#not tagging clockwork because that’s not her anymore
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General creepypasta headcannons!
Ft: Jeff the killer, Ben Drowned, Ticci Toby, Dr Smiley, Puppeteer, Bloody Painter, Masky, Hoodie, laughing Jack, Jason the toymaker, Homicidal Liu and Eyeless Jack
Warning: these are not romantic! These are general personality trait headcannons. Also, a lot of the pastas are good friends with Ben. Mentions of weed and alcohol.
Also I’m using my AU where the creepypastas only kill r8pists and Peds (I’ll just call it the vigilant AU.)
I’m also working on a micheal afton smut rn, so y’all will get that soon.
Jeff the killer
-The worst person to drink with, he’s absolutely ruthless when drunk. (Angry, annoying or horny, you don’t roll the dice. He does)
-has a vintage tea set that was Liu’s (he stole it when he turned)
-he’s the most brutal and crude creepypasta, but whenever he’s mad he’s really fuckin mad.
-Ohioan tbh
-IAED (intermittent Anger Explosive Disorder)
-I feel like when he’s not having an episode he’s pretty likable (he’s probably accidentally one of the funniest creeps)
-this fucker definitely talks to himself, I feel like he might also have OCD.
-pop not soda
-his mouth slits are not that prominent (like food doesn’t fall out of his mouth) and he has his eyelids
-his skin isn’t smooth??? Mf was literally burned, he’s covered with a lot of old slightly healed burn scars.
-his hair care is better because of Ben.
-getting Jeff and Masky pissed off at the same time they will angrily tag team you (not sexually… maybe sometimes.)
-Jeff is very romantically detached and romantically stupid. Like he doesn’t really get attraction that much and when he does he doesn’t know what to do about it.
Ben Drowned
-vapes just a little (blue raz)
-weirdly responsible over the rest of the creeps (hygiene wise, he’s very meticulous) he’s the weed dealer of the house, his room in the attic is the major “fuck-it-up-and-party” Room
-not that angry of a person, very lax and chill.
-the funnest creeps to smoke the greens with. He’s fr just so chill (he’s also very funny too, trust me he’s fun AF)
-Ben is the funniest pasta, but only because of his pathetic-ness. Like he makes a lot of cheesy jokes and rhymes, it makes the other pastas laugh because most the time he doesn’t intend it to be funny.
-chronic mimicker, like it’s bad. If anyone else talks or says a word slightly different suddenly it’s the only word he’ll say for a month straight.
-his eyes are constantly bleeding and it pisses him off
-human eyes are brown and his skin is slightly tan.
-he’s very horny all the time but with no release. He doesn’t crush on the pasta girls, nor does he watch porn. This mf writes his own personal fanfiction in a diary (that the creeps stole one night while drunk and read)
-he’s honestly one of the cleanest creepypastas. (And probably the most popular for them all, at least. He’s friends with everyone.)
-ADD nightmare and screamo music daydream.
-I feel like if he sang he’d sound like that one song ‘King for a Day’
Toby
-he’s a little dickhead, but relatively lovable. It’s just cause he’s cheeky and devilish.
-doesn’t smoke weed or drink.
-he’s very jealous of Liu and Jeff since because of his sisters death. He wishes that like Liu, his sister would arrive one day somewhat alive. (It never happens)
-ADHD and bipolar nightmare, has a slender therapist lmao.
-Toby doesn’t like Jeff that much for trying to kill Liu. Liu and Toby are friends because Liu reminds him of Lyra (his sister)
-Toby is also somewhat close with the women of the mansion rather then the men. He’s good friends with both Judge Angels and Jane. Clockwork and him aren’t close anymore as she went off on her own.
-he’s a really deep thinker, and surprisingly sentimental. Though not for his victims. Toby is harsh whenever he feels like it.
-he’s a relatively quiet person. He’s good friends with Ben and EJ. Toby also has a slow reaction to danger, he’s the least likely in the group to get scared by something.
-Toby had to get a slender therapist because of his last manic episode (he made up “creepypasta” while accidentally high one night on Ben’s computer in 2010 and the pastas haven’t trusted him with tech since.)
-he wanted to become a writer growing up.
Dr Smiley
-originally, I feel like Dr Smiley wanted to do good for people. I feel like he wanted to be a politician until he forcefully remembered how people are. He’s also really bad at medical stuff, go to EJ for that, not smiley.
-awful trust issues, he doesn’t trust a soul. Ironically, Smiley is one of the most social pastas. Reverse psychology babe.
-smiley is good at a lot of things, this man’s a fuckin prodigy.
-one of the first creepypastas to join the gang. Also one of the most polite.
-he’s really classy and only ever accidentally taken an edible (never again). Smiley trips out hard whenever high, it’s almost concerning.
-definitely has a small garden for herbs. He’s either seen killing, out in the garden, or in his medical room.
-a lot of the pastas are convinced smiley doesn’t sleep (no one has ever seen it, though Ben did capture one singular photo as proof and that is it)
-dr smiley is always left in charge whenever Slender has meetings (he only has to approve missions sent by the pastas.)
-as much as smiley is a prodigy, he’s awful in the kitchen. It’s kind of sad.
Puppeteer
-smooth, might as well call this fucker MJ.
-he always wins in arguments bc he’s so sly. Sort of a kleptomaniac and will gaslight you.
-called pup by most (not like a dog)
-always has his business in other peoples faces, but unlike Ben, he doesn’t get away with it.
-Puppet laughs a lot but doesn’t really talk. he’s also pretty good friends with Jane and Helen.
-one of the least organized pastas. His room is really messy and so is he. He cleans up after himself, but don’t go into his room.
-Major Depressive Disorder
-him and hoodie always get A+ on their duo assignments. Though the two of them aren’t that close, they’re hella good at working together.
-puppeteer isn’t classy at all. He drinks as soon as he wakes up, but in a Fiona Gallagher way.
-definitely watches Shameless. His top show rn. Binged the entirety in 3 days. Didn’t sleep whatsoever. (His fave character is V bc she’s hot)
Bloody Painter
-LOVES Hozier. Like actively buys tickets for his shows. Either hozier or The Hush Sound.
-the most visual mf you’ll ever meet. If he’s real comfortable he’d ramble for super fucking long (and gets annoyed when someone gets bored or questions him.)
-work first, people last. Helen really just focused on the next step in front rather than the whole timeline.
-beat the shit out of Toby for the accident of 2010. Though the two made up.
-mentally I think he’s…. Alright??? He’s one of those disturbingly quiet people, very hard to read. Though, turns out he’s just mute. Also has OCD
-he has a problem trusting himself and his thoughts (as most ppl with OCD do)
-very unhealed, Helen is very raw. Like his wounds are barely closed. Sometimes Helen is able to relax though and that’s only when he’s alone or possibly with Puppeteer.
-Helen makes sure he has no bad blood between any pasta. He’s worried hoodie doesn’t like him, though.
Masky
-staring problem, huge staring problem. resting bitch face too. Truthfully he’s never really annoyed much.
-insomniac with a touch of depression. He’s always super tired. Chronic eyebag haver.
-probably has thin silver glasses.
-loves sugary coffee and tea. Drinks basic white girl drinks 100%
-really good friends with Eyeless Jack and often helps him get more medical supplies.
-dare I say slight accent??? Not rlly an accent, but sounds like he’s from Tennessee. His moms def from New Jersey tho.
-Jewish heritage. He also watches a LOT of Rick and Morty with Ben.
-buys his weed from Ben to relax. He was forced to stop smoking by Hoodie and Sally. Weed is the next best thing.
-he’s really good at voice impressions but almost never does them unless he’s with Sally or Lazari.
-Masky is very depressed and unmotivated, so Puppeteer is usually around him a lot. Not that either of them care much.
Hoodie
-he’s literally mute. Also believe that he’s short too. Like 5’7.
-watches attack on Titan, his favorite character is Miche and Armin. Besides that, he doesn’t watch much anime.
-his room is covered in posters.
-Slendermans favorite, second to Dr Smiley.
-he loves 80’s music. The puppeteer does too, they listen together sometimes on missions.
-in love with Diet Pepsi and cool ranch Doritos.
-knows how to knit (don’t ask.) (he got high with Ben one time)
-come to think of it, everyone has went borderline insane smoking with Ben before. Hoodie has a picture book filled with their embarrassing high moments.
-hoodies room has a lot of spare notebooks and picture books. Don’t know why. All of them are individually organized. If you looked through them you’d go insane tho.
-worst handwriting in the entire mansion.
Laughing Jack
-he has a grudge against all cheeses. Like he fucking HATES cheese. Especially blue cheese.
-worst diet of the pastas. He eats like a 6 year old mixed with the Elf. Everything to him has to be sweet, if not then it has to be crunchy. Like chicken tenders, he can eat those, but that’s about it.
-secret genius because everyone thinks he’s stupid (when he’s really the instigator) the only person who’s caught onto this is Ben, but no one believes Ben.
-constantly humming.
-he hates TV and phones but likes music. Though if you put on bubble guppies or some shit, his brain would probably shut down.
-he’s constantly eating the floor, this mf is so clumsy.
-Jack riots a lot and starts plenty of petitions. Like when slender tried implementing a dinner time schedule, he petitioned for it to be gone because he didn’t want pasta. That one chipped at Slender’s nonexistent heart.
-he’s rebellious in nature and very horny. He’s constantly doing the most, very over the top whenever he likes someone.
-he hates Japanese horror films
Jason the toymaker
-he doesn’t turn his assignments into doll’s because they don’t deserve a second chance at life. Jason is one of the only pastas that kill normal people. The normal people are tortured and turned into dolls, his assignments are tortured and left to rot.
-Jason has an eye for fashion and has sewn a bunch of dresses for Sally. He also has a very high pitched giggle.
-tbh Jason listens to Kesha 100% it just scratches the spot
-he’s almost a horder. More than once did Slender have to expand Jason’s toy shop.
-hates all animals, there is not a single animal that he likes. (Though somehow, smiledog really likes him.) (Jason hates him but doesn’t harm him)
-he’s honestly such a priss, like fr. He’s always gossiping os judging. It’s funny though.
-he doesn’t really like much of the pastas. He likes Ben and sometimes LJ is cool, but aside from that he just doesn’t care about the rest much.
-he absolutely fucks up thin mints and raisin cookies. His fave food is probably a cinnamon raisin bagel with cream cheese tho tbh
Homicidal Liu
-Liu doesn’t really remember Jeff, but Sully does.
- Liu’s other systems are named Ajax and Diane, both of which are female.
-he really likes keeping up on YouTube drama and actively prays on downfalls.
-Liu’s best friend is definitely Toby or Zero. Aside from that he’s really closed off, he admires Slender too.
-Dissociative Identity Disorder.
-he definitely almost got on Zalgo’s side, but something (he doesn’t know what) pulled him to Slender more.
-least picky out of the creeps. He can stomach basically everything.
-he was one of those kids that had chronic ear infections, Liu constantly would have cotton balls in his ears Bc of this 😭
-Liu gets sick really easily, his immune system is NOT happy. Prob because he really likes spicy food but still.
-definitely 100% the best cook out of the pastas (with Ben being the best baker)
-Slendermans third favorite after Dr Smiley and hoodie.
-he’s honestly so homesick, but he doesn’t remember what for. Feels a strange connection to Jeff, but also almost hates him? He’s conflicted.
-serious victim of medical malpractice and medical abuse, he absolutely hates hospitals and anything to do with them.
Eyeless Jack
-used to write music in college before he turned. Also actually really sad about how his life ended.
-he’s good friends with Ben and Masky and surprisingly talkative. I felt like he almost whispers though.
-I also like to think that Jack is very musically inclined and the reason he went to medical school was so he could make bank in the future. His parents definitely didn’t want Jack to be a musician.
-so he can definitely play electric guitar and some piano (he tries and learns everyday)
-really bad at sports and awful sense of direction. He’s always lost. Ben usually has to fetch him once he goes out for missions.
-though I don’t think Jack being lost is all his fault, the path to the mansion changes every three hours and Jack leaves often for kidneys.
-he sees sally as a little sister and does a lot to make her happy.
#creepypasta#eyeless jack#creepypasta smut#ben drowned#dr smiley#homicidal liu#jeff the killer#ticci toby#puppeteer#ben drowned smut#creepypasta headcanon
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@steddiemas Day 19 Prompt: Steddie as Parents
Tags: Established Relationship, Good Parent Steve Harrington, Good Parent Eddie Munson, Christmas Fluff, Elf on the Shelf, Eddie Munson Is A Menace, The Return Of Marley Harrington-Munson
wc: 1079 | Rating: G
Read on ao3 | ao3 collection
Steve and Eddie grew up thinking the highlight of being a parent around the holidays was getting to partake in any and all Santa traditions. To some extent it is, they both love taking Marley to see the big man, and watching her open the gifts they worked hard to secure is always a top ten moment of the year. But Santa isn’t the only highlight for kids anymore. Nowadays Elf on the Shelf is all the rage and they’re fully on board.
Maybe too on board if they’re being honest.
See, Steve and Eddie have very different approaches to the Elf on the Shelf madness that transpires in their house during the month of December.
After one too many heated arguments over what the Elf should do next, they found a compromise. Steve is in charge of Mango the Elf on even days, Eddie on odds, and neither one is allowed to criticize what the other chooses to do.
Not only does it preserve the Christmas magic for Marley, who nearly stumbled in on the two of them playing tug-o-war with the stupid Elf at two in the morning three years ago, but it also saves their marriage. Steve can’t think of many other things that would be more embarrassing than admitting to a marriage counselor that they’re there because of a damn Elf.
Like clockwork, Mango the Elf arrives on December 1st in a chaotic flurry that Eddie manages to one-up every year. Steve has no idea how he does it, but even he can’t help but marvel at the creative scenes Eddie manages to create — especially this year’s which saw Mango arrive by way of a hot air balloon.
It was a tough act to follow, but the two have made it clear that competition has no space in Mango’s antics. After all, it’s all about putting a smile on Marley’s face. How big that smile is shouldn’t matter.
(It definitely does.)
After scouring Pinterest for ideas and a quick call to Robin who thinks the entire Elf Shenanigans is a nightmare, Steve finds himself cutting 200 pieces of paper into snowflakes to transform their living room into a winter wonderland for Mango to play in.
And so it goes.
Eddie creates mayhem and messes — chocolate chips left in the sink because Mango used it as a toilet, toilet paper dropped over the chandelier, and worst of all, flour all over the kitchen after she engaged in a snow angel competition with Barbie.
Steve bites his tongue and focuses his energy on wholesome moments — a Christmas bow rock climbing wall, a slumber party with socks sleeping bags, and plenty of guests, and of course, Marley’s favorite: Mango’s trip to the Elf spa.
They keep each other on their toes, pushing each other to be more and more creative and Marley gets to wake up every morning to a new scene that brings a smile on her face and reminds them of the childlike wonder they were robbed of but are making up for now.
It’s a flawless plan, until disaster strikes.
“Have you seen Mango?”
“Mango?” Eddie yawns, shuffling into the kitchen. “We didn’t buy any Mangos. S’a summer fruit.”
“Not the fruit, the Elf. What did you do with her last night?”
Eddie yawns again, scratching his bare chest as he waits for the coffee to finish brewing. “I hid her like always. A good one too. You know the birdhouse in the yard? Well, it’s now Mango’s treehouse. Decorated it and everything.”
“You mean the birdhouse that is currently being swarmed by a couple of Blue Jays?” Steve asks, voice teetering in the space between calm and panic.
Abandoning the Kurig, Eddie slides across the floor and over to the window that overlooks the backyard. Sure as shit, a couple of Bluejays are going to town on the birdhouse and Mango judging by the red fabric gliding through the morning breeze.
“Oh shit! Mango!”
Steve and Eddie both sprint into the backyard. Steve works on scaring the birds off, while Eddie collects the mangled pieces that remain of Mango. A leg on the floor, an arm in the bushes across the yard. Her decapitated head lays beaten and bruised inside the birdhouse, eyes pecked out and nose completely missing. Tinsel litters the grass along with the careful construction paper decorations Eddie had spent hours making.
If he weren’t so panicked over what Marley is going to think when she wakes up, he’d be crying.
“What are we going to do!”
