#pls forgive any errors :(

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Rhea's Curse, Pt 4

Over the following days, Lena first tries to force herself to speak. But when her most successful attempt results in little more than a wheeze, she shifts her focus elsewhere.

After asking for an internet-connected tablet and a pair of headphones, Lena throws herself into research american sign language. Within a day, she can fingerspell with clunky but consistent accuracy. Within a week, she has a first grader's understanding of basic signs.

Kara understands Lena's need to keep occupied, as well as the need to communicate, so she too takes time to learn the language. It's beautiful, once she gets the rhythm and cadence down. It takes her less time than Lena-- or any other human-- to become fluent, and though Lena acts disdainful of having been left in the dust, Kara glimpses the glint of gratitude in her eyes as they practice together.

Kara splits her time between Lena and rebuilding National City. Even when Lena is released from the DEO to return home, Kara alights on her balcony every night to talk. And sometimes in the morning too. And for lunch.

Which makes her acutely aware of the sudden change one day when Kara touches down and knocks on Lena's balcony door, only to be confronted with the visage of sadness that is Lena Luthor.

"What's wrong?" Kara says aloud, while signing with her hands. She follows Lena to the sofa, and sits on one end as Lena curls up on the other.

Lena's lips screw to one side, and one shoulder lifts. "Silly," Lena signs, wiggling her thumb and pinky at the side of her mouth.

"It's not silly if it's making you sad," Kara continues. She's careful to keep her finger movements to a legible speed.

Lena hesitates, then taps her chin once witha single finger, before mimicking the motion of placing eyeglasses on her face with the same hand.

Kara pauses. Then, she repeats Lena's signs. "You miss... your glasses?"

Lena huffs a short chuckle, then fingerspells a name before repeating the sign for glasses.

K-A-R-A

Kara.

"Oh."

Suddenly, Kara realizes that she's spent so much time with Lena as Supergirl, she's almost forgotten to be Kara Danvers at all.

She's only put in enough face time at CatCo to keep her job, relying on James' understanding that she's busy rebuilding. But for Lena... she's lost sight of the fact that Supergirl isn't Kara.

"I'm sure she's busy," Kara signs. She's acutely aware now of the sleeves that cover her wrists, the color catching her eye with every sign.

Lena's features fall into uncertainty. With both hands curled into claws, she carves them up her chest in the sign for anger.

Kara immediately sputters to correct her. "What? No! Of course she's not angry! Why would she be angry with you?"

Long fingers spell again.

Mon-el.

Add another thing Kara had forgotten to worry about. She assumes Mon-el was still on the stateship when it left orbit without a queen, no doubt perched to become the next King of Daxam. He hasn't tried to contact her, and part of Kara is quietly glad for it.

Lena has needed her more, and any word from Mon-el would have simply been a distraction.

"No," Kara says firmly. "She doesn't blame you for any of that. In fact, I saw Kara Danvers yesterday, and she mentioned she was looking forward to seeing you again. I wouldn't be surprised if she came to visit soon..."

Lena gives her a look that communicates her disbelief better than any sign possibly could.

Kara swallows thickly.

Then she changes the subject.

"Do you... have a sign for me?" she asks timidly.

Finally, Lena cracks into a small smile. She nods. Kara grins back.

"Can I see it?"

Fisting her hand into the sign for the letter S, Lena draws up and toward her opposite shoulder, combining it with the sign for flying.

A flying S.

Kara beams.

"I love it."

Lena's cheeks and the tips of her ears turn pink. She waves away the sentiment, but Kara persists.

"I mean it. I do." Kara reaches over and clasps Lena's hand in one of hers. With the other, she brings a flat hand to her chin and pushes it out a short distance, towards Lena.

"Thank you."

#supercorp #rheas curse au #speechless au #we got to the sign language yall! #pls forgive any errors #doing my research one google search at a time

[andythelemon]

Sorcery fight!!! A print for cons this fall, I'll have leftovers available here after!

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #itadori yuuji #kugisaki nobara #fushiguro megumi #getou suguru #nanami kento #gojou satoru #anime #manga #my art #pls forgive any anatomy errors i am crunching so hard it's not even funny #nobara is a leftie now bc i said so (hides)

[kentopedia]

starry silence

dazai x reader my lil contribution to the chaos that was today's episode <3 not quite a reunion, but the aftermath of one ෆ. i'm happy he's safe & sound, but he must be so tired. :( sfw !! kind of sad bc i’m also dealing w jjk leaks i love being in pain (i don’t)

as dazai slept, moonlight cut across his face, highlighting the contours of his skin, the dark maroon cuts and bruises that had been littered across his face. though he seemed the image of a soldier home from war, his freshly washed hair and soft breaths turned him into something much more gentle. dark strands fell in soft waves over his head, shifting as he stirred, his inhale just a skip before his breathing evened out once more. 

you traced his jaw, watching the steady streams of air flow through his chest, out his nose. he looked so angelic, so tender in that waxy moonlight, comprised of something otherworldly and earthly all at once. 

a soft sigh left his lips as you traced his chin, and something about that sound of relief, of him relaxing completely under your palm, had you choking up. tears pricked at the edge of your waterline like sharp needles, each one filled with something poisonous. 

dazai didn’t move, but you curled into a ball, squeezing your legs to your chest as he slept on.

he’d been out for hours, ever since he’d gotten out of the shower, collapsing in a pile of long limbs stretched toward every corner of the room.

the blankets were much kinder to him than the steel bed he’d slept on at meursault, where he’d always kept one eye open. now, though, even his own clothes fit him poorly, like the white prison pants that had hung so loosely off his waist. 

under his t-shirt, the angles of his collarbone had become sharper, the planes of his stomach much flatter than you remembered. though his features had never been soft, even the skin of his cheeks had thinned, stress taking more of a toll on him than he'd admitted.

it was peaceful night outside, no sounds of screams to be heard in yokohama. you were certain that you’d absorbed every ounce of turmoil that had lingered in the city beyond your doorstep, and it gathered up in your chest like a bundle of fiery energy. something that you weren’t sure how to get rid of without bending over the porcelain toilet. 

everything had resolved itself, hadn’t it? yet, you couldn’t shake the twisted anxiety that lingered in your chest, even when dazai was right beside you, sleeping soundly with no lasting injuries. 

you rested your chin on your knees, letting that emptiness swallow you whole, disappearing somewhere that wasn’t entirely there. the steady rise and fall of dazai’s chest was the only thing that kept you grounded, kept you from drifting away, lost in a spiral of every possibility that hadn’t come to be. 

a small sound of misery left your lips, and you bit down hard, tasting blood as two salty drops rolled down your cheeks. though the cry had been nearly inaudible, dazai heard it nonetheless, alway attuned to you, even the simple fluctuation of your heartbeat a beacon for him across the universe. 

“what’s wrong, darling?” his words were quiet, like he was hesitant to break the atmosphere, in fear that he might startle you. 

you blinked, not sure when your vision had become so blurry, and twisted your neck, letting your jaw rest against your shoulder. “nothing,” you said, but your smile was weak, and the word was hardly a sound at all.

dazai had tucked his cheek under his hands, blinking up at you with sleepy brown eyes that so resembled a child's. it hurt you all over again, that this aching soul who had never seen the beauty in himself had almost been taken away from you. 

your lips parted, but the words halted at your tongue as you pinched your eyebrows together, trying to explain what exactly was within you. it wasn't quite sadness, but it wasn’t relief either, a cumulation of everything you’d ever felt, and something entirely new. 

though, as always, dazai seemed to understand. he reached a hand out, fingers slender and delicate, placing them on your wrist. “it's not good to hold back your tears, my love.” 

as if you’d just been waiting for dazai’s permission, you shook once more, silently, the tears rolling down your cheeks faster, harder. he sat up, bringing you closer with every moment, until you were wrapped in his warm arms. ones that were battered and bruised, but still the safest place in the world. 

he smelled clean, more like himself than he had when you had reunited with him, and that fact alone sent another nauseating wave of emotion over you. you gripped his shoulders, his chest, unable to get any closer, even as you tried to fuse yourself into his being, turn yourselves into one whole that could never again be separated.

dazai kissed your temple, holding you as you cried, saying nothing until you could form the words to explain the ache that in the deepest part of your stomach, stretching to the back of your throat. 

“i was so close to losing you, osamu,” you said, and even if dazai denied it, even if he said he’d always had it under control, you knew that wasn’t true. one slip up, one miscalculation, and you never would’ve seen him again. a single error by chuuya, by ango, by yourself… 

dazai’s fingers twitched against your spine, and he, for once, was faced with uncertainty. like he hadn’t considered what would’ve been ahead of you when he was gone for good, even if his death would always be a possibility. even if you'd always known that if the world wouldn’t kill him, maybe he’d do it himself.

“i’m here,” dazai said, and it wasn’t a promise, but it wasn’t a lie, and you'd accept it for what it was woth. “I’ll be here.” 

there was no way to predict how long that would hold true, but you’d grasp that last spark of hope tightly nevertheless. you'd shelter it away in your loving embrace until the universe clawed it from your bloody palms, stealing the very last light that it had dropped down from heaven into your life.

and that would have to be enough.

