#Mostly unedited

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

Billy tries to be as quiet and inconspicuous as possible when he enters the living room, easing down into a seat on the sofa with a plate packed full of finger food in his hands.

He's been steadily picking at the spread in the kitchen all afternoon — he isn't even really hungry anymore, but it's at least something to keep him occupied. He tries not to think about how he's eating out of boredom as he pops a mini quiche in his mouth.

As if having a sixth sense, Eddie turns around in his seat on the floor. Spreads a smile and crawls toward the sofa, leaning his elbows in Billy’s lap as he gazes up at him like he’s some ethereal being.

“Hey, blondie,” he lilts. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Billy snorts.

“Aren’t you supposed to be playing your game?”

“We’re having an intermission,” Eddie huffs. Leans further into Billy’s lap and wraps his arms around his waist. “Besides, I miss you.”

“Miss me? Munson, we sleep in the same bed every night.”

“And?”

“And you’re a fuckin’ dork,” Billy chuckles.

Eddie pouts. Hides his face in the front of Billy’s hoodie, and the blond has to fight every urge he has to suck his stomach in, lest Eddie pout even harder.

It’s taken some getting used to, the changes in his body. Especially after he quit smoking.

Had he known he would develop a permanent case of the munchies, he might’ve just stayed his course. Maybe he’d still have abs.

Maybe he’d still feel sexy.

Regardless, here Eddie is, smushing his face into his stomach like he’s a pillow. Billy takes a bite out of a chocolate-covered strawberry and sets his plate on the brunet’s back. Eddie doesn’t seem to notice.

“Yeah, well, you’re gorgeous,” Eddie says like it’s an insult. “And smart, and sweet, and funny, and—“

“Jesus, I get it, you like me. You can stop now.”

Eddie shakes his head. Presses a kiss to Billy’s stomach, which has the blond’s face blossoming red, and rubs up and down at his sides.

“I adore you. Wanna snuggle with you all day everyday and never do anything else.”

“Not even play D&D?”

“Nope.”

From behind him, Grant and Jeff both scoff, and Billy spreads a smile. Cards his hand through Eddie’s hair.

“I don’t think the guys like that idea.”

“Tough shit. How am I expected to function when you come in here looking all pretty ‘n stuff?”

Billy chuckles. Eddie grins at the sound.

“I’m wearing pajamas,” Billy points out. “And my hair’s not even done.”

“I know,” Eddie sighs dreamily.

“Mm, well, if you’re cuddling me all the time, when does my other boyfriend get a chance? Doesn’t sound very fair to me.”

“I don’t see this other boyfriend that you speak of. Plus, I’m calling dibs for the rest of time, so he’s outta luck.”

“You’re telling me you’re never gonna cuddle with Stevie again? Just me, forever?”

Eddie ponders the question for a long moment, and Billy chuckles again.

“Damn,” he muses. “You really do like me that much, huh?”

“I do,” Eddie admits. “I would miss being Stevie’s little spoon, though.”

Gareth snorts, clapping his hand on the coffee table.

“Wait, you’re the little spoon? Big bad Munson is Steve Harrington’s little spoon,” he cackles. “That’s the best fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

Billy grabs his plate again just in time for Eddie to sit up and swivel around enough to cast a glare at his friend. It makes Gareth laugh even harder.

“Dude, you’ve literally heard me call him my princess and shit before, but you’re choosing to make fun of me over this?”

“I always thought that was you poking fun at his masculinity or something.”

Eddie shakes his head and clicks his tongue.

“Stevie is my pretty princess,” he lilts. Glances up at Billy and chews his lip. “And Billy bear is my little babycakes. He’s the baby, actually.”

Billy’s face flushes red all the way down his neck.

“I am not,” he huffs.

“Yes huh, you’re baby girl, baby doll— you love that shit. We wouldn’t say any of it if you didn’t.”

There’s a polite chuckle from around the room and Billy scoffs.

Eddie notably softens. He rubs at Billy’s thighs, leaning forward to press another kiss to his stomach and humming pleasantly when his lips make contact.

“The nicknames just mean that we love you,” he coos.

“Guess I just think you both have weird taste,” Billy murmurs, then huffs a laugh to himself. “If I nicknamed myself, it’d probably be something like lardass.”

Eddie makes a shocked noise of offense and furrows his brows.

“Hey, no one talks about my boyfriend like that.”

“No? What’re you gonna do about it?”

“I’m gonna tell on you.” Billy’s smirk falters and Eddie hums triumphantly. “I’m gonna tell Steve. He’ll baby you about it and pull out some old family recipe he’s got locked away just to make you eat your words.”

Billy presses his lips together. Thinks about the last time he made a self-deprecating comment in front of Steve. Thinks about how it was definitely a handful of pounds ago.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

He pushes his fingers into Eddie’s hair. The brunet leans into his touch, but spreads this sickening little grin. All teeth and no remorse.

“Then I guess you better take it back,” he lilts. Billy locks his jaw shut. Eddie clicks his tongue and pokes teasingly at his side. “There’s no downside for me, I like a little extra fluff. Nobody likes thin pancakes.”

“Pancakes?”

“Mhmm,” Eddie hums. “You’re like a stack of ‘em.”

Billy quirks a brow.

“How so?”

“I fuckin’ love pancakes.” Eddie flattens his palm against Billy’s side and rubs gently back and forth. “Plus, y’know, they’re soft and warm. Pillow-like.”

A little smile quirks at the corners of Billy’s mouth. Some part of him wants to take offense, but he can’t. Not when big brown eyes are gazing up at him so fondly. He scratches softly at Eddie’s scalp and has him all but purring, eyes slipping shut as he melts under the touch.

“You’ve never had crêpes?” Billy asks.

Eddie’s eyes crack open.

“What?”

“Crêpes,” Billy repeats. Chuckles when Eddie looks at him like he’s growing a second head. “Thin pancakes? They’re Stevie’s favorite, I’m surprised you didn’t notice. He always orders them when we go to the diner downtown.”

Eddie sits up straighter. Thinks hard for a moment, like his whole world is crashing down.

“Is that what those things are?”

“What did you think they were?”

“I dunno— not pancakes.” Eddie pouts when he’s laughed at, but still fixes Billy with a serious look. “Brushing past the fact that you just ruined my whole analogy, I maintain that you’re perfect just the way you are.” That little grin comes back full-fledged in a matter of seconds. “Besides, crêpes always have filling, don’t they?”

It’s Billy’s turn to pout while Eddie snickers at him.

“Whatever. Just don’t tell Steve.”

“Why, you scared he’s gonna put pounds on you?” Eddie pinches his side and earns a huff. “You still haven’t taken back what you said.”

“‘Cause I don’t want to. Don’t see why you’re so hung up on it.”

This time, Eddie looks… disappointed. It hurts Billy deep in his chest, like he swallowed a shard of tortilla chip that refuses to go down smoothly.

“If someone was talking shit about Steve right in front of you, what would you do?” Eddie asks.

“I’d rock their shit.”

“Why?”

Billy shrugs.

“I dunno, it’d piss me off.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because it’s Steve,” Billy huffs. “I don’t— I don’t like the idea of anyone talking shit about him. That’s my boyfriend.”

Eddie nods. Tilts his head to the side and slowly begins to rub up and down at Billy’s waist, similar to how he had been earlier.

“Then why is this any different? I still get to be upset when I hear someone talking shit about you, even if it’s you who’s doing the shit-talking.”

Billy’s mouth opens, but then promptly closes again. Is this the same guy who was comparing him to pancakes a minute ago?

A moment passes. Then another. Eddie just stares up at him expectantly, and Billy says nothing. It’s a stand-off. A battle of will. Billy’s fixing to cave when the front door opens and the tension is suddenly broken, yet somehow doubles at the same time.

“Intermission?” Steve asks.

He hangs his keys up and shrugs out of his coat once the door is shut behind him, already wearing an easy smile.

“Unofficially,” Gareth grumbles.

Eddie shoots him a glare, but is quick to soften when Steve leans over the back of the sofa and drapes his arms around Billy’s shoulders.

“Hey, baby,” Steve greets. Ignores the knowing giggle from around the room in favor of pressing a kiss into Billy’s curls. “Thought you’d still be asleep when I got back.”

More kisses land in his hair as Billy purses his lips.

“It’s almost six.”

“Mhmm,” Steve hums.

In an instant, Eddie gets this look on his face, and Billy’s stomach drops. He opens his mouth, but Steve is too quick.

“Have you just been eating junk?” He asks, gesturing to Billy’s plate.

The blond glances at his little collection of nibbled-at finger food. Tries not to think about how many plates of it he’s had already.

“Yeah, just… snacking,” he says timidly.

Steve tsks. Billy almost flinches at the sound.

“Well, that won’t do.” Steve nabs the plate from Billy’s hand and pops a cube of cheddar in his mouth. “Tell me what you want, bubs, and I’ll make it.”

Billy feels like he’s on fire.

“Lasagna?”

A sheepish smile finds its way onto his face when his chin is tilted up, and Steve plants a kiss directly on his lips.

“Coming right up.”

Then the brunet vanishes from behind the couch, padding into the kitchen to root around for a casserole dish before he’s even taken his shoes off.

On the floor, Eddie bites back on a giggle.

“I didn’t even have to tell him,” he whispers amusedly. Leans completely into Billy’s lap and hugs his torso again, half smothering himself in Billy’s stomach. “Hope you’re hungry, Bill, ‘cause it’s pancake time.”

For emphasis, he gives Billy’s side a squeeze, which has him huffing irritatedly.

