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fuumiku · 1 month

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Chilcille huh... ngl I was a little suspicious. like why would you do that, huh... hope youre not mischaracterizing anyone in your weird and wacky ship. a little weird. but then you said they both had flat asses and you know what? I salute you and your perfect characterization

The fact you seem to think you managed to not make this ask insulting is baffling. What the hell. Fuck off.

If you actually care to be open minded about the ship, I talk about marchil on my sideblog 24/7. Funnily enough I’m currently 4k words deep into an analysis of their character arc together in canon, but that’ll take some more days to get done. Some notable posts:

Of course without counting the analyses of Chilchuck on his own I’ve made, like my masterpost on his family situation. Or better yet you could also read my fics for them, see how weird and wacky they are here.

Wanna talk about mischaracterisation? They’re literally a comedic duo who interacts 24/7. Marchil is crazy bc ppl are like "did those shipper read with their eyes CLOSED?? They have no chemistry!" Meanwhile canon is like: "She’s obsessed with knowing everything she can about him and she reads him like a book." In her eyes he’s like that extra rare and hard and shiny unlockable dating sim character, that brooding mysterious character trope that’s thrilling to crack open and typically is at the center of the plot. The wife roleplay???? "Hey, did you know his type is blondes. Hey did you know he likes his women pretty and blonde. Hey did you know he likes her hair. Hey did you know that he teases her 24/7 and it’s one of the few things that consistently gets him grinning because he finds her reactions cute." Like a schoolyard bully pulling on the pigtails of the girl he likes.

It’s not like they have any thematic narratives or relevance. It’s not like she’ll live to 1000 and has existential dread about it while he’s logically gonna be her next friend to die at 50 and wether it’s romantic or platonic it’ll terrify her to lose him. It’s not like it’s fear of death x fear of rejection so they’re both obsessed with the thought of loss looming, past and ongoing. It’s not like it’s half-elf x half-foot and there’s an inherent journey that was and still is to dispel prejudices and truly come to see each other. It’s not like he’s painfully real and raw and flawed but still a good man, that he’s not the figure of prince charming that she’s always dreamed of while still being virtuous and worth fighting for. Or you know, her hair being golden and it being the epitome of beauty to him, and his hair turning silver and it being Marcille’s worst nightmare.

Just a weird wacky ship who means nothing but shallow things to people who have weirdo reasons for liking it. Like can you not. If you’re not imaginative enough to think of reasons why this ship may have an appealing dynamic that’s not my issue. But yes, yes, they’re both flat asses to me, thanks.

#Dungeon meshi #Ask #Spoilers #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #Marcille donato #chilchuck tims #Marchil #You me the parking lot after i finish and post my arc analysis #Sobbing……… we’re 20 over here in the rarepair pit come on. Like do u not see how obsessed i am. Do u think they like. Mean nothing to me #Do u think it’s all incidental and i slipped and the 10 thousands of words I write for them had no thought or feelings behind them or #Their arc is so beautifuuuuul they come to see each other and her standards become more real while he allows hope and openness #Into his heart again 😭😭 not the way two of their scenes lowkey read as a proposal…#Anyways I hope this makes it clear I’ll fight to my dying breath for them.#I don’t want trouble and i imagine you don’t either so just don’t come shitting on my doorstep #In positive news my fic Grind Me Down Sweetly recently reached 100 likes and 1k hits <3 it can also be read as just platonic so if you like #Them as a duo even as friends give it a shot #Every time I see someone shitting on marchil I start making marchil content faster btw #Not art

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yellowocaballero · 4 months

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Omg hi Ms. Yellow Caballero big fan of your work <3 For real though, I'm really excited that your sharing the Weekenders, it was a joy to read and I'm bongocat-ing now that others also get the privilege to read it as well.

Referencing your tags, would you please elaborate of ableism in fandom and, like you said, how fandom treats characters with unpalatable disabilities?

Hi Ms. Bud Lite I'm a big fan of you <3

TL;DR A fear of writing characters of highly marginalized identities shields you from criticism and discomfort, but it's actively stigmatizing to people of these identities and as a writer you really need to get over yourself and write The Icky People.

I guess I'll come out swinging on this one and say that fandom doesn't like severe mental illness. (As a note, when I say severe mental illness (SMI) I mean illnesses such as psychotic disorders, bipolar disorder, substance use disorders, personality disorders, etc)

Obviously, nobody likes people w/SMI. It's just insanely egregious in fandom to me, since fanfic writers absolutely love writing characters or HC characters with depression, anxiety, or a specific variety of PTSD That Isn't Scary. People actively reject any character HCs for a SMI. When people write a character with SMI, they nicely downplay it, ignore it, substitute it for a disorder they like better, or rewrite it. It's completely untolerated, in both headcanons and in fanfiction, and every time I bring it up I always get the most interesting reasons why somebody couldn't possibly acknowledge a character's SMI in their writing. I've heard all of these:

"I don't know enough about the disorder to write it accurately." Do research.

"I'm not X, so I can't really depict it." You probably aren't a cis white man, but you depict those guys just fine.

"It feels insulting to the character." There is no shame in having a SMI.

"I can't understand what it's like, so it's better to be cautious and avoid giving characters stigmatized identities." There are LOTS of experiences that you'll never understand because you've never had them - you just don't want to write anything you're uncomfortable with. People with SMI make you uncomfortable, and you don't want to write anything that makes you feel uncomfortable, or think of a comfort character in an uncomfortable way. SMIs are marginalized differently than solely depression/anxiety/The Nice PTSD, and by refusing to write them you're actively contributing to the stigma.

I think (?) I've spoken in the past about how I believe that the rigorous external and internal policing of writing people of marginalized identities is actively harmful towards efforts to increase diversity of experience and background in fiction. A lot of fanfiction writers are just terrified to write people who they can't directly relate with, because they're worried 'they'll get it wrong' and be Big Cancelled. I think this is negative enough when it prevents people from going outside of their comfort zone, but on a macro level I think this results in people refusing to write characters of marginalized identities as all. It's an insidious thought process, and it's reflected in people's unwillingness to diversity their writing or acknowledge canon diversity.

'Well, I don't understand what it's like to be Black, so I don't want to write Black people'. 'I want to project on this character, so I only want to write them with mental illnesses and identities I have'. 'If I write a marginalized character incorrectly people will yell at me, so I won't write a marginalized character who's marginalized differently than me at all'. Can you imagine writing a lesbian character with a boyfriend because 'you feel uncomfortable writing lesbian experiences'? It's blatantly homophobic. But people do that with disability and race/ethnicity ALL THE TIME.

People with SMI notice that you feel uncomfortable with them. It's obvious. They notice when a character has a SMI + anxiety, and you only write their anxiety. They notice when a character displays symptoms of a SMI in canon, but you write it out. And POC notice when the characters of color are written out. I know we all like to project on the blorbos and relate to them, and in the joys of your own head do whatever, but as a writer if you only stick to identities you're comfortable with you are actively being a worse writer. Which to me is the REAL sin lmfao.