"i probably won't write anything abt the episode, i really need to work on—" … rylie is such a silly liar (´｡• ◡ •｡`) ♡

#sorry this was done in like 30 mins #pls forgive any errors :( #osamu dazai x you #dazai x reader #osamu dazai x reader #dazai osamu x you #dazai x you #dazai angst #bsd x reader #bsd angst #dazai x fem reader #dazai x y/n #osamu dazai imagines #dazai imagines #dazai osamu x reader #xoxo rylie 💌 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ #dazai x gn!reader #dazai osamu x y/n #osamu x you

[lovebugism]

love romanticizing my silly little fics by outlining them like screenplays <3 (feat. snippets from the breakfast club!au that's been plaguing my brain. maybe this will see the light of day soon, but who's to say? 👹)

#this is the very first draft and not super edited so forgive me for any errors pls #wip

[eldritch-thrumming]

you should think about the consequence of your magnetic field being a little too strong.

if you’ve got a girlfriend, i’m jealous of her, but if you’re single, that’s honestly worse ‘cause you’re so gorgeous it actually hurts (honey, it hurts). ocean blue eyes looking in mine, i feel like i might sink and drown and die. you’re so gorgeous, i can’t say anything to your face, ‘cause look at your face. and i’m so furious at you for making me feel this way.

Steve’s been spending the summer at his parents house in Beverly Hills. His parents want him to think about his future, to consider college or some career, to get out of the house at the very least, but he’s only nineteen. How is he supposed to know what he wants to do for the rest of his life?

He thinks maybe he’ll ask his dad for a small part in his next movie. Maybe Steve can become an actor, walking red carpets and going to all the best parties. Steve could ask to be in the one he’s filming now, but Steve’s got a busy schedule full of parties and clubbing with his friends who are home for the summer. Plus he doesn’t want to miss out on watching the landscaper who comes every Thursday to weed his mother’s garden, mow the lawn, and clean out the pool.

The landscaper is… hot. Steve has no idea where his mother found Munson&Son, but he thanks whatever gods exist for their favor every week. Every time he hears the big landscaping truck pull up the driveway, Steve rushes to the front window of his bedroom to hide behind his curtains and watch the beautiful long-haired, tattooed guy unload the ride-on lawnmower from the trailer.

He’s not much older than Steve, maybe twenty or twenty-one. He always starts with his hair down, curly, hanging around his shoulders, like he thinks something about this time will be different and he won’t have to tie it up. Whatever the reason, Steve is thankful because there’s just something about watching him flip his hair up on top of his head, twisting his wrists around each other to tie it in a messy bun, that really gets to him.

Steve stands there watching like this is his favorite television show. He brings his glass of iced tea with him and absentmindedly sips it through a straw with his attention glued on his mother’s rose garden. The guy wears these grubby gloves, thick and brown, and he has to wipe his brow with the back of his wrist. Steve thinks it looks like really hard work, knows the landscaper’s arms are lightly muscled, his torso wiry and toned. Steve imagines what the guy’s chest might feel like under Steve’s own fingertips, feels the sweat break out on the back of his own neck as the guy bags up the weeds and throws them in the back of the truck.

Steve holds his breath, waits for it. This is when it happens, when the landscaper climbs on to the ride-on lawnmower and peels off his sweat-soaked shirt. Steve licks his lips as he watches, traces the lines of the guy’s chest tattoos with his eyes—can’t help but imagine what they might taste like—watches as he wipes at the sweat on his chest with his shirt before throwing it in the back of the truck along with the bags of weeds from the garden.

Steve has to take a sip of his iced tea again and considers taking off his own shirt. He pulls at his collar as he remembers that he actually has to breathe to, like, live or whatever. He loves watching the landscaper drive around their lawn on the lawnmower, can’t look away from the way the muscles in his arms tighten and release as he steers. Steve thinks many, many, many thoughts as he watches and drains his glass, ice clinking at the bottom.

The guy is done with the lawn and Steve knows he’ll head to the back of the house to work on the pool. This is when Steve takes a break, fills his glass with more iced tea, and gets his heartbeat under control on his way to his parents room, which overlooks the pool.

This is Steve’s favorite part, because the landscaper has to peel off his cargo pants to reveal his very short swim trunks—Steve has memorized the guy’s thigh tattoos—so he can get into the middle of their admittedly quite large pool. It’s Steve’s favorite part of their Beverly Hills house; he’d been on the swim team at his boarding school and he loves floating in the middle of the clear water on nights when the moon is full and he can see all the stars over their house. They’re far enough from the city and their neighborhood has enough regulations against light pollution that the summer skies are relatively clear.

Watching the landscaper wade into Steve’s favorite place in the world makes him really start thinking Thoughts. He imagines how weightless they both would feel, skinny dipping under the full moon. Sometimes, his thoughts aren’t even all that horny; Steve is just a lonely, privileged kid, really. He imagines what it would be like to make the landscaper laugh, to splash him and dunk him in the water before pulling him close and crashing their lips together. And then his thoughts turn decidedly more horny. He’s nineteen, after all.

After a while, the landscaper finishes and starts pulling his vacuum out of the pool, winding up the long hose before pulling his cargo pants back on. It’s so hot, his clothes will dry almost instantly.

As the guy turns, chest still bare and hair still tied up, Steve sees the moment he notices movement in the window. Steve briefly considers ducking down, face flaming hot, but he’s already been caught and he thinks it would be even more incriminating to act like he’s been caught. The guy waves up at him, makes a gesture like he wants Steve to open the window.

Steve licks his lips and does it, holding his breath, nervous.

“Enjoy the show?” The guy yells up at him, grinning wide.

Steve laughs nervously, hand sweating around his glass. He decides the lean into it; he’s already been caught staring after all.

“Sure did,” he yells back down, giving the guy a very obvious once over. The guy’s smile widens.

“I’m Eddie,” he says, scratching at his chest. “My band’s playing a show tonight. You should come.”

Steve’s mouth goes dry. How was his creepy staring actually working out for him?

“Oh, yeah?” He tries his hardest to sound flirty and ignored the pounding of his heart. “Where?”

Eddie tells him the name of the club, some place on the side of town Steve normally wouldn’t be caught dead in. Then he asks, “what’s your name, sweetheart?” Steve smiles and tells him before Eddie continues. “I’ll put you on the list. See you tonight, Stevie.”

Steve shakes his head, still grinning, before shutting the window. And who would blame his if he lingered at the window just a little longer to watch Eddie lift his vacuum and haul it around to the front of the house?

He hears the truck start up as he walks through the doorway to his own bedroom, making his way over to his walk-in closet and thumbing at his phone, clicking on Robin’s speed-dial. He’s got another show to get ready for.

I made this post and then decided to take matters into my own hands :’)

#as always this was written on my phone so pls ignore and/or forgive any grammatical errors #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steddie ficlet #steddie blurb #taylor inspired steddie

[911-on-abc]

9-1-1 Script Fic: Eddie vs. Josh

INT. METRO DISPATCH. BREAKROOM - DAY

MADDIE BUCKLEY stands in front of table. On it are cards with the names of her wedding guests. She is trying to plan seating arrangements. It is not going well. SUE BLEVINS walks in and stands next to LINDA BATES spectating the planning.

SUE Oh no. You can’t put EDDIE and JOSH at the same table.

Maddie is visibly confused. She does not know the lore.

MADDIE Why? Don’t they know each other from when Eddie was at Dispatch? I thought it was a good idea.

Sue and Linda share a look.

LINDA That’s the problem.

Cue Flashback. We CUT TO:

INT. OLD METRO DISPATCH. FLOOR - DAY

JOSH RUSSO is typing into his phone. He’s messaging the Metro Dispatch Group Chat. ON SCREEN: "Going on coffee run! Text your orders!" We CUT TO:

INT. OLD METRO DISPATCH. EDDIE'S OFFICE - DAY 

EDDIE DIAZ types his order into his phone, visibly tired. He hates using his phone, but he wants coffee more. We hear the whoosh of the message being sent. We CUT TO:

INT. OLD METRO DISPATCH. FLOOR - DAY

Josh walks onto the dispatch floor. He is passing out everyone’s drink orders. Everyone is smiling. Grateful. Eddie waits for his drink. It becomes clear that Josh did not get a coffee for Eddie. 

JOSH Oh sorry Eddie. I must not have seen your message.

Eddie fakes a smile. They both know Josh is lying. We CUT TO:

INT. OLD METRO DISPATCH. EDDIE'S OFFICE - DAY 

Eddie is in his office ranting on his phone to EVAN "BUCK" BUCKLEY, his best friend, who he is also in love with. He is complaining about Josh. 

BUCK (amused) You know, Maddie actually tried to set me and Josh on a blind date once.

Eddie sees red. He’s jealous. We TIME CUT TO:

INT. OLD METRO DISPATCH. FLOOR - DAY

Eddie is walking out of the breakroom onto the dispatch floor with a mug of coffee in hand. He ‘accidentally’ walks into Josh, spilling coffee on Josh’s uniform. 

