#I might wear it for the convention now that I’m thinking about it

[quirky-creates]

I might only wear this one more time. As for when I’m torn between Halloween or for this year’s Amazing Hawai’i Comicon convention :p

I crunched like hell when I started this cosplay and I crunched like hell when I went back to finish it. Even if all I had to do was replace the staples holding the stripped pants together with yarn stitches lmao. As backbreaking as it all was, I’m just glad that the end result looks nice

And I’m even more glad that I don’t have to deal with this nightmare anymore lmfao

I wore this to Kawaii kon fully expecting to give the rest of these stickers away with how beloved this all seeing muppet is…I think I only gave away like 5 lol

[dailydegurechaff]

Tanya²

Today's Daily Degurechaff is… I’ll do you one better: Tanya³

(+ a small fic I never finished.)

Erich… isn’t sure what he’s seeing. He knows he’s wearing his glasses and he definitely has not been drinking… So what in the world is going on here? Why is he suddenly seeing things in triplicate?

Three of them. There are three little Degurechaff Devils in an office where there should only be one. 

When he’d knocked on her door, she’d called out that she needed a second. He hadn’t listened to her and opened it anyway. He’s regretting that now. Staring at them, both his head and his stomach are starting to hurt. 

All three of them are staring back at him. One is looking at him in abject horror, the next one’s eyes flash in recognition and she actually smiles (even more shocking, she does it in a way that isn’t uniquely terrifying, but perhaps actually cute), and the final squints at him a bit, as though she doesn’t know him. 

One of the three, the one who looks absolutely horrified, opts to greet him after a moment, “Ahaha—… Colonel Lergen… did you need something?” She sounds like she might be freaking out a bit. Erich feels similarly to her.

The second Degurechaff, the one who had smiled at him, turns her head to look at the first. She looks confused now. “Did you just say ‘Lergen?’ Not Rerugen?”

The first responds again. While she sounded nervous a second ago, it’s forgotten as she turns to her counterpart, “Seriously? You’ve been speaking this language for over a decade and your accent is that bad? Yes, I definitely said Lergen. Why would you pronounce it Rerugen?”

Now it’s the third one’s turn to speak, “No, I agree, it’s definitely pronounced Rerugen, but… this isn’t him. Rerugen has dark hair and brown eyes… and if I’m going to be honest, a fairly unfortunate haircut too. This guy looks too normal to be Rerugen.”

Degurechaff One immediately disagrees, “What are you even talking about? Lergen’s always had blonde hair and blue eyes.”

The second one backs her up, “Yeah, I agree this is definitely the right sort of coloration, but… now that I’m looking at him, Rerugen is supposed to be more handsome than this.”

“Handsome?! Has Being X poisoned your brain that badly?” Number Three yells at Number Two.

Two snaps back at her immediately, “That’s not what I meant at all, and you should know that! I meant by conventional standards! You know, stronger jawline, sharper features!”

Did— did she just say he was ugly?

Before the other two start arguing, the first one cuts them off, “Hold on. Are we sure we’re all talking about the same person here? Maybe you both are thinking of someone else, this is Colonel Erich von Lergen, my superior, formerly a part of Personnel, but now he works in Operations in the General Staff. He’s been looking out for me for a while now. For example, he made an effort to keep me off the frontlines, and when I was stationed in the southeast, he gave me a preliminary warning that Dacia would invade. Things like that. He’s a very good superior. Does any of that seem familiar?”

“Ah… that does seem to match up with who I was thinking of. I wonder why he’s so different from what I know…”

Now that Erich’s kind of over the shock now, he’s a bit tired of being talked about like he isn’t here. Interrupting the conversation between them, he finally speaks, “Degurechaff… what is going on here?”

All three seem to remember that Erich is actually here and a part of the conversation suddenly. They turn back to look at him, but none of them seem to really know what to say, faces varying shades of hesitation, confusion, or irritation.

The way they act and carry themselves is… actually slightly different. Looking closer at them, maybe it’s only that there’s one Degurechaff and two extremely close doppelgängers? If he studies them, yes they’re close enough to be siblings, but there’s differences between each.

The first one is the one he recognizes, the one who looks as he expects her to and also is getting his name and appearance correct. She’s just the slightest bit taller than the other two, but it’s a marginal thing. She’s paler than the other two in all aspects, a corpse-like pallor to her skin, hair colored platinum blonde, and eyes the color of ice. When he meets her gaze, it’s easy to tell her apart. It’d be impossible to mistake those disconcerting eyes that look a bit dead, or perhaps look like she’d want everyone around her dead if it’d bring her a bit of peace. So this one he mentally categorizes as ‘Original Degurechaff,’ or perhaps more accurately ‘The Degurechaff That I Know.’

The second one that he heard speak— the one who had called him ugly?— is the smallest of the three. Of course, Degurechaff has always been small, but this one beats the other two. Actually, she even looks younger than the others, if that was even possible, and honestly she kind of acts like it as well. She has shorter, curlier hair than the others, and it’s much brighter in color— much closer to gold than platinum blonde. Compared to the one he knows, she seems more… emotive, perhaps the best word for it is. So this one has to be ‘Little Degurechaff’ or something to that effect.

The third one is about a midpoint between the two in hair color and stature, though her hair is a right mess. A prominent flyaway sticks out of the top of her head, refusing to lay flat. Framed by pale lashes, her eyes are a more vibrant blue than either of the others, but they’re just as cold-looking and tense. He wouldn’t call any Degurechaff patient, but this one gives him the impression she’s much more irritable than the others. Her uniform is also starkly different from the other two, who are almost matching, but all three carry a recognizable Silver Wings Badge. This one… perhaps he should denote her as the ‘Irritable Degurechaff’? She’s always been irritable, though, hasn’t she?

The designations are a start, but still he has to wonder... Why? Why is this happening?

Ah, hold on. Is that it? Is this a punishment from God, specifically designed to torment me?

[covid-safer-hotties]

To My Unmasked Friend in the Fifth Year of COVID - By: Anna Holmes - Published Aug 17, 2024

I’m going to be honest with you, because I love you, and you deserve nothing but honesty. I’m going to try really hard not to be angry while I do it, but it’s probably going to slip out every now and again. But I need you to hear me out, all right?

By now, we’ve talked about my reality. My personal struggle with long COVID, the isolation I live in, why I am so angry all the time.

But let’s talk about you. You just went to a big convention overseas. You got on a plane, got a little gussied up, talked shop with some insiders, geeked out over awards and merch, ate, drank, were merry, left with your social cup and your heart full.

You’re a good person. We wouldn’t be friends otherwise! You’d never dream of tripping a person with a red and white cane, using the r-word, excluding a disabled person from an event because of something they can’t help.

You might even acknowledge that the COVID response from governments and organizations has been ableist and inadequate.

But you didn’t wear a mask.

For whatever reason — you wanted to show off your makeup, it makes you itchy, you believed the messaging that COVID is endemic (what does that actually mean?), you just don’t think about it anymore — you made a choice that actively excludes people like me from participating not only in an event like a convention, but society at large. And yes, it is a choice. Every time you step out into the world without a mask on your face, you have made a decision that your very good reason, whatever it is, supersedes the right of disabled and at-risk people to exist safely in your orbit.

Well, hold on, you say. It’s not any one individual’s fault, it’s the inadequate public health messaging. Isn’t that what you’ve been saying?

And I have. In the past, I have talked about how it is unconscionable that health authorities have thrown their hands up and rescinded guidance that would have saved hundreds of thousands of lives and prolonged a pandemic that, to hear them tell it, has been bested. It hasn’t. Worst of all, the financial motivation that we all know is driving this premature victory lap isn’t even being fulfilled. Long COVID and other post-COVID complications are costing the global economy one trillion a year. Meanwhile, article after article handwrings about nobody wanting to work anymore, about the sagging college application scene, about declines in military enlistment, and the strain on our healthcare systems.

All of this is very much the fault of our leaders, who have decided the political ramifications of “normalcy” are more important than the health and lives of the 400 million people living with long COVID across the globe, the immunocompromised folks who are increasingly being shut out of every conceivable public space, and the disabled community which has been screaming into the wind about our marginalization since before the virus even hit US soil.

But I want to be very clear. You are helping them do this.

The reality is that we have been living in this deeply flawed landscape of “personal choice”, and you’ve made yours. You’ve opted not to look into how densely clustered cases are. You’ve stopped listening to your friends who have informed themselves. You’ve given yourself permission to put COVID on the back burner. You’ve earned it, right? Four and a half years of trauma?

COVID doesn’t care if you’re tired of being scared or careful or considerate. COVID is not something you can personally overcome by being smart or virtuous or brave. It is a virus which only seeks to infect and replicate, and it is getting very good at those things. While you’ve looked away, my community has been scrambling to avoid variants that skirt immunity and don’t show up on rapid tests until day five-seven. The constant battle has changed since you were last in it. It’s not sufficient anymore to get your shots and test before a big event. You could well be asymptomatic and infectious, or have symptoms and convinced yourself it can’t be COVID because that second line hasn’t popped up.

You have come to the conclusion sometime between 2022 and now that you just have to decide what level of risk you’re comfortable with and live with it. The problem with that is scale. It’s you and everybody else doing that, and a lot of people have decided they are comfortable with a high level of risk. Despite what you’ve been told, you’re not just making that decision for yourself. You are making it for every person you come in contact with.

Think back to the early tense days of 2020. We were told to select a “bubble.” Those people would be our social lifelines, and through those, we could control our exposure.

My bubble is quite small. It includes my husband, my sister, and two friends I see relatively frequently.

My husband goes to work via the bus, and to the grocery store. Every person he comes in contact with there has the potential to infect him, and then he has the potential to pass it along to me. He mitigates this by wearing a well-fitted respirator at all times.

My sister goes to work at a busy public place. She masks when public facing and takes it off in the back office. She goes to restaurants, bars, concerts, hangs out with friends and her own partner unmasked. About 75% of her interactions have the heightened potential to infect her, which she might then bring into my house when she visits me.

My friends do not mask anywhere except my house when asked. They attend concerts, shows, cons, bars.

Obviously, I am in control of whether I wear a mask around these people. And as we approach one million new cases a day, I will be around everyone but my husband. But science is clear: reciprocal masking is more effective at infection control than a single person masking — especially when that single person is trying to protect themselves, not others.

This is settled science. We’ve known this since 2020. It says clearly that the choice you make is not personal- it has implications for everyone you come in contact with.

And being clear — if I could, I’d make everyone wear a mask for their own health. I don’t want people suffering with what I have. But you’ve been told this lie that you can take your risks for yourself, so you feel comfortable going out without a mask. You’ve been told this lie that it’s possible to completely recover from a COVID infection, so you assume that even if you do catch it, that’s what’ll happen to you, despite evidence showing that every body is indelibly changed by an infection, and that risk only grows with each subsequent infection.

And the greatest lie of all — that only the sick or elderly have anything to fear from COVID — has given you unfounded confidence in your own “good” genes or immune system or fitness. You can get long COVID even if you’re in peak form — in fact, may even be more likely to be hit hard.

So you have decided, individually and collectively, that only the sick or elderly should have to take precautions, and you freewheel through life, only to get surprised and dismayed when you bump into COVID in the wild. It’s back, people declare every summer or winter, as though it ever left.

But I want you to really think about the implications of your choice. Besides yourself. Because let’s be honest here, that’s who you’ve been thinking about, right? Your risk. Your comfort. Never mind your bubble, never mind the bubble of everyone you come into contact with, never mind the people like me who are literally hiding from people like you.

You’re not masking at the doctor’s office. You’re not masking at the airport. You’re not masking at the giant superspreader you just attended, and you’re not masking in the bars and restaurants where we know the virus flourishes. And then you’re bringing that exposure back to your family and friends. Back to the grocery store, where you run across people like my husband, shopping for someone who is unsafe to leave the house, or your elderly neighbors, or an immunocompromised employee.

You’re a good person, or you like to think of yourself that way. That’s why when you’re asked to mask, you dismiss it out of hand — because that changed behavior implies that you’ve been doing something wrong.

And my friend, I’m telling this because I love you: you have been. You might have been doing that on faulty information, but be honest with yourself and with me — you’ve heard me begging people to take this seriously. You’ve seen the information I’ve been sharing. You have had the opportunity to seek out the correct information all along, and you have chosen not to.

It isn’t too late to change your view of the risk you’re imposing on the people around you. It’s not too late to push public health to become more effective. It’s not too late to act in solidarity and be the inclusive person you think you are. It’s not too late to take care of yourself.

Ultimately, that’s what I have been screaming myself hoarse about. I don’t want you to end up with what I have. I don’t want you to inadvertently impose that on someone else. And yes, I’ve been angry, because you’ve been advertising your absolute lack of concern with group shots of your naked faces on social media. It doesn’t seem to bother you that I am stuck at home like it’s 2020, except for doctors’ appointments that I literally have to risk my life to go to. You’ve told yourself that it’s not your problem, because only the sick and elderly have to take precautions.

You know better. You can do better. For your community, yourself, and me, do better.

Please. I love you.

Anna

PS. If you’re feeling upset and embarrassed right now, the best thing you can do is take action. Get yourself good masks (the surgicals and cloth ones don’t cut it anymore), donate to mask blocs so others can access good masks, write to your representatives and the President, comment on upcoming CDC guidance, schedule yourself a booster, and talk to your loved ones about doing better, too. The only way we get out of this is with community care. So care.

[thevoidstaredback]

Dick: Remember everyone, violence is never the answer.

Danny: You're right, Dick.. Violence can't be the answer.

Dick: Correct, Danny. Now, on to the next lesso-

Danny: Violence is the question.

Danny: And the answer is yes!

Dick: Danny, no!!

Dick: All right, Danny, that’s it, you’re grounded! I found a rap album hiding under your bed and it was the clean version. I didn’t raise you to be such a nerd!

Danny: I’m not even your kid-

Dick: I don’t care what anyone thinks about me.

Danny: Ok.

Dick: Wait, why such a muted reaction? Did that not sound cool?

Danny: Last night I found out Dick is a sleep talker.

Tim: Oh, really?

Danny: "The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell." Right. In. My. Ear. At 3am.

*Dick rushes by with an armful of water bottles*

Tim: What's going on?

Danny: Dick wouldn't drink water.

Tim: ...And?

Danny: And I asked him how fast he could chug an entire bottle.

Dick, loudly: 16 OUNCES IN TEN SECONDS, BITCHES!

Dick: Do you ever feel bugs on you when really there’s nothing there?

Danny: Those are the ghosts of the bugs you killed before.

Dick:

Dick: *sobs*

Tim: You fucking scared him, you idiot.

Dick: I hate to tell you this, but one of you was adopted.

Danny & Tim:

Danny: Only one...?

Danny: Is letting someone win at chess sapiosexual bottoming?

Dick: Can either of you please learn the skill called "Think Before You Speak"?

Tim: Ya know... it might be.

*Danny and Tim are fighting*

Dick, taking aspirin: I have a headache! Can you guys just be cool?!

*Danny and Tim start fighting while wearing sunglasses and riding skateboards*

Dick: Please bring home PURIFIED water with NO minerals added for taste

Danny: We got spring water

Dick: NO.

Danny: with EXTRA minerals

Danny: it's like licking a stalagmite

Dick: DON'T COME HOME.

Danny: Mmmmm cave water

Tim: Tell Danny about the birds and the bees.

Dick: They're disappearing at an alarming rate.

Batman: Listen, I can explain...

Tim!Robin: You’re making $500,000 and you’re only gonna pay me $30,000?

Nightwing: You’re getting 30 grand? I’m getting $1,000!

Phantom: You guys are getting paid?

Bruce: *Trying to fill out legal paperwork stuff* Were you guys born AMAB or AFAB?

Tim: Bold of you to assume I was born at all.

Danny: I personally was created in a lab.

Dick: I just straight up spawned lol.

Dick: Why isn’t the statue smirking at me?

Alfred: It isn’t smirking at anyone, they’re all just imagining it.

Dick: Three of us saw it, Alfred. How do you explain that?

Alfred: *points at Tim* Sleep deprivation. *points at Bruce* Paranoia. *points at Danny* Delusional personality disorder.

Tim: Why is Dick so sad?

Danny: He took one of those “Which Hero Are You?” quizzes

Tim: And...?

Danny: He got Batman

Dick, banging on the door: Danny! Open up!

