#sat down and wrote this

[laundrybiscuits]

(ETA: now edited and up on AO3)

Look. Eddie knows he can be a little uptight about these things, but. There are rules. If you become a vampire, you don’t need to go full gothic Count Von Dickhead or whatever, but you absolutely cannot just wander around in a puffy vest and light-wash jeans. 

“Why not?” says Steve. He’s leaning back in an armchair, sipping on a bloodbag like it’s a goddamn juicebox. “What, are the vampire police going to arrest me?” 

He pauses. “Wait. There aren’t vampire police, are there?”

“No,” says Eddie. “Probably not. I don’t know. But there are standards which you are refusing to uphold, Steven.”

“Thought you were all about hating conformity, Edward,” Steve says. He’s got an obnoxiously cocky little smirk, the smug undead fucker. 

Eddie grimaces. “Don’t call me that, asswipe. Don’t you feel, like—the call of the night? The siren song of life coursing through fragile human veins? A hunger for destruction that those paltry plastic bags of blood can never truly slake?”

“The bloodbags aren’t so bad,” says Steve, around the straw. “Better than protein shakes.”

“I actually hate you,” Eddie tells him. “Vampirism is wasted on you.”

Steve noisily slurps the last of the blood out of the bottom of the bag. “Come on, you can’t really picture me in some Dracula getup, can you?”

The problem, of course, is that Eddie really, really can. When Robin had read him in on the whole situation, obviously he’d been horrified and concerned—but also, a whole wing of his brain had immediately been cordoned off to work overtime imagining Steve in elaborate Dark Prince regalia, maybe leaning elegantly out of a castle window on the moors, gazing into the foggy dusk. Velvet might’ve been involved.

“...guess not,” says Eddie. It doesn’t sound incredibly convincing to his own ears, but Steve just shrugs and gets up to throw the bloodbag away. 

“There you go, man,” he says, clapping Eddie on the shoulder as he passes. “It’s the 80s. Vampires can be whatever we wanna be.”

———

It gets way too easy to forget about Steve’s condition, until Eddie ends up having to haul him out of a bar in Indy before they get banned for life.  

“Simmer down, buddy,” Eddie says, pulling him into the shadow of the van. “Let’s get those fangs packed away before any of the nice villagers wander by with torches and pitchforks.”

“I’m good,” pants Steve. “It’s all good. Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.”

Eddie lifts an unimpressed eyebrow. “Sure, that’s why your eyes are glowing red and you’re, like, fully vamped out. Which, by the way, looks extremely dumb with the whole clean-cut vibe you decided to rock tonight.”

“Fuck you, I look great,” says Steve, pushing a hand through his hair. He’s not wrong, it’s just not relevant to how he also looks extremely dumb like this, wearing a pristine henley with fangs hanging out in the parking lot for anyone to see.

“So what the hell happened in there, man? I was finally starting to get somewhere with Todd, and…” Eddie trails off in dawning realization.

“Holy shit, am I—I’m like your territory, aren’t I? Your stupid vampire brain got all screwy and decided to loop me in with Robin and the kids as part of your freaky human coven.”

“Uh,” says Steve. He looks unhappy in a shifty kind of way. “Something like that, maybe.”

“Wait, so, are Nancy and Jonathan—are you okay with them because they’re both already in the vamp pack? Is Vickie gonna have to be inaugurated before she and Robin can bone down?” Eddie perks up. “Shit, is there a ceremony? We could totally do a ceremony.” He bets he can get the kids to liberate some velour curtains from the drama club. With a few candles, they could get some serious atmosphere going.

“No, shut up, nobody’s doing a damn ceremony,” Steve groans. “Vickie’s fine.” 

“Okay,” says Eddie. “So…you gonna tell me what all that was about, then? Do I have to start running guys past you first so your vamp instincts don’t wig out? Or…hm, maybe Argyle’d be down to mess around sometime.”

Steve lets out an actual snarl with weird animal echoes, then claps a hand over his mouth.

“Sorry,” he says, muffled. The shadows around them seem darker somehow. 

“So I’m just not allowed to get laid ever again,” says Eddie slowly. “For vampire reasons.”

“Do whatever you want, man.” Steve’s still got his hand pressed tight over his mouth. 

“And it’s…just me?” Eddie peers at the tightness around Steve’s eyes; the way he’s scowling stubbornly at his feet. “Huh. Kind of…possessive, Harrington.”

“It’s—weird,” says Steve miserably, dropping his hand at last. “I know it’s fucking weird.”

“Maybe.” Eddie shrugs, biting down on the grin he can feel tugging at his mouth. “Lucky for you, I’m into that shit.”

“What?” Steve frowns. “You’re…”

“Always wanted a vampire boyfriend,” says Eddie. “Like, are you kidding? I would’ve sold my fucking soul at 15 for something like that.”

“I’m starting to feel a little objectified here,” says Steve, but he’s smiling, and he reaches out to snag Eddie’s belt loop and tug him stumbling closer. “Just in it for the fangs, huh?”

“Well, you’re kind of a shitty vampire, actually.” Eddie drapes his arms over Steve’s shoulders. “So I guess I must just be in it for you.”

Steve hesitates, searching Eddie’s face. Stray red lights are still sparking like embers in Steve’s irises. “Okay, but—you’re in it? Right?”

“Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried, Bunnicula. I’ll send the vampire police after you, just watch me,” says Eddie, and kisses him.

#steddie #vampire steve harrington #I don't know what happened; I just sat down and wrote this even though I have a million other things to do #I was briefly possessed by the spirit of 'what if steve harrington were the least genre-appropriate vampire of all time' #and also my perpetual need to write people with terrible communication skills #I may edit this a bit more when it's not 3am but ftr I am not planning on any continuations

[rafeandonlyrafe]

live like a kook

words: 5.2k

the camerons take you in after your house is destroyed in a hurricane, giving you a month to live like a kook

warnings: enemies to lovers, lots of pogues vs kooks dynamic, rafe being mean to reader, reader is john bs cousin, food insecurity/mentions of going hungry, cursing

taglist: @drewstarkeysbae @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @winterrrnight @slut4drudy @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs

“dad, this is fucking ridiculous. no way am i sharing my home with a fucking pogue.” rafe argues, his voice raising higher and higher as the fight goes on.

“well, get over it rafe. we are doing our part for the community, this girls house got destroyed in the hurricane, she’s staying here for the next month. end of story.” ward says firmly, hoping to temper his sons anger before you arrive.

“bullshit, you don’t care about helping the pogues, all you want is to look like a good guy.” rafe runs his hand through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead. “it’s not safe. we can’t trust them, what if she steals from us?”

ward pauses. it’s something he did think about, which is why he went through the house and hid the most valuable items, locking them away in a secret safe. “you keep an eye on her then, rafe.”

it’s the end of the conversation as ward walks out of the room, even after rafe continues after him, not accepting his dads solution. wards patience with his son is about to bubble over when the doorbell rings.

ward gives rafe a pointed look to calm himself down, or at least be quiet about his disdain as he opens up the door to reveal you standing there, only carrying a backpack, fitting all of your belongings after losing almost everything in the hurricane.

“hello, mr. cameron, i’m y/n.” you stick your hand out, accepting the firm but friendly shake ward gives you.

“y/n?”

you look around ward into the house, making eye contact with a shocked rafe.

“you didn’t tell me it was- her who was going to be staying here.” rafe spits, looking at his dad, nostrils flaring in anger.

“rafe, watch yourself.” ward warns, stepping back from the door and beckoning you over the threshold.

“hi rafe.” you say quietly. you had foolishly hoped that rafe wouldn’t mind you staying here. it’s not like you ever really interact, but you know that he doesn’t get along with your cousin john b.

ward gives you a tour of the house, introducing you to rose and wheezy, and the whole time rafe stalks behind you, silent and domineering. 

“thank you again for letting me stay here.” you say when ward shows you what is to be your room for the next month, situated between rafes and sarahs, who is currently out, probably with your cousin.

“of course.” ward says. “i’ll give you some time to unpack, we are serving dinner in around an hour.” “okay.” you nod, heading into your room, shutting the door carefully behind you. you glance around the opulent bedroom, so unlike what you are used to, large sweeping curtains covering the windows, sturdy wooden furniture, and best of all, the huge bed covering most of the floor.

you drop your backpack, letting yourself flop back onto the bed, letting out a laugh when you realize that even the ceiling is beautiful. 

you weren’t sure what to expect when you got told that there were some people opening up their homes for those who lost theirs due to the hurricane, but you certainly never expected it to be the camerons, or any other rich kooks.

you’re still smiling to yourself when your door bursts open. your eyes widen as rafe takes up the entire doorway, not asking permission before barging into your room and slamming the door forcefully behind him.

“hey!” you shout, swinging your legs to the side of the bed and turning to stare at rafe. 

“shut up.” rafe warns, quickly crossing the space between the door and the bed, hovering over you. “i want to make one thing very clear.” he holds up his pointer finger, pausing as you flicker your eyes from his hand back to his face. “do not touch anything in this house. if you steal like your loser pogue cousin, i will know. i will be watching you.”

rafe doesn’t say anything more, he doesn’t need to, turning and walking out of the room, leaving your door flung wide open, not bothering to even shut it behind him. you shiver at the warning, not that you planned on stealing, but you did plan on a peaceful stay here, and it seems like rafe is committed to the exact opposite.

you stand and shut your door, this time making sure to lock it.

--

“that’s screwed into the wall.” rafes voice suddenly rings down the hallway, making you jump away from the painting.

“i wasn’t going to steal it.” you grumble, crossing your arms. you were still familiarizing yourself with the house, spending some time wandering alone, but around every corner, rafe is there.

“then what were you doing staring it?” he questions.

“admiring the art, if that’s so hard to believe. yes, rafe,” you say with a sigh “even a dirty dumb pogue like me can appreciate a painting.”

“well then you don’t mind if i stand here and watch as you appreciate it.” rafe crosses his arms, muscles bulging. you turn back to the painting, looking over the landscape scene, but rafes eyes are drilling holes into you, and just like he wanted, you quickly get too frustrating, groaning and stomping away.

you head out into the garden, needing a breath of fresh air and to look upon the ocean. 

“he’s an asshole.”

you jump, not realizing wheezie was in the hammock you stopped next to.

“what?” you question.

“rafe. he’s an asshole.” “you said it, not me.” you sigh, taking the hair tie off your wrist and pulling your hair into a ponytail as the wind picks up.

“just try and avoid him when he gets in his pissy moods. he’s not like this all the time.” wheezie gives you a piece of advice as she swings her legs over the side of the hammock, heading back inside.

you watch her until she’s all the way in, before glancing up and realizing that rafe is watching you as well. your brow scrunches in anger and you turn, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you angry again.

you head towards the expansive dock, marveling at how far it stretches out into the ocean as you plop down on the wood, swinging your feet over the edge. your eyes are on the horizon as gray clouds roll in, probably a cell from the recent hurricane that broke off.

you keep your back turned to the house, not wanting to retreat yet as you watch the storm roll in, scenting the air change as the temperature drops. you wrap your arms around yourself to keep warm as the wind picks up, but the rain still hasn’t reached you yet.

you daydream about living in a house like tanneyhill. not for a month, but for your whole life. of getting out of your small cottage, now being rebuilt by your deadbeat dad, and living a life of luxury like the camerons.

strong hands grab onto your upper arms, pulling you to a standing position like you weigh nothing. “what are you doing?” rafe asks, shaking you slightly, his eyes wide with what you think might be worry.

“get off of me!” you shout, pulling yourself out of his hold.

“do you want to get yourself sick? it’s cold, and there’s a storm coming in. get inside.” rafe stares at you expectantly as the first sprinkles of rain starts to fall. you want to fight, to push back, but you also don’t want to get soaked, walking past rafe without acknowledging him as you both head into the house just before the downpour hits.

rafe doesn’t even glance at you as he pushes past, heading to his room.

--

“y/n, you wanna come with me?” sarah asks, slinging her bag over her shoulder, probably going to spend another night at john b’s. she’s been away from tanneyhill more often then she’s been here ever since you arrived.

you glance at rafe who is sitting on the couch, phone in hand. you’re not sure if he’s even paying attention to whats going on.

“sure.” you reply, “just give me a second to get changed.”

“alright, john b will be here in 5 minutes in the twinkie.” sarah heads outside to wait as you move up the stairs, taking off your leggings and opting for a pair of shorts instead, slipping your tennis shoes on.

you gasp in surprise when you open the door and run right into rafes wide chest.

“i heard you’re going to hang out with the dirty pogues.” rafe says, taking a step back when you push against his chest. you know he’s choosing to let you by, and if he wanted to he could have stood firm.

“in case you forgot, rafe-” you shoot him a pointed look as you head down the stairs. “i am one of those dirty pogues.” rafe stays put as you head outside, and you’re thankful to get some time away tanneyhill as the twinkie pulls down the street.

“hey, it’s my favorite cousin!” john b shouts when he sees you getting in along with sarah.

“john b, i’m your only cousin.” you roll your eyes, turning to watch out the window as tanneyhill disappears from view.

it’s nice to catch up with your friends and cousin, spending the afternoon relaxing and talking around a campfire. you are especially happy pope is here, always getting along so well with him.

“there they go again.” pope sighs when kiara starts to fight with jj, both of you rolling your eyes at each other, wishing they’d just work through whatever repressed feelings they have for each other.

“hey, john b, can you give me a ride back to tanneyhill?” you ask, noticing it’s start to get dark.