“No, we’re having lasagna,” Steve calls. There’s a clatter as he moves about the kitchen. “We can have pancakes tomorrow night.”

Eddie gives in to the giggles, shoulders shaking as he hides his face in the front of Billy’s hoodie.

Finally accepting defeat, Billy sighs. Cards his fingers through Eddie’s hair while he laughs, trying to find it in himself to be upset about what’s to come.

But his mouth is already watering before the oven is even done preheating.

#harringroveson #billy hargrove #steve harrington #eddie munson #background corroded coffin guys #chubby billy hargrove #fluff #tw weight #tw insecurity #body image #internalized fatphobia #Billy is so Garfield coded #hey look at that Steve is actually IN a harringroveson fic of mine #weird right? #ficlet #my wriitng #mostly unedited #soon to be on ao3 when I have time

[gofordrakgo]

Tuesday

@legendary-guest had a brilliant idea about Drakken using tools from his lab when cooking or eating and I immediately had to write this! Go check out her corresponding artwork when you're done reading!

Midnight Writes: #1

Unrelated but happy 100th drakgo fic to me!

“It was a Tuesday and I had made my normal chicken lo mein and I couldn’t find any chopsticks, so I grabbed two of my screwdrivers, and used those instead. After a few bites, I felt a little strange. Hot, and shaky. Sure I was getting the flu I called… Samuels, I think, was my primary henchman at the time…? And had him shut down my takeover-the-world plans for the week. Nobody needs sick henchmen, trust me! They’re a pathetic breed. 

Samuels and some other henchmen stole my plans and attempted to enact them without me, to take the world for themselves. That’s how I learned about Kim Possible, but that’s a story for a different day. Well, actually, you already know that story, don’t you? It was you Samuels defected to.

Anyhow, I went to take a shower since I’d gotten so feverish I was sweating and I noticed my fingertips were turning blue! I kept turning the water hotter trying to warm them up, which was peculiar because other than feeling like I was sick I didn’t feel particularly cold. 

After giving myself mild burns in the shower I recalled being six and getting food poisoning! My mother really shouldn’t be allowed near pork chops…. Well, I’d gotten so sick then that I kept having hallucinations. I never could handle the sensation of bugs crawling on my skin again after that! I chalked it up to the same thing. I’d been rushing, and likely undercooked the chicken!

It took forty-eight or so hours for me to sleep off the food poisoning, and when I finally was stable enough I realized I had turned blue. But, well, it completed the look. It was a shame, too. It made my old red labcoats look delightfully menacing, though I know you know that, with how fast you stole the color after I switched. But Shego came along and was adamant that she didn’t want us walking around looking like ‘rejected elves trying to steal Christmas’ so blue it was! Good thing I look stunning in all colors, right, Dementor?

I don’t know what I put in that lo mein…. I probably swapped the salt with something from the lab again.

Can you believe Shego tries to say it was because I used those screwdrivers to eat? ‘You were working with radioactive explosives that very day!’ 

Psh! She thinks I didn’t sterilize them before eating with them! Ha! Everyone knows fire cleans everything.  

But yes, that’s the story! I turned blue from food poisoning.”

#IT WAS A TUESDAY #drakgo #drakken #dr. drakken #dr drakken #doctor drakken #drew lipsky #shego #dementor #professor dementor #kim possible #kp #drakgo fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #100th drakgo fic! #drakken x shego #shego x drakken #drakgo fanfiction #not a drabble wooo #less than 500 words i'm not double checking #mostly unedited

[cyncerity]

@beckyu you caused this /pos

anyway here’s how Dream met Tubbo!

tw: soft, safe vore

“Hey, Tommy, can I talk to you about something real quick?” Dream asked, closing his front door behind him as he walked into his house. His son was sprawled out on the couch in their living room, scrolling through his phone and pausing to look up before looking right back down.

“Sure, what’s up, big D?” He asked, not making any move to sit up. Dream sighed, dropping his coat and uniform by the door and moving to sit on the arm of the couch opposite to Tommy. He’d needed to have this conversation for a while. “Ok, this is gonna be an awkward question, but I just have to ask it, if you don’t mind.” Tommy heard the serious tone in Dream’s voice and looked confused, before setting the phone down and moving to sit slightly more propped up, motioning for Dream to continue. He sighed. “Ok, so, I know you’ve been a shifter longer than me, so…how did you deal with your…instincts?”

Tommy furrowed his eyebrows, not reacting for a few seconds. “…what?” “I mean,” Dream continued, trying to put into words what he’d been wondering for almost a month, “how did you deal with having to…” he pointed at his stomach. Tommy’s eyes widened a bit, before he switched to looking even more confused than before. “Same way you do? Y’know, the only way to deal with it…?”

“But how? You’ve been a shifter since you were practically a toddler, I figured out I was a shifter like a month ago, and I introduced you to the fiancés! Who else could you have possible eaten?!”

Tommy just blinked at him. Dream wasn’t sure how he didn’t get what was being asked of him, so he went to continue before Tommy held up a finger to him. “Dream, I ate someone like an hour ago, there’s someone in here right now.” Tommy explained, laying a hand over his midsection. Dream froze because, wow, wasn’t that a weird thought. There’s was a living, breathing person in his son right now. And he hadn’t had the slightest clue until Tommy had told him. Tommy had told him once that when he was stored, he was completely cut off from the outside world, but it hadn’t hit Dream what exactly that meant until just now. God, had Sapnap done this? Had he just swallowed one of his fiancés and gone back to work without anyone knowing? Had he done it with both? Could someone even swallow two borrowers at the same time?

At Dream’s silence, Tommy continued. “I know other people, y’know. I was pretty lucky to find someone who would put up with my weird shifter bullshit at a young age. Helps to know someone as weird as you.” At that Tommy went quiet for a second before trying to stifle laughter and pressing a bit harder on his stomach. “No, he doesn’t know you, does he?“ Dream just stared as Tommy seemed to be listening in on what they were saying. He watched silently for a minute before he saw Tommy’s eyes go wide and his smile widened. “I think you’re right, it’s definitely time to change that.” He gave a couple more pats to his stomach before he sat up and moved his hand to press a bit lower than it had been pressing. Dream watched as he pressed in harder, almost tell by the look on his son’s face that he’d gotten whoever the fuck out of his stomach and back into his esophagus. Tommy traced his way up calmly and motioned for Dream to come sit by him on the couch. Dream, having no idea what else to possible do in that situation, sat by Tommy, who was moving to cup his hands in front of his mouth.

Dream watched in shock as a borrower he’d never seen was pulled out of Tommy’s mouth. He seemed to be about the same age as Tommy, but with hazel brown hair and the general borrower traits Dream had come to recognize after meeting the fiancés. The new borrower just cocked their head to the side, smiling a bit awkwardly before waving. “Uh, hi?”

“What. The. Fuck.” was all Dream could really say at that, which Tommy and the new borrower apparently found absolutely hilarious. They were both wheezing for air, and he swore he could see tears coming out of Tommy’s eyes. But…there was something off about the new borrower. It was almost like his laughter was fading in and out between human-sounding and animalistic. That was…odd, to say the least, but no weirder than anything else that was going on.

“Dream, I’d like you to meet Tubbo.” Tommy said, holding and open palm out with the borrower, Tubbo apparently, standing on it with a hand extended. Dream took his hand between a few fingers and shook it lightly, retracting to wipe the residual spit off on his clothes after realizing that Tubbo was still absolutely soaked. “Pleasure to meet you, bossman.” He thought he heard Tubbo say. His voice was kind of coming in and out like a radio trying to find a station through static, so he couldn’t be too sure what he’d said.

“What’s up with your voice…?” Dream asked. “…?” Tubbo looked confused for a minute before letting out a short squeak that Dream could guess was a “what.” “I mean, why are you kinda speaking and kinda making animal noises?” He tried to clarify, which apparently helped, because Tubbo seemed to just nod in understanding and point back up to Tommy. “Happens when you go too long without shifting.” the younger shifter explained, taking the hint Tubbo had given him. “You can hear borrowers for a while after you’re small, but wait too long before shrinking again and they gradually start to sound like rodents.” That actually made sense to Dream. He’s gone long enough that he hadn’t been able to understand his smaller friends at all (he’d been extremely panicked before shrinking down to have Sapnap explain that one), but he never knew there was a middle ground between understanding them and not understanding them. “Great, good that that’s on my radar now, what fun.” Dream replied sarcastically, making Tommy laugh. Tubbo snapped his fingers, drawing attention back to himself before quickly climbing up Tommy’s are and hopping onto his shoulder, mumbling something Dream couldn’t quite hear to Tommy. “Right, it’s all about you then, innit.” Tommy scoffed, at which Tubbo stuck a tongue out at him. Tommy revolted by leaning forward, making Tubbo yell in what Dream heard as a mix of squeaks and surprisingly colorful language for someone his age. And he thought the only 16 year old with a sailors mouth was Tommy, though who knows, maybe he picked it up from Tubbo. They seemed to be…really close. Close enough that Tommy able to store him to satisfy whatever weird “pack instinct” came from this, as Sapnap had explained. So, whoever this was classified as Tommy’s pack? To Tommy’s instincts, they were family? Hell, maybe to each other they were family. He wouldn’t know. Seriously, where had this kid come from?

