#I'm so sorry this took 84 years

[yszarin]

Hi! I just came across one of your fics and really enjoyed it. Saw you prompt list meme, and I hope you don't mind me plopping in a prompt here. Please ignore me if you do. :) I'd love to see nr. 18 (“I don’t like the way they look at you.”) for Jamie Winter (or WinterNelson).

hello! thanks so much, I'm glad you enjoyed the fic! <3 always open for prompts, just also a bit slow - hope this is okay!

[read on AO3] [send a prompt, get a fic, Eventually]

They have every opportunity for regret, and take none. Nelson sees no faces tilted up, trying to pick out the flat’s window from street level. No last glance through a rain-flecked windscreen. No farewell flash of lights. They just drive off into the low cloud of the early evening, gunmetal car gleaming amidst Causton’s muted, drizzle-gentled tones. Might as well have been a pair of high-flyers leaving a moderately successful business meeting.

Nelson hadn’t really expected anything more. He’s not at the window because he’d been waiting to wave back. Watching them go, yes, but in the way a sheepdog waits for a wolf to vanish beyond the treeline; seeing, being sure that they’re out of Winter’s life again.

That done, he glances down into his glass, swirling it so that the last of the wine dances with reflections. A dust mote, caught against the deep ruby of the surface, sits steady as the hand of a spun compass.

“I don’t think they like me very much,” he says.

On the other side of the flat, Winter looks up from the sink, considering Nelson over one shoulder. Still just as quiet, his expression just as empty as it had been all through lunch.

“Parents usually love me,” Nelson adds, straightening, pushing himself away from the window. He paces past the table, setting the glass down with a faint scrape of crystal against hardwood. “I’m told I seem very responsible.”

It takes a moment, as though Winter’s internal systems are lagging so badly that he needs time just to recognise him, but then he smiles, and it’s real. Nothing like the polite, skin-deep efforts that he’d been making all afternoon.

“It’s not personal,” he says, and there’s even a trace of a laugh in it. He turns away from the washing up bowl, flicking excess water from his hands, and reaches for a tea towel. “And you don’t like them much either.”

Nelson stops. He’d meant to make a start on the drying himself, but Winter is already descending on the draining board with a studied intensity that clearly would have been frenzy, if he’d let it.

“I don’t like the way they look at you,” Nelson says, settling against a work surface instead. He hadn’t liked most of it, really – the atmosphere had been so cold, and Winter had carried himself so stiffly, that they might as well have eaten outside, half-frozen in the November wind – but that had been the worst of it. Their polite disinterest. When they’d shaken his hand with all the engagement they might grant a gate across their walking route. A four-hour lunch with only cursory attention paid to their son’s partner, like it didn’t matter to them who he was seeing. They’d looked at Winter, at everything he was and everything he cared for, weighed it and found him wanting. “When they asked about your inspector’s exam–”    

He’d wanted to step in, then. Had let his eyes flick over to Winter, trying to ask, silently, do you want me to defend you? Is that why I’m here? But he’d got nothing back. Winter had just sat there, replied to his parents in a flat, level voice, blank behind it.

Nelson had tried to divert them anyway, throwing out a few questions about their own work, but he’d known by then that he wasn’t saving anything. There had never been any chance at that.

“They’ve always had high expectations,” Winter says, in the same casual tone that he uses to talk about everything that hurts. “I barely saw them growing up. They were always out working. Wanted to send us to the best schools, make sure we had a good start.” He slots a plate back into its place in the cupboard, utterly without force, a stark contrast to the anger that turns in Nelson’s gut like an animal seeking flaws in its cage. “They just wanted more for me than the police, and definitely more than a dead-end job in Midsomer.”

“More than someone like me?” Nelson guesses, but even with all that bitterness in his mouth, none of it’s on his own behalf.

Winter pauses, back at the draining board. His fingers shift away from another plate, reach for a glass instead. He passes Nelson on the way to its cabinet, and lays a brief hand against his arm, the slightest shading of regret across his features.

“I’ve known for a long time that nothing that makes me happy is ever going to be enough for them,” he says, his touch a request that Nelson hears the part he thinks is more important. He does, but the rest of it’s still too sour for him to taste anything else.

