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jayhnsl · 27 days

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The A.S.S trio remastered. This time, i wanted to add some details about the designs that cannot be fully appreciated. And some hc's.

Abigail:

- 22 y.o

- has a secret tattoo.

- Emily gave her an undercut, but you can only see it if her hair is tied up.

- she still has her blue bow, but it's tied very at the end of her hair (like a mini ponytail.)

- did her piercings herself.

- her aesthetic wants to resemble both, Seb and Sam, but still being her own.

- she was probably into Haley at some point. But as she got to know her better, she lost interest.

- adopted a stray black cat, which lives secretly in her room.

- she ripped her leggings on purpose.

- very into goth music and fashion.

- Rasmodious secretly gave her her sword. But she never knew it was him.

- sarcastic, a little passive-aggressive, and competitive.

- has dark humor, she likes to tease Sam that she will use him as a sacrifice one day.

Sebastian:

- 24 y.o

- has a bracelet with a small toad charm on it.

- has a tattoo on his arm, but it's rarely seen (since he never takes off his sweatshirt.)

- smells like motorcycle oil almost all the time.

- he's wearing socks with cute frogs on them right now.

- probably wears glasses from spending so much time on the screen.

- paints his nails with black marker when he's bored.

- probably the most mature of the group.

- hella shy.

Sam:

- 24 y.o

- hyperactive asf.

- has many skate bruises and scars (like the ones on his face.)

- his skate tricks never go his way. His clothes are always dirty and torn because of this.

- Jodi gets tired of getting him new clothes or sewing up the broken ones, letting him walk with what he has (he doesn't mind at all.)

- very talkative, outgoing, and sloppy.

- the golden retriever of the group.

- smells like deodorant. Too much deodorant.

- Mikey from TMNT personality.

- He probably tried to integrate Alex into the group sometime, but for reasons, he couldn't.

- gets very invested in whatever catches his attention.

- fingerguns to flirt.

#stardew valley #stardew valley fanart #stardew abigail #stardew sebastian #stardew sam #sdv abigail #sdv sebastian #sdv sam #artwork #sketch #art dump #doodle #my art #character design #concept art #redesign #sdv fanart

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munsonfamilyband · 1 year

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I am a HoH Steve truther and I also firmly believe that he had to he dragged to get checked out the first time (Eddie said it was a date and he drove them to the ear doctor where Robin was waiting). He hates that he has to wear a hearing aid, but he’s glad it’s only on the one ear. Still, he hates it, it’s an ugly off white color and it looks terrible with his hair. He hates that people can see that something in him is broken. Logically he knows that he shouldn’t be ashamed of the hearing aid, Robin has told him that enough times, but he still feels awful whenever he sees it in the mirror.

He would regularly “leave it behind” when he went to visit the kids and he would go a couple days without it before the kids found it and gave it back, or Eddie and/or Robin realized he wasn’t wearing it and made him go get it.

That is, until the last time he left it behind at the Hopper-Byers house. He doesn’t see the Wonder Twins for a couple days after that, until they come rolling into the parking lot of Family Video on their bikes. Steve clocks them as weird immediately because it’s just Will and El, no one else. When they come in, Will looks nervous but El walks right up to the counter and grabs one of his hands, dropping something in it. It takes a second for him to recognize it, but he realizes that she’s returning his hearing aid. Only, it isn’t that awful cream color anymore, it’s been covered in colors and little flowers. Turning it over he sees a small crown with a baseball bat filled with nails going through it. Will, avoiding eye contact, tells him that it was El’s idea to paint it and so they came up with what to cover it in - they even called Eddie to get his favorite color (which explains the amount of yellow on the plastic). He also reassures him that they had Joyce help so that they wouldn’t get paint or marker in anything important.

Steve never takes it off after that, and every time he sees it in his reflection it makes him smile. (Years later when he has to replace it, he cries and calls Will to see if he can paint the new one too)

#stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #no idea if this is something you can do with hearing aids but I needed this to be a thing #mama steve

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redstarwriting · 11 months

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the clash | ii. time bomb

hobie brown x goth!reader

word count: 1.5k

genre: enemies to lovers

warnings: language, insults, hobie hating you, you hating hobie, y’all almost fight twice lmao

a/n: felt bad only posting the first chapter, so here’s the second one as well! i’ll get the third one out as soon as i can, but a bitch has work tomorrow and the next day. please enjoy chapter two everyone! and if you wanna be added to the taglist just let me know! :)

now reading: ii. time bomb

previous chapter: i. hey, ho! let’s go!

next chapter: iii. black planet

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Hobie swings his way to where he’s sure Gwen is, and in doing so he will probably also find Miles and Pavitr. He’s sure he looks like if someone said the wrong thing to him, he would punch them in the face, because honestly? He just might. And he doesn’t care. You pissed him off. With your stupid opinions. People like you are the reason anarchy can never succeed, you’re either all in or you’re all out. He hates the way you dismissed him, which is a shame because he really thought you were drop-dead gorgeous.

Speaking of drop, that thought makes him drop. Like, actually. He face plants.