“So…uh, how did you two meet?” Tommy paused in lifting Tubbo back onto his shoulder to look at Dream before leaning back onto the couch again, Tubbo firmly sat pressed up against his neck. “It’s a bit complicated, really, but I’ve known him for a while. Since I was, like, 5. He’s about a half a year older than me, so it was pure luck that we met someone else our age.” “5?” Dream asked. “But that was before-“ “Yeah, it was.” Tommy interrupted, and Dream shrunk back in on himself. He knew it was a touchy subject, but Tommy continued nonetheless. “I…wasn’t a shifter yet. But I didn’t care that it was weird to befriend someone smaller than my hand who I couldn’t even understand. They were never home and Tubbo’s parents had abandoned him at my old house, so we were pretty much all each other had. He became my best friend, practically my brother.” Tommy said, turning his head to look down at his apparent brother, who said something to the affect of “stop getting so sappy” and “clingy,” making Tommy laugh with a half-hearted poke to the borrower’s chest and a “fuck off man, I am not.”

“When I did become a shifter,” Tommy continued, “Tubbo was my main support. I didn’t have anyone else, besides you, really, and you were only able to see me so often at the group home. He helped me learn what it was like to be small. He taught me how to get around, to scavenge and whatnot. He came with me to every foster house and eventually, here.” He finished. “Wait, Tubbo’s lived here as long as we have?” Tommy’s pointed ears turned a bit pinkish and turned down, probably a sign of embarrassment. Dream mentally pat himself on the back that he was starting to get better with borrower body language but this wasn’t the time to focus on that. “Uh…yeah. He moved in with me when you bought this place.”

“…Tommy that was 4 years ago.” “Uh huh.” “And you never thought to mention a third roomate of any kind?” “Nope.” Tommy said, popping the p. Dream put his head in his hands. “What am I gonna do with you.”

“Hey, this isn’t just on me! I told Tubbo he should meet you himself, he just never knew when to!” Tommy interjected, and Dream looked up to see Tubbo nodding. “Even before we knew you were a shifter, it’s not like we didn’t trust you, it’d just been long enough that we assumed you’d met him by accident or something at that point.” Tommy explained frantically, while Tubbo continued nodding. “…Or that you would eventually. This mother fucker is the least subtle borrower you’ve ever met.” Tommy finished while Tubbo only took his focus off of Dream for one second to punch the shoulder he was sitting on. Dream sighed. “Well, I guess I know him now. It’s nice to meet you Tubbo, even if you’ve kinda already known me for a while now, as weird as that is.”

Tubbo laughed, saying something that Dream couldn’t quite make out before switching to hand signs, which honestly shocked Dream a bit. So borrowers couldn’t read or write (he’d learned not to put Sapnap on any organizational jobs unless he could sort by color), but they knew sign language? Or Tubbo had taught himself after meeting Tommy. Yeah, that’s probably make more sense. Dream shook his fist back and forth in what he was fairly positive was ‘no’ in sign language. “Sorry, I only know a little asl, i’m not sure what you’re saying.” Tubbo huffed and crossed his arms dramatically (Dream could guess that he picked that up from Tommy), looking up to his friend without saying a word. Somehow, Tommy seemed to get what he was saying.

“We only know bsl, sorry. But we’d be happy to teach you! We’re both fluent. Helps when you’re stuck at work and you wanna talk without people thinking you’re talking to yourself. Or, y’know, you could just shrink and actually talk to him later.” “I can shrink and talk him him now?” Dream said. Tommy shrugged. “Nah, he’s busy right now.” He said playfully as Tubbo apparently seemed to get the message and jumped backward off of Tommy’s shoulder. He didn’t make it far, as Tommy turned and grabbed him before he could hit the couch, lifting him back up to his face. Tubbo screamed while laughing, a manic smile on his face as Dream watched Tommy open his mouth and lick him, Tubbo half-heartedly pushing the tongue away.

Dream huffed a laugh, standing to leave the couch as Tommy managed to finally stuff Tubbo back into his mouth, trying not to laugh as well. He seemed pretty distracted, so Dream made his way out of the room after a quick pat to his son’s shoulder and a reminder to spit Tubbo out soon so Dream could order take-out or something as an actual meal. Tommy hummed a bit to show he’d heard before swallowing his friend back down. “Got it, big man.” he finally said after Tubbo had moved pst his windpipe. “My instincts were still just a bit fucky. I’ll be good in like an hour. You think we can order chinese or something?” Dream actually laughed out loud at how casual the conversation became in just a second, as if this kid hadn’t just swallowed someone alive. Tommy barely had a second thought about this, apparently. Though, Dream reasoned that he was probably the odd one out if it was such a casual thing for the other two apparent occupants. But he just smiled. “Sure kid, I can order chinese.” he answered before ruffling Tommy’s hair before leaving the room, deciding he would deal with how normal this was all becoming another day.

God, what was his life anymore.

#mostly unedited #i’ll add like italics and stuff tomorrow it’s 1 am 👍 #cyncerity #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #sizeshifter!tommy #sizeshifter!dream #tiny!tubbo #cynwrites #store shifter au #tw vore #dsmp vore

[macksting]

[ID: El Goonish Shive comic panel. Grace, a pointy-eared humanoid, looks to an anthropomorphized brain in desperation. She asks, "Brain! What do I do with this information!" The brain holds up a sign that says, "This is somewhat tangential, but I recommend counseling. You've been through a lot." She replies plaintively, "Oh, that's what you ALWAYS say!" /end ID]

#el goonish shive #comic panel crop #someone else's stuff #mostly unedited #reaction image #egs reaction image #grace is so relatable #actually i've had a lot of counseling and sometimes it helps #but this is still the answer my brain keeps throwing back

[aelkitofsunset]

darlin I’m running on empty

I’m running out of time

so before my heart beats away

let me know if yours is mine.

  Yes, I asked myself

everyday

if I’ve made a big mistake

in shoring up all my courage

to maintain your masquerade

but now I know the truth

it’s not about having you;

  it’s about every day

I got to say hey,

how are you?

its about those

almost too lates

and always trying my best

so forget about the rest

and let me say —

I love you

  I know the way you see yourself

the bottom of the heap.

I remember those nights I spent

protecting your sleep,

and I’m

not sorry that

I met you

and I’m

not sorry that you

changed my life

not even at

this cost

#kit's scribbles #nameless scrap #fan poetry #poetry #written in november 2020 #mostly unedited #a lazy thing #Castiel doesn’t know yet that they went canon in spanish #the poor dear #this isn’t my best work #but it’s going up anyway #literally found in the notes app #the ending is weak af imo #guess past-kit ran out of inspo #the second stanza is a bit of alright i think #but the rest? *shrugs* #Destiel #deancas #extremely belated live reaction post (like years late) #bc i was too much of a coward to post shit back then #(i hate SPN to clarify) #(the ending was BS) #I like the better fictional version that exists inside my head #like most ppl

[pencap]

someone once told me there is no demon more frightening     than a good man     who has gone to war.

someone once told me      the only things we get to choose      are a hero's death      or a villain's life.

so they said. so they said. so they say.

but no one ever told me      what happens when a good man       goes to war      and becomes the demon.

but no one ever told me      you can die a hero     and be resurrected     to a villain's afterlife.

- by sylvie (j.p.)

#spilled ink #poems on tumblr #poets on tumblr #writers on tumblr #writeblr #poetics #so the answer to #does this format still work????????? #is unfortunately a no #alas here it is again #this one i'm spitting out almost unedited #it's short and mostly a complete thought #this is pretty un-subtly bucky barnes right?? #pencap drafts

[definitelynotshouting]

woe, out of context scarian kisses be upon ye

Scar pauses. Pulls back to examine him, eyes flitting across his face; they backtrack several times, searching, an intense light growing inside them as Scar finds whatever he must be looking for. Grian endures it with reddening cheeks and a galloping heart that slowly sinks into his stomach the longer Scar studies him.

Grian opens his mouth– to say what, he's unsure, but something's got to give– when Scar finally stops, eyes round, and says, "Oh."

Then: "Oh, Grian."

And that's far too much to handle tonight. "Right," Grian says miserably, getting an elbow underneath him, "right, I'm just going to go then–"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Scar cries, lurching forward to grab Grian's wrist. "Hang on a second, I didn't even say anything!"

"You didn't have to, Scar, I can– I can read it in your face." Grian tugs at his wrist, but Scar doesn't let go; only tightens his fingers, dragging Grian back down toward the mattress. "Scar–"

"Grian." Scar matches him tone for tone. Then he smiles, sudden and blinding. "Can you hold still for a minute? Everything's fine, just trust me!"

"Trust you?" Grian snaps without thinking– then balks as a flicker of hurt darts across Scar's face. Ice fills the pit of his stomach, cold and stinging. "Sorry, I– I didn't mean to say that, I'm sorry," Grian stumbles out, frantic. Anything to erase that expression from Scar's face, that perilous stillness. "That's– that was rude. I didn't mean it."

Scar takes a deep, careful breath, eyes closing. "Yeah, it was rude," he says after a beat, "but I wasn't being very clear, and you're distressed. So I'm sorry too."

Grian's insides curdle. "Stop– Scar. I'm not distressed, you're making me sound like a damsel."

When Scar opens his eyes again, only a hint of that previous distance remains; instead they're brimming with warm exasperation, and a lot more patience than Grian deserves. "G," Scar says, far too gentle, "relax. Please. It's okay. Everything's okay right now, I'm not mad, I– I'm not upset." Another smile tilts the corners of his mouth; Grian's lungs flutter. "Quite the opposite, actually, if you'd sit still enough to listen."

Grian stares at him, throat drying out. "What do you mean?" he manages.

Scar eyes him for a moment, then carefully lets go of Grian's wrist. The warmth dissipates immediately; Grian misses it with a longing he does his best to hide.

