1 - 20 of 28 Works by Lostlimerence
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Dead. David reminds himself as he stares at the picture, knuckles bone-white around the neck of a whiskey bottle. Dead.
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Wymack stares at the image of Andrew’s most prolific abuser.
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‘Maybe this is where it ends,’ he says, his voice is soft, tentative. It does nothing to counter the sharp drop in Geralts’ stomach.
Or Getralt and Jaskier chase each other up a mountain.
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Beautiful. Fuck. No.
He can’t do this again.
Hopeful cerulean eyes try to catch his amber ones, waiting for him to speak. Geralt hates this. He never knows what to say to his tribute.
Or Geralt meets his latest tribute.
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A Separate World by Lostlimerence
Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga), 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime)
11 Nov 2023
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They live in a separate world.
It’s something someone had said to her once, long ago. She’d laughed then, but now she understands.
Now she sees it. She sees it everyday.
Or
Shoko watches her two best friends.
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The Worst by Lostlimerence
Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga), 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime)
15 Aug 2023
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“Suguru Geto,” Nobara spits the name like it’s acid on her tongue. Yuji tilts his head, sits up straight, interest piqued “who?”
Fuck. Satoru hates this part of his job.
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The kids learn something new, Satoru tries to cope.
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It’s happening again.
Eddie Munson is in love.
Billy doesn’t think he has the strength to weather it this time.
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Billy hears a song about sunshine and saltwater.
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He can’t…
There’s a corpse at his back. She’s humming in his ear. She’ll be ok.
He can’t breathe.
Or Xiaoshi suffers and Guang tries.
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It’s one of those nights.
One of those nights when he doesn’t feel real.
When Steve touches him. It burns like a brand, like the grip of a hand he’s tried so hard to forget.
Or Billy struggles, Steve helps.
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Steve Harrington.
Billy grips the wheel, knuckles bone white.
Steve fucking Harrington.
Or that night and that fight from Billy's point of view.
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His lips stained red, eyes ringed black, gold hoops rest against the column of his neck.
He looks pretty. Billy hates it.
Or Billy gets ready for a party with Steve.
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He holds himself still as his father’s thumb presses feather-light at the the soft skin of his jugular, a blade at his throat. The air is seething again, Billy holds his breath. His father smiles, pupils dilate as he draws back, hand curling to a fist.
Or Billy's drowning and no one's coming to save him.
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Someone reaches out, presses fingertips to his mottled chest, “it’s actually quite beautiful,” they whisper as they trace the ghosts of Neil’s fists. Pain blooms at the pressure but he doesn’t release the stop that’s cloying in his throat, he just takes a shaky breath and thinks at least I’m still beautiful.
Or Billy struggles with self-worth.
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“You don’t need to do that with her you know,” Steve mutters as he closes the front door, and moves to join Billy on the porch.
It’s the wrong thing to say, Steve can see it in the slight hitch of the other boys shoulders, can feel the shift in the air as a mean grin spreads across the blond’s face and Steve really doesn’t want to go ten rounds tonight but he doesn’t think he’s going to get a choice, so he takes a breath, steels himself, and plants his fucking feet, ready for the full force of Billy Hargrove.
Or Steve just wants to talk but Billy has his back up.
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Billy stands waist deep in the pool, gaze locked on his current problem. Flecks of cool water spatter his chest as most of his gang of giddy brats splash and float about happily in his periphery. He would like to start the lesson, but one of his kids just isn’t playing ball.
Timmy stands defiant. Arms crossed, feet firmly planted. “I’m not coming in,” he announces for the second time that morning, punctuating himself with a little stomp of his foot, his face determined, his mind made up.
Or Billy has a standoff with a stubborn little swimmer.
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Eddie cannot fathom what has gotten them into this situation, can’t quite grasp how their lazy afternoon has been transformed into this painful battleground, all over a comment about going to Nancy’s later rather than Steve’s.
Or Eddie mediates as Billy breaks.
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They approach the clearing, trees frame a street full of trick or treaters, werewolves, vampires, ghosts, zombies, “why’s no one ever dressed as a ghoul?,” Billy pouts as they step onto the street, the one day of the year they blend in seamlessly with the locals, “not as sexy baby,” Eddie sticks out his tongue “hey!” Billy gapes brow furrowing slightly.
Or Steve's undead boyfriends pop over for a visit.
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“Eds please stop pacing for a second.”
“Stop pacing?! I don’t know if you’ve noticed but California’s stopped working Stevie?!”
“I know, I know! I’m trying to think, your manic energy isn’t helping!”
“My manic energy?!” his voice hitches up an octave as he gasps, feigning hurt, he stops pacing and crouches down to gently wave a hand in-front of Billy’s face. The blonde clocks him, gives him a little dopey smile and whispers “hey Eds, it’s finally happened I’ve gone insane,” Eddie smiles back at him, gives him a little pat on the head before standing back up and turning to Steve “yep, broken.”
Or Billy finally meets a demodog.
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She’s just behind this door, his mom.
His mom who he’d thought was an angel but had actually turned out to be something else (he can’t quite decide what). His mom who used to make him laugh, who used to call him her ‘little surfer.’ His mom who left one night and never came back, his mom who might as well claim some of his blood stains on Neil's knuckles, some of his scars carved by Neil's hands.
Or Billy finds his mother's house, he just needs to knock.
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“Munson”
A heavily ringed hand hovers over the mixing bowl. “Don’t you dare,” Billy glares as he reaches to grab another bowl from the cupboard.
“Come onnnn sunshine,” Eddie says grin spreading across his face.
Or Billy just wants to bake.
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Steve’s transfixed.
Golden curls, golden skin, eyes darkened to a sea storm blue, reddened lips shaped by lyrics.
If Billy were a saint Steve would already be on his knees.
Or Steve can't stop staring.