#my asks #thanks for enabling me lizzy if i didn't get this out i would have just vagued for the rest of time #even just beyond all of this on a more subtle lvl. HC people with SMI cowards. just do it. its good for you.#the two times me/a close friend have proposed on a fandom server "hey I read X as having a SUD/being on the schizophrenic spectrum'#there was actual fascinating pushback and rejection #people got MAD.#'blorbo wouldn't be an alcoholic he's not a bad person :(' fuck off #i dont use the word often but its ableism and you can be mentally ill and still ableist #if you dont feel educated enough on something to write it then do research #and while research wont give you everything it's a start #if you feel like you can only write people just like you then frankly? skill issue #i mentioned that the last fic was a bit of a spite fic - well #it was scientifically fascinating how the majority of a fandom wrote/acknowledged a character as depressed and anxious #but actively got incredibly defensive when someone suggested that the psychotic character may have had a psychotic disorder #it was so blatant. very annoying. anyway.

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total-drama-brainrot · 1 month

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TD World Tour AU, where Noah doesn't tell Owen that Alejandro is an eel in London... In Area 51, Noah is accidentally splashed with an alien truth potion (which wears off after a few days) and he talks to Owen... Owen asks Noah what he truly thinks about Alejandro, and Truth-Potion Affected Noah says this: "I have mixed feelings for Alejandro. He's a brilliant, interesting guy and I like him, but I don't trust him. He's like a slippery eel dipped in grease, swimming in motor oil. Basically, Heather with social skills. Wait a minute, why am I telling you this?!"... What if Alejandro secretly heard Noah call him all those conflicting things + Alejandro also learns that Noah is affected with an alien truth potion? 👽

Alright, you got me. I'm an absolute sucker for truth potion plots, especially when the character(s) effected by them are usually either pathological liars or incredibly secretive- of which Noah absolutely falls into the second category, given he shares so little personal information.

I'll gloss over why Noah declined to shit-talk Alejandro in London (though there's so many ways this change in behaviour could be justified) since the focal point of this hypothetical centred around their time in Nevada, so let's start from the beginning of the Area 51 challenge.

Area 51:

Before we start, it'll have to be established that no one was eliminated in London. Let's say that the majority vote went towards Duncan (team CIRRRRH voted him out immediately because they found his re-admission to the competition unfair, I guess. I imagine he'd also vote himself, if not as a plan to escape the competition he'd been actively skiving from, then just as an act of spite) but Chris instead claimed it was a rewards challenge- much like he does in Greece- because he doesn't want to let Duncan slip away again so soon.

I see no reason to alter the first part of the challenge- the sneaking into Area 51 portion- since team CIRRRRH's course of entry is fairly straightforward. Noah's presence doesn't make much of a difference to how it would play out; the majority of them throw their rocks and run, Owen gets lasered over the fence and Owen-napped, ect ect.

When both teams have managed to make their way into the Black Box Warehouse, Noah immediately suggests they should prioritise rescuing Owen. Tyler's quick to agree, since he's a firm believer in the "no man left behind" mentality (and he probably makes a not-so-subtle jab towards Noah for his chance of tune compared to London, where both he and Owen did leave Tyler behind) leaving Duncan and Alejandro to split from the group- Duncan in search of Gwen, and Alejandro just takes the opportunity to finally be free from his 'incompetent teammates' and prioritises finding an artifact.

Noah and Tyler come across the contraption Owen's trapped in, Tyler punches it in a futile effort to break it open, and the face hugger cube drops into Noah's hands. This is where the point of divergence comes into play; Tyler has his E.T. moment with one of the face huggers, but Noah- who's a tad bit more observant than Alejandro, and used to dodging surprise attacks from his various older siblings (and Izzy)- anticipates his own face hugger attack and promptly starts a game of cat-and-mouse with a taser alien hot on his heels.

The commotion of which attracts the rest of his team. Alejandro and Duncan arrive on the scene to see Tyler being electrocuted by an alien and Noah running in circles evading another.

Duncan attempts to rip the face hugger from Tyler's face, finding success at the cost of sending Tyler trampling into Owen's captive contraption (essentially taking Alejandro's canonical place in this scene) and inadvertently freeing Owen.

Meanwhile, Alejandro swipes up the nearest box he can find and snags the alien chasing Noah, who's still very loudly panicking as he flees, and succeeds! The alien is swiftly captured into the box, netting team CIRRRRH their artifact, and Noah promptly goes careening into the nearest tower of junk in his face hugger-fuelled hysteria. This causes another box to topple from the peak of the tower, landing directly on Noah's head and spilling its contents onto the bookworm- glass vials filled with a mysterious, luminescent cobalt blue liquid shatter into pieces drenching Noah in whatever they contained. (i.e. truth potion.)

Owen has his false-amnesia moment, characterised by his Joker makeover, and Alejandro enacts his revenge post-hypnotic suggestion after being addressed as "Al" one too many times.

Noah, understandably, swiftly objects to Owen's treatment and demands that Alejandro snap him out of it. Alejandro concedes, and Owen's brought back to himself. At least, for a moment, before the fatigue of having his mind messed with sends Owen into near-catatonia (the same as canon), meaning he has to be ferried through the Warehouse and back to the Jet by Alejandro and Duncan.

Things carry on canonically from there; Noah's just sort of there for the most part, though there'd be a minor hint to his newfound proclivity for honesty. Something along the lines of him giving an uncharacteristically honest answer to Owen as to who he's voting- Tyler, of course, since he was the one who ultimately threw the challenge for them... and also because Tyler still holds some resentment towards Noah for what happened in London, and Noah feels guilty about it every time he looks at the jock. Wait, why did he say that?

Sometime between this and the elimination scene, Noah wipes the truth-goop off of himself, but not before the effects have already started.

Tyler's voted out, yada yada yada.

The Jet:

Thus begins the start of "Picnic at Hanging Dork". Team CIRRRRH, consisting of just Alejandro, Duncan, Owen and Noah, are slumming it up in the Economy Cabin. Alejandro tries to rally his team by asking how to break apart Courtney and Heather's tentative co-operation. Owen suggests having Alejandro seduce Heather, since it worked for both Bridgette and Leshawna. Duncan makes his "Babe Olympics" comment. Noah pipes up that playing with someone's feelings is pretty scummy, even for someone competing for a million dollars.

Alejandro takes Noah's reluctance towards his methodology poorly; he hadn't spoken up before, when Alejandro had utilized the same strategy against other girls- and even Owen noticed that, so surely Noah did too- so why was he to outwardly against him using the same tricks? Duncan agrees, and offers ''his'' idea of having Alejandro flirt with Courtney to throw both her and Heather off their games (since Heather has an obvious crush on Alejandro), and things follow canon.