Danny: Well, it all started when I was a kid...

Tim: No, he meant-

Dick: Let him finish.

Tim: You lying, cheating, piece of shit!

Danny: Oh yeah? You’re the idiot who thinks you can get away with everything you do. WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD

Tim: I’m leaving you, and I’M TAKING DICK WITH ME

Dick, picking up the monopoly board: I think we’re gonna stop playing now.

Dick: Dandelions symbolize everything I want to be in life

Tim: Fluffy and dead with a gust of wind?

Dick: Unapologetic. Hard to kill. Feral, filled with sunlight, bright, beautiful in a way that the conventional and controlling hate but cannot ever fully destroy. Stubborn. Happy. Bastardous. Friends with bees. Highly disapproving of lawns. Full of wishes that will be carried far after I die.

Danny: edible

Dick: So, what, now I’m just supposed to do anything that Bruce does? I mean, what if he jumped off a cliff?

Tim: If Bruce were to jump off a cliff, he would’ve done his due diligence regarding the height of the cliff, the depth of the water, and the angle of entry, so yes. If you see Bruce jump off a cliff, by all means, jump off a cliff.

Dick: You jump off a cliff!

Tim: Gladly. Provided Bruce did first.

Danny: Why are you on the floor?

Tim: I'm depressed.

Tim: Also I was stabbed, can you get Alfred, please.

Dick: If you had to choose between Tim and all the money I have in my wallet, which would you choose?

Danny: That depends, how much money are we taking about?

Tim: Danny!

Dick: 63 cents.

Danny: I'll take the money.

Tim: Danny!!!

Danny: I'm incredibly fast at math.

Tim: Alright, what's 30x17?

Danny: 47

Tim: That's not even close.

Danny: But it was fast.

Danny: *Stubs his toe* FUCK!

Dick: Mind your language!

Danny: What else am I supposed to say, “Woe is I”???

Dick:

Danny: You have to accept that swear words are necessary sometimes.

Tim: Remember when you didn't try to solve all your problems with attempted murder?

Danny: Stop romanticizing the past.

Danny: Okay. I get it. You've had a really hard time lately, you're stressed out, seven people died-

Dick: Twelve, actually.

Danny: Not the point. Look, they're dead now and really whose fault is that?

Dick: Yours!

Danny: That's right: no one's.

Tim: I think I'm having a mid-life crisis.

Danny: You're like 15 years old

Tim: I MIGHT DIE AT 30!

Danny: I’d like to offer you moral support, but I have questionable morals.

Tim: Not trying to brag or anything, but I can wake up without an alarm clock now simply due to my crippling and overwhelming anxiety, so...

Dick: You can de-escalate any situation by simply saying, 'Are we about to kiss?'

Dick: Doesn't work for getting out of speeding tickets, by the way.

Danny: Physically, yes, I could fight a bird. But emotionally? Imagine the toll.

Tim: BEHOLD, the field in which I grow my fucks! Lay thine eyes upon it, and thou shalt see that it is barren!

Tim: What doesn't kill me should run, because now I'm fucking pissed.

Danny, threatening the others with a paintball gun: Listen... Life comes at us fast. We don't know what life is gonna give us... And today, it's gonna give you... a paintball!

Dick: I was born for politics. I have great hair and I love lying.

Danny, pre death: If I'm really as evil as you say I am, then have the gods strike me down where I stand.

*dies*

Phantom: Ha! Nice try, jackass! Next time, give it your A-game!

Shapeshifter: *transforms to look like Tim*

Tim: Okay, are you like BLIND? You look nothing like me. First off, I'm way taller. Secondly, I DO NOT look so sleep deprived and lastly, if you could drag comb through that hair you're like a 7 on a good day and I've been told I'm a constant 10.

Danny: Goodnight moon.

Danny: Goodnight tree.

Danny: Goodnight ghosts that only I can see.

Dick: People are always asking me if I'm a morning person or a night person.

Dick: And I'm just like, 'Buddy! I'm barely even a PERSON!'

Tim: You seem familiar, have I threatened you before?

[rosewaterandivy]

1.01 - Notes on a Scene

summary: a meet-fuck cute courtesy of The Hideout.

pairing: teacher!eddie x fem!reader

w.c.: 3.6k

warnings: modern! AU / 18 + no minors! / eddie is in his early 30s, in the tkaa timeline, this is set about two years after the epilogue, hook ups, fwb, Eddie being a menace, my usual filth™️

a/n: an Eddie-centric companion series to the kids aren’t alright. it’s not necessary to read the previous series, but there are certain plot points and characters that will be making an appearance here as well.

nota bene: feedback is always appreciated— reblogs, comments, likes, etc.— but reposting is not. Enjoy! 💜

series m.list | playlist | currently spinning:

🎵gonna melt the fever sugar, rolling back your eyes🎵

“Hey.” A man says as he scoots into the stool next to you. “Can I buy you a drink?”

You look up and around. The space is dimly lit, brick walls, wooden shelves, a very subtle we don’t give a fuck vibe. There are plenty of women around who are dressed to impress, but he is strangely alert and focused on you. You are sitting perfectly still in denim cutoffs and a t-shirt that has seen better days—grubby house clothes. Even your hair, piled on top of your head screams: go away.

“You look lonely.” He’s dressed in an open green flannel with a crinkled tee underneath, ripped jeans, and dark sunglasses perched on top of his head.

Blinking owlishly, you stare at him some more. This guy has got to be messing with you. You stick the tip of your thumb to your chest. “Me?”

“Yeah. What’ll you have?”

Um. Alone time, maybe? You’re still searching over his shoulder as he says this, stubbornly ignorant of your aloof vibe. You look again toward the door, plotting your escape. Is this guy the type of person to chase you down and stuff you in the trunk of his car? You try to smile.

“I’m uh—I’m ab–”

“Babe!”

A third voice cuts in and then suddenly an arm wraps around your shoulder, “Sorry I’m late, sweetheart.”

Your head turns to regard the rest of its owner and your heart leaps into your mouth. Sumptuous brown eyes encased in dark lashes. Corners lifted by a wide smile. They are looking lovingly down at you, and they are magnificent.

“Uh.” Nice job.

“Uh- you—you were waiting on someone?” The stutter is incredibly pathetic when your first suitor clocks the man with his arm around you. He’s deceptively built, much to your surprise. He’s sturdy too, from what you can tell with his side pressed up against yours.

“Yep. Boyfriend. Good to meet you.” His eyes crinkle at the edges, but there’s no kindness in that look. “Care to fuck off now?”

And fuck off he does. When the man slinks back to his group of buddies who are all snickering at him, you turn to your timely savior, “Thanks…”

“It looked like you might need some help.” He takes his arm back and sinks into the stool next to you. “Just playing the part—I’ll fuck off too in a second.”

You’re still too shocked to mouth off yet as you continue to take in the sight of him at your side. He leans over on his palm, takes a quick look behind your head, and then gives you a wink. “Your man’s turned around. I think you’re safe.”

“Don’t even joke about that.” You mumble, facing him, “That flannel was straight from the nineties.” And then you pause, feeling your mouth-motor whir to life. He’s wearing a black leather jacket. Black shirt. Ripped jeans. Long hair tied back half-way, a slight scruff gracing his jaw. Probably sharp as a knife under that. “You look pretty straight from the nineties too, grunge-boy.”

Beer sprays from where his lips touch the rim of the bottle. He hisses, wiping the dribble from his neck. It takes him another minute of fumbling before all the moisture is off, and you can see the tiniest hint of a blush on his cheeks from where he’s embarrassed himself.

“Where are you coming from?” You ask mischievously, “A Spinal Tap convention?”

“No. I’m a townie, thanks very much.” He crosses his arms. “Just having a drink at my local.”

“Good to know.” 

“My roommates…” He pauses to take a drink, “Well, I have a lot of them and they’re all coupled up.” He says plainly, “A man can only take so much.”

“So….” You sing, “You went out to… save helpless chicks from creeps?”

“Mmm,” he makes a show of sizing you up, eyes working slowly down your body. “I think you’re pretty capable of handling yourself, maybe a bit of a priss,” he decides, taking a long pull from his beer as the heat rises in your cheeks.

You want to laugh, but the shit-eating grin on his face doesn’t deserve to be encouraged right now. You can tell already he’s a real wild one, so you push the edges of your mouth down and pretend to find a lot of interest in grabbing your purse instead. “Well, mister, thanks for the saving. See you around.” You’re not above picking up a guy in a bar but why not tease him a little more while you’re at it?

He tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear and grabs your jacket off the back of the stool. “It’s Eddie.” He says, “My name.”

“Hmm, Edward, nice to meet you.”

“Not a chance,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

“I know what you are,” you continue voice flat, eyes glinting with mischief. 

C’mon, someone named Edward who looks like that, there’s no way he’ll take the bait.

His eyes fix on you, playful. “Say it,” he leans closer to you, drowning out the sounds of Joan Jett asking who wants to touch her where. “Out loud. Say it.”

Giving it your best Kristen Stewart, you go for it: “Vampire.”

“Fuck you very much.” He laughs, voice soft against the din of the bar,

You smile and slip the sleeves of your jacket over your arms. “Well, Eddie, thanks for the saving. Bein’ a helpless chick and all, I sure hate it when a fella doesn’t know his place.”

Eddie’s pink tongue darts out to lick his equally pink lips and he hops off the stool, placing a five under his half-full beer. “Can I walk you to your car?” He asks. “You know—dark night, creeps in alleyways and parking lots… Unless it’s not my place… princess.”

Well, that’s just not playing fair.

You laugh, because it’s barely sunset. But the way he’s looking at you makes your blood rise and leak hot magma right into your tummy. What’s the harm, you think, because you’re new in town and you’ll likely never see him again. It’s Friday night.

“No, I suppose it’s not your place.” You pause, watching the disappointed expression on his face. “Eddie–” You pretend to wipe a smudge off the corner of his leather collar, leaning in until it really does look like he’s your boyfriend.

“You’re welcome to come to mine. But no more of this priss business.” You push your lips into an exaggerated pout.

He laughs a joyful noise, tugs his jacket on close to his chest, and follows you out the door.

Your purse is already in your hands, keys swinging around your finger. “If you’ll just—”

“God. Yes. I’ll follow you.”

Eddie tugs you from the driver’s seat of your car, hand entwined with yours as he follows you up the walkway and over the step. Once the front door shuts behind him and you’ve made sure it’s locked, you’re pressed up against the wall, purse, shoes, keys, clattering onto the hardwood.

“Oh, baby,” he mumbles as he presses his face into your collar, scooping you up into his arms. “Oh, Jesus, princess. You’re makin’ me crazy.”

Fuck. How can one person have so much stamina? This guy must be related to the Energizer Bunny. It’s been nearly two hours and he’s propped up against the headboard of your bed, legs spread, pointer finger beckoning you to crawl between them. This is your third (third!) time going at it.

You paw at your face because you are so sweaty. Eddie’s hair is down, strands framing his cheeks, just as wild as he is. Two hours of some of the filthiest talk you’ve ever head, ass-slapping, spit-swapping, hair-pulling, straight-up debauchery.

“This your usual M.O., Eddie, or are you doin’ me a favor?” You ask as your knees nudge him wider apart. Blowing a damp strand from your forehead, you lie down on your stomach and press your mouth to his thigh. “Death by exhaustion.”

“Sexhaustion,” He laughs, then grunts as your lips finds the blunt head of his cock. “You’re still goin’ too.” He comments. “Jesus, girl. Can I call you sometime?”

You hum a vibrating warble and he shudders in delight, “The helpless chicks of Hawkins won’t mind?”

“Pfft.” Then, as easily as he dismisses the idea, Eddie rests his arm on your shoulder before pulling you flush against him. “C’mere.”

There’s something about him that turns you inside out. Easy-going demeanor. Charm and wit. Just fucking gorgeous. It’s a silly little notion from a romanticized one-nighter, but you’re very interested in prolonging the fantasy. You’ll get the best of this, you think, a no-strings attached kind of attachment with someone who makes your body sing. You don’t even want to know his last name—and you don’t tell him yours no matter how many times he asks. You want to know nothing about him other than what you can touch and taste and feel.

And there’s quite a lot of him for all of that. Your hands roam his shoulders and arms, your tongue laps at the sweat on his neck, your tummy tightens when his cock flexes against your hip.

Even if there might be an attachment, the physical distance of him— you have no idea where he lives, would nip that foolishness right in the bud.

Against the backdrop soundtrack of the neighborhood traffic and chatter, you wiggle your way on top and seal your arrangement with a glide of your hips onto his.

Monday morning finds you unpacking in your new classroom at Hawkins High School (home of the Tigers!) and blaring music from your speakers. The tech guy said he’d be around to check the audio levels and load some editing software onto the Macs at some point today, and you’d been killing time ever since.

After meeting with your department head, along with a few other teachers, and getting the lay of the land, you decided to hang a few prints on your walls— you were standing on a table hammering a nail into the wall when you hear voices from the hallway.

“Ooh, this is a vibe!”

Turning to the door, you see two heads precariously poking in and recognize one from the department meeting. Sliding the hammer through a belt loop on your shorts, you step down from the table.

“It’s Robin, right— graphic design?”

The blonde perks up with a smile, “Yeah! How’s it going, need any help?” She steps into your classroom with another woman. “Oh this is Trouble,” she says by way of introduction, “She teaches sophomore English.”

She waves to you with a smile. “I’m digging the aesthetic,” she says, taking in the few things you’ve managed to unpack. “Sick tats, by the way.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” You grab the frame next to you and step back on the table, “I figured I wouldn’t need to cover them up until school starts so.”

“Pfft, don’t even bother.” Trouble scoffs with a wave of her hand, “We have enough teachers with ‘em so it’s a non-issue.” She steps closer to get a better look at the Drive print near your door.

Robin grabs another frame from the pile, “Where do you want this one?”

Settling the Paprika print against the wall you step back down to see which one she grabbed. “Oh,” you say, eyeing the Midsommar piece in her hands, “That’ll be by my desk, you can set it over there.”

You meet her over there with two nails prized between your teeth. Grabbing a chair you step onto it and briefly check the fastening of the frame before lining up where the nails will be hung. While Robin helps you the other woman, Trouble, continues her perusal.

“Okay,” she says with a clap of her hands, “You have great taste based on your playlist, film choices, and is that—” She tugs at your free arm, “A horror sleeve? Oh my god, you have to meet the gang. They will love you.”

Her enthusiasm is heartening— she turns your arm this way and that, surveying the different films represented in black lines and shading. Robin’s eyes find yours with a mouthed ‘sorry about this’ and you shrug.

“Robs has your number?”

“Uh, yeah.” Your arm becomes your own once more as her fingers stop their tracing of your tattoos.

“Great! We’ll text you the details,” she continues to say, “We’re checking out a new bar in town tonight.” A waggle of her brows, “Rumor has it there’s a mechanical bull.”

A smile breaks across your face, “Well, yee-fuckin’-haw I guess.” 

They leave with promises to see you tonight just as the tech guy, Bob, makes his appearance. He greets you politely, asking to check your PC and Mac before moving onto the students Macs. The two of you install and update the computers in your classroom before heading to the sound booth to check the audio ports and software. The rest of your day is spent discussing the finer points of your preferred editing programs and Bob peppering you with questions about the best cameras and equipment for sports broadcasting.

Eddie arrives at six-forty at the bar Trouble had selected for this evening, fittingly called ‘Outlawed.’ He sighs and shoves his hands into his pockets, quickly crossing the parking lot to enter the bar, his mind elsewhere.

It was too good to be true, really. Meeting some girl and fooling around with her and, of course, he can’t help thinking about her. He doesn’t even know her name, he just calls her princess. Sometimes sweetheart, sometimes baby, babygirl, because their little meet-cute at the bar spawned a million different alternatives to choose from.

He’s only seen her once for fuck’s sake, but the way she giggles when he takes off her clothes and how her breath stutters against his mouth is something he thinks about frequently when he’s in bed with his hand down his boxers.

And now, Trouble wants to set him up with some new teacher at school. She’d told him all about it at lunch. “Seriously Eds,” she said, splitting a burger with Steve as a tomato slid from the bun and landed with a splat on her plate. “She’s just your type, cool as hell and takes no shit,” she hands the burger off to Steve, wiping her hands on a napkin. “Had like, fuckin’ nails in her teeth and was just hammering away on there walls while listening to an amazing mix— Portishead, Death Grips,” her eyes turn to him, bright and excited. “Between the Buried and Me, so she’s automatically better than those chicks you’ve been dealing with on the apps.”