He groans. Fucking hell, he’s never had to deal with this type of hatred before. Usually, it’s just cut and dry ‘I hate you cause xyz’, but fuck you are making it hard. While he hates you for what you said, he loves your style, and he respects you standing your ground and not giving into him with your beliefs, but at the same time, you piss him off. He glances around, “Meant to do that.” No one in particular hears him, but he quickly webs off again. He searches for bright blond hair, and sure enough, he sees Gwen. She’s chilling in the common room Hobie claimed as his own a while back. He claimed it by… redecorating. He just made it feel more like home, and since Miguel is such a lame ass, he didn’t appreciate all the colorful spray paint and broken furniture. But Hobie doesn’t really give a fuck. As he gets closer, he can see that Miles and Pavitr are there too, and… absolutely fucking not.

He lands directly next to you with an unamused look on his face. “And who invited you into my home away from home?” You look at him and roll your eyes. “This your place? Well, that explains why it looks like someone gave Mayday Parker a 50-pack of markers and told her to go to town in here–”

“Ha ha. Funny.”

“–and to answer your question, I invited myself,” you say smugly, and he narrows his eyes at you. “Don’t try to make me like you, it’s not gonna work, love,” he growls, and everyone can tell by the way he said love that he certainly did not mean it as a term of endearment. “I wouldn’t dream of it, mate,” you say, imitating his accent in over-exaggerated way. “I don’t think they are actually calling him their mate,” Pavitr whispers to Miles, who gives him an expression practically dripping in ‘no shit.’ Hobie tears his gaze away from you and looks at Gwen. “We need to show this twat around,” he huffs, and Gwen raises her eyebrows. “We? Isn’t that your job,” she says, and Miles nods. “Yeah, I remember you said you made a deal with Miguel that–”

“I don’t give a fuck if it’s my ‘job,’ when have I ever followed the rules of a fuckin’ job?” he seethes, and you snicker. “Aw, how endearing, the punk rebel has a job. I’ll be sure to go to Miguel and tell him you’re doing amazing, so that you don’t get fired, in fact, you could get promoted!”

“That’s it,” Hobie growls and turns to you, grabbing the neck of his guitar and getting ready to use it. You smirk and slightly crouch, ready to jump away or towards him, based on his next move. ��OKAY! Okay, we’ll help you just put the damn guitar down,” Miles says, jumping between the two of you. Hobie looks at him before looking at you with a deep frown. “I don’t need help. I just need to make sure other people are here, so I don’t murder this nitwit,” he says, tossing his guitar back so it hangs off his back again. “If anythin’, you’re helpin’ them.”

“I don’t need help either. Especially not yours. I’ll find my way around here myself,” you say, crossing your arms. He turns and offers you a smile. “Well now that you say you definitely don’t want my help, looks like I’m gonna be that friendly neighborhood Spider-Man and assist you.”

“My hero,” you say sarcastically, pushing past him and walking out of the room. He motions for the others to follow you first, and walks out last, slinking in the back. Gwen takes up the role he usually plays in showing everyone around. You nod and listen, occasionally asking a question and cracking a joke. He hates to admit it, but your jokes are actually very funny. It’s refreshing to hear deadpan, straightforward, dry comedy instead of the puns and silly jokes all the other Spider-People love to make. But he doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even crack a smile. Just watches you.

‘Like a creep,’ you think, catching him staring at you for what feels like the 50th time. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the attention you were getting from him. Truthfully, he’s probably the most attractive person you’ve ever laid eyes on.

Such a tragedy he’s also the worst person you’ve ever had the displeasure to speak with.

“Your suit is so cool, by the way,” Miles says to you, and you give him a grin. “Thanks. Made it myself.”

“Yeah. I can tell,” you hear Hobie pipe up, and your head snaps towards him. “Because it’s so stylish, fashionable, and better than anything you could do yourself?”

“No. ‘Cause it looks like it was put together by a colorblind toddler. If you look close enough, the blacks don’t even match,” he says, smirking. Now this was a lie. All the black in your suit was a perfect shade of raven, he just knew it would piss you off. And it did. “Fuck you. At least my suit doesn’t look like a twelve-year-old who just discovered Hot Topic for the first time,” you hiss, and he scoffs. “Watch your fuckin’ mouth there, mate.”

“You watch yours, mate.”

“Okay, both of you shhhhhhh!” Gwen says, and you both look at her. “Don’t tell me what to do–”

“Stop talking like me!”

“What?! You stop talking like me!”

“Oh my God, the romantic tension is through the roof right now!” Pavitr suddenly pipes up, and now the both of you are staring at him, dark expressions on your faces. “I’d rather be eaten alive by a single piranha so it would take days until I finally succumbed to the sweet release of death,” you hiss and Hobie nods. “Finally. Somethin’ we agree on.” He turns and looks at you, and you roll your eyes at him. “Way to de-escalate, buddy,” Miles whispers to Pavitr, and Pavitr sighs as Miles walks a little faster to catch up with everyone else. “But I was being serious…”

Gwen continues to show you around, and when she finally finishes, you all are back at ‘Hobie’s common room.’ You walk back inside and sit on the tattered and broken-down couch. The way the room is decorated is kind of cool, you must admit. You’re just not a fan of the mismatched colors everywhere. And it could use a couple more decorations. Like bat skeletons. Or just live bats. That would be adorable. “Thanks for showing me around,” you thank Gwen, Miles, and Pavitr. “Not you, though,” you say to Hobie and he snorts. “Good. I wouldn’t want you to thank me for anything.”