“aw, can’t you just stay here?” john b asks, his tongue obviously loosened by the beer he was sipping on. “i hate that my cousin is there, taking the kooks charity.” “just because you don’t want any help doesn’t mean that i can’t accept it.” you say, raising your voice. “besides, you knew our house got destroyed and you didn’t even reach out. you were too busy with sarah.”

you stomp away from the chateau, heading down the dirt driveway, determined to walk back to tanneyhill if john b wouldn’t give you a ride.

“y/n! wait!” if it was john b calling for you, you wouldn’t have stopped, but you turn to face sarah. 

“listen-” you interrupt her before she can speak. “i’m not mad at you. i’m not even mad at john b. i’ve just been through a lot and want to go ho- back to tanneyhill.” “i’m sorry.” sarah pulls you into a hug, one that you didn’t realize you needed that much. “john b’s probably too drunk to drive. i texted rafe to come pick you up.”

you sigh, trying not to let your disappointment show on your face. you really don’t want to spend time alone with rafe, but you thank her and tell her to tell rafe that you’re starting to walk so to keep an eye out on the way, figuring it would be better to distance yourself from the rest of the pogues before he got to you.

you spot rafes truck after walking for a few minutes, watching him slow to a stop before you climb into the passenger seat.

“thanks.” you whisper, not sure what else to say as rafe presses down on the gas. you expect him to turn back towards tanneyhill, but he’s driving you in a different direction.

“where are we going?” you ask.

“i doubt you ate anything good while you were with the pogues. you need to get some real food.” rafe pulls into town, finding a parking spot that would fit his truck.

“rafe, it’s okay, i’ll eat at tanneyhill.” you say, but he just gets out of the truck and walks around to your side, yanking the door open and gesturing for you to get out.

“i see what you eat at tanneyhill. it’s never real meals unless it’s what rose makes, and she’s out tonight with my dad. just come on.”

you slide out of the truck, watching rafes back as he walks away, expecting you to follow. you stay a few feet behind him until rafe turns into a restaurant, again holding the door open for you as you duck inside. it’s not one you’ve been to before, probably because it’s out of your price range.

“just the two of you?” the hostess asks. rafe nods in response, and you’re quickly shown back to a table.

“rafe, i-i can’t afford this.” you say when looking at the menu. you can’t even afford just an appetizer. 

“you don’t think i know that, pogue?” rafe rubs his brow. “i’ve got it, just eat, please.”

you study the menu, opting for a simple chicken and fries, along with mozzarella sticks. afterall, rafe is paying. he orders a burger for himself, not even glancing at the waitress who took your orders, like she's beneath him.

“did ward put you in charge of me or something?” you ask after sitting in an awkward silence for a few minutes, waiting on your food to be brought out.

“i don’t want to be sharing a house with someone who is sick because they refuse to eat right.” rafe says. “i don’t want to find you passed out because you didn’t get enough food.” rafe leans back in his chair, glancing over you. “that would just be an inconvenience.”

“ah.” you nod, keeping your eyes on the empty place in front of you until your food is brought out. your stomach growls at the smell, not realizing how hungry you truly were, so used to going all day without a true proper hot meal, surviving on snacks and whatever else you could find.

you dig into your food, moaning when the melted cheese enters your mouth after biting down on the mozzarella stick.

“hey!” you shout when rafe reaches across the table and takes one of the sticks, biting the end of it off. 

rafe just grins at you while chewing, making you shake your head in laughter. you continue eating your meal, not even realizing that you just had a nice moment with rafe until later that night when you’re laying in bed, reflecting on your evening with rafe. he didn’t make a big fuss when paying for the bill, simply sat his credit card down and didn’t mention how you were broke, then drove you back to the house and bid you goodnight upon entering tanneyhill.

you press your cold fingers to your cheeks, willing them to settle down as you shift underneath the covers, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself, reminding yourself that one nice thing doesn’t mean rafe doesn’t hate you, afterall, like he said himself, he just doesn’t want you to be an inconvenience.

--

“mr. cameron, i really don’t want to impose!” you say, but ward just shakes his head. “nonsense, y/n. you’re coming with us.”

“let me help you with your hair, dear, come on.” rose ushers you towards her bedroom. you give wheezie a pleading look, but there’s nothing that she can say to get you out of going to midsummers, not now that ward is determined to have you come with them, showing off how generous and charitable he is by taking you in.

you sit still as rose patiently straightens your wavy hair, only to recurl it, pinning sections up until it’s mostly swept out of your face besides for a few face framing strands, then cascading down your back.

“rose-” you breath catches in the mirror. “you did amazing, thank you.” you turn to look at the woman. “i’ve never had my hair done like this before.” “you look beautiful, y/n. it’s a pleasure to have you with our family tonight. i think sarah is in her bedroom doing her makeup, maybe she can put some on you too.”

you nod and head towards sarahs room. you didn’t want to go at first and be surrounded by kooks, but now that you have no choice, you might as well enjoy feeling beautiful for one night. sarah already leant you a dress, but she agrees to do your makeup as well, keeping it light and fresh before helping you sort out putting on the dress.

you look in the mirror at yourself, unable to resist twirling, the fluttery skirt of the dress billowing up on the bottom. 

“girls, it’s time to leave!” you hear ward call, and you finish off the outfit with a flower crown of pale pink flowers to match your dress before rushing out of the room.

you head down the stairs, gripping the railing so you don’t stumble in your borrowed heels. 

rafe looks up, ready to chastise you for taking so long, when his breath catches in his throat, eyes going wide.

“not too bad for a pogue, huh?” you question.

“you look…” rafe trails off, his soft expression quickly being replaced with an angry one, stomping out of the room without finishing his sentence. you resist the urge to chase after him.

you don’t see rafe until hours later. you’ve been paraded in front of all of ward and roses country club friends, but you just put on a smile and boast about their generosity. you’re not sure if anyone can see through the fakeness, but ward seems pleased, and finally lets you stop mingling to rest your tired feet.

you watch the crowd from the camerons reserved head table, feeling like such an outsider, knowing this isn’t where you belong, and if you weren’t scrubbed clean and dressed like them, the kooks would be turning their nose up at you. at least rafe is decent enough to not try and hide his hatred behind a nice face.

you spot rafe in the crowd, whisky glass in hand as he talks to his friends, a bright smile on his face that gives you a funny feeling in your chest. you rub the spot with your hand, willing it to go away as people clear out from standing on the dance floor as the music starts, a few brave couples being the first one to begin swaying to the music. 

you watch as ward and rose dance, eyebrows raising up when they turn their attention to you. “y/n, come on!” 

you consider ruining having a place to stay and sleeping on the street tonight, but you’ve put on a good act so far, you can continue it for a bit longer. you smile and walk over to them, expecting to be shoved into the arms of some random kook boy, but instead you’re ushered to rafe.

“dance, you two!” rose calls, grabbing a champagne flute from a passing waiter.

rafe holds his hand out, looking at you expectantly. you hesitate to place your hand in his, making rafe sigh. 

“you don’t know how to dance, do you pogue?” he questions.

“maybe i just don’t want to with you.” you place your hand in his, letting him tug you closer, his other hand resting against your waist while you grab onto his shoulder. you follow rafes lead, matching your footsteps with his as he sways you around the floor, glad the song is soft and gentle so you can just move slowly.

“see, this isn’t so bad.” rafe says, looking down at you.

“could be worse i suppose.” you hum, keeping your gaze straight forward at rafes chest as the song comes to an end.

the lights dim, and a romantic song comes on. you go to pull away from rafe, but he keeps you close to him, wrapping both arms around your waist and leaving you no choice but to put your arms around his shoulders.

you look to see all the other couples pressed close together, women with their head against their mens chest, some even kissing in the low lighting.

“just relax.” rafe whispers. “you’re so tight you’re gonna snap.”

you let your body relax in his hold, not realizing that you were clenching almost every muscle in your body. your head falls against rafes chest as you dance, letting yourself close your eyes and be swept away in the loving lyrics of the song, once again daydreaming about if this was actually your life.

the song ends far sooner than you’d like, and the lights brighten again. the crowd claps for a moment, but you’re locked into rafes arms, both of you now standing completely still. you can hear his steady heartbeat against your cheek, his breathing slow and deliberate.

“you look beautiful tonight.” rafe says, making you jump, almost forgetting who you are, and who he is. “that’s what i didn’t say earlier.” rafe clarifies, face falling when you look up at him in horror. you pull away from his arms, instantly missing his warmth as you run as fast as your heels can carry you out of the crowd, needing to get away from the music and the man.

you look down at your borrowed dress. you would rip it off or roll in dirt if you didn’t have to give it back to sarah, hating that this is what rafe finds beautiful. when you’re primped up to look like one of them, not the real you.

you find a dark corner to sit in until the party starts to disperse, and when you find the cameron family again, rafe isn’t with them, and no one mentions it as you pile in the car to head back to tanneyhill.

--

“are you sure you don’t want to come out on the boat with us, y/n?” wheezie asks you, but you shake your head.

“i’m okay, i’ll just stay back and read. i don’t want to impose, enjoy some time as a family.” you can tell already from being at the camerons for three weeks that they rarely do things as a family, at least one person, usually rafe or sarah, being left out.

“alright, i guess it’s you and rafe staying home. lets go!” ward calls, ushering the girls out of the room.

“wait, what?” you call, but they’re already out the door. you thought for sure rafe was going with him. you haven’t spoken a single word to each other in the past three days since midsummers. he’s barely even been around, you’ve just caught glimpses as he left for the day or came home.

you make a late breakfast for yourself, deciding since you’re basically home alone to fry up some bacon. you’re too nervous to use the kitchen for anything more than grabbing a quick snack when rose or ward are home.

you hum to yourself as the oil sizzles in the pan, finishing cooking your meal when you hear heavy footsteps coming down the stairs.

“rose, is that bacon?” rafe calls, entering into the kitchen with just a pair of basketball shorts on, freezing when he sees you.

“they all left.” you say, swallowing and resisting the urge to let your eyes track all over his torso. “but um, i made extra if you want some.” “yeah, let me just put a shirt on.” rafe walks away and you take the opportunity to fan your face, dividing the bacon up between two plates and sitting down at the counter, starting to eat when rafe rejoins you in the room.

you both eat side by side in silence, and you’re glad to not be talking. you finish your food, going to put your plate in the dishwasher when rafe takes it from you and does it for you.

“thanks.” you say under your breath, going to turn away when rafe clears his throat. “what is it?” you question, voice coming out harsher than you meant it to.

“i’m going to golf today. did you want to come with me?” rafe asks, not meeting your gaze.

“i- i don’t know how to golf.” you say as your way of refusal.

“right.” rafe nods, letting his shoulders drop.

“dirty pogue, remember?” you question.

rafe doesn’t say another word, he doesn’t even look at you as he leaves the room. you watch him walk away before closing yourself in your room, only moving to peek out the window when you hear his truck start up, watching it speed away from the house.

--

“y/n, you have a visitor.” ward says, ushering you towards the front room. you stand up, confused, not sure who would be visiting. it’s not like you have any friends who would come to tanneyhill.

“dad!” you shout in surprise, seeing him standing in the foyer, looking out of place in his dirty shorts and tank top.

“hey, y/n.” he says casually, like it hasn’t been four weeks since he saw you last, shipping you off to stay with a kook while he fixed up the hurricane damage on your house.

“what are you doing here?” you question, looking to the base of the stairs where rafe is stood on the bottom steps, arms crossed and watching the interaction with a scowl on his face.

“i finished fixing up the house enough for you to come home.” 

“oh.” you nod. you’d completely forgotten in your time here that you were only staying for a month, and that of course your dad would be here to collect you. “let me just get my things.” you force yourself to turn away and rush up the stairs, letting a few tears slip. you don’t want to go back to staying in a broken down house, and you especially don’t want to stay with your dad, having to fend for yourself completely while he spends all your money on drinks at the bar, not even leaving you enough for food.

you head into your room, wiping away tears as you shove things into your bag, including some clothes sarah was going to donate but she gave to you instead.

you control your breathing and stop your tears before you head downstairs, making eye contact with rafe as you walk down, unable to read the emotion on his face.

“thank you again, mr and mrs cameron for letting me stay here.” you say politely, and the both pull you into awkward hugs. 

“and bye, wheezie.” you squeeze the teenager against you, whispering a promise to come back and hang out.

you turn to rafe as your father walks out the door. you can’t find any words, so you simply turn and leave.

--

“dad, i need to buy food.” you argue. “i’m starving!” “you just want to pig out on fast food! we have things here you can eat!” your dad slurs his words, gesturing to the broken down kitchen. there wasn’t as much done in the month that you were gone that you were hoping for. he’s cleaned up the hurricane damage in most of the rooms, but tree that fell onto your bedroom is still there, simply hidden by a closed door, relegating you to sleeping on the old couch.

you curse as your dad stumbles into his bedroom, opening the kitchen cabinets to look for something edible before landing on a packet of saltine crackers.

you take the packet outside along with a water bottle, needing to get away from that house and your father. you sit down on the swing hanging from a high tree branch, crunching on the crackers as you listen to the birds chirping.

the mockingbirds song is interrupted by the rumble of an engine, and you turn towards your driveway, shooting up to stand when you recognize the truck getting closer.

you walk towards the truck, confused at why rafe is here, wondering if maybe you left something at tanneyhill, but it’s already been two weeks since you left. maybe he only just now bothered to return it.

rafe gets out of the truck, his eyes wide as he takes you in.