Outside, under the final rays of sunshine people are streaming down the sidewalk, couples with arms hooked around each other, pretty girls in heels and guys looking after them. Monday night in the Hawkins, surprisingly buzzing with life and music.

He spots Steve as he walks in and they walk next to each other, dodging people left and right as Steve leads them into the dark space of a bar, cramped more than sardines in a can. Eddie shuffles sideways to squeeze past a couple already a little too frisky for a public setting. It’s hot and sticky inside, and the smell of fried foods and beer permeates through his clothes.

He doesn’t really get the look of it, either. An entirely metal and southern kind of aesthetic, the kind that reminds him of old bleach-blonde, wrinkly and tanned housewives with rhinestones on the back pockets of their jeans, toting puckered alligator purses. There are string lights over the walls, bumper stickers, and license plates, and all manners of slogans about Texas and being a country girl.

Modelo neon lights. Budlight paraphernalia. The bartender is wearing cowboy boots.

Steve orders a six-dollar pitcher of the house draft and Eddie whistles. Okay, he thinks, for six dollars a pitcher—he gets this place.

He waves to Robin and Vickie before pointing over to Trouble’s table but Steve and Eddie take some time to themselves to shoot the shit.

“So, are ya gonna tell me about that girl or what?”

“What else is there to tell, man?” Eddie asks as he licks the froth from his upper lip, hoppy bursts of carbonation stinging his tongue. He’s kept her a secret even from Trouble, but it’s not like there was much he could say other than, “She screwed my brains out and then I left. Nothin’ more to tell.”

Steve nods along.

“I don’t even know her name. Just called her princess or baby all the time. She’s a goddamn wildcat, knew how to ride like it was her job. Great ass, too.” A shudder passes over him as he thinks of the way she would crush him into the bed and grind until lights burst behind his eyelids.

The last few words of their conversation get drowned out by loud cheers and whooping, drawing their attention to a crowd forming behind them. People press up against each other, holding their beer bottles and glasses in the air, cheering and screaming.

“What the hell is that?” Eddie calls to Steve who sits up straight chair to get a peek over the tops of everyone’s heads. “I think it’s a mechanical bull?” He replies, shrugging. “Wanna go look?”

“Might as well.”

Robin catches Steve’s eye and sends him a nearly lethal toothy grin, cocking her head over to the crowd. “Go get her, tiger!” She yells, one hand cupped over the edge of her mouth. Eddie’s grabbed by his arm and dragged along as Steve’s interest peaks.

It’s like a concert mosh pit. Someone splashes their drink next to Eddie’s shoe, and he steps out of the way. When they reach the center of the ring around the perimeter of the stage, Eddie’s heart drops because the face he sees—beaming with joy is attached to a body he knows extremely well. Intimately. Every single inch. Her hips, gyrating in circles as she holds onto the handles of the mechanical bull—he’s seen it. Her hair, flurrying around her face in circles, moving along to the whipping of her body, adjusting with every jerk of the machine—he’s seen that, too.

“I think that’s the one Trouble was goin’ on about.” Steve announces. “Jesus, how is she doin’ that?”

Eddie is wide-eyed, turning back and forth. It’s too much. The laughter from her throat he’s previously shoved himself down. The cheer from the crowd that is deafening in his already ringing ears. Steve’s clapping– like a trained circus seal.

When the bull bucks for the last time, she leans forward and runs both hands through her hair, flicking it over her shoulders. Then, his girl, ever a gymnast, hops off and gives the crowd a bow, picking up her jacket on the way. Eddie watches her grab the same one she had on the first time they met- faded denim, worn shoulders, decorated in pins and patches.

It’s gotta be fate. Or destiny. Or maybe some fucked-up circumstance.

Her face is bright with joy, cheeks glistening with the lightest sheen of sweat, lips shiny with the way her tongue flicks out and licks it. To his right, Steve discreetly adjusts his pants, but Eddie is already rock hard. He slides back until he’s disappeared behind his friend, a smirk suddenly growing.

Trouble claps you on the back when you step out of the cushions of the ring. Robin and the rest of the gang stand by with so many questions, but you only wave them off. The secret is that in your college days you worked at a restaurant with a mechanical bull, and on your breaks you rode the fuck out of it.

Sometimes, growing up in the dirty South had its perks.

At first, upon entering the bar, you were wary and afraid you might throw out your back now that you’re not a spry young thing, but two pitchers in with Trouble and Robin and you were spitting into your hands and swinging over its seat.

Yep. You think victoriously, still got it.

“Hey!” A coif of hair sticks out of the crowd an inch or so above most other people. Steve, Trouble’s boyfriend and history teacher at Hawkins High, is grinning ear-to-ear, and you duck because you were not expecting him to witness that. Trouble smacks you on the ass and pushes you forward. “So, you hid this from us?” She asks, motioning to the bull and then up and down to you.

“Aw, fuck,” you mutter but can’t help the grin that breaks across your face. “C’mon, y’all… I didn’t think it’d come up.” Steve hands you a glass of amber, and you hide behind it with your hand, pretending to cool off by pressing it to your forehead.

“I almost forgot–” He turns, looking over his shoulder. “I wanna introduce you to Eddie, my other roommate, he teaches at Hawkins too!”

Eddie swivels into view, and any previous thoughts fly right out your head. If you had something in your mouth, you’d probably choke on it. He’s there, in all his glory, just like you remember: black leather jacket, dark stubble and eyes moving like smooth bourbon poured into a glass as he looks you up and down.

His teeth are sharp when he smiles.

“Oh, princess,” Eddie sighs, “I can’t believe you thought you’d get away that easy.”

And you think, as you stare wide-eyed at him, with Steve now coming to the same conclusion—mouth forming a silent “Oh”, you think that you are so fucked.

Maybe your life isn’t a romantic comedy at all, maybe it’s a terrible porno opening scene or some psycho sexual thriller because your former one-night stand is shooting you a mischievous grin, flexing his biceps, pulling on his lower lip with his teeth until it stretches white and snaps back plump and red.

Sensing the tension, Steve quickly turns around to the table.

Eddie cocks his head back, motioning you to follow.

[fanficshiddles]

A Deep Need, (10 Year Anniversary One Shot)

Summary: Alpha Loki finally finds an omega, even if not in the most conventional way... But while he wants to give her time to get to know him, she falls into heat. So needs him more than ever right now.

Warnings: Tis Omegaverse so there's knotting and sex before barely knowing one another. Not really dub con, cause she wants it. Though guess could be argued it's her in heat mind wanting it.

-

Loki would be lying if he said he was in a good mood today as he paced back and fore in his chambers, thinking things over once more before going…

Being one of few Alphas on Asgard wasn’t always easy. There weren’t many omegas here, so finding his own princess had proved difficult. Plus, with his past not exactly being squeaky clean didn’t help, as many people feared him.

Frigga had told him numerous times over the years about how they could arrange for an omega from Midgard to be taken to Asgard for him. He kept refusing, stating he would find his own soon enough. Though as time went on, he realised that wasn’t going to happen.

He’d heard word that in the dark market today there was going to be a small sale of omegas from Midgard. He wasn’t sure why they were here or how they’d been taken here… he dreaded to think, actually. Though he figured it might be his only chance to get his own omega.

‘I guess I have nothing to lose by going along for a look…’ He sighed to himself and ran a hand down his face.

Putting on his cloak, he made his way out of his chambers and out of the palace, heading down into the golden city of Asgard. It was bustling with Asgardians as usual, such a nice day always brought everyone out in droves. He wove his way through the crowds with ease, his horned helmet towered over everyone. Plenty of people moved out of his way, some gave curt nods of respect, others gasped in fear.

He’d never hurt them, they were just scared of what they’d heard from his past. How he tried to take over Midgard and failed, that he was a Jotun. He was glad that Odin had decided to give him one more chance, he was past all that now. Though there was a small part of him that rather enjoyed seeing the fear in some Asgardians eyes, making him smirk a little.

It didn’t take long for him to get to the underground market, the guard on the gates nodded at him and stepped aside, letting him through. He was a frequent visitor to the dark market, usually for potions and such. This time was very different, though.

As he made his way through the underground tunnel, looking at the various stalls, he came across the omegas and he was slightly repulsed at the conditions they were in. Stuffed into tiny cages, they could barely move. Wearing not much more than what could be called a glorified nightie, barely covering their bodies.

Whilst he had found humans to be beneath him for a period, even for him seeing them in this state made him feel bad for them. The smell of the omegas though did excite him, his Alpha instincts were kicking in already.

‘Ah, my Prince. Good to see you. We have some lovely omegas here, I’m sure any of them would be great for you.’ The stall vendor said as he motioned to them all.

Loki said nothing at first as he let his eyes trail over the girls, five of them in total, all looking just as scared as eachother. There was one girl that caught his eye more though, she was trembling and had her arms wrapped around her knees, she briefly glanced at him but didn’t keep eye contact for long. Something about her tugged at his heart strings.

‘Where did you get them from? Are they here of their own free will?’ Loki asked, though he knew the answer already.

‘Midgard. No, my Prince. They’re of no use on Midgard though, no more Alphas left. Nobody wanted them.’ The vendor shrugged, as if they were just items.

‘Why not just leave them be? Let them live their lives there?’ Loki raised an eyebrow at him.

‘I was sold them, my Prince.’ He stammered out quickly. ‘Was told when they come into heat that they’d suffer greatly anyway without an Alpha to calm them.’

‘I thought Midgard was advanced enough to have medication to suppress heats?’ Loki asked knowingly.

‘I… I don’t know, my Prince. This is just what I was told.’ He laughed nervously.

Loki sighed and looked back at the one omega in particular. Her skin was dirty, her hair too, it was pretty messy, probably not even been brushed in God knows how long. She was rather skinny too, could do with some good meals.

‘I’ll take that one.’ Loki pointed at the one he wanted, her eyes widened in a mixture of fear and confusion. ‘How much?’ Loki asked as he took out his pouch of gold from his pocket.

‘I am selling them for eight, but for you, my Prince… Five coins.’ The vendor said generously.

Loki raised an eyebrow at him. He took out a handful of coins, well over ten of them and handed them to the man. ‘Use the extra to buy the rest of the girl’s proper food and clothes.’ He said firmly.

The man’s eyes widened when he saw how much Loki was paying him. ‘Yes, my Prince. Of course.’ He bowed at him, then stuffed the coins away into his pocket.

He rushed over to open the cage of Loki’s new omega, he put a length of rope around the girl’s neck and tugged on it to get her out of the cage. He then dragged the omega over to Loki and handed him the end of the rope.

Loki glared at the rope then at the man. ‘That will not be necessary.’ He growled at him.

‘What if she tries to run off, my Prince?’ The man asked, confused.

‘She won’t.’ Loki said confidently.

The girl looked shocked, and still very confused, as she continued to tremble on front of Loki.

‘As you wish.’ The man removed the rope from the girl’s neck, she reached up and rubbed at her neck, glad the harsh rope was gone.

Loki reached his hand up towards her face, making her flinch and close her eyes. Though as he gently stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, her eyes flew open in surprise.

‘What’s your name?’ He asked softly.

‘You can call her whatever you like, my Prince.’ The vendor butted in.

Loki raised his hand and glared at him. ‘Let her speak.’ He barked at him.

She opened her mouth and it took a little while before her voice worked again, as she hadn’t spoken in so long.

‘Sofia.’

Loki put his hand out towards her. ‘Come, Sofia. Let’s get you back to the palace to clean you up. Get you some food. Is that ok?’

Sofia’s eyes watered, she was scared of course but she was beginning to think she needn’t be of this man. Unless he was tricking her, which of course could be a possibility, she had no idea who he was. Though she saw kindness in his eyes, so she took his large hand and let him lead her out of the market to the palace.

When Loki got her back to his chambers, he ran a bath for her and had his maid fetch them both a meal.

‘Why don’t you go and get cleaned up, food should be here once you are finished.’ Loki offered as he handed her a towel. ‘I’ll look out some clothes for you.’

‘Thank… you…’ She said quietly, taking the towel from him.

Sofia went into the bathroom, she was so relieved to finally get clean. She was horrified to find that she used almost a whole bottle of shampoo just continuously washing her hair to get all the dirt and tangles out.

A soft knock on the door startled her, she had just closed her eyes for a moment to enjoy the warm water.

Loki poked his head in, her body was covered by the bubbles. He entered and placed a night dress with underwear on the chair in the corner of the bathroom.

‘I hope they fit ok. I guessed your sizes.’ He said a little sheepishly. ‘Please join me once you’re ready, food will be here soon.’

Sofia said nothing, just nodded a bit. She wanted to relax for longer in the bath, but her stomach growled at her, telling her to get out. The last time she ate was yesterday morning and it had only been half a slice of bread.

Once she got out of the bath, dried herself off and got dressed, she went through into Loki’s chambers to join him. Food had just arrived, making her stomach growl even more. Her mouth watered when she saw the plate of food. Lovely looking meats, potatoes and vegetables.

‘Please, take a seat.’ Loki motioned to the seat opposite his.

She tentatively sat down and watched Loki begin to tuck into his food at first. Then she slowly, carefully, picked up her cutlery and started eating. Though as soon as the first bite of food hit her tongue, she started eating faster, couldn’t get it down quick enough.

‘I give you my word, you don’t need to worry about food again.’ Loki said as he watched her eat, as if it would be taken away from her soon.

She did slow down a little bit, and seemed to enjoy the food more. Though she was still finished before Loki was, her plate was completely cleared.

‘I don’t want you to fear me. I know you’re not here of your own will… I am an Alpha, which I’m sure you know already. However, if after a few days you don’t want to stay here with me, I can get you back home to Midgard if that’s what you wish. I won’t keep you here against your will.’

Sofia’s eyes widened. ‘Really?’

Loki nodded in response.

‘Thank you…’ She said quietly and looked down at the table.

Loki had a million questions he wanted to ask her, but he knew she would be tired. Perhaps he’d get more out of her tomorrow after she’d rested.

‘You can take my bed tonight, I’ll sleep by the fire on the sofa.’ Loki pointed to the large Queen size bed.

She muttered out a quiet thank you again, then shyly made her way over to said bed to get comfortable for the night. As soon as she crawled onto the bed and under the duvet, she passed out within seconds. A full belly and rest in a warm place, was all she needed.

Loki sat by the fire for a few hours, just gazing over at the sleeping omega. She barely stirred at first, just breathing deeply as she got some proper rest. Though as the night went on, he noticed she started shuffling around, restless. Then he could smell something in the air...

‘Oh no…’ He gasped, his cock instantly began getting hard at the smell. ‘Fuck.’ He growled.

She began whimpering quietly from the bed, sweat beaded on her forehead. She thrashed around a bit more, until she woke up fully, panting and gasping. She looked across the room at Loki, who had stood up abruptly.

‘I need to leave… while I can still control myself.’ Loki said, his voice strained.

But she let out a whimper of pain as she clutched at her stomach. He rushed over to her side instantly, his Alpha instincts kicking into overdrive.

‘It… hurts.’ She whined, looking at him longingly.

Loki reached out and cupped her cheek, her skin was on fire, though she felt some relief at his touch. She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand.

‘Do you… want me to help you?’ Loki asked, trying to control himself.

She opened her eyes and looked at him with doe eyes, then nodded. ‘Please.’

Loki didn’t need to be asked twice. He tossed the duvet out of the way and climbed onto the bed over the top of her. She gasped as his hands slid underneath her dress against her sides, it was as if his touch was cooling her body down instantly, feeling so good.

He leaned down and let her feel his weight on her, which helped a lot too. When his mouth crashed down on hers, he was glad that she reciprocated his kiss. Their tongues moved together slowly at first, testing the waters, but it soon got deeper and more intense as their instincts kicked in.

Sofia bucked her hips up and began trying to rub against him. Loki slid his hand down and cupped her through her knickers, he could feel her heat radiating against his hand, even through the cotton. He began panting with need as he rubbed her eagerly.

‘Let me be your Alpha… Let me claim you, like we both need.’ He growled urgently and started nipping at her neck, making her whimper so beautifully.

‘Please… Alpha.’ She cried out.