“It’s too late to get a replacement this year,” Steve says, shaking his head at the carnage in Eddie’s hands. “Maybe we… we write a note! Say Santa called Mango back early because Marley’s been so good and he needs extra hands on present duty?”
“That could work!” Eddie smiles, leaning over the tinsel-covered grass to kiss Steve. “Look at you, coming in clutch with a story. Told ya I’d make a storyteller out of you one day.”
Steve snorts. “Only took 15 years.”
“Better late than never.”
Steve shakes his hand before his eyes drift back over to Mango’s destroyed state. Letting out a sigh, he tips his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “Is it weird m’going to miss this thing?”
Eddie shakes his head, jostling Steve in the process. “It feels like a death. Maybe we should bury her.”
“And risk Marley digging her up in the summer?”
“You’re right. She doesn’t need that trauma,” Eddie chuckles. “Let’s have a moment of silence in her honor then.”
Steve doesn’t argue and they both duck their heads for a moment or two before a gust of wind picks up turning them into shivering messes. After hiding Mango’s form in the trash bin, they return to their warm kitchen.
“We are going to replace her though, right?” Eddie asks, finally sipping his coffee.
“Oh definitely. The minute they’re back in stock I’m buying two. One for next year and one for backup just in case your wild scenes turn disastrous again.”
“Smart thinking,” Eddie smiles. “Guess I should get started on that letter.”
Glancing at the clock, Steve nods. “Better hurry. Marley’ll be up any minute."
"Shit," Eddie says, scrambling to open their junk drawer full of pens and random scraps of paper. "Distract her for me?"
"I'll try my best," Steve says, pressing a kiss to the top of Eddie's head before disappearing in the direction of Marley's room.
#steddiemas#steddie#steddie fic#steddie fluff#steddie dads#steddie ficlet#steve harrington#dad!steve harrington#dad!eddie munson#steve harrington fic#steve harrington ficlet#eddie munson#eddie munson ficlet#eddie munson fic#stranger things#stranger things fic#dani writes
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ALWAYS THE ARTIST, NEVER THE MUSE
pairing: eren yeager x gender neutral reader
description: you know you shouldn’t have let yourself fall for eren, but you did anyway, and it only left you with nothing but hurt when you knew his heart belonged to another. after months of torture, you finally have the strength to let go, granting you the happiness you so desperately needed back in your life.
word count: 1.7k
also available to read on my ao3 here
author’s note: happy december? no, angsty december. this particular one shot is a little personal for me because it’s based off a final conversation i had with someone who i essentially let have hold of my heart for far too long and finally had the strength to let go of them a few months ago. he’s like jake gyllenhaal minus the age gap. i say this because he gave me the ability to relate to the moment i knew aka not being there for my 21st birthday! insane! i did however make it less personal by giving it some how i met your mother vibes, but there’s still inklings of my personal life in it. writing helps me heal and express my feelings in a way that i’m comfortable with, so i feel good writing this as part of my healing journey? corny to use fanfiction for healing, but to each their own. sorry if this is too angsty, but imagine how my life has been LMAO. anyway, big shoutout to my friend @toorubobatea for beta reading this. i really wanted her to read it before i posted it, so thank you queen!! and now i hope you guys can enjoy it just like she did! mwah! and i’m tagging @jeanboyjean since she so kindly asked me to <3
you knew that the day you met eren yeager, your life would never be the same, but my god, did it your life turn upside down. pulled in so many different directions you couldn’t tell what was left or right anymore. you felt like you were losing yourself in the process, but you wanted more of him like you wanted to breathe air.
it was always a mistake. one beautiful, soul-crushing mistake. he’d lead you on with mixed signals and uncertainty, but you lived for the thrill because it was the only interesting thing going on in your life. it’s “for the plot”, as you’d always say. even if your friends told you a million times he was bad news and you would only get hurt in the end, you didn’t care.
he was just your friend, that’s what you two always claimed; just friends, but you always sensed a hint of a lie in those words. you couldn’t be just friends. not when he remembered everything you said down to what you had for lunch last week or that time your mother fainted as she watched you get stitches for the first time as a kid. not when he spoke to you everyday like clockwork, a routine that seemed to come easy. how could you ever be just friends? how could it not be more?
you were inevitably in love with eren yeager, and it crushed you when you realized he never once had those feelings for you. not only that, but he was in love with someone else; mikasa ackerman, his best friend since childhood. it all made perfect sense, and you wished you never met him in the first place. but even then, you couldn’t keep yourself away from him. as long as he didn’t know of your feelings, everything would be fine, right? oh, how you were so, so wrong.
you tortured yourself every time you spoke to him. you listened to him as he pined for mikasa, too scared to admit his feelings to her. of course you knew what it was like to be in that position, the one you wanted was sitting right in front of you and he didn’t seem to have a clue. it frustrated you so much, but even so, you’d rather have something instead of nothing with him. such a sad way to feel, such a sad way to live when you think about it now. always the artist, never the muse. constantly crafting for others, nothing ever created just for you.
you’d push those feelings deep down into the darkest pit of your heart, but no matter how hard you tried, it would all come back every time you saw his face or even thought of him. those thoughts of maybe if you were prettier, funnier, and just overall better plagued your mind, but you had to shake them away. one day, you knew, you’d ultimately become fed up and blow up about it. it was the only way you knew how, the only way you could be free.
so now here you were, sitting at your usual booth in your favorite bar—assuming it may no longer be yours after tonight—waiting for eren to arrive so you could talk. you assumed he could sense your seriousness and urgency when you texted him, but you figured so be it. one way or another, you’d do this.
he arrived like you expected. you refused to let him make you second guess yourself, so you kept your cool and acted as normal before you dropped the bomb on him. besides, the shot you took before he showed up was quite the help, plus the drink you swirled around in its glass now.
eren walked over to the bar to grab a drink before heading over to the booth, expecting you to stand up and greet him with a hug like always, but you remained in your seat, clutching your drink in your hands.
“hey, i got your text.” he said as he sat down across from you.
“i see that.” you reply. he noticed you were acting different, not like the y/n he knew. it was obvious you had something on your mind, and since he knew you so well, eren could sense you were going to spill your guts about something.
“what’s up? is something wrong?” eren asked. this was it.
“i just.” you pause. oh god, you were really doing this. “i just wanted to say that i’m done with whatever this is.”
he’s silent, he doesn’t know what to say. you feel like the words are all coming out like vomit. you almost wish you were spewing real vomit right now, but you weren’t quite drunk enough for that. you had to get through this hellish conversation first, at least.
“i’m done. i’m not going to make a fool out of myself anymore. i’m done trying. i’m giving up.” you say, tears threatening to stream down your face, but you fight them away. “i’m done exhausting myself of trying to be something i’ll never be because deep down i know i’ll never be yours.”
eren should’ve seen this coming. all those times you fell silent when he ranted to you about his love problems. you always wanted to scream in his face about how the one person in this world that actually wanted him was always right there, that it was you. even so, he could never give you what you wanted, and he felt like the worst person in the world because of it.
you wait for him to speak, but he doesn’t say anything. if this was going to be your final conversation, he might as well say something. “well, speak now or forever hold your peace because i’m clearly not holding mine.”
“i mean, it’s just not what i was expecting to hear.” eren finally spoke. “i’m just shocked.”
“trust me, i never expected to say it either, but if i’ve learned anything, it’s that i care too much.” you tearfully admit. “too much about you when i know where your heart belongs and it’s not with me.”
“i’m sorry, y/n. i never meant for things to get like this.” he said with sincerity, although you wondered if it was all a lie. “and you must know that there was never any hostile intentions behind any of my actions.”
“that’s funny. it always seemed like there was.” you looked down at your drink, quickly moving your gaze back to him as he spoke once more.
“no, you…” eren paused, trying to put the words together in the best way he could. even if he didn’t seem like it, he did care someway, somehow. “you’ve been there for me when i needed someone most and i’m really, really grateful for that, but i can’t give you what you want, and i’ve been unfair to you as a result. i’m sorry.”
huh. this really wasn’t what you were expecting. where’s the insults? where’s the twisting of your words? why is he actually being apologetic and taking accountability? you wanted to say this was crazy, but this is eren you’re talking about. you always knew he was too good. too good to ever be yours, even.
“you know, this is usually the part where you flip out and make it all my fault instead by calling me delusional and crazy.” you force a laugh. might as well laugh through the pain, right?
“i’m not gonna flip out.” eren said.
“why?” you question him.
“because i know i’ve done wrong by you.” he replied.
“well, that’s a shock.” you take a sip of your drink, tempted to chug it, but eren’s words shocked you into stopping the liquid from going past your lips.
“it shouldn’t have to be, y/n.” he frowned. “you deserve someone who won’t weigh you down. you deserve to move on, even if it’s not flattering for me.”
you set down your drink as you let out a sigh and briefly cover your face, rubbing your eyes before showing yourself once more. “i hate that you’re being so nice about this. i was expecting to yell at you or something.”
“do you want to?” eren asked you.
as much as past you would have loved to, you didn’t have the energy to be bitter anymore. “no… i’m okay. this is better.”
“you sure?”
“yeah, positive.” you say, followed by silence. there wasn’t much for you to say anymore, and you couldn’t beat on this dead horse any longer. it was time to finally say goodbye, no matter how much it pained you to do so. “um, i guess we should just end this here, huh?”
“yeah, guess so.” he looked away. this hurt eren too, but you both knew this was for the best. you’ll be thankful later down the road.
“would it be totally wrong to sneak in a taylor swift quote right now?” you ask, almost immediately regretting the question.
“no, go for it.”
“eh, maybe not. too corny.” you thought it would be best to keep those words to yourself. besides, it was too hard to pin it down to just one thing. he was worth a hundred songs, ones you may never listen to the same way, but that’s okay.
“she’s a wise, wise woman, you know.” eren said, a grin slowly creeping up on his face, despite the circumstances.
“yeah, she is.” you softly smile. at least you could end this on a little good note.
“goodbye, y/n. i wish you the best in everything.”
“goodbye, eren. i really hope you get her someday.”
and with that, you placed a twenty dollar bill on the table and left the bar, no longer claiming it as your favorite and leaving it to eren, along with your favorite place to sit. like with everything else in life, nothing lasts forever, nothing stays the same, and that’s okay. you knew that now.
it was such a strange feeling, having this weight lifted off your shoulders. you had been burdened with this boulder for so long you forgot what it felt like to be weightless. you were finally clean of eren yeager, light as a feather, but most importantly, happy, and freeing yourself of such delusions was the greatest gift you could ever receive.
© plutoccult / 310802. please do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my content in or outside of tumblr. reblogs are appreciated <3
#attack on titan#shingeki no kyojin#aot#snk#aot x reader#snk x reader#attack on titan x reader#shingeki no kyojin x reader#aot angst#snk angst#attack on titan angst#shingeki no kyojin angst#eren yeager#eren yeager x reader#eren x reader#eren yeager angst#aot eren#snk eren#eren jaeger#eren jaeger x reader#eren jaeger angst#pluto writes 📝
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set of 2 - part 10
Summary: Bucky watching over you.
AN: let me know if you wanna be tagged. ;)
"Man, did they ever teach you not to be so predictable in the army?" Sam's voice broke the silence of the night as he approached Bucky, who was once again standing outside the door of your building. The soldier was at your door every day. He would stand there for a few moments, making sure everything looked okay, watching from a distance. However, he never went in. He never responded to his messages inviting him for coffee or to see a movie. He decided to walk away before the worst happened, but that didn't mean he wouldn't watch over you.
Bucky turned to Sam, an eyebrow raised in response to the teasing tone. "What are you talking about? What are you doing here, actually, Sam?"
Sam crossed his arms, pleased with the soldier's reaction. “I'm talking about the fact that you're doing the same routine, standing outside her door like a grumpy, creepy bodyguard. It's too textbook for someone who's supposed to be the Winter Soldier, don't you think?"
Bucky snorted. "I'm just making sure she's okay."
Sam shook his head, a smile forming. "Sure, I get it. But, Buck, you're like clockwork. It's almost romantic, in a weird way. Like that weird guy from You, you know who?"
Bucky shot a death glare at Sam, clearly unconvinced.
"You're an idiot."
Sam smiled, looking at the building. "You should at least change your routine a little. Be less predictable."
"And how exactly do you suggest I do that?"
Sam smiled, the gears in his mind turning. "Well, for starters, maybe knock on the door and talk to YN instead of hiding in the shadows like a 40s Marvel character."
Bucky sighed again, his shoulders slumping. "I'm not doing this anymore, Sam."
"Not doing what? Watching out for her?"
Bucky nodded. "I can't get close to YN. It's dangerous. I've seen too much, done too much. I can't let her be in harm's way because of me."
Sam studied Bucky's face for a moment before responding, "And when did you decide that?"
Bucky avoided eye contact, a pained expression crossing his features. "After... everything. After I realized I couldn't escape my past."
"This is about the shit those stupid super soldiers told you the other day, isn't it?"
Bucky nodded, his jaw tight. "Yeah. They made it clear that being around me puts people in danger. I can't risk that with YN."
Sam shook his head, a disappointed frown on his face. "Man, you can't let their words dictate your life. You've changed. You're not the same guy you were back then."
Bucky's eyes reflected the internal struggle he was facing. "It's not just about me, Sam. It's about her safety. I can't have that on my conscience."
Sam sighed, placing a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "You're not giving her the chance to make her own decisions. YN is a grown woman. She deserves to choose whether she wants you in her life or not. You don't get to decide that for her."
Bucky's gaze dropped to the ground, the weight of his decisions heavy on his shoulders. "I can't risk losing someone else."
Sam's expression softened. "Buck, I get it. But pushing her away won't protect her. It'll just hurt both of you. Maybe it's time you talked to her, let her in on your fears. She's stronger than you think."
Bucky took a deep breath, the internal conflict evident in his eyes. "I don't want to see her hurt because of me."
"You won't know unless you talk to her," Sam insisted. "If you're walking away, at least let her know why. Don't leave her in the dark."
Being a winter soldier and going unnoticed in a crowd was a skill that Bucky developed to perfection over the years. Alone, he could nullify himself and appear like any civilian, and that had never been more useful than the last few days.
As he stood outside the building, Bucky's hands instinctively checked the hidden compartments of his suit. Each pocket contained a small arsenal of tools-evidence of a paranoia stemming from a tumultuous past. His gloved fingers hovered over the cold metal of a combat knife. He knew he wouldn't need the knife, his hands would be enough if you were in danger.
Before you got home from your new job, Bucky would check if your lock was perfect. A subtle examination revealed no signs of tampering, and the door itself stood firm against any unauthorized entry. He would check again tomorrow. As he had done since the last time he saw you.
Once outside, Bucky watched the windows, their curtains drawn against the night. His eyes lingered over each one, searching for any disturbance in their calm appearance. On the outside of the building, a brick and mortar screen was examined for irregularities or any sign that someone had infiltrated the perimeter.
His satisfaction only came after meticulously dismissing every conceivable threat. Finally, Bucky settled on the sidewalk, his watchful gaze now turned towards the building. Observing.
Protecting.
Missing You.
Sam was right. He should talk to you first, but you had a bad habit of being able to dissuade him from his stupid ideas, and he couldn't give up on that. You had no idea how much trouble Bucky brought just by being in the same environment as you. You actually did, and look what happened to you.
11:52 pm: The time when you normally start to fall asleep. He could leave now.
07:29 am: the time you woke up to go to work. Bucky would be back before then.
Fuck if he looked like the weird guy from the stupid show that idiot Sam talked about. Bucky posed the greatest danger to you, but no one could protect you better than him.
I'd rather you hate me alive than have to mourn you, Doll.