“Why do you two hate each other so much? Didn’t you literally just meet?” Miles asks, looking exhausted from the snarky remarks coming from both of you. “We did,” you confirm. “And we don’t get along cause they don’t have any strong belief system.”

“Yes, I do! I’m just realistic, and he can’t understand that,” you say and he rolls his eyes. “Realistic, eh? I already told you I led a rebellion.”

“And I told you it doesn’t matter because everyone is shit. How many villains have you fought since this rebellion you led?”

“None of your fuckin’ business.”

“So, you’ve fought at least one. What did that rebellion get you then, huh?”

“I recommend you shut your fuckin’ mouth before I shut it for you.”

“Please, do try. I need a new skeleton for my collection,” you growl and the two of you jump at each other. Luckily, Gwen and Miles web both of you and hold you back. “That’s enough of that,” Gwen says. “I have an idea,” Miles says, “why don’t we go visit your universe, (Y/n)? Maybe then Hobie can see why you’re so… negative.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere near that place,” Hobie nearly yells. “Good. I don’t want you there anyway.”

“On second thought, I think it might be very eye-opening to see the world you grew up in. Maybe I can team up with your sinister six and put you in your place,” he spits out at you, causing you to glare at him and flip him off again. “A field trip sounds fun, especially after all this just happened. Maybe it will help the two of you lighten up,” Pavitr says, and you both roll your eyes. “Fine. You can all come. But if you step one toe out of line, Hobie–”

“What? You’ll yell at me?”

“No. I’ll torture you to the point that you would beg me for death.”

“Promise?”

“Always.”

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『 tag list 』

@casmosmoon* @khaleesihavilliard @sparklyphantom @weyrrii*

*if you are italicized - i am unable to tag you for whatever reason, feel free to reach out and see if we can fix the issue

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x you #spiderpunk x reader #spiderverse x reader #hobie brown #spiderpunk #spider-punk #spiderverse #theclashofthespiderverse

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hadeantaiga · 9 months

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You know how every ADHD test asks "are you clumsy?"

I've always answered "no" on that. I'm not the buffony exaggerated form of clumsiness I think of when I hear the word. I've done dance and swimming and marching band! Compared to other people I know, I'm definitely not clumsy.

But this week, I realised... I am.

I have, throughout my life, randomly broken objects like car door handles, bent metal hinges, and snapped things that shouldn't be breakable. I affectionately call these my "Hulk" moments.

I do run into the corners of things, I just never notice when I do it. Door handles specifically hang me up all the time.

I go down stairs a bit more slowly than I go up them because sometimes I kinda miss the steps. I just assumed this was related to my fear if heights.

I've always joked that I can walk into a room that has no markers or paint and somehow walk out with marker or paint all over me. I constantly get ink on my fingers when I write. It only just occurred to me this week that this is clumsiness.

Related to the above, I can't own white clothing because I always manage to stain it, and I can't comprehend how other people manage not to stain theirs. Clumsiness.

Now, I'm not the most clumsy person on the planet, and I am definitely not as accident prone as some of my other friends with ADHD; I've never given myself a concussion or broken a bone, for example.

My clumsiness seems a bit more related to a non-awareness of my body in space and a lack of attention to things around me.

#adhd

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rainybyday · 1 year

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Flower shop au continues

Gotham, usurpingly, had a lot of crime. Already he can hear an explosion down a couple blocks away and tripped a pocket picker from trying to rob him. It was sort of nostalgic to hear the chaos of destruction again and had to restrain himself from trying to transform and see who is causing such chaos.

He reassured himself that once he manages to set shop, a peace can come.

It didn't take long for him gain a property near the Gotham graveyard, an old, abandoned thing that no one used. Walls still intact but wallpaper pilling off with creaking stairs and holes in the floorboard. Furniture in pieces and a smell of decay wafted all over the building.

The graveyard was even worse with rusty metal fences and broken-down gravestones with dried up weeds and dying willow trees. Only a few of the hundreds of graves were well kept and clean

For a place that has such a high death rate, they really never took great care of their deceased.

But Danny sighed and got to work.

In a week he managed to clean his two-story shop with the help of his ghost abilities. He managed to work through a couple of nights to not only replace all of the flooring and walls, but he managed to repaint and clean the whole first floor. He decided that the second room should be an actual green garden room and replaced the roof and wall with screens. There were rows of beds filled with soil, growing vines wrapped by his hands on wooden pillars and many pots of baby seedlings yet to uncover themselves from the blanket of rich soil they are buried in.

It took two months to finally finish his new shop and another few weeks before the scent of flora wafted through the building. The store front wasn’t bright, dark tones of green and gray that seemed to fit the Gotham esthetic were painted on instead. The inside, however, was filled with shelves of flowers and vines crawling the walls and bean bags and chairs that were scatted all over. There was writing on the walls of names of people with markers near them. Then in the back there sat a counter with bags of dried flowers and scented candle sticks. If you look to your right, you can see the open stair way that will lead you to a jungle of greenery and peace.

Danny’s store was complete, and he was happy with it.

The first few weeks not many people came, in fact, no one came but that didn’t bother him. Instead, he filled his day with a schedule of sorts. In the morning he would clean and care for his plants around the store before weeding and picking flower petals to create dry flowers for teas. He would spend his late afternoons expanding his garden outside his shop for more flowers to grow before closing shop once the sun sets. It was at night did he grabbed on a hoodie and as many flowers he can carry and walk towards the graveyard leaving tokens for the dead.

