a building and she’s driving off. Then she almost crashes and he uses his speed to save her, but he just keeps staring at her and grabs a hot dog and puts it on his pocket. At least I think that was joke. Aquaman’s scene where women chant after him and one of them smells his sweater is played with so much sincerity, but I thought it was funny. Don’t get me started on Wonder Woman killing the hell out of a right-wing terrorist, only to give an inspirational speech to a little girl seconds later.

* I will say I am glad Snyder learned from his mistakes and the movie actually attempts some humor and optimism. A surprising amount of jokes from the theatrical version survived (”My man!”) and they removed all the awful crap like Flash falling on Diana’s boobs. The movie itself still lacks an alarming amount of color, but I didn’t feel miserable like I did with Man of Steel or Batman v. Superman. Though the choice of dressing a “reborn”, optimistic Superman with the black suit is....interesting. 

* Bruce was kind of boring in this since his character arc was resolved in BvS, so it’s nice to not see a homicidal hermit for once. Same for WW, really. Superman’s the only one of the three who gets an arc, but even then, he’s absent for most of the movie. I just don’t like these versions of the characters, even if this movie is probably their best showing. I only liked Diana in her own initial movie, and then the sequel came out and was so close to getting her right, and they completed butchered that. Ugh. 

* Steppenwolf has more character in this. He’s not an amazing villain and I still think making him the main villain in this movie is a mistake, but he has a tangible motivation beyond world conquest. His new look is absurd, though. Literally 3edgy5me. DeSaad also looks boring. The little we get of Darkseid is pretty good, though. He has enough presence and he looks a lot better than he did on the initial trailer. I just wish these movies weren’t obsessed with removing color. Granny Goodness was unexpected, but welcome.  

* That scene where Wonder Woman was using her bracelets to block the bullets coming at the hostages was nice. Not the entire sequence itself, but just that part was cool. See, she doesn’t need a shield to protect herself or others. 

* The ending was pretty sweet and earnest. A pleasant surprise for a Snyder movie...oh wait, they kept the sequence where Lex escaped from Arkham? Which now teases an entirely different plot for a movie that won’t happen anymore? Weird, they should’ve kept this an after credit scene like the Whedon version did, but at least it’s over...wait, now we’re doing ANOTHER Knightmare scene? Didn’t we just do one earlier with Cyborg? This is dragging too long. This Joker is still awful. Why is the camera blurring half the time? I can’t see anything! Oh, Evil Superman is descending on the remaining heroes. This might be...oh, it’s another “dream” Bruce is having. So, now Martian Manhunter is showing up? He could’ve prevented most of his plot and NOW he shows up? Neat design, though. 

* Seriously, this movie could’ve had a good ending, but then we just got to awkwardly cram 3 after-credit scenes in there. 

* Overall, this was an improvement over the theatrical version. It’s not a good movie still. The general plot barely changes and a lot of the extra content drags forever, but at least a lot of bad jokes and awkward edits are gone. I’m glad Fisher got to show off more of his character, at least, especially after putting up with Whedon. 

#iw reviews #zack snyder's justice league #justice league #messy thoughts #snyder cut #dc films #dc movies #detective comics #dc comics #hbo max #zack snyder

[maraudererasmut]

Black and White (Part XVIII)

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII | Part XVIII | Part XIX | Part XX

"Thanks for joining me for dinner!" 

Lily's voice was light and airy, her posture relaxed and her smile bright. In many ways, she was the opposite of Sirius.

Remus quickly pushed the thought from his mind, choosing to focus on the present. He still hadn't heard back from Sirius or James, and it was his goal for that evening not to bring them up in conversation. Lily was her own person; she was more than just James' wife and Sirius' friend. She needed to be treated as such. If she chose to raise the subject, Remus wouldn't be opposed to it, but he refused to ruin a fun evening with memories from last night.

"Thanks for inviting me. It's not often that I get to go out for dinner with friends."

It's not often that I can afford to.

Lily had insisted on buying Remus dinner that night, refusing to take no as an answer. She promised that Remus could return the favour once he sold his first painting at the gallery. 

"And you will sell one, trust me!"

Remus admired Lily for her optimism, even if he didn't share it. 

"This is great! I'm glad you're here!" Lily's voice broke through the fog in Remus' mind. He looked up into her emerald eyes. To Remus, they were summer. They were the bright green of rolling fields, as warm and sunny as a perfect August day, as soft and gentle as a summer breeze. He couldn't get enough of Lily's eyes. He'd have to use that colour in a painting some day. 

"Yeah… me too…"

"You seem off, Remus. What's the matter?"

