Latest Posts by v3rs - Page 3

angel and babe with weirdly wolf-adjacent traits.

babe who’s canines never really wore down from such a high protein diet

angel who’s a decent singer and could easily howl if they tried

babe who tilts their head when confused/intrigued

angel who’s hyper aware of scents, picky with their perfumes, and can recognize pack members based on the fragrances they wear

babe who tucks their head under peoples necks when they hug, the way wolves protect eachother’s jugulars

angel who casually carries things between their teeth even if their hands aren’t full

i think they fit into a pack so well for a reason

NOOOOOOO

dinosaurs dont

exist in redacted

clone wars + last words

hi teen david 😈

@davidssangel

would it be bad if I told u guys I have 81 asmr rp listener characters (give or take)?

lore based asmr rp channels have my whole heart (they’ve been my creative outlet/secret personality for like 5 years)

darlin -> cerberus? for some reason ??

normal reaction to essek btw.

My name is essek

I stole the beacons.

it was difficult

to put the plans together.

Anyway

Can we all please appreciate the absolute "on the verge of a crash-out" look Alphonse or more specifically dark!Alphonse have???

He's so done with this bullshit

Also him creeping up on charlie like some fucking cryptid ghost shit:

(I will forever love these 2 panels JSIAHSBS)

Redacted Audio Incorrect Quotes:

❤︎(Pt.2!) ❤︎

⤷ Ollie

⤷ Sam

⤷ Gavin

⤷ Treasure

⤷ Geordi

⤷ Baabe

⤷ Lovely (after their turning)

⤷ Milo

⤷ Porter

⤷ Sweetheart

This is so amazing it killed me

the world (it burns through me)

Chapter 26: Angel

Ao3 | 3.1k Words | Angel's POV

David gets guilt tripped. Angel stays home and sketches. Asher uses the bumper guards. Quinn can, most likely, get into the house again.

TW: emotional and mental anguish, disordered eating and sleeping habits, violence, sexual violence, threats of rape, general creepy behavior, blood and injury, fire.

It had taken a lot of persuasion and a touch of guilt tripping to convince Davey that you were okay spending a few hours home alone while he went out for some much needed relaxation. It was a herculean task even at the best of times. Going anywhere without you seemed to make him deflate, shrink in a bit, and look after you as he slipped out of the door like a kicked puppy. 

These were not the best of times, and Davey seemed almost frantic in his presence around you and the others. Since the barbecue, he had bounced from place to place, dragging you along, looking over everyone like he was searching for injuries hiding in the folds of their clothes. 

If it was bad before, it was torture now. He wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t eating. When he sat still for too long and dozed off, he woke up screaming, calling out your name, Trouble’s name, crying out for his dad. 

You couldn’t comfort him. You tried. Nothing worked. He grew resistant and resentful of your usual tactics, as though your love and how you showed it was lulling him into a false sense of security. 

Every brush with this fucking guy set his nerves on edge. It had scared him, your little coffee date with Quinn at the end of February. You thought he hadn’t stopped being scared since. 

It was going to start frying his brain. 

“It’s only a few hours.” You said, dumping the untouched cup of tea you’d made Davey a few hours ago down the sink. It was his favorite, and made just the way he liked it. 

“So much can happen in a few hours.” Davey called from the sliding back door. He peered out into the backyard, his dark eyes dulled and lined with sleeplessness. 

“Nothing is going to happen.” You huffed. When he slung his head around to bark at you for jinxing it, superstitious firefighter that he was, you reached down to rap your knuckles against the wooden cabinet doors. 

“I’m not going.” He replied. “I already told Ash you were.” You turned and crossed your arms over your chest, staring at him staring out of the house. He was so scared. You couldn’t blame him. You should probably be more scared than you were. That was the sort of certainty and safety that Davey afforded you. Before you knew him, when it was just you and Guy, you’d been scared of a lot more things a lot more of the time. But since meeting Davey, you hadn’t had to worry about that kind of thing. There wasn’t a thing anybody on earth could do to you that they, at the very least, wouldn’t suffer for. 

Davey seemed to think that Quinn wasn’t something he could protect you from. He seemed to consider him as some sort of boogeyman, a specter that was going to slink into your walls and haunt you to death. 

Quinn Fox wasn’t a ghost. He was a man. Men could be fought. Men could be killed. Davey seemed to have forgotten. 