Then, the scene between Alejandro and Courtney happens. Noah scoffs at the display from the side lines, prompting Owen to ask him why he's so against Alejandro's plan.

"I mean, you never said anything before, when he flirted with Bridgette and Leshawna." Owen comments, light-hearted in nature but with an underlying questioning tone.

Noah's eyes flicker with a cobalt glow, easily mistaken for a trick of the light, and he speaks without even thinking.

"Yeah, because I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. Bridgette was happenstance, and Leshawna's whole deal could've been a coincidence, or some massive misunderstanding. But this?" Noah extends an accusing hand out towards a smug looking Alejandro, then pans it over to a flattered Courtney, "He's outright toying with Courtney's feelings after she was cheated on in front of an international audience. It's scummy."

Owen nods in understanding, momentary contemplation evident in the pouted curve of his lips, and he chimes in.

"Does that mean you don't like Al?"

"I never said that."

"Well, how do you feel about him, then?"

Again, a flash of blue light against the hickory backdrop of Noah's eyes, and he responds thoughtlessly.

"I guess I have mixed feelings about him. On the one hand, he's slippery, like an eel dipped in grease, swimming in motor oil. He's like if you took all of the worst aspects of Heather, wrapped them up in a pretty package, and gave them social skills..." He holds his hands out before him in a scale-like manner, with the left tipped downwards and tie right raised by his chin. Then, the two hands swap positions.

"And on the other hand, he's brilliant. I've never met anyone as talented as Alejandro; he's smart, he's athletic, he's funny. It's almost unfair just how perfect everything about him is- even his face is perfect. It's ridiculous! Infuriating, even. It's so hard to dislike him, even when I know he's bad news, but that doesn't mean I trust him."

Owen stands slack jawed beside his best friend, both impressed and stunned at the raw honesty of Noah's tirade. Noah, now a little more aware of himself, realises that he's said more than he intended to- more than he thinks he's ever spoken in one go throughout the entirety of Total Drama. He's not usually one for speeches, after all, let alone honest ones.

He's always been the type to play his cards close to his chest, so why...?

"I, uh, didn't mean to go off like that."

And he also didn't mean to admit it, either. What was going on?

The look Owen gives him is, in a word, vivid. The blonde has a shit-eating grin stretching across his face, a sort of elated smugness practically glowing from his features.

"Sounds like someone has a cruuuush!~"

What? No? No! Not at all, where would Owen even get that idea?!

Noah splutters to correct Owen's assumption (to disastrous results, because he does sort-of has a crush on Alejandro, so the truth potion doesn't allow him to outright deny it), and in his preoccupied state he misses how a calculating pair of sage green eyes never seems to stray from him.

Alejandro has a lot to think about in regards to a certain cynic, it seems.

#I'd like to apologise for taking this idea and running with it.#Cutting myself off here before I breach 2k+ words or else I'll be here all day.#Sort of entered actual Writing Mode at the end there instead of Outline Mode but this idea is. So Full Of Potential I couldn't help myself.#But from here it'd basically be Alejandro using his newfound knowledge of Noah's crush on him to his advantage.#Whilst Noah's doing his best (and failing) to deny that he has any feelings for Alejandro.#Eventually leading to the two of them having a Bonding Moment where Alejandro gets Noah to divulge some personal information.#And in turn- or an effort to garner some trust (to be abused later)- Alejandro also lets himself be vulnerable towards Noah.#Something something Alejandro tries to use Noah as a pawn but ends up catching feelings of his own.#Then of course the potion wears off and Noah goes back to being just as prickly and standoffish as he was before.#A point of conflict maybe? Imagine bearing your soul out to someone only for them to close themself off to you not even days afterwards.#...Also imagine being practically forced to divulge information about yourself to someone you don't trust because of a truth potion.#Oh yeah. That's some good angst material right there.#Especially is you have Alejandro be- if not fully aware- than at least suspect that Noah's not being agreeable on his own terms.#Anon why have you given me The Thoughts?? I can't keep brainstorming AUs when I already have fics to work on!!#ophe's ranting in the tags again #total drama #td noah #td alejandro #team chris is really really really really hot #alenoah #-ish #silly ideas #other's ideas #long post #replies #kinda drafty in here (posts from the drafts)

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neverevan · 3 months

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Fuck It Friday ☔️

Tagged and tagging @diazsdimples @daffi-990 @wikiangela @honestlydarkprincess @exhuastedpigeon and my sweets whose continuous support means the world to me @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @jeeyuns MWUAH 💛💛

Hey peeps, I've been having some not-exactly-good dreams last night and then had a really not-exactly-good day, on the flipside I have officially finished the first draft of the mudslide fic. 🫡

It still has a lot of blindspots and some kinda vague bits, but the skeleton is there, all I gotta do is build on it! It ended up just over 62k and though now I'm trying to avoid guessing word counts in general, I think it'll come to round out around 70k or so. Anyway, here, have some more Buckley-Diaz domesticity:

“What is it, Chris? Where is the fire?” “Dad!” His smile was so bright that his eyes crinkled with it and it was enough for Eddie to soften and let his grumpiness melt away almost instantaneously. “The Aquarium opens at nine!” Eddie dragged his hands down his face in an attempt to make himself more alert. “You didn’t forget about that, huh?” The door to his bedroom opened behind them and Buck walked out, squinting and looking just as disheveled as Eddie left him in his bed a moment ago. “Buck!” Chris turned his head into his direction. The air stuck in Eddie’s lungs for a split second, expecting the row of questions or accusations from Chris — after all, the kid was intuitive as hell — but it never came. Instead he just pushed past Eddie and grabbed Buck’s wrist, tugging him towards the kitchen, Eddie wandering numbly in their heels. “Hey Chris, wha- what’s going on?” Buck asked, clearly still in awe of the situation he found himself in only minutes after waking up. “The Aquarium opens at nine.” He relayed the same information to Buck as well, but while Eddie just felt a little out of sorts that he actually forgot about their plans, Buck’s face lit up like commercial LED lights. “Well then, we better get started on breakfast, hm? What do you say?” “Waffles!” Christopher cheered and Buck laughed, jovial and full of love and not for the first time, Eddie found that his heart was beating to the rhythm of hope. It wasn’t his fault that waking up in the same bed with Buck, followed by a family breakfast sounded perfect. Well, maybe too perfect. “Sorry bud, I don’t think we have any left in the freezer.” Eddie informed him regretfully, but before Chris could’ve expressed his disappointment, Buck cut in. “Come on Eddie, who needs frozen waffles when I have my Sous Chef to help me with the batter?” Buck winked at Chris who just beamed up at him in response. Eddie didn’t even know what to say to that, so he just watched the two of them idle towards the kitchen before following suit.