Danny can tell that the dead, that Gotham, was suspicious of his attention to give a token to each and every grave. In fact, he can feel the creeping sensation of fear trying to use intimidation on him to get out plenty of times from the aura of death that surrounded the graveyard. But it felt like mere child play for him, and he kept coming back to leave tokens of flowers to those who pass.

By the time he met someone on his daily rounds towards the graveyard, the sensation of death and fear lessened, and the suspicion turned to a curious cautious feeling instead. He wasn’t welcome, not yet, but he was no longer pushed away. He didn’t think he was at the point of being allowed to meet one of Gotham's people, but he didn’t show his surprised when a man in a suit was watching him place flowers from the well-kept grave he was standing next to. Danny gave him a single glance before looking away and continuing his work elsewhere. He learned from experience not everyone wants someone around them when they are visiting their loved ones, so Dany respected the man by giving him space.

It was when Danny was walking back to that again place, he first spotted a bundle of flowers near the grave the man once stood. When he got there, he breathes in deeply at the choice of flowers before place one of his own and walking away.

(Louts flowers, Lewisia's, and Hyacinths.)

(Resurrection, new beginnings and rebirth, regret and sorrow)

(Maybe that's why the grave felt so empty, he thought distantly.)

Surprisingly, the next day, he saw the same man again out in front of his shop. Danny invited him in and ask what he would like.

And the man only said he was visiting his son.

So, Danny gathered a bundle of Primroses, Crocuses, Hyacinths, Forget-me-nots, and Buttercups.

(Primroses for youth and new life. Crocuses for children. Hyacinths for playfulness and energy. Buttercups for childness and youthful joy. Forget-me-nots for remembrance.)

The man walked off and Danny enjoyed the sensation of having a new customer.

Slowly more people came, mothers and fathers and grandparents and siblings and families and lovers. Slowly they all came in his shop and were blanketed by the scent of flowers. Most would ask for a bundle of flowers before leaving for the graveyard, but a few would come back and stay in the shop and take in the peace of it all. He would usually offer them tea (which no one has yet to refuse after taking their first sip) and leave them to thoughtlessly wonder through his store. Once a customer asked why he had names written on the walls which he replied they are the names of people that passed away and their loved ones left behind a message for them on his walls.

(It wasn’t a lie since Danny did have a message for each of his ghost friends he left behind at Amity and the Ghost Zone.)

The customer asked if they could leave a message as well and Danny replied by handing them a marker. It soon became a trend that spread throughout all his customers who would now ask for a marker first instead of him taking their order.

Slowly, Danny was fitting in with the eyes of Gotham no longer cautious but inviting, even soothing in a way. And slowly, so ever so slowly, if you listen just right you can hear that the screaming of the city became just a tab bit silent.

Danny was, ever so slowly, bring peace to Gotham’s land. Not a lot, mind you, but enough to know that one day the land can breathe again.

Then one night, when he was just about to close shop, the bell of his shop’s door rang as some opened the door late at night.

Another continuation later one: Pt3

#dp x dc #dc x dp #Danny Phantom #danny fenton #batfamily #batman #flowers #flower shop

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small-sinclair · 1 year

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Breaking Walls

Vampire!Brahms Heelshire x preg.fem!reader

welcomed reader: @hao-ming-8

Tw: biting, blood, killing/murder, bone breaking, angry Brahms, reader being used as a shield, gun, proofread twice but might have grammar mistakes

You woke up to the sound of the backdoor glass shattering.

Your head jerked up from the pillows, sleep still in your eyes. You didn't want to move because Brahms had you in a cuddle, his face pressed in your stomach, his wild brown curls covering his burn, and he looked so beautiful in your arms. At first, you thought it was nothing but part of a dream, but you heard shoes crunching over broken glass.

You placed a kiss in Brahms's hair before getting up. Maybe it's nothing, but it doesn't hurt to look, right? Maybe Malcolm forgot his keys again? No, he forgets a lot of things but not the keys. Also, it's the middle of the night! He's at home with his two dogs. He can't be here at this hour.

If your mind is playing tricks on you, however, it's worth the trip; you needed a glass of water anyways. Yeah, you can get water from the bathroom sink, but the water didn't taste right? Ever since you got pregnant, you would only drink water from the kitchen sink and nowhere else. If you tired to drink from the bathroom sinks, you would throw-up. Two months in and you're still learning new things. You're tired and sleepy, but water and a mysterious noises called you.

You put on Brahms's jacket and slipped on your bunny slippers, still getting the sleep out of your eyes. You really hoped it was mice breaking something or some very angry racoon throwing rocks like last week. Brahms fought the little guy and killed it with his teeth, his fangs ripping it apart like a dog on a chew toy. You held a funeral for the little guy and had Malcolm get a racoon statue as a grave stone marker. You had Brahms read aloud a written apology to the dead racoon before you lowered the critter into the earth.

R.I.P. Ted the Racoon, who's buried in the backyard, you thought as you sneaked down the steps. Maybe Ted's family has come for revenge. You couldn't help but give a silly smile at the thought of Brahms fighting another racoon. He's so hot cute when his fangs are out. His eyes would shine brighter and his smile looked so breath taking. What a king, my man. He's the Racoon Slayer.