“how are you already so skinny?” rafe questions, taking the saltine cracker out of your hand and looking at it with disdain. “is this all you have to eat?”

“rafe, what are you doing here?” you question, snatching the precious cracker back.

“i-fuck!” rafe runs both his hands through his hair, “i was worried! and look at you! is he feeding you at all?” “rafe, calm down. you’ll wake him up.” you try and shush him, but it just makes rafe angrier.

“wake him up? does he hurt you? y/n.” rafe grips your upper arms, staring you straight in the eye, needing to know if what he suspects is true.

“what? no, rafe. he just drinks then passes out, he’s never hit me.” you’re still confused why rafe is even here. 

“get in the truck, i’m getting you food.” rafe demands, and your mind says no, but your rumbling stomach has your feet moving. you climb into the passenger side, looking at your broken down home thats truly no more than a shack. you wonder what rafe must feel seeing it as he gets in and starts the truck, backing out of the driveway.

you bring your knees up to your chest, letting your head fall as you sob silently. rafe doesn’t realize that you’re crying until your body starts to shake. he stops the truck in the middle of the dirt road, not caring if it blocks anyone else.

“y/n?” rafe questions, unsure how to get you to stop crying, worrying that it’s his fault.

“i don’t wanna go back there.” you admit, looking up at rafe, letting him see the messy state you’re in.

“fuck it.” rafe sighs, unbuckling both of your seatbelts and pulling you onto his lap, wrapping his strong arms around you as you press your face into his shoulder, letting your tears run free, not caring about the wet stains you’re making on his clothes.

“it’s okay.” rafe rubs his hand up and down your back. “you don’t have to go back there. you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. i’m here.”

you cry harder, wrapping your arms around rafes waist, keeping yourself close to him, letting yourself find comfort in his arms.

“i’m here, y/n.” rafe whispers, pressing a kiss to your head.

you look up at him, tears still flowing down your face. “why? why are you here?” “i told you…” rafe cups your cheek, trying to wipe away the tears but they just keep flowing. “i was worried. i had to come check on you… please stop crying.”

rafes words do nothing to stop the deluge, and he’s starting to freak out, hating seeing you so upset, knowing you need some sort of distraction as your breathing speeds up, starting to hyperventilate until rafes lips are pressed against your own.

you’re momentarily confused, hesitating for a split second before kissing back, letting rafe dominate your mouth as you concede, the tears slowing to a stop as he keeps kissing you.

“rafe!” you gasp when he pulls away. “you just kissed me.” “i know.” rafe wipes his palms over your cheeks, and this time theres no fresh tears to replace it. “i care about you y/n. it’s why i came. i missed you.”

“oh, rafe.” you lean forward, letting him hug you tight, squeezing your bodies together.

“i’m here.” rafe whispers again, not letting you spiral, reminding you as many times as it takes that you’re not alone, that you have him now.

“now,” rafe gives your forehead a kiss, “we need to get you some real food. what are you hungry for? pizza?”

#sat down and wrote this all in one sitting #and did not proofread it #so like #im sorry if there are any mistakes in there #rafe fic #rafe fanfic #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe imagine #rafe one shot #rafe x y/n #rafe fluff #rafe angst #obx fic #obx fanfic #obx fanfiction #obx x reader #outer banks fic #outer banks fanfic #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron one shot

[inkskinned]

sometimes i think about the span of human existence and how if you spread your arms out in a long line and said my body is acting as a poem of all the universe's birthdays, the smallest sliver of your furthest nail would be our entire history as humans. and you, doing this, feeling your sternum crack into place because you're-getting-old and all of your bones crunch these days: you are the universe, measuring its own timeline. you're the memory of a starburst saying i gave birth to humans at the tip of my finger.

and i think about how crocodiles have been around for way longer than that fingernail and how sharks have been here forever too and how there are sea cucumbers that understand time like an angel would; their ages so astronomically long that i get dizzy looking down into them. i think about my dog, and how i am so fantastically ancient to him (an impossible number, staggering) and how, at the same time, i can order my life in eras of pets-i-have-loved and how my childhood died when my cat did.

and i wonder if the earth does the same thing, if nature keeps time in epochs. if the tree in the house where i grew up said oh a new family and got upset when one by one we all left for college and left behind our climbing and screaming and birdhouses. that same tree collapsed during a bad storm this winter; heartbroken. the whole inside was a hull, shivering and empty. it missed our roof by a whisper, almost like it held itself together so it couldn't pass a hole into the house it's been looking into for years now. the people who took it away clicked their teeth. it was a hundred years old, at least.

there are things that went extinct in my lifetime. there are memories that don't extend to the tip of the finger. four years ago, for the first time: i saw a bald eagle in the wild. ever since they've been sprouting strangely in my life, their origami frames hunched in a racket of brown feathers. something in the motion of wild animals braced against the new england weather - like we all (all of nature, all of the fingertip) have the same shared hate when it's cold sorrow. like in years and years and years of history we never really evolved a better method than to close your eyes and brace yourself against it.

i saw a butterfly today, staggering drunkenly in the early spring air. it's too early for her other friends. i want to tuck her back into bed and say it's not your time yet! her life like a pinprick in my own. in butterfly school they'd have to stretch out their scales and say - at the end of your furthest wing is where you are in the life of a human. she is in my life, isn't she. something about how my heart seized at the sight of her, so brave and lonely and unfair; and how it snowed yesterday (and will snow again, probably), and how, in spite of that, she was out there and flying.

something about waking up this morning and thinking - i'm too old for this. how my hips and knees and back all make new noises. how the other day at a grocery store i picked up the gloves an older woman had dropped, how she'd laughed and thanked me - i can't bend down like you young folks anymore.

something about the theory that there's been no visible life on other planets because we are too early. that we are the first butterfly of spring. all this bravery. we know it is probably hopeless, and still we go. breathless, the same tactic - we brace against the cold.

#spilled ink #sat down to write about you #wrote about how crocodiles can climb trees oops

[tunastime]

do androids dream of electric sheep?

I am nothing if not a vessel for self-indulgent docsuma, especially @shepscapades's dbhc self-indulgent docsuma. sometimes you fall asleep in the lab, and sometimes your friend feels compelled to make sure you're okay <3

(3964 words)

Doc sometimes slips into daydream.

It’s not unlike him. He’d been doing it for some time now, some fix halfway between awake and Sleep Mode. Not quite his mind palace, but still wedged into predictive processes, still trying to work to replay memories. In quiet moments, more often than not, he finds that it’s easier to slip away, to tuck himself into his work, drafting, or building, or walking thoughtful circles and let the mechanical parts of his mind slip away into calculation.

In those same dreams, he tries to calculate the probability of events with what he has, blocking out the movements of who he knows best, who he may be able to pinpoint. He works in quiet as his mind runs in the background, wondering how conversations may go, how actions could be perceived. He maps what might happen if someone got hurt, or if someone needed help, or if someone fell asleep in the lab. Someone. Just anyone. He tells himself it could be anyone, but he would be lying if he didn’t know who.

It was hard, right—it felt wrong if he didn’t. Something he was designed to do, put to waste because it felt silly to imagine waking his lab partner, his friend, making sure he was alright, helping him. Was it wrong to want to be helpful? Was it wrong to want anything? It feels—it’s silly. Want was such a human word. He’s not sure he can really want at all. The paper in front of him is getting fuzzy around the edges, though, as he forces himself back into his true waking mode, and focuses on the task in front of him, now a line of text in his eyesight.

Doc leans hard on his hand, cupped around the side of his jaw as he studies the plans in front of him. He’s long since set them to memory, easily recalled with the summon of command, but he works out the fine details of the draft in front of him, still unsatisfied with his new creation. He works quietly, mentally mapping the lists of supplies he might need, the time it may take. If he were to concentrate the slightest bit more on the display in the corner of his vision, he might note how late it had gotten. Without any windows down here, the night sky can’t leak in, which means Doc doesn’t know it’s gotten dark until Xisuma starts to yawn or he manages to peek outside. 

He sets his pad down, eyes skimming the surface. Right, and where was X, anyway? The space, ever growing, up, down, sideways, that he used as his lab had gone still and quiet some time ago. Enough for Doc to take note of. Enough to be a little odd, he would assume, even for him, and the behaviors he knows well from Xisuma. Xisuma didn’t just wander off without a word—he was much too narrative for that. Doc sits up, hand falling to the table. 

“X?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows. The room stays quiet, aside from the hum of recirculating air and electronics. Doc taps his hand against the table—it was some sort of tic he’d picked up from Ren, a sign of his impatience. He couldn’t shake the habit of mimicking it while he was thinking.

Okay, right. Last time he saw X. He gathers up the recall of the path Xisuma would’ve taken from his side, checking over his work at Doc’s request, and around the lab itself, looping back to a series of benches to work on. Leaning from his spot, he tries to pinpoint the peek of green helmet or shoulder piece. He finds neither in the direct line of sight, though, and slowly, bracing his prosthetic arm on the table, Doc stands. 

It’s a gentle quiet that fills the room, nice and easy and soft to step through as Doc makes his way around the space. Despite having another work bench quite close, Xisuma had a habit of leaving his stuff about, flitting between projects as he saw fit. It was interesting, sometimes, to watch him move around the room—not that Doc had done any of that. He seemed to bounce from point to point, sometimes staying still for hours, unmoving, lost in work. It was in those hours that Doc found himself watching, just for a moment, studying the shallow curve of his nose and the way his hair fell into his face from behind his helmet. 

His office is here, too. Though it’s no different than any other working space in terms of equipment, the space itself is fully outfitted, lined with tools and a large work table, his computer, a desk with a chair. Through the glass, he can see the shape of Xisuma at his desk, likely too caught up in whatever he had been working on to notice Doc’s concern. Doc pauses as he slides open the door, standing in the doorway, announcing himself to the cluttered room.

“Xisuma,” Doc starts. “I know it’s late, if you want to head home, I’m sure I can finish…”

Xisuma is slumped over on  his desk as Doc enters. There’s a brief moment, no more than a second, where Doc’s mind spins a scenario hard and fast, the crumpled shape of Xisuma over his desk. But he can see the slow rise and fall of his shoulders. He registers the slow, steady heartbeat in Xisuma’s chest, and his shoulders sag with relief. He stands in the doorway for a moment. Xisuma looks small, head pillowed on his arms. He’s still running a series of code on the console next to him, which illuminates the back of his head in pale lines of data. His hair falls half loose across his shoulder, like he’d forgotten to finish tying it away from his face, and the slow, deep breaths make it seem like he’d been sleeping here a lot longer than Doc realized. He’s without his helmet, too, which sits beside him on the desk, discarded.

Long enough to get a sore neck and complain about his upper back hurting. Long enough to worry that he might not be getting enough oxygen. Doc sets his shoulders. There’s something in his chest that feels like it skips—regulator, pump, or otherwise. They work in tandem to produce whatever fluttery feeling invades the space where his ribs should be. He presses the heel of his synthetic hand against the depression of his chest, rolling his wrist. The feeling fades for a moment, shuddering through his wrists like it might rest there. He was never going to get used to it, was he?

He steps into the lab proper, sticking his hands into his pockets. He picks his way around the room, trying to walk quietly around it. Xisuma stays asleep, shoulders rising and falling in that even tempo. Doc crouches beside him—Xisuma is properly slumped, back curved forward as he rests. What little Doc can see of his face is soft with sleep, eyelids fluttering just so. When X doesn’t move, he rests his palm over the curve of his shoulder, gentle and slow. He tries not to focus on the fact that so much of his face is exposed to him, aside from just his eyes and the bridge of his nose. He’s seen him before, briefly, every so often, but it was so different watching him now, calm and comfortable. Doc forces himself to focus.

“Xisuma,” he says, voice dipping low and quiet. He runs his hand over the part of his shoulderblade he can reach. He pats the high of his back. “Xisuma, hey…”

X takes a long breath in, making a squeaky sort of sound high in his chest. Doc feels him hum out from under his hand.

“Doc,” he says, voice rumbling in his chest. It was a tired sort of rumble, just on the edge of being rough with sleep, just enough to bring that feeling back to Doc’s internal components, like thirium was sludging too quick too warm through him. He huffs a little breath, a sound caught in his throat.

“You fell asleep at your desk, X,” Doc says, not able to weasel the amusement out of his voice. He runs his hand over his back again, just to see Xisuma’s eyes open tiredly, and shut again. It was so unlike the version of him that he knew in his mind, seeing him savor the brief contact, even from Doc. Especially from Doc. Xisuma was always the one reaching out for him, repairing or correcting or studying. All with purpose. There was no lingering touch between them. And though this had its purpose too, Doc lingered, feeling Xisuma breathe under his hand. 

“Sorry,” X mumbles, finally moving to lift his head, to open his eyes. Doc’s hand slides away as X sits up, over his back and back to Doc’s side. Xisuma blinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his hands. A frown comes between his eyes as he tries to focus the world around him a little clearer. Like it were mimicking the score across his cheek and nose, there’s a fine indent pressed into his cheek. Doc smiles at him, scrunching his nose in a way he’s seen X do a hundred times. 

Xisuma jolts, half reaching for the helmet beside him. If Doc were to really look, he might see the pink-red flush over his cheeks and ears.

“Sorry—I didn’t…”

There he lingers, halfway to reaching. Doc looks away from him, purposefully averting his eyes.

“I don’t mind,” he says. “You have to be comfortable too.”

Xisuma hums, smiling a little, hanging his head as he leaves his hand on the table.