“And you’re just all right with that?” Nelson asks. Wasted breath, probably. They wouldn’t be having this conversation if Winter didn’t think he could pretend that everything’s fine.

“I got used to it.” The same sort of thing he’d say about Misomer’s climate. About immutable qualities of the world that cannot be altered, rather than two people who’d apparently never got over the fact that their son didn’t measure success the same way they did, and didn’t bother trying to hide their disappointment. “They do try.”

“Not hard enough.” Nelson curbs a snarl, swallows the urge to snatch the tea towel, take Winter’s hands himself. Whenever this had broken, it had been a long time ago. The bone’s too knitted for sharp edges anymore.

He leaves it.

A few months ago, he remembers, Winter had told the Barnabys about their relationship. They’d talked about it beforehand. Winter had been sure the Barnabys would have no problem with his sexuality. He’d known that they already liked Nelson. And yet, through every conversation they’d had about it, Winter had been tense, nervous despite his efforts to pretend otherwise. Dogged by a fear of something he wouldn’t or couldn’t articulate, right up until he’d finally spoken to them.

Winter had asked him down for this over the phone, voice so level, so resigned, that Nelson had thought there might actually be something wrong with the line, up until he’d heard it the same all through lunch. He’d made no occasion of the introduction.

So, Nelson’s here for him, not them.

He stays where he is, lets himself be the still point, while Winter finishes with the drying up, and then starts to move methodically through the flat, putting everything back the way it had been before his parents had come. Keeps going until it’s all done and the dark’s drawn in around them, and then he just stops. Stands there like a clockwork toy that’s run down.

Nelson steps in before he can feel it.

“Do you want to order in tonight?” he asks, pausing beside him with an off-hand glance at his watch. “There are repeats on until three, and they’re showing the episode where Detective Ostergaard’s trapped in a haunted hotel.”

He’d usually expect a light, good-natured jab about his taste in television, but Winter just nods and smiles, lets Nelson lead him to the sofa and trusts him to order something he’ll like, while he scrolls through the available channels like he doesn’t remember exactly which one he’s looking for.

Winter’s quiet, and he stays that way until so close before the end of the opening credits of their first episode that he might have measured it specifically to stop the conversation from going any further. Or maybe he’d just realised it was his last chance to speak.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, eyes fixed on the screen and flickering with cold reflections.

Nelson exhales, his attention flickering away from Detective Ostergaard’s crime scene, spattered with red that’s slightly the wrong shade. He has nothing he knows how to say, so he just takes Winter’s hand, and raises it to kiss the inside of his wrist, a ghost of lips across his pulse point. Hopes that tells him everything. And then he lets go, brushing his thumb across Winter’s knuckles.

They watch in silence for a moment, Kate’s favourite pathologist spouting nonsense to camera with more conviction than the average person will ever feel, then Winter lets out a dragging breath, like he’s trying to purge every corner of his lungs. He wavers towards Nelson, and Nelson leans in to meet him.  

This is why he’s here, Nelson thinks, as Winter’s head settles onto his shoulder, and he inclines his own so that his cheek rests against Winter’s hair. Crap telly and a takeaway, a weight of warmth, someone who remembers the way back to normal. Just to be there, where he’s needed.

With any luck, it’ll be a long while until Winter’s parents feel obliged to visit again. The food will be here soon, and there’ll be enough spice in it to burn the last of the bitterness off Nelson’s tongue. The wound will scab over again, and Winter’s smiles will look a little less brittle.

For now, this can be good enough.

[outofcontextplvpw]

[pharawee]

Noey's many outfits in I WILL KNOCK YOU — [01/10]

BONUS:

[valacirca]

what colour is your aura

Thank you so much for tagging me! @imperihoe 💜

Umber

book spines, suits, coffee, deep soil, violins, bear fur, staircases. your essence is umber: you are strong and silent, rarely ruffled. yet, you are unmoored; tender and drifting, you are unsure of your motivation save for to do good. many find you generous and stalwart -- but melancholy. you are the keeper. you are the ungrudging. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of brown, beige, hickory, and garnet, who share your profound determination. you are also drawn to the flamboyant magenta and gold, who will help you grow and show you how to follow your heart without guilt. however, you may struggle to get along with the self-focused personalities of royal and crimson who rarely compromise.