Remus' gaze drifted down to his hands. Was he that obvious? Was his face betraying all of his emotions?

"I'm fine. Really. Let's just have a fun evening talking about art."

"You sure?" Lily sounded concerned as she reached a hand across the table and placed it gently over Remus'. "I'm here if you need to talk… does it have anything to do with what happened the other day?"

Remus looked up and furrowed his brow. How much did Lily know?

"What did James tell you?" He asked suspiciously, a subtle grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Lily smiled in return.

"He said you had a painting for us and that Sirius flipped when he found out. Which was stupid, because Sirius can be a jealous twat sometimes."

Remus' grin grew wider.

"Yeah… that just about sums him up."

Lily chuckled, removing her hand from Remus' and brushing a loose strand of auburn behind her ear. 

"He's more than that, though, despite what the past few weeks have shown you…"

Remus responded with a laugh of his own, recalling the look in Sirius' eyes at the coffee shop. He had seemed so apologetic, so genuine, so different from the gallery owner version of Sirius. 

"I don't doubt that…"

“I’m sorry about him, by the way. I swear, he’s not usually like this. He’s a really nice guy…”

Remus laughed affectionately at Lily's embarrassment. 

“You don’t need to apologize oh his behalf. It’s fine, I get it. Anyway, he… he actually apologized himself. It was… kind of sweet…" Remus' mind flickered briefly to the previous night. "Well… Until he ran away, that is…”

“Ran away?” Lily quirked a brow at Remus, suddenly confused. Lily must not have heard about that part of the evening. 

“Yeah, we had met up at my work last night and chatted a bit. Things were going fine, but he kind of got super upset all of a sudden and left the coffee shop without a word. I…" Remus' eyes drifted to his phone, sitting upside down at the edge of the table. "I haven’t heard from him since.” 

“Oh no… that’s awful…" Lily's face was a cross between pity and concern. Her shoulders dropped and here eyes grew wide. "Do… do you remember what it was that made him upset?”

Remus shrugged. Did he?

“Sort of? He had left me this… voicemail. It was kind of cute, actually, not gonna lie. He had gotten drunk and called and just started talking about how he wanted to talk with me. It really wasn’t a big deal, but it seemed to throw him for a loop…" Remus noticed a distinct flash of panic on Lily's face and his shoulders stiffened. "What? What is it, Lily?”

Lily pursed her lips, speaking more to herself than to Remus.

“That explains a lot…”

“What does it explain? What’s going on?” Remus leaned forward anxiously. Lily seemed to have some answers to the questions that Remus had been asking himself all day. 

“Yesterday… Sirius called James… He was really stressed…”

Shit.

“What did I do?”

Lily reached across the table again, giving Remus' hand a little squeeze.

“Nothing! Oh, Remus, you did nothing wrong, I promise. This is… well, it’s complicated…”

Remus chewed his lip, pondering how much he should press the subject. 

“Is it… something you’re allowed to share with me?”

Lily let out a sigh, pulling herself away from Remus and gazing down at the napkin in her lap.

“It’s a very long story…”

“We’ve got a long dinner…”

Lily smiled gently, that frustrating look of pity ever present. 

“Well… it started when Sirius was young. You… you know he’s not close with his family, right?”

The conversation from the previous evening reverberated in Remus' mind.

“Yeah, he mentioned that last night. I didn’t realize…”

“Yeah…" Lily let out a soft sigh before continuing. "When they were teenagers, Sirius ran away from home and went to live with James. James’ parents basically adopted Sirius. The boys have been inseparable ever since.”

“Wow… I had no idea…” Remus didn't realize the extent of Sirius and James' relationship. He knew they were close, but from the way Lily was describing it, the boys were practically brothers. It was no wonder Sirius was so jealous of James and Remus' budding friendship.

“Anyway…" Lily continued. "One of the main reasons that Sirius left was his parents. They were… well, they were cruel to him. They drank. A lot. It… never ended well…”

“Shit… I’m… That...that sucks…” Remus didn't know what else to say. He wasn't entirely sure there was anything to say. How does a person respond when they find out someone they know had a rough childhood?

“Yeah…" Lily agreed, keeping here eyes averted. She shrugged her shoulders and continued her explanation. "When Sirius left, his younger brother stayed home. He became their prodigal son, the son that the Black family always wanted. He took after his father in many ways… Including the alcohol." Lily picked up the glass of water in front of her and brought it to her lips, taking a long, slow sip, as if to regain her composure. "A few years ago, Regulus… that’s Sirius’ brother… he went to rehab, joined AA, decided to make a change in his life. It was really great. We got a lot closer with him… the boys reconnected… Then about a year ago…”

Lily paused. Emerald eyes sparkled with lingering tears, threatening to fall at any moment. Remus felt a lump in his throat and stinging in his eyes as he imagined how difficult this must be for Lily to recount. 