#this bitch is 158 pages already?? and it'll still get longer?? who's even gonna read all that lmao but seriously #I'm so excited I might die?? like wow #this was the first fic I started writing for these two sillies and to actually finish it after all this time??#it's still gonna be a lot of work but I think I MIGHT be able to start posting next week #god I can't believe I actually managed to pull it together before the weekend #so now I might just edit the grave fic tomorrow and post it~#because the shannon feels got to me and I kinda made myself cry with that one lmao #anyway #🫡🫡🫡#buddie #911 #wip #the mudslide fic

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mamawasatesttube · 4 months

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an excerpt of the kon & cass genderisms fic im very excited about but still nowhere near done with:

The idea of Kon looking like a girl is kind of absurd, when Cass first thinks of the word. It brings to mind Steph, first and foremost. Brenda, too, though. And others.

But some of Brenda’s friends were tall, or broad-shouldered. Some of them dressed like Kon. The thought brings with it a pang, as always; Cass wishes she’d gotten to know them better, before…

Before.

But anyway. Not the point. The point is, Cass has seen Barbara call people without skirts or breasts girls or women, sometimes, too. So maybe Kon looking like a girl isn’t as weird as he seems to think it is.

She hums, cocking her head to the side. “What is a girl?”

“Huh?”

Next to her, Kon blinks. He frowns up at the stars, then rolls over and props himself up on one arm, and reaches over to playfully poke her nose.

“Well, I dunno exactly. You were Bat-girl, weren’t you? Shouldn’t you know?”

But that isn’t because of any… kinship with the word. No… what’s the word? Affinity. No particular affinity. Or is it connection? Something like that. Regardless, Cass shakes her head. “Barbara’s name. I just kept it.”

“Oh.” Kon frowns slightly. “I dunno, either, honestly. I mean, TV will tell you a girl is someone who likes girly stuff, but that’s stupid, ‘cuz plenty of girls don’t like girly stuff, and I mean, I do like so-called girly stuff, I guess, like knitting or baking, and I’m not a girl. So…” He shrugs, rolling back over onto his back. A moment later, though, he picks his head up and peers at her. “Are you—is this—I mean, are you trying to tell me you’re not a girl?”

The way he holds himself makes it seem like that’s some kind of a big deal. Cass just shrugs. “Dunno.”

“Oh,” Kon says, again, more softly this time. “Hey, I mean—nothing wrong with that either. It’s cool.”

Cass shrugs again. “It’s just a word. To me, anyway.” It’s her turn to frown in thought. “What makes a boy a boy?” She lightly nudges his side. He’s warm against the slight night chill, and she scoots in a little closer with a hum. “You were Super-boy. Tell me.”

Kon blows out a breath. “Hoo, man. Now ain’t that just a fine pickle and a half?”

Cass wrinkles her nose. “What do pickles have to do with it?” She likes pickles. Ma Kent has a jar of crisp ones in the pantry, homemade from cucumbers grown in the garden out back. Cass likes the way they crunch between her teeth and splatter vinegar-juice on her tongue.

“Nothing. It’s… actually, I have no idea why that’s something people say.” Kon lets out a wry snort. “I came pre-programmed with slang and idioms, y’know.”

“I know,” Cass says, and pats his arm. “Pregnable.”

Kon lets out a bark of bright laughter. It reminds her of the stars. He seems so very at home here, under the night sky. The starlight matches the gentle glow of his eyes. When he isn’t wearing his glasses, it’s easy to see the inhuman blue.

“Aw, man,” Kon says, still grinning. “You remember that? I forgot I said that way back then.”

“It was…” Cass tilts her head. “New to me. Memorable, for that reason.” She grins mischievously. “A pregnable boy.”

Kon laughs again. Cass snuggles up to his side and throws her arm across his ribs. She likes to feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

#rimi writes #kon #cass #koncass #<- not romo just deeply affectionate friendship #they are two touch-starved little fellas #so they are all over each other <3 #the thing about cass and gender is that like... so much of it is tied to language and social custom #two things cass only very recently started to understand #so her perspective on a lot of it is just so. Whatever. it feels removed from her #whereas kon has so so so many issues about how he's perceived by others because for him privacy didn't even exist for the first few years #and the constant scrutiny of child stardom got into his head #and putting them both together about gender and presentation and figuring it out. its SOOOO juicy. to me at least #genuinely am sooo excited about this fic. i just have to write the other 2/3 of it

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nythtak · 14 days

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Thought it'd be fun to do a little drabble soooo-

Cattonquick Oxford Days - the first cigarette

(This is based in the Maneater AU - unless I change my mind on details later - but can be read as in canon universe)

The lighter fails to catch the first couple of times Felix tries it. But after a final, despairing shake of the crappy thing, the flame sputters to life.

“Thank fuck,” he mumbles around the ciggie, and hurriedly brings the lighter up. April’s swung in with far too much chill, because fuck England, right? No spring for them, nooope. Just horrible grey rainy days, where even brief lulls like this evening are tarnished by cold winds.

He’s regretting not grabbing a jacket when he had chance to, and he eyes Oliver’s long-sleeves jealously. They’re on their way back from the pub, and it’s still early enough that most streetlights feel unnecessary. After a of couple hours there Felix realised he just wasn’t feeling it tonight, that stickiness of going through the motions and not enjoying himself like usual, where even a few pints couldn’t soften it up.

So when Oliver gave him a nudge, mentioned he has an essay he really needs to work on, Felix leapt at the chance to head out. He has his own pile of coursework to dive into before the Easter holidays start. Maybe speed through a chunk of it tonight, get that late night focus on, and then he can decide how much is usable tomorrow.

He’s glad he decided to stick it out at Oxford over the coming break. Originally it was more about keeping his word on staying at university all year, rather than nipping home every holiday - or even every other weekend, like some silly sods do. He went as far as to swear off a trip abroad this school year, fully committed to the uni life, which means no fluttering off to sunnier skies.

He aims a glower up at the dark clouds far above them. Curse thy existence.

“Felix?”

Felix’s head snaps down, and down, and he has to grin. Oliver is so short. Like, okay, so he’s not actually super-duper short. A bit below average, perhaps, and around the height of most girls. But he’s a lot shorter than Felix, which is what really matters.

It means he’s the perfect height - practically made for it - for Felix to sling an arm around his shoulders and drag him into his side. Oliver runs a bit cool, but he’s still a damn sight warmer than the nippy evening air.

“Yeah, mate?” Felix takes a pull from the ciggie, careful not to blow it all in Oliver’s face. Would be awfully rude. But that does get him thinking about how Oliver doesn’t smoke, and he frowns at him. “You know, I don’t think you ever said why you don’t smoke.”

Could it be something to do with his family? Cigarettes are a huge leap from heroin and meth and whatever else, but traumas can be multi-layered, can’t they? A full-on aversion to anything even related. But Oliver is clearly battling through it, going to the pub and clubs where alcohol abounds, not even flinching at all the casual drug use their group gets up to.