It must not be enough, though, because Scar makes an aborted little sound in the back of his throat, and raises his hand to cup Grian's cheek.

Grian freezes like a startled rabbit, pulse thrumming in his ears. The foreign weight of Scar's hand radiates heat outward, spreading molasses slow through his skin and igniting beneath his skin. He stares, useless, at Scar's arm before trailing his gaze back up to meet his face.

The smile on Scar's lips has taken a wry turn. "I like it too, Grian," he says, and there's so much compassion in his voice that Grian nearly flinches. "I like spending time with you, and I especially like spending time with you here." He raises his eyebrows with a meaningful arch, glancing briefly down at the mattress they're sitting on.

"In your bed," Grian says anyway, flat as he can make it. The phrase nearly cracks against his teeth.

"Well when you put it like that–"

"Scar."

"So maybe I like cuddling you," Scar says mildly. "Is that such a huge crime?"

Grian opens his mouth to retort, but no sound scrapes out. He snaps his jaw shut instead, staring at Scar with huge eyes.

He can't hope. It's stupid to hope; they've been friends for years, only friends, and Scar has never– Grian can't think of a single time he might've once–

But Scar is giving him that look again. The soft one. The one filled with so much warmth it threatens to scald Grian's frostbitten fingertips if he reaches too close. His hands itch– he wants to hold Scar's hand, tap his fingers against his pulsepoint and listen to it tick; press his thumb into the hinge of Scar's jaw and lean forward, so he can–

"Can I kiss you?" Scar asks, quiet and tender, a spark of hope catching in his voice, and Grian's mind blanks.

"I– what?" Grian asks eventually, very faint.

It's Scar's turn to go red. "I mean– I'm not reading this wrong, right? Because you kinda just admitted to... liking me? Romantically? Unless I have completely misinterpreted that, in which case that is, um, very misfortunate for me, actually."

"No, I– you want to. Really?" Grian ignores the mispronunciation; instead, that little kernel of hope that Grian's been stubbornly trying to stamp out kicks back to life, fluttering around in his throat. "You're not joking, are you?"

"Grian, I would never joke about this," Scar says solemnly, and against all odds, Grian believes him.

Slowly, uncomprehending, Grian nods. "Yeah," he says, and it comes out hesitant, breathy, barely on the outskirts of sound. "I– yes. Please."

Scar's smile turns into a grin, self-satisfied and smug. "Well, since you asked so nicely," he says, and–

And his hold firms against Grian's cheek; his fingers tangle in the back of Grian's hair; his hand is guiding Grian forward, gentle but insistent, and Scar is leaning down–

It's not what Grian expects, actually– not that he was expecting much of anything. Scar's lips press soft against his own, a steady pressure that tingles onto Grian's tongue. Slowly, his lips part, urging Grian's open, and with that same, gentle insistence, he coaxes Grian into a slow, heady kiss, lips closing over his cupid's bow before opening again, sliding down to catch his lower lip next. Grian shudders into it, following Scar's rhythm; his head is tilted, just slightly, enough to deepen the angle and deepen the kiss.

Their lips slide against each other, and Scar's right hand comes up to frame Grian's face, winding through his hair and pulling him closer. Grian fumbles to cling back, hands fluttering until they find purchase on his shoulders; after a moment of hesitation, he loops them around Scar's neck, sinking his own fingers into the long hair cascading down his back. Scar melts into it, a soft noise slipping from his throat, humming against Grian's lips. It shoots straight into his stomach– Grian pushes closer, something hungry and desperate opening inside of him, clamoring to swallow Scar whole.

His head is spinning; when Scar sweeps a thumb across his cheek, Grian mentally chases the sensation, every point of contact between them a steady burn. He is fire, sparking and crackling, and Scar is the tinder– coaxing him into a proper flame, teeth tugging at his lower lip to make him hiss. Grian follows each sensation blindly, etching it into his nervous system; maybe if he keeps it here, hollows out his bones to makes a home for it, this memory will never, ever leave him.

It ends too soon; Scar pulls back eventually, but not very far. He tips his forehead to touch Grian's, their noses brushing; warm air fans over Grian's face, intimate and paralyzing. Grian doesn't quite pant, but he does end up needing a moment to catch his breath before he can speak.

"Wow," is what he eventually lands on. "Okay. You've been holding out on me, mister."

"Not my fault you never said anything," Scar murmurs, tapping his thumb against Grian's cheekbone. He leans back in, pressing another soft, sweet kiss to Grian's lips before pulling away again. "I've been gone on you for ages."

Grian sucks in a deep, shuddering breath; something beneath his sternum is beginning to crack, letting out soft, incredulous light. "You're telling me," he says, "that we could've been doing this from the start."

"Well, not the start," Scar says, clearly amused. "But pretty close to it."

"I hate you." Grian's voice is petulant.

"You love me."

"Kiss me again," Grian demands, in lieu of responding to that just yet.

"Jeez." Scar's eyes are twinkling in the low light. He slowly trails one hand down to Grian's shoulder, rubbing up and down his upper arm and leaving goosebumps. "Let a guy take a breather for a second. Patience is a virtue, y'know."

"I have never been patient even once in my life, Scar, and you know it."

Scar pauses, considering him with lidded eyes. "No," he says finally, but it's layered with fondness. "I guess not." He presses a quick, teasing kiss against Grian's nose; Grian wrinkles it, then musters his courage and dives in for another kiss. When he pulls back, Scar is beaming at him. "Good thing I like you anyway."

"Only because you have terrible taste," Grian informs him, before reeling him back in and kissing him again for quite some time.

#scarian #goodtimeswithscar #grian #hermitcraft #hermitshipping #mcyt #kissing #romance #DONT LOOK AT ME WKDNSKD I JUST WANTED TO WRITE MORE KISSES #this is mostly unedited sorry for the quality gang but tumblr gets sweatpants and ao3 is black tie #an edited version of this MIGHT appear in a fic i am planning to write that im affectionately calling ''the heated blanket fic'' #but yknow. we will see. we will see #sorry to any non scarian folks following me bc of the one gtws post. ''unending scarian blast'' yknow how it is #shouting speaks #my snippets #txt

[yarnacle]

its too late at night im having too many gay thoughts about these idiots so. here we are i guess.

It's Ian. No one else is going to fucking caress him. For all the informality of the company's content and general atmosphere, with this video concept especially, he's still their boss. And no one is going to want to, or have the guts to just fucking stroke his face like that. Even as he laughs and asks 'What is this?' he knows what's happening, knows who those hands belong to.

Two fingers drag down the right side of his face, and he feels the chalk that's left behind. It's going to stay for the rest of the video, and there's something to be said about that, he thinks. Something symbolic, something romantic, or even something funny, the last thought being slapped into his head when Ian's hand collides with his face.

It doesn't hurt that much, and immediately after he cracks a joke.

"This person thinks they're hilarious."

And they are, he wants to add. They're ridiculously funny, with a dark, somewhat skewed sense of humour to match his own, and they're brilliant and kind and so many other things, but right now they're making it easy for him.

"Who would caress my face and slap me outta nowhere?"

He, and everyone else in the room, and everyone who's going to watch the video, knows.

"Feels like an Ian move to me- Did you just boop me?"

Ian's locking it in, making sure that it's clear that, yeah, in case you couldn't figure it out already, it's me motherfucker.

"That's the only one you truly needed to get right."

Anthony laughs. He's not wrong - It wouldn't matter if he got everyone else dead wrong [even Angela, after hearing her speak and feeling her entire cast]. So long as he got Ian right, then it would be fine. There's probably also something to be said about how sweet that would be, but after having all the fucking braincells knocked out of his skull from the second person, he's not very poetic.

All that matters is that he guessed Ian correctly, and can still feel the two stripes of chalk on his cheek. [All that matters is that now there's a phantom warmth ghosting across his face, a replication of the gentle, almost loving strokes a distraction from the slight sting from everyone else's hands.]

#i actually have no idea if this makes sense and if its coherent. im too tired to reread it so. here we are! 1st rpf w/ fully stolen dialogue #smosh #anthony padilla #ian hecox #ianthony #implied??? idk they implied it p heavily enough themselves w/ that fuckin 'my boyfriend' title so idk anymore lolsies #fanfiction #smosh fanfiction #rpf #very veyr reluctantly #my writing #i can do better i promise [mostly lying almost all my writing is done unedited and at ungodly hours] #sighs. if any of my irls or ppl from my main blog find this its over for me the bullying will never cease. #thanks for listening to my tags ramble ill be going to bed now im too mentally ill to also be physically ill

[therosehost]

ShuririWeek: D1

Fluff + "Don't Go"

cw: allusions to nsfw content

Shuri doesn't hear the humming at first. She's too frustrated.

She isn't Queen, nor is she the heir anymore, but the Elders hold her hostage in meetings and at inane ceremonies for hours as if she still were. It grinds at her skin like sandpaper.

Especially because Shuri knows why they do it. They care. They've watched Shuri grow from a glimmer in her mother's eye to a white-draped shadow by her casket. The elders care for her, Shuri knows this. But that doesn't make the overbearing attitudes any less irritating.

Today's latest antics had involved them - particularly Elder M'Kathu - insisting that every member of the council attend the Prayer of the Hymned Beetle. Shuri had wanted to throw her chair out the window with herself inside.

That biannual prayer had started in the river tribe as a joke ceremony. It was just an excuse for people to be off from work and drink themselves to incompetence.

It had never been taken seriously, that is, until Elder M'Kathu got it into his head that Shuri singing the Hymned Beetle's lament would somehow make her happier.

HA!