EDDIE (smug and echoing Josh’s words) Oh sorry Josh. I must not have seen you there.

The camera pans to Sue, Linda, and MAY GRANT watching from May’s desk. May has a small whiteboard with the words “Days since last incident” written at the top. She erases the words “2 hours” and replaces it with a zero. 

Flashback ends. We CUT TO: 

INT. METRO DISPATCH. BREAKROOM - DAY

MADDIE Oh. - Well I do need someone to watch over the kids table.

Maddie moves a name to a different spot, but we don’t see which name she picked. Sue and Linda share a smile.

END.

#911 fox #911 abc #911 #eddie diaz #evan buck buckley #Josh Russo #maddie buckley #911 fic #I have no formal training (or any training) in script writing #so if u are a script writer pls forgive me for the errors #(and also dm me?? bc I’d like to know more about script writing) #anyways!! I hope y’all like this #let me know if you do and I’ll write more like this maybe? #idk #my post #my writing

[kaseyskat]

“Brother, you look like death.” Lark remarks as he carefully weasels his way into the bedroom, balancing a bowl of soup in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

It isn’t often that one of them gets sick without the other. In fact, Lark can only think of one singular time where he had been rendered useless for an entire week from the flu- and though Sparrow somehow had never caught it, he had spent the entire week at home, fretful and worried.

Lark couldn’t understand that before, but he understands it a little bit more now as he watches Sparrow shift in the pillows, staring blearily at him with puffy wet eyes.

“I brought you some food,” he offers when Sparrow makes no attempt to respond to the comment, still just staring at him strangely. “Think you can keep it down?”

Still no response. Lark frowns, and he sets the soup and the water on the nightstand so that his hands are free as he perches on the edge of the bed. “Sparrow?” he prompts, leaning over his miserable brother and placing a hand on his forehead.

Sparrow’s forehead is sweaty and far warmer than Lark had expected, and he makes a sad little whimpering noise at the touch, like he’s only just now noticed that Lark is there. At a closer look, his eyes are unfocused, and they flutter closed as Lark’s frown deepens.

He’s never seen his brother like this before: Sparrow, despite his weaker mindset and dedication to using love to combat violence, has always been strangely resilient to illnesses and injuries. Lark doesn’t quite know what to do, how to help, but something tugs in his chest hard at the sight.

As he gently wipes at the sweat pooling on his brother’s brow, Sparrow makes another low whine, and his eyes flutter open again, hazy and unfocused even as he squints in Lark’s direction. “Larky?” he rasps, giving a shuddering exhale.

“Welcome back to lucidity, dear Sparrow,” Lark greets, and he leans in a little further so he can gently smooth back Sparrow’s damp bangs, a fond chuckle escaping him as Sparrow leans into the touch. “How are you feeling?”

“I think I lost a fight,” Sparrow says weakly, and he shivers. “And I’m so cold… can I have another blanket?”

Lark frowns again. He knows that sweating out a fever is probably the smartest option, but…

“…here, allow me,” he nudges his way into the bed, propping himself up on the pillows. It’s an invitation, one that Sparrow immediately accepts, curling into the open arms Lark offers as soon as he’s able.

He’s still so warm, almost uncomfortably so, but Lark finds he doesn’t mind. This is his brother, after all, his twin, his other half- and he knows that Sparrow would do the same for him.

“There, better?” he asks, tugging Sparrow further into his arms so that his brother’s sweaty head is nestled against his chest, far enough up that Lark can reach the blankets and tuck them back around them both.

“Mhm,” Sparrow sighs contently, and he curls both arms around Lark’s torso, his breathing ragged and hoarse.

“Good. Now please, go back to sleep. You need the rest, and I don’t want to babysit you any longer than necessary.” Lark snips, though his tone gives way to sincerity in a way he hadn’t expected; figures if anyone could turn him into a sap, it’d be his brother.

Sparrow doesn’t even respond; his eyes are fluttering, and his breathing evens out as much as his sickly body can muster, and despite it all he’s still just as adorable as he is all the time, the light of Lark’s life.

Lark spares one last helpless glance at the soup he had brought, and then he sighs, curling his arms around his brother and settling himself against the pillows- he might be here for awhile.

(Later, the door creaks open. Lark was, after all, supposed to return the bowl used for Sparrow’s soup, and Henry could only hold himself back for so long.

He isn’t sure what to expect - Lark had stubbornly insisted on being the one to tend to his brother through the illness - so he peeks inside the bedroom cautiously, fully prepared to be snapped at for interfering.

Instead, he finds his sons both peacefully asleep on Sparrow’s bed, Lark snoozing against the pillows with Sparrow fully entangled in his arms. Henry stops at the doorway and smiles, taking in the sight and committing it to memory: they’d never forgive him for taking a picture, no matter how much he yearned to save it forever.

He’ll be back to check on them with more medicine for Sparrow later. For now, he closes the door as gently as he can: they clearly both need the rest).

#dndads #kasey writes stuff #sparrow oak garcia #lark oak garcia #i was super craving just a small little thing of lark taking care of sparrow #also hahsjfkdkf this was written on my phone in my notes app so pls forgive any errors

[darling-gemini]

35, Wyler!!!!

35. Future Perfect (Pass the Mic) by Enhypen

"No, just--stop it, let me talk."

Wednesday falls silent as the words leave Tyler's lips, his voice raised along with his hands. She does then, her fire momentarily put out as she stares with a rage filled gaze. They'd been fighting for the better part of thirty minutes and things were coming to a head. To anyone looking in, it may look like they wouldn't make it through the night.

"This is so stupid," Tyler mutters under his breath, bringing his hands up to his face to rub at it. He turns away from Wednesday then, his back to her, and takes a few steps in the opposite direction. "This is so stupid, we shouldn't be fighting like this."

It was true, it was likely pointless to get into a shouting match when they'd been through so much together. Still, Wednesday stands with her fists clenched together, withholding her anger as she waits for him to talk, to get to his point.

"Look, I--" He starts only to interrupt himself with a sigh. "I need you to stop protecting me, Wen. I want- I need to stand on my own feet sometimes. And it's not like I don't appreciate you looking out for me, I do, always, but this... This isn't helping me. You're hurting me, Wen. Please, I'm asking you to just stop."

It's this that takes the wind out of her sails. Wednesday's shoulders fall slowly and then all at once, and her fists turn to open palms as she watches him, waiting for him to turn around, to face her. He does, only a moment later, tears welling in his eyes.

"I'm asking you to stop because if you don't, I'll leave, and... And I don't want to leave." He says with a world-wary sigh. "I wanna be with you. I want to be with you until we're old and gray, but I can't just--I can't keep pretending like this behavior is okay. It's uncomfortable, and it's weird, and--and not in your usually loveably weird sort of way. I need you to let me find my own voice, and be there for me to lean on, but I don't need you defending me at every turn. I'm a big boy, I can protect myself, I promise."

"And what if you can't?" Wednesday asks, her voice cracking with emotions she hadn't felt this extent of in years. "What if there comes a day when you need me, and I'm not there?"

"You're always there, though." He points out, taking a step closer. "You're like, impossible to get rid of. You're like--you're like a cockroach that way."

Wednesday crinkles her nose and says, "I hate that line," which earns a laugh followed by sniffles from Tyler.

"My point," He says, taking yet another step closer, reaching out to take her hand, "Is that I believe that you'll be there for me when I need it. I know that can put my weight on you, and you can put your weight on me. That's how this works, this... Relationship stuff."

"Do you swear by it?" She asks, her usual edge making its way back into her voice.

"I swear that no matter what comes at us, no matter what life puts in our way, I want us to build a future together. It may not be perfect, but it'll be ours. You just have to let me build out my own life first, in whatever shape that takes."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

Okay so this turned out way different tonally than the song that inspired it, but the bolded words are taken from the English translation of the lyrics so as to tie this whole thing in somehow!! Hope you enjoy💕

#my writing #ask games #spotify ask game #pls forgive any spelling/grammatical errors i checked it over but i did also write this in like #twenty minutes #weyler #wyler #fanfic

[jinruihokankeikaku]

相手が毎晩同時に寝るようにするのにあたしたちはゲームをやってて午前四時まで起きていたな。悪かった······

#if i post about it in japanese i don't have to use gendered pronouns see. pls forgive any grammatical errors

[izzy-b-hands]

Technically now for SFerguson Sunday vs Ferguson Friday, but! The fic I was working on is finally edited to my liking. Will go up on AO3 when I have the spoons for it, but wanted it on here for now at least! Fic is below the cut.

Stealing my description of it from last night bc it actually wasn't terrible lol:

Ferguson/Izzy, au that puts us in the time period of the former's show, with a vague plot that by fucking Ferguson maybe it'll help Jack out of a particularly bad charge that he may or may not have actually done. Also, additional ed/izzy with a final hint of ed/izzy/ferguson 👀.

“I mean, I'll fuck him,” Izzy shrugs. “He's not bad looking. Actually, he looks a bit like m-”

“Don't remind me,” Ed blushes, dropping his head into his hands. “He looks a lot like you. Enough that I asked if he knew you or was related to you.”