Loki was almost exploding within his trousers. He used his seidr and had all of their clothing disappear, momentarily startling her.

‘Shhh, it’s ok, darling. I have magic, nothing to fear. I promise, I’ll look after you.’ He whispered softly and kissed along her shoulder, leaving a wet trail that made her shiver in delight.

Loki’s long fingers teased through her soaking wet folds, she was so wet and well prepared for him. The heat had hit her so quickly and hard, she didn’t care in that moment if he chucked her out after, she just needed him inside of her right now.

Her omega instincts kicked in too, she tried to squirm around, Loki sat up and removed his hand from between her thighs, to see what she was needing to do. His eyes widened and he growled ferally when she rolled over onto her stomach, then pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, displaying for him.

‘Please!’ She whined.

Loki’s eyes darkened as he gripped her hips and moved in behind her, he slid his cock up and down through her folds at first, but even he couldn’t handle any teasing right now, as much as he enjoyed teasing and foreplay normally. His cock was already streaming with pre cum, rubbing all over her cunt.

He pressed the tip of his cock into her, they both moaned loudly together, more so when he forced himself deeper into her, so deep until he was fully sheathed within her. Her body took him so well, her heat made her super relaxed and ready for what it needed.

Loki’s grip on her sides tightened as he dug his fingers into her and started thrusting fast and hard, knocking the wind out of her. He let out plenty of groans and grunts, then folded himself over her and wrapped an arm around her middle to keep in her place as he rutted into her.

Sofia couldn’t stop crying out in pleasure, like he was dousing out the fire within her. He felt so good, like nothing she’d experienced before. She had been scared at first, her heat happening. It was her first one, too. Though she felt a strange connection with Loki, like she knew deep down that he would look after her and help her through it, that he’d protect her.

And that was exactly what he was going to do.

‘Sofia… My omega…’ He growled and bit down on her shoulder as he thrust as deep as he possibly could into her, stilling as his knot began to swell inside of her, locking them together as he spurted his cum deep into her, completely putting out the fiery need within her for now.

She came hard all over his cock, feeling him stuff her so full, tears streamed down her cheeks. She couldn’t help it.

Loki collapsed to the side, pulling her with him. They would be locked together for a while, no doubt going at it again and again for the foreseeable until her heat had passed.

Their breathing was heavy for a bit, until they calmed down a little. Loki nuzzled into her hair and tightened his arms around her, keeping her super close.

‘I had hoped to get to know you more before this happening… For you to decide yourself if you wanted to stay or not.’ He rumbled into her hair.

‘I… I want to stay.’ She said blissfully.

Loki chuckled softly and kissed the top of her head.

He only hoped she wasn’t just saying that because she was in heat… Though he’d deal with that issue after, if she changed her mind.

Right now, his new omega needed him. And he needed her.

[ohsohoney]

When it comes to love you're just as blinded.

Part Seven

Eminem x Musician

Summary: It starts with a drunk embarrassing video, it spirals into something a whole lot more.

Note: Seven!! Sorry it's taken a while, I've been busy with life and went away with some friends, but it's finally here! It's a long one too, so hoping it makes up for the wait. Also, I write music but fuckkk is it hard trying to actually rap, so this is just a forewarning to everyone seeing as there's a scene in this part that involves exactly that! Hope you enjoy it anyway:) Thank you for all the love on this series!

| Set in 2014, just after the release of LP 2

taglist: @thelastemzy

Masterlist

“What’s your favourite chocolate?” I wondered around the Twizzler I’d gone ahead and stolen from the bag he’d gotten at the 7-Eleven. We’d been driving for a little while now, just under a half hour if I had to guess, and between us we had already succumbed to three short-lived encounters with brain freeze, all down to the Slurpee we continued to keep sharing. 

“Like brand?” Marshall questioned me, face wrinkling in confusion as he made another left hand turn, fingers loosening around the steering wheel when it righted itself.

“No,” I shook my head in answer, chewing on the red stick before I held out its end to Em when he tipped his chin in an asking gesture, “I don't know. Like, type?”

He had to think about it for a second, jaw working against the chewy sweet whilst his eyes continued to trail the length of road ahead. “Fuck, I don’ know. Like a Hershey’s maybe?”

I pulled a face at the reply, “Boring. Figured you might say M&M’s or something. Bring a little irony to the table, you know?”

Marshall’s head tilted sideways to level me with a snide look before he stole the next Twizzler right from out of my hand, “Hilarious.” He deadpanned as he took a big bite, “Come on then, Judge Judy. Tell me yours.”

Even whilst wrinkling my nose at his reference to the Tv Judge, I was quick with my retort, “Easy. Can’t go wrong with a Flake or a KitKat.”

“Heard of that first one.” Marshall mentioned, face dropping its previous snark as he pondered on my answer, “Ain’t ever tried it though.”

My eyes widened as I simultaneously turned to face him, ignoring the way my knee knocked against the centre console in my haste. “Oh, you’ve got to! It’s honest to God like Heaven melting in your mouth.”

With an unconvinced brow, Marshall just blew out a breath and shook his head at me. “But a KitKat?” He added after a second passed, “I don’t know. I mean, a chunky I could prolly get behind.”

My upper lip curled, “A chunky, really? What are you, twelve?”

Marshall returned the quip with a stupid look and then stole the rest of the Twizzler pack as a form of retaliation.

I rolled my eyes and it wasn’t long before he waved the topic away, claiming it was stupid anyway because Oreos were supposedly where it was at. An opinion which was strong enough steered us onto a whole new debate: biscuits vs cookies. 

I was still fighting for my life by the time Em eventually pulled the car off to the side, rolling up onto a curb outside a strip of buildings that appeared to get a whole lot of use. “All I’m saying is that a cookie is a kind of biscuit, right? So what the fuck sense does it make to claim that they’re all cookies?”

We’d since come to a slow stop, so confused I pivoted in my seat to look around us with a slight frown, catching sight of a bar on the very corner, a stretch of offices sat on the opposing side, and a huge block building that had long been dubbed ‘Saint Andrew’s’.

“This some sort of convent?” I wondered out loud whilst Marshall simply switched off the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt. When I glanced over at him again I found him already wearing an amused smirk, one which seemed to brighten at my words, though he just shook his head at my question. It was then that he chose to jump out. “Marsh?”

I was left with the low sound of his chuckle just as the door clicked shut behind him, leaving me in sudden silence whilst I watched the man round the front of the car. Blinking, I could only move to follow him, undoing my belt and finishing the last of the Slurpee before my door was opening all on its own. I raised a brow at Em’s gentlemanly act when I climbed out to join him on the pavement, but kept quiet about it as he shut the door behind me and locked up.

“Thanks.” I breathed out before peering around us once more, taking in the noisy street and the rowdy crowd that was gathered inside the bar a couple car lengths away. “Will you tell me where we are now though?”

“And spoil all the fun?” Marshall smirked, eyes glistening now as he backed away from the curb to start up the set of stairs leading into the big block building that had caught my eye a minute earlier. 

My face flattened, “You’re the only one having fun here.”

The grin he flashed me was cheeky and only lasted that of a split second before he was gesturing me to follow him up, tucking his hands away in his pockets when we finally reached the top step and came to a stop in front of a pair of heavy wooden doors that gave off such a retro feel. 

Staying quiet, Marshall was quick to push through them, as though he’d done it a thousand times before, slipping inside and holding the bottom plank open with just a foot so that I could join him. I wrapped my arms around myself slightly as the door stilted shut behind us, the sound echoing out. 

As I walked a little further inside, my gaze caught on the building’s lofty interior, a total contrast from both its outer disguise and what I’d first expected. It was a large lobby of sorts; four long tables were stationed in the very centre, a short stretch away from a snazzy looking bar detailed with ebony wood and warm lighting in the back, and adjacent to a set of stairs which led upwards.

I glanced back over at Em, who appeared to be watching me rather than taking in the room. I felt myself flush lightly under his gaze but quick to cover it up as I took another glance around, noting a different set of double doors sat on the other side of the room and a couple of sofas dotted around by the surrounding walls. I swallowed lightly before turning back to him, “Bit early to be drinking, no?”

It was a joke, a silly one seeing as he’d been sober for years, but one which seemed to loosen the atmosphere around us further as his mouth quirked upwards slightly and he moved to walk once more, nodding his head at me to follow. 

Follow I did, eyes catching on all sorts of details the building had to offer as he led me across the room and through the mentioned pair of doors, turning away from what appeared to be the ‘main event’ (a rather large hall decked out with a stage and a plethora of seating rows) so that he could instead jog down a hall full of metal stairs. 

The heavy door at the very bottom opened with a long squeak and although there had been people dotting the building here and there as we’d walked through, I took quick note of the small group which resided down here. There were only about six of them, from what I could first tell, the majority messing about with wires and other equipment by a platform stage whilst another two stood behind what looked to be a bar. 

My attention was ultimately caught though by the two men bickering back and forth by the side of the stage, just in front of a DJ booth.

“Fuck you, man. I’ma do what I like!” The first one spat, nose wrinkled as he swiped a microphone right from out of the other man’s hand. He was a few inches shorter than the latter but didn’t seem to mind, nor care, about that fact as he practically tiptoed to better get in the guy’s face. 

“Awh Jesus man, Soup! Why you always clownin’ around?” The second blew out, tossing the rest of the mic’s lead his way as he swatted at the air, “I mean, come on. You always tryna switch shit up when shit don’ need to be switched up!”

Soup? If that really was his name, didn’t seem to much care about his mate’s lack of excitement for whatever plans he had brewing as he fumbled with the jack lead and jumped back at him to defend himself. “I ain’t clownin’, dawg! Just trust me here on this one, this is gone bring a whole load’a new people in, D! I just know they gone be linin’ up out the door to get their hands on this stuff.”

“We ain’t sellin’ fuckin’ club merch, Soup. How many times I gotta say it?” ‘D’ retorted and shook his head as he turned his back on the other man to grab the rest of the equipment they’d obviously been unboxing.

“Yo, when have I ever been wrong ‘bout shit like this?” Soup followed up, unrelenting as he dragged the mic along with him, creating enough of a trip hazard that I worried when a young guy in a yellow cap swerved on past him. But it appeared that everyone here was far too used to the duo’s antics because the man in the cap skipped over the lead with an ease that looked utterly effortless, making it to the bar in one piece whilst the other two continued on none the wiser.

“How ‘bout every damn time?” D huffed with a look thrown over his shoulder, before he then sighed, “We stick to what we know, man. Stop houndin’ me with all this other crap.”

It was just as Soup opened his mouth to argue his case yet again that Marshall laughed from beside me, making me jump ever so as the noise rang out across the room. Heads spun in our direction then, most eyes widening at the sight of the infamous newcomer but mine were caught on the matching set of grins that Em was immediately met with when kicked off the wall he’d been leaning against, content with having watched the argument play out.

“Mickey, my man!” D hollered, dropping what he held back into the box to meet Marshall halfway. 

“Thought I told you to stop callin’ me that.” But even with the snippy retort, Em was smiling as the two of them clapped hands, sharing a short embrace before Soup wormed his way between them. 

D shook his head as he took a large step back, although the man was still grinning, eyes captured on the two friends, “Shit, man. It’s good to see you.”

Marshall just smiled before he turned to the shorter man and clapped him on the back, “How you doin’, Soup?” He let his hood fall back as he stood before the small group around us, seeming to become more alive in their presence, “Still mouthin’ off, I see.”

My own lips quirked up at that, watching the three of them from the sidelines. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that they had history, all of them sharing an easy comradery that I hadn’t much seen yet with Em since I’d first arrived, and already I was hooked on watching it all play out.

“I ain’t mouthin’ off, man. This idea’s the real deal!” Soup countered and he was smiling so wide that I could see the silver tooth that was embedded where his front left should have been over from where I stood. “Genius even! Could see it settin’ us up ‘til The Jam finally passes.”

I had no idea what the fuck ‘The Jam’ was but I had a calculating thought as to what the underground level of Saint Andrew’s supposedly was now. It was a little surreal once I’d latched onto the idea, in truth, never having figured I’d be standing in The Shelter of all places. The building was notorious on its own, having hosted a plethora of artists up in the main hall, people like Nirvana, R.E.M., The Beastie Boys, Iggy Pop, Blur, and Bob Dylan. And so I kicked myself for not having realised it sooner, the venue truly was one of the best in the city! Then again, I’d only ever really heard it iconically dubbed as The Shelter.

Marshall appeared to look back over at me then as he shook his head at Soup’s justification, grin softening ever so. I smiled back at him, gaze flickering over the expanse of his face, taking in what I could.

“Yo, come on over.” He said, voice travelling over to me without him even having to yell. The two men seemed to recognise my presence then as they turned to get a good glance at just who Em seemed to be speaking to. So, accompanied by only a little trepidation, I walked over to meet them, D eyes calculating whilst Soup’s lips pursed in an act of surprise, his eyes raking over me.

“Woo, Slim. And they claim you gotta type!” Soup all but whistled at my approach, earning a raised brow from me and a hearty backhand from his promoter friend. 

Marshall just rolled his eyes, seemingly used to it, arm stretching out to welcome me into the odd triangle they’d created, an action I allowed even as his hand came to rest on the small of my back. “Ignore Soup, he ain’t never been near a lady.” 

Blowing out an unexpected chuckle, I pressed my lips together before they eventually settled into akin to a smirk, eyes flitting over the two men. “Most would beg to differ with those pretty eyes.” I quipped, ignoring the man’s previous remark but filing it away for later.

Soup blinked at the obvious complement, seemingly dazed for a split second before he bounced back with a kilowatt grin. He looked between Marshall and D smugly, batting his eyelashes. “Y’all see?” He said, before he turned to me, “I been tellin’ ‘em, baby. But do they listen? No.”

D rolled his eyes at his friend’s antics, apparently done with him as he shoved Soup hard enough for the man to stumble slightly to the side, ignoring the scowl he got in turn whilst Marshall just snorted, the hand on my back unmoving. “You really gone dropped yourself in it now.” D chuckled to him, peering over at me with a sweet smile that warmed his face whilst Soup tried to right himself, “What, Mickey didn’t warn you?”

“Mickey?” I wondered, eyes flitting between the two. I grinned when Em groaned lowly, tossing his head back a tad.

D laughed at my ask, the sound bright in the shrouded shadows of which lower levels of the building offered, “As a kid he had these giant fuckin’ ears, his momma called him it the first time she picked him up from school and well, it sorta stuck.”

“Actually?” I looked back over at Marshall with an almost adoring face, peering past the brim of his cap to get a better look at his ears, “Oh my god, I can actually see it now!”

I joined D in his snickering after, muffling my amusement slightly when Em’s eyes narrowed a tad in a playful way, his hand dropping from my lower back to pinch my furthest hip. I raised my own in a silent surrender, but his settled there. 

“Yeah, yeah. Eat it up.” The man scoffed whilst he shook his head at us, pointing an accusing finger over at D, who’d since settled a hand on his stomach to keep from bowling over, “You know I’ma have to get you back for that one.”

D merely waved the warning away, just as Soup slid on over to pipe up once more, “Ayo, you gone introduce us to yo girl then, Slim, or you just waitin’ on me to work my magic?” He asked around a smug smile, shucking the collar of his heavy jacket before he flashed me a flirty look, “Homegirl’s got a real pretty voice, too. Where you from, baby?”

Never had I ever had someone be so blatant, I was honestly unsure if he was just messing around in hopes to annoy Em or if he was actually trying his luck with me. A little wide eyed, I looked back at Marshall stumped. The man’s face had flattened a tad at Soup’s remarks but his smirk was still ever present.

“Lay off it, man.” D sighed before Marshall could say anything at all, cheek dimpling as he shook his head once more at the shorter man. 

“I’m just sayin’!” Soup proclaimed before he spun back around to face Em, “A girl that fine is gone get snatched up real quick, man.”

“Keep talkin’ and you might not keep your tongue.” Marshall responded calmly enough, though it shocked me enough to have me keeping quiet as the man stared back at Soup unblinkingly, lifting an eyebrow at him whilst his hand continued to reside at my hip.

“Oo and the claws have come out!” D cut in with a whoop, obviously humoured by it all, but his response was enough to have Marshall rolling his eyes and for another small smirk to toy at the corner of his lips.

Soup grinned as well, hands held up in a placating gesture, “You know I mean no harm, Slim.”