“Hah,” he says, ears still pink. “Right. Sorry, sorry, Doc. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “I didn’t know where you had gone off to, so I figured I would come make sure you were okay.”

X nods. Doc watches him twist around, hearing the faint give and pop as his spine adjusts to sitting upright. 

“‘M alright,” he says. Then he laughs a bit—the sound is airy and half in his chest, enough to shake his shoulders but more of a wheeze than anything else. Everything fit so well to the timbre of Xisuma’s voice, it seemed, be it the way he moved about, or the way he laughed, or the way his shoulder sloped or face was shaped. Not that Doc had been looking. Regardless, Xisuma sighs, and smiles back at him.

“Just embarrassed is all,” he manages. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate you.”

X leans back in his chair. Doc watches him resettle and hum to himself as he gets comfortable against the plush backing. Doc makes a clipped sound, reaches out and moves away again, halfway between shaking him awake and letting him sleep.

“X,” he says. “Would it not be more comfortable if you were sleeping in your spare room?”

Xisuma frowns. 

“Would be,” he says, eyes still closed, mumbling. “It just gets awfully cold in there. ‘N if I’m perfectly comfortable in here, why not stay tha’way?”

It’s almost amusing, the trickle of stubbornness that leaks into the tired slur of Xisuma’s voice. It’s almost endearing. He watches X fold his arms over his chest, armor only partly discarded, watches his face wrinkle as he notices and tries to rearrange himself. Doc smiles, something that he simply can’t help—it feels so right, considering how ridiculous this is. He considers his options and weighs the success rates, the action taking a fraction of a second in time, though the scene plays out in his head in full.

“Because you’ll hurt your back,” Doc says plainly. X frowns, clearly mulling it over. There—that’s one that Doc knows, that face, where X slips into thought and worries the inside of his cheek and works his jaw. Doc raises his eyebrows, as if to question him without saying anything, without Xisuma even looking at him.

“Mhh,” Xisuma huffs. He pulls his knees up. Somehow, he manages to fit himself into his desk chair, curling his tall body over his knees and leaning sideways into the back. Doc hums, makes the approximation of the sound he knows.

“Xisuma,” he says. “I’m not going to let you sleep in that chair, you know. You are being stubborn.”

“M‘kay, okay…” Xisuma wheezes, finally uncurling himself.

It takes him a second. Watching Xisuma stretch and blink awake is like watching him come to life. He stretches up and around, face pulling as he likely unsuccessfully shakes the tension from the line of his spine. As he twists, he freezes, face scrunching all at once as he winces, hand shooting up to cup his neck.

“Ow. Jeez.”

He can see it tight in his shoulders and neck, even as X deflates, looking up at him blearily, still slightly slumped in his chair. His eyes shut again. 

“Xisuma…” Doc says, mouth twisting.

X sighs.

“‘M fine, Doc,” he manages to murmur out. “Just’a sore neck. Mm’exhausted.”

“Sounds like you need a real bed, mm?” Doc replies, setting his hands on his hips. Xisuma peeks at him, one eye opening, and shutting again.

He sees the fraction of a smile lift the corners of X’s mouth.

“Sure, sure…”

Doc looks over Xisuma’s face. With his eyes shut, face softening, hair tumbling over one shoulder, he looks comfortable. It’s as if someone took a brush to his features and smoothed out any hard edge—either that, or the static has leaked back into Doc’s vision. He feels a chug in his chest and his joints as he locks up.

X hasn’t moved. Doc reaches out, tapping his knee. Xisuma huffs, clearly startled from the half-sleep he’d drifted back into.

“Too tired t’stand,” he manages. Doc makes a questioning noise.

“I think you can make it,”

There’s a beat of silence. Xisuma cracks an eye open again, shuts it, furrowing his eyebrows. Doc watches him curiously, mind running through the list of possible scenarios. He’s made it part way when Xisuma says:

“‘M using you t’stand, then.”

And he makes a little, amused heh, before he says:

“That’s fine.”

There’s something he means to say alongside that, but as soon as X’s very warm, very human hand makes contact with the fabric of his lab coat and the cool synthetic of his arm, he loses focus. He should be used to this—the amount of times X has performed his routine maintenance, sweeping his hands over the replaced shoulder joint to check for seams, or made sure the regulator functioned, or backed up personal data, fingers skimming the shallow port at the back of his neck. He should be, but that contact alone sends a prickling-warm jolt up his arm. It feels foreign to let the touch linger. But Xisuma lingers regardless, hand flat against the space where Doc’s left ribs should be. He’s gone from holding, to simply sitting there, arm bent at the elbow, held weakly up. 

“Mrghh…” he complains. Doc taps his elbow, trying to jolt him back awake.

“C’mon, X, you can get up.”

X shakes his head slowly, his hand finding the inner curve of his prosthetic arm, squeezing just once, like he’s remembering it’s there. Then, X leans into him, all at once, slumping into his chest. Doc lets out a wouf in surprise. He holds still, aside from the simulated breath in his chest. After a moment, Xisuma makes a small, tired sound, almost like a laugh.

“Houfh,” he mumbles. “I, mm, don’t…don’t think ‘m gonna make it, Doc.”

“Mhm…” Doc chides. 

Xisuma laughs again, lying still for a moment, voice still heavy with sleep. There’s a moment where he shifts, and there’s a small, painful noise that he makes.

“Ow, mrrgh—ow, okay—” he gripes. Doc’s synthetic hand finds the curve of his shoulder, patting gently.

“Oh, X—just…stay still, mhm?”

“Mm,” Xisuma says tiredly, “Alright.”

As much as he wants to move him, X is still wearing that damn armor.

Doc lets him lean into his chest as he tries to weasel off the bits of armor left over. It’s a struggle, keeping X comfortable and trying not to pull him around awkwardly, while trying to remove his chestplate with one hand. Once the armor pulls away, he resettles him, slowly scoops one hand under his legs. Something about this, about the way Xisuma leaned heavy into him, felt so painfully human he feels it curl up between the wires connecting his regulator to his side fans.

“Ready?” he says, mostly to the top of Xisuma’s head.

“Mmh…” X murmurs.

He hefts him into his arms, settling him against his chest. When Xisuma sighs, it’s profound and heavy and he tucks his face into Doc’s coat. Doc can feel the remnant of heartbeat from where his arm rests behind his back, thudding away behind his ribs. His breathing stays even, though shallow. One of Xisuma’s hands clasps over the back of his neck, keeping him still.

It’s a careful walk to Xisuma’s spare room. Doc is careful not to bump anything, measuring the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he walks. He drifts back to sleep, though, through the lab, through Doc shutting the lights off. He’ll have to come back through to power down their various computers, but for now, the dull white-blue glow illuminates the room. He carries him into the halls and through and to his room. It’s smaller than the room in his base by a sizable margin—just enough for the essentials. X stirs as Doc pauses to flip on the lamp, the light warm and yellow briefly illuminating the room. This can’t be a daydream, now, with the way X sighs and wriggles himself free as Doc pulls back the quilts and lets him down. He sits down with him, and the warm shape that Xisuma makes curls toward him, just a fraction, as he pulls the blankets over him. 

Part of Doc knows that Xisuma won’t remember him carrying him to bed, or making sure he was warm, or keeping the light on so he wasn’t disoriented when he woke. Xisuma sighs, sinking into the pillows, expression relaxed and content. Doc hums.

“That’s better, yeah?” Doc says. He reaches out, instinct, want, desire, something, hammering away in his chest, as he brushes hair from X’s face, tucking it behind his ear. He brushes through the hair close to the base of his neck, across his cheek with his synthetic thumb. His dark hair is fine and soft and it must be a daydream—or it isn’t and he was right, because there have been moments like this in his head. Wondering if Xisuma would let himself succumb to soft comforts. He’s spent his own share of time lying next to him, ignoring the way Xisuma curls up next to him, pretending he himself didn’t move closer when Xisuma lies still. It was this dance that Doc didn’t understand, that he wasn’t sure if he was overthinking. Or overstepping. But Xisuma shifts, pressing his cheek to Doc’s synthetic palm, and Doc suppresses a shudder. It sparks something that could’ve been painful right up his arm and through his chest, bright and warm and staticky. 

Doc hums, smiling to himself. Something like a dull thrum knocks in that space of his pump, pushing itself a little further, a little harder. It was sweet. X trusts him, not only to see him without his armor, but to help him to bed, to help him sleep. But Doc lifts his hand away, feeling that ache, the nervous shudder through his system.

X makes a sound, then, something small, eyes fluttering as Doc pulls away. Doc pauses.

“Mhh,” X manages. Doc swallows—he shouldn’t have to. That’s not something he should have to do, or be able to do, but the action just feels appropriate. It goes right along with sighing and laughing, and as he does it, Xisuma says:

“Thanks,” in a small, soft voice, and, muffled, and slightly slurred with sleep: “Didn’t have’ta stop.”

“You’re supposed to be sleeping, Xisuma,” Doc says. He can feel his temperature tick up several notches, no doubt a blue flush coming to the high of his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. He laughs, just a bit. “Did I wake you up?”

X sighs, stretching as he does.

“No,” he manages. “No, y’didn’t…”

“Oh,” Doc says. “Were you awake this whole time?”

Xisuma nods slowly. Ah. Ah. Doc dismisses a temperature notification.

“A little.”

“Mm,” Doc hums. “Silly Xisuma.”

Xisuma laughs. The sound is high and a little fuzzy and a bit caught in his throat. His bright eyes blink up at him and shut again as a smile settles on his face. 

“Doc?” he asks. 

“Mhm?”

Xisuma yawns, smothering it with the back of his hand, just barely. He tucks that hand close to his chest, curling up further still under his thick comforter. 

“Could you…could’you do tha’again? The…” Xisuma lifts his hand, miming a brushing motion as he does. Another temperature warning, higher than the last, blips into Doc’s field of vision. It’s immediately dismissed, but he pulls in a breath, quiet, trying to turn it into a soft laugh.

“I can do that,” Doc says gently. Gingerly, he brushes his fingers through X’s hair, sliding back against his head. He combs through, lifting his hand to go back to his forehead, back to cradle his skull. X’s eyes fall closed again.

Doc can tell the moment that Xisuma truly slips into sleep. He lingers in his space, tracing out the base of his skull with his thumb, taking in the sensation of warmth and contact and stimulation, fingers flickering white up to his wrist. He wishes biting down on his tongue would do anything. He wishes that the hollow of his chest didn’t hold a weight that no diagnostic could fix. He felt too awkward and stilted and not nearly gentle enough. But as Xisuma stays asleep, he draws his hand away. He mumbles his good nights as he stands slowly, shutting out the light and wandering from the room. 

He makes his way back into the lab. He replays the memory of Xisuma’s small smile, the fine line of his scar as he’d pressed his face into the pillow, the way he’d relaxed against Doc’s touch. He replays the memory, again, and again. It has to be a daydream. Has to be. There’s no other logical explanation to all of that.

Maybe that would explain the ache in his chest, far too human to be his own.

Doc goes back to work. He sits down at the lab table, spreading his arms as he braces against the white tabletop. He furrows his eyebrows. Something doesn’t feel right, too warm or out of place. He feels gross. Not gross bad, maybe, gross different? Broken? Not broken, maybe. Weird. Wrong. Out of place. It doesn’t make any sense. Or it has, and he’s refusing the obvious answer. Xisuma didn’t ask for any reason. Xisuma asked because he was tired, and tired people do silly things, and silly people are a handful, and Xisuma is a handful—a lovely one. Doc shuts his eyes. His chest hurts. It’s an awful hurt, actually, less painful than it is just weird. He thinks for a moment he might be better off if he left, maybe the weight of whatever lingered in his memory would be better off if he were to take a break from standing in the same spaces. 

He sends Xisuma a message. From his office, he hears his com ping.

Docm77 whispered to you… Xisuma I’m stepping out, sleep well :-)

#hermitcraft dbh au #dbhc #docsuma #docm77 #xisumavoid #dbhc doc #dbhc xisuma #hermitcraft fic #hermitshipping #mcyt fic #fics #text #i crumple into a pile of ash and dust on the ground #i am blown away by the wind #i'd like to thank theo hitheeprithee and sam artsy book for express shipping this fic #i sat down and edited in like an hour post dinner and iam so so sleepy #but alas i must post. it is required #shepherd if you're out there and you see this i never forgor about the one time i wrote them #oh this is incredibly self-indulgent #and i care them so badly #please let them kiss. please. pl--

[raiiny-bay]

the kids released a new album

#ts4 #simblr #ts4 edit #ts4 render #sims 4 #myedits #AUverse #dhestyn #kelly #ok i actually have things to say about this #FIRST OF ALL this is not what i intended to make when i sat down & started working on the bandAU #i had this big elaborate thing planned & then i realized... i didn't wanna do it. at least. not right now lol #idk why i think everything i make needs to be so elaborate & involved bc it doesn't?? like where did i get that idea from? #i can just make something small & silly sometimes yk #n e way. this is like. one of the kids' albums i guess? my thought is that dhes wrote it/was in charge of it #that's why he's on the cover. #kel writes most of their albums (w help from the others ofc) but dhes really wanted to try writing one & this is what came of it #most of the titles don't actually mean anything. they're just like. random words i thought dhes would use lol #but the first 3 are references to the canonverse #also i originally wanted to have dhes shirtless bc 1. symbolism of like vulnerability? #but also 2. i thought the lighting would look pretty against his skin #BUT he has a death note tattoo right there between his shoulder blades & i just.......... could not take him seriously like that so #he had to keep his clothes on

[kabukiaku]

Hi! I don't know if you ask questions from anybody, but the point is I have questions about Ghost's singer...Uhm...Is Omega his name? And why does he have a white eye in his left part of his face? And what's the meaning of his collar? I'm deeply intrigued, seriously. <3

(i need to answer my asks more lol.)