By the time Shuri escapes (just barely) and returns home, she's still wallowing in incredulous anger. She doesn't hear the humming, but when she yanks the bedroom door open she definitely sees the dancing.

Riri, as usual, is beautiful. And she's even more so as the golden silks she currently wears make her glitter in the setting sun.

Positioned in the center of the small garden's inner courtyard, Riri's prayer forms are uncertain. Sometimes her knees don't bend all the way they're supposed to. And at one point her arm doesn't extend to the full ninety degree angle the instructions scrolls describe.

But that doesn't matter because of why her beautiful talented dedicated genius girlfriend is praying. Or rather, to whom.

Shuri knows the prayer that slips low and careful from Riri's lips. She knows every note and syllable. It is her mother's funeral hymn. The Honor of Ramonda's is a celebration of her mother's birth and life, and a bitter bemoan of her death. There's a promise there at the end, humming with a grief that Shuri knows in her heart will last all her life.

She had poured her soul into creating a prayer dedicated to her mother. When Riri sings it, Shuri almost wants to cry.

It's beautiful. Her girlfriend is beautiful. Her girlfriend singing the prayer is beautiful.

Shuri moves forward, past the door where she's stopped in her tracks, and stops only a foot away. Riri's robes swirl around her, a red whirlpool of gauze that stops short when Shuri comes into sight.

Riri watches Shuri with wide eyes, lips parted to express her surprise.

"Your form is all wrong," Shuri says and then wants to shove a fist in her mouth. Damnit.

Riri puts her hands on her hips and laughs, her blouse rising up at the movement. "How are you this awkward?" The skin of Riri's stomach peaks out. Shuri stares. The blessed oils make the skin glisten. Shuri bets if she steps closer she could smell the spiced lotuses.

"I'm not being awkward." It's a distracted mumble instead of the annoyed tut she intended but Shuri can't bring herself to care. She wants to lick Riri.

Riri narrows her eyes, crosses her arms under her breasts, and gives a fox like grin when Shuri licks her lips. "Oh, you not?'" she laughs again. "Then what would you call it?"

Shuri pouts. "Giving constructive criticism, of course".

"Criticism." Riri says the word slowly as if tasting the letters. "I think I've heard of that before but I'm not real familiar. Why don't you stop hovering over there and come show me."

It sounds like an invitation to fight or fuck. Shuri is willing to do either or both of it means she can touch her girlfriend. But-

Shuri shakes her head and moves back towards the threshold. "I want to let you finish though."

"I thought my form was shit?" Riri raises an eyebrow.

"It was, but that doesn't mean I don't want to see you pray." Shuri's words are a lovesick trill.

Riri snorts but presses a hand against her own cheek like she does when she's trying to stop blushing "Nah, see, now my feelings hurt. It was supposed to be a surprise but I don't even want to do it anymore."

"Ok, I apologize. I take it back. Finish the prayer."

Riri hums, rocks back and forth from heel to toe, and then reaches for the towel on the stone bench behind her. Shuri flails.

"You have completely mesmerized me and I want to watch you dance forever," She almost gets on her knees. "Please please please finish."

Riri clucks her tongue, watching Shuri with a sly smile as she backs away. "Naaaah, I lost the motivation. Maybe I'll go hire an instructor instead."

Shuri huffs, rushes forward, and catches Riri around the waist. It startles a laugh out of Riri and Shuri huffs again. "Don't go. I'll help you. We'll pray to my mother together. Just, please, dance for me." She makes her voice as soft as her heart feels.

Riri cups Shuri's cheeks, rubbing a thumb under her eye and kissing her. It's a light brush against the lips really, but it's enough to send Shuri's heart into a frenzy in her chest.

"If you're so desperate," Riri says, her voice is sultry, smile teasing, "then I guess I'll entertain you a bit."

"Yes. I am very desperate." Shuri nods firmly.

Riri wiggles out of her hold with a groan. "Don't do that. I feel guilty for being mean when you get all earnest and shit."

"I like to when you're mean to me though."

Riri groans again and throws the towel she'd dropped at Shuri's head. "Shut up and help me already." Her plush lips form a pout around the words.

Shuri laughs and catches the towel. "Anything you want, my love."

"Uggggggggh. Please stop!"

a/n: this is rushed as shit and mostly unedited. but, ya know, fuck it. i really wanted to participate in shuririweek at least one day so here it is!

@shuririweek

#shuririweek2024 #shuririweek #princess shuri #riri williams #shuriri #bpwf #:::rose be writing::: #mostly unedited and rushed like hell

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

Eddie’s never this late.

He’s usually pretty washy when it comes to being places on time — always either twenty minutes early or twenty minutes late, never anything between — but Gareth’s legs are actually getting sore from standing at this point.

He glances at his watch every so often, looking up and down the street for any sign of the van approaching. A couple of times, he’s considered walking to the nearest pay phone about a block or so away.

But no fucking way he’s leaving his drum kit on the curb unattended.

As if Eddie would pick up the phone anyway.

The owner of the music store has come out twice now to check in on him. Offered to have one of his guys load the stuff up for him, but Gareth declined as graciously as he could while trying to hide his festering irritation.

He saved up for months to be able to afford all of this new equipment, he absolutely cannot pay to have it delivered.

It irks him even more the closer that Eddie gets to being almost an hour late.

Just when he’s about completely fed up, having downed the entire bottle of water that Harold was generous enough to gift him, a vehicle turns down the street. For a moment, Gareth is overwhelmed by a blend of relief and rage, stepping up to the edge of the curb, but those feelings quickly fade.

Rather than the van, it’s a truck.

Gareth’s heart drops, and as it gets closer, he hopes to god that it’s still Eddie behind the wheel. When the truck pulls up to the curb, his hopes vanish.

The engine dies, and the driver side door opens. Heavy footsteps scrape the pavement, rounding the truck, and Hargrove comes to stand beside the collection of equipment.

His expression is blank. He’s clad in rough denim jeans and a t-shirt, with a pair of work boots to match. There’s a layer of grime on him that says he’s been doing something all day, likely outside, if the dirtied stains on the knees of his pant legs say anything.

For a guy from the city, he sure looks like every other ranch hand around here. The only things he’s missing are a can of dip denting his back pocket and a hat.

It’s quiet between the two of them for a beat. Gareth doesn’t know what to do or say — he’s only ever been in Hargrove’s company when other people are around.

And that was intentional.

The blond nods at the stuff on the curb and clicks his tongue.

“This everything?” he asks.

Gareth nods. Watches as Hargrove wordlessly circles to the back of his truck and drops the tailgate.

He immediately begins grabbing things, and Gareth steps out of his way. Watches as he carefully loads a few things into the bed, grabbing the larger ones first.

“You, uh,” Gareth begins. He clears his throat when Hargrove glances over at him. “Want me to help?”

At that, the blond huffs a little laugh to himself.

“Not gonna break your fancy drum set,” he says.

Gareth opens his mouth, and then promptly closes it. Furrows his brows and looks off down the street.

Everyone else seems to click with this guy. Even Grant and Jeff, after a while.

Not that Gareth necessarily wants to.

He just doesn’t understand why he quite literally can’t.

Eddie and even Steve have tried to explain to him that Hargrove is just tough — he’s not the type to wanna sit around and gush about niche interests, and he’s fairly blunt when he talks.

For some reason, everything the guy does and says just rubs Gareth the wrong way. He would say he doesn’t get why his partners are into him, but that would be a complete lie.

Hargrove is hot.

He’s thicker now than he was in high school. His arms are bigger, veinier closer to his wrists, and he’s got the faintest hint of chub on his stomach. Enough to pooch out a little over the lip of his jeans when he bends over to grab things.

It’s overwhelmingly obvious that he’s a man, and not a boy. A man with perfect blond curls and broad shoulders and the visible trace of scruff on his neck.

Of course he has two other guys drooling over him constantly.

Gareth himself tries not to look at him too much for fear of heat rising to the surface of his skin. Especially when he’s doing anything physical like this.

Once everything is loaded and the tailgate is shut, Hargrove straps the few larger things down, and steps up on the tire at each side to check and make sure everything is held sturdily enough in place before he hops down.

Wordlessly walks back to the front of the truck and climbs behind the wheel again.

Gareth hesitates, but opens the passenger side door and joins him in the cab.

The blond starts the engine, and the stereo immediately blasts Tooth and Nail by Dokken. He reaches out to turn the dial down a hint, sighing as he puts the truck in drive.

Gareth stares out his window as they pull away from the music shop.

“Why didn’t Eddie show up?” he asks.

Keeps his voice even so as not to let on how irritated he is. It works, for the most part, because Hargrove blows a raspberry and rests his elbow against the door panel.

“We got caught up trying to figure out why his van wouldn’t start, and when he realized he was late, he—“ Hargrove cuts himself off with a chuckle, an easy smile pulling at his lips. “He tripped up the porch steps. Started whining about having a concussion and a dislocated shoulder, and asked me to come pick you up.”

Gareth huffs.

“Figures.”

At that, Hargrove’s smile dims.

“Would’ve been worse if he’d shown up and been a drama queen the whole time, trust me.”

“It’s not that,” Gareth grumbles.

For a stretch of the street they’re driving down, only the music fills the silence between them. Hargrove’s grip on the wheel tightens.

“Well, I could’a said no, and you’d’ve been stuck on the curb all day. I’m not exactly thrilled about it either.”

His voice is lower. Testy. Like when he argues with Max or Steve and can no longer hide his blooming irritation.

Eddie has this way of making Hargrove laugh when things get too tense. Never lets the blond’s tone get under his skin no matter what they’re talking about, and takes it upon himself to lighten the mood.