Tag list: @almosttoopizza @creat0r-cat @aesthetic0cherryblossom @cjand10 @sapphirebarnes @nouk1998 @unaxv @rain-lavender-rain @winterslove1917
#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x oc#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes#bucky fic recs#bucky fic#fluff bucky#bucky x female reader#bucky x y/n#bucky x you#bucky fanfic#bucky x reader#bucky imagine
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Headcanons on what the creeps would be like in a bl^nt rotation [includes jane the killer, clockwork, jeff the killer, ben drowned, and ticci toby]
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a/n: these are my headcanons on what the creeps [jane, jeff, natalie, toby, ben] are like during a blunt rotation with eachother. if you havent already, i really recommend reading my headcanons on what the creeps are like high on their own time here just to understand this post a bit better. enjoy c:
✮ in this rotation we have: ben, jeff, toby, jane, and natalie aka clockwork
✮ lets set the scene: usually everyone’s go to smoke sesh spot is ben’s room because it’s just the vibiest and he’s always got the good stuff on him. his room will have his led light’s on and they WILL be on green. it’s a must to be on green. all his other lights like his lava lamp will also be on. and he’ll always have some quiet lofi on in the back to give the room a relaxing feel. [ben can be a jerk sometimes but one thing he will do is make sure everyone is comfortable enough to start smoking. we don’t want any panic attacks]
✮ unfortunately for nina, she is never invited to the sesh anymore because she tends to be highly annoying
✮ mainly the conversations between everyone starts off easy going, usually just talking about what slender did to piss them off this time or whatever crazy/strange thing they witnessed today.
✮ ben is definitely the one that’s got everyone laughing, like i said in another post he’s the absolute funniest when he’s high off his ass. it gets even better when toby starts joking along with him, i mean these guys are masters at bouncing jokes off each other.
✮ jeff will talk about his most recent murders while insensitively making jokes about them while jane rolls her eyes
✮ both jane and natalie at some point will playfully start picking on jeff to which he will playfully pick on them back
✮ this usually starts by jeff saying something stupid or saying something that just didn’t really make sense and natalie and jane will point it out every single time and make fun of him for it
✮ another thing is that when jeff tells a story he uses sound effects and it’s the funniest thing to natalie and jane, they’ll definitely make fun of the sounds and mock him
✮ examplé, jeff was once describing how he timed himself to see how fast he can kill someone [he’s lame like that, i wasn’t kidding when i said he was insensitive to his victims/murders] at one point he described the sound of his knife as “chchchch” to which natalie and jane simultaneously mocked the sound and laughed for a good 10 minutes about it
✮ both jeff and natalie will argue over his hypothetical questions about who is right or why their idea would never work
✮ both jeff and natalie really enjoy discussing on what they would do if a zombie apocalypse were to actually happen
✮ toby and ben eventually chime in to their conversation but they never take the conversation seriously
✮ so we have jeff and natalie arguing like the situation is genuinely happening at that very moment while ben and toby are cracking jokes about what they would do and making fun of jeff and natalie while pointing out the holes in their plans while jane just laughs along and listens to everyone sound like idiots
✮ eventually at some point ben and toby will decide they wanna go out and do something which usually involves a gas station run and just running around the nearby town acting like children
✮ jeff, jane, and natalie tag along but they’re falling behind caught up in talking about some random drama that natalie definitely brought up on accident [that girl cant keep a secret]
✮ sometimes if they smoked alot, ben and toby will come up with the dumbest ideas
✮ once, they both went out during the winter in like 40 degree weather and jumped off a bridge literally just for fun
✮ and they’ve done way more dumber things than that
✮ like this one time they both convinced the whole group to sneak into a house party where the cops ended up getting called and toby being the funny guy he thinks he is shouted out something along the lines “aww who invited these guys”. obviously that got the attention of the officers who noticed they were all high. basically that night consisted of a party and running away from cops chasing them.
✮ jane and natalie are basically a duo in the group
✮ eventually they’ll start talking to just each other and it’s usually about more drama natalie can’t keep to herself or they’re talking shit about nina or making fun of jeff
✮ they will definitely start sharing tmi details about their life with each other [as besties do]
✮ after a few hours most of them will get tired
✮ usually toby and natalie get tired around the same time and jane will end up going to her room since nat’s not there anymore
✮ so it’s just jeff and ben left
✮ thats when it starts to get deep
✮ i headcanon jeff and ben to be close friends so once it’s just them left thats when they feel comfortable enough to start getting into heavier topics
✮ i mean this is the one and only time jeff will ever show emotions and disclose information about him actually… like… caring?… about people. which is the strangest thing to hear coming from jeff considering how he puts on a cold and distant persona around people
✮ like he has opened up to ben about how grateful he feels to have him in his life and even toby and natalie too. he has opened up about how he really does enjoy being able to talk about his dumb theories with natalie and to actually know that she is truly listening knowing that she’s also into that stuff
✮ after knowing jeff for as long as he has it’s not strange hearing this from him but in the past he was SHOCKED i tell you. shocked. because it was just so unlike him
✮ but even after years of being jeff’s best friend it still shocked him to hear jeff admit to how he felt bad for what he did to jane even though she really does get on his nerves.
✮ but yea these guys will spill their guts when it’s just them
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a/n: that’s all i got. if you have any more ideas or suggestions dm me and i will consider adding them all to a part 2! if you want to see any other headcanons topics you can dm me those requests too because MY REQUESTS ARE OPENN!!!! also check out my jeff the killer hcs <3
have a great day and don’t forget to be nice 💕
#ben drowned#clockwork#creepypasta#creepypasta headcanon#headcanon#jane the killer#jeff the killer#ticci toby#ben drowned headcanons#clockwork headcanons#jane the killer headcanons#jeff the killer headcanons#ticci toby headcanons#creepypasta mansion#creepypasta smut#creepypastas smoking weed#creepypasta headcanons#creepypasta au#slenderman#ticcy toby#jtk#creepypasta jtk#jtk headcanons#ben drowned creepypasta#creepypasta ben drowned#requests open
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Wade/Nancy is an artist who's been surrounded by negative opinions. She currently works under the username Grisgrisdoll, but she's widely known as the name that haunts her past, Kastoway.
I've seen many, many accusations being thrown online against this artist, but I noticed that for many people spreading them this knowledge is secondhand. I found her Deviantart account some time after she changed her username to Kastoway in the beginning of 2014 due to my hyperfixation on creepypastas at the time. I never actually followed her, but I visited her account every now and then, so if I missed something important, it was because of that and I will be glad if you tell me. In this post, I'll list the incidents in chronological order *with evidence* and then give my own opinion at the end.
One thing to know about Wade is that she has had many different names and usernames throughout her life. In addition, she is comfortable with people using either "she", "he" or "they" to refer to her. I'll be alternating the pronouns and using both her names.
He was 13 when she created Ticci Toby [1]. He posted her first drawing of him on the 19th of November 2012 on DeviantArt [2] and Toby's origin story one year later on the 23rd of May 2013 [3]. Wade changed the personality of Toby to make him less upbeat, more tragic and more scary. One of the first instances where he showed discomfort with how people portrayed Toby that I remember was in a publication she posted on the last day of 2013 [4]. This situation ended up with a small redesign of Toby on 5th of February 2014 [5].
She took a short break from DeviantArt around July [6]. It was this year when her creepypasta blew up out of proportion. Previously, she had expressed her desire for Toby to only be shipped with another creepypasta character called Clockwork. However, many people didn't like Clockwork and didn't respect this wish, leading her to further getting tired of the creepypasta community. By october of the same year, her Deviantart bio said: "Most people know me as the creator of the creepypasta story "Ticci-Toby"-- which yes I am, but I prefer not to be constantly called out for it nor only recognized or appreciated for it. I do not contribute to the creepypasta fandom anymore so please don't ask me about it. Thank you" [7].
One issue that is frequently overlooked when discussing Wade's actions is her problem with impersonators, as she stated on a status in November [8].
On 14th of December 2014 he made a post trying to solve all the turmoil that had formed because of shipping [9]. He stated that he had asked people not to ship Toby with anyone but Clockwork because that was what he was comfortable with, but he realized that decision was pointless and didn't care at this point. The situation had gone out of control and there were people bashing creators who shipped Toby with others or with their own characters. He apologized to the hurt and asked people to stop the white knighting. In addition, he recognized "I wasn't prepared for my character to become popular on the internet. I really wasn't. I never thought it would happen and I'm still not good at dealing with it. In fact I suck at it, it's true". He was 15 at the moment.
In 2015, they got into Marvel, even having a tumblr blog where she drew Deadpool replying the asks of her followers. At the end of their bio, it could be read: "I will not reply to notes or comments regarding Ticci-Toby or anything Creepypasta related, sorry." [10]. This message was deleted months later, so their profile didn't mention Toby or creepypasta anymore. They kept the folder for her creepypasta drawings in their gallery tagged as "old".
In April 2016, he had to warn the general public that Toby wasn't real and that he was his creator [11]. People had been spreading misinformation, saying that Toby was real or was based on a real person. Wade feared that something like the tragedy of Wisconsin could happen again, it was a serious concern.
In May, Nancy made a post saying that people could still ask her about Toby [12], but later in June that year, she decided to step off the internet with the purpose of trying to improve her life, archiving the majority of her work [13]. Later in 2017, she updated her bio to let people know about her new instagram account where she mostly posts original art. It was at this point when I stopped checking her content completely, as this account, called bonejars at the beginning, was private for a while. She hasn't been very active on DeviantArt apart from the times she announced her podcast.
On the porch: Episode 2, 16 April 2020, started a wave of negativity against them. I didn't watch it at the time and it is now private so I can't say much about it, but they did some clarifications on her instagram stories later. Many users took screenshots of them and they can still be read [14]. In them, Nancy says that they came to terms many years ago with the ships, that they left the fandom because all of the drama made them miserable and that they'd wish Toby to no longer be associated with the creepypasta fandom. Despite this, they don't want people to stop doing what makes them happy, they said they're ok with headcanons and people reinterpreting the character, that they like the fanart as long as people don't profit from it. They said "I know what escapism is like and using fiction to cope with life. I would never wanna take that away from anybody". Later, they had to make further clarifications because people accused them of wanting to take Toby away from the fandom.
On 25 abril 2021, Nancy posted a new redesign of Toby on his Instagram account [15]. This version of him was significantly different from the last one. The character is older, wears different clothes and looks more realistic due to Nancy's art style development. With this design, he looks like a character from a slasher.
Many people weren't pleased with the redesign due to thinking the reason for it was to invalidate the previous one. Consequently, they brought to the surface controversies from the past. Nancy was accused of having supported two controversial figures in the creepypasta community: Laughing Jack's creator Steve Aikins (Snuffbomb) and Sally Williams' creator Shilo (la_mishi_mish).
Steve presumably harassed his ex-girlfriend and talked indecently with several young girls back in 2014 [16]. I haven't found evidence of Wade supporting him and I can't remember exactly what she said. If someone has screenshots of it, I would be grateful.
Shilo used to draw NSFW art of Sally [17]. This character is canonically 8, so she usually aged her up in this kind of content. However, she posted a compilation of sketches depicting Sally and Jeff the Killer having sex in 2015, stating it was ok for them to have intercouse because they were both 13. Shilo was 22 at the time. Several sources indicate that she stopped drawing mature content due to social pressure. Nancy and Shilo follow each other on instagram to this day.
There haven't been more references to Toby on Nancy's part since then.
◇ Ok people, get the pitchforks because now I'm gonna give my opinion!
So, what can we accuse Wade of? Of being an idiot and a hypocrite when he was a teenager, of having bad companies and managing fame poorly. I don't think we can blame them for anything else and feel that a big part of the hate they receive is undeserved.
I think she was a hypocrite because she got angry with an interpretation of Toby that she had at the beginning. What's more, Toby's story uses an interpretation of Slenderman that was invented by the fandom, proxies are not canon. It's like a fanfic of a series inspired by just a couple of photos.
Still following Shilo is yikes. However, we don't really know if they're still close and I'm personally gonna give her the benefit of the doubt. Defending Steve was a bad move, but, as some people have pointed out before, he was a teen when that happened, way younger than Steve and she could have been convinced to think he was innocent. Shilo is older too.
Being that young, she wasn't prepared for facing the bad sides of fame. Ignoring stuff, going radio silent and then saying things in the heat of the moment didn't help her a bit, but it was all that occurred to her at the time. She's tried to explain things in more detail in recent years just to go back to saying as little as possible because at this point, people get angry for whatever she says.
People say they're homophobic. Their instagram account refutes it.
People say he was mean and insulted the fandom. I remember reading a couple of statuses on DA that I thought were insensitive, but that was a long time ago. People grow and he's changed his mind a lot as you can read in his instagram stories. If you say these things referring to the post where he told people Toby wasn't real, I'm sorry, but I think he had all the right to be harsh. People said Slenderman was real, it ended up in a tragedy and now the same things were being said about Toby. Can you imagine how it's to feel you're responsible for someone's death? He was trying to protect people.
People say she went after artists that portrayed Toby in a different way than hers, yet every time she's said something that ended up hurting people, she took responsibility and apologized for it. I don't believe this person could go and directly hurt someone. Remember what I said before about her issues with impersonators and people white knighting? That could be what's happening. Even now she has problems with people pretending they know her, so be careful!
People say they have abandoned the character many times. It's true they've said they didn't want to talk about Toby on four different occasions, but I don't think they did it with that intention. Why did they redesign him then? The design we all know is inevitably tied to the creepypasta community and they want to move on from it, that's why they didn't want to talk about him. Now they made a version of the character that isn't tied to that world, so we have two Tobies, one for them and one for us. I think that's cool!
Many don't like that they can't use the old version to earn money, but I want them to understand that this is a really particular situation. Usually, people making commissions of characters that aren't theirs isn't a problem when the creator is getting money on their own (unless you're Disney, Disney has no chill). This isn't Wade's case, she has never been monetary compensated for creating or drawing Toby and she has the right of choosing not to allow the commercial use of her characters. "Give for free what you were given for free" is a rule that makes sense in this case.
I don't expect anyone to stop disliking Wade, you're free to feel whatever you want, but at least I hope that this post helps people to see that all of this is more dimensional than just "kastoway is evil". At the end of the day, she's just a dude that fucked up many times and I think her experiences can help us to not commit the same errors.
◇ Here you have all the evidence
[1] Wade's age (look at the replies)
[2] First art of Toby
[3] Toby's Origin on Kastoway's DA
[4] Post where Wade complains about the difference between fanon and canon Toby
[5] Updated Toby design
[6] Wade's DA on hiatus
[7] Wade saying he doesn't want to be known just for creating Toby
[8] Wade complaining about impersonators
[9, 11] Nancy clarifying the issues with shipping and people saying Toby was real (look at section "Kastoway and his creation")
[10] Nancy saying he won't reply asks about Toby
[12] Nancy apologizing and saying ask about Toby are welcomed
[13] Nancy announcing her departure
[14] Nancy's deleted instagram stories
[15] Toby's new design
[16] About Laughing Jack's creator
[17] About Sally's Creator
#very long post#4 pages long#kastoway#ticci toby#creepypasta#creepypasta fandom#creepypasta characters#creepypastas#deep dive
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Half of You (Chapter 3) [Santiago Garcia x fem!Reader]
CH. 1 CH. 2
Summary: What's a romcom without a little tragic backstory, huh? Tragic backstory and muffins.
Word Count: 3.7k
Warnings: Mentions of death, mourning, talk of pregnancy.
A/N: I want to thank you guys so much for all the lovely comments and tags on the previous chapters of this story, it means the world to me 💚 This is going to be kind of a slow burn, mmmkay? I want Vin and Santi to simmer good and long before we add the spice because we want that payoff to be delicious. Enjoy!
You don’t knock when entering Santiago’s home anymore, not in the mornings, at least. You know you’d never catch him in a compromising position in his kitchen or living room, especially not at 9am. He is military clockwork. The ISS could set its time to Santiago’s morning routine. He’s up at 6 every day for a weighted vest run. Sometimes, when you’re up at that hour and just laying in bed, you see him jog past your window at 6:04 and always back at his front porch again by 7:00.
For the past two years, with almost no exceptions, you’ve been getting up every morning, making some kind of breakfast, and bringing it over at 9, or around nine. You’re not as punctual as Santi and sometimes the muffins or breakfast bars or whatever you make aren’t ready on the dot like his routine, but he never complains.
It wasn’t really like you were doing this for Santi, this was a structure for you. This routine of taking care of someone, being expected at someone’s home at a certain time to feed them. Not that Santi needed to be fed, the man could subsist on protein powder and supplements if needed. It was the promise you made to him….
How worried he’d been for you in the early weeks following Jay's death. When he wouldn’t see the lights of your home turn on all evening despite knowing you were inside. How he’d knock and sometimes you couldn’t find it within yourself to even tell him to go away; instead silently crying into the pillow that your head couldn’t leave.
Santi had been at a loss. He was grieving too and could only turn his pain into work. Toughing out the emotions through tasks.