“You’re going.” You said sharply. “You haven’t slept in days, let alone gotten some actual relaxation in. You are going.” 

Davey opened his mouth to argue. You held up your left hand, flashing the wedding band that sat, snug on your finger. He couldn’t really argue with that. 

It had been three weeks since the barbecue, since… whatever had happened after happened. Davey told you pretty much everything, so you thought it had to be pretty horrific for him to skirt around the details like they would burn him if he got too close. You would have liked to say that you had a great respect for others’ privacy and decided to stay out of it, but that wasn’t entirely honest. You were an incessant gossip and you’d questioned Asher, but he had no more information than you did. It seemed that everybody who knew what happened that night was keeping their fucking mouths shut. 

You had been instructed, along with the rest of the 10-19, to go about your life as normal. That there was no more danger now than there had been before that barbecue, that you were safe doing what you always did so long as you stayed vigilant and called the police if you encountered anything suspicious. The way Davey was acting, though, told you that was very much not the case. 

But he was sort of falling apart at the seams. He couldn’t have a solid grasp on what was real danger and what was his mind playing tricks on him. Not when he hadn’t slept more than a few hours a night in weeks. 

Ash and Milo arrived a few hours later, both looking exhausted and stressed, but smiling. Ash tugged David towards your bedroom under the guise of getting him out of sweats and into something presentable. 

Trouble slunk in, trailing after Milo. Whatever horrible thing had happened after the barbecue made its home in their features. You could see the lines of it under their eyes, in the curve of their crooked nose, the feathering of their blown out tattoos. God, you wanted to design cover-ups for those nasty things. It felt rude to jump the gun and do it without them asking. 

“Hey,” you smiled, pulling Milo down into a hug. “How’s…” you patted your stomach softly. His eyes cut to his periphery, caught sight of Trouble before he answered.  

“Good. Healing.” He promised. “If I can get them to take it easy it’d heal a lot faster.” 

“Unlikely.” Trouble muttered from over his shoulder.

Davey emerged in jeans and a t-shirt. Ash had even managed to get one of his silver chains around Davey’s neck, a step up from his usually minimalist ensemble. You smiled as you trailed your fingers down his chest. 

“Where are you guys off to?” You asked. 

“Bowling!” Ash supplied, bouncing on the balls of his feet. You grinned. 

“Davey’s gonna kick all of your asses.” You laughed. 

“Whoa now!” Milo nudged you. “Don’t count us all out! I happen to be pretty decent at bowling!” 

“Plus,” Asher smiled, a glint of mischievousness in the lines of his sharp teeth, “Tank is freaky lucky. Betcha he’ll lose.” 

“I’m not lucky.” Trouble scoffed. Their face was blank and serious for a moment before they seemed to shake themself awake. “Besides, Gutterball, he’ll at least beat you.” 

“You don’t know my secret weapon!” Ash said. “I’m using one of those kiddy guide things and bumper guards!” 

“The dinosaur or the unicorn one?” Milo replied. 

“Unicorn, obviously, what the fuck do you take me for?” 

They were off in the next minute or so, still bickering and laughing as they stepped out of the door. David leaned back inside at the last moment, his face gone dark again. 

“Please be careful, Angel.” He said. You felt yourself softened. 

“Always.” You replied. “Enjoy yourself, Captain. I’ll be here when you get home. Maybe I’ll be naked.” 

That made him smile. 

“Don’t make a guy a promise.” 

There were three or four multi-hour video essays on YouTube you’d been saving for a quiet evening at home. You snagged a beer from the fridge, gathered your sketch pad and pencils, and picked up on your latest flash sheet. When that proved too boring to hold your attention, you pivoted. 

You sketched out the jagged word “PRECIOUS,” mimicking the curve of Trouble’s eyebrow by memory. You stared down at  the imperfect edges of it and started trying out a few options to cover it. An olive branch. A line of curling, black smoke. A scythe. 

And then the power went out. You jumped, nearly spilling your beer, as you caught your breath. You’d been jumpy since coming home, knowing that Quinn had gotten into your house before, knowing that he most likely could again. 

It was probably nothing. It was probably a tripped breaker. 

You set you down your beer and sketch pad, walking blindly into the kitchen where Davey kept a flashlight in the junk drawer. You hesitated to click it on for a moment. If you left the flashlight off, if you couldn’t see what was in the dark, it couldn’t hurt you. 