No pressure tags: @mayloma @geralts-yenn @belgianfry @deandoesthingstome @thesaucynomad 💐

[silksdream]

undefined

*      📺      ›      𝐓𝐇𝐄      𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊      𝐎𝐅      𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄      ﹕      THE      HONEYDRAG      CINEMATIC      UNIVERSE      .

❝      volume      i      ,      dir   .      @tendernight      .

[thesunfyre4446]

84 years ago i've promised an alicent and rhaenyra post, and i've finally got around into making it.

so book!rhaenyra and alicent is not that complicated. alicent was fine with rhaenyra when she thought that viserys will name their firstborn son heir, and when that wasn't the case they started beefing & despised each other.

the show's decision of making them former friends is actually a good choice. it adds depth and tragedy into their relationship & makes the entire conflict more personal. instead of the stepmother x stepdaughter dynamic we get 2 childhood friends, destined to become enemies.

young!rhaenyra and alicent arc was actually really good. alicent got married to viserys and tried to mend her relationship with an angry rhaenyra. and just when things were getting better the realization that things can never go back to the way they were & they were destined to become enemies = alicent becoming the green queen & the rivalry truly begins.

and that's where... thing got... messy

because in ep 6 we see alicent and rhaenyra fighting. they seem to hate each other & constantly trying to undermine each other. then we get to ep 7 & driftmark, and we all expected that from that moment on we will get book!alicent and rhaenyra rivalry and hatred. but no? all of the sudden, one dinner and they're friends again?

i'm sorry... what?

and then alicent refuses to hurt rhaenyra and her family, rhaenyra's crying over a piece of paper (i was with daemon going "the fuck is this") rhaenyra shocked over alicent's betrayal & both women do not want to hurt each other.

so, you're telling me that after driftmark - after rhaenyra wanted to have alicent's maimed son tortured & tried to get alicent accused of high treason and after alicent demanded luke's eye these women feel anything but hatred towards each other?

you're telling me that alicent - who has spent the entire show believing that her children's lives will be in danger if rhaenyra became queen suddenly goes "you'll make a good queen" (again, i was with otto giving her the side-eye because GURL) one dinner is apparently all it takes to fix 20 years of rivalry and hatred?

and that's the problem. the show doesn't seem to be able to tell the difference between "friendship" and "relationship". rhaenyra and alicent's relationship can still be the center of the show even if they are enemies. even if they're no longer friends. look at magnificent century, hurrem and mahidevran's rivalry is the center of the show & it's very clear that these two women were forced into becoming enemies and that the real villain is the sultan.

hotd wants to force the "friendship" narrative on the show, but they still have to stick to certain book canon events, so it comes off very forced and unnatural. they're unwilling to let these 2 women become enemies, so they take their agency and give it to otto and daemon. otto and daemon are the ones who want war, rhaenyra and alicent just want to go back into being friends :( look at this page from ep 1 that you've prob forgotten all about!

they literally have to sacrifice their agency. because alicent being the leader of the green council & rhaenyra being the one wanting to go to war against the people who took away the crown she was promised doesn't fit the "friendship" narrative. so let's make alicent unaware of everything & rhaenyra doesn't even want to go to war :( it's all daemon and otto and the eViL mEn. it's honestly such a disservice to their characters. they're stripped of their ambition and agency for the sake of forcing their "friendship".

and the thing that truly made me lose hope is ryan saying that "there's still hope".

my dude.

from the first moment we see the girl. from that first scene where they're sitting under the tree - there was no hope. there was never hope. they're doomed.

[iheartchv]

Sunny Day Jack x Reader:

I Never Forgot

What if you were one of the few people who remembered vividly about Sunny Day Jack... even after the whole show seemed to have been forgotten?

☀️Rating: Fluffy

🌈 Part 2 | 🌈 Part 3

❤💛💙❤💛💙❤💛💙❤💛💙❤💛💙❤

As a child growing up, you watched The SunnyTime Crew Show. You were 3 or 4 years old then, and you would watch every episode whenever they came out. Sure, there were plenty of interesting characters, but one that stood out to you was Sunny Day Jack. The blue haired clown was your favorite, the best friend you always wanted, and you wanted to meet him in person. At the time, money was tight, so that was one crushed childhood dream. The other was when there were no more episodes of The SunnyTime Crew Show being released. You had asked but no answers were given. You cried that one night (a few days after the incident); you felt like you had lost a best friend, and all the drawings and paintings you did hurt your little heart that you put them away in a box of memories. Jack was gone, but not forgotten...