It had been an odd morning about two weeks after the funeral that you saw a pair of legs sticking out from under Jay’s car in the front driveway. You were so pissed that someone was fucking with Jay’s things that you went outside for the first time in over a week, in your pajamas (a pair of Jay’s sweats and one of his giant cotton t-shirts) no shoes, and kicked the intruder in the thigh, hard enough to hurt your own toes.
“Get the fuck away from that car! I’m calling the cops!” You screamed, not caring that Mrs. Rosenthall was walking her little dog across the street, slowing her pace to watch the domestic scene play out.
“Fuck!” The hidden man shouted grabbing his thigh and in the process of reacting to the leg kick, he audibly hit his head on the underside of the car, giving another prolonged “Fuuuck.” Before scrambling out from under Jay’s vintage Mustang.
“Santi? What—What are you doing?” You cross your arms over your chest and wait for him to get to his knees, wiping off the oil from his hands onto what are clearly work pants.
“I’m changing the oil and then, if you’d be so kind as to not club me in the head with a wrench, I was going to replace the spark plugs.”
“Replace the spark plugs?”
“Yes. After the oil. Jesus, you kick like a horse.” He groans, rubbing his definitely bruised thigh over his dark blue pants.
“Sorry.” You mutter, meaning it but not really projecting culpability. How were you supposed to know it was him? Santi dives back under the car and you gasp affronted. “You can’t have his car you know. Just because he’s— you can’t, it’s not yours.” You sound like a child, unable to even express basic sentiments and the ones that you can express are stubborn and selfish. It’s the way you’ve come used to talking in the past few weeks.
Santi makes a frustrated sound under the vehicle and you don’t know if it’s because of your words, or if its a particularly stubborn nut he’s prying.
He emerges from under the car again after a few silent moments of you shifting your weight from foot to foot. Santi brings out a pan of dirty oil with him and wipes his brow with the back of his dirty forearm.
“I’m not angling for the car, Vin. It’s not my style. The fucking color alone, dios. But if you just let these things sit here, unused and unserviced, they have a tendency rot, ok?”
The metaphor feels like a personal attack, an attack on your inability to honor Jay’s memory by letting his car go to shit, an attack on your own inability to take care of yourself down to the routine maintenance of tooth brushing.
The tears come again and you let them fall pathetically. “Jesus, will I ever stop crying? I didn’t know this many tears could exist in a person.” You laugh in woe at the hard understanding on Santiago’s face.
Santiago brings you into his arms. He holds you and lets you ugly cry into the dirty fabric of his shirt. The oil and armorall smell reminds you of Jay and all his Saturday mornings spent under that fucking car.
Jay would come in after an hour or two, depending on what needed to be done, or how distracted he’d get on the maintenance if Santiago showed up to help. Tack on an extra hour if they decided it needed a ‘test drive’.
You always had breakfast waiting for him when Jay came in; oily and sweaty. Sometimes he’d come in and grab you from behind with dirty hands to which you’d shriek and demand that he needed to take a shower before he ate. You regret that now. You miss his big strong arms and you you’d give anything for the stains of his embrace. So you shift tighter into Santiago’s hug.
“I’m filthy.” He says apologetically. Probably realizing you’re in One of Jay’s nicer cotton shirts, definitely not something he’d wear to work on the ‘Stang, and he doesn’t want to ruin it.
“I don’t care.” You insist through tears, clutching his torso like a port in a storm. Santiago rubs your back, up and down like soothing an infant. You even hiccup like one.
“Do you wan’t to come in for breakfast?” You sniff. “Please.”
“You don’t need to make me breakfast, Vin. You should probably rest.”
“No. No, I don’t need to sleep. Please?”
Santiago hesitates. You can feel his head turn to look at the car.
“Spark plugs first, then I’ll go home to shower, then I’ll come back for breakfast. You need me to bring anything?”
“You don’t need to shower.” God, it comes out so starved. Your emotional regulation has gone to absolute shit and you realize for the first time that the feeling that has been eating you up is a little thing called loneliness.
“Vin, it’s okay, I’ll come back.” He pats your back and you pull out of the hug, wiping your tears and snot on the back of your forearm, looking down at your barefeet on the gravel.
“Eggs.” You nearly whisper.
“Eggs?”
“Eggs. Bring eggs. I don’t think ours are— mine are any good.”
Santiago showered and came back with eggs and you made food in your kitchen for the first time in weeks, fresh food, a meal that wasn’t a condolence casserole.
It lifted your sprits up so much that you begged Santiago to come over the next morning and then it quietly evolved to you bringing the baked goods over to his house. The responsibility did so much to haul you out of bed on days that threatened to swallow you into the folds of your comforter, on days where all you’d want to do was watch the day grow bright and fall dim without performing a solitary meaningful action.
Two years had passed. There were hardly any mornings nowadays where you felt the pull to sink into sleep and waste the day in unconsciousness. You were excited to get up every morning to see your friend. And on days when he would be gone due to the nature of his work, you’d braved up and made other friends in the neighborhood, bringing them freshly baked scones or a pitaya bowl if it it was too hot to bake. Just something. A reason to get up, to greet someone.
Santi’s home is immaculate, like always. He’s the type of single man who takes pride in a cleanly appearance, wether that’s a learned behavior from the military or if he’s always been tidy from childhood, you don’t know. The granite countertops are spotless and he’s perched at the barstool with the morning paper. His hair is still slightly damp from his morning shower and he scowls over the sports page, shaking his head at some news or other from the top fold.
“I hope you like crasins… and walnuts.”
“Jesus, Vin!” Santi startles from his stool and tosses the paper down.
“That’d be a no on the crasins then?” You laugh and ruffle the back of his curls as he settles back down into his seat. You grab a couple plates and napkins, setting a crasin muffin down on each one before pouring yourself a cup of coffee from the pot into your designated yellow mug (a trinket Santiago had made at a Color Me Mine double date from 3 or so years ago).
“You ever think about knocking when you come over?” He takes a bite from the muffin and hums pleased.
“Knocking? I’m hurt. So all that mi casa su casa talk was just for show, Garcia?”
Santi closes his eyes and slaps the counter. “Mmmm, this.” He points at the muffin and gives you a thumbs up.
“You like it more than the cinnamon rasin bread from yesterday?”
He wipes his mouth off on a napkin and gulps from his coffee mug. “That was good too.”
You take a bite of your own muffin and hum in agreement. “Oh yeah, that shit’s delicious. Adding this one to the roster for sure.”
“Uh, roster, don’t remind me.”
“Why?” You gesture to the paper “was there a tragic drafting in the world of fantasy football? Should I fly the flag at half mast?”
“Pretty dismal. Do you want to hear about it?”
“I mean, you can tell me anything, Santiago, but I’m not going to understand a word you’re saying.”
“Uh huh, I figured. I’ll spare you the tragic details and sum it up with ‘I think I’m going to lose a big chunk of change to the boys this week’ but, hey, at least I’ve got these muffins.”
“You can’t have them all, I was going to bring the rest over to Mrs. Rosenthal.”
Santi makes a quiet noise of indignation and pulls the plate of muffins closer to himself.
“Not to Gertie! You know her little fur ball was barking till past midnight? Right outside my window. Again. She doesn’t deserve muffins.” There’s a twinkle of teasing in his eyes and you sigh and relent, squeezing between your fingers the bit of tum that sits above his belt.
“You’re starting to turn into a muffin. I spoil you too much.”
With a full mouth, Santi shoves the plate back in your direction and frictions his fingers clean of crumbs.
“Take em!” He shouts dramatically with a mouth full of muffin, pushing his stool back and taking his plate to the sink to wash it by hand.
“I like the tum by the way, it’s very becoming… and the dad bod is fitting, you know, considering…”
You trail off and Santi turns around wide eyed, drying his hands on a dark grey tea towel. “Do you mean…?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know, not yet, not for a couple weeks… I mean I could be right now, and I— I wouldn’t know.” You’re beaming, eyes alight with excitement. “I’m nervous!” You clap your hands quietly together. “That’s why I made so many muffins this morning, I’m just ugh, bouncing with the anticipation— HEY what are you doing with my coffee, Garcia?!” Santi dumps your full cup of coffee down the sink and starts on hand washing your yellow mug. The barstool scrapes as you get up to retrieve your mug from his soapy hands.
“You can’t be having caffeine! It’s bad for the baby!” His upper arms are strong as he blocks you from getting your hands on the mug with his back turned to you.
“Bad for the baby? How do you know that?” Santi dries your mug with a clean towel and sets it by the electric tea kettle, flipping the blue switch on. When he abandons the mug to grab some tea from the cupboard, you snatch it and hide it behind your back, making your way sneakily over to the coffee pot as he rummages for something on the shelf.
“I’ve been reading up about it.”
“Reading up about it?” You’re not really listening to him, simply parroting his words as you quietly pour yourself a new cup of delicious dark roast coffee.
“Aha! Got it!” He holds up a box of celestial seasonings tea, eyes getting wide as he sees you taking a sip from the piping hot mug.
“Vin!” He cocks his head and holds out a hand, and the way his eyes narrow on yours, glinting with resoluteness makes you sigh with defeat and hand him the steaming hot mug.
He rinses it out once again without complaint and you examine the box of “ugh, herbal tea?”
“Yep.” He pops the ‘p’ of the word. There’s no arguing with Santi.
“I might not even be pregnant, you know.” But the proffered information is pointless. You know what he’s about to say before he even says it.
“Yeah, but you might be.” It’s exactly what you knew he was going to say.
“I never read anything like that.” But it’s a lie. You have read things like that, but of all the things? Coffee? How are you supposed to live without coffee?
“Well maybe you should read harder. I have a book you can borrow.”
“You have a book?”
“I’m not done with it yet, I’ll let you read it when I’ve finished.” Santi pours the boiling water over the teabag and you almost cry when he places the mug into your hands. In a last ditch effort to get your way, you pout your lips out and fix him with a defeated stare.
“After all the muffins I’ve made for you. Now this.”
“Nuh uh, Vin. Just try it.” He ruffles your hair in a very ‘you’ move and chuckles when you stomp your foot in a petulant show.
You sit back at the stool and blow on your tea before taking an exploratory sip. It’s not bad, but you scrunch your face in disgust anyway.
Santi shakes his head at you and takes a big gulp of his own coffee. “Mmmm, that arabica roast. Delicious.”
“You shit.” You mutter taking another gulp from the chickory tea. It’s really not too bad. You’ll have to take a picture of the box so you can get some more from the store later.
“I don’t mind playing the villain, as long as our baby won’t have a third arm from the bio hazard levels of caffeine you consume on a daily basis.”
Our baby. Our baby. Our baby. Your eyes go wide and Santiago backtracks. “I didn’t mean ‘our’ baby like that, I meant your baby… of course.”
A few beats of silence fall between the two of you.
“I’m sorry, I shouln’t—“
“I’ve been meaning to—“
You both speak at the same time and laugh awkwardly. Santiago gestures to you gently. “Please, go ahead.”
“I… I was just… well you signed all the papers Renatta gave you, and I’m sure that you, being Mr. ‘I’ve been doing my own research’, you read the whole release contract?”
“I did.”
“So… how involved did you… how involved are you intending to be with the baby?” The baby. Neutral. Not “my”, not “our”, “the”. Safe.
Santi scratches his smooth jaw and licks his lips deliberately.
“I guess I’ll be.. I wan’t to be…”
Your heart stops for a second with the intensity of his pause, your head swims and flicks through future images at a thousand miles a minute. Santiago holding a little baby’s hands as it takes its first wobbly steps, shushing a wailing baby to sleep in a nursery that doesn’t exist, singing lullabies, scrunching his nose at a dirty diaper, hiking trips with a toddler on his shoulders, tee ball practice. You shake your head to clear the whole little lifetime that unfolds rapidly in fantasy form.
“I want to be as involved as you let me.” His eyes meet yours then. And you nod unthinking at the brilliant umber depths. “If you want me to be their uncle, their neighbor, their… whatever. I’m,” he takes in a breath that fills his whole chest, “I’m okay to be whatever you need me to be.”
“Okay.”
“Well how involved do you want me to be?”
“I don’t know.”
“At all?”
“No.” Your voice sounds small and all of a sudden you feel like you’re being interrogated.
“Haven’t thought about it one bit?” He presses.
“No.” But the no feels like a lie. Because of course you’ve thought about it. You’re thinking about it right now, seated next to him in his immaculate kitchen.
“That tracks.” He scoffs and goes back to his paper, flicking the pages open with agitation.
“Hey!” You push his fist down and hold his clenching fingers lightly with your own. His face looks hurt. “I don’t really know right now. It’s— this is all new to me, Santiago.”
Santi nods in understanding but still looks as though there’s something on the tip of his tongue that he’s trying to reign in. “I’m sorry Vin. You…” he unclenches his fist and takes your fingers into his warm palm, holding them with reassurance. You stare down at your joined hands, unable to meet his understanding eyes. You don’t deserve how kind and patient he is with you. How giving he’s always been with you. His nature makes you feel fucking guilty at times. “You take all the time you need, Vin. I’m not going anywhere.”
“No?”
“No. I live right next door.”
You smile at him. “Thanks, Santi.”
He lets go of your hand and pats it. “Plus the real estate market is a nightmare right now,” he takes another sip of his coffee which sloshes slightly when you shove his shoulder. “I’d be insane to sell in this economy.”
“You shit!”
Santi smiles and goes back to his paper with a smile and genuine interest.
“What are your plans for today, officer.”
Santi scratches his eyebrow, “I need to hit up Home Depot to get some fresh wire for the weed whacker. How about you?’
“Oh my god, thats perfect!”
“Glad you think so, seeing as how I’ll be treating your lawn too.”
“Are you taking your truck?”
“Uhhh, yeah?”
“Becasuse… if you could, if you’d be so kind…”
Santi rolls his eyes, “What do you need?”
“There’s this little outdoor plant shelf from their weekly ad that I want to get. Plus this osmosis water filtration thingy, but what I really need your truck for is the plant shelf.” You temple your fingers at your lips in hopefulness.
“Thought you said it was ‘little’?”
“Uhhh…. Comparatively.”
“Compared to what?”
“Compared to my car.”
“Vin…”
“And I know what you’re thinking. You think that I’m going to force you to build the plant shelf for me.”
“Bingo.”
“But its pretty simple, I think I can do it myself!”
“Uh huh.”
“I will need to borrow your zzzz zzzzzz gun, though.”
“My what??”
“Don’t play dumb. Your bzzzz bzzzz gun! The think that can drill stuff?”
“My drill, you mean?”
“Yeah. Probably.”
Santi scrunches up his face and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“And the osmosis filter?”
“What about it?”
“Is it an internal or external component?”
“Uhhh? Elaborate?”
“Is the system under the sink or to the side of the sink?”
“Oh! Under.”
Santi blinks at you. “And where will the filtered water come out of?”
“A little spigot with a lever on the side of the main faucet.”
“You know you’ll need a drill for that one too? Plus you’ll need to shut off the water main? I…. Vin, did you know this?”
“No… but I did taste the reverse osmosis water and Renatta’s the other day and ugghhh I need it! She said it wasn’t hard to install.”
“Really? Did she install it herself?”
“No. She hired someone.”
“You’re insane.”
“I can figure it out, Santi! I don’t need your help! I just need your truck to fit the planter desk thingy.”
“Fine.”
You clap your hands and Santi sighs, grabbing his keys and sunglasses. You push past him out the door with the plate of remaining muffins
“I just gotta drop these off at Gertie’s and grab my purse, I’ll meet you at your truck!”
“Careful!” Santiago barks at you as you jump over the low hedge toward Mrs.Rosenthal’s house. You nearly stumble and spill the plate of muffins on her driveway. You turn to see Santiago standing on his porch with his sunglasses on his head, both hands on his hips and shaking his head at you with a slight smile. He really would make a great dad.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Rules of the Game- Chapter 9
I thought this chapter would be shorter. Oops.
Sorry for the lack of smut. Instead enjoy the angst and violence.
Chapter Index here.
Find this fic on AO3 here.
Usual tags apply, so minors DNI!
Chapter 9- Sign Your Name
You and Al had fallen back into the old routine like clockwork now. The luxury of sitting comfortably to feed had applied to just one meal, and he presented the rest of your food at his feet, where you knelt obediently to eat. You thanked him meekly and he left without a word. These interactions were all you saw of him. You couldn’t be sure, but you didn’t think he had been down to watch you sleeping recently.