“You don’t have to keep going…”

Lily wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and smiled up at Remus. 

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s just… a bit hard to talk about." She let out a strained laugh, trying to sound casual. "A year ago, Regulus got into a huge fight with his parents. He let himself go that night, relapsing, falling back to his old habits and coping mechanisms… He… he got into an accident.”

“Shit…"  That seemed to be the only word Remus knew that evening. "Is he…” Remus trailed off, unsure how to phrase his question. Lily caught on to what he was asking. 

“He’s alive… he’s just… not the same." Lily took another drink of water, preparing herself for what came next. "The accident left him unable to do a lot of the things he used to… he turned bitter… claimed he was broken. We’re not as close as we once were. Every time we try to reconnect, he pulls further away. Sirius and Regulus haven’t spoken in months... “

“God… that awful….”

Remus couldn't imagine the pain and struggle that Sirius had gone through. Being an only child, Remus knew he would never fully comprehend Sirius' situation and the hurt he experienced.

“Sirius stopped drinking after the accident. He still has a glass of wine on occasion, a pint of beer, but he hasn’t gone out, gotten drunk, in almost an entire year.”

Remus closed his eyes, knowing exactly why Sirius had left the cafe in such a panic.

“Until two nights ago…”

“Until two nights ago.” 

“And then I brought it up in conversation. Fuck, I’m such an idiot.”

Lily reached forward, gripping Remus' hand firmly. She looked him straight in the eyes, penetrating his defenses.

“You’re not an idiot, Remus. You didn’t know.” She said it with such conviction, Remus almost believed it. 

Almost.

“...It was my fault,” Remus mumbled to himself.

“How was it your fault?”

“We got into a fight. He… he must have drank because he was angry at me. I made him so mad that he—”

“Stop." Lily's tone was harsh as her grasp on Remus' hand tightened. "Listen to me: this is not your fault. Sirius made a mistake. That’s on him. He’s struggling with it right now, but that doesn’t make it your fault. The best thing we can do is support him and be there for him.”

“I guess…”

“No. There’s no “I guess”, Remus. This is not your fault. You need to know that…” 

Remus heard Lily's words, but his mind kept racing back to their argument in his flat.

“But if he hadn’t—”

“No. Stop it. None of that. Remus, you and Sirius have had a bit of a strained relationship thus far, but he really does enjoy your company. I can assure you of that. You just have to be understanding that he might be a bit off for the next while. Just… be there if he needs you and he’ll reach out to you when he’s ready… Okay?” 

Lily looked so earnest, it was hard to argue with her. She seemed to believe that none of this was because of Remus, despite the evidence to the contrary. How could she be so sure?

“Yeah…" Remus muttered, knowing that there was no point in arguing against the feisty woman before him. "Yeah, okay.”

“Good. Don’t worry, Remus. He’s not mad at you.”

Remus raised an eyebrow skeptically at Lily.

“You sure?” 

“Positive. He doesn’t see this as your fault at all. As far as he’s concerned, he’s worried that he upset you.”

“What? Upset me? How? Why would he think that?"

“That’s what I keep telling him. Now we just have to wait for him to believe me. Things will be fine in a few days. The dust will settle and you two will be able to get back to… whatever it is that you call normal…”

Remus felt himself smile despite the situation.

Normal.

What was normal these days anyway?

“I… I hope it can be a bit better than that…”

“Yeah, Sirius had been a bit of a prick lately," Lily said with a grin, the humour finally returning to her expression. "Well then, hopefully things can get better than normal… For both of you.”

"Yeah… hopefully…"

#Black and White #Wolfstar #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Lily Evans #Wolfstar fanfic #wolfstar fanfiction #my writing #part eighteen #part 18 #part XVIII #Remus: I don't want to talk about Sirius tonight #Also Remus: OKAY CAN WE TALK ABOUT SIRIUS?!? #Seriously this boy has a one track mind #Writing him is basically like: Hello yes what's Sirius doing today? #Poor Remus #Poor Sirius! #Here we get a bit of Sirius backstory! #Yay! #Don't worry guys Reg is alive! #Moonflower #Moonlily #REMUS LILY BONDING TIME #My brotp #TW: Alcoholism #TW: drinking #TW: swearing #TW: Parental abuse #TW: The usual Black Family stuff

[freddiesaysalright]

Peace Like A River - Epilogue

A Gwilym Lee x Reader Story

Summary: Reader has found her peace in Gwilym. Violet shares how much it means to her on a special day.