❤💛💙❤💛💙❤💛💙❤💛💙❤💛💙

❤💛💙PRESENT DAY ❤💛💙

You're now at a threft shop, looking for clothes that wouldn't remind you of your ex, Ian. As you picked up some random stuff that fell over, you didn't notice a VCR tape that fell in your basket. As you were checking out, you were about to object to buying it, but decided that it wasn't worth 25 cents over. What could've been on the tape?On it was written '84- Incident'. Bells went off in your head seeing the year... A memory or something was trying to resurface... Borrowing a VCR player, you popped in the tape.

The static on the TV continued for a moment until you heard... a voice... saying,"Hello?" Bells went off in your head again as you stared at the static screen. That voice... it sounded familiar. Just then a shape formed through the jagged lines of the TV screen. It looked... human... And it was coming closer.

"Who... are you?" The voice said. Your heart started to beat faster. You felt like you were in a horror movie. You wanted to back up and run away, but you were frozen with fear. Your chest tightened as your flight or fight response kicked in. "You seem nice... Do you want to be my friend?"

The figure then... came through the screen as if it was climbing through a window. You wanted to scream but it was stuck in your throat. You choked on it. The figure then stood... they were tall. The scream then finally made its way out of your lungs as you bumped into the coffee table.

"Oh, gosh. Are you okay? I didn't mean to scare you, Sunspot." the figure said in a concerned tone.

Sunspot? You remembered... him always calling you Sunspot... As your eyes adjusted to the dimness of your living room, you could see that he (you assumed) had... blue hair? You also caught glimpses of his primary colored clothes... A memory was triggered. Everything was put together like a puzzle. No... this couldn't be?

"Jack... Sunny Day Jack?"

"You... know me?" He looked surprised.

"Yeah... I used to watch your show all the time as a kid. But... how... why...?" You had so many questions that you wanted answered. You were a ball of wound up emotions right now. You didn't know what to feel right now.

Jack cleared his throat, trying to change the subject to something simpler. "I'm sorry for bring rude, but I didn't get your name..." he said with a small chuckle and a smile.

"It's... y/n."

"Y/n. That's a nice name. Do you want to be my new best friend, Sunspot?"

He reached his hand out toward you for a handshake. At this moment, you strangely felt like a kid again. You were meeting Sunny Day Jack... in person (or the closest thing, at least). His cheery voice drew you in, like it did those many years ago. You took his hand in a firm handshake. "Sure." That was the last thing you remember before blacking out.

Been working on this idea for a couple of days, and I plan on writing a few more parts to this c: I also don't know if anything like this has already been written, but here it is nonetheless. I really hope you all in the SDJ fandom enjoys~☁️🌈☀️

[distorted59]

I need Danish Gremlin Lars headcanons so bad right now plsssss

Hi!!! first of all, I'm sorry it took a little while, hope you enjoy!! <3 and again, thanks for asking!

Loves it when you play with his hands! we all know this man has incredible hands, esp with all that tape around his fingers, lord have mercy.

Would absolutely love to teach you to play the drums

He WOULD tease you with his drumsticks, i fucking know it, this man is a kinky mf.

Like, he would slide one over the inside of your thigh and the other one over your neck and breasts. 

THE TAPE AROUND HIS FINGERS STAYS ON!!! (need i say more)

He’d whisper sweet things to you in Danish, whenever he’s proud of you or when he tells you he loves you. 

ALSO, during sex???? and he’d go all crazy cus it all just feels so, so good???

I feel like he’s quite dominant, maybe in his early years (‘81-‘84) he’d be a little bendable (not literally, but who knows?). But, in the 90’s he’d be FERAL.

Like I said earlier, I feel like he’s a kinky mf. Exhibitionism, he likes to get freaky in public. He loves getting praised, he wants to hear how good he is at something. Pleasing you, playing drums, cooking, mowing the fucking lawn. He doesn’t mind, please fulfill his ego.

Small dick, but the energy is BIG.

Has stamina for DAYZZZZ!!!