Though who could say for certain? You found yourself so unsure of him- what his intentions were every time he stepped into the basement, what mood he might be in (whether he’d be wearing the impish grin or the unhappy frown), what his true endgame was in this entire situation. It wasn’t pure fear you felt anymore, though that must have factored in somewhere. It was a virulent mixture. Hatred, dread, sorrow, loneliness, confusion.
All you could do in the basement was sleep and think. Neither was a very appealing option. Sleeping only led to nightmares and waking more restless than before. The nightmares weren’t always about Al, as they had been when you first arrived. They were more abstract dreams of dark shapes and evil voices chasing you down darkened corridors, your running taking on that terrifying dreamlike feature of slow-motionness, claws and teeth and screams snapping at you endlessly until you woke in fright. But when you were awake, your mind reeled.
Thinking guided your thoughts down undesirable avenues: how you hadn’t been able to escape, how much you missed your family and friends, how you had started to feel about him, about Al. Not that you entertained the idea of caring about him in any way. But everything about him confused you. Why did the things he did start to feel good, nice even? Why did you find yourself leaning into and feeling a certain thrill from the pain he inflicted? A nagging voice at the back of your mind half-wished for another encounter with him. Your rational brain insisted this was because you needed to see more of the house above, to further your plans to escape him.
Three days after he had last touched you, the opportunity presented itself. You awoke from your usual night terrors to find the door to your cell open. You sat up and stared hard at the door, thinking frantically.
The game was getting so terribly confusing. He wants you to be good, and being good means staying where he’d put you, safe and sound in the basement.
But then why open the door? At least some part of him wants his good girl to be naughty, because he wants to punish her. He enjoys the pain he inflicts. Would it be worse to go up, accept whatever discipline he gives? Or should you stay, and remain his good girl? Both choices felt wrong somehow. The game felt hopelessly rigged.
Still mulling these thoughts over, you made a final decision. You were going to go up. He hadn’t talked to you in days, and you needed to win his trust, especially after your blunder in the bathroom days before. You would willingly accept your punishment, in whatever form he chose. His sadistic nature would prefer beating or fucking you, rather than you cowering from it, and you found yourself wanting to please him.
Although you had decided this course of action, you still crept silently up the narrow staircase. Reaching the top step, you slowly turned the small brass knob of the door to the kitchen. You readied yourself to look into his frowning face, though as the door opened softly, the scene before you caught you unaware. Al was sitting there, legs spread and belt loosely in hand. He wasn’t shirtless this time, though his cardigan was unbuttoned and his broad chest and stomach peeked out from behind it in the kitchen’s dimness. But the grimacing mask was slumped downwards and his breathing was slow and deep. He was asleep.
This was not part of any plan. But this was better, surely? A real chance of escape, not one where you had to pleasure him or endure his painful machinations to keep him happy and keep yourself alive. You knew you had to try, although this thought filled you with more dread than you expected. As if your initial plan to make him happy was preferable to actually escaping. No, that can’t be it, you told yourself. All of this was just unexpected and threw you for a loop.
You willed yourself to think only of your escape. Tiptoeing along the linoleum floor, you had to twist your body to pass Al's slumped form. He was a sleeping lion, even grunting quiet snarls as he slept. If he woke, he was sure to rip you apart for your misdeeds. Your sock squealed on the rubbery floor, as loud as a gunshot to your ears, and you froze in place. You clapped a hand to your mouth before you could utter any fearful gasp. The Grabber’s bulky form, just inches from you, stirred ever so slightly. His shoulders shrugged and his head rocked back slightly, finding a new position to snooze in. He hadn’t woken.
You made it to the living room, exhaling a slow breath. The carpet muffled your steps better here. You slunk to the door, but your heart dropped when you saw the bike lock securely latching the door closed. You had no hope of even guessing the code. The window then. The lounge had a large window, squarely behind the sofa. The blinds were only half down, exposing the outside world to you. A clear night sky was brightened by a couple of streetlights glowing dimly on the empty street. Freedom was so close.
The window would lift up from the bottom, and once fully open you’d have just enough room to squeeze through. Al’s muscular frame wouldn’t fit through the gap, and you figured he’d waste precious seconds unfastening the bike lock. This could work. It would make a noise, so you’d have to do it in one quick motion and run like hell. You looked quickly towards the doorway leading to the kitchen, where Al still slept soundly on his chair. You knelt on the soft couch, hands ready on the window latch. With purpose, you yanked it with all your strength.
The glass pane slid up easily in your hands, then abruptly stopped about six inches from its original position. With the momentum you’d put into pulling it, the sound of it catching made a roaring thud. You had no time to think about why it wouldn’t open, but instead reflexively looked toward the kitchen. No sleeping figure there any longer. Your captor had risen, and had begun to take off the devilled horns, leaving only the frown sitting below his eyes which were gleaming with menace. They were flint-black with rage, no trace of the calming cerulean blue in them.
In that moment, you knew. You knew it was over. Your body, however, rejected this notion, and its instinctive response was to run. You bolted off the couch and ran blindly down the hallway. Unable to hear any footsteps due to the blood pumping in your skull, you simply ran as far as you could, eyeing the door at the very end of the narrow corridor. Bursting through it, your legs collided painfully with a wooden bed frame, forcing you to stop. You took a split second to see your options- to your left a bathroom, to your right another window. He was on you before your brain could make that decision; a thundering blow to your back forced you harshly onto the bed, and his entire weight was on you. You were completely trapped beneath him, pressure on your ribs and chest making you unable to even scream or plead for your life.
Your head was yanked back, a tight fist grabbing your hair, almost pulling it from the roots. You managed only a pained gasp.
“If you wanted to be in my bed, Y/N, you only had to ask.” You shook your head vigorously, further stinging your scalp. His weight lifted from you as he swiftly flipped you onto your back. You knew you had no time to come up with some pitiful excuse, but tried anyway.
“Please, Al, I wasn’t-” a brutal punch to your face had you reeling, the entire left side of your face ringing. You felt blood pouring from the reopened wound on your cheek, and the taste of iron told you your mouth was bleeding too. You were too shocked to scream, barely able to think straight with the amplifying ringing in your ears and the black dots dancing in your vision.
You heard the belt buckle clanking and tensed your body, readying for the inevitable hit. Instead, you felt a pressure around your neck and all too late determined what he was doing with that damned belt. The leather dug into your neck without mercy, biting agonizingly into your bruises and bites. Pressing tighter and tighter, your eyes popped open to see him hunched over you. The frowning mask was betrayed; you knew underneath he was wearing a demonic smile. Your hands clawed madly at your throat, but you were unable to take even the tiniest of breaths, and your arms felt heavier with each second. You took a final look into those shining eyes, and then went limp.
Air suddenly flooded into your lungs, and you gulped in huge, croaking breaths, coughing and spluttering whilst splayed out, immobile, on the bed. He had decided not to strangle you to death tonight. Was that a kindness, or just a chance to play more cruel games with your life? You were only vaguely aware when he spoke:
“I don’t want my nice neat room getting all messy with your blood. Let’s take this downstairs shall we?”
You felt an indistinct movement around your feet, then found yourself sliding off the bed’s silky sheets to the floor with a thump. You felt yourself moving, your t-shirt riding up and your back burning as you traveled across the carpet. Your vision cleared enough to allow you to see what was happening. You saw Al, holding one end of the belt, the rest of the leather entwined around your ankles. He was dragging you along the hallway by your bound feet.
Your voice was still uselessly raspy so you flailed your arms, trying to claw onto something, anything, to slow down your journey. You did not want to reach the destination. As you crossed the threshold into the living room, your hand felt something hard, and you instinctively wrapped your fingers around it. Light beamed across the room and a shatter of glass and metal broke the silence as the lamp fell to the floor.
“Fucking bitch.” He hissed these words, perhaps not wanting to make any more noise than the falling furniture already had. Your feet had been elevated, but he dropped them carelessly and they thudded onto the carpet. Your whole body lurched as he picked you up, draping you over his broad shoulder, your stomach pressed uncomfortably into it. The sudden movement made you gasp and you coughed, your throat clearing a little.
You used what little voice you’d regained to beg, knowing it was futility itself.
“Please Al, I’m sorry. Al, please, I didn’t mean it.” These pleas were rasped into his ear but met only with stony silence. Descending the steps to the basement, you were once again thrown to the floor, though this time your back cracked heavily onto the stone. He had closed the door before your ear-splitting scream of pain could escape to the floor above.
He paced the room, looking indecisive about what punishment would be most fitting in the situation. You hoped to pacify him a little, explain yourself, soothe him. With some difficulty, you rolled onto your stomach and slid nearer to him, at a snail’s pace with your feet still tied by his belt.
“Please, Al. I wasn’t planning on escaping. Believe me.” you pleaded.
“What did I say about fucking lying to me, Y/N?!” he roared, kicking you away as your hands grasped desperately at his trouser leg.
“I’m not! I- You were asleep- I just had to try!”
“Well, now it’s my turn to try something,” your stomach sank. “Let’s see…you broke my lamp, it seems only fair that I break something of yours,” he approached you now, leering over you as he spoke:
“What’ll it be, hm- an arm?” he placed his boot painfully over your forearm and applied pressure. “A rib?” he used the same foot to lean on your torso, picking out one of the more painful spots down your side. “Your neck?” He didn’t get the chance to crush your already abused neck under his foot; you had wrapped your arms around his leg in a pitiful display. You were ashamed, but you begged anyway, tears streaming down your face.
“Please Al, don’t do this, I’m your good girl, aren’t I, Al?” You didn't care if those words tasted sour on your tongue. You desperately hoped that's what he wanted to hear, the rules of the game.
A kick to your stomach forced you back onto the floor. He scoffed in disgust.
“Oh, you like my name so much, little dove? Saying it won’t lessen your punishment. I let you use it so you know who you fucking belong to.”
With his belt unavailable, Al used his feet to inflict pain this time around. Each kick hit a different part of you: a rib, your back, stomach and thighs. Your screams didn’t sway him to relent and they only served to further scratch at your burning neck. Between cruel kicks, he shrieked mananically.
“You belong to ME!” A blow to your right side. “You’re mine!” Another right above your navel. “Say it!” Another rib, of your left now. “Who do you belong to?!”
“YOU!” you found yourself howling. “I’m yours Al, I belong to you. Please, I’m yours!”
He stopped. He considered your words, though you couldn’t see his face while you lied on the cold floor, your body trembling from the pain radiating through you. He spoke calmly next:
“You’re learning. Let’s make sure you don’t forget who owns you, Y/N.” He flipped you onto your back and straddled you, his weight cruelly pressing into every new bruise on your stomach. Your arms were trapped beneath his thighs, reminiscent of when he first took you in his van all those weeks ago. He wants to fuck me, now? This thought was quickly erased when you saw him produce the switchblade from his back pocket. No. It’s worse than that.
His knife nicked the collar of your shirt, and he ripped it down the middle with one quick tug. Your chest was fully exposed, your bra having been shredded to pieces days before during Al's last frenzied attack. You felt the cold metal tip run along your body, not pressing enough to draw blood, but terrifying you nonetheless. It was at your neck, sliding down over your collarbone before he curved it around one of your breasts.
"Stay still for me now, or this is gonna really hurt Y/N." The words might have sounded merciful, if the hungry glint in his eye hadn’t told you how much he was going to enjoy this next part. He'd chosen his spot, and you felt the sharp blade press into your skin just below your left collarbone. Was this really it? Was he going to kill you by literally cutting out your heart? It burned horribly as it pressed into your skin. With a hand firmly on your shoulder, your hands trapped and your feet tied, you could only scream, a piercing wail unheard outside of your cell.
He pulled the knife out with a squelch. It had only been a couple of seconds of agony, and he couldn't have cut too deeply.
"See, that wasn’t so bad, right? Just a few more." No, there couldn't be. Your body felt as though it were in enough pain to fill a lifetime. But still he continued, moving the knife to a slightly different spot at an altered angle. You counted five bites from the blade, each one carving into your flesh as if it were paper. Every butchering cut withdrew with the same odious squelch as the first. Your legs trembled beneath him and tears ran from the corner of your eyes down your temples, but your screaming had abated as you lay there, dazed.
“You can take the pain so well dove.” He still knelt atop you, and you steeled yourself to look at him. You didn’t dare to look at how he might have mangled your body. Noticing you staring up at him, he slickly ran his fingers along the bloody knife and to your horror, he licked your blood from his finger and gave a soft hum of contentment.
Anger bubbled in your constricted throat, and you choked out an insult.
“You’re insane.” He let your words sit in the air between you for a moment.
“That’s pretty funny, Y/N,” he began, as he wiped the flat side of the blade against your ribs to clean it. It didn’t cut you, but the sensation still sent ice bursting through your entire body. “You know what they say about insanity,”- he folded his knife away as he talked -“it’s doing the same thing over and over and expecting things to change.” He shuffled down, his weight moving from your stomach to your thighs. Before you could lash out with your freed hands, he grabbed both of your wrists, restraining them on the floor at either side of your head. He leant forward, pressing his weight into your stomach and your wrists, still sore from where the rope had cut into it days earlier.
His face was close, the mask’s nose brushing yours. His gravelling voice spoke frantically, signaling both his fury and his madness as the words rushed out from behind the mask. You didn’t move an inch, frozen in terror at his words.
“Why do you think your continued bad behavior will end without me hurting you? How many chances do you think there are? You’ve had plenty more than the other naughty boys ever got. Even if you have more to offer, it doesn’t mean you can’t still be put with the rest of them to rot.” As quickly as his words spat out, he lifted himself off you, moved quickly to untangle his belt from around your ankles, and stormed out of the basement, slamming the door behind him. The lock clicked and you dared to breathe.
You turned painfully onto your side, spitting up blood and bile as you allowed yourself to cough up what felt like a whole lung. You were truly overwhelmed with feelings. Your mind surged trying to piece together what had happened, cursing yourself at such a woeful escape attempt, and at losing more of his trust than ever. You really had no strikes left; Al had made it very clear what would happen if you misbehaved again. But mostly you felt pain. Everywhere in your body, new wounds and older, re-opened ones. Your throat, torso, wrists and legs, but mostly your chest.
You looked down at your almost naked form, at the bruises and welts and scars. The smeared blood on your hips, and finally at the knife marks in your chest. You dabbed a little with your ripped shirt at the blood still slowly seeping from it, revealing the wound. He had made the marks into a word, branded onto you. It read ‘AL’.
He was beyond livid. Pacing the kitchen like a cornered animal, his mask thrown carelessly on a nearby counter along with the belt. His breath was heavy with exertion and with ire. He poured a glass of cheap whiskey to steady himself, draining it in one gulp, the glass clinking against his rings. He sat on the chair that had been laid out on the kitchen floor.
All the promises she’d made. All the things he’d done for her. He made it clear there were no chances left. Another incident like tonight, and she’d be cold in the ground.
Left to think a little more, he found he was doubting himself a little, truly unsure of the game for the first time. He’d had no problem bending the rules, but the game had always ended eventually. Would it end with Y/N?
Would he be able to do it, after the game had been going better than he’d ever imagined? He doubted he would ever find a more perfect thing to play with- she had some fire which he certainly found endearing, but she understood the game. And he enjoyed her so much: her pleading eyes, her bruises and cuts molded by his hands, her tears and blood, her body and her cunt. He was sure she was breaking, and it was delicious to watch her come undone.
If it came to it, to ending her life as he had done the others, he really couldn’t say if he’d be capable. As he sat in the kitchen contemplating these ideas, sorrow began to slowly cloud over his anger.
#the black phone#the grabber x reader#albert shaw x reader#the grabber#albert shaw#minors dni#new fic#slasher fandom#black phone#the grabber x you#first fic#slashers
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I Love Me, a Delicate Point of View Extra
MASTERLIST // ASKS // TAGS // PLAYLIST
Word Count: 1.1K
CW: NA
taglist: @lauloupi
Harry and Hera have a routine, even from thousands of miles away. Harry figures out what time to call his wife in order to be on the phone for the early morning talks with the twins and Hera has her phone propped on the bathroom counter waiting to press on his contact and let the ringing sound through the tiny room much too loud for such an early morning. Hazel and Harley know that this is what it’s like when their daddy or their mummy are away. Hera knows that she has to wake Hazel first because she will take the longest to get out of bed and the longest to get ready for school. Harry knows that Hazel is going to be grumpy when he answers the phone, and it'll take lots of smiles and silly jokes to crack a smile. Harley will jump into the frame with a smile, telling him how much he loves him and saying how many days are left until he’s home. Harley keeps a calendar by his bed to count each day they’re apart. Harry does, too.