“While he was arresting you?”

“Was there going to be a better time?!”

Izzy sighs. “Maybe not. So, what exactly am I convincing him not to do?”

“They let me go because ultimately, they claimed they didn't have enough to prove I was working with Jack and I wasn't worth the paperwork,” Ed replies, lifting his head enough for Izzy to see how miserable he looks. “But Jack is-”

“Oh, Eddie-”

“Come on! You like Jack too! You fuck him nearly as often as I do, at least!”

“Yeah,” Izzy finds he's suddenly all tired sighs, a well of them, seemingly endless. He leans back in his chair, and studies the newspaper clipping photograph of the man. “So I'm meant to waltz into the station, ask for…whoever this is-”

“DCI Ferguson,” Ed interrupts as he raises his head fully and sits up in his chair. “Or Trevor.”

“You get his phone number too?” he smirks, knowing full well that if Ed managed to get a first name out of the man, then he surely got more. 

“Only his office number, but he blushed pretty hard over that, so I didn't want to push it,” Ed pulls a scrap of paper from his trouser pocket and gently moves it across the kitchen table to Izzy. “So actually, you'll call him, set up a meeting to discuss Jack's charges as his acting legal counsel-”

“Jackie is an actual lawyer,” Izzy interrupts as he takes the paper. “Why are we not calling her to deal with this?” 

“Because she'll get him something lesser,” Ed's eyes meet his, and the notes of teasing and flirting drop from his voice. “But we need to get him out. I don't care how, and I'll make sure he lays low or find him somewhere else to stay for a few months elsewhere if need be after, but he can't…”

Ed pauses, voice breaking, breath hitching in his throat. “He didn't do it.”

Izzy moves the paper aside so he can reach over and take Ed's hand. “What did he do?”

“I didn't see it either way, but I know he didn't. I wouldn't lie about this.”

And Ed probably wouldn't. And Izzy doesn't think he's lying now, but if he didn't see whatever happened…that hardly matters. “Ed. What's he charged with?”

“Murder.”

---

“You don't look like legal counsel.”

“You don't look like you should be a cop,” Izzy replies as he strides into the yellow-tinged office. As much trendy colour scheme as effect from the cigarette smoke in the air and the nearly full ashtray on Ferguson's desk. Not that he can judge, and it might benefit him in this circus act he's enacting for Jack's sake.“Do you mind if I-”

Izzy slips his own pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his leather jacket, and gestures. 

Before Ferguson can reply, he's got two out, one held out to the detective in offering. 

“Wouldn't have said no even if you weren't sharing,” Ferguson takes it, his fingertips lingering briefly on Izzy's as he does. “I'm not counting this as a bribe.”

“Who said I was here to bribe you?” 

Ferguson crosses the room to his desk, motioning for Izzy to sit in the chair in front of it. “No one. But I think I've got you and your two friends figured out.”

“Have you?” Izzy settles into the chair, seemingly designed to be the exact opposite of comfortable or ergonomic. “And what have you figured out about us?”

“You're too nice.” There's a flash of flame as Ferguson lights his cigarette, a matchbox already out on the desk. “And that's a shame. You don't need to go down for this just because he's your friend.”

“I don't know that Jack's done anything,” Izzy shrugs, reaching for his own matches in his pocket. “He's an idiot, sure. Makes poor choices, yeah. But murder-”

“I know Mr. Teach claims he saw nothing,” Ferguson interrupts as he exhales smoke across the desk. “And that may well be the case. But even if he didn't see it, someone else may have-”

“May,” Izzy cuts him off, still fumbling for his suddenly hiding matchbook. “May have seen him? So what evidence exactly is he being held on?”

“The dead man's body, and being covered in blood for a start,” Ferguson replies as he walks back around the desk. He leans down, close enough to light Izzy's cigarette with the tip of his own. “And that he was the last person heard in the area per everyone living there that agreed to an interview.”

“You shouldn't be telling me half of this,” Izzy smirks. “Almost makes me think you don't think he did it.”

He takes a drag and watches Ferguson watching him. Leaning back against the desk now, cigarette balanced in his lips, looking entirely too tempting for a cop. 

“That's the bit I definitely can't tell you,” Ferguson smiles as he takes his cigarette from his mouth and walks back around the desk to sit. “But I can say that whatever you're planning to do here, to bribe or convince me to just let him go…you know I can't. And I'll let you walk out of here now, no trouble, no charges, nothing. I can't guarantee that if we start something though.”

“We?” Izzy leans back in his chair, legs stretched out. “Thought I was the troublemaker in this equation. Here to distract you from your…noble duties, to win your favour and-”

It's lucky that the blinds covering the office's internal windows are already pulled closed, and maybe that's why Ferguson moves so fast. Cigarette shoved into the ashtray, then around the desk to lean down and kiss him exactly as roughly as he likes. 

Not every day that someone gets that right on the first try, and it's enticing. “We indeed.”

Ferguson nods, stammering. “I'm not. I shouldn't be doing this. It's not going to get your friend out-”

“I know,” Izzy interrupts gently. “I told Mr. Teach, Ed rather, as much too, if you want to know. He still asked that I come and try.”

He stands up slowly, moving Ferguson with him until he's got him backed up against the edge of the desk. “I think he knows full well it won't work, but we wanted to see how far I'd get.”

“Go lock the door and I'll show you just how far.”

It's later in the day, and the station could be busier than it is. Even so, there's a wonderfully desperate thrill in knowing someone might hear them. 

A desperation that's hard to suppress when Ferguson slows things down, just a bit. Takes his sweet time stripping Izzy of his jacket, the borrowed dark purple t-shirt cut nearly too short by Ed. 

The entire time, seemingly just as desperate in every achingly slow kiss and hickey he presses to Izzy's lips, his neck, his chest-

“Mr. Teach said a lot about you,” Ferguson's voice cuts through the haze Izzy's fallen into. “Mentioned in particular how pretty you look on your kne-”

He doesn't let Ferguson finish the word before he shoves the chair back, and drops to his knees. Mouth open, tongue out, sitting back on his feet. 

“He wasn't lying,” Ferguson murmurs warmly, nodding when Izzy reaches for his belt. 

There's a twinge there, and it nearly throws him off his game for a moment. While he's in here letting a detective fuck his mouth (and more, if they can manage it without alerting anyone else), his cunt getting wetter and cock harder by the minute, Jack's locked up, presuming and hoping he'll be freed soon. 

“Look, if he really didn't do it,” Ferguson sighs softly, a hand reaching down to toy with the earring in Izzy's ear, flicking the silver hoop gently. “Then…it might all work out. I'm not making any promises-”

Izzy lets Ferguson's cock pop from his mouth. “I know, Trevor. I'm not asking you to. And I…I want to think he didn't. I really do.”

Ferguson's hand is cradling his face now, a thumb softly rubbing his cheek. “But you can't say for sure he wouldn't.”

Izzy nods. “Can I go back to sucking you off now? Far less depressing, that, in comparison-”

He's cut off as Trevor pushes his head down, not too roughly, but enough to make him moan. 

“I'll give you two whatever updates I can,” Ferguson murmurs, his fingers twining through Izzy's hair. “Whether I should or not. And I really fucking shouldn't-”

He moans around Ferguson's cock, and suddenly he's back on his feet. 

“I don't have,” Ferguson stammers, peering towards his desk. “I mean, why would I have anything for this in here, but-”

“I've got us covered,” Izzy steps away from him long enough to retrieve the small bottle of lube and the few condoms he'd hidden in his inner jacket pocket. “Figured we might want it.”

“Can I ask you something?” 

He cringes internally, but nods. “You want to know who did the surgery on my chest?”

Ferguson blinks. “I. I suppose I'd wondered, but I didn't mean. I meant to find out if you'd prefer ass or-”

“Oh!” The tension that had filled him deflates as he drops his trousers and leans over the desk. “That's different, kind of you to ask, actually. But any and all holes are up for it if you are. We might not get this chance again soon, so you might as well have most or all of them.”

It's one of the lines he's not had a single man refuse, and it doesn't fail him here. Trevor has him pressed down against the desk, hips moving against Izzy's ass, cock teasing his cunt and ass in turn. 

“That's mean,” he sighs happily as he lets himself lift up and lean back into Ferguson. “I like it.”

“I'd tease you longer,” Ferguson purrs into his ear, leaning close even though Izzy can hear his hands busy with a condom, the telltale crinkle of foil.“But I've another meeting, and she'll be here soon.”

“I'll make sure I don't tire you out completely then, for her sake.”

He chuckles as Ferguson finally slips inside his cunt, hard and warm and already twitching. “Is that really how it is between you and her? Who is she? Another ‘lawyer’ like myself-”

Ferguson thrusts hard, shoving him forward, but a hand reaches around to help hold him up. A mindful one, not messing too much with his top surgery scars, but still tracing gently there now and then as he leans into it. 

“Wouldn't you like to know,” and there's another thrust, paired with a slightly needy moan. “She isn't, as it happens. She has actual credentials-”

“Does she know you're meeting me?”