He would fuck you on his drumset, i can just imagine him eating you out and hitting the kickdrum while doing so. (IM SORRY I HAD TO)

I feel like early 80’s Lars is a real sweetheart, maybe still a little shy but definitely runs his mouth. 90’s Lars has no fucking filter, he’s cocky, arrogant, gets whatever he wants and takes whatever he wants. 

Loves to just be around you, showing you he’s here. You’d watch him and the boys rehearse and he would squeeze your hand or your thigh, flashing you small smiles and giving you kisses here and there. 

“You still with us, darling?” He squeezes your thigh, smiling with those adorable dimples of his. 

"Hm?" You dozed off a little, but his fingers sliding to the inside of your thigh keep you very awake. 

“Are you enjoying watching us, babe?” Lars grins.

“Oh, yeah.” You nod. “You’re doing great, baby.” 

“You think so?” He smirks proudly, his fingers tracing circles over your soft skin. “You like watching me play?” 

“Mhm.” You hum and smile down at his hand. Already knowing what you two will be doing later. 

He would take you to Denmark, showing you his hometown and places he went to as a kid. His childhood home (which is now a fertility clinic I believe, lol) and his school, where he played tennis as a boy. 

He loves art so he would take you on little museum trips and years later to these auctions where he would sell the pieces from his home for millions of dollars, (SKOM docu).

Loves bragging to people about you. “My girl is great, she’s the prettiest woman i know.” and "Well, my girl loves playing the drums with me." <3

You know those bandanas he wore in the 80’s? Yeah, tying your wrists up with them or putting it in your mouth to prevent you from moaning too loud <3.

He is a little fruity tho. (so threesome with Kirk maybe? yes/no?)

Load/Reload era, this man wore some heavy eyeliner. I can see him asking you for a little help.

He’s in the bathroom, trying to figure out what the fuck to do here.

“Babe, could you help me out here?” He holds up the pencil and gives you puppy dog eyes. 

“With what, baby?” you walk into the bathroom and look at him, slight confusion written over your face. “Is that my eyeliner?” 

“It’s for the new album!” He protests. “We got a new look, ya know?”

“What, cutting your hair wasn’t enough?” You tease him and sit on the sink counter. 

You take the eyeliner from his hands and pull him closer by his shirt, you wrap your legs around his waist and make him look at you by holding his chin. 

“Okay, close your eyes.” 

He obliges and you softly apply the liner just above his lash line. He squints a little and breathes out through his nose. 

“Don’t move, baby.” You scold him. 

“Sorry, It feels a little weird.” a wide smile spreads on his face. 

“Look up for me.” 

He does what he tells you, looking at you before he looks up entirely. You apply some under his waterline, smudging the edges gently with your fingers. 

“All done, babe.” You kiss his lips softly. 

He smiles into the kiss and murmurs a “thank you” against your lips. He checks himself out in the mirror behind you and grins. 

“Wow, I look sexy!” 

“Larzy Poo” - James Hetfield, 2023

[llovelyclouds]

notes on pyrrha dve

heres all the relevant info i took note of on pyrrha during my tlt reread, in one place!

(you can find all the other posts from this project here!)

PYRRHA DVE

titles:

Gideon’s cavalier, first gen, founded the second

greek mythological orgin of the name pyrrha

also, pyrrhic victory

notes from gideon the ninth:

G1deon & Pyrrha's room in Canaan house includes a drawing of a chimaera that Gideon describes as "familiar" and a picture on the wall of John and his pals (presumably) with everyone's faces scribbled out with a thick black marker. Also guns (gtn. pg. 205)

notes from harrow the ninth:

presumably lead the development of her and G1dieon's trial at Canaan house, as Mercy refers to it as "Pyrrha's trial" (htn. pg. 97)

 The reason G1deon is named the Saint of Duty (htn. pg. 177)

Asked Wake to kill G1deon quickly (htn. pg. 205)

Was most likely the one conscious in G1dieon’s body when Harrow caught her fucking Wake in Cytherea’s body????? (htn. pg. 216)

"I will remember the first time you kissed me- you apologised- you said, I am sorry, destroy me as I am, but I want to kiss you before I am killed, and I said to you why, and you said, because I have only once met someone so utterly willing to burn for what they believed in, and I loved him on sight, and the first time I died I asked of him what I now ask of you / I kissed you and later I would kiss him too before I understood what you were, and all three of us lived to regret it- but when I am in heaven I will remember your mouth, and when you roast down in hell I think you will remember mine" -Wake's note (htn. pg. 252)