“Hazel, my love, it’s time to wake up,” Hera whispers, quietly opening the curtains and turning the sound machine off in the corner of the room. Hazel grunts and whines, turning over in their bed. Her uniform is laid out on the chair in the corner of the room, and Hera smiles, knowing that Harry will likely make a comment about how his little girl isn’t so little anymore when he sees her in it. “Come on, Hazel. Daddy’s waiting for us to call.”
Hazel reaches her arms and waits for Hera to walk around the bedframe, leaning down to lift her into her arms and carry her into the bathroom adjacent to her room. Hazel lays her head on her shoulder, humming contently when Hera kisses her forehead and sets her on the counter. Hazel reaches forward and presses on Harry’s contact, shaking her head at the loud ringing.
And, like clockwork, Hazel’s attitude changes in a matter of seconds.
Hazel’s tiny fists knuckle at her eyes, a smile pulling at the corners of her lips as she leans forward and lifts the phone into her hands, looking very intently at the screen.
“Good morning, my little sour patch kid,” Harry smiles, holding his phone upright and mimicking Hazel’s intense stare into the camera, grinning when she giggles and sets the phone on the counter, allowing him to see her and Hera behind the counter. “Good morning, my heart.”
“Hi, baby,” Hera smiles, grabbing Hazel’s cheeks and pressing tiny kisses to her skin over and over again, earning another quiet giggle.
“Good morning, Daddy,” Hazel hums, sighing out a breath and staring into the camera. Harry is in their New York City apartment, a familiar place to the family, and Hazel squints, asking, “Daddy, are you in my room?”
Harry nods quietly and Hera can feel her heart twist in her chest, “I am, my love.”
Hazel doesn’t need to ask to know why. “I miss you, Daddy.”
“Mhm,” Harry says surely, leaning forward and meeting his baby’s honey brown eyes. “Miss you so much. Miss you and Harley and Mummy.”
“Miss you more, Daddy. I slept in your spot, again, last night.”
“Keeping my spot warm for me, little love? Keeping Mummy safe for me? Giving her extra kisses for me, too?”
“Always, Daddy! Like I promised you.”
“Good, Hazel. I’m so proud of you.” Hazel smiles brightly, and Hera swears that there’s nothing like this, like the feeling of loving the way your spouse loves your children. “Is Mummy doing bunnies or piggies, today?”
“Mm, I think I want piggies, today, Mummy.”
Hera nods happily, grabbing the hairbrush and the elastics and gently running her fingers through the perfectly spun curls while Harry and Hazel talk mindlessly to themselves. Hera steps behind Hazel and begins combing through her hair, nodding for Harry to start.
“Are you ready to sing our song?”
“Mhm, but you start today, Daddy. I started yesterday.”
Harry nods, leaning forward on his hands and singing softly, “Okay, ready? I love my body from my head to my toes.”
Hazel smiles brightly, “I love my face, my eyes, my mouth, my nose. I love the way I look when I look in the mirror. I stand a little closer just to see a little clearer.” Hazel looks in the mirror and smiles at herself, then meets Hera’s stare, unaware of the glossy haze clouding her honey brown eyes like they do every morning when she sings this song with their daughter. “Mummy, your turn!”
“Who is that? It’s me! And I am looking good as good can be.” Hera never looks at Harry when she sings this song in the morning, making sure to focus on Hazel and the way she is smiling and singing proudly. Hera can feel herself healing, all of the pain and heartache she went through as a child with her parents slowly healing as she encourages the unconditional love she has for her children in their own hearts. “So, what do I say? I tell myself I love me every day.”
Hazel tilts her head back against her mother’s chest, smiling brightly as she sings, “I love my body from my head to my toes. I love my face, my eyes, my mouth, my nose. I love the way I look when I look in the mirror.”
Hera blinks away the tears, and Harry can swear, even from a thousand miles away, that he’s never seen more love between a mother and her child than he has from the mother of his children. Hera leans down and kisses Hazel’s nose, “I stand a little closer just to see a little clearer. I hope you can, too! You’re worthy of your own love, it is true.”
Hazel and Hera are staring into each other’s eyes as they sing out the final words, “So, what do we say? We tell ourselves we love us, every day.”
Hera kisses Hazel’s cheek sweetly before returning to her hair, smiling as Hazel blows Harry a kiss through the phone. Hazel takes Hera by surprise by saying that she has a question, saying, “Mummy, why do we sing this song, every morning? Did you sing this with your mummy?”
Hera desperately tries not to let her emotions show on her face, and Harry offers to answer for her with a second glance, but Hera shakes her head and says, “One day, you’re going to be a big girl and Daddy and I always want you to always remember that you should love yourself for exactly who you are. Not a singular person in the whole wide world could ever replace you, and we always want you to love you, for all the reasons you’re ever so special.”
“I love myself, Mummy! And I love you and Daddy and even Harley, sometimes.”
Harry looks at Hazel warningly. “Hazel.”
“Okay, okay. I love Harley, too, Daddy.”
Hera smiles, wrapping her arms around Hazel’s shoulders and squeezing her tightly, kissing her cheek and saying, “Good. ‘Cause I love you so much and you should, too.”
“Mummy! Are you talking to Daddy?” Harley yells from the hallways, his tiny feet pattering into the bathroom and stomping on the edge of the toilet to climb onto the counter, sliding into the frame for Harry to see all three of his favorite people. “Daddy, only two more days until you’re home!”
Harry grins, “That’s right. Only two more days.”
#harry#harry styles#dad!harry#harry styles fanfiction#delicate point of view#harry styles fic#harry fic
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Holiday Traditions
Summary: Season 7 post millennium holiday fluff. NC-17 Wc:765
Bingo square: Tradition (right column middle box)
Tagging: @xfilesbingo and @today-in-fic
The late morning light filters through Scully’s bedroom window making it near impossible to stay asleep. With renewed determination she cuddles in tighter next to her lanky companion, shielding her face in his chest, enjoying the relaxed sleep-in. Mulder’s hands slowly trace up her naked arms and lightly tickles their way into her hair. He begins to twirl and play with strands of her hair while she listens to the sounds of his heart beating. As comfortable and enjoyable as cuddling together on a lazy weekend morning is, Scully knows Mulder is starting to get bored and will soon be bugging her. Like clockwork, Mulder has taken the strand of hair he was twirling and has begun to use it to tickle her nose and face. She giggles as she swats his hand away and is greeted by soft kisses in response. Not a bad way to wake up she thinks. She glances over at the clock and sees that he’s let her sleep in until after 9am, so she rewards his patience with a slow and lazy kiss. The kiss breaks off and she places her head back down on his chest.
“Hey Scully?”
“Hmmm”
She doesn’t open her eyes but that doesn’t stop him from continuing.
“I was just thinking about how all of the American holidays have really strong food traditions associated around them.”
This random non-sequitur has got her attention and she gingerly opens her eyes to see where he’s going with this.
“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”
“Well yeah”, pleased to have her attention Mulder nuzzles her neck and let’s his hands start to wonder as he continues his point.
“I don’t think it’s even a conscious decision anymore. Between mass marketing and media, we all just know that certain holidays have food expectations. Like Thanksgiving and turkey.”
“I don’t think you can use Thanksgiving in your argument, it’s a holiday commemorating a feast so the food associations are implicit. What about Memorial Day?”
Scully lightly scratches down Mulder’s side making him shiver.
“That’s easy; ribs. It’s the start of grilling season, so technically any BBQ and sides, but ribs are pushed the hardest.”
Scully nuzzles into Mulder’s neck and nips at his earlobe before continuing.
“Easter?”
“Ham and candy”
“New Years?”
Mulder seamlessly flips them over and presses his hard naked body against her. Bracketing her head between his hands, he bends over and places a quick kiss on her nose before continuing.
“Now this one might surprise you. While the typical drink is champagne, it’s one of the highest selling days for crackers and cheese.”
“I can believe that. So, I take it this discussion is because it’s Presidents Day?”
Mulder starts kissing the shell of her ear and responds in a low grumble.
“Yes, and there’s no real food associated with it ..”
“I could go for coffee, maybe some eggs right now. We could make that the holiday food.”
Scully pushes against Mulder’s chest and halfheartedly attempts to get up.
“No!” Mulder kisses her passionately until her body relaxes back into his, only stopping the kiss after her hips automatically rise up to meet his. He slowly grinds his hardness up and down her slit while continuing their discussion.
“Those are just breakfast food. President’s Day deserves something special, it’s right after Valentine’s Day and it falls a few days before your birthday. Our noble leaders deserve a fitting tribute.”
“What did you have in mind?” Scully replies in a breathless moan. He places his head near her ear and seductively whispers “I think you should be the traditional Presidents’ Day meal..” Scully is caught off guard and lets out a sharp laugh and stills his body.
“You’re ridiculous. All that set up for that lame joke!”
“Who said it was a joke?” Mulder bends down to kiss her but is stopped.
“Ok, so how do you suggest we get this started? Should I start offering myself up to my neighbors first or is this more of a scheduling situation?”
“No! This is just a two-person tradition”
“So, you and somebody else?”
Mulder possessively kisses her.
“Only me and you. And maybe your friend Ellen if I can watch”
Scully lightly slaps Mulder’s shoulders as his head starts kissing down her body.
“You’re the worst!”
Mulder pauses as he kisses above her navel to reply.
“In about 5 minutes I bet I can change your mind…”
‘I bet you can too’ Scully thinks to herself as Mulder continues his ministrations between her legs, ready to start his new President’s Day tradition.
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BakuDeku \\ Jealous Bakugo
SFW
AO3 Fanfic Recommendations
Disclaimers!
None of the stories linked are mine.
All are SFW … still read AO3 tags.
Art not mine … by Chris t {twitter}.
Note: If you read any of these works and like them please let the author know with a kudos and/or comment!
That’s Mine! by WriterKichi
Summary: For Valentine's Day, Izuku decides to make two batches of chocolate for Katsuki and Rody. But when Izuku gives Rody his chocolate, he doesn’t expect a certain blond to get pissed off about it.
{One Shot}
Shirtless Shenanigans by ivoreverie
Summary: Izuku forgets his gym uniform in his dorm room and works out shirtless. Everyone notices.
His boyfriend isn't happy about that.
— — —
OR Izuku is very modest and refused to work out without a shirt on until today. The Bakusquad decides to let him know that the view is very much appreciated
One Shot | UA Students
pretty in nude by rollingchibi
Summary: He doesn't think it's too much to ask for. It doesn't seem like it. And yet, here he is, feeling like he's drowning, suffocating, watching as those eyes that used to follow him everywhere look somewhere else because he's not--
He's not--
Enough.
Not anymore.
One Shot | Third Year au
Heart-Shaped Distractions by DMMegsie
Summary: To Bakugou Katsuki, Valentine's day was a waste of time.
Giving people an excuse to be all lovey dovey in public, wasting money on things that would long be forgotten in the weeks to come.
That was, until he entered his second year classroom to see the eyesore around him.
{One Shot}
Katsuki's Green Eyed Monster by SJ_Gray
Summary: Katsuki didn't realize how much he'd missed Deku's smile, until it wasn't just for him anymore.
{One Shot}
dating advice by mamalade
Summary: "Well, I, um… You see, Kacchan, I had a question about… well…!" Izuku looks down nervously, though his eyes catch at the bottom hem of her skirt where it just barely brushes against the thin material of her black stockings. When he glances back up, his face is so red that she can barely see his freckles.
"Have you ever had a crush on someone?" He's finally able to choke out.
---
Or, Izuku is more popular than Katsuki thought. But he only has eyes for her.
One Shot | Female Bakugo
What are the odds of you loving me? by neva_writes
Summary: That time when Katsuki, despite being utterly in love with Izuku, believes that being his roomate and best friend is enough.
Until Deku starts dating an extra.
One Shot | Aged-Up | Pro Hero au
I dodge the blast and apologize for collateral damage by DistantMothmanNoises
Summary: “There’s an open bar in the next room. They have something a little stronger than champagne. Would you like a drink?”
“Holy shit.” Jirou sounded both amazed and a little amused. Katsuki didn’t share either sentiment. “That was both fast and not what I expected. Good job, Midoriya.”
— — —
OR There's an undercover mission where a villain hits on Izuku, and Katsuki isn't happy about it. Shenanigans ensue.
One Shot | Aged-Up | Pro Hero au
Too far away by CrunchySnow
Summary: Katsuki isn’t happy about how things went down in Otheon, feeling left out by Izuku. But he has a hard time admitting it and especially confronting the nerd with it to sort things out.
{One Shot}
Cuddles by Moonlight07
Summary: Basically Katsuki wants to cuddle with Izuku
One Shot | UA Students
Fireworks by chancellorxofxtrash
Summary: Fact of the matter was, Katsuki wasn’t the only person Deku admired.
{One Shot}
Spreading Rumors by huliganships
Summary: Izuku has a secret admirer and Katsuki is not okay with it.
One Shot | UA Students
Racing by Sonday
Summary: A rando extra has a crush on Izuku and Katsuki fucking hates it.
--
Like clockwork, an annoying voice burst into the peace of the otherwise empty living room, coming from the entrance behind the couch.
“Izuku-kun!!”
Katsuki opened his eyes and saw a burst of blue hair as Aoi tackled Izuku in a hug from behind, over the back of the couch. Izuku wah’d in surprise, jerking forward as Nakayama Aoi leaned in to look at what he was reading, then froze when he finally saw Katsuki.
Katsuki glared up at him, curling a lip. “Do you fucking mind?”
{One Shot}
Retroactive by EnduringParadox
Summary: "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Are you going to fight every person Midoriya's kissed?" Hitoshi asked.
Bakugou's eyes narrowed. "You calling my boyfriend a slut?"
Oh, goddamn it. Hitoshi felt a migraine coming on. Exasperated, he said, "No, Midoriya's my friend, and he can kiss whoever he wants. Why he's decided to just limit himself to you is beyond me."
The frown on Bakugou's face deepened. "Think you're funny? Let's fight, I said. No quirks, just hand-to-hand. Winner is Izuku's first kiss."
"I take it back. That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
---
Hitoshi's morning is interupted by a furious Bakugou, who's learned that Hitoshi was his boyfriend's first kiss. He challenges Hitoshi to quirkless, hand-to-hand combat to decide whose kiss takes precedence.
{One Shot}
Puppy Eyes by cinnabunny_xo
Summary: When Izuku brings home a stray, Katsuki is going to have to learn that 'sharing is caring'. Opening up was never his forte, let alone sharing, but having accepting a new addition is always hard, but maybe, just maybe... having the dog around is worth it.
One Shot | SFW
A Challenger Appears by ramsbkdkcomics
Summary: "Oh, so is Midoriya really seeking a relationship like that then?" And for the first time, there's a crack in Kota's impassive stance. Vulnerability. But also a glimmer of something excited- hopeful.
"I don't give a shit, but if Deku were, hypothetically, looking for a relationship," and Bakugou would be the first to know if he was, as well as the first to line up, and also suspiciously the only one alive in line. "He definitely wouldn't be trying anything with some shitty high schooler." Bakugou sneers, not even attempting to mask the distaste in his tone.
"So stick your obvious fanboy crush up someone else's ass, okay?"
Complete | 3 Chapters | Pro Hero au
#bakudeku#jealousy#jealous bakugo#fic rec#SFW#ao3 fics#one shot recs#fanfic recommendation#bakudeku recommendations#bakugou x midoriya#ua students bakudeku#Quirkless Midoriya x ProHero Bakugo#Quirkless Midoriya support course#ao3 bkdk#insecure midoriya#insecure bakudeku#insecure bakugo#bakudeku jealousy fics#bakudeku Valentine’s Day#AO3 bakudeku#fluff#archive of our own recommendations#greened eyed monster trope#jealousy trope#jealousy fics#pro hero bakugo x pro hero midoriya#deku x dynamight#Bakugou is jealous#bakudeku fic rec#bakudeku fic recs
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Ao3 First Lines Tag Game
Thanks for the tag @klainelynch!