“Yeah, you ain’t never mean it.” Marshall shot back around a low chuckle, clucking his tongue when Soup immediately tried to argue his case, rapidly mentioning a house fire, some sort of robbery that had gone wrong and then an accidental shooting far too quickly for me to really ask anymore about it, because Em chose then to speak over him, ultimately cutting him off. “You done?”

With a huff, Soup let up. “I was just sayin’.”

D snorted, “When the hell are you not just sayin’, my man."

Marshall shook his head at the duo and wet his lower lip before he finally moved to introduce us, although it was also in that moment that his hand finally slipped away. The lack of it had me blinking. 

“Boys, this is Elia. El, this here is Soup and Drew.” Drew shot me a smile alongside a slight tilt of his chin, whilst Soup just wiggled his brow. Marshall continued on with a swift jab to the latter’s abdomen, ignoring the slight squark given, “Known these guys since middle school.”

I tried to add up the age in my head, forever baffled by the difference in education here to that back home. Em must have realised it too, because his next smile was wry and knowing.

“‘Bout ten, if I had to guess.” He mentioned just to settle the matter for me, before he looked back at D and Soup to explain, “Girl’s from London, they do shit different over there.”

I rolled my eyes, though my smile gave away to the fact that he’d amused me with his explanation. Drew nodded in understanding whilst Soup– well, he was Soup, “Oh shit! I thought all them talked real classy.”

My brow rose all on its own, “This your way of saying I’m not classy?”

His eyes grew huge as he realised his mistake, stuttering to correct himself and stumbling ever so to be sure of it, “Nah, no! What? I jus’– I meant it like–” He spluttered before he finally landed on, “I said you had a real pretty voice!”

Snorting, I let myself smile which appeared to ease the man’s evident worry over having offended me and had the remaining two snickering between themselves. He shot the pair of them a scathing look and elbowed Drew, who in return just laughed that little bit harder.

“Shut it.”

I almost felt bad. Peering back over at Soup, I eventually spoke, “You’re all good. I was just teasing.”

“Teasin’.” Soup seemed to linger on the word, twirling it over his tongue and around his mouth as he muttered the word over again, lower lip turning itself out in thought. “Dope.”

Marshall shook his head with a huff before his eyes eventually landed on me once more, I widened my own in jest, but the wordless moment was cut short by D. “Aye, you ain’t the same Elia that sung Sinnerman are you?”

My head jolted back ever so slightly in surprise. Sinnerman had been an early days cover, one from when I’d been busking in pubs way back when and of the few that had been filmed on a shaky camcorder and uploaded to the internet by some random patron. I hadn’t thought of the video in well over a decade, but remembered it had managed to gather a large enough viewing at some point that it had dragged more people into the pub to see me.

Fishmouthing slightly, I nodded just the once. “Yeah. God, yeah. Wow, you saw that?”

Marshall’s brow had since furrowed, watching the conversation play out between us just as Drew’s face brightened considerably. “Hell yeah I saw that! That shit was cold, girl. Remembered hearin’ your voice and thinkin’ 'she’s gone make it someday.” He told me, making me flush a tad at the praise, “‘n I was right.” He continued on, nudging his chin over in my direction with a thoughtful smile, “Knew I recognised you from somewhere. Saw one of your shows when I was last in LA, couple years back now though.”

I actually giggled at that, fingers jumping up to cover my mouth whilst I shook my head slightly, “That’s insane.”

“Hold up,” Soup interrupted, a bemused look marring his face, “So you famous too? You ‘member how I just said you was fine, yeah?”

“Soup, man.” Marshall warned around a put upon sigh.

“I’m jus–”

“Just sayin’. Yeah, we know.” Drew finished for him, smirking as he rolled his brown eyes.

Chuckling, I went a little easy on the former, “I’ll make sure to remember.”

Soup perked up at that, tossing the other two a prideful look, whilst Em’s gaze turned Heavenwards. 

It was then that Drew turned to pick up the equipment he’d since dropped, the three of us following him as he spoke, “So what you doin’ down in these parts anyway? Figured you’d be workin’ or some shit ‘cause last we saw you was way back in December.” He threw a couple of cables Soup’s way, huffing out a soft chuckle when the man fumbled to catch them, earning himself a glare he didn’t respond to. “Made a fuckton of sales then though. Got me thinkin’ maybe you should show your face ‘round here more often. We all know those magazines don’t want it no more.”

Marshall flipped him off but came to a stand beside him, reaching inside the box to help out. “Still as unfunny as ever, D.” He replied, handing me a couple of packs to hold onto whilst he grabbed a few more, “Was showin’ Ms. London over there the neighbourhood, so I thought I’d stop in to see how you two knuckleheads were doin’ without me.”

“Hey we survived this long!” Soup exclaimed to him around a laugh, struggling with a mic stand he’d since dragged up onto the stage.

“Don’t I know it.” Drew murmured in a funny sort of self-suffering way that made me grin, “You take her to Cow’s head?”

The question had Marshall rolling his eyes as the man sorted through the packs he’d gathered, me aiding with the process whilst I listened. “Shithole’s gone be there longer than I ever will be, figured I’d have time.”

D blew out a chuckle, “Ain’t that the truth.”

“Red.” I mentioned, handing back the pack Marshall had attempted to give me, fingers brushing over the back of his as he dipped his chin in a show of acknowledgement. “What’s the Cow’s head anyway?”

“Old ice-cream stand on Mack. Used to use it during drivebys or to just deal. You remember Jimmy? He still works that corner.” Drew explained, aiming that last bit over at Em, which ended up making the man chuckle around a small tutting sound. D continued on though, for my supposed benefit, “But mostly it was just a place people got caught hookin’ up behind.”

Feeling bold, I was quick to quip, “And I paint you as that type of girl, do I, D?”

Widening my stare up at the man when his head darted backwards with a shuttered expression, Marshall could only snicker beside me. “Awh, come on, be nice.” He said, though his smile was jeering, “I tell you, Drew’s a real feminist.”

Sharing a smile with him, I was quick to look back at the man in question, who in turn merely tossed another pack at Em, who narrowly avoided it hitting him upside the head. “Asshole.” Drew sniped, “A guy dates one vegan chick and a brother never lets him live it down.”

“It weren’t ‘cause she didn’t like meat, man!” Soup added his two cents in, smile smug as he propped himself up on the mic stand, “It was ‘cause she didn’t - like - meat!”

Marshall’s loud laugh had me looking up, instantly invested in watching the way his eyes closed with the action and how his cheeks then appled. He caught me watching him when he lowered his head and rolled his eyes fondly at his friend, figuring I’d only been staring because I hadn’t caught onto Soup’s joke, “Next person she dated was this vampy chick who worked at Chilly's.”

My mouth formed into an ‘o’ shape before I was tittering away too, much to Drew’s obvious displeasure, the man waved the three of us away with a lazy hand before he carried on hooking up a couple mics.

It continued on that way for a short while, me listening to the trios odd stories and funny tales from their youth whilst Drew and Soup grew comfortable enough to ask me a little more about myself. Though both of them were wholly invested in the story of how Marshall and I met, Soup latching onto it before I could think about where the explanation might lead.

“Come on then, woman.” The man was quick to start, jerking his head at me in a sudden rush of enthusiasm as he jumped past the DJ booth, “Let’s see what you’re made of.”

My forehead pinched in confusion as I pushed myself up from where I’d been crouching down by an amp. It was an older model and the fuse at the back really needed to be resoldered, but it would work for a while longer. I looked over at the man and his newfound excitement, brows furrowing further, “What?”

Soup just waved me over though to where he was now centred midstage. “You heard me, get yo ass up here!”

I could only look to Em then and when he didn’t offer me anything other than an amused shrug, cheek twitching, I turned to Drew.

The tall man simply raised his hands before he shrugged too, smiling ever so sweetly. “Need to mic check anyway,” He mentioned, jutting his chin over to where Soup continued to stand, “I propose a battle.”

“Hell yeah, man!” Soup hollered loudly, already moving to grab a set of mics from the front panel, sending an audible squeak through the room that had most of its occupants wincing. 

“Not happening.” I quickly shot down, shaking my head as I moved away from the amp– and therefore the stage. 

“Why, you scared?” Soup prodded mockingly, earning a low ‘ooh’ from both Marshall and Drew. 

“Terrified.” Came my deadened retort, before I chewed at the inside of my cheek, gaze flitting back and forth between Soup and the duo perched by the side of the deck. “There’s no way I’m doing it.” I added, furthering my previous answer.

“Don’t have to be long. A minute max.” Drew assured me, already moving to work the amp that the mics were connected to. My eyes widened at the move, flicking back to Em in one final plea.

“Don’t look at me.” The older man laughed, his blue eyes shining. “I already done did my time here.”

Way to rub it in, I thought to myself before looking towards the stage with a pinched expression. 

One final glance between the three men and I knew I couldn’t say no, not without a fight at the very least, so I let go of the heavy breath I was holding and took a big step up onto the stage’s panelling, holding out a hand to Soup for the remaining microphone. “Don’t say I never did nothing.” I heard myself say, earning a round of chuckles just as D finished setting up and Soup started to stretch theatrically. “I hate you all.”

“El-i-a.” Marshall started up and immediately my head snapped over to find him stood by the front of the stage, hands circling his mouth. “El-i-a!” He chanted again right as a steady beat came through the overhead speakers. I felt my stomach flip and was quick to shoot the man a scathing glare, not that Em minded it, continuing to grin up at me. Smug as could be.

It was that, I supposed, which had me forcing back the bile that was now building, enough to try and shake the nerves away too. I could do it, I breathed in deeply, it was just a little fun. Nothing unlike what Danny and I used to do as kids, making breakfast whilst mum was dead asleep in the next room or off getting high someplace else.

“You ready, Limey?” Soup snarked, but it only proved to further stoke that fire that had started. 

“You first.” 

Soup dipped his head before he started bouncing it to the rhythm, torso soon following it. I tensed as I waited for his first line, sole focus on the man stood across from me and wondering how the fuck people did this in front of such a huge crowd. All I could do was pray that I didn’t embarrass myself too much.

“See, this here is a little white girl, 

Who’s momma told her she could have the whole wide-world,

But just ‘cause she got Slim wrapped ‘round her fin-ger,

Don’t mean that my boy’s ever gonna ring her,

He’s a wraith, yeah, which means he never ling-ers,

Have her sleepin’ in his bed ‘fore he finds another singer.

And that’s not on me clownin’ girl, I’ve seen it,

He’ll wrap and tap, and then he’ll jus’ go ‘n leave it,

You cute and all but you ain’t nothin’ spec-ial,

We all know white girls ain’t on a brother’s lev-el,

So while you thinkin’ you out here makin’ it big,

Jus’ remember who’s runnin’ this motherfuckin’ gig.”

Pursing my lips to keep from grinning too broadly– an act to keep up the facade that this was a very real battle and that his words had actually stung me– I then booed the performance whilst the rest of the room applauded, a few laughs and cheers echoing out around us. “Alright, I see. That’s how it’s gonna be.”

Soup shrugged cooly, though his smile was wide and teasing. “I went easy on you, girl.”

I hummed disbelievingly, then looked over my shoulder at Drew, who nodded in understanding, moving to continue the beat. I sucked in a small breath and attempted to feel the rhythm, the way it pulsed beneath my feet and how it seemed to jump between my ribs. 

It was a split second decision I made to glance over at Marshall in the next moment which came and although he stood surly, arms crossed over his chest whilst he waited for me to start, his eyes were watching, anticipating. Between us we’d yet to work on any real music and so I figured this could be my shot to show him what I was really made of.

I inhaled.

“Man, you know for a rapper I think you’re missing one restriction,

The same type they tell kids is in the terms ‘n conditions, 

When they try and ride the big boy rides at the theme park, 

Only to find out that they went and fucking missed the mark.

I mean, I guess you’re kinda cute for a– short guy,

But kings are made, baby, so I won’t spin you a lie,

‘Bout how it’s okay to only miss a couple inches,

‘Cause it's one thing height wise, but your dick looks like the Grinches.

And I know I should probably stop before I hurt your ego,

But with a name like Soup that ships since sailed, amigo,

Like I can’t help but wonder who’d your mother hate more?

You, or that motherfucking grocery store.”

A loud chorus of applause went up as soon as the beat dropped, leaving me looking back at Soup’s slack jaw in the stooped light. It was only when Drew whooped right by my ear that I realised he’d jumped past the booth to drag both Soup and I into his hold, shaking our shoulders hard enough to rattle the pair of us. 

I let the mic slip slightly in my hold, arm dropping to my side as I casted a slow glance out at the audience, finding that a few more people had slipped into the room since we’d started the stupid battle. My chest tightened a little at the realisation but it was easy to let go of the anxiety when Drew was all but bouncing beside me.

“Damn, girl! That was cold, honestly thought Soup would have you there.” D grinned, looking down at me whilst Soup managed to release himself from the taller man’s hold. “You did anything like this before?” He asked and I had to shake my head.

“Hang on. You just butchered and served me up on a plate, ‘n now you gone deny not ever battlin’ before?” Soup spluttered, eyes wide as dinner plates, enough though to match his growing grin, “Woman, you don’t expect me to really believe you.”

Laughing, I tried to rally, but it was then that another body joined the masses, sliding in beside me. It was their appearance that had Drew’s arm loosening its hold on me. 

“She ain’t lyin’. I’ve heard her spit a little before, I won’t deny it, but that was some next level shit.” Marshall commented, absorbing all of my attention. “You went in hard.” He laughed incredulously, eyes roaming over me as though he was taking me in again in a whole other way. I felt my cheeks heat but couldn't decide whether or not it was down to the sudden attention we’d garnered or just him. 

“Hard?” Drew cut in, “Girl killed him!”

Soup shoved him as payback but it wasn’t enough to really trip the man. “I said I went easy!”

D hummed sarcastically, dragging it out long enough to earn himself another hearty shove before he then chuckled, “Face it, Soup. You got yo short ass handed to you.”

“Sorry, man.” Marshall stepped in before it could escalate and it was then he draped his arm over my shoulders, drawing me in enough to have me leaning against his side. “D ain’t wrong. Best hope no one breathes a word, otherwise you gone be fighting for your life in the next battle.”

I rolled my eyes at the sudden dramatics, and again when Soup’s expression troubled slightly, I shook my head. “I’m gonna say it again, I hate all of you.”

The words earned me a few laughs and the feel of Em’s chin coming to rest atop my head.

–

The drive back was made up of a dull buzzing tension, most of which emanated from me, seeing as I was still riding out the waves of anxiety I’d experienced throughout the battle and then after. I’d gotten a few nods of approval once I’d stepped off the stage under Em’s arm, Soup still echoing his previous sentiment of having gone easy on the new girl, and then a couple people's praises when Marshall had finally decided to head on out, claiming that we had places to be. 

So he’d said his goodbyes to his longtime friends, with both Soup and Drew managing to worm their way into my followers list on Twitter and having put their numbers in my phone. They’d claimed it was so I always knew that I had a place to come visit if I ever found myself back in Detroit and so I echoed the notion, saying that they could have tickets to any show they liked and a tour of London if they ever made the trip. Something which had seemed to please Marshall, seeing as his smile stuck all the way back up to the car. 

“I still can’t believe I did that.” I breathed once we were a little way away, The Shelter less than a dot behind us in the rearview mirror. 

Marshall blew out a small chuckle, “Why not?”

Shrugging, I found that I didn’t really have an obvious answer to his question. “I don’t know, just not my thing, you know? Like I never pictured myself doing anything like that.”

He made a short hum in retort, “I get that. Still, it was a sight to see.” He snickered after, mouth lifting into what I’d label a sarky smile, “Doubt Soup will live it down for a while.”

I winced before eventually laughing too, thinking back on the entire experience. “They’re good guys, real nice. It’s been a while since I really had fun like that.”

Marshall’s head turned to look over at me, eyes lingering on mine. “Me too.”

The smile that took over my face truly was unavoidable and so I looked towards the passenger window in hopes to shield him from it. “You do that often then?” I asked once a half a dozen shop fronts had passed us by, “Drag people down there in hopes they’ll destroy what’s left of Soup’s reputation.” I added teasingly when all he’d done was gift me a look of vague confusion. 

The skin between his brows slackened in understanding before he then shook his head, “Nah, reckon you’re the first.”