That wasn’t true, of course. Maybe you could be convinced that ignorance was bliss. 

You clicked the flashlight on. Your kitchen was empty. The house was still and silent. The breaker box was in the basement. The baseball bat you’d used to beat in the fucking head of the guy who had broken into your first apartment after leaving home was kept propped up against the coat rack. It slid into your hands like an old friend and you made your way into the pitch black basement. 

The breaker box was dusty and the door clung to its latch as you wrenched it open. You ran your eyes and then your fingers over each breaker, trying to make sure you weren’t mistaken when you found that everything was exactly as it should be. 

You should have checked out your front window before coming down here to see if the neighbors across the street had gone dark too. Maybe it was a street-wide thing. Davey would have told you if there were rolling blackouts or any scheduled maintenance. He always kept up with that sort of thing. 

And then, the hair on the back of your neck stood on end. You sucked in a breath and held it. Some prey-animal instinct must have reared its head in you, because for a moment, you went perfectly still. 

The house was still and silent. Until you heard the puffs of slow, deliberate breath in the echoey darkness around you. You dropped the flashlight and wrapped your hands firmly around the grip of your baseball bat

Movement behind you. You’d learned well enough in your time that hesitation rarely benefited you. You were small. You weren’t fast. You weren’t strong. So you had to strike first and strike decisively. Any amount of trepidation could get you killed. 

You hadn’t had to think like this in a very long time. When it was just you and Guy, when you were the only line of defense between him and hunger, him and abuse, you fought and you fought like hell. You hadn’t had to fight since you’d met Davey. But you hadn’t forgotten how to. 

Your bat connected with a solid source. You were aiming for the head, the best and most effective way to incapacitated your opponent, but he was a good foot taller than you. Instead, you made contact with his chest. You felt his mass hold for just a moment before it gave, bone crunching under your momentum. 

You didn’t wait to see him go down in the askew, barely-there illumination of your flashlight now spinning on the ground. Instead you made a mad dash for the stairs. You had to get up the stairs, through the door, out the front door. Shit, no, he would be faster than you. He would chase you down before you made it to the neighbors’. Scratch that, you had to get up the stairs, through the door, to the guest bathroom. It had a lock and you could shove the linen cupboard in front of the door. You could call Davey. No, actually, you should call the cops first. 

Your fingers just barely brushed the door handle when he caught up to you. A bruising grip wrapped around your ankle and pulled, sending you sprawling on the stairs. Your forehead connected with one of the wooden steps as you went down, stars bursting across the murky darkness of your vision. 

By the time you got your coordination back enough to start fighting, he had you pinned on the dirty concrete floor. His hips pressed into yours, one hand wrapping around both of your wrists and pinning them over your head. Davey had had you in this exact position before, and your stomach rolled at the implications. You felt something primal and ugly rear its head in you. You would not let him hurt you. Not without a fight. 

“Quiet down, little lamb,” he purred, and even in the darkness, you recognized his voice. Cloying and sickly like too sweet chocolate. You bucked against him with renewed force, but he was so much stronger than you were. Your foot connected with the flashlight, and it cast it’s beam onto Quinn. Under-lit, he took on a movie-monster image, dark shadows on translucent, colorless skin. “We’ve got plenty of fun to have yet. If you don’t stop making such a fuss, I’ll have to find another way of shutting you up.” 

“Fuck you!” You snarled, kicking up in the hopes of at least stunning him long enough to squirm out from under him. He took the hit, your bare foot digging into his back, his eyes rolling up with the sharp pain. He seemed to be enjoying it. “Let me go, you fucking freak!” 

“Or what?” He laughed, his voice high and light. “You’ll fight me? You’ll run? I’m stronger. I’m faster.” He placed his free hand against your throat, applied just the smallest amount of pressure. It wasn’t the same as when Davey choked you. His big, warm, rough hands squeezed at the sides of your neck, so small in his grasp, cutting off blood flow. With Davey, it was more of a warning than anything, a reminder of how much bigger he was than you. Quinn pressed on your windpipe, the flat of his palm applying precise force. If he pushed much harder, he could cause damage. “You and I both know that I can do what I please with you.” 