“Just not keen.” Oliver shrugs slightly, and it’s interesting to feel the motion of it under his arm. Makes him want to squeeze Oliver a bit. His hand slides down to cup Oliver’s bicep rather than hanging loosely, but he holds off on the full grabby. For now.

“So you’ve tried one before?”

Oliver hesitates, but shakes his head. He’s looking ahead rather than at Felix, and while he does have lovely thick hair, that isn’t quite the view Felix wants currently.

So he brings them to a stop, Oliver stumbling into him a bit and looking up questioningly. There it is. Christ, Oliver’s eyes seem to get bluer every time Felix catches a glimpse. Like, with each additional second he knows Oliver, he’s able to see more of him. Another droplet of paint on the colour palette, swirled in with patient brush strokes.

“If you’ve never tried it…” Felix puts the ciggie between his lips, just so he can flip his hand and pluck it out again. Holding it filter-first toward Oliver with an inviting smile. “How can you know you won’t like it?”

Now, Felix would never pressure anyone into doing something they don’t want to. That would be terrible manners. All he’s doing here is giving Oliver the chance to expand his horizons. Indulge in a little fun, like he’s clearly not had chance to- well, probably in his whole life.

Felix has been making up for that. He’s fully embraced showing Oliver the highlights of uni life, and it’s been an absolute blast so far. Letting Oliver have a go at smoking is just another part of that.

“I dunno, mate.” The corner of Oliver’s mouth ticks up as he looks from the ciggie to Felix. “They’re not great for your health, right?”

The little right? at the end softens what might’ve been an annoying admonishment, to something that makes Felix smirk. “All part of the appeal. If we only did what was healthy, we’d be a proper dull lot.” He raises his eyebrows and tips the cigarette closer to Oliver’s lips, his pinky finger grazing Oliver’s chin. “You’re not dull, are you, Ollie?”

He knows most of his friends think Oliver is boring. That he outlived any novelty within the first week; Felix’s unlikely saviour from a tutorial scolding, the scholarship boy with the funny accent. Farleigh has certainly made his opinion clear, his pissy attitude the real bore around here.

They just don’t get Oliver. None of them.

Nah, Felix is the only one who gets the real Ollie, the one Oliver trusts and opens up to. They’re already best mates, fitting together like two puzzle pieces. And the way Oliver looks at him - yeah, it can get a bit much at times, but it’s all part of Oliver’s charm, really. He’s completely genuine and clearly thinks the world of Felix, so obviously he can’t filter that intensity down. Felix would never ask him to. He accepts Oliver exactly as he is.

Oliver takes the cigarette, pinched between his thumb and forefinger as he eyes it like it might bite him. Or give him lung cancer.

Felix would give him a drumroll if he could. He settles for an encouraging shake and cheering, “Go oooooon, Oll-aaaaay!”

And Oliver does.

Not that there was ever any doubt. But it’s still satisfying in a warm, buzzy way to watch Oliver take a drag, lips pursed and the shadows on his cheeks deepening a little. Takes it like a pro, his Ollie, and it’s only once Oliver’s eyes close that Felix realises they’ve been locked in a staredown.

Then Oliver breathes out, and Felix is hit by a faceful of smoke.

The moment his coughing fit is done, he grabs a hastily apologising Oliver by the shoulder, snatches the ciggie back, and gets revenge.

#saltburn #cattonquick #saltburn fanfiction #fic: maneater #oxford days #az writes #probs post this on ao3 later even tho feels kinda short for it #i just love this time period for these two #i have a few more ideas too #like 'first time' ollie gets 'propa sozzled'#midnight snacks in the dorm kitchen #dang i need to check out prompt lists again

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invinciblerodent · 4 months

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Another case of the "I'm not done"-s seems to have possessed me, because the immortality and rebirth of elven souls and this fucking elf/vampire!elf romance I'm doing right now is kind of ruining me.

Because, well... look.

This shit is ripe for angst.

For so long, there is no real reason to think much about the passage of time. Death, it's but an abstract far in the future- a bridge to be burned when they get to it. It's easy enough to practically forget that mortality is a thing to account for: with both the endless stretch of centuries they have and her body as unchanging as his, that thought can be kicked further down the road for what feels like it might even be an indefinite amount of time. Their lives just inch along, endlessly, and twine together like the roots of an ancient forest, building around- and with one another. Friends come and go, live and die, and yet, every moment, every day, is permeated by the other's presence: even in their "sleep", they're reliving shared memories (there is scarcely another kind, by now) while holding one another.

Talking about which of their adventures they chose to remember in Reverie is one of his favorite parts of the night.

Until one evening, as she opens her eyes to greet both him and the nightfall with a smile, he catches... just the faintest opaque, silvery glint in her pupils. It's barely a flash, gone in an instant, as if it was merely a trick of the light, but the thought, like a pesky insect, begins buzzing in his head. It will not let him rest.

With this new thought gnawing at him, he can't not see that there's almost a... strange distance, to her now. Even with this hazy half-awareness, it would have slipped his note if he hadn't come to know her quite so intimately over the past half millenium, if he hadn't memorized her cadence and heard her every loving thought as if it was his own. But he's attuned to her: even as her fingers glide through his hair, and her lips speak her words of love like they have so many times before, the same words, they... ring slightly hollow, robotic, automatic in their sweetness now, and once the dreaded Sun begins inching over the horizon and he's forced back into the shadows once more, her kiss goodbye lingers just one second longer, she holds him just a touch tighter before she'd be out the door.

All day, he circles the darkened room like a trapped animal, mind flush with thoughts of robotic words, silver glints, and a creeping dread. Surely, it cannot be what he thinks. It cannot. It wasn't a half-moon, it's not the Transendence, it was merely a... a reflection off something, moonlight bouncing off a silvered picture frame, or the twinkle of a magelight lighting the street glancing through an improperly closed curtain, a... a stomach bug that she's toughing out and is too stubborn to say anything about, something. It cannot be what he thinks, fears that it was.

The day drags on, the hour he'd expect her back comes and then passes, and when she returns, it is closer to sundown than it normally would be. Usually when she must leave for the day, she tries to time her return so that they can rest together, and then emerge from their chambers at the exact moment of nightfall to maximize the amount of time shared, the time he can walk free with her on his arm, but today, she returns with darkness on her heels, and bittersweet sorrow marring her face.

"Arael, we need to talk," she says, and the beloved endearment in their shared native tongue, 'heart' and 'hearth', 'center' and 'lover' in a single word, turns to acid in his ears. Instantly, he knows what she's going to say.

"How long have you known." It's not a question in tone, only phrasing- the hiss of his own voice feels alien in his throat. "When were you planning on telling me."

"It's been... a few days."

A few days. A few days, she's been...! He can't bring himself to think the word 'dying'. He can't. His knees give way under the weight of her words, and he crumples onto the nearest chair.