Word Count: 1.6K

Tag List: @psychosupernatural @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @simmisblog, @assembledherethevolunteers, @lookuptotheskiesandsee, @readinghorn, @riddikuluslypotter, @doingalrightt, @misslolasworld, @lemurian-starship, @ravenedges-lies, @painkiller80, @imgonnabeyourslave, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @ixchel-9275, @sincerelygmg, @lv7867, @unicorn-princess-1999, @delilahmay39, @chlobo6, @dragon-out-of-water, @radio-hoo-ha, @agentmalfoy24601, @thigh-your-mother-down

A/N: Here is the super sappy promised epilogue! Y’all it is GUSHY but after such a wild ride, I thought they all deserved some pure love lol. Thank you all so much for the love you’ve shown this story. I had so much fun writing it and seeing how all of you reacted to the twists and turns. Please enjoy the last part of Peace Like a River :)

Part I  Part II  Part III  Part IV  Part V  Part VI  Part VII  Part VIII  Part IX  Part X  Part XI

Epilogue here we go!!!

You twisted one last curl around Violet’s face and pinned it carefully to the back of her head. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror. She was so beautiful, and you could see the excitement in her eyes. You leaned over her shoulder and kissed her cheek.

“Are you nervous at all?” you wondered.

She shook her head. “No. Jamie is it for me. I know it.”

You grinned. “I’m so happy for you, baby. I just can’t believe you’re getting married.”

“Mom,” she groaned with a roll of her eyes, but she was still smiling. “I know I’ll always be your baby.”

“Yes, you will,” you assured her, giving her another small squeeze.

“Mom, I need to tell you something,” she said seriously. “Before the others get here.”

“The others” you knew referred to her younger siblings - Sybil, Olivia, and Tom. Your brow furrowed. What could she not say to them?

“What is it?” you asked.

“I was in New York for that conference - about a month ago - and I...well, I met up with Henry.”

You blinked and stepped back. “How did it go?”

She looked at her hands folded neatly on her lap. “Not great. Especially not after I told him about Dad.”

After you and Gwilym were married, he adopted Violet officially. Only then did you give her her father’s last name, Lee. You could imagine Henry hadn’t taken that well.

You knelt down in front of her and took her hands.

“Did he hurt you?” you asked, heart rate quickening with worry.

“No,” she said, trying to smile but it came out as more of a grimace. “No, not physically. He just yelled at me for a bit. It was frightening, for sure, but I just walked away.”

“Do you regret going?”

“No,” she repeated. “I was always curious about him. Now I know.”

“Do you want to tell your dad?” you wondered.

“Not today,” she said. “But at some point, I will. It made me realize how grateful I am for him. I’ve always loved him, but that whole encounter just...made it abundantly clear why.”

“The best thing to do now is forget him,” you said. “You have a wonderful father who loves you very much.”

“I know,” she returned, smiling in earnest now. “I know I do.”

Just then, Gwilym appeared in the doorway with Sybil and Olivia. They both gasped when they saw Violet and immediately began gushing about how great she looked. She beamed at her little sisters and embraced them excitedly. Gwilym stood frozen, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted. You chuckled and slipped an arm around his waist.

“Shocked?” you questioned.

He nodded stiffly. “I can’t believe that’s our little girl.”

“I know,” you agreed. 

“I mean, I still remember her with whipped cream on her face and saying Merry Breakfast,” he said. “That feels like it was yesterday.”

“To me too,” you said. “But she’s not a little girl anymore.”

“No, she’s not,” he said. “She’s about to make Jamie the luckiest man in the world. Second to me, anyway.”

You giggled and kissed him on the cheek. Violet finally shook off her sisters and approached you and Gwilym. As she looked at him, you saw her eyes shining with tears. He wrapped her up in his arms.

“Scared, love?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, I just love you so much.”

“Aw, I love you too, sweet girl,” he returned. “Are you ready? Jamie’s waiting for you.”

She took a deep breath and grinned. “I’m ready.”

Tom was a groomsman, so he was with Jamie. He was waiting to walk Sybil and Olivia down the aisle first. Then you and Gwilym would follow with Violet. She had insisted on you both giving her away for equality’s sake. You waited with her at the front of the aisle and you saw her squeeze Gwilym’s arm. The music changed and it was time for the bride to make her way to the groom.

The ceremony was beautiful. You cried through their vows - which Jamie and Violet had written themselves. Gwilym actually held up very well. You could see how happy he was for them. But he didn’t cry. He did put his arm around you to comfort you.