OKAY. so, the frontman is referred to Papa Emeritus, they're like, the anti-pope. The accompanying tour members are referred to the Nameless Ghouls. The white eye was actually due to the fact that Tobias Forge, (the brains behind the band and the themes) couldn't wear both contacts due to it irritating his eyes.

so, only one stayed on, and it became iconic af.

the one you're probably referring to is Papa Emeritus III, or Terzo as we fans like to call him.

Omega is the masked musician you see here. :) He's named Omega due to the fact that he has the Omega symbol on his guitar:

my pookie. my dearly beloved.

The symbol on Papa's suit the Grucifix, or the unholy cross, really a staple symbol for the band. it changes every era, but always remains as a stylized 'G' resembling an upside down cross.

The band is parodying the Catholic Church, thus explaining the papacy, silly satanic cardinals, concerts being referred to 'rituals', deliciously sinful lyrics, and the Ghost Ministry social media accounts always starting off new announcements with [MESSAGE FROM THE CLERGY].

I highly recommend checking out their music! It's a mix of metal, arena rock, prog rock, pop metal, and even a song with a reggaeton beat...im not joking.

Let me know if you have any more questions, I'll be happy to answer. :)

#ask kabuki #willdarknessblog #i really sat down and nearly wrote an essay about ghost. #the band ghost #ghost band

[waz-glowstone-here]

Finally got the determination to watch a Joe Hills episode for the first time pretty much ever and noticed him streaming like 2 minutes before his stream ended. His glasses and shirt and kind of hair are transparent, and now the end of his stream is glitching out for me so that it's on an infinite loop of "keep adventurin'...stop- streamin'" in irregular intervals which has been going on for me as I type this post. Is this the Joe Hills experience?

#/pos #joe hills #joe #I kind of like this experience #i want the keep adventurin stop streamin to continue forever #i don't know if it'll stop if I X out of the tab :( #also I say pretty much because technically I HAVE watched a Joe video before but it was the video where he sat down and wrote fanfiction in #a Minecraft book and quill #and also that was several years ago when I watched it #so I don't remember much

[glimmeringtwilight]

Playing Nice | Yandere Scaramouche x Reader

this wasn't even intended to be a fic but here we are. modern au scaramouche wooo. This was spurred on by a conversation with a friend about what job scaramouche would have in a modern au. She made a very compelling argument for marketing

CW: alcohol use (reader gets drunk), yandere themes, implied captivity, drugging mention

Word count: 3.1k

Scaramouche is a terrible coworker. 

You both work in marketing, and though he's the department lead and technically your boss, he has no jurisdiction to actually fire you, as much as he may threaten it.

He's been more insufferable as of late, though. Constantly nitpicking your work, berating you if you show up even a minute late to meetings– and even then, most days it's because he sends you out on a fool's errand, last minute, before the meeting. You know he does it on purpose so he has an excuse to heckle you once you step into the meeting room, but you've decided on malicious compliance at this point.

Just last week, even, Miko called you into her office to discuss your tardiness because Scaramouche had some complaints. When you explained– as professionally as you could with Scaramouche glaring daggers at you– what the real reason for you being late to meetings (and sometimes even missing them entirely) was, Miko merely tittered and smiled knowingly.

You were sent back to your desk, listening to Scaramouche arguing with the boss through the door as it shut behind you. At the time, you'd wondered where he found the balls to do it. Though Miko's never been outright cruel to you, something about her makes you nervous.

Later, when you'd ranted about it to Sara in the breakroom, she'd told you it's because he's related to the CEO. It explains a lot. Namely: how he hasn't been fired yet or recieved anything more than a writeup or two after the dozens of complaints you've filed with HR.

You'd considered quitting. Multiple times. Scaramouche is, for lack of a kinder word, a prick.

...But. The pay is good, the benefits are phenomenal, and when you'd gone searching for jobs, none of them paid even half as much as your current one for this position. So, begrudgingly, you stay.

Miko even offered you a substantial raise when she gave you your first yearly review, as "acknowledgement for your professionalism and work ethic." You know how to read between the lines. "Thanks for putting up with him. Play nice," she means.

Maybe Miko thinks it's funny, watching Scaramouche burst a blood vessel over you. You honestly don't care. If she's going to pay you extra for tolerating him, you're not going to look it in the mouth.

It's not like Scaramouche is the worst possible coworker you could have. He's passive aggressive, sure. He's arrogant. He's got a fuse that's roughly the size of a hangnail. But his backhanded comments don't cut you anymore, and you're sure you’ve had worse coworkers– ones you weren't paid extra to play nice with.

Frankly, it's less his attitude and more the way he... fixates. Sure, he's miserable to just about everyone in the office, but you're not blind to the way he singles you out. He's even told you, once, when you asked him to have someone else do the coffee run, that you're the only one here who does an acceptable job.

Not a good job, no. He posits that only he can meet his own impossible standards (and you're inclined to agree, frankly), but that such things are beneath him and he doesn't have the time for it. Heizou jokes that he must have a crush on you, or something, because Scaramouche goes out of his way to pester you more than anyone else in the office.

"In fact, he actually used to keep to himself before you came along," He tells you, nudging your side and grinning as you pick at a lackluster tuna salad. As though you're supposed to find the thought of Scaramouche having a crush on you endearing.

You're sure it's not a crush, though. Scaramouche treats you like the bane of his existence– that's not how you treat a crush unless you're an angsty fourth grader. You think he just has some petty, asinine reason to dislike you, and it's not in his nature to get over it.

Then, one day, as though the universe had finally had enough of your plight, you hear the best news you've heard in your year-and-a-half of working at the company:

Scaramouche put in his two weeks.

Apparently, a headhunter from some big-shot startup had sought him out, offered him a high-paying position– a job with actual power to fire people on the spot. You know he doesn't deserve it. You already pity the poor souls who will have to work under him. But you still celebrate, and lie through your teeth with a grin as you pat him on the back and congratulate him on the job.

You don't ask him the company name, the details of his position, the specifics of his pay. You don't care about any of that. What matters most to you is that he's leaving.

For his part, the excitement of a new job wore off the day after he put in his two weeks.

He became... agitated. About what, you didn't know, but Scaramouche was constantly on edge during his last few weeks at the company. You didn't let it get to you, though– if anything, he was a lot more tolerable than he's ever been. He stopped singling you out as much, stopped berating you for minor mistakes, stopped hovering by your desk to correct spelling errors on whatever it was you were currently working on.

But watching the same man that would constantly berate you just... stare blankly out the windows towards the skyline, or at the wood grain of his desk... it was a little unsettling. After about a week of his weird, silent brooding, you decided to be nice to him for his last week at the company.

Not that you were ever mean to him, no! You were civil to him, no matter how much he tested you. But only just.

And besides, after this week you wouldn't see him ever again, outside the rare occasion he might visit his... whatever Miko is to him, at the office. The moping was starting to bother you anyways.

So, every day this week you've gone out of your way to bring him coffee in the morning, making sure to get his order right every time. He gives you a strange look each time you bring it to him, and stares at you from across the room for a full minute before even taking a sip of it, but you try to ignore it. He probably thinks you slipped laxatives into it (tempting, but you know better).

Then, on his last day, as you set the coffee down on his desk and are met with that same look, you tell him you'll miss him around the office.

You won't actually, but he doesn't need to know that. The bleeding heart in you does feel bad for him, as miserable as he is. He probably doesn't have many friends.

So... Even if it is a lie, you'll let him think he'll be missed. And you don't mention that you're definitely going to open a bottle of champagne once you get home after today.

But then he does something you don't expect.

"Have dinner with me."

You blink. "....Huh?"

Scaramouche's eyes narrow with obvious annoyance and he opens his mouth like he's about to snap at you, but then stops himself. You watch, dumbfounded, as he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose and repeats himself. "Have dinner with me."

"Why?" You fire back immediately, forgetting your vow to be as nice as possible to him. He must see the distrust on your face, because he backpedals.

"Not like that, idiot. A celebration dinner. You're free to invite anyone you like, I don't care." He waves his hand dismissively at the rest of the office, at Sara and Heizou, the latter of which you know is listening to this conversation.

You must be hesitating a beat too long, because Scaramouche adds, "It's on me."

"Deal."

He nods, mumbles a quiet "I'll drive you after work," then turns his attention pointedly away from you and back towards his monitor, signaling the conversation is over. You know him well enough by now not to be bothered.

When you sit down at your own desk and glance at Heizou, he immediately shakes his head. "I'll pass. As tempting as it is, I plan to celebrate on my own tonight."

You barely even glance at Sara before she pipes up, "No thanks."

You sigh. It looks like it'll just be you and your insufferable coworker, then. You could phone a friend, sure, but many of them work nights, and you don't think Scaramouche is willing to wait. At the very least, you'll take advantage of his sudden kindness as a means of getting free drinks.

A reward for your patience, you think. And penance for him being such a prick in the year you've known him.

So, when the day ends, you gather your things and head out into the parking lot, spotting Scaramouche by his car. He's leaning against the driver-side door, looking at his phone, and he doesn't even look up as you approach. Just jabs his thumb in the direction of the passenger seat and opens his own door.

You get in after him, buckling in and trying not to bristle when he props an arm behind your headrest to reverse out of his spot– the only spot with shade, and the one he insisted was only to be used by him. You can't wait to park in his spot every day after he leaves.

As you sit stiffly in the passenger seat and Scaramouche sets off in the direction of whatever restaurant it was he had in mind, you're struck by how... weird it is. You've known him for a year and a half, and you've never interacted with him outside of work, but he invites you to a celebration dinner out of the blue on his last day.

...Well. As long as you don't let him touch anything you eat or drink you'll be fine. You don't think he has it in him to drug you, but he is probably petty enough to slip laxatives into someone's food or drink. You can't put it past him, honestly.

Besides, you've already resolved that you're going to thoroughly celebrate his leaving. And if he's willing to pay for it? All the better.

His car is expensive, and surprisingly pristine. It looks like he hardly uses it, and it still has that new car smell– as well as something minty you can't quite place, but you don't see any air fresheners anywhere.

Still. The ride is awkward. Scaramouche drives in complete silence– doesn't try to make small talk, doesn't even spare you a glance. You're kind of afraid to ask him to turn on the radio, not wanting to sour his good mood and have him kick you out of his car, or something. So you sit in silence.

When you get to the restaurant, Scaramouche doesn't even wait for you before stepping out, and you rush to get out as well before the doors automatically lock on you. He's already halfway up the stairs leading to the entrance as you jog up to him, and if you didn't know any better, it's like he's trying to get away from you.

Still. You bite your tongue.

The two of you step into the restaurant and your jaw almost drops. It's... obviously expensive. You didn't look at the name before you entered, too busy catching up to your coworker, but from the decor to the way everyone seated at the tables is dressed, you can tell that he's taken you to a high-end restaurant.

He must want to show off, you think. He's getting a substantial pay raise, so you're not too surprised. But it doesn't ease the slight burn of embarrassment you feel at how... underdressed you are. You're just in your normal work clothes– a dress shirt and some black jeans that could almost pass as slacks.

Scaramouche, of course, is dressed appropriately. But only because he always dresses like that. You used to wonder why he would wear such expensive clothes to his regular office job, but as you watch the hostess greet Scaramouche with familiarity and ask, "your usual table?" you're beginning to understand why. Does he just... eat here after work? On a regular basis? You can't imagine him coming here on dates, with how high his standards are for everything else. 

The two of you are seated at a quiet booth in the back, too large for just two people, but Scaramouche doesn't seem to care about that fact. He immediately orders for the both of you without glancing at the menu, as well as a bottle of wine, and waves the waiter off with a blasé sort of impatience that would have made your hackles rise if you still worked in food service.

Then, once the waiter's out of sight, Scaramouche leans back comfortably against the booth and stares at you.

You glance around uncomfortably and realize the other tables are empty. ...Maybe you should have forced Heizou or Sara to come, after all.

"So," He starts, and you jolt a little as he breaks the silence between you two for the first time since getting in the car with him. "You're going to miss me, huh?"

You're confused, at first. But then you remember the comment you made earlier. "...Yeah. It's going to be weird not having you there at the office." Peaceful, you leave unsaid.

He hums, a small, satisfied smile crawling onto his face, and you bite your tongue.

He doesn't say anything else, and, in fact, seems unbothered by the tense silence. You sit there unsure of yourself until the waiter comes back with the food and the bottle of wine as well as two wine glasses.

Scaramouche waits until you're a bite into your meal to speak again.

"Do you want to be my assistant?"

You almost choke on the bite you'd taken, sputtering and swallowing harshly to croak out, "W-What?"

He pours you a glass of wine and hands it to you, watching as you gulp down two large sips of wine to settle your coughing. You wish the waiter would have brought water, as well, but he's already left and you don't think many of the service staff check back here; especially not if Scaramouche treats them like he does his coworkers.

"I'll pay you double what you currently make," He continues, once you've stopped coughing.

"...Why me?"

"Because you do your job, and you do it well. What other reason do I need?"

"Oh," You mutter lamely, and take a slow sip of wine, holding the glass with both hands so you have something to occupy them.

Scaramouche watches you in silence, tapping his finger impatiently against the table. You realize there's no getting out of answering this.