“My husband is gonna kick your ass.” You bit out, voice harsh. “He’ll fucking kill you for touching me.” It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t a warning. It was the simple truth of the matter. You were Davey’s. He did not share. And he did not abide anyone hurting his people. 

That laugh again, bouncing around the basement and drilling into your pounding skull. Quinn bent forward, his hand tightening down on your throat. You snapped your head to the side, an undignified whimper escaping your throat as you squeezed your eyes shut. Quinn’s hot, wet tongue met the side of your face, flat against your cheek. He licked up your face, groaning low in his chest, his hips rutting against yours. Tears pricked your eyes. Quinn’s lips pressed into your skin. 

“He can try.” 

He didn’t rape you. That was the fact you kept repeating over and over in your mind, the thin shred of dignity you maintained. He didn’t rape you, but he did drag you up the basement stairs by your hair. He did pull you, screaming and swinging out in messy punches, to your bedroom. He let you get your bearings in the darkness, fingers threading into the thick, plush carpet, before he started laying into you. He beat you like you were a violent dog, punishing kicks and hits that tore into the meat of you. You heard more than felt when the steel toe of his fancy boots broke something in your rib cage. You gasped, wet and metallic, and clung to his leg in a pathetic bid to make it stop. 

It did stop. He left you on the ground, his laughs and taunts echoing around in the space you’d made with Davey. He had built your bed frame, reclaimed wood and rustic edges, he had made nearly every piece of furniture in the room. At the foot of the bed he’d held you in, he’d worshiped you in, the bed he’d fucked you in on your wedding night, Quinn stained your handpicked carpet with blood. He used the ropes Davey decorated your body with when the mood struck him, tying them tight enough to bruise from wrist to elbow, your fingers going cold and tingly by the time he was done. Quinn snatched your jaw up and had you thrashing again. His thin, cold fingers pressed past your lips, hooked over your molars and forced your jaw open. Your heart was in your throat, afraid of what he would force into you. It was almost a relief when it was fabric, a makeshift gag that he tied tight enough behind your head that it dug into your cheeks painfully. 

Time drifted. Your head was fuzzy, unsure. His hands wandered, threatening but never seeing anything through. His voice filled you up inside, took over every inch of room that was left in your head. You choked on it, the sound of him laughing in your ear, whispering threats in that gentle, sure tone. 

“If they find you in time,” he purred, his hand caressing your cheek like a lover would, “you tell them that it was me. You tell them that every mark on your body is on them. That your blood is on their hands.” 

You smelled smoke. You felt heat. Your body, the one that was married to a firefighter, the one that sat through his lectures about safety with rapt attention, the one that had practiced your evacuation route a hundred times to assuage his fears, refused to let you lay there and die. You had never been good at that, just letting things happen to you. You had a fight in you that you couldn’t explain, you couldn’t deny. 

It forced you up, bare feet scrambling against the carpet. Pushing your heavy, limp body as far as you could, you inched your way across the carpet, blood trailing behind you. By the time you met the dark tile of the master bathroom, you knew that the heat you felt was from the fire, not exertion. You took a moment, and only a moment, spread out on the bathroom floor, to cry. Your body ached to stop, to let go, to give in. You knew that you couldn’t, that if you did, then that was it for you, that you had no chance of surviving. You sobbed into the gag that tugged at your mouth, pulled at the ropes around your wrist, whacked your head against the tile in utter frustration and fear. 

And then you started moving again. You pushed yourself forward, your shoulder painfully crushing into the tub, and didn’t stop until you tumbled, ass over tea kettle, into it. You laid there, stared up at the shower head, and breathed. You counted to three. Then you started kicking for the faucet. 

It wasn’t until you felt cold water splashing over your face that you let yourself drift. 

Davey would know. You could feel it in your gut when something on a call went sideways, when Davey was hurt, when he was afraid. So you had to trust that he would know. He would find you. He would find you.

Is this who I think it is

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

man what the hell sure

Last oc drawing I promise 🙏 I like free will

I feel like Doc js goes on with their day and by the end of the day they somehow have like 3 different tiny cuts on their fingers and a bruise on the hip. From where? Who knows, they don’t even remember how it happened 🤷

No problem :3

Idk I wanna give Darlin’ freckles, like I want a trait seen as cute and innocent to be tainted by the hands of cruelty 🤷

Not necessarily but specifically in character design it’s typically given to characters to give off a ‘soft’ appearance but also a lot of people have different beliefs on it

Idk I wanna give Darlin’ freckles, like I want a trait seen as cute and innocent to be tainted by the hands of cruelty 🤷

This fandom bounces between lol murder and you yeah you I'm gonna make you fucking cry

Eu Sem Você

100000000% yes

We all agree Milo has the fattest ass in the Shaw Pack, right?