Izzy can't help but ask. It'll be ten times hotter (and he's already sweating as he fucks himself back on Trevor's cock, in rhythm with him) if it turns out she knows, and knows exactly what they're getting up to as well.

“She does, or she should,” Ferguson's other hand is between his legs, gently teasing Izzy's cock. “Was on our fucking schedule for the day, though not that I'd be doing this with you.”

“Work mates then? Work mates with benefits, rather.”

Ferguson moves a hand, then both, to hold Izzy on his cock, keeping him from moving. 

“Did I strike a nerve?” Izzy teases. “I'm not judging. I've wound up fucking plenty of the people I've worked with too. Nothing wrong with it, as long as everyone is on the same page about it.”

One hand is at Izzy's cock again, rubbing harder, Ferguson's hand slick with how wet Izzy is. He's relentless in it. 

“If I keep asking questions about her,” Izzy pants as he lays on the desk, still trying to fuck himself onto Ferguson’s cock, though he can feel that he's already in deep. “Will you keep doing that?”

“Why don't you find out?”

It's a teasing, warm challenge that has Izzy's thighs shaking. “I wonder if she would help with Jack's case, if she got to watch something like this.”

Trevor groans into his neck, still working Izzy's cock hard, his other hand gripping Izzy's hip tight. 

“Ed and I could come back together,” Izzy continues, trying to ignore his own cracking voice and gasps and moans as he feels himself dripping onto Ferguson’s cock. “As Jack's legal team. Meet up with you and-”

“Denise.”

“Denise,” Izzy says softly. “She sounds lovely. You moving your hips would also be lovely.”

“Come for me first,” Trevor murmurs. “I know you're close. I can fucking feel it, jesus christ-”

Izzy nods, focusing on the fantasy taking on a clearer picture in his head. “We meet up with you two here, close the blinds and lock the door and then-”

That pushes him over the edge, coming hard on Ferguson’s cock, a hand hurriedly shoved over his own mouth for the moans he knows he can't quiet or stop. 

“More,” he gasps out when he's got a glimmer of his mind back and his legs under him again, shaky though they are. “Can we-”

“Hang on,” Ferguson slips out of him, and with a chuckle and a huff of breath, gets onto the floor on his back. “If your knees can take it-”

“I'll make them,” Izzy turns from the desk, and gets onto the floor, straddling Ferguson's hips. “Please. I don't even care if you could actually do anything for Jack, I just need-”

It's not that he minds tending towards topping with Ed. He's always joked he was happy to be an emergency top for the people he liked and/or loved best, and Ed is at the top of that list. But it's nice to take a turn on the other side of it, and to let himself be needy and subby on top of it all. 

“I've got you,” Ferguson's hands wander, helping hold Izzy steady as he settles onto his cock. “Good boy.”

“Say it again,” he's begging, and this is a bit pathetic, but at times like these it feels stupid good to grovel. 

“Good boy,” Ferguson mumbles happily, smiling as Izzy bounces and grinds on his cock. “Such a good boy, taking it so deep, making such a mess on me.”

He reaches back carefully, until he can feel the soft, velvety skin of Trevor's balls. “Yeah? Can I come on it again?”

He toys gently with them, adjusting his touch in tune with Ferguson's moans. “Hm? My come dripping down to your balls, making a mess of us both.”

There's the urge to tell him to pause long enough to take the condom off, but he knows better than to risk it. Even if he wants so badly that it makes him ache to feel Trevor coming bare inside of him. 

Coming inside while covered by the condom will have to do though, and at the very least the one they used is thin enough that he can feel most of the twitching and pulsing that feels as good as any thrusting. 

He switches from grinding to bouncing as one of Trevor's hands moves to tease his cock again. “Tell me. Tell me I can come on it.”

Trevor nods, then gasps it out. “Come for me.”

He lets himself go, hands on Ferguson's warm, hairy chest to ground himself as he fucks himself through his orgasm. He can feel Trevor pulsing inside him, though he's stifled his own moans with a hand clapped over his mouth. 

Izzy leans down to lay against him after a moment, whimpering desperately when he feels Trevor slip out of him. “Would I be too forward to ask for your number? Home number, not your office line, in case anyone can listen in on that. Just to keep in touch about Jack, of course.”

Trevor nods in between kisses, hands back at Izzy's hips, holding him close. “And to set up our next meeting. For any…in person updates we might want.”

He's already thinking of Ed in his cunt, and Trevor in his ass, laying across the desk. Utterly boneless and feeling cockdrunk, but happy to move as needed as Trevor rouses and moves about the office. 

There's not really anything to clean up with, but it's not the worst state he's left somewhere public in. And Trevor handles the majority of things: disposing of the condom, tossing Izzy his shirt and jacket, and most importantly, scribbling his phone number on a slip of paper.

---

“Home number?” Ed plucks the folded paper from Izzy's hand. 

He nods. “He'll be updating us whenever he can. But Jack's not getting out right n-”

“I know,” Ed bumps into him gently, the closest touch they can afford while standing on the sidewalk in front of the station. “But it was worth a try, and even if this one didn't get us anywhere, any future attempts might. Besides, seems like you enjoyed this quite a bit.”

“Next time, he suggested we might both come by to talk about Jack's options,” Izzy smirks as he motions Ed down the sidewalk and into the nearest alley, pondering exactly how well-fucked and messy he must look for Ed to comment on it. There, he can finally, potentially safely kiss him. “As his unorthodox-looking legal counsel-”

Ed smiles into the next kiss. “Think we could sneak the harnesses underneath our clothes without anyone noticing? Probably, almost definitely, yeah? I don't want to somehow make this worse for Jack-”

“I don't think it can get much worse for Jack,” Izzy interrupts. “Short of a conviction and prison. We'll see.”

“You don't think he did it,” Ed's eyes light up. “Wait. Does the detective think he didn't-”

“Tell you more when we get home,” Izzy can feel a set of eyes on them, and sure enough there stands a cop at the end of the alley. A woman, watching, but thankfully not making any moves towards them. Maybe she didn't see the kiss. “I can give you a reenactment of my valiant attempt to free Jack in there, if you're willing to put on a tie and button up to set the mood.”

“Do we own a tie between us?” Ed mutters. “Doesn't matter, I'll put on whatever we have that's closest.”

Izzy keeps an eye on the cop as they walk away, peering back to make sure she doesn't follow. 

She doesn't. But she doesn't turn away either. For a moment, he wonders…Denise? 

But Ed is getting ahead of him. He doesn't dare head back towards her.

#text post #ferguson friday #dci ferguson #if u see any typos or errors I missed pls forgive me #i have spent a long time looking at this and put it thru spell check multiple times but still fear i missed something #know that i will be looking it over after a day or two away and will fix anything i missed this go around!!! #dci ferguson/izzy hands #I cannot think of any other relevant tags at present but. yeah!! #finally pushed away the writer's block and got something done!!!! #long post #or at least if you dive under the cut it is so tagging to b safe

[kintrash413]

Summary: A very helpful step-by-step guide on how to build Decked Out 2, written by Tango himself! Full fic under the cut.

Step 1: Have several years of experience.

You don't need to understand redstone, but you do need the experience. You don't need to know how the base components work, only that they do. With enough time, you can trial and error your way through anything.

Step 2: Cut yourself off from your friends and stop attending events.

This is going to take a while, you need to accept that before you even start. Your friends will understand at first, just keep telling yourself that it'll be worth it in the end. Eventually your friends will grow worried that you're not eating or sleeping and ask you to take a break. The best time to take a break is never. Consider that step 2.5.

Step 3: Realize you're always hungry.

At first you'll think your friends are right, that feeling is normal. You might even indulge in a short vacation and redownload that app on your communicator reminding you when to eat. But eating won't satiate your hunger, and eventually you'll realize it grows worse the longer you spend away from Decked Out 2. Remember step 2.5.

Step 4: Efficiency isn't nearly as important as just getting it done at all.

There will always be the temptation to make things more efficient, more compact. If you indulge that temptation you'll never finish your work, and you're already missing your friends.

Step 5: Those thoughts aren't your own. This hunger isn't your own.

You keep staring at your friends and wondering what they'll look like as they're overwhelmed by their own panic. You want to see the fear in their eyes as you kill them. You wonder what their blood tastes like.

(This isn't really a step… repeating the points of step 3? Cut out.)

Step 5: Fear you might've created something alive.

The redstone keeps shifting without your intervention, and the very walls breathe as you pass by. You certainly didn't mean to create life, maybe you should've studied redstone better back in step one. What will happen when the season ends? Can it feel pain? Does it cry out when you break it? You should really be more concerned about yourself.

Step 6: Kill your darlings.

Don't be afraid to tear out old redstone that isn't working! The time lost is painful, but the better systems make you stronger.

Step 7: Turn off your communicator.

Your friends are calling you constantly. They're worried for you, and they're worried about the way you look at them. It's important to minimize distractions while you're working.

Step 8: You can't tell the difference between Decked Out 2 and yourself. Your heart beats with every redstone pulse (you're always on the verge of a panic attack). You can feel the bugs in your code like an itch, and you're always itching. The blue in your fingers from building the first floor isn't going away. Look into a mirror and realize you don't recognize your reflection.