I blinked slowly at that revelation. “But you said–”

Marshall glanced over at me but was quick to hone his focus back on the road. “Know what I said. Also mentioned that it never worked out, remember?”

I did, remember that is. And immediately thought back to the earlier conversation we’d shared on the car ride over to his old home and how the people he’d let in never seemed to get why all this mattered so much. “Was that what Soup was on about then? When he claimed people thought you had a type.”

Em had to think back on that one and was quiet for a second or two before he worked his jaw. I wondered if he was reminded of the fact that once again he’d failed to mention that I wasn't in fact his girl. I didn’t ask about it.

“Nah, I guess that’s down to them havin’ met a couple of the women I’ve dated.” Marshall evaded slightly, confusing me enough to prod.

“What do you mean?”

He was silent for a long moment, but I allowed him it, figuring that whether he answered or not would be down to him. I wasn’t the type to force shit out of a person. 

“After Kim,” He started slowly, already assuming that I knew most of it, which wasn’t incorrect, if you listened to the guy’s music then you probably knew more than needed. “Lot of the girls I was seeing were fling type shit. Superficial, you know? A couple models, other famous people wantin’ to hop on the wagon. Tried to date a few women who weren’t immersed in that lifestyle after rehab and my divorce, but it didn’t work out the way I’d hoped.”

I chewed on my inner cheek, pondering over the string of women who had been welcomed into Marshall’s life. Still stuck on the thought that Soup reckoned I was different to them just from looking at me. ‘Cause see, I knew I was probably overthinking this but I wasn’t horrible looking, had to be at least a little attractive to sell albums with my face on, but I was far from being that of a model. That much I knew. In truth, I didn’t even know why I was so hung up on the thought, me and Em were just friends, that was all.

“Still, I figured that maybe Kim just fucked all that up for me. Hard to trust, to let people in. ‘Sposed it was easier just havin’ people leave before they could fuck me up any further.” Marshall explained, none the wiser to my thoughts as he drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel, “Drew and Soup, they’ve been ‘round for a long while, before Dre, ‘fore I ever even thought too hard about rappin’. They saw me through it all. I guess when you came over they kind of figured that shit had to be different, I ain’t never brought no one ‘round here to them, let alone a girl they’d never met.”

I ran my tongue over my lower lip as I listened, it wasn’t a complete answer to my question— why Soup had figured Marshall had a type and me being far from it— but it was him opening up and I wasn’t about to spit in his face and get all prickly over it.

“Should I feel a sense of privilege then?” I found myself poking fun at him instead, an effort to get away from the handful of ideas that had started to plague my mind. “‘Cause I feel like I should.”

Em laughed, the gesture light, easy. It felt like the visit to Saint Andrew’s had done us both some good. “Fuckin’ right. Shelter alone is somethin’ I don’t visit all that often. D and Soup are just an added nuisance, I guess.”

“Shut up.” I chuckled in return, shaking my head at his words, knowing just how much bullshit they held after having witnessed the relationship the three of them shared. “You love ‘em.”

With a grunt, Marshall then shrugged around a quiet smirk. “Come on, today’s been all about me, I’m sick of it. Don’t tell me you ain’t got no mad stories about a couple crappy exes.”

It was an invite as well as a dip into a pool of unasked questions, a topic where Em didn’t seem too keen on overstepping. But he was right, he’d given me a lot today and that meant something.

“I don’t know what to say really.” I answered him with a subtle shrug, “Never really had an ex.”

Marshall almost came to a full stop with the way his foot stuttered over the brake. The action would have earned us a lot of loud beeps, maybe even a small collision if we hadn’t been the only ones driving down this particular side road.

“Shit, Marshall! What the fuck?” I exclaimed in one fluid breath, releasing my hold on the car door I’d gone and grabbed onto in my haste to stop my body from propelling forward into the dash. I fixed him with a wide eyed stare, “Why the hell would you do that?”

“Why’d I do that? Why’d you say that?” He countered, as if he was making any sense at all. 

“Say what!” I asked him, voice shrill and still a decibel too high after the sudden scare, but Marshall appeared mostly unphased by it, having started driving again despite everything. 

He scoffed, “That someone as pretty as you don’t have no exes.” 

I paused, noting that the way my heart stuttered was very similar to the way the car had, suddenly and then all at once. But although I was surprised by the compliment, I forced myself to relax a tad, ignoring how my pulse jumped rapidly in my throat– down to the scare or his words I wouldn’t ever know. 

“I don’t.” I told him point blank, hoping that the heat I felt in my face was just that and not me blushing. “I mean, I've had little flings and the odd date, but nothing like— I don’t know, nothing too real or long lasting.” Describing that fact was more than a little embarrassing, I wouldn’t lie, it always made me feel less than in a strange way. 

“There ain’t no way.” Marshall continued on, unknowingly driving that particular wedge in further I supposed. “There’s gotta be somebody.”

I sighed. “No. But if you want a story, the last person I was seeing was this singer, we worked together on my last album, flirted, fucked and then went on a couple dates. He stayed with me in London for a while but ended up sleeping with one of my close friends on my sofa, so, you know.”

I let go of the rest of breath I’d been holding onto then, shoulders slumping a little with it, before I suddenly remembered the next part to that particular tale. 

“Oh! And he also decided to dedicate the whole B side of his next album to it. Can you believe that? The B side, Marshall. I mean fair enough, write about an experience and what fucking not, but the B side? That’s just kicking a person whilst they’re already down, no?” I added, shaking my head in hopes to get rid of the memory, but no such luck. “He was the one who did that film too, um— I can’t for the life of me remember the name of it, but when they won that Academy award last year he mentioned me as the ‘one who got away’ and then thanked me for being the reason he was able to channel so much of his ability into the character.”

I actually had to laugh at the reminder, having been utterly fuming when the whole thing had gone down. But I guessed that enough time had passed since then that I only questioned the very decision I’d made to have let that arsehole and his tiny dick anywhere near me whenever his name was mentioned. 

“Shit’s messed up.” Em blew out, eyes alert and flitting back and forth between me and the road.

Snorting in reply to that, I couldn’t help but shoot him a wry grin. “No shit. But yeah, I don’t know. I’ve never really let anyone get too close, I ‘spose. Just easier to keep people at arm's length than give them the chance to hurt me.”

“Damn,” Marshall said, “talk about daddy issues.”

Surprised by his words, a laugh bubbled up out of me, “Like you’re one to talk.”

Em’s lips pursed in an attempt to dim his amusement to that, turning the wheel with a single motion and letting it drag back over his palm when we turned onto the next street. “Still. It’s hard to believe.”

I gave a soft chuckle in reply, letting my head loll against the headrest so that I could bat my lashes in his direction, “Why, ‘cause I’m so pretty?” I teased him, recalling his earlier statement.

Marshall’s head shake was slight but visible, as was the tiny curve his mouth made.

I reached out to poke his shoulder, smirking now. “Come on, say it again.”

He swatted my hand away before I could continue on with my fun, “Anyone ever tell you you’re also annoyin’ as fuck?”

“Yes.” I replied easily enough, “No one’s ever called me pretty though.”

“Liar.”

I laughed, the bright sound filling up the car. “Yeah, but at least I’m pretty too.” He went to open his mouth after I said that but I beat him to the jump, “Can’t take it back now you’ve already said it!”

Tutting, Marshall had to shake his head again, eyes flitting over to my wide smile, trailing the length of it. “Such a shithead.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“What are you, two?”

“Maybe.” I shot back, pointing over at him. “What’s that make you then, if I’m two and you think I’m pretty?”

Marshall caught my finger with his free hand in retaliation and clung to it as he resettled his arm back in his lap, “Fuckin’ weirdo.”

“Least I’m not a creep.”

“Asshole.” 

“Dickhead.”

“Bitch.” He quipped, eyes gleaming as they darted over to meet mine.

I shook my head in hopes to hide my growing grin, but it was then that I instantly perked up, gaze catching on the large allotment sat up ahead. “Oh, let’s go there!”

“What, to Trader Joe's?” Marshall voiced his confusion at the sudden switch in topic, though his expression was much softer than I had expected in the face of my excitement when I peered back around to look over at him.

“Yeah, can we?” I pushed, an idea now blossoming. “I wanna get some ingredients, bake something nice before Rosie gets home.”

Lifting a single brow, Marshall’s eyes flickered rapidly between my own for a split second. He was quiet before he eventually flipped his indicator to switch lanes, “You gone bake me a cake just ‘cause I called you pretty?”

A full blown grin broke out on my face at that and it was too hard to hide this one from Marshall, seeing as I’d been looking right at him. “No, ‘cause you’re gonna help me.”

[forwhump]

a/n: ;-; I feel a little silly introducing myself on a writing post but I feel sillier just starting to post my writing w/out any sort of introduction at all, so hi ! I’m Tina ! I’ve semi recently gotten introduced to the whump community because the content I create has been whump the whole time I just didn’t know it & thought I was alone in it !

now that I realize I’m not, I figured I might as well start posting my blurbs somewhere ! I don’t know if it qualifies as conventional whump, but is there such thing as conventional whump ? so what the hell

I put my two favourite oc’s through the horrors so often I have so much whump content w them & it’s just going to waste in my google docs & my notes app ! I’m chronically shy about posting my work online but I figured somebody out there might see this & maybe even like it so what’s the harm in sharing !

if you do see this & maybe even like it, yay ! I’m so glad ! thank you for even reading it <3

tw/cw for aftermath implied rape, mentions of being gutted

Wren has always been beautiful.

Silas had always thought so. Even at Wren’s worst, even when it wasn’t wholly appropriate to think. Silas had thought so since that very first day, since he was dragged into this place clawing and biting, since Wren had looked up at him from his place in the common room and smiled at Silas, sympathetic, as he was dragged into hell.

It was striking, even then, even disoriented and scared and confused. Wren was a bright spot, a glimmer of light in a bland, grey prisonscape. He’s beautiful like no other person Silas has ever seen, beautiful in a way reserved for the sunrise and the moon, so beautiful it actually gives him an eerie, kind of inhuman quality, even now, even still.

Wren has always been beautiful and Wren is beautiful still. But this —

There is nothing beautiful about this.

It’s ugly. It hurts something low in Silas’ chest.

It’s a film strip that’s been double exposed. Wren’s always been beautiful, and so particular about his hair; Wren has fairytale hair. It’s impossibly long, fairytale long, and the colour of snow, kinda, but he’s always so particular about it, he takes such good care of it, something that’s only his, something that belonged to him before this place, something they let him keep, and his hair always shimmers, perfect, iridescent. Silas has always found it kind of hypnotizing. Wren’s always so careful about how he braids it.

His hair is a mess. It had been pulled up into a ponytail with a piece of pink ribbon that’s gotten mostly lost in the tangles of his hair. Loose strands stick to his face, his throat, his waist, the insides of his thighs with tears, spit, sweat, semen, blood. He’s wearing some demeaning little pleated skirt, the same pale pink as the ribbon, and it’s short, it’s so short, and there’s so much visible skin that Silas can see almost every bruise, big and purple and splotchy and broken, like road rash. He can see all the blood tracked down the insides of his bruised thighs. He can see handprints. Tooth prints.

How is this happening? How did it get to this?

“Wren,” he hears himself say.

“Leave me alone.” His voice is the flattest Silas has ever heard it. He doesn’t lift his face from the carpet.

“Wren.” He doesn’t know what he’s gonna say. What can he say? He reaches a hand out, almost instinctive.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Wren —“

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Wren snaps, almost screams, and he finally lifts his head as he flinches away.

Most of the left side of his face is that same broken, road rash bruise. His mouth is swollen. His eyes, from crying. He doesn’t have hickeys, but proper, scabbing bite marks, bruising his jaw and his throat.

So much bruising. So much blood.

Silas knows what to do.

He struggles with that, sometimes.

Wren was allowed to keep his hair; Silas was, as well. It’s all Silas got to keep.

No part of Silas is the same as it was when he got here; no organ, no arterie. Silas isn’t human anymore, Silas is a weapon, but he tries, oh my god, he fuckin’ tries, if nothing else he tries, and he’s getting better, he thinks. He just struggles sometimes with human emotions, with feelings, thoughts, with what to do, what to say.

He knows now, though. What to do.

No part of Silas is really human anymore, but most of him is all still attached. His left leg, however, isn’t, and the replacement he’d been given, as a massive, inhuman superfreak, is heavy and deadly and fuckin’ uncomfortable. It pinches. Silas hates it almost more than anything. Unless he absolutely has to wear it, he gets around in his chair. It’s how he gets back to his room, where, without even a groan of displeasure, he makes quick work of his superfreak prosthetic.

On his own, he stands. Onto his chair, he piles one of his crewnecks, a favourite of Wren’s because of how cartoonishly large it fits him. Silas piles his comforter on top. From Wren’s room, he grabs his hairbrush and a pair of his joggers. Their clothing is the same dull grey as everything else in hell — prison grey, Silas thinks of it.

He limps his chair back to the common room. He folds the sweatshirt and joggers over the back, brush hooked in one hand as he holds open the blanket. “Okay,” he says. “Come.”

Wren’s head is down again. He’s right where they dumped him, a pile on the common room floor. “Leave me alone, Silas.”

Silas frowns. “No,” he says. “Come. I won’t touch.”

Slowly, Wren lifts his head. He blinks up at Silas with huge, wet eyes. “What?” He says, less sharp but a bit more broken. “What are you doing?”

Silas shakes the blanket at him. “Come.”

He isn’t expecting the way Wren’s face crumples, or the way he sobs. Softly, he says, “Wren?”

Wren turns his face away, but when he sobs, he sobs, “Silas.”

Folding the blanket and the brush back onto his chair, Silas limps around it to slowly, awkwardly maneuver himself onto the carpet next to Wren. Within reaching distance, but he’s careful not to touch.

Wren doesn’t lift his face and sobs into the carpet.

Slowly, Silas lies down, on his back next to him. He reaches out, he doesn’t touch, but he invites, and without looking at him Wren shifts into his arms and sobs into Silas’ shoulder.

Silas covers his back with a massive, gentle hand and lets him cry.

He cries for a long time.

Eventually, his sobs soften to sniffles and the hitching of his back slows under Silas’ hand. He says, into Silas’ grey sweatshirt, “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Why?” Silas asks.

Wren’s chest hitches. His voice cracks when he says, “I’m disgusting.”

He frowns. “You’re not disgusting.”

Wren hiccups out a sob.

“Wren,” Silas says, “you’ve held my organs inside my body for me. This is nothing.”

He sobs again.

Silas thumbs slowly across his back, over the stiff, ripped material of his shirt. “Let me take care of you this time, Wren,” he says. “Please.”

“You shouldn’t have to take care of me,” he says softly.

“I don’t,” Silas says. “I want to.”

Wren’s small fist curls into Silas’ crewneck. Into his chest, he whispers, “they really hurt me, Silas.”

“I’ll take care of them,” Silas promises. He already knows how he’ll do it. It won’t be slow but it will be painful. “Let me take care of you first.”

Wren doesn’t answer him, but he nods into Silas’ shoulder.

Softly, Silas asks, “can I pick you up?”

He nods again.

Gratefully, gently, Silas lifts Wren into his arms and from there, into his chair. He pulls the grey blanket around his shoulders and Wren sinks into it gratefully.

The bathroom is cold, and the water doesn’t get hot, but it gets warm, so Silas runs it warm before he limps across the bathroom to gather an armful of towels. He held Wren to his feet, and leaves the towels in his place.

“You don’t have to do this,” Wren says softly.

“So?” Silas says.

He blinks up at him, a bit taken aback.

Supporting most of Wren’s weight, Silas says, “do you want my help getting undressed or do you want me not to touch you?”

Wren blinks up at him again, sniffling. “Would you help me?” He asks, so soft he’d barely spoken.

“I’ll do anything you ask me to,” Silas answers.

Wren makes a soft sound, and Silas is careful not to touch any of the bruises as he bumbles through small buttons and zippers with huge hands. He helps Wren out of his ruined skirt and into the lukewarm water. Silas doesn’t undress, but he follows him in, letting Wren lean hard against him as he lathers a washcloth he hands to him before getting to work untangling his hair.

It’s a careful few hours of effort, because Wren has so much hair and it’s so matted, caked with blood, grime, semen.

