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heart cracked open, head smashed up by belledamn
Fandoms: You Could Make a Life Series - Taylor Fitzpatrick
14 Sep 2025
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Bryce should be embarrassed — he is embarrassed. But there's something else, this other feeling he doesn't even recognize, at first, swelling inside of him and shoving all his negative thoughts out of the way, no room for anything but — happiness, he guesses, although that word alone doesn't seem like enough, not with everything else mixed in. Gratitude, relief. Pride, that he landed the best looking guy in the rink — in the league, maybe — and now the whole team knows it.
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"You'll be doing me a favour," Dana tells her, still unbothered. "I've never lived alone before, I don't know how to do it. I've started eating Lean Cuisines for dinner, hon. It's pathetic."
Well, Heather eats Lean Cuisine, too, when she's too tired to make a salad and too cheap to pick up her phone and order one, so she doesn't know how much help she'll be on that front.
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"Maybe we could hang out for real sometime," Raf hears himself say, stupidly, as though he has any time at all to do that, between practice and roadies and the endless backlog of homework he should definitely be giving a higher priority.
Only once he's made the offer he can't take it back, because it turns out he wants it badly enough that he doesn't care. It's not just that Grace is pretty and smart and into hockey, it's the weird empty feeling in his chest that he didn't care to identify until this exact moment. He'll make the time if he has to, if it means spending time with her, and all of a sudden it feels like he really does have to.
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Now, this is the point in the conversation when Fraser would usually adopt that irritatingly sensible attitude, clueless in a way that feels deliberately targeted, and yes, Ray knows exactly how crazy that sounds, and that's exactly how Fraser keeps getting away with it, because every time Ray tries to call him on it he sounds insane, Fraser blinking at him, all, Who, me? while Ray sputters uselessly about how he's gotta be doing that shit on purpose.
He is, for the record. Ray's fucking sure of it.
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Jaq Zimmermann is not cute. Jaq Zimmermann is beautiful, high cheekbones and blue eyes, dark hair and pale skin, like an honest-to-god Snow White — that is, if Snow White happened to be 5'10, French Canadian, and incredibly rude.
Can't win 'em all, Erica guesses, although Jaq sure does win an awful lot.
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marooned by stars by belledamn
Fandoms: Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
21 Jul 2025
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"Brienne of Tarth," he says, surprised enough to speak before his sister. He’ll pay for it, sooner rather than later, but in the moment that hardly seems to matter. "You’ve returned."
She nods her head, jaw set. He wants to reach for her, wants to lift his good hand and rub the blood clean with his thumb, wants to bring it to his mouth to suck it clean.
He’s only ever known one way to love.
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Last week Frank offered to help Mel pick up a table she'd found on Facebook marketplace but couldn't lift by herself, which was fine and reasonable, only when he picked her up she was wearing a tank top that showed her collarbones, and Frank's reaction to the sight of it was not even the slightest bit reasonable or fine. Worse, he's been catching himself thinking about it on and off ever since — the delicate line of bone, the pink flush that crawled down her chest. The way she'd said his name when she caught him staring, completely oblivious to what had him so distracted, both hugely frustrating and a huge relief.
"I don't wanna kill the vibe," Frank says, which is definitely not the same thing as no. It is, in fact, conspicuously close to a yes. "I know how important it is for you, getting time with your sister."
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Art and Human Experience (rev., expanded and redesigned) by belledamn
Fandoms: Check Please! (Webcomic)
14 Jul 2025
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"Anyway!" Shitty says brightly, slinging an arm over Jack's shoulders, like he's done hundreds of times already, somehow, despite Jack never once giving him any encouragement to do so. "No need to dwell on unfortunate events, am I right? We've got Larissa right here, ready to take the wheel. Figuratively."
"Nah, it can be literal," Larissa says, voice still perfectly neutral. "I have my driver's license."
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"Jaq likes you, Dutch. I know you think — look. I know we fought about this before, but we're past all that, alright? I want you to be in his life. He wants you to be in his life."
Delle Seyah doesn't, particularly, he's sure, but unfortunately for her, this isn't on the list of concessions D'avin's willing to make, and her wife will back him up. No matter how fucking weird it makes their family reunions.