Step 9: Invite your friends to enjoy your work!

Willing victims crowd the front door and you couldn't be happier (so why don't you feel free?)!

#hermitcraft #fanfic #ao3 #decked out 2 #tangotek #i wrote. and then edited. qnd am now posting this while relatively sleep deprived #all on seperate days this fic just only calls to me when its late out i guess #so forgive any errors pls #unreality

[poohbea]

Hey pooh. I saw your tags on ship your moots post. Would be really bad if I asked you about your selfship with him? I mean I love Suguru 😌😍 and I wanna hear about your selfship. Pls?

𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏: 𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐇 𝐗 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔

ship name: poohguru (omfg how cute is that) trope: strangers to lovers/ work colleagues to lovers where we met: at my job (childcare) content: extra super duper fluff, cheesy shit, tattooed!geto, he's young here (maybe a few years older than I am), also this is my version of sugu - so deal with it hahaha

Now we know Suguru loves kids, but when he first arrived to work we were all a little shocked at how good he handled them. They often comment on his hair, asking to touch it and play with it since it's so long, something he doesn't mind all too much. Him and I were often paired together with the older kids, he just had a knack of keeping them under control, stern but reasonable.

He'd often keep them entertained with art and stories of his travels. Whenever he wasn't around they'd be so sad, they missed their favourite educator. I've got to say I was a little jealous, but I guess that's what helped cultivate our relationship.

It wasn't rare for us to steal glances at each other, playful teasing and banter included. We sort of became that iconic duo around the service, practically inseparable after a few months. He's mischievous in his tactics to say the least, using the kids as leverage for his flirting.

"You look pretty today, Pooh." He'd start, to which I'd respond with a suspicious side eye.

"Okay, what do you want." I chuckle while setting out the food for the afternoon.

"What? The kids were telling me how nice you look, so I thought I'd let you know."

"Gee thanks, Sugu."

And little by little he'd rope the kids into this little game. "Are you and Geto dating?" I'd get asked every second day, immediately searching for the man in question to find him staring right back at me while helping his small group with mixing paints.

"No." I reply, with the shake of my head, throwing him a playfully serious look. "Geto and I aren't dating, my love."

"Would you want to?" Was her next question, one that I didn't have answer to right away. "I think you like each other."

"What makes you say that?" I say finally breaking my staring match to look down at her.

"You're always together, and he said he likes you... like, like likes you." She giggles while looking back at him, thankfully he was focused on his art.

And it would go on like this for a whole year, pictures painted of us, jokes and playful teasing, until one day.

"Poohhhh!" A group of them yell as they run around the corner.

"Woah, woah, don't run on the pavement. What's going on?"

"Geto wants to talk you!" They had the most frantic expressions on their little faces, grabbing and pulling me out the door.

"Is he okay?" I ask, playing into their dramatics. They giggle and keep guiding me, all the way to the assembly hall, that's when I noticed the flower petals on the floor. "Guys..." I begin but they soon release me and bolt, disappearing around one of the classroom blocks.

So I follow this path of flowers, till I get to the doors, silently opening it. And when I tell you the gasp I let out, the gasp to match all gasps. There he stood, on stage dramatically under a spotlight that was conveniently lit, dress shirt half unbuttoned, sleeves rolled (just because he knows how much I love his tattoos) and bouquet of flowers in hand.

"Really?" I laugh, shutting the door behind me.

He smiles as I approach, offering a hand to help me up onto the stage. "Really." Was his only response.

We stood in a comfortable silence for a moment, before I placed a hand on his chest, closing the already small gap between us. "What's your plan now, Mr Geto?"

"Well, first to give you these." He hands me the bouquet, lilies, my favourite. "And next, I have a question."

With a soft sniff of the flowers I sigh, lashes fluttering as I look at him. "Ask away."

"You know, ever since I started working here I've had a crush on you, okay that's a lie it took a few months, you were a bit of a hard ass- ow!" I laugh as I hit his chest playfully, shaking my head with a smile. "Am I wrong though? Wait no I'm sorry!" He cowers as I go to hit him again, this time catching my wrist before laying a kiss to my palm.

"A real romantic aren't you?"

"It's a part of my charm."

"You're on thin ice, Suguru."

"Okay, anyway. Like I said, I've liked you for a long time and with this job and the kids and spending so much time with you, I might more than like you."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying I love you, Pooh. And if it's not too forward, I'd like you to be my girlfriend."

"I think we're past forward, Sugu." I reply with a giggle.

"So is that a yes?"

"Yes, of course I'll be your girlfriend."

He can't stop the cheesy smile that forms on his lips, letting his fingers lace through my hair to pull me into a kiss.

And the rest is basically history, we got married three years later and here we are today.

#pls the way i was cheesing the whole time writing this #like this is my actual love story hahahaha #i wish #⊹ ⋆ﾟ꒰ఎ pooh's self ships ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹ #⊹ ⋆ﾟ꒰ఎ poohguru ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹ #i didn't edit this so forgive any errors hahaha

[kissmejusttokissme]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Eddie Munson & Wayne Munson, background steddie - Relationship Characters: Eddie Munson, Wayne Munson, Background Steve Harrington - Character Additional Tags: I ask for forgiveness but I will accept punishment, Grief, Death, Angst, Genuinely this is pretty sad, Discussing the afterlife?, ghost - Freeform, Terminal Illness, no beta we die like 👀👀👀 Series: Part 2 of Graveyard bench Summary:

Wayne and Eddie have one last conversation.

#Wayne Munson #eddie Munson #I wrote this in my notes app at 3am so pls forgive any errors #my fics #st fics #stranger things

[bitterflames]

is this what they call "fuck around and find out"

#我家大师兄脑子有坑 #wo jia da shixiong naozi you keng #my senior brother has a pit in his brain #xiongkeng #dongfang wuqiong #lan shao #translation mine; pls forgive any errors #am slowly working through secret realm arc tl for personal use mostly; might upload it if no one else picks up the series >.> #i love this exchange so much though. the absolute shade #dfwq's 'this is my Polite Face; i actually can't stand your ass' smile and thinly veiled passive aggression #the sheer savagery of lan shao's reply (in his defence dfwq came for him unprovoked) #(ofc lan shao has also been eyeing up his protégé and dfwq is Possessive) #(watch as i make this about my shengqiong agenda.)

[kentopedia]

nightly rituals

ft. dazai, chuuya, sigma, ranpo, fyodor

summary — little things you do together before going to sleep

contents — very sweet, domestic moments !! sfw.

notes — another subpar short piece from me while i finish up some wips. i wrote this kind of quickly so pls forgive any errors !! :(

₊˚⊹♡ DAZAI + reading

“osamu.” you glanced up at him from under his book, drawing his name out as you rested your head on his lap.

until that point, you’d been scrolling through your phone, hoping he'd be annoyed by the lack of your attention. instead, dazai picked up the book you'd been reading together, and started from where you left off.

your ridiculous ploy for his affection had turned on you, and now, you were the one that was desperate to hear his voice.

dazai looked down at you, his eyes playful as he smiled. “what?”

you stared back at him, disgruntled by the fact that he’d so quickly figured out your silly little game and made it his own. "nothing."

dazai twisted a piece of your hair on his finger, patient, and shrugged, returning to the novel, looking far too interested in the pages.

you groaned, poking him in the stomach. “you’re just going to read ahead without me?”

“you didn’t seem to mind when you were on your phone instead.” he frowned, though most of his disappointment was feigned, and amusement lingered at the edges of his expression.

“you were in the shower!" you scoffed.

dazai laughed, and shifted the book to his other hand, and leaned over to kiss you softly. “i'm not anymore.”

though you usually indulged him in his antics, you were tired, and just wanted to close out the night with another chapter of the story you'd been so invested in. it was much better when it came straight from his lips.

“i can see that.” you rolled your eyes, frowning. “are you going to read to me now, osamu?”

dazai brightened, proud of himself for finally getting you to admit what you wanted. "well, you could've asked a little nicer, but since i love you..."

he flipped to the previous page, the one you'd both been at the night before, and you realized he hadn't even been reading at all.

you huffed out a laugh, burying your head further into his thighs, but dazai didn't start reading. he remained staring at you with a pointed expression.

"what's the matter now?"

"you didn't say it back." dazai's lips drew down theatrically.

you sighed, and pulled at the collar of his shirt, stretching your waist to kiss him, lazily, missing his lips by a mile. "you already know i love you too, osamu. that's the only reason you get away with annoying me all the time."

dazai, finally satisfied, let you fall back against him, and began reading the next chapter to you.

though you'd wanted to stay awake for a while longer, the minute he began, you were already dozing off, so warm in his arms.

“your voice is so nice,” you said sleepily, closing your eyes as he read. “like a lullaby.”

dazai laughed quietly, but he softened, smiling as he read. he held the book in one hand, and massaged your scalp with the other, delicate fingers threading through your hair until you fell asleep.