Gareth wishes he was less easily affected like that.

“Didn’t have to come,” Gareth huffs. “I could’ve figured it out.”

Even out of the corner of his eye, he can see the angry red that creeps up Hargrove’s neck and pops the veins in his forehead.

Despite not having done anything remotely violent in recent years, Gareth still feels a small spike of anxiety at witnessing his little tells. Leans closer to the door and keeps careful attention.

After a tense moment, Hargrove takes a calming breath and sighs heavily. Relaxes his grip on the wheel and shifts in his seat, loosening up.

“I’m doing this for Eddie. Not you,” he says. “I don’t typically do free labor for people who hate my guts.”

Gareth’s brows draw closer together.

“I don’t… hate you.”

At the words, the blond chuckles, but it isn’t a happy sound.

“What’s your fuckin’ deal, then?”

“I don’t know. Nothing,” Gareth huffs. “Everything.”

“Well, which is it? You act like I’m some comic book villain when I can’t recall ever having done anything to you personally.”

Now, Gareth chuckles.

“Personally,” he murmurs. He takes a risk and turns to fully look at Hargrove, expecting to see more of that rage bloom on his skin again. Instead, he looks dejected. Sad, with his mouth pinched in a subtle frown, and his eyes vacant. Gareth sighs. “Look, it’s not… I don’t hate you. I just don’t get you, I guess? Plus, before you and Steve, Eddie used to actually care about doing shit with his friends. Today is a good example.”

After a moment of processing, Hargrove purses his lips.

“Edd cares. He’s just a little messy with his priorities — if he’d told Stevie that he was supposed to pick you up, he would’ve made sure everything happened on time.”

Gareth huffs. Slouches in his seat and props his elbow against the door, leaning his cheek against his hand.

“Right.”

“I’m serious. Who do you think plans all of your game nights?”

The brunet makes a face, and Hargrove chuckles again. Softer this time. Amused.

“Eddie’s always planned for that, though. Before he got with Steve.”

“Being in a club with a fixed schedule is very different than organizing things with complete flexibility,” Hargrove muses. Smiles to himself as he thinks briefly. “My point is that he does care. He’s also just… Eddie.” The two of them share a chuckle, and Gareth tenses when Billy playfully elbows him. “I promise I’m not stealing him from you.”

Instantly, Gareth’s face heats up, and he blows a raspberry in dismissal.

“Never said you were.”

“But you were thinkin’ it.”

With no valid argument, Gareth pouts. Crosses his arms over his chest and looks back out the window.

They’re only a few streets away from his place. That has his body welling with relief.

“Also,” Billy begins. “There’s nothing to get.”

Gareth glances back over at the blond.

“What?”

“About me. There’s nothing to get.”

“I mean—“ Gareth pauses, frustration building in his throat at the lack of proper words. Decides instead to gesture vaguely at Billy with his hand. “You’re not exactly an open book. I don’t think we’ve ever really even talked before today.”

“I know I’m not the most approachable guy, but you’ve never exactly tried to strike up a conversation with me before today.”

“That’s a two-way street,” Gareth grumbles.

Billy sighs.

“When you’re around, Eddie’s happy, and I don’t wanna ruin that because you and I don’t click for whatever stupid reason.” He shrugs nonchalantly, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel absently. “So I don’t make an effort to talk.”

The for Eddie goes unspoken at the end, but it’s thick in the air regardless. Gareth spreads a knowing grin, and Billy gives him a look out of the corner of his eye.

“So, Hargrove does have feelings.”

The blond tsks.

“Who said I didn’t?”

“No one. You’re just like if a stone wall was a person, is all.”

Billy giggles at that. Not laughs. Not chuckles. Giggles.

It’s a very not manly sound and has Gareth spreading a sort of bewildered grin upon hearing it, while also serving to chip the lingering intimidation away.

“I am not,” Billy muses.

“Yes huh. With barbed wire at the top, spikes at the bottom, and maybe even a mote with alligators up front.”

“Mm, and what makes you say that?”

The question makes Gareth think for a beat. They’re nearing his street now, and he sighs as he shrugs half-heartedly. Gestures at Billy lamely with his hand and earns a quirked eyebrow.

“I dunno. You’re… you, I guess.” The truck pulls up to the curb in front of Gareth’s house, and Billy throws it in park. Doesn’t take the key out of the ignition or move to open his door just yet. “Like some heavily guarded fortress at the top of a hill, overlooking a tiny village with no line of defense.”

The brunet presses his lips into a line. Doesn’t bother looking at the other seat out of embarrassment.

Billy is quiet. Then, he clicks his tongue and shifts idly in his seat, hand still on the wheel.

“I’m not really big on mystical analogies, but…” he begins with a sigh. “I’m more like the princess at the top of the tower, stuck in the fortress. Guarded by a fire-breathing dragon.” Billy drums his fingers against the steering wheel before he lets his hand drop to his lap. “There’s something to be said about Eddie and Steve being some knights in shining armor or something, but I think you get it.”

They sit there for a handful of seconds. Gareth mulls it over, thinks about what to say, but before he can open his mouth, Billy kills the engine. Pushes his door open and climbs out.

The truck jostles when he drops the tailgate, and Gareth hesitates before he gets out as well.

This time, rather than stand by and watch, he helps move everything from the bed to the garage. It goes by quicker, at least, that’s how it feels when they’re finally finished. Billy tosses the straps into the back of the truck and shuts the tailgate, cracking his knuckles absently.

“You need help setting anything up?” he offers.

Gareth shoves his hands into his pockets and glances over his shoulder into his garage.

“Nah, I got it from here,” he says. “Thanks.”

Billy nods.

“Anytime.”

He knocks lightly on his truck before he goes to walk back to the driver’s seat. Gareth chews his lip.

“See ya, princess.”

At that, Billy giggles again. Climbs into the front seat and starts it up. Then he’s driving away, music blasting, and Gareth turns to walk up the length of his driveway.

He’s still irritated about the events of today, but he’s a little relieved, too.

Because maybe Hargrove isn’t all that bad.

#gareth stranger things #billy hargrove #steve harrington #eddie munson #harringroveson #steddilly #metalsandwich #chubby billy hargrove #soft billy hargrove #misunderstandings #this is very self indulgent #ooc? unrealistic? not my major concern #billy is so princess despite the Everything about how he looks #fav thing is making him the ‘man of the house’ but also knowing hes the Bottom #my writing #ficlet #mostly unedited

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: you fall asleep on isaac's shoulder while he's working.

WARNINGS: none!!! :D

COMMENTS: ASGHFDHSAGD THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING FOR IKEVAMP!!!!! i literally adore isaac sosososososo much he is so cute :((( I HOPE I WROTE HIM WELL!!!! :D

OH YEA tagging @dove-da-birb because i think you said you wante dto be tagged ahgsdhas

The weight of their head on Isaac’s shoulder snaps him out of the concentrated trance he’d found himself in. He turns his head, slowly and with bated breath, and feels his cheeks flush bright red at the sight that greets him. Sure enough, they’d fallen asleep on him. He should probably wake them up, he thinks, but as they breathe softly and their chest rises and falls and he watches, he’s not thinking much at all.

He couldn’t understand why they’d insisted on accompanying him for his late-night research session when they had other things to do. There was no reason to do so since he’d gotten by completely fine on his own, but they hadn’t backed down. Isaac was notoriously weak to them anyways—anyone in the mansion knew he would have said yes no matter what. They had a way of making him feel calm, like his existence wasn’t torture, like he didn’t constantly make mistakes and misunderstand the people around him.

They were quite the paradox. They laid themselves out to him like an open book, and yet he couldn’t read much of the words. Over the weeks they’d known each other, he’d learned how, but most of the pages were filled with jumbled words he didn’t understand and beautiful pictures he couldn’t interpret. And yet they were never a cruel teacher. They were the most patient person he’d ever met, guiding his hands across the gold-lined pages and helping him sound out the words that lead him through the paths of their heart. Sometimes, the words he found helped him find the way through his own heart. It was undoubtedly a beautiful thing, and although it was void of the equations he’d depended on his whole life, Isaac found himself less frightened by the day.

They would never hurt him. They treated him far too gently for that. Always there with a kind word and a nod when he began to ramble, always there to tell his housemates to knock it off with their teasing but often teasing him themselves, always there to hold his hand and ask him if he needed a hug at the end of the day. They prepared him tea on nights when he couldn’t sleep, too focused on his research and knowing he’d pass out at his desk and wake up with a blanket draped across his shoulders. There would be a little note scribbled out resting on top of his stack of papers, signed with their name and letting him know that they’d be bringing him breakfast in the late morning.

He wishes he had the courage to do the same for them. It was one of the many things about them he found adorable and one of the many things he would never admit to thinking about them.

“Do you think of me the way I think of you?” he murmurs to them, although they are fast asleep. Of course, they do not answer.

The ticking of the watch he fixed just for them echoes in the silence he leaves.

“If I asked you to stay...if I was selfish enough to ask that of you...would you comply? Would you fulfill my wish?” Isaac’s voice is impossibly softer, the yearning in his aching heart betrayed by the wobbling of his words.

They don't belong here. He knows this. They belong back in their world, where they have a family and friends and a life. He isn’t a natural part of who they are, even if he wishes he could grow to be. He wants to be part of what they want so badly, but that’s not possible. He’d only hurt them. And even if they say they trust him over and over, he does not trust himself. They are precious to him, someone he wants to protect more than anything—and to lose them now would destroy him.