"I... appreciate the offer," You start, smiling as kindly as you can manage when his eye twitches and he turns his head the other way, clearly no longer listening, "But no thank you. I like my current job, and money isn't a concern of mine right now."

You couldn't pay me nearly enough to work under you, you think.

Your coworker huffs, rolling his eyes. "Fine. Suit yourself."

The rest of your meal is spent in silence, with you uncomfortably downing probably three glasses of wine just to alleviate your nerves. You know you shouldn't drink quite so much, but Scaramouche tops off your glass before you can even finish it without batting an eye, and you're trying your hardest to make the best of this night.

The alcohol helps, at least. You loosen up, filling the silence with idle small talk, which Scaramouche half-assedly reciprocates. He looks mildly annoyed by your chattiness but it doesn't deter you.

You gather that his new job is still in marketing– this new company seems to be a tech company that largely deals with the military, actually, but some of their product will be sold to the general public. You don't really... retain much more than that, the night fuzzing together after that point.

The waiter comes back at some point for the bill, and Scaramouche pays in cash, already standing up to haul you out of your seat.

"We're leaving. Get up," He hisses, tugging you roughly up by the arm when you don't immediately move. "Idiot."

Whatever. You take it on the chin, letting Scaramouche lead you out of the restaurant– or drag, more like– and back to his car. You're used to his abrasiveness by now, and this is the last night you'll have to put up with him. Besides, he paid for your dinner and your drinks.

This time, he opens the passenger-side door for you.

"What a gentleman," You snicker, undeterred by the scowl you get in response. He lets go of you as soon as you're in, slamming the door behind you.

You don't remember the drive, dozing off as soon as Scaramouche starts the engine. There's bits and pieces– someone jostling you awake, stumbling up some steps as a harsh grip on your bicep leads you inside, then collapsing onto a bed.

This… is not your house. It's the first thing you register when you come to.

The room is dark, so you can’t see anything, but there’s an unfamiliar hum of the A/C coming from somewhere else in the house, the sheets are too cold and too soft to be your own, and the alarm on the nightstand reading 3:00AM is not one you recognize.  

The second thing you register is the pressure of something around your throat, the arm wound around your waist, the chest at your back.

You meet resistance when you try to bring your arms in front of you, trying to process what's happening as your head throbs something wicked. Scaramouche must have brought you to his place last night. That’s… fine. You didn’t tell him where you live, and you were probably too out of it for him to ask. But why–

"I did give you the choice, you know," A familiar voice pipes up behind you. The arm around your waist tightens when you flinch.

Why are your arms tied behind your back? You tug again, meeting the same resistance and feeling whatever he used to tie them rub abrasively at your skin. 

“What the fuck–”

"I should have figured you'd make this difficult," He sighs, nose digging against your nape as you're pulled closer. Blunt nails bite into your hip. "You always do."

You try to pull away and his grip turns crushing; the air is forced from your lungs by the arm wound around you. His other hand comes up to grab you by the throat when you open your mouth to scream.

“Ah, ah. Be good.” You shut your mouth and your skin crawls at the satisfied chuckle you hear from behind you as Scaramouche settles back down against the sheets. “See? Good for something, after all.”

The hand around your throat doesn’t budge. Your head is still reeling through the pain. A finger taps at your jugular and you flinch again.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll deal with you in the morning.”

Scaramouche quiets down, and you stare blankly into the darkness of the room, wondering just what the hell you got yourself into.

…Maybe playing nice wasn't such a good idea, after all.

#i didn't realllyyyy edit this #i tried to edit it bc i sat down and wrote like 2.3k words in one sitting #but aughhh i just can't do it #i'm illiterate. sorry #literally what came over me though #anyway tag time #yandere #scaramouche #scaramouche/reader #scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouche/reader #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouche #kunikuzushi #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #my writing #dead dove do not eat #cw: alcohol #btw there is no drvggng it's just mentioned as like a possibvility #also eimiko is canon in this au. miko is his stepmom #im really tempted to write a p2 where miko ''''''helps'''''' reader out :) #and/or. maybe heizou and sara. weirdly enough this makes me want to write heizou/reader/sara #i didn't poke fun at scara as much as i thought i did in hindsight #there IS one short jab in there but it's not outright ''haha short'' #friendly fire is turned ON at all times and i like to aim for the knees #i always feel a little goofy adding an edgy looking banner bc idk how to be Aesthetic™️

[daydreamalley]

The fact that there’s only one time in Chuuya’s life that Corruption was activated (outside of the lab) where Dazai wasn’t there in the aftermath and that was when Chuuya was just 7 years old and left in the crater of the explosion he created, in so much pain and with gravity probably still fluctuating around him. Nothing but complete destruction, hell on earth, and suffering for a seven-year-old child.

Chuuya is never in good shape after he uses Corruption, and I imagine he wasn’t in good shape after he used the full force of Arahabaki (and by used I mean when it was forced out of him due to Rimbaud). And like, we’ve seen Chuuya close Verlaine’s gate when he defeated the Beast of Guivre, and it left Verlaine close to death (though I also imagine that’s in part due to the fact Verlaine isn’t really human), and we also saw earlier on in Storm Bringer when Verlaine opened Corruption for only a second and then closed the gate that Chuuya was in agony, left to suffer in the hell of what was left of the street he’d been on. 

That scene of Chuuya lying on the ground in what used to be an alleyway in excruciating pain is already hard to read, and he’s 16 then (still so young) but at least Dazai still comes (even though he doesn’t technically have to) and nullifies the aftershocks of Chuuya’s ability that are causing him so much pain. Causing him to suffer.

But imagine Chuuya at 7 years old, imagine how small that is, probably in nothing more than a hospital gown, lying in the rubble of the giant crater that will one day become Suribachi city, experiencing all that suffering and probably more. He’s completely alone in the hell of his own ability’s destruction, in unimaginable pain. His frail body that’s been in a lab for so long probably spasming with the pain as he feels the sun for the first time in who knows how long. And there was no one to hold him or catch him or for him to fall into. No one’s lap to rest his head on. No one to hoist him onto their shoulders and carry him away from the carnage. No one to nullify the pain he was in. No one to comfort him or remind him who he was.

What did he probably have to do when he woke up? Wait until he had enough strength to sit up, wait until the dizziness abated enough for him to stand, and through the disorientation walk on his own two feet despite the pain. He’d been through plenty of it after all, even if he couldn’t remember why, his body remembered.

He’d have to piece together any scraps of memory he had. His name probably came first. Then the horrific feeling of the power inside him and that he was probably responsible for the hellscape he was trying to navigate, cutting and scraping his bare feet in the crater of what was.  

Find the corpse of some military personnel that’d been killed in the explosion Arahabaki had caused, far enough away he hadn’t been completely obliterated, and at least steal some of his uniform to wear, though it was much too big for his skinny 7-year-old frame. And the shoes wouldn’t do him any good, they’d just fall off, the jacket already kept slipping off his shoulder.

And then, in that moment, he was perhaps the loneliest person in the world. Not later, when he was 16 and had someone to catch him and someone had just attempted to sacrifice himself for Chuuya. No, then he had a semblance of a family. But when he was 7, that was when he was just alone, and in pain, with no one to reassure him that everything was alright, that nothing was his fault. That his destructive power didn’t make him less human. If anything, he was probably lucky no one with bad intentions found him. 

And then who knows how long later, he’d wandered far enough away from the wreckage, under a bridge where a couple of other kids around his age found him. Still without shoes and in a military uniform far too large for him. Filthy and starving, but having the strength, having the courage to ask a kid “what’s that square thing?” “Tell me what that square thing is in your hand. Right now.” Last ditch effort of demanding, because somehow he still had a strong will. And the kid was just holding a slice of bread. Chuuya just wanted to know if he could eat it. 

Like, can we just talk about the tragedy of that? How truly sad it is that when Chuuya asked “what’s that square thing” and the answer was just bread. Shirase just explaining“I was holding a slice of bread,” and then having to show him that it was edible. Like, my god. And then Chuuya just… faints, on the spot “like he was out of batteries,” as Shirase describes. Finally all his energy and willpower to survive depleted in this moment of hopeful safety. Shirase also says Chuuya looked half dead he was so skinny.

But at least Chuuya had finally found some people who’d given him some food and water. At least Shirase decided to take him to some shelter, even if it was in the sewers. He finally had people, even if they weren’t well off, they had something. Finally he wasn’t alone. And when he learned he had something to offer them in return in the form of his ability? Well, of course he was going to use it to help them.

Also, just, his first memory was of being alone and in pain. Where he is now may not be perfect, but thank god he’s come such a long way and has people and a home and food and luxuries. But like, he just has to live with that every day.

Oh, and mind you, all this was happening to Chuuya close to the end/in the aftermath of the war, which was already a bad time for people, as Murase talks about. He says “But it was the end of the war, and there were supply shortages everywhere you went. Some kids from the Settlement appeared out of nowhere and tried to sneak inside to steal some food.” So on top of Chuuya’s personal struggles, there were shortages of supplies everywhere, bad enough that kids were trying to sneak into military facilities for food. 

So, yeah, this actually massively got away from me, into the territory of hcs and back out again. But like, every time we see Chuuya use Corruption Dazai is around, because he really has to be. And I love that. But just thinking about the one time where Dazai wasn’t around after the full effects of Chuuya’s ability and how that was probably the worst time and Chuuya was only 7 and alone and woke up in the middle of essentially hell on earth with like no memories. It makes me want to scream, and that’s why I wrote this. And then I reread the part in SB where Shirase explains how he met Chuuya and just got even sadder. Fun times fun times.

#Asagiri really sat down and wrote SB like “okay how much more trauma can I give this kid?” and the answer was all of it. #if you're wondering if I'm fine the answer is fuck no I just wrote this #And now you've just read it so I bet we're both wondering why we do this to ourselves #but like Chuuya #he's my baby boy and I love him so much and I could cry forever #bsd #my ramblings #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd chuuya #chuuya #bsd spoilers #chuuya nakahara #stormbringer spoilers #bsd stormbringer #bsd stormbringer spoilers #bsd headcanons #to some extent #chuuya headcanons #but like I wish more of this was just headcanons when so much of it did in fact happen #bsd analysis #kinda #bsd shirase #character analysis #I guess

[kitorin]

1:34pm - isagi yoichi

"yocchan?" you check up on your boyfriend, who was currently burning red.

currently you were out for lunch, at that beef noodle place you had gone to a lot as a kid, wanting to revisit the nostalgia with yoichi. the food tasted the same even years later, almost as if the chef was still working there and was still using the exact same recipes and ingredients.

it all went great, the food itself was amazing and the sweet memories made it taste even better. not until something seemed off about yoichi.

"yes love?" he didn't seem upset or mad.

"you alright? you're ate a lot slower than usual. this much food is nothing to you. do you have a stomach ache?" you felt a bit guilty about the fact that he could've been pretending to be fine before the date, just for your sake. "do you have a fever?" soon your hand made its way to his forehead, under his bangs. it was hot. really hot.

it didn't make sense, he wasn't this warm when he was lying on your shoulder on the bus. his hands are shaking, so are his lips. speaking of his lips, they were red as well, although they were always a pretty shade of pink they were never a prominent scarlet. you gradually piece together the situation.

"yoichi, can you not tolerate spice?"

the question catches him off guard, "of course i can!" but the awkward laughter and lack of eye contact gives him away.

"you're red, like, very red,"

"that's because i love you ! how does someone not get this flustered around someone as pretty as you?"

you can't help but grin at him. "awwww, since i love you back i want to make you try the chili sauce here !" jokingly, you bring it near his bowl, and watch his eyes widen.

"i'm sorry i'm sorry! i think i'll die if i have anything spicier," you giggle at his confession, satisfied that your suspicions were correct. although his reaction was adorable, you were still worried.

"why didn't you tell me then!" you deliver a flick to his forehead, making him yelp. "

"i'm sorryyyy, it's just embarrassing, how are you so unfazed?"

"it's not something you should hide. i don't care what if you eat more than you can handle? gosh you're redder than chigiri's hair."

yoichi whines, "but i can't even handle a bowl of noodles with a bit of chili, how am i supposed to enjoy anything your family makes. oh god what if your mum hates me because i can't handle her food," he says the last part as if it's the end of the world, which it probably is to him. "i can't enjoy your culture and i disappoint your family."

despite it being a silly conversation, you found it quite cute how he did his best to hide it. "first off, my mum already loves you and doesn't care about your spice tolerance. second, it's not that hard to get used to laksa or beef rendang." your hand returns to his cheek, still warm, how bad was he with spice? "i'm impressed you managed to finish it all... you shouldn't push yourself." the bowl was completely empty, every noodle eaten and every drop of soup drank.

"anything for you, you seemed so happy to come back here" yoichi grins, lips still red, "may i get a kiss for my hard work then?"

with a mumbled 'fine' you comply with his request, "you're still an idiot."

"yeah but i'm your idiot," you gently smack him on the shoulder, ready to leave, with the owner of the restaurant lovingly grinning at the same child from years ago coming back with their boyfriend.