₊˚⊹♡ CHUUYA + skincare

“let me do it this time, chuuya," you said, staring him down with the sweet eyes of yours that you knew he could never resist.

chuuya could have easily stolen the tub of moisturizer away from you, but he let you hold it far out of his reach, his smile soft. “but i like doing it.”

“yeah, well, you do it every night. i want a turn.”

chuuya said nothing for a moment, his gaze sharp. then, he relented and sighed. “fine.” he leaned against the counter, resting his weight on it. “think you can ask me for whatever you want, and i'll just give it you, huh?”

you laughed, smiling as you unscrewed the lid. “i think we both know the answer to that.”

though you were only teasing him, chuuya softened, kissing your forehead. he placed his hands on your hips, drawing you closer and closer.

“you’re right,” he said, his eyelashes fluttering over his cheeks as you slathered the moisturizer over his smooth skin. “i can’t say no to you, baby.”

you shook your head, amused, and massaged his cheeks lightly. chuuya relaxed into your touch, the tightness in his jaw alleviating.

"don't fall asleep," you teased, running your thumb over his full bottom lip.

"'m not," he said, letting out a small breath. but his eyes were glazed when he opened them again, far too tender for such a powerful man. "your hands just feel so soft."

"i can't carry you to bed," you warned. "you'll have to sleep on the cold counter."

"you wouldn't let me stay here all night long." he slid his hands over your hips, down your back, grinning. "you hate sleeping in that bed without me."

₊˚⊹♡ SIGMA + making tea

“do you want honey in it, love?”

you hummed a yes, squeezing your arms around his waist, hugging him tighter from behind. his hair was soft against your cheek as you rested your head on his back.

sigma poured the water, letting the tea steep.

you leaned your weight on him, yawning. “how was your day?”

he craned his neck to see you, but didn’t move otherwise, letting you get comfortable as you waited for the tea to finish. “it was alright.” he laced his free hand with yours, shifting. “a little stressful. better, now that i get to see you.”

you smiled, kissing a notch in his spine, too lazy to move any further. “why'd you leave before i could say goodbye this morning?”

though you didn't really mind, sigma seemed genuinely apologetic, and squeezed your hand. “sorry. i had to be in early today. did you see my note?”

you smiled, and nodded, listening to the rhythmic beat of his blood pumping, the very sign that he was just as human as the rest of you.

"i did. it was sweet." with a sigh, you straightened your back to look at him completely. for the first time since you’d gotten home, you realized how tired he was, how drained he’d been this entire week. you ran your fingers through his hair gently, your voice like a purr. “you need to get some rest. i've barely seen you this week.”

“i have work to do.” he frowned. “they need me there.”

“i know." you watched as sigma took out the tea bags, throwing them into the trash. “i need you too, though.”

sigma paused, momentarily, as he stirred the honey in, before shaking his thoughts and blinking back at you. “i didn’t realize—”

you stopped him before he could spiral into another apology, the tension in his brow obvious. "i'm not upset." when the small tangles had been brushed out, you began braiding a small section of his hair, the strands silky in your palm. “just promise me you’ll take care of yourself too.”

sigma stared from over his shoulder for a moment more before acquiescing. he handed a steaming mug to you, turning around to surprise you with a gentle kiss. "okay," he said against your lips, the touch so tender. "i promise."

₊˚⊹♡ RANPO + video games

“you’re so bad at this.” ranpo threw another handful of candy into his mouth, watching your avatar on the screen as you continued to fail.

frowning, you pressed another button vigorously, not quite sure if it was the right one to achieve your goal.

of course, nothing seemed to happen, and instead, you’re barraged by the enemy, your health going down to a level that seemed almost irrecoverable.

you leaned back into ranpo’s chest, pinching your eyebrows together. “i don’t play this as much as you do.” you said from where sat between his thighs, still trying to figure out how to win his favorite game. “cut me some slack.”

ranpo laughed, his breath tickling the lobe of your ear as he leaned forward. he slid your thumb to a different button, brushing your skin lightly. “try that, sweets.”

it seemed to be the obvious solution, and you made a face at him, momentarily distracted. "your genius never fails to amaze me."

though, when you glanced back at the screen, you’ were back to where you started, all your progress lost. “ranpo,” you said, his name coming out on the edge of a whine. “what happened?”

he took the controller from you, not even giving you a moment to try again. quickly, he moved towards the next checkpoint, knowing exactly where to go, a seasoned professional. “you got killed. too busy staring at me.”

you sighed, reaching for the controller, but he held it out of your reach, grinning at you mockingly.

“let me try again, ranpo!”

“i’ll get you to the next part. you’ve tried this three times already.”

it wasn’t as fun watching as it was playing, but you sighed, and let him take over. as he went through the remaining quests, you rested your head back onto his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

ranpo made it through the rest of that level in mere minutes.

“here, it should be easier now.” though when he went to hand the game over to you, you’d fallen asleep in his lap, your breathing even and light.

₊˚⊹♡ FYODOR + playing the cello

“you play so beautifully.”

fyodor opened his eyes, watching you from under dark lashes. though his hands didn’t stop moving, the beginnings of a smile formed on his lips.

“i wish i could play an instrument,” you continued mindlessly, stretched over the couch. your head rested on the throw pillows, side aching from how long you'd been laying there, listening to the cello.

fyodor was across the room, relaxed completely in the chair he always played in. beside him, he was surrounded by evidence of his hobby. sheet music, scribbled and messy, rested on the table, stained with coffee rings. candle light flickered through the room.

he hesitated, the bow softly coming to a stop across the strings. “i can teach you.” fyodor's pause was brief, and he began playing once more, slower this time, like a serenade. a piece of hair fell over his face, between his eyebrows, distracting you.

you shivered, mind filled with thoughts of him standing behind you, directing your hands towards the right movements, whispering instructions in your ears.

but you shook your head, wrapping the blanket tighter around you. “maybe,” you said, your smile wistful. “but i won’t be as good as you. i’d rather listen.”

“alright.” he let out a short laugh, blinking his eyes shut again to return his attention to the piece. he came to the last few measures, approaching the conclusion. “is there any piece you’d like to hear?” fyodor said, his voice softer than usual, almost like he didn’t want to disturb his own playing.

you thought back on everything you’d heard him play before. he’d told you the names, but it was hard to remember. so many of them sounded the same, titled by numbers and words you didn't understand.

it didn't matter, though. you thought everything he played sounded beautiful. often, he was even better than any recordings you’d ever heard.

“something that makes you think of me,” you said in a hushed whisper, placing your chin on your arms to see him better. "if that's alright."

fyodor, then, smiled more fully, his eyes full of an affection that eclipsed his otherwise gloomy features. “there are many things that make me think of you,” he said, slowing once more to transition into a richer, smoother melody. one that would, inevitably, put you into a deep, peaceful sleep. “but, perhaps this one fits the moment best.”

i haven't written for fyodor, sigma or ranpo before, so i hope this is okay !! im trying to get over my fear of making sure every single action & dialogue is perfectly in character :,)

#bsd x reader #osamu dazai x reader #dazai x reader #bsd x you #bsd x gender neutral reader #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #nakahara chuuya x reader #osamu dazai x you #sigma x reader #sigma x you #ranpo x reader #bsd ranpo #fyodor x reader #fyodor x you #ranpo x you #fyodor x y/n #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #chuuya x you #sigma x y/n #sigma bsd #dazai osamu x reader #chuuya x gn reader #ranpo bsd #bsd x y/n #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #rylie writes ₊˚🎧

[zzleeper]

Good

Jason Todd x Nurse!Reader

MAJOR hurt/comfort

authors note: tbh i do not put as much effort as i should when i write these fics so pls forgive any errors. ty to the internet for providing me with tutorials on how to heal burns :)

ALSO this happens after the end of under the red hood. if you dk what happens basically the building everyone is in explodes and jason is probably incredibly emotionally vulnerable

CW: wounds and burns

words: 2227 . playlist/vibes

.

There’s the squeak of your window opening, and despite the fact you know it’s Red Hood, you pick up the baseball bat you keep beside your nightstand. 

You had met Red Hood at a side job of yours. As a nurse in Gotham with dogshit pay, sometimes you’ve got to have some more questionable sources of income. You were stitching up some criminal who’d been beaten to half a pulp by Batman in the back of some sketchy club/drug dealing front, and he had caught your eye. Later, you realized he was probably there to fuck with the guys in the area once the men you were patching up started muttering about “The Red Hood” like if they spoke too loud he was going to hear them.

He’d played into your advances, flirting back with as much enthusiasm as you had arrived with. It was flattering having such a fine-ass man show interest in you. It didn’t matter how genuine it was since he had proven how good a lay he could be a week after that when you two had found each other again at another base of operations for another gang.

Every other time he always found you. He probably knew where you lived before you brought him back to your apartment. And he never took the mask off. It was a little weird, how attached to it he was, but it’s Gotham, and you’re fucking with a criminal. You’re lucky that, as far as you can tell, he’s not an escapee from Arkham. He didn’t touch the mask, and you didn’t say anything. Maybe he was super disfigured or something. You didn’t care; he looked good and fucked good, so nothing could’ve been that bad.