When you got closer to the backdoor, you froze.

Standing by the good china, a taller, stronger man had his back turned as he hurriedly took the good silver from the drawer. Standing next to him, a smaller man in a ski mask held the bag.

Out of reaction, you turned on the lights, making the men freeze.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" You snapped confused, sleep finally starting to leave. When you saw the handgun in the back pocket of the smaller man, your eyes grew wide. You did not think this through. "Oh... shit."

The smaller one was the first to jump to run after you as soon as you started towards the staircase again. "Brahms! Brahms, help--!"

His hand covered your mouth as he pulled you backwards, the taller man starting to hurry to get things packed. "Come on, Dylan! We got enough!"

"The bitch screamed for help!" The smaller one shouted. "There's another here!"

The taller man turned, his eyes glowing from under the ski mask. "Then let's get out of here! We got enough silver-!"

Within the walls, the sound of wood breaking and paint chipping echoed. The lights above you flickered and broke, it sounded like a freight train inside the walls. You struggled to get out of his grasp, but he squeezed harder around your skin. If he leaves bruises on you, all type of mercy will go out the window. Your eyes darted around the room as the smaller man took out his gun, taking it off safety.

Suddenly, silence.

You closed your eyes and started to cry silently, a whimper escaping from the back of your throat.

And that's all Brahms needs to hear.

From the right side of the taller man, Brahms burst through the wall roughly, taking down the taller man. The man didn't have time to react as Brahms took a piece of wood and stabbed him in his lower chest, burying it in deep. Brahms threw him to the side, his back snapping as soon as it hit the broken door, and sunk to the floor.

When his eyes flashed to you, his soft puppy eyes turned to a blood red, maskless. He hissed at the man, his fangs bared and bright, his body tense with danger and murder. He looked at you then at the man, hate burning his lungs. How dare he have a gun against your skin. Your his. You're not supposed to feel fear while you're in his house, your home. He promised you that since he married you in the spring.

And the baby--

The gun pressed against your throat as the shorter man said, "Move and she dies, I swear--!"

He didn't finish that statement. In a blink, he was thrown back into the wall, his back going through it. Brahms pushed you away, and you fell on back and scurried away as Brahms entered the wall.

Close your eyes and count to 100, y/n. This is going to be ugly.

The man looked up at horror of Brahms and tried to shot, but Brahms broke his hand. "How dare you," he hissed through his teeth. "How dare you come into my house," his grip tighten, "try to steal my wife away from me," his grip tightened until his bones stated to shatter all over again. The man screamed but Brahms didn't let up. "You threatened her, my darling, with a gun! My y/n with a gun! My child, that she carries, with a bullet!" Brahms twisted his arm back violently, snapping his shoulder in two.

"Please," the man whimpers pathetically. "Mercy--"

"Fuck your mercy," his accent was heavy. "Fuck your begs. It left as soon as you thought it was a good idea," he yanked the man to his feet until he was dangling in the air, "to put my wife and child in harms way!" The more he thought about you almost getting hurt, the more he hated the men. The more he hated the fact that they were in his house. Near you. Touching and bruising you. Scaring you. He hated them. He ate himself. He loves you. "Never again," he growled, his fangs growing longer and sharper. "Never. Again."

With a terrible noise leaving the attacker, the sound of the man's neck being torn from his body made you want to throw-up.

You slowly sat up as you watched Brahms come out of the broken wall, his mouth covered in rich blood from his kill, chest heaving heavily. His eyes scanned the room and saw the other man, who laid across from you, taking shallow breaths. You looked at your husband then back at the man. He didn't do anything wrong to you; he wanted to leave and call it a night! Truth to be told, you felt bad for him. He was just looking for a score, not to be killed by a ragging vampire husband. You looked between him and Brahms as you watched him breath heavily.

"Let me take care of him, doll," Brahms said in his real voice, deep and low, the corner of his lip twitching in anger. "You'll never see him again-"

"Brahms, wait," you were shaky as you stood between him and the dying man. Your hands went up and cupped his cheeks. "Honey, he's almost dead. He didn't hurt me or wanted to harm me; he wanted to leave."

"He came into our house, y/n," Brahms's voice was heavy in anger as he looked at the man gasping. "I can take care of the rat."

"Then make it fast?" You asked. "I don't want him to suffer more than he already has, okay?" You thumbed away some of the blood on the corner of his mouth. "He's done nothing wrong towards me." His eyes fell back on you, and his soft brown and blue eyes returned. He leaned into your hands and took deep breaths, but your hands left him, lowering them to your side.

He looked at you confused as you were careful to step away and over the broken glass. You crouched next to the dying man and held his hand. Your grandmother said that it's bad to die alone, and it's the worst feeling in the world. You frowned as you listened to his broken apologies, and you offered a sad smile.

"Thank you for not hurting me," you whispered. "I'm sorry that it has to be this way."

You felt Brahms standing over you, and you looked up, letting him know that you were ready, that it was okay for him to do the kill. You know it's in his nature, but he always made sure you're not in the room. He helps you stand and ushered you out of the room to the front hallway.

He kisses your hands, whispering in his voice, "Be right back, y/n."

"Please, Brahms," you said again, taking his hand. "Please be good? Make it fast?" He doesn't answer you, but he squeezed your hand and left you alone.