Rules: Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.
Well, I’m going to break the rules and skip some (tumblr posts reposted to Ao3), and I’ll consider the first line to mean the first sentence unless the bit that follows is particularly fun and worth including ... and also not include quotes.
Partiality
In the aftermath of the Promised Day, as everyone was reeling and the dust had yet to settle over Central City, Roy Mustang agreed to two of the most life-changing tasks that he would ever have.
Wayward Youth
The place Riza Hawkeye grew up was a lively property with neat lawns and consistent discipline, until it wasn’t.
A Bloodied Queen
The first time Roy Mustang had met with General Grumman in his office, he had been struck by how unusually personalised the room was.
The Stupidest Genius
Riza’s second day in Central was meant to be spent unpacking her boxes, it really was.
The Crush
It happened so slowly that it crept up on her. Riza Hawkeye, of all people, taken completely by surprise, because somewhere between taking on the role as Lieutenant Colonel Mustang’s aide, and meeting those two broken boys at the Rockbell house, she’d grown to trust him again – so explicitly, that when young Winry Rockbell asked her why she was still with the military after being ordered to take lives, all she could think about was him.
Umbrellas and Pineapple
After a month of working with the team Lieutenant Colonel Mustang had gathered, Breda firmly concluded that it was the best posting a recent graduate could get.
The Power to Protect
At the end of the day, after Mustang’s little speech, Breda volunteered to wash out the group’s mugs in the tea room. “Havoc, give me a hand carrying them, will you? There’s probably still some biscuits left if we’re quick enough.”
Desperately Hoping He Didn’t Look Like an Idiot
When Maes texted him to join a pick-up game of basketball after class, Roy had expected other people they knew from uni, like Jean and Alex, maybe a few randos who they’d brought along, but he had not expected the girl who lived next to him through most of high-school. Riza wasn’t bad – if anything, Roy was frustrated she was already on the opposite team, because she knew just how to get under his guard – but the last time he’d seen her was a few years ago, out in Woop Woop, and this was East City.
Self-Inflicted Punishments
The farewell party for the group leaving for Ishval was a barbeque in a park. What a rip-off. The least the military could do for these long-serving vets was give them a send-off at somewhere with decent catering.
The Next Step
"You know, Hawkeye, I'm not sure I have all that much need for a bodyguard anymore."
Breda's pen stilled with Mustang's tongue-in-cheek tone. It wouldn't be the first time the General had made a comment like this - and maybe it was the repetition of it that made it seem that bit less playful than his tone would imply.
"But who would save you from your three o'clock meeting?" Hawkeye responded like clockwork, not looking up from the Ishvalan Works proposal she was sorting into some kind of order.
Tagging you guys! Do it if you want you - and if you don’t want to, consider this a big friendly kudos because I like your stuff <3
@scienceoftheidiot, @musing-and-music, @goneadrift, @griseldabanks, @fullmetalscullyy, @tsaritsa, @aquietwritingcorner, @villainousmiss, @js589, @lonepiper5758
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"Waiting in the Aftermath" (6).
Chapter 6
==
As a young child, Izuku tagged along with his mom while she ran errands. His dad was often away at work, and neither of his parents trusted anyone enough to watch him.
Usually these errands were quick, like checking the mail, or seeing if their elderly neighbors needed anything. But once a week, like clockwork, his mom would force him into something that wasn’t an All Might onesie and comb back his curls. They would ride the bus from their neighborhood to the downtown area. There, they would get off to shop for groceries.
He can’t remember what the store was called now, but it was very discrete, tucked in between a bookstore and diner. The windows were extremely dirty, almost unnaturally so, obscuring people’s view of the interior. And there was no sign to indicate what it was.
But they went once a week.
It was during one of these trips, Izuku was finally granted permission to look around while his mom shopped. He could have jumped for joy, but he hadn’t wanted his mom to change her mind. So, he scurried off to look at the various displays - never touching anything, because he was scolded enough by his mom and dad to remember to keep his hands to himself.
At some point, while looking at the All Might action figures on a high shelf, he had been picked up. The action was sudden, and he hadn’t heard his mother come to collect him. He looked up at his mother, a little confused as to why she wasn’t saying anything. Only to come face-to-face with a nicely dressed woman with graying hair and dull blue eyes.
Upon noticing him staring at her, she shushed him.
Izuku screamed for his mom. He was incredibly shy at that age, especially around strangers, and the woman was setting off all his alarm bells.
He remembers the woman scowling, shaking him slightly. “Shut up,” she hissed, starting to walk towards the front of the store.
Izuku had continued crying loudly for his mom, squirming in the woman’s hold.
“Excuse me,” his mom had said, making the woman freeze mid-step.
Izuku couldn’t describe the sheer relief he felt at his mom’s soft voice. The tears didn’t stop falling, but he wasn’t trembling all over.
The woman took one look at his mom and started booking it for the door.
She hadn’t made it.
Izuku can’t exactly recall what happened next. Maybe it’s because he was so young, or because his mom refused to ever speak of it again. But one second he was in the lady’s arms and the next, he was back with his mom.
They never went back to that store again.
His mom of now, stands in the doorway of the laboratory. The doctor droops, lack of oxygen clearly getting to him. His father holds his hands up in a placating manner, trying to reason with her.
“Honey, please. Izuku is clearly fine. Come sit down, and I’ll explain everything.”
“Sit down? Sit down!? I don’t think I will! I’m taking Izuku, and we’re leaving!”
Tomura goes to join the fray. Even disillusioned with All for One, he can’t help but defend him. It would strike Izuku as sad, except it’s hard to think at all. “Don’t talk to Sensei like that!”
Izuku watches the exchange in mute horror. He’s without a doubt seen worse, but something about seeing his own parents argue sets him on edge. The display is not something he’s ever witnessed, having been sheltered from any disagreements his parents had.
He remains sitting on the examination table, staring blankly at the three adults (one of which is still in the process of being choked-out via “attraction”). Even as his mom calls out to him, telling him it’s time to go, he just stares.
And it’s not for lack of trying. Izuku tries to move his body, or say something to calm everyone down, but he can’t. This only makes his worried mom angrier. Not at him, at least Izuku thinks it’s not at him. All the noise kind of mixes together, muffling.
He itches the palm of one of his hands. Neither of them hurt anymore, which is a good thing (at least he thinks so). There’s a dull ache that comes and goes but it’s hardly noticeable.
But the itch. The itch is terrible.
It feels deeper than the surface of thin skin, deeper than flesh, sinew, or bone. He tries not to picture Shigaraki’s compulsive scratching while he itches at his palms. The torn, dry skin flashing into his mind, like a warning of what’s to come. Though, he thinks to himself, Shigaraki’s scratching seems more psychosomatic than caused by his actual quirk.
Izuku shifts, clenching his fists. If he can’t see the holes in his palms, then they don’t exist. He’s never met someone with a quirk that he didn’t think could be-in some part-used for good. Only those that choose to, or were forced to use their quirks for nefarious purposes.
But this quirk-his birth quirk-has no good. No matter what he chooses to do, it’s bad. At its core, it’s greed. Stealing something so precious from others - a piece of their personality, their soul. A rot that needs to sustain itself on misfortune.
He inhales, the air whistles as it enters through the space between his front teeth. This isn’t fair. Why couldn’t he just be normal? To inherit a quirk that was neither flashy and prone to breaking his bones, or one that he can’t use in any circumstance lest he become a villain. Just something normal, like his mom’s minor attraction quirk.
He scratches at his palms (again), but the itch remains (again). He digs his blunt nails into the thin flesh of his palm.
But the itch remains.
-x-x-x-
Tomura stands faithfully next to his master. Angry as he is, and as much as he hates Sensei, the man did save him. He owes Sensei everything.
Revenge can come later.
The green-haired woman continues yelling over Sensei, the doctor still hanging limply off to the side (Tomura can’t help the satisfaction at seeing someone that experimented on him so utterly powerless). Despite the anger on her face, it’s evident she’s not made for anger. Her face is kind.
( Like Midoriya’s).
His fingers flex, ready to attack at command.
The woman (Inko, he thinks he hears Sensei call her) starts yelling for Izuku, telling him that they’re leaving. (Good luck with that).
As Tomura watches her, he recalls his own mother. He knows he took his looks from her - his wavy hair, face shape, chin, and nose. She smelled like jasmine and fresh-baked cookies. She liked to rock him when he cried, and had the most beautiful smile.
He shakes his head, willing the memories to slip beyond his grasp. Now is not the time.
“Dear, please.” There’s something unintentionally hilarious about the situation, but Tomura can’t tell what it is.
Midoriya’s mother glares daggers at Sensei, tightening her hold on the doctor’s collar.
Tomura flexes his fingers, ready to attack at a moment’s notice.
And then, as if a puppet having all its strings cut, the doctor falls unceremoniously to the floor. He coughs, rubbing at his neck. Next to him, Midoriya’s mother lands on her back, unconscious.
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A Taste of Heaven Part 8
Very short chapter today, the problems with the tags have sapped some of my motivation and I want to get this out but I don't have the incentive to do much more. The next chapter will be better.
Series Masterlist
Part 7
Contains: Fluff, smut (oral sex F receiving, fingering.) Angst.
2,225 words
Comment if you want to be tagged of follow #a taste of heaven
After years of study and effort, you finally secure your dream job, as one of the head curators at the best museum in New York. After inheriting a huge brownstone you're looking for a roommate when your best friend Ubbe comes up with a suggestion, his younger brother Hvitserk. Better yet, you're a food historian and he's a three Michelin star chef.
"I want to do dinner for everyone this weekend, I think it would be good to ask them over here." Hvitserk smiled, "everyone would love that, what are you thinking of cooking?"
You took the cookbooks off the bookshelf in the kitchen, "all historical, and I'm going to do a mango ice demonstration at the table. We have an elderly man who used to come to the museum like clockwork to look at the new exhibits because he got to relive a lot of memories. After what happened, he spent forever in his son's workshop making everyone something. He made me a fruit ice maker."
He pulled you into his arms, "I'm guessing you guys did more for him then just let him look at the new exhibits?" You nodded, "yeah, Carl cooked him a lot of dishes from the great depression. When he started coming, his wife had just passed and he was lonely. He helped us with a lot of historical context so we had to help him back."
His forehead fell on yours, "you guys are just the sweetest." You shook your head, "nah, we're just weird scientist who love first hand sources."
"You good?" You nodded, "it's been a long few days and my head is starting to ache." Mary smiled softly, "go home, please. We don't need you out for four days because you want to be stubbon." You nodded, "are you sure, we still have stuff.." She cut you off, "go or I'll call Ubbe."
You shook your head, "you wouldn't." She put her hands on her hips, "I will. And you better take your meds or you'll still be in shit." You waved your hand dismissively, "I'm going, no need to tell on me."
You got home soon after and Ubbe was on the doorstep waiting for you, "did Mary call you?" He shook his head, "no, why would she call me?" You did your best to pretend that nothing was wrong but he picked up on something, "y/n?" His tone didn't leave much room for you to argue.
"My head's starting to ache." He all but threw you inside the house, "you're taking your meds and resting for the rest of the night." You put your hands on your hips, "I'm fine, I just need a coffee."
He shook his head, "that wasn't a suggestion, do it or I'll call Hvitserk right now. I know you don't want him to come home and deal with this himself." You crossed your arms over your chest, "you call Hvitserk and I'll call Ivar, you know he'll side with me."
Ubbe huffed, "not anymore. The way he sees it, since you won't look after yourself, it's Hvitserk's job to do it for you. You really want him getting in Hvitserk's ear about being in pain?"
You shook your head, "shall we give your theory a go? I'm fine, the pain isn't at that level and now that I'm home I'll be able to get rid of it." Ubbe wasn't having it, "I'm calling Hvitserk whether you like it or not. You're lucky you're not mine because you wouldn't be repeating this." He sounded angry and worried. There was no point in asking him what he meant by his statement, you already had an idea, it seemed a lot of the Lothbrok boys had certain tastes.
Hvitserk burst in the door twenty minutes later just as you were getting out of the shower, "have you sorted yourself out?" Ubbe shook his head, "she won't listen." At this point in time, you knew they were right, the bright lights were becoming offensive.
"Thank Ubbe you can head home." Ubbe gave a curt nod and left. Unlike Ubbe, Hvitserk was a lot more gentle in his approach, "you wanna tell me what's going on in your head? I can tell you're hurting." You shrugged, "I'm terrified of being treated like a drug seeker." He gave you a soft smile, "you can see Ivar's pain doctor from now on, I'll get their office to fix your insurance so you won't be out of pocket."
He sat down on the couch and pulled you with him, pressing your chest into his. "I'm going to put some soup on and you're going to take your medication then we'll spend the rest of the night taking it easy. I've taken tomorrow off and I know you have too so we can spend the day doing whatever you want, ok?" You nodded, "ok."
Hvitserk had dinner on the table soon after, it was simple but tasty and made you feel full without making you feel unwell. "Come on, you look like you need some rest, and a back rub." You rolled your eyes, "I grew up with Ivar y/n, you can't bullshit me." You shook your head, "remind me to punch him the next time I see him."
He laughed, "I'm sure he'd be into that." You cringed, "not that it's bad, but you're all pervs." Hvitserk shook his head and put his hand on your lower back, "I'll let you watch whatever you want on TV."
You put on a sappy animal documentary about animals that mate for life and settle into Hvitserk's lap while he rubbed the soreness out of your back and shoulders. "That's so cute!" You giggled, "are you going to look over the whole beach to find me the perfect pebble?" He nuzzled his face into your neck, "why not, you waddle like a penguin after I fuck you."
You choked a laugh, "that's not fair Mr, you're not the smallest man on the planet." You could almost feel his ego grow, "I'm sorry my love, next time I promise you won't even be able to get out of bed."
You turned around and thumped him on the chest, "you are being inappropriate good sir." You broke out into a giggle and Hvitserk followed after you. As the night wore on and the pain in your head eased with the meds, you found yourself falling asleep against Hvitserk who seemed to notice before you did.
"I think we should call it a night?" You nodded through a yawn, "good idea." You laid almost totally on top of him as he ran his hands up and down your back, "is this ok." He gave you a groan of affirmation, and with the press of his lips to your forehead, you were fast asleep.
******
"Morning." You reached up and rubbed your face, "morning handsome." You rolled over and laid on Hivserk's chest and he took your hand in his, "how are you feeling?" His thumb was running over the back of your hand, "great, a little tired and spacy but find other than that." He smiled softly, "well we can just chill today."
"I need to start things for dinner, some of the recipes take a few days." He nodded, "I'll help then, I like cooking with you." It didn't take long for you to get up and start the day, you were putting the ingredients out while Hvitserk pre-heated the oven.
"I wish you'd think about playing a bigger part at the restaurant. You wouldn't have to change the amount you work, you'd just have more input." You shook your head, "you know I love you right?" He nodded, "of course."
"It's your business, something you worked very hard on. We've gone from friends to lovers in a very short span of time and we're cat parents, you really don't wait for anything, do you?" He smiled, "no I don't because I know that you'd be good and I love you. And I know we're not supposed to talk about these things, but if we break up, it's because we both have talked about it and know it's for the best."
You rubbed your face, "fine but you get the last call and I'm not making any big decisions. We can start with the cookbook we talked about and go from there." His smile stretched across his face, "I love you so much."
"I love you too Hvitty, now that you've gotten your way, can we get back to the cooking?"
You were stirring the sauce when Hvitserk started, "you know, we've never fucked in the kitchen." You turned around only to be pressed against his body, "yes, I know. That's because it's a space where we prepare food for out loved ones and that would be unsanitary."
He laughed, "you could do surgery in this kitchen after you've cleaned it. We're not going to get caught." You pressed a kiss to his chin, "is this some weird man thing, do you need to fuck me on every surface so you feel this is your house?" He smirked, "maybe." You huffed, "you're terrible."
He smiled at you wide and warm, "in that case, I want you to feel at home." The change was immediate, he wasn't waiting for the go ahead anymore, he was pressing you into the kitchen bench with his hands on your waist.