His eyes flick back to his forgotten work, and he sighs. Raking his hand through his hair, he picks back up his pen and starts to write again. Their head on his shoulder burns through his shirt. He can feel their warmth. His hand shakes as it scribbles out an equation, and his cheeks still burn a fiery red. He’s gnawing on his bottom lip and bouncing his leg so fiercely he almost bangs his knee on the wood, but he doesn’t stop.

Do they have any idea how serious this is? Isaac could lose control of his hunger at any moment and hurt them just like he did before. His eyes flicker to their hand, and even though the bandages are gone, he still feels that stab of guilt. How do they feel safe enough with him to fall asleep near him? Even if it wasn’t on purpose, they should have left the second they were feeling tired. They should have bid him goodnight and patted his shoulder like they always did when they said goodbye and left him to his own devices. And yet they did not, because they are the strangest phenomenon he’s ever witnessed.

He loves them. He loves them like they strung up all the stars he loves to study in the sky, he loves them like they’re the only person he’ll ever know this well, he loves them like they’re the only person who would ever care for him even though they’d insist they’re not. He loves them like they’re everything and he knows there’s no way he could tell them that. He’s not good with words. He’s not good with affection.

And he is certainly not good with love.

Isaac turns back to them in what he wholeheartedly believes is a moment of weakness because they smell so nice and they look so at peace and—

They whisper his name.

A soft “Isaac” leaves their lips, and he stiffens at the sound. His face burns hotter now, his leg bounces more, his heart is pounding in his ears and his blood is rushing through his veins and—

He whips his head back towards his paper, intent on focusing on his work, only to see loopy scribbles of their name on his notes.

Gah, he needs to control himself.

Even when he wasn’t thinking, his body still yearned for them. How traitorous his hands were.

#this is mostly unedited because i was excited #if you see typos no you dont!!!!! #auburn's fics <3 #isaac newton x reader #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp isaac x reader #ikevamp x reader #isaac newton fluff

[razrogue]

imitation is the sincerest form of flattery (Ascended Astarion, His Majesty)

“So the thief has come to grovel before me?”

Astarion stared at the cat, stretched across the burgundy velvet pillow situated in the corner of the room. When they had arrived at the tavern, it had insisted on having the biggest pillow placed near the sunniest window. The sun loved its features it had proclaimed but the dreary shadow lands had dampened its style.

“Thief?” Astarion tutted at the smooth cat laying leisurely before him, barely giving him so much as a glance.

His Majesty stretched and yawned before finally deciding to sit up and give Astarion a modicum of respect. Whether he would retain it during their conversation was another matter entirely.

“I heard you chatting with the short one.” His Majesty leaned his head slightly, pointing towards the person seated near the fireplace.

“I’ve inspired you so that you’ve taken to speaking like me,” the cat retorted as it licked one of its paws. “Allowing them to speak to you, much like I’m doing now.”

Astarion crossed his arms and glared at the cat. He’d stolen a lot of things from a lot of people but never anything from a damn cat. He was insulted at the insinuation.

“I beg your pardon??” 

“You’d do well to remember where you hear such things in the future.” And with a final yawn, His Majesty began kneading the pillow to return to his nap. The conversation was over as far as it was concerned. 

“You’re dismissed,” he said as he curled back up, his tail wrapping around him.

“Don’t you take that tone with me. Remember who fetches your milk, feline.”

Astarion was left standing there in silence, irked that a cat had just scolded him. His Majesty had already closed his eyes and gone back to dozing in the sun beaming across his pillow.

#Astarion Ancunin #Astarion #Ascended Astarion #Ascendant Astarion #His Majesty #BG3 #Baldur's Gate 3 #BG3 spoilers #razrogue writes #saw a funny post and had to write this lol #also mostly unedited cause i'm off to bed now LMAO

[silverandbluephoenix]

society loves disabled people until they're visibly disabled. They love the success stories. Look at them! They're disabled and they can do it! Why can't you? This man is autistic and he masks so well! This woman is in a wheelchair and she still supports herself full time. Why can't you?

Oh, you're disabled? Don't use it as an excuse! Put yourself out there! Work harder! You just need to apply yourself. Oh and you better not be lazy. You better not want to just survive. You better not be a drain on our taxes.

You just need to do better! Work harder! Wreck your body, destroy your mental health! Social life? If you can have one of those you can work! After all you don't really need that. Or free time. Or happiness.

Just lose weight. Just drink more water. Just try this new diet! Live your best life (just as long as you have a job because that's what's most important) Get out there and smell the fucking roses!

Just make sure you don't look actually disabled. After all, no one wants to see that. And you can't be fat, because that's even worse. Don't be an eyesore.

Dont complain, don't be whiny. No one wants to hear about your struggles, god why are you always talking about your disability? Like we get it already. Just shut up about it and work harder.

But no! We support disabled people! After all, we have a poster with a guy in a wheelchair saying you can do it! And you better be able to do it.

#disability #chronic illness #chronic fatigue #disabled #Give me a break #This is such a product of capitalism too #Like you're only a good person if you're productive #“Productive member of society” #Gives me a bad taste in my mouth tbh #Anywayyyy #Unedited #Please don't pay much attention to this I'm mostly ranting

[rivrdin]

unedited, unnamed horses by Dressage Center Edelweiss & Heritage Farm

#ts4 #ts4 simblr #ts4 equestrian #current household #unedited #ch: unnamed 3 #ch: unnamed 4 #trs: pasture #mostly just reshade testing #they'll get names once i get their riders named :'D #unnmaed wip sims are my life right now #*unnamed even

[blueflyingturtleontheway]

So, I've heard some voices here and there lamenting how little Gabe content - especially new Gabe content - there was and you know what? I completely agree, so I thought why not, I can try to add my little droplet into this tiny sea of Gabe appreciation we have here on tumblr.

Summary: Elena visits Gabe in his house for the first time and learns something new about his past.

Word count: 1937

AN: just some friendly fluff really, headcanon heavy, from Elena's POV but Gabe centric

"Oh, watch out, the first step is-" Gabe turned around just in time to catch Elena when she started to fall backwards. "-loose."

"Thanks for the warning." Elena shot him a glare when she regained her balance. In response Gabe only sent her an unapologetic grin and pulled her up on the next step.

"Everyone's so used to it by now that we keep forgetting to fix it with my dad," he explained as they finally reached the first floor.

The stairs led to a narrow corridor, with the same room placement as the bakery beneath it. Two doors on the right, one on the left and a wide opening to the living room at the end. In a few brisk steps Gabe opened the door on the left and invited Elena in with a courteous gesture.

"Welcome to my humble abode, your highness."

Her highness graced him with a nod and slipped by him, into the small room. Elena gave it a quick one over. It was indeed small - in fact, there probably wasn't much more space than what each guard got at the barracks - and the decor wasn't much fancier either. Cream colored walls, a thin bed by the window, a wardrobe opposite of it, one wall taken up by a bookshelf and a small cabinet by another made up basically all the furnishing of the room.

"Humble is a good word." She nodded solemnly, earning herself an eye roll from her friend. They both chuckled.

"Hey, it's your room that's out of the norm, you know?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Elena retorted, thinking about how three or even four such rooms would fit into hers. She walked over to the cabinet and picked up some trinket. "But it's nice to finally see where you grew up."

Gabe couldn't stop a fond smile sneaking onto his lips when he noticed the badge she was examining.

"Yeah and I didn't really get to change much here in the past five years. For example this thing I got back when-"

"Gabriel!" He was interrupted by his mother's voice from the bakery.

"I'll tell you in a moment," he sighed. "Make yourself at home!" He added from the doors and quickly ran downstairs to his parents.

Elena took another look around the room. It wasn't entirely empty, she had to admit that, and the poster of Antonio Agama on the inner side of the door confirmed that Gabe didn't change the decor much since he moved out.

She moved to the bookshelf and moved her hand across the titles - though there weren't that many of them to count. The lower shelves were taken up by some boxes and bags and what could've been a neatly packaged tent. Then finally a whole shelf dedicated to the whole collection of Antonio Agama's books. Elena chuckled to herself when she read some of the more dramatic titles and noticed even one that wasn't in Avaloran. On the next shelf, between other various travel books and biographies, was only one book by señor Agama, titled simply 'The Gecko's Tale'. Driven by a hunch she took it out and couldn't help but laugh when she read the blurb on the back. Although that explained how the whole kingdom found out that she's a bit adventurous too.

Finally her gaze got to the plant on top of the mantle. Hidden so deep in the room, it extended its ivy like stalks towards the sun, climbing a string helpfully hung between the bookshelf and the window.

Down on the windowsill two other plants looked out on the little cobbled square behind the house. Elena leaned in to smell the orchid and noticed something half hidden behind the pot. Slowly, so as not to accidentally damage the plant, she reached for trinket and retrieved it into the light. It turned out to be a wooden doll, painted to resemble a familiar navy and maroon uniform...

"Is this you?" She turned to Gabe as soon as he entered the room and showed him the figurine with a wide smile.

Gabe stopped for a moment. Furrowed his brows as he tried to see what Elena was even holding, and then furrowed his brows even more when he recognised it.

"Of course not," he grumbled, closing the small distance between them. "It's just an old thing anyway."

"It does look a bit like you though." She jumped away from him at the last moment.

Gabe gasped. Elen giggled and moved her hand away when he tried to reach her.

"Why would I even have a figurine of myself?"

For a moment they circled each other, like two lions judging if it's worthy to fight the opponent for a steak, except the steak was now wooden and 15 centimetres high. They both hunched subconsciously and made their steps in the fencing manner.