"You.... should have told me right away." He wants so dearly to be furious. His hands itch to rip, to tear, to destroy everything, his tongue aches to spit bile that'd make her feel exactly the pain he does in this moment... Gods, it was so easy to grow complacent and start believing in forever, to stop counting the hours, the days, the years, and still, it's her godsdamned near-forgotten mortality that's come knocking-- now, that his life is inexorably intertwined with hers, that she's been the other half of his soul for long enough to see the birth and death of friends and enemies, the rise and fall of monarchs, nations. And yet, her life's thread is soon to be clipped, while his must stretch on, infinite.

He buries his face in itching palms and swallows the bile to make room for the flood of grief. "I could have prevented this," he whispers now, "We could have had the chance, at forever... forever, if I could have turned you, if only I had-- if I--"

A soft hand on his shoulder stills him now. "Arael," she repeats, and traces a line to his chin, gently urging him to look at her. "I could not have dreamed of a more blissful, blessed life, than the one I shared with you. But--"

"Don't say it!" She winces as he snaps, and his hand is now grasping her wrist, insistent, hard enough to almost hurt, as he presses her palm against his cheek. "Don't, it's not over yet-- she may be calling, but you don't have to answer, you can stay--"

"I can't, my love."

"But--!"

"Arvandor is calling my soul, Astarion. The Gate is open. Sehanine has shown me; I must answer."

"But not yet, there's still time, you--!"

Her thumb gliding feather-light over his lips cuts off his desperate shout. "I have time enough to get my affairs in order," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, "but I can delay it no longer than maybe another tenday. For now, please... simply be with me."

That night, they make love. Tender, aching love that leaves them both tearful in one another's arms- his whole body shakes, racked with heavy sobs as he buries his face in her chest, as if that way he could melt into her, to keep her here, keep her safe, keep her for himself, or... or follow her, anchor his soul to hers, stow away and smuggle himself into the afterlife that rejected him, so they can be reborn together, find one another again, have another six hundred years, and another, and another...

Hopeless. A fool's desperation, no more. There's no tricking the Seldarine: he had rejected rebirth in favor of this wretched, eternal half-life the moment Cazador's fangs sunk into his flesh so long ago now, and his soul was rent from Arvandor. There's no changing that now, no fighting it, and no putting it off longer either. So he kisses her through the sobs once more, makes love to her once more, and drinks deep from her once more, willing his tongue to carve this memory of her taste, her essence, her love as deep into his mind as it may.

She takes the promised tenday to get her affairs in order, and to set up all that may only be done during sunlit hours: she organizes herself a nighttime funeral, arranges for her assets to be dealt with as she may, and makes sure to hold him tight, to mourn with him as if she herself wasn't the one dying. And each night, she speaks sweet, reassuring nonsense of the permanence of memory, of rebirth, and the aching, heartrending beauty of gentle endings.

And once no more minutiae is left to handle, there is no more delaying the inevitable.

She is laid to rest in a modest ceremony, in a small circle of trusted friends, under the light of a waning moon.

He mourns, bitter and alone, for years- barely leaving his chambers out of necessity, flitting through the nights as a ghost not entirely unlike the one he was so long ago, until one evening he wakes to find the pain... bearable. There will quite possibly never not be a wound on his soul now, but even the deepest wounds, they scar over: there's new, tender flesh, pink and gnarled, stretching over the void of her absence now. And life, it continues as it does, relentless.

Decades pass. The new flesh, it toughens, thickens, until it can scarcely be seen, unless you know where to look for it: the loss now lives only in the absent-minded seeking of her warmth in his cold slumber, in the automatic gesture of taking two wine glasses from the cabinet only to set one back down; it lives behind the locked door of her untouched workshop and in the slip of parchment left between the yellowed pages of the book she had never finished reading.

Until one evening, shortly after nightfall, there is a knock, hard and insistent, on the door.

His body redies itself for a fight, as if a hunter might be so bold as to announce their arrival- but curiosity, it's too hard to resist, and he scarcely makes an effort.

It's... an elf. But not any elf- a woman, younger, taller, and fuller in figure than she was, and her hair, it's a tightly curled warm chestnut rather than her blood-red waves, but it's unmistakable: her features, they are exactly the same. The same fire amber eyes, the same freckles dotting her cheekbones, even the same raised mark at the edge of her jaw that sits there like an insect had folded its wings and chosen to make its home on her skin. And the stranger speaks, with her voice, before he could find his own.

"So you do live!" she says, equal parts disbelieving and relieved, "Or, well, something like that. I could tell that you were a vampire, from the-" she gestures vaguely to his face, "-fangs and all, but I still wasn't sure I'd ever actually find you."

There's... a prickle of understanding. It's her, but... not quite. Her soul. Her, but born anew. And she returned in a way, to reminisce, to meet him once more- and his mouth opens, but the words, wary and elated and tender at the same time, get lost on their way to his lips.

It's an imperfect replica of her laugh that leaves the woman's mouth. "Gods, don't gape at me like a beached carp like that! I've been seeing nothing but your damn face in my trance for decades now; I was looking for you, hoping you could answer some questions I have." The familiar stranger flashes her mischievous smile. "Can I come in? I feel we have a lot to talk about."

There is no love in this. But, there's nevertheless something... bolstering, in the unique opportunity he can present to the new owner of her soul: the opportunity to get to know, truly know, who she once was. Halting and strange as it may be, they do talk quite a long time, and when she leaves, it's with gratitude, and a short, awkward, one-armed hug that she bids her farewell.

And time stretches, infinite yet again.

As long as he may live, her soul, it continues seeking his across however many lifetimes, until one day, the strange elf finds the door in their hazy memories hanging off its hinges, and the home, collapsed and empty, maybe for decades now.

Occasionally, it is still said that in each generation, there may very well be an elf born whose soul feels an irresistible need to make a curious, solitary pilgrimage to the ruins of a city once known as Baldur's Gate, and hope against hope to find a pale man with red eyes wandering the empty streets.

And maybe, a woman who had once lived there so many centuries ago was right: there's an aching, heartrending kind of beauty in that.