"You're so beautiful." His fingertips grazed over your cheek, then he was dropping to his knees. He lifted up your shirt and kissed along the waist of your jeans, his fingers opening the fly. He pulled them down along with your underwear and then lifted a leg onto his shoulder and you braced yourself on the bench as he leaned in to kiss your centre.
You placed one hand on his head and pushed him in closer, Hvitserk moaning like a man starved. "Oh my God." He pulled away and replaced his mouth with his thumb, "Hvitserk is fine."
You shook your head, "get back to it Mister." He giggled, "of course pretty girl." His head dipped back between your legs and wrapped around your clit. "More please." He smiled against your skin then slid two long fingers inside you. Your head dropped back and you gasped, "thank you."
He held your leg tightly as he pressed his fingertips to your G-Spot, you pressed him closer to you as you shuttered around him then he was standing up and wiping his wet face with his hand.
meewww
"Really?" You turned around and the cats were standing in the doorway looking very unimpressed, "ignore them."
Mewooooooo
"Take a break for kitten cuddles?" Hvitserk smiled, "why not"
*********
"That's the last of it." Hvitserk lifted the food filled tray onto his shoulder, "we better hurry up before Bjorn comes in and starts eating out of the pot." You entered the dinner room and placed all the food on the table, Ubbe reaching out before you and Hvitserk had even sat down.
Aslaug slapped his hand, "Ubbe, don't be rude. What have you cook for us tonight y/n, it all looks lovely." You smiled and pointed to each dish, "this is what was thought to be the first pizza, the recipe is from the first ever western cookbook Apicius, this one is from south America and uses heirloom corn and this one is a fish recipe from the Han Dynasty."
When you looked over at Ubbe his mouth was already full, "this fish is really good." You shook your head, "tuck in guys, there should be enough for leftovers."
There was not enough for leftover, their plates were wiped clean after seconds and thirds. "You ready for dessert?" A round of nods, you and Hvitserk got up and got the ice treat maker out, carry it to the table to start the fun.
"This was made by one of your lovely patrons, in ten minutes, we will have a lovely mango ice treat." You placed the mango mix in the barrel and started to spin it, a light scent of fruit and mint filling the air. After ten minutes, you open the machine and start to portion the icy substance out, Ubbe filled his bowl and started to tuck in before anyone else got the chance.
"This is really good, can you make strawberry next time?" Lagertha shook her head, "I'm sorry for our sons, they were raised to be more grateful than that." You shook your head, "it's fine, I like that they enjoy the food."
Riiiiiing, "I'm sorry, that's the ringtone for the DA, I need to take it." The phone called waa quick, "Hicks has just been stabbed in jail, he's dead." Their eyes went wide, "what?"
"Some Neo-Nazi was pissed that he was talking and stabbed him, they guy isn't saying anything only that he had it coming for betraying a good white man. They think it was a hit."
Ragnar rubbed his face, "could it be that politician that came to see you that day, you said he wasn't impressed about his friend ratting?" You shrugged "if it is him no one's going talk. I need to do the dishes, I'll be back in five."
The moment you were out of earshot they started talking, "what the fuck happened? I thought we were going to make sure this guy was going to pay?" Ivar seemed very angry, "we all know it was that senator, the spate of fires in his low-income buildings now this. It was only a matter of time."
"We'll go help clean up, and Ivar's staying here tonight. We have no idea if this guy is going to hit the museum staff next."
Part 9
#vikings imagine#fluff#vikings#ivar the boneless#hvitserk#a taste of heaven#hvitserk ragnarsson#hvitserk whiteshirt#hvitty#hvitserk imagine#hvitserk smut#hvitserk vikings#hvitserk x oc#hvitserk x y/n#fix it fix#modern au#modern setting#hvitserk x you#hvitserk x reader#ubbe ragnarsson#ubbe lothbrok#hvitserk lothbrok#bjorn ironside#sigurd snake in the eye#Marco Ilsø
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I posted 1,406 times in 2022
That's 1,396 more posts than 2021!
165 posts created (12%)
1,241 posts reblogged (88%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@a-very-gay-disaster
@tiredsemanticist
@skeletonzimms
@weneedtotalkaboutfic
@dexsbruins
I tagged 1,333 of my posts in 2022
Only 5% of my posts had no tags
#omgcp - 520 posts
#hockey - 320 posts
#other rb - 241 posts
#zimbits - 185 posts
#check please - 130 posts
#sidney crosby - 129 posts
#evgeni malkin - 92 posts
#jack zimmermann - 79 posts
#hockey chatter - 75 posts
#sky says - 71 posts
Longest Tag: 138 characters
#they’re up 4-2 but eric knows not to get cocky just yet‚ and he knows nelly knows that too‚ how he evens his gaze and takes a deep breath.
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
A bag is dropped in the chair across from Eric, and when he looks up from his phone and half-cold bowl of pasta, he finds Camilla Collins standing before him.
“Oh,” he says through a mouthful of penne, struggling to swallow it as quick as possible. It hurts a bit when he finally gets it down. “Hi, there!”
Camilla goes to sit down beside her bag and smiles sweetly over at him. “Hey. Eric, right?”
“Yup, though everyone really just calls me Bitty -- because of my last name, not my size.” Eric screams internally. “Anyway, you didn’t need to know that, sorry.”
Camilla just chuckles and props her elbows onto the table, resting her head on her fist. She’s staring at him like she knows something, but her gaze still looks a bit inquisitive. It’s disconcerting, really. Eric knows she’s Jack’s ex, or ex-hook up, or whatever. Holster and Ransom always mention her at Haus parties when Jack’s clockwork absence is noticed, drunkenly cheering about finally getting her back in bed, and Shitty has vaguely confirmed they were involved with each other on more than one occasion. But no one has ever given Eric a straight answer on Jack’s and Camilla’s history.
It’s not like he’s been able to ask about it much, though, either. Eric’s pretty sure Shitty’s starting to pick up on his hopeless schoolground crush with all the questions, and he can’t even look Lardo in the eye when Camilla’s name is brought up anymore. He can only say a silent prayer of relief that Holster and Ransom are too preoccupied with personal endeavors to notice anything, because he’s certain he’d never hear the end of it from them if they knew.
And no matter what, having said crush’s ex-something sitting before him makes the pasta Eric just swallowed sit uneasily in his stomach.
“Bitty, that’s cute,” Camilla says, and it’s not condescending in any way. “You’re on the hockey team, right? With Jack?”
Eric tries to give a humored smile. “What, do I not look the part?”
“Not at all,” Camilla easily smiles with him, “but I like that. There’s too many meatheads on that team. We’ve been needing someone like you for a long time.”
“Hah, yeah,” Eric says, absentmindedly twisting his fork in the pasta, “good thing I’m here then. Those boys finally have actual dinners rather than microwaved bagel bites. And that kitchen when I moved in? An absolute biohazard, lemme tell you. I think I spent a week scrubbing everything, and another full day just cleaning the inside of the fridge. There was also a cabinet solely for sriracha, and, like, really? I think they had at least thirty bottles of it.”
Eric knows he’s babbling on now, but Camilla has this sparkle in her eye and she’s listening so intently that Eric has to catch himself from letting more unnecessary words tumble out. “And now I’m just rambling,” he finishes with an awkward laugh, “sorry about that.”
“You don’t have to apologize so much,” Camilla tells him, “it’s cute. You’re cute.”
Eric blinks and, with the way she’s looking at him, blurts: “Are you hitting on me?”
“What?” Camilla sits back suddenly. They just stare at each other, both wide-eyed, before they both laugh loud enough for the tables around them to turn their heads. Eric laughs, and laughs, and he thinks at some point Camilla is still laughing just because he’s still laughing. He can’t stop, though. Her laugh is light and airy, a melodic sound that matches everything else about her. It’s nearly perfect. And Eric’s own sounds too shrill and uncontrolled, so he just laughs harder because his heart is plummeting and when he stops it’ll be all too real that he’ll never stand a chance with Jack -- especially if he really was with Camilla at some point.
Which is pathetic because Jack is straight. His ex sitting before Eric with blinding beauty is only adding insult to that injury.
Finally, after too long, Eric wipes at the tears in his eyes and takes a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to ask that,” he says when they’ve calmed down enough. “I don’t know why I even did.”
“I was coming on pretty strong, wasn’t I?” Camilla runs a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face in the process. They have the same hair color. “I’m sorry for that.”
“No -- don’t apologize!”
She waves a hand dismissively, and Eric watches it, unable to stop from comparing his calloused ones to her soft-looking ones. “Anyway, I just wanted to come by and meet you for myself. Jack told me you’d be here.”
Eric nods and desperately tries not to blush. His cheeks heat up anyway. “Yeah, cold pasta always helps after bio lecture.”
“I bet,” Camilla says, and there’s that glint in her eyes again when she continues: “I’ve heard a lot about you, Bitty.”
“You have?”
“Yeah. He’d be stupid not to go for you.” At first, Eric thinks he wasn’t supposed to hear that with how quiet her voice fell. But then her gaze quickly drops down to his body, then to his hair, before meeting his eyes again, and he’s definitely meant to hear: “He really does have a type, too.”
Eric blinks, opens his mouth but finds he can’t say anything, and Camilla bids him farewell with a promise that he come by and watch a tennis match sometime. Maybe he waves, though he isn’t sure. He just watches her leave, winding through the tables until she’s out the door and there’s nothing but his rapidly beating heart and bright red cheeks left in her wake.
He has a type?
Then, twisting up the cold pasta in his stomach one more time:
Who’s he?
267 notes - Posted June 23, 2022
#4
How many passive aggressive emails did the Falconers’ nutritionists send Bitty
363 notes - Posted May 8, 2022
#3
Bittle's head lolls to the side as the bus climbs the on-ramp to the freeway, thudding softly against Jack's shoulder. He shifts, too, readjusting his hips, turning toward Jack's body the slightest bit. His hand finding a place on Jack's forearm. His shoulder prodding into Jack's bicep. He doesn't wake, though, and Jack finds he doesn't want to wake Bittle up either.
Using his thumb to bookmark the page in the book he's reading, Jack drops it to his lap and looks over at Bittle. There's nothing but the passing city lights that illunimate all his soft features, features which never seem to callous over: the jut of his jawline, the bow of his lips, the point of his nose. Hair just long enough to fall across the tip of his forehead. Eyelashes so pale Jack can barely make out their curl.
Jack can't explain it. Can't explain the inexplicable comfort that settles deep in his chest, the warmth that blossoms across his cheeks. He drops his gaze further to the stretch of cotton that sculpts Bittle's thighs, the faint hairs on his arms that come and go, glistening under the fading lights.
Slowly, subtly, Jack shifts his body, drops his shoulder to allow Bittle a more comfortable position. His hand on the armrest between them comes alive with nerves, feels everything, and his pinky twitches. Reaches out. Nears Bittle's own.
Bittle shifts again, then, suddenly enough that Jack jerks his hand back and face up to look straight ahead. His heart's pounding. His breath is caught in his throat. He hears Bittle hum, feels Bittle bury his face further into his arm, tightening his shoulders. The grip on Jack's forearm grows stronger for the longest of moments and afterward, Bittle mumbles: "Light. Turn...turn it off."
Reaching up, Jack breathes out a quiet euh and turns the reading light strapped around his forehead off. Another moment lingers, strewn together with held breath and wide eyes, before Bittle relaxes against Jack again and evens his breathing back out.
It's not until they're halfway back to Samwell, somewhere deep in the suburban woodlands of Massachusetts, that Jack allows his eyes to finally close. He didn't feel exhausted before, not even when they all climbed back onto the bus after the game; yet, sleep comes gently, quick, pulls him down with the weight of Bittle againt his side.
Jack hasn't found sleep that easily in a long time.
395 notes - Posted May 7, 2022
#2
See the full post
556 notes - Posted June 2, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
realizing versus recognizing
the difference between bitty’s and jack’s oh moments
See the full post
767 notes - Posted July 22, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
#tumblr2022#year in review#my 2022 tumblr year in review#your tumblr year in review#long post#like really long i couldn’t figure out how to shorten the posts lol#i’m sorry
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Characters Out of Context
Was tagged by @bookish-galaxy, @saltysupercomputer, and @inkspellangel for this new game a while ago! Thanks for the tags, guys!
Rules—include one character quote from each chapter of your WIP with no context, save for anything between two parts of an interrupted sentence
Passing it along with a soft tag to @theglitchywriterboi, @facelessempresswriting, @sleepyowlwrites, and @k--havok, as well as an open tag to anyone else who wants to join!
Since there were three tags and I have three completed books for my Castle series, I'm combining them into one rather long post, which will be under the cut
Ch 1
“Because witches are bitches.” —Aero
Ch 2
“Born and raised in Freedom.” —Raavi
Ch 3
“I have made things awkward.” —Aero
Ch 4
“I don’t like this door of yours anymore.” —Nuka
Ch 5
“You want to bleed out for a different reason?” —Aero
Ch 6
“You ruined bonding time with your deceit. Now it’s all just wasted time,” —Caleb
Ch 7
“You have morbid thoughts.” —Aero
Ch 8
“I don’t want to be the wife,” —Caleb
Ch 9
“You smell funny.” —Faerdega
Ch 10
“I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant you look terrible.” —Faerdega
Ch 11
“When did he become so obsessed with cutting them up?” —Mickey
Ch 12
“Almost like clockwork, if the clock was broken and unreliable.” —Ryder
Ch 13
“You say horrific and violent like it’s a bad thing.” —Seen
Ch 14
“Good thing this isn’t a book.” —Hank
Ch 15
“I would like to pet you.” —Blue
Ch 16
“You realize that’s a door you’re flirting with, right?” —Raavi
Ch 17
“I turned him into a were-dragon.” —Seen
Ch 18
“If this doesn’t kill us, I’m throwing you off the next cliff I find.” —Tobias
Ch 1
“We got kicked out of prison!” —Nuka
Ch 2
“Yes, I’m sorry. I forgot to outline my evil plan for you. Shall I fetch you some parchment so you can take notes?” —Haow
Ch 3
“Follow me, boys and girls, we’re going to discover what our insides look like.” —Seen
Ch 4
“Maybe we should consider getting leashes for everyone.” —Chase
Ch 5
“Forget what I said about gooey. You’re a moldy cookie.” —Chase
Ch 6
“You’re not as special as you think.” —Tobias
Ch 7
“Bad cookies!” —Ryder
Ch 8
“Upon your death, might I request your eyes?” —Hoopydoopyl
Ch 9
“Maybe I did, but you’re three moral levels above me, remember?” —Mickey
Ch 10
“The biscuits have been found guilty of high treason and are condemned to be executed,” —Red
Ch 11
“The wall. It speaks to me. It says you’re an idiot.” —Raavi
Ch 12
“Bunnies. I like to, to hold them. They have soft fluffy. Bunny happiness.” —Raavi
Ch 13
"He's not the type of person who makes it a habit of eating his weapons...not usually.” —Blue
Ch 14
“He needs me because he’s stupid.” —Ryder
Ch 15
“Smack it.” —Old Tom
Ch 16
“Because you’re stupid,” —Jay
Ch 17
“Puppy butt.” —Blue
Ch 18
“You must admire the cat. Worship the cat,” —Seen
Ch 1
“Still, humans come in handy sometimes. Since, you know, dogs don’t have hands.” —Jethro
Ch 2
"You’re too cute. There’s not enough murder in your eyes.” —Caleb
Ch 3
“Oh, you’re thinking now? That’s not so scary.” —Nuka
Ch 4
“You’ve never died without a fight before.” —Ryder
Ch 5
"Have fun eating when you’re worried about everything being laced with sedatives.” —Raavi
Ch 6
“My bells remain unrung.” —Ryder
Ch 7
“You suck and everything bad in the world is your fault.” —Jay
Ch 8
“We took her up to the room and locked her in.” —Nuka
Ch 9
"Everyone keeps an eye out for frogs. That’s just common sense.” —Ryder
Ch 10
“We had a father trying to eat his eggs; always a hassle.” —Anirifin
Ch 11
“Just making sure you’re actually not dead.” —Nys
Ch 12
“I don’t know what the ground did to you, but I’ll stab it if you want me to,” —Ryder
Ch 13
“Stop eating the curtains,” —Nightwish
Ch 14
“Bubbly, bloody, stanky, and wet,” —Mickey
Ch 15
“Can I poke it?” —Ryder
Ch 16
“It was nice to see you taken down a peg for once.” —Raavi
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