As the happy couple made their way back down the aisle as husband and wife, you leaned into Gwilym. He pressed his lips to your temple and whispered how much he loved you, exactly as he had done on your own wedding day. You closed your eyes and just let him hold you for a moment, taking you back to that time.

The reception hall was lovely. It was simple, with just a few lights scattered around to create a soft, warm glow. After pictures were over, you all settled at the head table with the bride and groom. Violet was absolutely glowing. She gave Jamie a sweet kiss and then she stood up, clinking a fork against her champagne glass. The room quieted and turned eyes on her.

“Thank you, everyone, for being here on this special day,” she began. “I feel so blessed to have so many friends and family who care for me and Jamie. We are truly grateful.”

She paused and took a deep breath.

“I wanted to say a few things before we get too far into the reception,” she said. “Some things that have been weighing on my heart in the days before my wedding.” She turned toward you and Gwilym. “Mom, Dad, as I thought about marriage, I realized I was ready because of the example you set. Watching you two instilled in me tools for navigating a partnership that have been fundamental in my relationship with Jamie, and will continue as the pillars of our marriage. Things like respect, understanding, open-mindedness, and most importantly unconditional love. I knew Jamie was the one for me because I recognized these qualities in him. Qualities I’d seen from the two people I admire most in the world.”

She took a sip of champagne.

“Gotta drink before this part because it’s about to get emotional,” she joked, and everyone chuckled.

“Mom,” she said, meeting your eyes. “To me, you’ve always been strength. You have survived so much, and you went through a literal hell for me. And yet, you never made me feel unwanted or like a burden. You have taught me to demand respect for myself and to work hard for the things I want. You’ve taught me more about loving myself than I could even conceive of. And you’ve shown me the value of taking chances. You are my biggest cheerleader, confidant, and friend. You are my inspiration. I love you so much.”

She finished with a smile. Through watery eyes, you blew her a kiss. She met Gwilym’s gaze then, and you saw tears spring to her eyes.

“Dad,” she said shakily, and she had to swallow the lump in her throat. “This is gonna be hard, but I promise I’m really happy.”

He laughed and smiled warmly at her. She cleared her throat.

“Dad,” she began again, stronger this time. “I don’t remember it, but I’ve been told the story of how I chose you my whole life. One day, I called you ‘Daddy’ and since then, you just were. I love that story, and I think it’s so incredible that I selected you out of all the men in the world to be that for me. But, um…” she trailed off, her bottom lip quivering. “But you chose me too. Lots of men would have run screaming from everything that Mom and I meant. But you stayed, when you had every reason to step back. No one would have blamed you. But you didn’t. So yes, I chose you once. But you chose me and my mother over and over and over again. And you gave us all of you every single day.”

She sniffled and paused again. A tear slid down her cheek.

“You’ve shown me what a good man looks like,” she choked out. “You’ve shown me what a good father looks like. You’ve shown me what love looks like. Thank you for choosing us.”

You looked over at Gwilym and saw tears flowing down his face. He was trying to wipe them away, but quickly decided it wasn’t worth it. He got up and reached his daughter in two strides, completely engulfing her in his embrace. You saw her shoulders shake with a sob as she beamed up at him, no longer bothering to hold back her tears either. You watched them together and felt like your heart was breaking and also dancing around inside your chest. 

Gwilym held Violet tight. He was overwhelmed with affection for her in this moment, though he never thought it possible to love her any more than he already did.

“I love you, my girl,” he whispered. “I will always choose you.”

She laughed through another sob and kissed his wet cheek. “I love you too, Dad.”

They made it through and finally, Jamie took Violet’s hand and led her out to the dance floor for their first dance. They’d actually gotten lessons to dance a foxtrot to Queen’s “You’re My Best Friend.” You looked at Gwilym, still dabbing your eyes.

“I can’t believe she did that,” he sighed. 

“I know, she got us good, huh?” you teased.

He laughed. “Look how happy she is.”

“We did okay with her,” you said, leaning on his shoulder.

“More than okay,” he replied. “She’s perfect.”

“Well done,” you told him. With a smile, you added, “Dear Friend.”

He kissed your forehead and smirked. “You as well, Dear Friend.”

Together, you watched your other children join Violet and Jamie on the floor. Your family was growing, and would continue to grow as each of them found their way in the world. You and Gwilym would always be there for them, providing a home, and showing them love. You were their peace, and they were yours.

#gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee imagine #gwilym lee x you #gwilym x reader #BoRhap #BoRhap cast #borhap boys #borhap imagine #borhap cast imagine #borhap cast x reader #borhap boys imagine #borhap boys x reader #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody imagine #Queen #queen x reader #queen x you #queen imagine #Brian May #brian may x reader #brian may imagine #brian may x you #peace like a river series #borhap au

[beetlebitchywitch]

Okay but that moment in the ‘dying my hair green’ hc where you come home and he has you kneel while he’s in the recliner took me OUT, could you do some bdsm-y beej x reader ? If you’re comfy w/ it ofcourse

I’m v v V comfy my dude, let’s do this 

CW: BDSM, name-calling, some exhibitionism because I’m entirely too self-indulgent

Beetlejuice was the first one to bring up the idea of BDSM to you. Because of course, this rat bastard is horny as balls and is into some kinky shit, so you’re not at all surprised.

What does surprise you is how absolutely serious he takes this shit. He sits you down, asks you about any hard and fast limits, about things you might want to try, about his responsibilities when he’s domming you, your responsibilities if you’re domming him, because let’s be real, Beej is for sure a switch. You are in awe of his care, his love for you, how much he wants to make sure you want this and how much you really, truly need him.

(I love Dom!Beej the most but I also L O V E headcanons about him getting pegged, so take that as you will)

You don’t go as far as signing a contract, but you do set up some permanent ground rules. You use the color system for safewording, you are both aware of each others mutual likes and dislikes, and you have signals for when you want to enter a scene.

For example, one day at work, Beetlejuice sends you a simple text. Take them off. You shudder, understanding damn well what he means. He means go to the bathroom, remove your underwear, and keep them off until you return. He means that tonight, when you return, you are to kneel at the front door, knees spread, and wait for him. 

You spend the rest of the work day in a heightened state of arousal, worrying about people somehow realizing that you aren’t wearing underwear. But fuck it turns you on to no end, which Beetlejuice, of course, is obsessed with. He loves to make you squirm, loves how turned on you are by him, for him. When you finally get to punch out, you race to your car and speed home, ignoring the urge to touch yourself in the car- he would know, he always knows, and he would not be happy. 

Finally, finally, you enter through your front door and immediately sink to your knees, feeling the rush of your submission slide over you, anchoring you to the floor. You couldn’t have moved even if you wanted to, and you don’t, because nothing makes you feel more loved, more safe, more real than Beetlejuice and his dominance.

After a minute or two, he enters the room, placing a small box on the couch before approaching you. You keep your eyes trained on the ground, not daring to meet his gaze without permission. 

“Did you do as I asked, pet?” he asks formally, finally letting his hand comb through your hair. You lean into his touch, nodding your answer with a quite whimper. “Good. I want you to follow me over to the couch. I have a present for you.” As you begin to stand, he places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing once to silently give you permission to look up at him. When you do, you shiver at the devilish smirk taking over his face, his eyes a deep, rich crimson. “No need to stand, pet.”

You blush and stare at the floor as you crawl over to the couch, kneeling at his feet as he sits on the couch and picks up the small box, handing it to you. You smile and open it, gasping softly at what is revealed- a thin, black collar, with a silver beetle charm hanging off the middle. Your fingers tremble as you pet the leather, so smooth, so soft…

“This is for you, pet. This is somethin’ I’d like you to wear whenever we’re in a scene and I am actin’ as your dominant. It means that you’re mine, you got that? If you choose to let me put this on you, you’re mine, and no one else’s. Is this what you want?” he asks, almost solemnly in all his seriousness. You look up at him, nodding with a soft smile. 

“Yes, Sir. It’s…it’s beautiful. I want you to put it on me…please,” you say, tilting your head back and bearing your neck for him. He growls under his breath, deftly fastening the collar around your neck. You twist it so the beetle is centered, the cool metal juxtaposed to your flushed skin. Beetlejuice is grinning like a maniac and you love it, love how much he loves owning you. 

“Alright, sweetness, you know where we’re going next,” he says, taking your hand and leading you up the stairs and into the guestroom, which has become your playroom. It’s nothing much, just a bed and cabinets to keep all of your…supplies, but it’s gotten to the point where just entering this room turns you on. Not sure this is what Pavlov had in mind, but nevertheless, the second you hear the soft wood creak under your feet, your heartbeat begins to pick up. 

Beetlejuice turns to you, gazing  deeply into your eyes and commands deeply, sternly- “Kneel.” 

You drop to your knees as if they simply stopped working at his command. God, the way he orders you, the power he has over you with one simple word, it sends a rush of heat to your core. If you were wearing underwear, it’d be soaked. On cue, you lift your hands up, and he picks up a length of soft rope from the bed, binding your wrists together in front of you. He drops your bound hands and lets his thumb trace over your cheek. You lean into his touch, so clearly loving, gentle, tender. 