"I don't know, why does Esteban have a whole wall of his own portraits?" A sly grin slid on her face. "But I see you've decided to match his collection."

"Oh now you've done it." Gabe shook his head to hide his smile and in the split of a second was right by her. Feigning to go right for the prize, he swiped her legs out from under her.

Elena waved her hands in the air giving Gabe just the opportunity he was waiting for. He swiftly yanked the figurine from her hands, giving her the last push to fall backwards completely. He turned his head with a victorious grin, just in time to see her legs rising at the height of his knees. And suddenly the ground was much closer than before.

He folded his arms to his chest, protecting the figurine with his body and rolled on the floor. Though he didn't have to roll far, of which he was promptly reminded by his head crushing into the cupboard.

He groaned loudly and let his body fall limply to the floor.

His pained complaint was answered by Elena's laughter from the bed.

"I'm getting too old for this," he mumbled and Elena's laughter only got louder.

Finally he sat up and lifted the figurine to his face. He carefully examined it for any cracks or splinters, checked if the joints in the limbs didn't fall out and most importantly if the head was still on firm. Finally when he made sure the trinket didn't get damaged, he let out a relieved sigh.

"You're lucky it's still whole," he grumbled, rising to his feet.

"Hey, I was being careful." Elena now sat up too and sent him a playful smirk. "All the way until you decided to trip me like that."

Gabe rolled his eyes again and huffed in pretended annoyance.

"So if it's not a limited edition General Nuñez action figure," Elena continued. "What is it?"

Gabe sat down next to her and thought of an answer for a moment. He changed the position of the little soldier's arms and reached for a pin to put into his hand as a sword.

"It's really just an old toy," he said finally. "But you know, it has sentimental value."

He finally passed Elena the figurine, so she could take a look at it herself. It wasn't as old as she thought at first. The paint was faded, but still held onto the uneven surface of the wood and as she moved her fingers across it, she realized that it must've been all whittled by hand, by someone who put great care in it, but wasn't a professional.

Still the amount of details was impressive, especially in the construction of the thing. She moved the tiny soldier into the proper fencing position and to her delight found out that it fits flawlessly, the wire on the joints creaked quietly, as if it had been waiting for an opportunity to shine for ages.

She glanced between the figurine and Gabe on her left for comparison. The uniform, despite the familiar colours, was a tad different, it resembles more what she remembered from her childhood, than the uniform Gabe was wearing at the moment.

"I got it from my first fencing teacher," he continued.

"The same one who threw coconuts at you driving training?" Elena raised a brow, earning herself a chuckle.

"Yeah, the same one." A sad smile reached the corners of his eyes as old memories resurfaced in his memory. "He was a tough man and always talked about how big an annoyance I am, but -" he gestured to the figurine and shrugged.

"Well, that explains why it looks like you," Elena bumped him with her shoulder. "I'm sure he could've already seen that you'll be a great guard."

"Oh, I don't think he even wanted me to be a guard," Gabe laughed again. "But you know, the situation was a bit different." He pondered something for a moment before continuing. "And to be fair, I didn't even realize that it was supposed to be a guard at the time, I was pretty sure he just came up with the design by himself. I only really connected the dots a few years ago, when I found this old thing again."

Elena nodded silently and put a comforting hand on his arm. She could see that this topic wasn't easy for him.

"Though maybe what you said was the point." He straightened suddenly and his gaze went back to the figurine. "Maybe he wasn't completely against me joining the guard, just... joining the right one."

His smile became wider and it was like his whole face lit up. Elena raised the little soldier's arms to make it cheer. They both laughed at how expressive this piece of wood was.

"So where is your coach now?" Elena asked, caressing the wooden toy one more time.

He only sighed at first and for a moment his gaze became clouded again, before he shook his head to cast the memories away.

"I wish I knew," he sent her a sad smile. "One day he just... disappeared. A few trinkets and one letter is all the proof I have that he wasn't just my hallucination."

Elena's lips twitched in a matching sad smile, but before she could say anything, they both heard a voice from downstairs, calling the unmistakable word 'dinner!'

Gabe clapped his hands on his knees and sprung up to his feet.

"Ah, just in time", he extended his hand to Elena. "I think eating is a much more fun topic than discussing the weird things I did in my childhood."

Elena examined his face for a moment more, but gave up on asking all the questions that pushed to the tip of her tongue. She sent him a smile instead and accepted his hand.

"Oh, you mean you did more weird things?" She made the little figurine gasp.

"I feel like I shouldn't have started this topic," Gabe laughed.

"Oh no, you won't escape now." She poked him in the chest and put the little soldier in his hand. "I gotta know all the crazy stories."

"Okay, okay, I'll tell you something," Gabe raised his hands in defeat. "But you can't mention it to my parents, please, they'll never stop until they tell you my whole life story."

Elena made a theatrical gesture of tapping her lips in thought as she backed out of the room.

"I'll consider it," she sent him a wide grin and in a second turned and ran towards the stairs.

"Hey- wait!" Gabe called out, running right after her to save what was left of his reputation.

#my post #blue's writing #eoa #elena of avalor #gabriel nunez #gabe nunez #gabriel nuñez #gabe nuñez #elena castillo flores #gabe and elena #elena castillo flores & gabriel nuñez #elena and gabe #uuuuh #fanfiction #this is. completely unedited and written mostly in the middle of the night #so i just hope it makes sense XD #but i really wanted to write something and hey a great motivator came so why not seize the occasion #(probably because youre busy blue and should be sleeping instead but do you ever listen to yourself? no) #another day of wondering 'would they fucking say thay' #was this fic prompted by one scene of gabe fondly rolling his eyes at elena that i saw in an amv #maybe #anyway i hope this ficlet reaches the person who inspired it and i hope it brings you some joy :> #i may or may not continue it one day or at keast clean it up a bit and transfer it to ao3 #my accounts been dead there for quite some time now #and back to the fic you guys have NO idea how proud i am od myself that its almost 2K #yes thats a lot for me #i considered whether im able to write those 74 more words but nope i gotta sleep #bonus: blanca and roberto downstairs hearing all the noise in gabes room and the sound of something heavy (gabe) hitting the floor #'remind me is our son 13 or 23' *fond exasperated sigh* #maybe i shouldve added to the note that this fic basically has no context huh

[sparring-spirals]

Imogen says that. until Everything Went Down (until Otohan) (until her powers not only failed her but doomed everyone around her) her markings kind of. made her feel good.

Imogen says that: Sure, they were terrible at first, but when she realized she could use her powers to defend, (like she defended Laudna)-

"They felt like proof. That I was stronger than I thought I was."

(The powers and the markings are synonymous, for Imogen. They are physical evidence of her powers, an external manifestation of powers that, so often, plague her in ways that are invisible. The voices, the headaches, the overhearing, the nightmares, the ever-present anxiety all of them bring. Are invisible.

The electricity arcing off of her fingertips in defense. Are not.

The markings webbing their way up her arms. Are not.

She looks at her marks and thinks of her powers, and that is both a blessing and a curse.

Proof, or evidence.)

Imogen did not see her markings- her powers- as a gift, until she found how they could be used in service to others. To help others. Her powers would always be some kind of curse to her, of course they were. But seeing the way they could defend and protect others, seeing the way she could take this curse and wring some good out of it.

That made it worth it, maybe. That made it good.

That made her feel stronger, maybe.

I just. Imogen looks at her marks and thinks of her powers. And thinks of the ways these hands (these abilities) can be used in service for others, in protection of others, in ways to hold on tight and protect things she loves, people she loves. And for a while (for two years, at least), it was enough that she could look down and- they made her feel kind of good. She's so much stronger than she ever imagined she could be- not because of the powers alone, but because its her wielding them, that even with all of the awfulness that comes along with it, she knows how she's been using them, how she's been able to do good. She's so much stronger than she could have dreamed, (in all her nightmares).

And then.

And then-

The problem was not the strength. Otohan whispered that too, of power in her, a spark, a fire, a raging storm. Otohan brought it out, eventually.

The problem was not a lack of power.

The problem was- the defense. The protection. Otohan chased her down- all of them down, for that power raging inside of her. Cut down her friends, one by one, to make a point, to get to her. To get to that storm. To claw it out.

Otohan looked at Laudna, and said to Imogen- "Is she your favorite?"

Otohan killed Laudna, and Imogen let out every ounce of that power she had manifesting in her and levelled a city and it-

did nothing. It did nothing.

Otohan hunted her down- hunted all of them down, and ripped through them for the power that arcs up Imogen's arms and none of it was enough to protect, in the end.

Imogen looks at her markings and thinks of her powers, and if they make her feel strong it is a curse, now, its another layer of guilt, its another condemnation.

Imogen's markings made her feel strong because they could help others, serve others, protect others.

How- uniquely awful, then. To look down and see a death sentence on those you love, instead.

To see all that power.

And see a blast radius, instead of a shield.

#critical role #c3e34 #imogen temult #character meta #speculation #imogen meta #my meta #ive got 3 min left on the loading so while ive passed this over for typos its mostly unedited. ive got So Many Feelings About This Scene #orhhgggh its about the PROTECTION and the power was a consequence of that. what an awful twist to habe that contorted where the power #IS there. but its now the cause. its the problem. you're right. you' #re strong. but thats why the people you love are being hurt. #(and you are. not strong enough to protect them.) #GOD screw otohan trully #otohan thull #reread this after sobering up and. yknow what. not bad. definitely prosey and long winded but coherent enough. points to me. #THERE WAS A TYPO ON THE LAST LINE. alas. fixed now.