All the lyctors and John loved her (and also thought she was super hot) (htn. pg. 274)

Augustine developed his smoking habit to impress her (htn. pg. 275)

Was ten years older than Augustine (htn. Pg. 278)

G1deon & Pyrrha liked Alecto despite the fact that the other lyctors (at least Mercy and Augustine) didn't (htn. pg. 479)

Mattaius Nonius fought G1deon, and seems to owe Pyrrha a debt (htn. pg. 455)

"We compartmentalised from the Eightfold Word, just like you and your girl- though I'm an accident, and he took more from me than got taken from you. I was able to go underground, even from him."- Pyrrha (htn. pg. 494)

notes from nona the ninth:

Used to be a cop, made detective, knew Gideon from "way back" (ntn. pg. 74)

"'You should be draining and replacing her fucking brain fluid,' said Pyrrha. 'When Gideon and I designed that trial, I used to crack his skull and sieve it myself, just as a control variable. It's aggregative. I doubt you're testing her white blood cell count either. The only other people I put through that damn trial were Mercy and Cris, because only Cris didn't mind being trepanned on the regular. Fucking around with souls is the problem, Sextus… you can't ever get data on souls.'" - Pyrrha, discussing when Cam & Pal "overlap" (ntn. pg. 84)

"I visited her hometown back before Anastasia got settled, and it was grim as fuck then. Just spooky caves all the way down…" -Pyrrha (ntn. pg. 86)

"'Do they still do gravid carry where you come from?' 'On the Sixth, only for research,' said Palamedes. 'I helped at a birth once. Theres a lot of noise and run-up before the real thing happens.'" -Pyrrha and Palamedes (ntn. pg. 121)

"P- was great, but like, Ministry ties or no Ministry ties, a big part of her career was going around to the local high schools and telling the drugs kids that they shouldn't be doing drugs. She'd won medals for competition shooting back north in Hamilton, but we're not talking Jesse James. We're talking Hamilton."- john (ntn. pg. 191)

"She chose us that day, not her career. I always loved her for that. She'd adored being a cop." -john (ntn. pg. 191)

"and it was P- of all people who said, First things first. If they're going to let us fix the world, you've got to make them take us seriously. Get some leverage. If they want to make you into a bad wizard, be a bad wizard. We can write the history books to say you were a good wizard. Or at least an okay wizard. They're not going to listen because we talk nicely, they're going to listen because we scare the shit out of them. He said, Which goes to show you that only getting to NCEA Level 2 isnt going to stop you making waves in life, right." (ntn. pg. 271)

"Nona had thrown exactly two tantrums in her entire life. She couldn't remember anything about the first one, but Pyrrha had told her about it. Pyrrha had been laughing with her mouth, but not with her eyes: her eyes had been very brown and distant and uneasy, as though this tantrum had reminded Pyrrha of something her brain didn't want to bring back." (ntn. pg. 275)

She mentions disco?? how does she know what disco is??? (ntn. pg. 362)

"Gideon… G-, you died for nothing." -Pyrrha (ntn. pg. 390)

“I remember P- behind a barricade… not dead yet… telling me, John, run.” (ntn. pg. 406)

Died pretty immediately after Mercy and Augustine, but before G1deon (ntn. Pg. 407)

“Who are you, foreigner, that you know the mysteries of the Anastasian?” “I was here before it was the Anastasian,” said Pyrrha absently. “Painted a nursery. Mint green.” (ntn. pg. 453)

“Cass and Mercy and I worked on cell thanergy- we need thanergy, fresh thanergy, to activate…” - Pyrrha (ntn. pg. 471)

“And Alecto said, Pyrrha, he laid me down as an appeasement to them; he fed you to them as an appeasement to them; but he has never appeased me, and now all he has done was teach me how to die.“ (ntn. Pg. 476)

[elvendria]

Clean (Formerly Love is a Battlefield)

AU Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Part One

Summary:

You return to Hawkins after a few years in the middle of the night during the summer with your 4-year-old sister in tow, thinking the two of you could fly under the radar and settle in at Forest Hills Trailer Park. You thought you could get by without bumping into your old enemy, Eddie Munson, the town freak.