Ain’t he pretty

This is so awesome sauce I must eat the art

I love this little loser /aff

Could’ve kissed the brick before throwing it at my head 😔

One day, David’s knee is going to give out during a pack meeting, and Sam’ll be the first to catch him.

Sam’s gonna have to see the boys loose their mates one by one.

Sam will stay with the pack even when Darlin passes away.

“Sam, don’t ever doubt it, you’re a Shaw like the rest of us.”

Because Sam doesn’t give up on family, and if he has to stand where his family once stood - with only the memory of them standing beside him - he will stand. If he tells their stories to young kids - who will only ever know them through photos, and the sound of Sam’s voice - he will speak. If he has to watch the next Shaw Pack alpha struggle with the pressures of filling David’s shoes, Sam will tell the tale of Gabriel Shaw.

When Darlin’s tree bares its last fruit, Sam will sit and mourn.

Because even if there’s nothing there that was once before, Sam will be there. Sam will protect his family legacy.

Idk I wanna give Darlin’ freckles, like I want a trait seen as cute and innocent to be tainted by the hands of cruelty 🤷

Shaw pack and their highschool/teen sports

David - lacrosse (teen wolf projection #1)

Angel - ballet

Milo - wrestling or swimming

Sweetheart - cross country

Asher - lacrosse (teen wolf projection #2) or ice hockey

Baabe - ice skating

Sam - baseball.

Darlin - volleyball or roller derby

.

.

.

This is my ash and David teen wolf/lacrosse projection

Milo greer takes his mother to lunch once a week

Milo greer has a collection of candid photos of everyone close to him. His favorites are the ones of Darlin' and David, Sam and Sweetheart, Sweetheart, and Marie. Not many people know about the pictures, but sometimes he'll be seen looking at his phone with a soft smile and warm eyes (I got the idea for this one from @penumbra-mayhem )

Milo Greer, who makes a lot of food when people are around, because he knows what it's like when you need to ration food "nobodies going hungry on his watch"

Milo Greer that was so relieved when he found out Darlin' had come home, only to feel dreads cold hands wrap around his throat again, bearing the name Quinn Fox

Milo Greer (practically the entire pack does it at this point) telling his people to drive safe because he knows how unpredictable life can be

Milo Greer who still mourns the relationship he had with his father when he was young. He grieves for the man his father used to be since he knows that he will never be able to let himself give trust to that man again

Milo Greer spending at least one day a month deep cleaning the whole house so he can decompress and slow down (and then inevitably get distracted by Sweetheart)

Milo Greer having long conversations with Darlin' about their wolves and the connection they have to magic. The two of them shifting and going on a run together alone for the first time since they came back to town. Milo telling them, that at the end of the day its their choice what they want to do. He'll be there for then as long as they'll let him

Milo 'loverboy' Greer getting pulled in by the waist by Sweetheart before he leaves for work. Sweetheart pulling a page from his book and making a whole deal of loving up on him before he goes because he tried to leave without kissing them goodbye (he doesn't even have shoes on)

Milo 'young man' Greer helping his Ma move things from her apartment into a real home for once. Marie being caught off guard by how much he really does look like Colm, and her heart hurting that she makes the association since he's forever more than the man he used to call father. Milo knowing that she does, and giving her a small smile in an effort to see hers. Milo promising her that she doesnt have to worry about what happened before happening again. He learned from his fathers mistakes, and he will never be like that with his family ( @dahlia-tourism-board inspired this one with the 'you look like your father' story)

Milo 'lo' Greer playing with the pack kids and that being one of the only times he's not upset about being disheveled. The pack kids loving his wolf because they're still in awe of the fact that their family can turn into animals. Milo proud of the fact that he's someone that the kids feel comfortable enough around to laugh, play, and sleep around him

Milo 'mahlow' Greer hanging out with Sam while they wait for their mates to finish sparring. Sam asking Milo how to cook some of his favorite recipes so that he can make them for Darlin