© kitorin : do not repost, plagiarize, change, or translate

#I WROTE THIS ON THE BUS #it's kinda rushed #it was so awkward when we got to the uni stop bc a bunch of students sat behind me so brightness down #bllk x you #bllk x reader #isagi yoichi #isagi yoichi x reader #fluff #blue lock #blue lock x reader #isagi yoichi blue lock #blue lock isagi yoichi

[revelisms]

Thinking about Terzo to the tune of Father Lucifer, and Dancing With a Ghost, and Portrait of a Dead Girl:

A son shackled by expectation, but never shining so brightly as he did on those stages; who piecemealed love from sex and sex from heartbreak and heartbreak from anger, and who grieved a little boy he never was but could have been; who copied his father's paints, and sang for his mother's leer, and called his eldest brother Nonna not as a tease, but because he was the closest he could claim;

Who loved a forbidden love and scorned its forbiddenness and had it ripped from him, without permission; who cried as violently as he grinned, could twist a crowd's affections around his finger but couldn't put three friendships to his name; who pulled black silks from his wardrobe and smeared a skull on his skin and said, Yes, this is as I am, as I am meant to be: your Son, your Shadow, your Nothing—

Who carried a golden award in his hands and a spike in his heart, and was still good, despite it all (or tried to be, or couldn't be)—

Who Secondo called the imbecile and Primo called little boy and Copia called only brother, brother, brother—

(He was not his brother. Not by blood, by their bastard father; only by Sister, and Sister alone—)

Who at fourteen saw a copper-headed child slumped at his side, with eyes pleading for belonging, and put a hand on his shoulder instead of through his teeth; mumbled, It's alright, little thing, instead of, Who do you think you are, taking my mother from me—?

Who sauntered on a purple-glistened stage, knowing the performance would be his last, with the weight of the world in his smile and a microphone squeezed in his hand, and thought, Is this it? What you have always worked me towards?

Who entered his retirement with a chip on his shoulder and a weariness in his bones, piecemealed love from sex and sex from heartbreak and heartbreak from wrath and said, Here I am, eh? Your last "son." Your Legacy.

Who smiled, thin and brittle, at the siblings that stumbled over still calling him Papa; who would correct them, with a grousing tease and a dimpled thing that didn't reach his eyes—It's just me, sweetness. The titles were, eh...never a sticking point, no? You have little Coppie to sing your praises, now—

Who would make coffees in hand-painted cups and carry them stiff-boned, black-clothed down the halls, knock-knocking on their Monsignor's door, finding Primo's fish-pale eyes glowering from his desk with herb roots scattered like snakes over his parchments—

What is this? I bring you the Devil's ambrosia, and you greet me with maggots?

Who his brother swiped the soil from his varnish for, permission given with a bland sigh and an extension of a bony hand; told him, Sit down, Zito, and nudged his half-touched plate of breakfast towards him. You are not eating.

Who gave a child's giggle, and slumped like an old man: still ancient, still fourteen, still glaring at the floor with a smile that didn't shine.

It is not Copia's fault, Primo had muttered. It is not your fault.

Who dragged his thumb through a frayed sleeve, his nails painted and chipped, and sneered.

How is it not?

Who stood at the gates of Hell, with the Unnamed manifested in his finery: a demon no longer born of flesh and blood, who he could not see, could not touch, could not remember—

I miss you. I miss you, so much—

Who tied on black silks and carried leather bound books and took up his helm at the pulpit—not as their Father, but as the esteemed Replacement, as he had always goddamn been.

Who smiled to a congregation who looked for a beast's claws, and found human hands; looked for a beating heart, and found a stone-hardened knot.

Let me ask you now about the subject of Pride.

Not the pride of their litter, surely. Not of his father's own ghost.

(But who could have been.

Hell below, who could have been.)

#sat down to eat lunch and wrote this brick instead #where's the baffled tobias gif #the band ghost #ghost band fanfic #terzo #papa terzo #papa emeritus iii #papa iii #terzo just. puts me in a STATE. #i am emotional about him again (clearly) #sort of #prose #writing #also sort of #meta #idk how to tag this #big thought ramble today

[starry-bi-sky]

Hi uhh I really love your Damian and Danny siblings short. I wonder if uhh will you add a more connected story.

Also how did the mirage happen and is it only Bruce and Damian who saw it?

thank you! And honestly I might add a more connected story (i posted a miscellaneous post about the danny from that post because I was still thinking about him). The more I think about it though, yeah probably? I'd like to explore that reunion between Danny and Damian at some point. Plus Danny's experience in Amity Park and his growth from there.

The post was meant to be more of a prompt for other people to take inspiration from and add their own ideas onto, so the mirage was something I kept purposely vague so that people could come up with their own theories about it. But for my take on it? Magic user in Gotham that they got in a fight with. It was a physically visual mirage so anyone who was in the room could've seen it, and it was capable of being picked up on the cameras in their mask/cowls (which i hear is a thing sometimes) so it can be replayed back in the cave.

#danyal al ghul au #dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpdc #older brother danny #which damian might do a lot because that mirage showed quite a LOT of memories actually even if iI only wrote extended specific ones #and he'll rewatch them in order to make sense of them - to figure out if they were real because the memories all seemed to come from #danyal's point of view and then to try and make sense of them. he's hated danny for all his living memory and thought for sure that danny #hated him back. and then he's finding out that danyal didn't hate him but was instead actively encouraging *damian* to hate him #and killed assassins for him. sat outside his room to listen to anyone who might break in. and then faked his death in order to avoid havin #to fight him to the death?? sacrificed his spot as the eldest and heir to the LoA for him. potentially gave up any chance of meeting their #father because he was told it wasn't safe. then went off to live with complete strangers unaffiliated with the league in order to lay low #all at ten years old. he's trying to make sense of all that and sort through his own feelings. kinda wants to hunt him down and demand #answers from him. because what the fuck??? but also doesn't know if he wants to see him again. nothing's been forgiven but he wants answers

[whirlwindimagines]

‘I wanna be with you’

a/n: If you saw me write this YOU DID NOT do NOT perceive this or me!!!!!! Anyway over due but thank you so much for 1000 followers! Here is some soft Vash x female!reader smut. I said I would do this as a joke and it wasn't SOPHIE DO NOT LOOK I am actually begging you all to not acknowledge this, pretend I didn't write this. I can’t believe my ace ass wrote this, I'm sorry. Anyway love ya! <3 Also I love that I cant just write straight smut, im like nah add them feelings in there. Also this is a companion piece to ‘its like the sun came out’ you don’t need to read that to understand this, I just kinda wrote this as a what happened next sorta thing 

Vash x female!reader

Turning to look at Vash you smirk, sitting up and swinging a leg around Vash to straddle his hips he looks up at you in surprise. Placing your hands on his chest, you lean down to give him a kiss. You pull back barely out of reach, “Vash~ I can't tell you how happy I am, can I show you?” his face goes red and you love every second of it. 

He nods, but you need to hear it leaning down and pressing your chest to his, “I need to hear you say it.” Pleasure shoots through you as Vash’s eyes dilate, his hands raise to grip your hips lightly but his hold is firm. Watching him wet his lips before speaking, “Show me.” So, you do. 

Pressing your lips back to his, you can’t help but smirk when you feel his grip tighten on your hips. Its thrilling being in control like this, that Vash was letting you be in control. You make a muffled noise when his tongue meets yours, subconsciously pressing down on his hips. He bucks up into you and it makes you pull back in slight surprise. Vash’s embarrassed face makes you want to coo at him. 

“Sorry….” he stutters out, you reach forward to brush back his bangs, “Oh sweetheart please don’t apologize it’s okay if you're a little eager” You're not mocking him but he whines all the same at your tone. The sound goes straight to your core, it’s not like this is the first time you two had done this. But the way Vash acted still so embarrassed, all cute and shy it always felt like your first time together. It was really sweet actually. 

Gripping his jaw and forcing him to look at you, his eyes are wide and so dark you can barely see the blue of his eyes it makes your heart pound. “I really am so happy, just let me take care of you, okay? You do such a good job of taking care of me” You pat his cheek gently with your left hand the ring on your finger glinting. 

He looks so sweet under you like this; you just want to eat him up. You see him swallow harshly, eyes still blown and you lean down again pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, you ignore his little whine as you start to shift your body down to focus on his neck Placing soft little kisses, and savoring each noise he makes. 

It was funny thinking back to when you first started being intimate, Vash was usually so quiet, and you can tell it took everything in him to suppress those little noises. But once he got comfortable? Once you forced more of those noises from him it was a damn broke, and he couldn't keep quiet anymore, and you loved every moment of it. 

Biting down on his neck brought out another little desperate buck of his hips, you ignored it, letting your tongue run along his neck. Eventually, bring your mouth back to his lips for another feverous kiss. He was being good keeping his hands on your hips, but you could feel them start to shake. 

“You can touch me” it whispered against his lips, softly and warmly, pulling back a bit to see his reaction. He’s looking at you with such a soft expression it makes your heart race, his metal hand stays on your hip while his other hand slips under your shirt just having his fingertips dance across your skin. Leaning back in to kiss at his neck again, hands sliding down his chest to the hem of his shirt. 

He doesn’t make any moves to stop you, so you slowly start to take his shirt off, he lets go of you to help remove his shirt. You always try to be gentle with Vash, placing your hands on his bare chest, tracing a scar, he shivers under your touch. It’s body, his scars all proof of the hardships he’s faced and you love and hate it all at the same time. 

Hating the fact that his kindness towards others brings him pain, it's physical proof of it and it just makes your heartache. But it’s also proof of the life he’s lived, that’s he’s survived and has kept moving forward eventually bringing him into your arms. And you plan to love and take care of him for as long as you are able to. He shifts under you, looking away, you Vash still didn't like it…to have his scars so openly stared at. “I love you,” you say simply, leaning down to press a kiss to a scar that runs down his shoulder, eventually leading to where his prosthetic meets his flesh. 

“I love you too,” Vash whispers back, tugging at your shirt, pulling back to allow him to take it off and toss it somewhere on the floor, he gives you a soft smile as he runs his hands up your sides just feeling your skin. His hands go to your shoulders and he hooks a finger under your bra strap pulling it back and letting it snap back to your skin. Rolling your eyes, you reach behind you to unhook your bra as his face lights up, “Not very subtle Vash.” You say with a laugh taking your bra off with ease and throwing it somewhere. 

“I don't care,” Vash says in a slightly sing-song voice, his hands sliding back up your sides until they reach your breast to cup you gently, the contrast of his two different hands makes you shiver, but it's a nice feeling. He gives you a sheepish smile as he squeezes them, “I thought I was supposed to be taking care of you.” You tease lightly letting your hands explore his chest, tracing over scars as carefully as possible. Teasing your hands lower and lower, but never touching where he clearly needs. 

“Hey!” you say with a yelp after he gives a slight pinch to your already over-sensitive nipples, it sends a shock through your body, surprised he had done it, and his sheepish look turns into a pout when you meet his gaze. “Don't tease.” he pleads with you, placing your hands on his wrist you give them a light squeeze, “I'm not, I promise,” you say leaning down to kiss him, it's a soft and gentle kiss and when you pull back, he leans up trying to chase your lips. “Just behave alright?” 

Leaning back to sit up a bit, Vash drops his hands back to your hips giving you a gentle squeeze, as your hands go to the top of his jeans, undoing the button and pulling the zipper down, you want to tease him but you don’t as you shuffle down his body to kiss down his chest and stomach until you’re at his hips. Vash has to release your hips as you move having his real arm settle on top of your head to run his fingers through your hair gently. Giving him a soft smile, you help him out of his pants, and his underwear so he's naked under you. Vash doesn’t like it when you stare, but God how can you not?  

He starts to move his arms, but you grab his hands before he can, “You are so beautiful” his hands shake, and he says your name a slight plea to it, you can see how much he is aching for you, reaching a hand out to grip his length, swiping a thumb over the tip, he grips your wrist all of a sudden and it startles you making him look at you confused. “Vash?” his shy attitude throws you off a bit, he looks like he's struggling to say something

“I…I just need you; I want to…. God just come here.”  His words make you blush, but you aren't given much time to think about it as he grabs you and maneuvers you quickly so you are under him, his hands pressed to either side of your head, his knees on either side of your thighs. “I know you wanted to take care of me, but I need you, please.” lifting your left hand up to caress his face, you smile, how can you refuse such a sweet request? 

“I'm all yours Vash, now and forever,” you whisper, the words are a little cheesy, but you know he’ll appreciate them and he does because the smile he gives you makes you feel light and giddy. Without another word, you reach down to unbutton your shorts, and Vash helps you pull them off along with your underwear so the two of you are both naked. It's his turn to stare, and he does so taking in every inch of skin. You’re about to make a smartass comment, but he leans in to kiss you instead. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close, his hand travels down your stomach, and lower until he's dipping one of his long fingers in your aching core. 

With a pleased sigh, you relax into his touch, letting him prepare you, it's not long before he's interested in another finger to stretch you a bit, his thumb starting pressing into your clit, he lets out a pleased ‘hum’ at the soft moan you let out, he starts kissing down your neck, peppering light kisses at all the skin he can reach, as he continues to pump his fingers in and out, the more he works you, the needier for him you become. “Vash.” you pant out with a whine, “please, I need more.” 

He bites you, not hard but a tease of his canines against your neck and it makes you clench around him, “Just a little more, I want to make sure you are comfortable.” he mutters against your neck, kissing the bite mark before moving to the other side of your neck to give it similar treatment, all while his fingers never lose pace. Once he enters a third finger, you know you’re getting desperate for him to actually be inside of you, he continues pumping his fingers bringing you right to the edge, until he pulls back with a grin. 