Red Hood always left before you’d even fallen asleep. The post-orgasm haze was enjoyable until he untangled himself from you and left without saying goodbye. It was always a silent affair every time he left. He was so committed to leaving that he refused to stay the night during a thunderstorm, deciding to brave thunder and rain instead of sleeping in the same bed with you

It didn’t hurt, but it was a little disappointing. You had never defined your relationship with Red Hood, but you knew he wasn’t interested in anything but sex. You were, though. The dull ache in your chest every time he left was nothing unexpected; catching feelings, or at least thinking you are, is a natural progression of fucking someone once every week or two. It’s a pattern you’ve found forming every time you’ve tried to have a no-strings-attached sort of relationship, even if you haven’t even seen his face before.

Creeping out of your room with socked feet, you shuffle toward your window and flick the light on.

Your bat clatters to the ground, and you can see Red Hood flinch slightly.

“Oh my god, what the fuck happened?” You gasp in shock at the state of the man who’s just broken into your apartment. Red Hood is beaten and bloody and clutching his side. You can see blood oozing out from the gaps between his fingers, but that might just be from how burned his hand is. His mask is just gone. But he’s still wearing a domino mask over his eyes. Bruises bloom everywhere on his face; his eyebrow is sluggishly bleeding into his eye, which is puffing up under the mask. He’s leaning against the wall beside your window, looking more like he collapsed. 

He groans quietly in response as you rush over to him, collapsing on your knees next to him, “Got in an–” He coughs quietly, that’s not good, “An explosion.”

You want to suggest a hospital, but you know that he would immediately refuse and–if he could walk–probably just leave. Talking to Red Hood in vulnerable moments was like coaxing a feral cat.

“Okay,” You mumble, “Okay,” You know how to do this. Maybe with more people and more hospital equipment and not in your apartment, but you know how to do this.

“Alright,” You shuffle next to him and wrap an arm around his torso, maneuvering his arm to rest on your shoulders, “I’m going to lift you on one, okay?”

Red Hood nods, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Hey,” You snap, nudging him with your shoulder, “Stay awake–and deep breaths, alright?” Shuffling into a crouching position, you adjust him slightly, “Three, two, and one,” You both grunt in unison as you lift him up and off the floor, “Up we go, come on.”

Stumbling to the bathroom, you nudge the door open with your hip and carefully sit Red Hood on the toilet with you crouching between his legs. He droops in a way you’ve never seen before. Red Hood has always been so confident, holding himself high, but right now, he looks bone-tired, something sleep can’t fix. 

He feels raw and broken open, something thick with sadness and tragedy oozing out of him, and that’s not just the blood. You cup his cheek to make him look you in the eyes, “Tell me what hurts, honey,” You say, the endearment slipping out as if you’re talking to a patient. Or someone you love.

Red Hood pushes his face into your hand, making your heart squeeze in your chest, “I think I broke a few ribs, definitely a concussion too,” He lifts his hand, it’s bloody and burned, blisters forming in spots that make you cringe, “And my hand is burned like crazy,” He rasps, “Shot my gun with some shit blocking the barrel.”

“Okay, can you take off your shirt, or do you need help?” You ask, standing up to start running the water and grabbing two cloths made from old t-shirts from the hamper next to your tub. Red Hood shakes his head and pulls off his shirt in your peripherals. Glancing over, his chest looks just as bad as you thought it would, with bruises scattered everywhere. It makes your stomach drop just a little more. At least there aren’t any deep abrasions anywhere. 

Once the water warms up enough, you wet the cloths and offer one to Red Hood, resting the other one down on the sink countertop, “Wrap that around your hand and keep it there. I’m going to go get some ice for your ribs,” You say quietly, leaving the bathroom to walk over to the kitchen. 

Why was Red Hood even here? He’s the most secretive person you know, and doesn’t he have an entire gang to patch him up? He must have a lieutenant or something somewhere. You grab the towel you keep in your kitchen and stuff it with ice, heading back to the bathroom where Red Hood awaits you. Honestly, fucking one of the most dangerous men in Gotham and a notorious crime lord was not your brightest idea, but patching him up after he got into a fucking explosion? What the fuck.

This isn’t what you two do, especially with Hood being so vulnerable right now. He’s breaking the boundaries he had firmly set completely on his own.

“Hey,” You say, Red Hood’s leaning back against the toilet, his eyes closed, “Wake up, I’ve got your ice.” Thankfully, he opens his eyes and takes the makeshift icepack with his good hand, pressing it against his ribs with a slight grimace. You pull the t-shirt-cloth off the counter and stand in between his legs to clean his face.

Nudging his chin with your hand to make him look up at you, you peel off the domino mask with some hesitation, but Red Hood just closes his eyes. He rests his head in your hand when you carefully grip his chin to nudge his face in the direction you want. Starting to clean the cut on his eyebrow, you think about how familiar he looks. His eyes look like those you’ve seen before, but you have no idea where.

“What happened?” You ask, wiping the blood off his face as carefully as you can. You know he won’t answer honestly, the few times you two had talked about anything close to emotions he had fled or changed the subject as soon as possible.

“I told you,” Red Hood responds like the avoidant fuck he is, “Explosion.”

You tut, whacking him lightly with your t-shirt-towel, and he huffs good-naturedly, “You know what I fucking meant, dickhead.” You scold, but he just shakes his head minutely in response, a furrow forming between his brows. 

You swipe your thumb over it, soft in a way you two have never been, “You don’t have to tell me, Red. If this is the best way to help, then I’ll fix you up and send you on your way.” 

He takes a shaky breath, and his eyebrows scrunch together more. You’re scared he’s going to stand up and leave your apartment, but he pushes through your hands and presses his forehead into your stomach. He falls apart against you. You can’t tell if he’s crying, but it’s something close.

“Oh, sweetheart,” You mutter, curling a hand into his hair. 

You both stay like that until he calms down, the sobs wracking his body slowing to a stop. Cupping his face in your hands, you push until he looks up at you. 

You don’t have to push very hard. Wiping away the tear tracks with your thumbs, you smile sadly down at him. There’s a small wet spot on your shirt.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” You crouch down and start wiping the dirt and blood off his chest, pushing him until he leans against the back of the toilet. Repeating this on his back as well, you try to soothe as best you can with a hand stroking up and down his side with the least bruises.

Once you’re done you pull him around to face you, “I’m going to wash your hair, bandage your hand, and then you’re sleeping for a very long time.”

Red Hood visibly tenses at that, and you level him with an unimpressed stare, “Stay,” You say quietly, resting your hands on his biceps and avoiding his gaze, “I want to watch you if you have a concussion, and I can’t do that when you’re having a seizure in an alleyway because it’s given you brain damage.”

He deflates, but still rolls his eyes, “It’s not that bad,” He argues, “I’ve been through worse.” How bad, he doesn’t say, but from the amount of scars on his chest and back, you can pretty much tell.

You patronizingly pat his cheek, “That sucks for you,” You tease, your hand sliding down to wrap your fingers around his wrist, avoiding the burns on his hands, and gently tug him towards the shower. He follows without protest, and you both sit against the tub as you wait for the water to warm up. It’s calming, sitting beside Red Hood, your sides pressed together.

Once the water is at a heat you deem acceptable; you pull down the showerhead and maneuver Red Hood to kneel over the tub, still icing his ribs, and start washing his ashy hair with generous amounts of shampoo and conditioner. You can feel his breathing slow next to you as you massage his head with your hands, suds falling into the tub under him.

You wring out his hair with a towel and push him back up into a sitting position. Kneeling on the ground, you lean over to pull open the cabinet under your sink and carefully take the first aid kit from its precarious balance on top of your medicine hoard.

Wrapping his burn is easier than you thought, Red Hood pliant and willing under your hands. You do a once over of him and judge him fit to sleep. You lead him out of the bathroom with a hand on the small of his back.

“Sorry, I don’t have any underwear for you,” You whisper, scared to break the quiet vulnerability you two are sharing.

He smiles at you for the first time since he arrived, which really means it’s the first time ever. It’s soft around the corners with exhaustion, and he looks at you for a little while before responding, “It’s okay, I didn’t expect you to,” He whispers back, just as hushed as you.

You chuckle at his late reply, “Your concussion must be pretty bad if it takes you that long to process words,” You goad, slipping under the covers. Red Hood goes to follow after setting his icepack down on the nightstand, but you hold out a hand to stop him, “Pants. Off. I’m not getting your grime and soot all over my clean sheets.”

He smiles brighter, “Well, you could’ve asked nicer,” He huffs, unbuckling his utility belt and letting it fall to the floor. He undoes his real belt and kicks off his cargo pants, nestling down into the sheets with a groan that’s half pain and half satisfaction.

You’re lying on your stomach, your face smushed against the pillow facing Red Hood, who’s lying on his back, as he fucking should, staring up at the ceiling, “Good?” You mumble, more at the pillow than the man beside you, and he laughs slightly, turning his head to look at you.

“Yeah,” He whispers like a secret in the dark of your bedroom, “It's good.”

#jason todd #jason todd x female reader #jason todd x reader #hurt/comfort #i made myself sad #nvm that was the mitski