Or it would, if Dutch would just listen to him.
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"Did Shitty tell you I was scared of him, too? 'Cause I was. It wasn't just you. Ransom, too, and lord, before I knew Holster knew the lyrics to every Katy Perry single…."
Jack's pretty proud of himself, actually, for knowing what that means.
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"She's my friend," he says, thinking of her codes, and her puzzles, and the way she always pays for his dinner. Not because she wants something in exchange, but because she wants to be sure he eats it.
I just thought you'd find it fun.
She is his friend. If nothing else, he's sure of that much.
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It's just you and me, baby, in this whole damn galaxy! by belledamn for SleepyMaddy
Fandoms: Killjoys (TV)
13 May 2025
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"And what game would you suggest?"
Her words aren't even slurred — that's a good sign, right? Probably. It's not like Johnny's a doctor. Maybe she's got brain damage and it's killing her. Maybe Johnny's got brain damage and it's killing him. Maybe they're about to get jettisoned into space like garbage. Maybe —
"A question game," he tells her confidently, shoving all those thoughts aside. "You know, like kids play."
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"You did great out there. I'm the one who flopped."
"You didn't, and also people liked you," Trinity bites out, bitter, hating how the words sound when she says them out loud. "Robby liked you. You didn't cause any trouble."
Whitaker doesn't seem to know how to respond to that, which is fair. Trinity wishes she'd never said it.
All she ever does is cause trouble.
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Becca had this phase where she was really into playing pinball — handheld ones, not the big machines, which was a relief. The big ones are really noisy. But anyway. Becca had read all the manuals, even looked up reviews online, and she swore there was a strategy to it, that you could control where the ball landed, if you just hit it at a certain angle, with just the right amount of strength. But Mel was missing the hand-eye coordination, or the muscle memory, or something, because to her, it all seemed totally random, like nothing she did made any difference as to where that damn ball ended up.
Conversations with Trinity feel kind of like that, sometimes. Like watching a tiny silver ball come racing down towards her, frozen in silent panic, Becca chanting in her ear to hit it, just hit it, knowing full well she's only going to miss.
Mel is really, really bad at pinball. In case that part wasn't clear.
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"Sounds like Angelus played some different games, over here."
Xander thinks about what happened to Ms. Calendar, about how messed up Giles was afterward. He thinks about the terror they’d all felt, waiting for one of them to be next. He thinks about dragging Giles out of that mansion, about his fucked up fingers and the fear in his eyes when Xander had appeared in front of him.
Games. That’s one way to put it.
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They're big on acceptance, in NA. Frank mostly thinks it's bullshit, but it's not like what he was doing before was working any better, so he's giving it his best shot. He's accepted that he can't trust himself, and he's accepted that he's never going to get back what he had before, and he can accept that there's nothing for him and Robby to say to each other, now, too. He can do that.
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It sucked to acknowledge what he'd done to anyone, obviously, but for some reason it always felt the worst in front of Mel, because she'd never once shown him even a hint of judgment for it. He could list every shitty fucking thing he did, all the drugs he stole, the lies he told, all of it, and Mel would just sit there and nod and tell him Okay, well, thank you for being honest with me.
It wasn't that he didn't want her to do that. It was that he craved it so badly he couldn't stand it, needed her acceptance with an intensity he didn't know how to handle.
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"I thought Robby was joking, at first," Heather says into the silence as her tea steeps, eyes on the mug in front of her because it's the least painful place to look. "When he said you were done."
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Let's go (separately). Let's go (together, and then separate). Let's go (together).
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Five things that (probably) never happened to Emily and Hotch.
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Letting people get close to her in general, it's — overwhelming. There are always questions, and hovering, that gap between Mel and the world around her so much wider when she doesn't have the emotional fortitude to do her best to bridge it. She's a pretty positive person, generally. It doesn't usually bother her much, until suddenly it does.
Frank's overwhelming too, she guesses, it's just that she doesn't really mind. He builds the bridge for himself, most of the time. It's easier when she doesn't have to do all the work.
(Five times Mel says she's fine.)