You stand and wait alone in the dark. You held your stomach as you waited, nervous and scared. The moments later, the light turned off and Brahms emerged from the darkness. He lowered his head on your shoulder and left a blood stain kiss on your neck, his fangs brushing your skin.

Your hands raked through his curls as you leaned into his chest, closing your eyes, allowing yourself to cry again.

"Never again," Brahms murmurs in his childish voice. "Never face scary noises by yourself again." His hand grip your arms gently before scooping you up and carried you back to bed.

You leaned into his chest a he carried you up the steps. "Did he suffer?"

"No," he answers childishly. "I was good. I listened. I promise." You looked up at him and touched his scared face. He leaned into it and kissed your palm. "Brahms was good."

You couldn't help but smile as you lean against him. "Good boy," you whispered, tears slowing down. "Good boy, Brahms."

He takes you back into the bedroom and lays you down. He leaves and washes up in the bathroom. When he comes back, he wasn't wearing a shirt as he came back into bed. He kisses your lips twice, one to say 'I love you' and one for 'goodnight', and wrapped his arms around your side, burying his face to be close to his child once more. Your hands went through his curls, again, then closed your eyes. After a few shaky breaths, you were back to sleep.

#brahms x you #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms the boy #brahms the doll #the boy #the boy 2016 #vampire!brahms heelshire #vampire!brahms #slasher fic #slasher fanfic #slasher #the boy fanfiction #the boy fanfic #slasher fanfiction #brahms heelshire fanfis #brahms heelshire x you #brahms heelshire x y/n

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formulaforza · 1 year

Text

masterlist

multi-part works

miss americana & the heartbreak prince [in progress]

seasons of love [completed]

bite-sized fics

one-shots

said something stupid, instead of 'i love you' (cl16)

"When you were young, your mother once told you she thought you and Charles were each one half of a puzzle--incomplete without the other. You’re lucky to have him, she told you, people spend their whole lives looking for the other half of their puzzle."

this one and the next (cl16)

"You see him for the first time at a café. You’re sixteen and don’t even like coffee, but your best friend is dragging you in. He’s working behind the counter, flustered and busy, running around mixing drinks and taking orders. "Que voulez-vous commander madame?” He asked your friend, and she ordered. “Et vous?” I don’t drink coffee, you told him. He smiled, goofy, something familiar in his eyes. You noted his nametag, carefully drawn on with a chalk marker. Charles."

you gotta move, or move on (cl16)

"I feel like I barely know you anymore, you said once, on the phone, in the middle of the night because it was the only time you got calls from him anymore. He’s in America, racing with Sauber now and you haven’t been to a single race outside of Monaco."

oh, simple thing (cs55)

"“It’s dead,” you said, took it from him and tossed it aside. “It’s not nice to pick flowers, Carlito. It kills them.” He burst into tears and your mother scolded you the rest of the way home, even though it was her who always told you to leave the wildflowers wild. After some time and consideration (a plate of dinosaur nuggets, half of Cinderella, and a bedtime story) you’d decided maybe Carlos was right to cry about the dead flower."

blonde hair, lemonade tea (mv33)

"Max has been working in the nursery since the two of you got home from Abu Dhabi. He won’t let you anywhere near it, and makes you wear a mask when you even walk down the hall past the freshly painted bedroom. Each night you think he couldn’t become more protective over you, and each morning you’re surprised to find that somehow, he is."

strawberry wine (dr3)

part two: everywhere, everything

"Danny also moves around the place like he owns it, which, if it was up to him he probably would. He hums your name as he moves past, taps the opposite shoulder to the one he leans over, reading your textbook over your shoulder. “It’s seventeen,” he quips."

you can take it off (lh44)

"And then there was Lewis, the last to arrive, who never called you kid, who never viewed you as one. He sits adjacent you in the red, high back leather booth and takes up a seat and a half, the toe of his shoe brushing against the side of yours, flashing you apologetic puppy dog eyes every time he bumps against yours."

if walls could talk (cl16)

"He drags you into the living room, towards the rest of the evening festivities, with his arm tossed over your shoulder. Between that, and the whole let me get your eyelash thing minutes earlier, you’re as close to certain a person can get that he and his girlfriend are still broken up."

blurbs

love letter (cl16) cupcakes (ms47) snowflakes (cs55) carousel (cs55) rainy days (cl16) puppy (ms47) daddy-daughter dance (dr3) furniture (cl16) diamond ring (cl16) lunch date (ms47) it will come back (cl16) coming home (cs55) the nearness of you (cl16) jupiter (mv33) when you're ready (cs55) nowhere in particular (ls18)

social media aus

curveball (cl16) birthday (cl16) vlog (ms47) a bet is a bet (cl16) jpg (dr3) take me down (cs55) summer lovin' (cs55) in the club (aa23)

head-cannons

max and dating lewis and yearning

copyright © 2023 formulaforza and absolutelynotmate-archive all right reserved. do not under any circumstance plagarize, edit, repurpose, or repost any of my original work. this includes fics, blurbs, aus, headcannons, and edits.

#mack's masterlist #f1 fanfic #just blog stuff <3

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starryswirly · 4 months

Text

Family Tree

Process below!