#squirrel plays bg3 #squirrel writes #astarion #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #look it's the closest thing to actual fic that I've written in like 6 years #there needs to be a Cool Internet Slang Abbreviation for 'head in my hands'#i've decided right this second that i'm going to make it happen and just use 'himh'#himh take this away from me #i feel a weird urge to add just one or two more words because this is 2022 words it seems #but even though it's def not perfect i kinda don't want ot keep touching it #ANYWAY have quick and dirty and hastily written angsty fluff sometime far far far into the future

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blueper-saiyan · 26 days

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I have a firm heartfelt belief that neither Goku nor Vegeta is at all normal for a Saiyan but some of the ways that they’re weird overlap perfectly, so they’re both convinced that they’re normal and that’s just what Saiyans are like

#Not the strong women thing though that one is real and universal (the appreciation is present even for those for whom it is not sexual)#Goku and Vegeta have still never met a normal saiyan and they probably never will so this belief is harmless #I do want to write a fic where the two of them get dumped back in time together on Planet Vegeta and have to realize that Saiyans are not #how they expected them to be and they’re both pretty unusual #But 1. I’d have to do a lot of worldbuilding and 2. I would be making Vegeta suffer so much it just feels mean #Goku probably wouldn’t care though if anything he might appreciate a little more evidence that his species isn’t like. born evil #But also he’d definitely want to stop them from being shitty so that would be an exciting and difficult task

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hitorimaron · 12 days

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bonus:

#alien stage #alnst #ivantill #MY ARTSIES #i have been in this fandom for like a week #a week #i dont think ive ever drew anything this quickly #its the feels you see #it warrants this kind of effort okay #of course i need to draw three different versions of the same image #essentially it's just ivan covering till's eye TIMES THREE #i just #it's literally like those 3+1 fics but in a pic form #you guys i am this close to writing a fic about these two doomed boys #somebody please stop me before i devote the rest of my year to this ok #i don't even

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leavingautumn13 · 6 months

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arceus' most special little girl (and that guy they straight up forgot about)

i see your dad/uncle ingo content and raise you dawn and ingo being goth besties even after leaving hisui

[i have commissions open now]

#pokemon #pokemon legends arceus #trainer dawn #trainer akari #subway boss ingo #warden ingo #autumn.art #*into a megaphone* YOUR HONOR THEY'RE FAMILY #i need more content of these two being best friends #like #what a horrible fate to be thrown through time and space with no memory of your loved ones or if you even had them #what a relief it must be to know that you're not alone in that. like at least you have somebody to be an outsider with #you feel me #send me fic recs of these two i'm losing it over here. i'm gonna start crying or writing fic of my own or both

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hamartia-grander · 1 month

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Wyll breaking up with the player character if Ulder dies so Wyll must become the Duke makes me wanna throw up sobbing because he actually thinks that just because his father's first duty being to Baldur's Gate made him a Bad Father that Wyll himself will inevitably be a Bad Lover because surely no one could match love with duty if his father couldn't, unknowing he has more love in one hand than his father had in his entire body. fuck

#More in my reblog #“my father taught me more lessons than I can count” yeah dog they were called CAUTIONARY TALES 😭😭😭#“pull me too close and I'm destined to hurt you” FUCKIGN. BITING YOU #“a champion's heart is as sharp as a new blade” SO CRAZY I GOT THIS SICK ASS ARMOUR. TRY ME.#I'm actually in physical pain over this. Wyll my love.#I need to rip ulder in two with my bare hands right now.#sorry I JUST saw the breakup scene for the first time today and I haven't stopped thinking about it it's making me ill with sadness #he didn't even break up with ME but it fucking feels like it goddamn #bg3 #Wyll Ravengard #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 analysis #oh my GOD and the fact that he offers one last dance. I'mgoing to ufckingexplode #and he spends five whole seconds just. holding the character. not even dancing.#I watched the version with him and astarion ofc I don't romance wyll myself (lesbianism)#makes me wanna write a fucking fic (derogatory)#why the fuck is everyone so ill over astarion when mr insane mental health issues is RIGHT here (i know why. but still)

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icarrymany · 2 months

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im not into timlex but i DO support its truthers bc that shit is funny as fuck. any point in the timeline. that dude you see in a random elective freshman year who you dont talk to but you guess he is a little pretty. friend of a friend who is insufferable but you kinda like that he's mean. guy out to kill you but hey its a little hot. hilarious, thank you

#and hey i wont discount the feels there #tim even understood him in the end #the entry where him and jay look through alex's old house he sorta works out what he thinks happened w alex #tim still does not like him obviously but hes probably the only person who's gonna Get It.#so i see yall #theyd go so hard in a good fix it fic #people always write jay as the forgiving one like are you kidding. hed interrogate tf out of alex NOT forgive him first #tim has forgiven jay for so much INCLUDING TWO attempted assaults/murders on HIM #whos to say he wouldnt do the same for alex

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brisquad-unit-4402 · 1 year

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Congrants on the 100 followers 4402!!! You deserve much more for your amazing writing<3

For the event, can i request 28. princess carry with ikey? If im not wrong, he already said he likes being carried like a princess!!

So maybe after a day out w him he starts complaining about how his feet hurt from wearing heels for such a long time and reader just starts carrying him like the princess he is

thank you for the compliment, i appreciate it!

kyaaaa… does anyone else’s heart lurch and jump and do a sick dance move when they think about being swept off their feet and carried like a princess or is it just me… i’m doing research, like, totally…!

tags: established relationship, fluff, gender neutral reader

#100 followers for 4402 - 28. princess carry

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Isn’t it beautiful?” You hold Ike’s hand within your own as the ocean waves lap along the shore. It’s a peaceful beach, with sloping sands and sprouted grass right where you stand, dividing the sand and the stable dirt under your feet. “I discovered it a while ago. It’s hard to find, so people don’t usually visit here, even though it’s so calm. It’s for just the two of us.”

“It is. I love it,” Ike says. He looks contented, but his eyes drift to his shoes. “It’s just that, when you said we were going to the beach, I thought you meant the side with the boardwalk.”

“Oh. Right.” You forgot. Ike usually wears boots with a high heel. Stilettos and sand are sworn enemies.

“Um, don’t worry! I’ll figure something out.”

“But how? You’ll sink.”

“Yeah… You have a point, I guess.” He sours. “My feet kind of hurt from all the walking, too.”

“They do?”

“It’s fine. I’ll manage.”

“But I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“It’s not the first time, and definitely won’t be the last. I’m used to it. It’s not that bad after so long, but still, the sand is going to be a problem – aah!”

Ike’s thought gets cut off as you squat, swing your arm under his legs, and gather him all up in a bundle. In his surprise, he grabbed the first thing his hands landed on – your shoulder – and your hands support him as you hold him gingerly.

He sputters, so small in your arms. “R-Reader! What are you – did you seriously just –“

“You said it yourself, the sand’s a problem, right?”

You readjust. Ike clings to your neck as he bounces once in your grasp, and shoves his head along your shoulder and out of sight. “How can you even carry me?”

You step forward to where the beach starts with a playful grin. “I’m much stronger than I look.”

Your shoes meet the doughy sand at a lower level than the grass. A short breath frosts down the scruff of your neck while you jump down and Ike buries himself closer to you. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his ears glow red between the gold earrings.

“Look at me, princess?”

Ike shoots up at the pet name, and sure enough, the rest of his face glows in the same blush all the way down to his neck. He doesn’t even want to fight how that name runs straight through his veins and into his heart. He’s too set in your arms to resist.

He melts like a sigh as you hold him higher. Ike tastes like ocean against your lips.