Silas is meticulous. He brushes it out. Washes it. He isn’t a great braider yet, but June had been teaching him the basics, and he can struggle his way through a sloppy French braid. He tugs the elastic out of his own hair to tie it off, and once he’s done, Wren turns to look up at him and he’s crying again.

“Wren?” He says.

And Wren surges forward, pushing his face into the hollow of Silas’ sternum, arms tight around his waist.

“Thank you,” he whispers into his wet sweatshirt.

Silas cradles the back of his head with one hand. “It’s okay,” he says.

In truth, he would die for Wren in a heartbeat. This is nothing.

[finniestoncrane]

Semblance of Self

Arkham!Riddler x GN!Reader, word count: 1k commission: urgh ok thank you @necromances-chances for this soft prompt with eddie!! please also note that in my mind, there was 5 months of constant arguing to get him to the point where he considered dressing up nicely lmao commission me here! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: stubborn eddie, some angst with eddie's inner turmoil, soft fluff

When you found the source of the noise, and along with it, Eddie, you put on the sternest voice you could muster and flicked on the light switch.

“Shower. Now.”

This morning you had reminded Eddie that he had an event that he had promised to go to. When you placed his lunch down in front of him at his workbench you had reminded him again. And an hour ago, you had told him that he had to stop what he was doing and go take a shower. But when you had walked past the bathroom, there was no sound of rushing water, and the lights were out. And it wasn’t that he had forgotten, because after traipsing around the sewers on the hunt for him, you found him crouched amongst some of his old robotic prototypes, idly tinkering with them. 

“I’m a tad busy.”

“With old parts and machines that weren’t up to your standard? Sounds completely believable.”

You placed a hand on his shoulder, showing your support. It wasn’t easy for him to live as though things were normal. In solitary confinement down here he could be exactly who he was without worrying about social conventions, small talk, and the odd rules he couldn’t quite follow with regards to being polite and modest and human. 

“Come on, I’ll give you a hand.”

“I don’t think we have time for that.”

It was impossible not to smile, or to blush, at the nonchalant comment, but he was right. You couldn’t indulge yourself. He had to get ready, there was no getting out of it. He couldn’t charm his way out of it by charming his way into you.

He stood with a sour face the entire time you tugged at his clothing in the cold air of the bathroom. Not once did he make an effort to lessen the burden. Instead, his awkward, dead limbed stance made everything harder. And he pouted, sighing and grumbling under his breath when you informed him that you wouldn’t be leaving the bathroom until he was finished. Muttering his complaints under his breath, he washed while you stood cross-armed waiting on him. 

When he was finally finished, you marched him to the bedroom where he stood awkwardly, wrapped in a towel and dripping onto the concrete floor. 

“Come sit on the edge of the bed, please. Since you refuse to wear gel, I’m going to brush your hair while it’s wet, that way it might settle nicely.”

Edward did as he was told, but that didn’t at all mean that he was pleased about it.

“I’m not a child. And I am certainly intelligent and capable enough to dress myself.”

“And yet, you couldn’t get showered and ready on time?”

“That has nothing to do with my abilities, and far more to do with my unwillingness to attend this ridiculous party.”

Tutting, you tried to focus on combing his hair, brushing the dark, brown strands into a neater style than you were used to seeing on him.

“It’s not as though it’s some wild party with karaoke and cheap alcohol. It’s Harvey’s birthday. You have to show. It’s in the sort of… ridiculous rogue code, no? You have to pretend to get along. Or something.”

Eddie’s reply was curt, to his usual standard.

“Or something.” 

Sitting down next to him, you placed your hand on his. Sometimes, a simple gesture was all it took for him to open up or to better express himself. You hoped it would prevent an all-out huff if you could get him to talk.

“What is it that’s bothering you about tonight, Eddie?”

“Everything.”

“Because it’s out of your comfort zone? Because you have to speak to people? Because you have to wear that suit I bought you?”

You glanced over to the wall where the suit was hanging by a hanger and a rusted nail. In your peripheral, you could see Eddie was staring at it too. 

“It’s a boring suit.”

“It’ll look very good on you.”

With a sigh, Edward stood up from the bed and began to pace, as he was wont to do when he found himself overwhelmed or emotionally spent. He picked up the white shirt on one of his loops and began to button it up as he walked, clearly trying to keep to the schedule you had set. Even in his determination to express to you how deeply he did not want to go, he was bound by his odd habit of being punctual. 

“Regardless of how it might look when draped over my body, it is not emblematic of the Riddler. Hardly. This isn’t me. That is what I have a problem with. I am stripped of the essence of self. There’s nothing recognisable, nothing truly Edward Nygma about this facade that you-”

His mouth stayed open, lips parted in surprise as he stared at the items in your hands. 

“It’s not you as you are right now. But how many changes have you gone through? How much of you is kept in your appearance, and how much more is in your actions and your words? I know it’s difficult to lose the items that make you feel secure, but hopefully…”

You looped the dark, forest green tie around his neck, letting the ends hang over his shoulders against his chest. The tiny silver cufflinks, which you had custom-made, you fastened onto his sleeves, watching his smile stretch out as he admired the shape of them. Subtle, but still question marks. Still something identifiable. Something that made him feel like himself. 

“I can assure you, Edward Nygma, that the moment you begin monologuing about their various inadequacies, they’ll know it’s you.”

He smiled towards you, ignoring the obvious but playfully intended insult, knowing it was hard to argue with the reasoning. 

“Do you think so?”

“Of course. You’re a very difficult man to forget or ignore. No matter how hard someone might try.”

His lips curled up at the edges, a mischievous grin you were very familiar with. He might not be happy about attending the party, but in true Riddler fashion, he would make sure the party was just as unhappy about that.

[sun-and-moon-mushroom]

Day 14: Blood-Stained Tiles

AO3 link

(I call this one: ‘My New Roommate is an Immortal Cultivator?!’)

Shen Yuan had been looking forward to the convention. He had brought tickets months ago, marked out on the map where all his favourite fanartists would be selling merch, and had eaten a large meal before setting out so he wouldn’t be tempted by overpriced vending machine food. He had wandered through the stands for a few hours, picking up some posters and fancomics as he went, and taking some photos of cosplayers, until the convention came to a close. There was a lot more Proud Immortal Demon Way fanart going around now — with the sudden surge it had in popularity after the Immortal Alliance Conference arc, it was to be expected, and Shen Yuan was looking forward to the new readers catching up to the latest chapters of the Abyss arc and making fanart for it.

He had just left the building when he heard the disturbance, and his head twisted towards the sound — almost missing the woman in a somewhat revealing outfit running past him in a panic. Freezing for a moment, he wondered if he should run as well, before he spotted a body slumped on the ground ahead of him, not moving. It was late and the area was usually a quiet one after work hours, so no one else was around to help… He rushed over to him without really thinking. Wasn’t that what you were meant to do? Well, if he died, at least he might get a segment on the local news.

The slumped over figure turned out to be a man, one wearing an ornate xianxia cosplay. It had to be homemade with the level of detail, and Shen Yuan felt oddly jealous of it. What was more concerning was the bloodstain quickly spreading across the fine green fabric, some of it dripping down onto the stone tiles of the path beneath them. Shen Yuan fought back the panic as he tried to remember what little he knew about first aid — he should apply pressure to the wound to try and stop the bleeding, right?

As he pressed down the man seemed to notice him for the first time — he really had a handsome face, and Shen Yuan wondered if he was an actor he didn’t know — only to try and push him away.

“Who are you?” he asked with an odd intensity.

“Um” said Shen Yuan. “My name is Shen Yuan. Did you get stabbed?”

The man nodded solemnly — really, if he wasn’t an actor already, Shen Yuan would volunteer to be his agent — before explaining that he’d seen a man harassing a woman about her clothing, and had stepped in to help, only to discover that the man was armed with a knife. He hadn’t reacted fast enough to avoid it, but luckily the man had run away after the first stab.

Shen Yuan felt that he was being a bit too casual about attempted murder, but maybe it was shock?

“Do you need me to call an ambulance? You’re bleeding a lot, it’ll probably need stitches…”

“Oh no,” said the man, seemingly unaware of the bombshell he was about to drop on Shen Yuan, “I’m a cultivator. Whatever brought me here might have disrupted my qi, but I’ll be fine once I have a chance to stabilise it”.

Shen Yuan froze. Could this be — no, he needed evidence first.

“… if you’re a cultivator, can you show me something that only a cultivator could do?”

The man — Shen Yuan suddenly realised he never asked his name — smiled, something like approval in his eyes, although Shen Yuan couldn’t guess why, and lifted up his hand — only for some of the leaves on the hedge lining the pathway to snap off, dancing around them in a flurry of green. Shen Yuan could barely bring himself to speak — this was really… an actual reverse transmigrator! Right before him!

“I just realised I never asked… what’s your name?”

The cultivator — a real life cultivator! — paused for a moment before introducing himself.

“My name is Shen Jiu.”

(Note: if you think SJ is being too nice here — he currently thinks SY is a girl because he’s a self-described pretty boy and SJ doesn’t know the cultural standards of this new world yet. Also the blood loss).

[silverfoxstole]

CURIOUSER AND CURIOUSER

DOCTOR WHO MAGAZINE 337 10TH DECEMBER 2003

BY BENJAMIN COOK

“He’s imbued with this slice of evil,” explains Paul McGann, when I ask him to tell me about the Eighth Doctor’s current predicament… “I won’t go into the whole detail of it, because I’ve only just recorded it. I’ll still be trying to figure it out tonight! But yeah, the Doctor’s a bit of a bastard in this one. And that’s great. What’s fun, what’s nice to play, is a dark side…”

“You have more fun being a baddie,” confirms Peter Davison, who’s wearing exactly the same T-shirt that he wore for the recording of The Sirens of Time half-a-decade earlier (his own way of commemorating the anniversary, perhaps?). “There are more things to do with a bastard.”

“There’s more space, there’s more latitude, there’s more elbowroom with a baddie,” agrees Paul. “The good guys have to be patently good, if you know what I mean. They have to look noble.” Is there nothing that Doctor Who can’t do? “I don’t think so. That’s the beauty of it, isn’t it?”

“Maybe there are some things,” Colin Baker chips in, “but if we say what they are you can bet that somebody will come up with a script that includes precisely those things – and it’ll work. You can say that the Doctor could never massacre a thousand innocent children, but if someone came up with a script that gave a very good reason why he should…well, then I’d do it.”

“You could have said that Doctor Who can’t sing,” smiles Sylvester McCoy, pointing accusingly at Colin Baker.

“He sang? When?” Paul grins. “Why didn’t they ask me to sing?”

“Actually, when I heard,” says Colin, “that they were doing a Gilbert and Sullivan [see Doctor Who and the Pirates], I thought, ‘This is taking it too far.’ But I read the script and it gave entirely credible reasons why the Doctor would sing. It’s one of the most moving scripts I’ve read in terms of the context in which the Doctor decides to do what he does.”

“A barbershop quartet!” exclaims Peter Davison, quite suddenly. “Wouldn’t it be perfect? It’d be perfect, wouldn’t it?” The Four Doctors, he means. “Yeah, we’d go down a storm.” At conventions, I suggest. “I’m thinking bigger than that. We could be huge…”

“Worldwide domination,” whispers Sylvester McCoy, menacingly.

…..

“The hero has to be unmistakable,” suggests Colin Baker, “but that bad person can be anyone.” His voice drops to a whisper. “They might not reveal themselves. You know what I mean?”

“There’s just more room there,” says Paul McGann, “with a baddie, you know?” Does it ever get a bit dull, then, playing a do-gooder like the Doctor? “I don’t know if he is a do-gooder – in considering, for example, how he was exiled from his homeland. He has a bit of a record. He’s a bit erratic and – what’s the word?”

“Eccentric!” offers Peter Davison. “He could be your uncle, who’s the black sheep of the family, who all the children love and the parents disapprove of.”

“I was going to say ‘fractious’. I mean, sure,” Paul says, “he’s a force for good, and he understands that, and doesn’t mind admitting it, but they never call if good. No one ever talks about ‘good’ and ‘bad’, or ‘good’ and ‘evil’, do they? I mean, there’s never quite that, sort of, quasi-religious thing going on. No, it’s just power corrupting and fights around the universe.”

Peter says: “He’s definitely anti-authority in many ways.”

“That’s why I’m attracted to him,” joins in Sylvester, “and I think why other people are as well.”

….

“Is Paul being regenerated?” frowns Sylvester McCoy, leafing through his script. “Is this the end?”

“Yeah. We decided that’s it.” Gary Russell grins. “We don’t want to do Doctor Who any more. That’s it, it’s finished now.”

“Richard E Grant,” persists Sylvester. “Is he not taking over?”

“Richard Who?” Gary laughs. “No, doesn’t mean anything to me!”

“Yes, well, when people have said to me, ‘Who do you think would make a good Doctor?’, I’ve often said Richard E Grant,” insists Sylvester. “He may be a touch young, but he’s definitely the right kind of eccentric, quirky character. Knowing that people want a younger Doctor, he’ll fit the bill really well, won’t he?”

“And he’s quite well-known in his own right,” says Peter Davison, “so I don’t think he’ll get lost in it – unless he becomes the television Doctor. In that case, it won’t swamp everything he’s doing, but it’ll change his life quite dramatically, I should think. He knows what it’s like to have a fanbase thing, because of what Withnail and I brought him…”

What advice would they give the new TV Doctor? “I wouldn’t presume to give anybody any advice,” declares Colin Baker.

“Why should we help him?” grins Paul McGann. “To hell with him!”

In studio, Gary Russell and Lalla Ward are debating whether Romana would use the word ‘poppycock’. “You’re right, Lalla. It should, of course, be ‘affirmative’. But you did enjoy ‘poppycock’, didn’t you?”

“I loved poppycock!”

“Let’s keep it, then. Maybe you could just - ”

“A bit more ‘poppy’ and a bit less ‘cock’?”

Gary Russell sighs. “It’s going to be one of those days, isn’t it?”

“I haven’t even ravished the universe yet,” bemoans Paul McGann.

“I’ve got two hearts,” Lalla boasts. “I don’t need to ravish anything!”

…..

“There’s a jokey rivalry. Yeah, of course there is,” says Peter Davison, when asked about working with the other three Doctors. “It’s like any actor with another actor, really. When we meet up, it’s not for real. And we do put it on a bit.”

Colin Baker says: “And there’s probably an underlying rivalry that we don’t acknowledge – you know, he has that script and I don’t…”

“A shorthand between any group of people that work together is to be rude,” continues Peter.

“It’s a very British phenomenon, that. You insult your workmates,” says Colin, “and that means you like them! The people you don’t insult and have a go at are the ones that you actually don’t like, so you don’t want to get involved in anything with them. Of course we have a go at each other and take the mick. We’re all terribly disrespectful!”

…..

“Actually,” says Nicola Bryant, scanning through her next scene, “this makes a lot more sense than the last scene I was doing…”

“It isn’t supposed to make sense,” cries Gary Russell, poking his head out of the studio door. “The only bits that make sense are the bits that Alan Barnes wrote. All of my bits make no sense at all!”

Colin Baker says this: “I mean, Zagreus – it’s so labyrinthine and so clever, and, even though there are bits that I don’t understand, I know that I will understand them when I listen to it. It deals with huge issues about the nature of the Time Lords and their history and their future – entirely appropriate for a 40th anniversary.”

“It’s very weird,” says Paul. “That’s nice. It’s good when it’s weird.”

“It’s quite a milestone,” says Peter Davison, “I see no reason why it shouldn’t go on and on. I think it’s rather nice. I can’t think of many shows that have reached that milestone. And like anyone else, I want to know what happens next…or before…or alternatively…or as well. It fills in a lot of gaps.”

……

“I like the Doctor,” concludes Paul. “He wears his background, and he wears his solitude sometimes. He’s a little bit, for some people, hard to get to know, and definitely, for others, hard to get to like. There are the complexities there that we come across daily. But there is, of course, the hero aspect of him – from time to time. He’s the white knight. It goes in and out – he can be very, very good and very, very bad. I’d hate it if he were always the sword of truth and justice – a cleansing agent. It’d be boring. It’d just be boring. It’d be Borax, in fact, folks!

“It’ll be interesting to see what happens next…”

[lowkeyremi]

gimme F G aaaaaand a U for your selfship with aizawa miss wifey 🫶🏼🫶🏼 luh yewww 🖤🖤

LOVE YOU MORE DEE 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

F - Flirt do they flirt? If so how do they flirt?