I made this by taking a piece of bark I found, glossing it an unholy amount until it was smooth enough to paint on, making a digital sketch of my plan for it (pictured in last slide), then I used acrylic paint for the background, sketched with pencil and lined with pen my drawing on it, filled those lines in with paint markers, then lined once more on top of it! The silver and gold are wonderfully shiny, but I don't think I have room in this post to show it, you'll just have to take my word for it.

#oc art #broken crown #oc #original character #traditional art #oc painting #paint markers #clip studio paint #art

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anonymous-dentist · 7 months

Text

It’s two in the morning, Cellbit is sulking his way back home from yet another attempt at the Federation’s air vent system, and it’s snowing. Christmas is in a week and a half; Richarlyson’s present, a pack of those fancy art markers that cost twice what Cellbit makes in an hour, is in Cellbit’s backpack nestled between a packet of stolen documents and a handgun. He’s tired, he wants to go home, and-

“Stop.”

It’s quiet, a hoarse whisper from a nearby dark shady alley. But Cellbit stops because it’s a kid.

Dying, he hears. Cucurucho, dyingdyingdyingdying-

Cautiously, he looks around. Empty streets, snow piling up in inches. Fucking cold, ice flying in the air. It’s gonna be a nasty storm, so he should really be getting home. But-

But it smells like blood.

So Cellbit hikes his bag up on his shoulder and steps out of the storm and into the alley, and he almost steps on a tiny dying hero.

“Oh,” he softly says, his body losing all its tension as he takes the kid’s broken appearance in. “Hello.”

The kid glares up at him. He’s… small. Just a bit bigger than Richarlyson, maybe. Standard Junior Hero uniform, mask over his eyes and nose, and a lot of blood.

“Stop staring,” the kid huffs. His teeth are chattering, and his lips are blue from the cold. “Just call the Feds for me.”

“Oh, sure,” Cellbit lies. He shuffles to the kid’s side to try and block out the worst of the wind, and then he crouches just a little, just enough to try and see what the damage is. But the kid scowls and curls in on himself, wincing as he moves.

Ribs, then. Cellbit recognizes that flinch, he’s seen it on enough of his victims.

Wounds are fresh, fresh enough for the kid to still be alive, anyway. Torso wounds suck. Easy to give, harder to make lethal.

Cellbit sighs and pulls out his phone. “Which one are you?”

He doesn’t have the Federation’s app downloaded (because fuck that), so he texts Forever instead; he’s the mayor, he’s gotta have some kind of Federation of Heroes Hotline going on. He’s probably awake. If not, well. Maybe the police can actually do something useful for once.

The kid’s chest puffs out despite the pain, and he says, “I’m Thorn, duh.”

He’s a child, that’s what he is. And he’s a fucking terrified one- Cellbit doesn’t need to use his ability to feel the fear coming off of him in waves. Because he’s a little boy who probably hasn’t seen his parents in years and he’s all alone in a storm dying and the villain who did this to him is still out there waiting.

Forever texts back: ‘🤬🤬🤬’

So he’s told the Feds, who probably have an evac team on the way. Because this is the leader of the most recent Junior Hero graduating class, and it’d be bad PR to let him die alone in a ditch somewhere in the city.

But, well… he’s a kid.

So Cellbit slides his phone back into his pocket and presses the back of his hand against Thorn’s cheek. Thorn hisses- fucking hisses- and tries to scoot away, but he can’t get too far with whatever injuries he’s got.

“Calma,” Cellbit says, letting his ability do its work, “I’m just checking for a fever. My son gets them all the time, I know exactly what I’m looking for.”

And, yeah, Thorn’s feverish. More importantly, though, he’s calm. His heartbeat evens out, and so does his breathing.

Thorn stares up at Cellbit in shock. “You’re a dad? No way!”

What the fuck?

“Of course I’m a dad!” Cellbit protests. “Look at me!”

He drops his hand from Thorn’s face and gestures towards his t-shirt, hand-painted by Richarlyson and reading, “World’s Okayest Dad”.

Thorn is not impressed. “You look homeless.”

And technically Cellbit is, but he isn’t just going to say that! Not to someone who’s technically his enemy.

So he huffs and crosses his arms and plays at being dramatic. (He’s got plenty of experience after dealing with Forever for so long.)

“Whatever,” he sulks. “You’re the one in a stinky alley. At least I have a shower.”

The kid’s lips twitch into a very hesitant little smile. Mission accomplished.

“Yeah, but you don’t use it,” he counters.

It’s a shame Richarlyson hates the Federation almost as much as he hates showers, because he and Thorn would probably get along pretty well. (Maybe Forever can set up a play date…)

Cellbit makes a show of smelling his jacket- clean, freshly washed. He makes a face, anyway, and Thorn giggles, and it’s kinda hard to hate the enemy when they’re made up of literal children.

“I never said I do my laundry,” Cellbit sniffs. “Do I look like I have that kind of money?”

“No!”

“Hey!”

The kid laughs, head thrown back. And then he grimaces and doubles over, eyes briefly squeezing shut.

Cellbit takes another look around the alley. Nobody’s there but the two of them, which makes sense. What kind of villain would stick around after supposedly killing the Federation’s Junior Hero poster child?

With a sigh, he settles down into the snow next to Thorn with his back against the chilly wall.

“You called them, right?” Thorn asks.

“I did better than that. I texted the mayor.”