“Now who's being a tease,” you whine at him, he kisses your temples muttering a sorry, though you know he's not. He reaches down gripping your hips in a firm hold, as he pushes forward slowly and carefully pressing inside of you, the stretch makes you moan grasping the sheets at your side. He’s always careful, not pushing too hard, always checking to make sure you can handle it. It's sweet, but it's not what you need. “Vash please!” you don't care if the words are needy and desperate, he gets the message, not stalling as he bottoms out, pressing close to you with a moan. 

Vash moves to grip your hands intertwining his fingers on either side of your head, he’s panting already, and he hasn't even started moving. You both enjoy the moment, of just being connected to each other until Vash starts moving, his grip on your hands is firm as he slides out and then enters back in you just as quickly. 

He finds a rhythm that satisfies you both and keeps his pace, never letting up, not that you are complaining. The only sounds that fill the room, are his needy little noises, and your loud moans, not even holding back on how much pleasure you are getting from all of this. He lets go of one of your hands, to press back to your clit, and the sensations go right to your core, he lets out a loud moan once you clench down around him. Your free hand gripping the sheets to hold onto something, but keeping your entwined hands locked together. 

You know you are getting close, that familiar feeling building inside of you, you can’t even get the words out as you pant under him, his fast pace, almost becoming too much. With a particularly hard thrust, and a loud cry of his name have you releasing, he isn't far behind you with his own release, he says your name in that high-pitched whimper, that you love so much. 

The two of you remain pressed to each other, as he wraps his arms around you to hold you close, not pulling out of you just yet. He presses a kiss to the side of your head, “I love you.” wrapping your own arms around him to trace patterns down his back, sighing contently in his hold. “I love you too,” you whisper to him gently pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. 

“Can we stay like this?” he asks shyly, and you laugh sliding one of your hands behind his hand to run your fingers through his soft blonde hair, “Yes, but you’re crushing me” you complain playfully, with a whine he moves you both to lay on your sides, grabbing your leg to lift it over his hip to keep the two of you close, but so he can still stay inside. You don't mind, being with him like this, so close, it just…it makes you feel so wanted. Burying your face into his neck, you place gentle kisses, as he rubs your back just basking each other's warmth. 

You don't know how long Vash holds you like that, until he presses a kiss to the top of your head and begins to pull out, you whine at the loss of the feeling of him, but you also feel sweaty and gross, so you let him pull back as he gives you another kiss and a soft chuckle. Vash starts to sit up, but you don’t let him get far, pulling him back to you. “We can clean up later, I want to cuddle.” You tell him with a slight pout, he can never refuse you.

“Well since you asked so nicely.” He pulls you to him, holding you close, you roll your eyes at his tone, as if he didn’t want to keep cuddling as well. Vash starts to run his fingers through your hair, the gentleness of it starts to lull you to sleep. You reach down to pull the blanket over the two of you, before settling back down, he shifts to lay on his back, as you rest you head and hand on his chest.

Closing your eyes, you listen to the beat of his heart. You can’t believe you get to spend the rest of your life like this, with Vash. You just want to make him as happy as he makes you. Feeling him place a kiss on top of your head, it makes you smile. His gentle touch and the soft sound of his heartbeat is what helps you finally get some rest. Vash pulls you close, just needing to hold you close, and with one last look he falls asleep happy.

#I know my author note was dramatic #i have NEVER sat down and wrote smut #lets just pretend this didn't happen #Vash the Stampede #Vash #vash x reader #vash x y/n #vash x you #vash the stampede x reader #vash the stampede x you #vash the stampede x y/n #Trigun #trigun stampede #trigun stampede x reader #trigun stampede x you

[oatbugs]

Jack Marsh (2005), Friendship Otherwise - Toward a Levinasian Description of Personal Friendship

#saw carnation lily lily rose by john singer seargent irl today. it was basically at my doorstep all along idk why i never went to see it #it was placed at a corner in the gallery. me and my friend sat down and sketched the paintings of beautiful naked people quite badly. paper #provided by tate britain. she told me about how she couldnt look her boyfriend in the face after a harrowing film about war. when i say the #interview was informal i mean the person who was supposed to be my boss told me let me get you a cider and then he said after #50 years of life he knows people are inherently good and it only takes a little bit of kindness to save this world. he said he tricked #his wife into keeping the baby and then he said he quit his job at a US bank to help people find meaning and in it #he would have liked to find meaning. instead he started climbing with his friends. he said he chews his cigarettes because its a habit from #when he had to hide things from people. the entire time i felt uncomfortable and incredibly enlightened. this is my friends mentor. she has #his pattern of pauses and expletive and penchant for ends-justify-means attitude. i do think im not very clever #but maybe one day i will love you enough to make up for it. i wrote code i dont understand staring at the final error i thought about how #we both thought of how when we're too old to remember the voices of our friends we would like to stand in the pathway of the LHC beam pipe #cut it open and eat light in the freezing cold vacuum (kills you long before radiation will) the invisible puncture wound unfolding dna #back to the start larger than you ever were. you go to heaven once youve been to hell. my friend is in my bed #practicing calculations of eigenvectors by hand and she is uninterested in a visual proof you are uninterested in incompetence #we catch a train this is your kind of burden you tragic hero wincing at that word you only do this because you have to. im the only one #who can. i am a coward in this for the fucking poetry. the visual proofs. the pretty numbers. an architect who was horrible at maths wanted #to be a philosopher and accidentally ended up neck in deep in 70th Error On Visual Studio Code i want to kiss your eyes before we say #goodbye we both know there is no love in the way there should be. I still have your dress in my wardrobe. i hope you make art. #you think im alright head-wise i think you fucking hate me i think ill never be so clever you want me to tell you my idea? #if you wanted more of this world i would have liked to kiss you harder. we cant both be like this. im sorry i cant be with you the whole wa #the love is gone if you have to ask it. his breath catches his eyes feel stiff it is -1.9 kelvin he is near the beam pipe i miss holding #his hand i miss her singing voice i miss his hair and i found the antonym of pain thank you for carrying me home.

[belle--ofthebrawl]

@forlorn-crows Mountain/Rain/Cumulus skincare ficlet part two: They're naked and in a hotel room. For Mountain Monday/March.

Nasty under the cut.

Some things never change, Mountain thinks as he stares at the television and listens to Rain and Cumulus giggle in the shower. Whatever they're doing in the bathroom is infinitely more interesting than the talk show he flipped on when they settled in. Him and Rain originally, until Cumulus had knocked on their connecting door in a demand to be let in. She’d brushed by him with a quick little air kiss before brandishing two tubs of a matching scrub and lotion set at Rain. He took one and had studied the ingredients with an approving look.

“Is that why you didn't join my shower?” Mountain asked before receiving a lazy shrug and a nod.

“Make it up to you.” Rain promised, tossing the tub up in the air. He caught it and shook it at Mountain. The label boosts claims of the relaxing properties of lavender and honey, amongst other things before the pair disappear into the bathroom. They leave the door open, but Mountain can't spy on them since it's parallel to the bed.

Rude.

So, since Rain promised to make it up to him, he fantasizes about what they're doing in the shower instead. It's easy to imagine their bodies under the spray of water. How they adjust the shower head to make it work for two. He sees Rain’s hand sinking into Cumulus' hair to scrub it clean and in turn she washes his back. Maybe let her fingers creep forward to cup the small handful of his tits.

His cock sits fat in his boxers, intrigued by all the images his mind is able to conjure up. He soothes it with a squeeze of his fingers and thinks about putting Rain on his back, bending his nimble legs until his knees are by his ears so he can't squirm away as Mountain fucks him.

He sees an elegant hand disappearing between gorgeous thighs. Suds collecting in her ample cleavage when she crosses her arms and Rain’s clever tongue finding out if the body scrub tasted like honey as well. Sees their lips red from kissing and faces flushed from the hot water, knuckle deep inside each other as they make out, their nipples brushing against each other's, tingling and budding up firm.

The water shuts off. Rain mutters something unintelligible and Cumulus' returning laugh has a tinge of nastiness to it. His subconscious recognizes a threat. His body only knows something very good is going to happen and poor Mountain still thinks he's going to come out on top.

“It's so creamy.” Cumulus coos as she unscrews a lid. “Dip your fingers in it.”

“Like silk…” Rain agrees. “Come closer, let me rub you right.”

A lewd, wet slap of skin on skin. Cumulus makes a noise that starts as a moan and tapers off into a snicker.

“More…” she demands. “I want it all over me.”

“Plenty for both of us.” Rain murmurs. “It’s big enough to share.”

“C’mere, let me smear it on your cute little tits.”

“Ah!” Rain’s voice goes straight to Mountain’s cock. “Watch it, I’m sore.”

“Oh, you poor thing.” Cumulus tsks. He can imagine her wet curls bouncing as she mockingly shakes her head. “Heat soon?”

“Probably, knowing my luck.” Rain sounds annoyed but when Mountain gets his hands on him, he knows Rain will be happy enough with all the effort he puts in. “At least I brought my favorite toy with me.”

Mountain is slightly miffed at that, frowning in befuddlement. He was right here. But then he thinks about Rain with a toy knotting his pretty mouth while Mountain stretched his cunt and decides it's probably not the worst thing in the world to have assistance. He tugs his waistband down just enough so that his cock springs free, wagging ridiculously in the air, already ruddy and wet at the tip. He gives himself a nice tug and sighs in pleasure.

“Think your toy’s probably playing with itself right about now.” Cumulus says with a smile in her voice. Mountain considers this statement and feels his face grow warm, even as his cock throbs under his palm.

“He just can't control himself.” Rain sighs. “Help me get ready?”

Out of spite, Mountain carefully takes his hand off his cock and lays it by his side. Spite. Yeah. He’s gonna flip Rain on the bed and replace his mean comments with the sound of his cock sliding in and out of his tight little hole.

Totally.

“Bend over.” Cumulus tells him, sounding amused and Mountain is helpless to stop his low moan. Rain, bent over the counter top as Cumulus sinks her fingers into his cunt. The gasp as she hits something good, good and deep. Mountain will hit it better.

“He's got such a dirty mind.” Rain comments. Probably thinks we’re already fucking in here.”

“I can hear you.” Mountain calls.

“You're meant to.” They reply in unison, sweetly.

“I'm putting mousse in his hair.” Cumulus continues with a scoff. “Okay, straighten up and flip.”

A wet thwack as Rain’s hair hits his skin.

“And it's cold.” Rain complains. “I hate cold product.”

Mountain has no reply to that. The trap is closing in.

Cumulus is the first to leave, wrapped in a towel that can barely contain her figure, clutched almost absently as she prowls to the bedside. Mountain lays as still as he can. She might complain about small towels but no one else does and she never brings her own from home so she can't mind that much. She's even nice enough to let it drape open a little bit as she seats herself on the bed, letting Mountain get a nice view of her tits and stomach, the soft white curls of the hair between her legs.

She just smiles at him, a fang dimpling her plush lower lip and leans forward to blow hot over the head of his cock. It twitches and she laughs at him. Brushes a damp ringlet out of the way so she can give the mushroom head of it a wet, suckling kiss.

Mountain cusses, scrubs at his face.

“He's ready.” She says softly and Mountain can't figure out if it’s directed at him or Rain. Then, louder, she says, “Hey, Cir. You wanna make a bet?”

“Maybe.” Calls Cirrus from the adjoining room. “On what?”

“How fast Mounty blows.” Cumulus replies, eyes glinting in delight at his whimper.

Rain joins them in silence. No clever repartee or cruel comment to dig under Mountain’s skin. He’s in nothing but his knee high socks and a pair of hip hugging cotton underwear, both in black. Mountain looks to him for help as Cumulus wraps her hand tight around the base of his cock.

“Oh no.” Rain says when he says how mournful Mountain looks. “I need to make sure you can last. Since you decided to go ahead and play without me.”

“What did I do to deserve this.” Mountain mumbles as Rain climbs on the bed. Straddles his waist and lets Cumulus line Mountain’s cock up to his cunt. Rain tugs his panties to the side and lets the head brush back and forth through his folds. Mountain could sob at the feel of it.

“Oh, quit whining.” Rain says dismissively. Sinks down just enough to pop the head in. “You're getting some, that's all you should care about.”

“Pervert.” Cumulus adds and laughs when Mountain’s cock kicks.

“Fifteen strokes.” Cirrus calls.

“Do we count this first one?” Cumulus wonders as Rain sinks further and further onto the thick cock she's holding so nicely for him. Mountain doesn't dare buck his hips.

“Freebie.” Rain says dismissively, rolling his hips to take the last few inches in. He sits in Mountain’s lap, speared fully on his cock and crosses his arms. Grinds until he hits that sweet spot and makes a happy little sigh. Cumulus rests her free hand over his abdomen and pushes until Mountain’s eyes cross at the feel of her prodding him from outside of Rain’s body.

“Ten.” Cumulus says casually.

The hole he’s already fit so snugly into gives a nice little squeeze around his length. Mountain swears, fists the sheets and kicks his legs as he feels his balls draw up.

“Five.” Rain says, not even batting an eyelash as Mountain’s eyes roll.

#nsft #mountain ghoul #cumulus ghoulette #rain ghoul #ficlet #i wish i could control what i wrote. #this is not what i sat down to finish.

[velvethopewrites]

You ever just go through an author’s body of work, fic after fic and like want to cry because everything is just so good and you know that this author has got you and you trust them implicitly to take your heart on a wild ride of angst and pining and love and happy feels?

Yeah.

Seriously, bless fic writers. We owe them so much.

#Fic things #fan fic #like seriously my heart is full b/c someone sat down and wrote story after story of two idiots falling in love #It’s beautiful *sniff*