The sticky, salty air glues his mouth to yours for a blink longer than intended. “Let me treat you like royalty,” you murmur.

Ike nods, transfixed.

For Ike, you are eternal. Your face is every reflection off the bubbling sea and every sparkle shed by the sun. To be held like this is enough. The kiss is enough. You are enough. The minutes pass but the world is stuck in a selfish pause, and he replays all your love on loop.

For you, he is loyal and love, and you know he is too precious to last another moment like this. The second goes by. You let it go.

So you hoot and holler, the quiet broken, and he squeaks in response as you run along the shore. “Incoming, please make way for Your Royal Highness, the lovely Princess Ike!”

Your princess cracks into songbird chirps and a red-faced smile. “What are you doing, there’s no one around!”

“Sorry, can’t hear you, too busy spreading the good word of my beloved princess.” You stop to stare at the ocean. The seafoam rises and falls flat against itself, and rustles out the music of the waves as the whitewater dies out on the wet sand. “YO, OCEAN, YOU’RE NOTHING COMPARED TO MY IKEY!”

You spin around, and his earrings swing with the motion. Ike squeals. The sea breeze picks up a spray of water that flicks against your faces, but his laughter is high-pitched and uncontrollable, and persists even when the saltwater gets in his mouth.

Bubbly like the ocean backdrop, but he’s far more breathtaking than the beach could ever be. Especially at this angle, where his eyes can barely stay open because he’s smiling so wide, and the tousled ends of his hair matches the bottle-blue waves behind him, and he is so close that his giggles breathe life back at you. Your hands are flush along his back where they belong. The sandy grasp treasures the tide.

#ike eveland #ike eveland x reader #luxiem x reader #ike eveland fluff #luxiem #nijisanji x reader #nijisanji en #100 followers for 4402 #4402 writes #i was angry bc an hour ago i woke up after ~7 hours of sleep total in the last two days because my neck and stomach felt so bad #and then i posted this fic and my body felt so much better..... what.....#i am never going to complain about that solution tho #as much as i write for y'all i also make my own food with your requests lol #tysm to everyone who requests short ike fics they're healing me singlehandedly even when my body doesn't feel like the verge of death #and also every request actually. everything i've gotten for this event so far is so fulfilling. ty for your patience #update i took a nap and got a normal amount of sleep yaaaaay

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synonymroll648 · 1 year

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from a vibes perspective, i totally understand why so many people look at keefe and go ‘this guy would be the male equivalent of a wine aunt when he’s older’.

but. but.

taking lore into consideration, in my heart, he’s terrified of alcohol (even if he tries really hard to hide it). because. like. his first exposure is almost guaranteed to be through cassius, and cassius canonically threw a glass extremely close to him at least once when he was, like, 8. maybe cassius wasn’t always extra nasty when he was drunk, but there’s gotta be a correlation in keefe’s brain between risking getting seriously hurt (emotionally or physically) and alcohol consumption that’s really hard for him to shake.

#tw alcohol #tw child abuse mentions #lmk if there's more trigger warnings i should put #i have a thing for hurt/comfort lmao #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #this is brought to you by:#that one fic my brain started writing internally where it's sophie's 21st bday and she's like man i #have saved the world so many times we've all lost count. i want a fucking drink #and keefe's internally like OH GOD OH FUCK in a bad way but externally he's like yeah babe whatever you want!!#and then she's like. i don't wanna do anything super stupid though. and drinking alone is super stupid when you've never drank before #will you stay w/ me? please?#and keefe's like. i cannot say no to that face #so he spends the night doing an increasingly bad job of hiding how bad he's freaking out #because sophie is a safe space and alcohol is not safe and he doesn't know how to deal w/ the two colliding #ESPECIALLY since sophie's just getting dorkier and sweeter as her filter goes down instead of throwing insults or objects at him #(i feel like sophie would be the kind of drunk that's very impulsive and says EVERYTHING that comes to the forefront of her mind #and stellarlune was more than enough to prove that she sees keefe and a lot of the time her brain just goes hnnngh soft little tortured #artist. MY soft little tortured artist.)#yeah but even intoxicated sophie can tell something's wrong even before he flinches super obviously at an empty glass falling over w/o #breaking. and so she's like nah man it's hurt/comfort time and he's like BUT YOUR BIRTHDAY and she's like do you really think i'm #gonna just let go of the fact that i know you're stressed? i'm not a dickhead keefe #so yeah it ends in cuddles. because of course it does #keefe sencen #annnnd out of the drafts this goes. post!

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withacapitalp · 1 year

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Here have a snippet of the next chapter for HTRAJ y'all :D I'm mid write and I'm vibin' with what I have so far

“He’s long gone, Eds. Can we go back inside now? It’s fucking freezing out here,” Gareth asked, rubbing at his bare arms and shivering as the frigid winter wind raced past them. Eddie could barely feel his own body, but he ignored both the cold and Gareth’s words, walking towards his van.

Steve was there. He had to be. He had to be, or else Eddie was going to lose his mind worrying over what was probably nothing, and he might say something incredibly stupid when they actually found Steve, and that would ruin everything they had worked so hard to build.

Luckily for Eddie’s increasingly fragile heart and mind, he spotted a familiar pair of beat up old converse poking out, attached to dark wash jeans that he instantly recognized. Eddie practically melted in relief, jogging around to the other side, needing to see Steve’s face.

He opened his mouth to spout off some stupid quip about dining and dashing, but he stopped short the second he saw Steve’s state. All of the relief instantly vanished, replaced by a bone deep dread that overtook Eddie’s entire being.

Steve was sitting on the ground, his knees pulled close to his chest and his eyes staring firmly at the pavement. He was as still as a statue and just as silent, barely even blinking as he took shallow uneven breaths. Eddie could see him shaking from where he stood, trembling like a leaf in the wind as he continued to just stare at nothing.

Something was wrong.

#tw anxiety #tw panic attack #htraj #Steve joins hellfire au #just feeling like sharing a lil bit #lmao I told myself I wouldn't and I'll probably end up deleting these tags so like #feel free not to read these I'm being a little petty #if I had a nickle #For every time someone clearly took 'inspiration' from an idea of mine and basically blatantly just did their own version #And then pretended like they had never even seen my thing or barely even knew about it #I would have two nickles #and that's not a lot #but its WILD that it happened twice #the worst part is if they had just been honest and been like hey you inspired me w x y z so I decided I wanted to write my own!#I would LOVE it #I would reblog it chat with htem be friends #Instead I feel like someone took something I worked on and cared about and tried to steal it and pretend they didn't #y'all I adore hearing when people wrote something bc I wrote a fic that inspired them it's such a compliment #This just feels #uncomfortable #ANYWAYS that's Liam's lil rant in the tags today #Again if you have a problem pls just ignore this it's literally just me needing to verbalize how not okay about this I am

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