Thorn snorts. “The mayor doesn’t have any friends, pendejo. He’s too busy being the mayor.”

Ouch.

“I’ll be sure to tell him you said that.”

“Tell him that I’m gonna beat him up, too.”

“What?” Cellbit gasps exaggeratedly. “Why would you want to do that? He’s the mayor.”

“He’s stupid. He wants to put the Junior Hero Program into schools so all the babies can join it.”

Thorn frowns. He’s not scared, Cellbit made sure of that, but he’s worried. A bit different, and unfortunately out of Cellbit’s wheelhouse.

“My son wants to join,” he says.

Thorn shakes his head. “Well, get him out of it. It’s not worth it, man. Too much homework.”

“I thought you were gonna tell me it’s too dangerous.”

“Nah, it’s pretty chill.” (Now that’s a lie.) “I spend most of my time doing paperwork.”

Cellbit frowns sympathetically. “Yuck.”

Thorn sticks his tongue out. “Yuck.”

And it keeps snowing. The colder it gets, the closer Thorn gets until he’s pressed up against Cellbit’s arm shivering. Hesitantly, slowly, Cellbit puts that arm around Thorn’s shoulders and lets him try and huddle for warmth as best he can.

“You’re a weirdo,” Thorn mutters.

“I’ve met weirder.”

“Nuh-uh.”

Cellbit rolls his eyes. Yeah, he and Richarlyson would be very good friends.

It’s quiet, and then:

“Can you make me scared again?”

Cellbit’s heart stops. “What?”

Thorn turns his head to give him an unimpressed look. “I’m not stupid. I won’t tell anybody, but it’d be weird if they show up and I’m super chill, you know?”

“But-”

“I’m a hero, man. Nothing scares me.”

He’s also a child.

Cellbit gives him back his fear, anyway, this time with a simple worried head-pat. Thorn grumbles and leans away from the touch, but he got what he wanted.

Cucurucho, Cellbit hears, and, for once, he agrees.

Tires from down the road. That’ll be the Feds.

“You’re a brave kid,” he says. He squeezes Thorn’s shoulder with an assuring smile. “Stay safe, okay?”

He stands, and he helps Thorn up as well.

“Whatever,” Thorn grunts. He swallows the pain and stands up straight and tall as the Federation’s van pulls in front of the alley and slows to a halt.

Cellbit watches Thorn get helped into the van, and he watches the van drive away, and he stands there in that alleyway until he’s cold enough to become a Cellbicicle.

Then, and only then, he looks down at the single red rose poking out of the snow where the kid had been sitting.

(Rumor has it Thorn only grows roses in honor of his parents, reportedly both deceased. Cellbit doesn’t know if that’s true or not, but he leaves the rose be, anyway.)

#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#deli superhero au #oh bobby

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pineappleciders · 5 months

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sunny is an empty concert auditorium. sunny is the warmth of hot cocoa in a cabin. sunny is crayons that are too short to draw with yet too long to throw away. sunny is a green, open field that doesn't seem to end. sunny is a set dinner table that is empty. sunny is the warm light that reflects through the shades and onto the floor. sunny is drawing on a foggy window with your finger. sunny is the one blurry photo you take while taking pictures.

aubrey is a broken chain fence. aubrey is going to the zoo, and wanting to bring every animal home. aubrey is a bus ride at night back home, anticipating punishment from your parents. aubrey is eating popsicles by the side of the road with your best friend. aubrey is selling lemonade during the summer. aubrey is going barefoot into the muddy lake. aubrey is a dog let off-leash for the first time, running freely through fields. aubrey is a messy collage of newspapers and dry markers.

kel is drawing on the sidewalk using chalk with your friends. kel is the sandwich and carrots your mom makes you after school. kel is waiting for the school bus early in the morning in your raincoat. kel is fear; fear of yourself, of what you cannot control. kel is the last slice of pizza that one person insists the other has. kel is jumping in a pile of leaves with your dog. kel is falling and skinning your knee as a child, yet having nobody around to hear your cries.

hero is nostalgia. hero is eating fruit loops with your siblings on a sunday morning. hero is colorful ice cream and brownies for dessert. hero is stuffed animals in a claw machine. hero is the bottom of a tea cup after it's been emptied. hero is coming home after a long day to nobody. hero is the stray cat that brings you something every day. hero is the feeling of a dog's fur. hero is a painting the artist recreated, new and refreshed while the old version rots. hero is breakfast in bed from your children.

mari is a tire swing hanging from a beautiful oak tree. mari is the taste of your grandmother's baking. mari is confiding in someone you trust. mari is the flowers swaying by the riverbank. mari is asking someone to not take a photo of you, then later regretting it. mari is an old piano, one overgrown with plants and long abandoned. mari is the pictures of generations of your family hung in the hallways. mari is going out to eat after your big volleyball game.

basil is scraping your knee and insisting you don't need a band-aid. basil is polaroid photos strung up in a teenager's bedroom. basil is an old, dusty key which you're not sure what it unlocks. basil is a kid's journal with a lock on it that you forgot the password to. basil is spilling something in someone else's house and watching them clean it up for you. basil is jars of honey and jam in a cupboard. basil is dry, cracked knuckles.

#does this make sense #pineapple yaps #omori #omori fandom #omori game #writing #poetry???#idfk #pineappleciders

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