Shota is not a huge flirt. Mostly because all of his tips over the years came from present mic… but he does know how to flirt when it counts. I don’t think you can call it flirting though, he just kind of says things how they are so he comes off blunt, but he’s really just trying to show his affection!!!

G - Greetings what was their first meeting like?

Oh lord… we met at a small hero convention that present mic had talked him into. He had his little booth set up and he was abt to pack up bc he was ready to leave. (I was always a huge fan of him even if he is an underground hero so ofc I HAD to go to that convention) anyway my corny self went up to his booth and talked his ear off and asked him if he wanted to get dinner sometime. He thought I was weird but said yes anyway 😂

U - Unaccustomed what’s something they had to get used to once they got together?

LMAOOO this might sound odd but my culture. I’m black and he’s japanese so he didn’t know much abt black girls. He was willing to learn abt all kinds of stuff. Like why I wear a silk bonnet or about my 4c hair. He’s actually pretty good at braiding hair now. (We love a man who’s willing to learn abt different cultures 😝)

[devildom-moss]

i’m being so serious when i say i haven’t been able to stop thinking about your levi n diavolo threesome hcs since i read them. like i never even considered that possibility but now they are it for me and i’m frothing at the mouth at the fact there isn’t anything else about the two out in the wild. u have ruined me </3

I'm both flattered and sorry. I'm actually going to take off the rest of August, and I know you didn't ask, but I would like to leave you with a few more Levi x Diavolo (x MC/reader) thoughts as a little gift for making my day (and as a bit of an apology). It's not super organized, but I hope it will bring you some comfort in the Levi/Diavolo content desert we find ourselves in. I'm sure there is some, but I can't promise the harvest is bountiful.

A few more Levi x Diavolo x gn!MC headcanons

(NSFW) (NSFW tags: poly, all of them being verse, exhibitionism, voyeurism, public, cosplay, mild cuckholding and degradation, brief mention of Levi calling Diavolo "daddy")

Imagine Levi playing online games with Diavolo and MC. If MC is with either of them (probably Levi), they’ll just start teasing the demon while he’s gaming. If it’s Levi, he’ll be too flustered for anything other than moans and whines to leave his lips. The jealousy and lust will build in Diavolo from the other end until he can’t resist touching himself either. “Fuck, Levi, keep moaning like a desperate slut for me. Don’t stop, MC. I want to hear our baby boy cum.”

But if you’re gaming right next to Diavolo and you start to touch him, he’ll make a point to groan loudly into his mic. He wants Levi to know exactly what you’re doing to him. “You can’t keep your hands to yourself, can you, MC?” he’d ask with a chuckle. Levi will start to tear up immediately – jealousy, anger, and need swirling around in his head. Should he stop and give you two some privacy? Do you even want him to listen? A part of him can’t resist staying around. It’s so hot (quick aside, but this man probably loves him some audio porn). His uncertainty is eased when Diavolo calls out to him, “Leviathan, don’t you dare even think about leaving the chat. Touch your pathetic cock (or cocks) while I use MC’s pretty mouth.” At the sound of Leviathan removing his pants and the soft, humiliated whine that leaves his lips, Diavolo offers him the smallest amount of praise. “Good boy.”

Alternatively, Diavolo would also be down to tease MC while gaming. If he feels like being cruel, he might tease Levi over the headset about how good he’s making them feel – how skilled his tongue and hands must feel compared to Levi’s.

Or on days when Leviathan won’t leave his room, MC texts him a message that says “open this alone” before sending a picture of Diavolo face down in his bed with another text that says, “About to ruin the future king. Want in? Come to the castle. Hurry.”

Diavolo dressing up in Ruri-chan cosplay like he did in the anime, and Leviathan’s eyes burning holes into Diavolo’s skin. Diavolo can tell that he’s done it now. He asks Barbatos to leave the room and tells him that he’ll meet him back at home. “Should we call MC?” / “Don’t be in such a rush. I’m not eager to share this sight with anyone.”

Alternatively, MC and Diavolo encouraging Leviathan to cosplay as one of his favorite characters for a convention, only to realize after the outfit was sewn and tailored that Leviathan meant that he wanted to dress up in a particularly revealing alternate outfit for that character. Neither MC nor Diavolo can restrain themselves, but Leviathan insists that he should at least get to wear his outfit to the convention. He worked so hard on it. And they wait exactly that long.

Levi gets to walk around in his cosplay for a while with MC; Diavolo is always somewhere nearby, but not close enough to draw too much attention. It’s inevitably Diavolo who decides that Levi has had enough of the convention. He pulls him into some dark corner or a bathroom and teases him until Levi’s precum is staining his cosplay. Levi begs him to at least wait until they’re back home. "Please, Diavolo, not here, please? Daddy?" Depending on his mood, Diavolo will either deny Leviathan that comfort and have MC makeout with Levi to shut him up while Diavolo has his way with him or he’ll grab MC and Levi and take them back to the castle. Barbatos was not pleased with the surprise dry-cleaning bill (less because it was expensive and more because he deduced what happened when he picked up the outfit).

Levi hiding snacks from Beelzebub in his room because they’re Diavolo’s favorite and he likes to offer Diavolo snacks as part of aftercare. Similarly, Diavolo has copies of Leviathan’s favorite anime and games specifically for aftercare purposes.

Leviathan nearly faints when he sees that Diavolo has a picture of Levi and MC (that they had sent him during their last date) saved as his phone background. He screams and buries his face in Diavolo’s chest (or MC’s – if they’re nearby) when Diavolo tells him, “You’re both adorable. How could I resist?” Speaking of, Diavolo would probably demand selfies anytime he knows Levi and MC are on a date (the spicier, the better).

[fumifooms]

The Penny x Atticus agenda was furthered in the post game and I’m so happy. I’m making this rarepair from my own two hands screenshotting every second of interaction and smashing my keyboard if I have to! 

Until someone else finds a better name or something, I’ll call this ship SewnEevee shipping! Since Penny clearly has a fondness for eevee and wears that big plush backpack of hers, and one of Atticus’ main interest is sewing and clothes! You could make really cute headcanons with that too, hehe

Now, the whole “my greatest treasure” is a very obvious and intense profession of affection, but that’s with whole team Star, so. Why do I ship these two in particular? Easy, just look at the screenshots! Atticus has this formal and old-fashioned way of speaking and uses titles frequently, but lordship titles? If I’m not mistaken she’s the only person he uses lord and lady with, and it’s not a one time nickname either; he uses it for her thrice (the only times he adresses her while knowing her identity in the whole game) which suggests it is the way he’ll be referring to her from then on. Idk about you but it sounds very flattering and romantic to me, it’s not don or comrade or such else- she’s special in the way he adresses people. It’s not exactly a term for equals like comrade is, nor shows some hierarchy like calling her boss, it’s truly an honorific. And then, the first thing he says to her after discovering her identity is “you’re pretty m’lady”, like, everyone else is like, normal greetings or “wow it’s nice seeing you” (you can see the lines here) but him? He goes the extra mile to say her appearance/presence is pleasing or rejuvenating or whatever. It stood out so much in the moment I immediately started shipping them lol. Also “oh noble and kind big boss” to me sounds like an even larger amount of simping than the others’ way of talking about Cassiopeia too lol. On the other hand, you could say that Penny has an equal amount of affection and care for every team Star member, and that that affection is of the same nature for every one, but!! See the post game interaction there??! Indeed, brethren, thy eyes are not mistaken. She worries for him most!! You could say that’s not necessarily a good thing and you’d be right, but it does mean she has him on the brain and in a way she cares for him most/in a special way compared to the others. But ho, ho-ho oh no that is not all, for!!!!! She calls him handsome too!!!!!! She’s so shocked she jumps back and goes “no, focus!! He might get hurt stop looking at his pretty eyelashes!!”. Mate do you know how often they call characters pretty in Pokemon? Once in a red moon. In this game, it’s Rika, Tulip and then Atticus. Like, wow ok. They be crushing on each other highkey. I’m honestly shook at how high of a level they made it canon. Also! Penny gets three post custscenes with the other team star members, one is with Giacomo and Ortega, one with Mela and Eri, and the other one is with Atticus alone! Team Star has 5 members (Penny excluded) so of course they were going to need to cut it uneven, but still, Atticus is the one given more or less more importance here! Also!!! Atticus is the only one she doesn’t have a nickname for, she calls him by his full name!! Coincidence??! I think not! Omfg guys she breaks her nickname convention for him and he calls her his lady they’re so special to each other…

I just think they’d be good for each other, and cute together! Atticus obviously thinks highly of her and I can’t see why they wouldn’t get along swimmingly well when hanging out, especially if they share an interest like say plushies (and Penny could pirate animes for him for free and they could watch them together <3 because!! It’s mentioned that Penny likes binging them and Atticus is obvi into it, Naruto stan lol). They’re both introverted and are somewhat quiet, esp for Penny she’d enjoy his gentle and composed countenance more than the rowdier characters (which is canon esp if you look at the time they spent in Area Zero), and man. He’s so honest and direct and I think that she’d appreciate that a lot, seeming pretty blunt and no-nonsense herself. Also, he’s very capable of and confident about standing for himself and his friends, so I think once she realizes that more it’d ease her anxiety a bit. Atticus is just so gentlemanly and it’s highkey charming and idk she’s already a bit 😳 about him it wouldn’t take her much to full on pine imo. I wanna finish by saying: Some would call her judgy and mean for being worried for him bc he has an unconventional demeanor (and appearance) but I wanna reiterate that this is out of care and trauma from having been bullied herself: it’s being realistic, and she’s otherwise never shown any reluctance or dislike of his interests in the least so, there ain’t an argument to make here imo. Plus it literally got addressed and she set out to better herself on it, so.

[docholligay]

Mill Road Cemetery

I love cemeteries. I love cemeteries so much that my friends well know this about me, and when inviting me to the Mill Road Winter Fair, one of the first things Dani pointed out to me was the cemetery tours because, “I know you like that sort of thing.” And I do! Memento mori and all that, I am a dead Victorian dressed up like I’m in some sort of Call the Midwife cosplay situation. 

We took a tour there, the last of the day, that was essentially, “Doing all this fucking sucks and is really hard, please appreciate it” but done with a real sense of humor and good naturedness*. Now, I’ve done quite a bit of work in the past in cemeteries with the Montana Historical Society and other, smaller societies, so some of this was completely known to me: Trying to read historical records, historical records having been lost to fire, or not existing at all**. Boundaries being suggestions more than fact. The wear on the stones themselves making it difficult to decipher. 

I was not prepared for the brambles. 

When i was young I thought brambles were a story convention, I mean of coursre I knew things could be overgrown, but something like Sleeping Beauty and losing an entire castle, or something being quickly overgrown, that to me was just a device. And brambles seemed enough of a stock word that when i was little, I thought it was more an idea of something than reality. As I got older, I realized brambles were a real thing, but I thought of them along the lines of, say wild grapes in the South, or Morning Glories back home--quick-growing, of course, but to say they would cover up an entire graveyard in three or four years was hyperbole. When my friends bought their house and found a shed in the backyard, covered by brambles, I assumed it either hadn’t been maintained in twenty years or that they were being a little dramatic around the edges about it. Which is fine, I can be a little hyperbolic in the retelling myself, my stories aren’t intended to be “Doc’s Fareeha Amari level just the facts ma’am bullet points hour” they are meant to entertain and also I’m Jewish and so occsaionally it just happens that God tells you someone else is right and you tell him to fuck off, you weren’t talking to him*** and sure that happened, in a sense. 

But it was not hyperbole. She showed us a place they’d cleared last year, and the brambles were already crawling over the graves, threatening the edges of the epitaphs. Brambles are covered in thorns, they are thick and unwieldy. To take so much work, only to have it be undone so quickly. In Montana, it’s dry, and I can still point out the small Chinese graves in the corner of the cemetery. In Helena, we even had wooden ones that were still, just barely, readable. The water pours over these stones, the ivy picks it apart, the brambles cover it, all things I never had to deal with. 

There’s something poetic in that, I think. The brambles are going to cover this again, and they will be as thorny and thick as before. But we clear it anyhow. We clear it to find the things that might be otherwise forgotten, we clear it because it’s important to remember, we clear it because doing the work of clearing is its own reward, and we clear it because we’d hope someone would clear it for us. That you cannot win, at the end of the day, doesn’t matter. That’s a kind of love, I think, to fight for people you will never and did never know, because they were still important, and they deserved to be known and seen, if only for a moment. 

I thought about the brambles a lot, after. I’m thinking of them now. I’m hoping no one ever gives in to them. 

*I am having my doubts as to whether or not this is actually a word, but I suppose I use blorbo without batting an eye, so here we are in heaven/hell. 

**Actually by the time I’m talking about the Brits have us horsewhipped for recordkeeping. That would make things much easier. 

***See: The oven of aknai

[morsmortish]

Hi! I love your brain.

So what are your thoughts on Remus x Barty.

Im not quite sure they could work together so that’s why im writing them together but I see Remus as a more sane Evan. And a tiny bit more of a loser.

Barty is fun. You know him quite well, anyway.

It’s like rosekiller but at the same time I can never see Remus handling Barty well, I think for wolfstar angst it would definitely work. Where Remus went with Barty (because Barty and Sirius do have a similar style. Just Barty does it better) and Sirius is really jealous. That’s where you could add Evan. Because Sirius and Barty, and Evan and Remus. My mind is all over the place so I apologize for how much of a mess this ask is.

Barty would be a toxic ex for Remus. They tried it, and it never really worked out. Unless there were others. Like if you added other people it could work, because the main thing pulling them apart is that Barty is much too insane. Other people could handle that part, and they could actually be happy.

Maybe Evan would work. I’m not sure, but that is not my point!

Barty is energetic and Remus is not. So it works like a family dynamic (which probably isn’t good for a relationship) so all that aside, now I’m wondering about friends. Because I think it’s all or nothing. But at the same time there’s so many factors to think about.

So, what do you think about it?

i must admit i’ve never thought about it before…but the way you’ve phrased it here has definitely piqued my interest. i’m a loser!barty truther, and i see him as the kind of guy to skip merrily over to a dungeons and dragons club after giving someone the best sex of their life. i see him and remus as somewhat similar in that sense (they’d both be classified as ‘weird’ in an american high school), and they’re mostly separated by the fact that barty is extroverted, and remus is not (↤ take this with a very generous pinch of salt). barty wears his ‘loserness’ with a sense of unbothered flippancy; he does not care that his interests are stereotypically ‘weird’, and he will happily ramble on about the latest instalment of whatever vampire comic series he’s into at the moment (whilst blowing vape smoke into your face). on the other hand, remus is somewhat more self-aware- he’s shyer and much more awkward, and definitely extremely self-concious. however, i do still see him as having that same cruel streak running through him that is very prominent in barty’s character, to an undoubtedly lesser extent, but nonetheless present in him as well. remus can be cruel when he needs to be, whereas barty is cruel when he wants to be.

the idea of barty being remus’s toxic ex…yeah. this is the option i’m leaning most towards in terms of a ship between them, because barty crouch junior is the ULTIMATE toxic ex. he might as well have written the goddamn rulebook on it. with ships like bartylily, bartylus, they all work sm better (for me) with them broken up, and i think it’s safe to say i will be adding bartyremus (we need a proper shipname for them) to this list. i can see them meeting at some sort of convention, maybe hitting it off (barty talks!!!! and remus listens!!!!), but, as you said, barty is a bit too insane for remus. i think barty could unlock that aforementioned cruel streak in remus, he could bring out the worst in him. and i think this would scare remus away more than anything barty himself could do- remus leaves because he starts to hate himself, not barty (although he eventually hates barty for causing it). ie- it’s not barty throwing a plate against a wall that ends the relationship, it’s remus.

a lot of the time i like to think of barty as a foil to james, but it’s also really interesting to now think of him in comparison to remus. in the grand scheme of things, they’re not THAT similar (hence the generous pinch of salt mentioned above), but i can see them being drawn to each other due to similar interests or whatnot. i don’t see them as working particularly well as friends, but barty as That One Ex-Boyfriend? who makes remus roll his eyes when his name is mentioned? who sirius despises with a burning passion? who will hit remus with the “u up?” text at 3am? yeah. i can see that very clearly.