“Color?” he asks. You huff a small sigh.

“Green, Sir, please…”

“Please what, pet? You’re going to have to be more specific…” he trails off, letting his fingers tangle and tug at your hair. You moan sharply, that delicious pain in your scalp making you even wetter, if that were somehow possible. 

“I…I want…” you stutter, afraid of telling him what you’ve been fantasizing about for weeks, afraid he’ll judge you, afraid he’ll-

“Pet,” he says sternly, tilting your head up with a finger under your chin. “Tell me. You want something new, don’t you?”

God, he knew you so well. You tremble and stutter out a “Y-yes…” his gentle touch grounding you in this moment. “I…the window…”

Beetlejuice looks behind him towards the window in question, one that looks out over a small pond where people don’t often go, although you’ve seen people walking their dogs their on occasion. Secluded, but not completely private, he realizes. There’s a change, even if its small, that you might be seen…his hair immediately flashes a deep magenta, and you see the bulge in the front of his pants twitch as he chuckles deeply. 

“Ohohoho, I see what’s going on here,” he says playfully, squatting down so you’re eye to eye. “My little slut wants to show off for everyone, do they? Want your tits pressed up against the glass as I fuck you, make you moan, let everyone see that collar around your neck? Is that what you want?”

His fingers trail under your skirt, gathering your wetness and rubbing slow circles on your clit, one that makes your thighs tremble and your breath come out shaky. 

“Yes, yes, Beetlejuice please-!”

You hear the whistle of the air as his hand comes crashing down on your ass, sharp and hot. You cry out, nearly doubling over and resting your forehead on his shoulder as he continues teasing your clit. 

“Try again, slut,” he growls.

“Sir, Sir, please, I’ve wanted it so bad!”

He gets up without another word, digging through the cabinet before coming back with a pair of scissors. Slowly, carefully, he cuts your clothing from your body until your flushed skin is exposed to the air. He pulls you to your feet, holding your bound hands as he searches your face. 

“Color, pet? Think before you answer, because you know what’s comin’ next,” he warns, sparing a glance to the window. You shudder, the very thought of what comes next making your knees nearly give out again. 

“Green, so green, so fucking green,” you exclaim, wanting it, needing it, needing him-

He chuckles darkly, grabbing you by the hands and leading you slowly towards the window. “Well then, slut…it’s showtime.” 

He presses you against the glass, your entire body exposed to the world outside as he gets down on his knees, spreading your pussy with his fingers to get a good look at what his dominance has done to you. Your nipples press up against the cold glass and it feels so good, so good, that it very nearly overwhelms the delicious anxiety you feel in the pit of your stomach at the idea of someone catching you like this. Your eyes dart around, scanning the area around the pond, but there’s no one, not yet. 

With very little warning, Beej plunges two fingers inside of you, your wetness making it incredibly easy. You moan, supporting yourself on the glass, realizing that from this angle, no one outside could even see Beetlejuice, just you, you in all your glory, and fuck if it doesn’t make you want him so badly. 

“Sir, please, please, faster,” you beg, thighs trembling as he begins to finger you in earnest, swiftly finding that spot inside you that nearly makes you cum. It’s all so much, his fingers, the cold glass, the exposure, you can’t, you can’t-”

His hands are gone, fuck, they’re gone. You moan, grinding your hips back, but his touch has completely vanished. “Slow your roll, there, pet,” he commands, letting his hand come down once more on your ass. “Don’t forget who’s in charge here. When you cum, it’s with my permission. Remind me, slut, why is that?”

“B-because I’m yours,” you moan, feeling his breath against your core. “Please…” you whimper pitifully. 

“Well…you are begging me so prettily.” He stands up, snapping his fingers so his clothes are left in a pile on the floor, his hard cock rubbing up against you and wrenching a cry from your lips. “Tell me, pet, you want me to fuck you where anyone could see you? Want them to see your pleasure, knowing they can only look and never touch? Tell me, now,” he commands, letting his hand slap one of your tits this time. You arch your back, trying to chase his touch, but he withholds, waiting for you. 

“Yes, Sir, I want it, I’m green, please God fuck me,” you beg. It’s enough for him, apparently, because without another word he’s sliding into you in one, smooth motion, sparing a glance outside. He growls, letting his teeth sink into your shoulder as he begins to pump his hips. 

“Looks like you might have an audience, pet,” he says, and oh fuck, he’s right, there’s a man walking his dog by the pond. One look up at your house and he’ll see you, see this…you’ve never been more turned on in your life. “Color?”