Milo 'big man' Greer arguing with Baaabe over something stupid like the number of jelly beans in a bag or the proper way to fold towels. Baaabe only started calling him that after they confirmed it was ok. The first time it happened was an accident while they were playing smash and their eyes got so wide afterwards that it made Milo laugh. It doesn't bother him

Milo Greer, who feels at home when he has Sweetheart in his arms. Milo who isn't afraid to let himself feel anymore, because he knows tears won't get him yelled at. Milo who accepts his shortcomings because he knows now that failure doesn't automatically come with a punishment

Milo Greer who knows what it means to be truly loved

HC: How the Redacted boys and their partners sleep together/night routine

——————————————————————————

David and Angel: Angel rests their head on his chest. David lays on his back and has an arm wrapped around their waist. David’s a moderately light sleeper and any time that Angel moves or makes noise, David will lull them back to sleep gently before falling asleep himself.

Asher and Baaaabe: Asher sprawls himself all over Babe, one leg spread on top of them. Babe absolutely loves that Asher does this. It makes them feel so protected and safe. Some nights, Babe traces the scars on Asher’s chest until they fall asleep.

Milo and Sweetheart: Milo loves to be the big spoon with Sweetheart. He often has a hand up their shirt, either gently tracing patterns into their skin or just holding onto them. He loves the skin contact.

Darlin’ and Sam: Due to Darlin’s stress and anxiety, they don’t quite have a normal sleep schedule, though that’s changing thanks to Mr. Collins. On nights where Darlin can’t sleep, Sam takes them both to the couch, puts on a movie, lays them back against his chest and they both fall asleep to Sam gently stroking their arms and sides.

Huxley and Damien: Damien dislikes being the little spoon because he’s always afraid of being too hot for Huxley. Hux insists he loves the heat, but doesn’t mind feeling Dames’ arms wrapped around him either. Before bed though, Hux is cradling Damien in his arms and giving him kisses.

Lasko and Dear: Lasko and Dear actually don’t sleep cuddled up a lot of the time. They sleep in the same bed, cuddling for hours before ending the night with a kiss and turning over. It works delightfully well for them, but there’s never a complaint in the morning if one of them ends up cuddling with the other.

Freelancer and Gavin: Gavin LOVES being pressed up against FL’s side. He absolutely adores the way he can tangle his hands in their hair and gently massage their scalp. They spend most nights wrapped in each other’s arms, face to face. Gav, not actually needing to sleep, will sometimes wait until FL falls asleep and commit himself to remembering every painstaking detail about Freelancer’s resting form.

Avior and Starlight: They sleep wrapped up in each other’s arms, legs tangled together. One might occasionally have their head on the other’s chest, but it’s usually Avior. Since he doesn’t have to sleep, he likes to lay his head on their chest and listen to their heartbeat, reminding him that they’re still there with him.

Aaron and Smartass: Smartass loves being pressed up against Aaron’s side, wrapping their arms around his waist. He’s somehow always the perfect temperature and the smell of his lotion leaves them wonderfully sleepy. Aaron also loves this because it gives him an excuse to give them his patented nose rubs.

Ollie and Baby: Baby often either gets very sleepy or actually does fall asleep when watching Ollie do things or play games. The quality time and watching Ollie do things he enjoys makes Baby all warm inside and in turn makes them super comfortable. Once Ollie’s done, he’ll gently get them to bed, tucking the both of them in, heads gently pressed together.

Guy and Honey: Guy LOVES sleeping on top of Honey. I’m not talking head on chest, he loves being their personal weighted blanket. Man’s a walking blanket fortress, bundling the two in many sheets, making a fort of cozy. Buuuuut, if fate is SO cruel to force this loving adoring man off of his Honey, he’ll enjoy being their little spoon.

Blake and Bestie: Full old timey nightgown, complete with the little hat and slippers. May even have an oil lantern. Sleeps vampire style, stiff as a board, arms crossed over chest.

KIDDING.

Blake loves having Bestie lay back against him, their head resting against his shoulder/upper arm. It gives him the perfect access to give them gentle temple kisses whenever he wants. He'll gently caress Bestie's sides until he feels them fall asleep before allowing himself to sleep as well.

Sometimes D’Deridahn’s also there in his mind, but Blake does his best to block him out and ignore him when his attention is on Bestie.

Priorities, amirite?