“G-green,” you moan, grinding your hips back onto him. He snarls, holding your hair in one hand and your tit in another as he begins pounding into you violently. You groan, letting the pain and pleasure wash over you as you watch the man continue along his path, never once sparing you a glance before vacating the area altogether. You’re not sure if you’re disappointed or relieved, but there’s no time to ponder it because Beetlejuice is fucking you like it’s the end of the world, and the screams he’s wrenching out of you might alert the entire neighborhood of your escapades. You feel it building inside you, that wave of pleasure about to crest, and you can’t help but babble almost unintelligibly. Beej chuckles, letting his fingers drift from your nipple to your clit, his thrusts never once slowing. 

“Yeah, baby, you close? You wanna cum? Let me fuckin’ hear it,” he groans in your ear.

“Gotta cum, fuck, please Sir, I wanna cum so bad, please!” 

“Alright, sweetness, you’ve been so good for me. Cum, now.”

You’re shocked at how accustomed your body is to his commands, because no sooner does he order you to cum that your release hits you, a pitiful wail wrenched from your lips as you clench around him, your pleasure spreading through your entire body, your muscles shaking and your knees ready to buckle. Just as your coming down, Beetlejuice gets there as well, cumming inside you with one final cry. The minute his pleasure has crested and gone, he’s sweeping you up in his arms, carrying you over to the bed and cuddling you, pressing sweet kiss after sweet kiss on your face and arms and neck and anywhere he can reach. 

“Are you alright, baby?” he asks, petting your hair as gently as he can. You smile, snuggling up to him. 

“I’m fantastic, as long as you’re here.”

He draws you a warm bath and lays with you, washing your skin and your hair with gentleness and love, and you know that there is absolutely nowhere else you’d rather be.

OK so like, I don’t know how much exhibitionism is your thing, but like I said, I’m a self-indulgent asshole, so it kinda just happened lol 

#beetlejuice nsft #beetlejuice hc #beetlejuice headcanon #beetlejuice headcanons #beej #beej hc #beej headcanon #beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice/reader

[fauxkaren]

Buffy Rewatch 2x13 “Surprise”

This is THE ONE. The episode that really kicks season 2 into high gear.

The episode opens with a dream sequence and Buffy does dreams better than any other show. It’s so perfectly weird and unsettling. 

Oh also it’s Buffy’s birthday!! She’s 17! And Buffy and Angel are getting pretty hot and heavy. Sexxxxy. She and Willow have some boy talk and Buffy decides that she and Angel are totally going to fuck soon. And Buffy encourages Willow to go talk to Oz. Good call, Buffy. But maybe you should have told Willow to remove that awful hat first. No matter. Willow invites Oz to Buffy’s surprise party as her date and of course he’s into it. SO CUTE. Unlike Xander’s tragic attempt to ask Cordy to be his date to the party. But Cordy herself IS adorable. Her “surprise!” when Buffy crashes into her surprise party at the Bronze after fighting and dusting some vamps is so perfect and so Cordelia.

It’s officially revealed that Spike and Dru are alive! But Spike is currently wheelchair bound due to his injuries. Dru is planning a fun party! And it’s not a party without gifts! The gifts in this case are pieces of a demon called the Judge that once put together can ‘cleanse the world of humanity’.

Another reveal! Ms. Calendar is actually part of the Romani tribe that cursed Angel, and she’s been in Sunnydale to watch him! Her uncle is in town to remind her of her duty to her people to ensure that Angel remains miserable, but Angel is becoming happier with Buffy around. This cannot stand! He must suffer!

Anyway, the Scoobies get one of the pieces of the Judge and Ms Calendar sees this as a perfect opportunity to split up Buffy and Angel, fulfilling her duty to make Angel miserable. Angel will take the Judge’s arm to some far flung part of the world so he cannot be assembled. Buffy and Angel say emotional goodbyes at the docks and Angel gives Buffy a claddagh ring. But before “I Love You”s can be exchanged, they are attacked by Spike and Dru’s lackeys! And they get the box! Gasp!

So the Judge is assembled and he’s a v rude party guest, killing one of Spike and Dru’s vamp lackeys! Also the Judge almost kills Buffy and Angel, but they manage to escape... into the rain where they are very sexy and damp. They retreat to Angel’s apartment where after some sexual tension they BOOOOOOOOONE. I’m being really fliippant, but lmao it’s very sweet. Buffy is so earnest and idk... pure? in her teenage love. But after they bone, Angel runs out into the alley in pain. WHATEVER COULD BE WRONG? (It’s his soul. He lost his soul.) Guess we’ll find out next episode.

#buffyverse rewatch 2k20