But you weren't always enemies, in fact, there was a time when you two were closer than anything.

Eddie dreams of making it big, you just dream of making it out of here alive.

\\enemies - lovers//

((Warning I'm not from the US, so bare with me when it comes to states and such))

tw: 18+ MINORS DNI or I will be busting kneecaps, E.D, physical abuse, child abuse, runaways, reader is 20 and Joyce's ex-step-niece, Will and Johnathan's cousin, Joyce is Queen, Wayne is King, slow burn, gambling addictions, Eddie is 20, Chrissy is the villan but we stan grace

Word Count: 3.96K

part two part three part four

May 21st 1986

You drive the back roads as much as possible, the 1970s Dodge Challenger illuminated under the moon as you try your best to drive carefully. You didn't want to wake Willow, your 4 years old sister, sleeping in the backseat. It was drizzling rain, pouring down the windshield in sheets, how very fitting.

It had been a whirlwind, a spur-of-the-moment decision. Things had gotten to be... too much, having moved to Vegas from Hawkins a few years ago for your Dad's new telemarketer job. Willow wasn't even born yet, and after she was it didn't take long for it all to go to shit.

Pleasant conversations turned into civil discussions turned into small spats turned into full-blown fisticuffs. You could handle the occasional black eye or bust lip, you were a big girl, but the second you found out that they'd laid a hand on Will you were out of there.

The summer had just begun, and you were taking care of Willow while you were both at home. It was at least 84°F, and so you changed her out of her jammies and into a loose sundress when you noticed it. A large handprint on her arm and an even larger bruise began to form in the center of her back.

"Will, what happened?" You already knew what it was, but you hoped beyond hope that you were wrong. Mom was decent enough to hit in places you could hide unless she was drunk, hence the purpling bruise under your eye. Dad was the one to smack you if you got in his way of something. Dad would slap you and not care where it landed.

"Daddy got mad at me for playing with my dollies while he watched TV. I'm sorry sissy I didn't mean to be bad." She hung her head, to which you tilted it up to look in her eyes, wiping away the tears that threatened to spill.

"Shh Willa it's okay..." You pulled her in for a hug, careful not to hold her too tight. "How about we go on a little trip, you and me? We can go for as long as you want." She was four fucking years old. She was a child. She shouldn't be worrying about getting in trouble for playing with a goddamn toy. "You can bring all your dolls with you! They can come on the trip with us."

It never took much convincing with her. You'd soon learned that she was the kind of kid who just wanted to help others, giving them her lunch and going over to someone who was sitting alone and asking if they wanted to play jump rope with her.

You shook your head no when she asked would your parents be joining the two of you, and her eyes lit up a small bit, which made your heartbreak. Your father was known for flying off the handle, a loss at the casino was enough to put him on the warpath for weeks. If he had bet on the football game and she got in his way of seeing something he considered important, it wouldn't have mattered that she was only a child. She was standing in the way of him and his money, and so she needed to be removed.

You shoved anything and everything you could into 3 duffel bags. Mostly clothes and essentials along with any cash you had saved up for college tuition. It wasn't like you were going anyways, you'd have never left Will here alone plus you missed the deadline on applications. Now you were just a high school graduate with no prospects.

You threw in a lot of snacks for the drive, it was going to be a long ride back to Hawkins and Vee could get hangry at the best of times.

And Hawkins you had landed. After spending the past three nights in different motels, hood up anytime you saw the hint of a security camera at a gas station, you finally arrived to the one place that had always been like a home away from home, to the one person who you could trust like no other. You felt guilty for knocking at this hour, especially when you remembered that it had been almost 2 years since you last spoke with her.

The porch light turned on, door swinging open with a loud creak as you cradled the sleep-drunk 4 year old on your hip, her drool pooling on your shoulder, not that you cared.

"Hi Aunt Joyce..."

Joyce was your aunt in the every way but legally. She had married your Uncle Lonnie, leaving him when she found out that her husband was a lot like his brother. Thankfully, from what you've heard through the grapevine that is your fathers derogatory comments, her sons seem to have been spared those genes.

"Y/N? Is that.. Is that you?" Her voice was bleary, dull and squinted from tiredness, and once again I felt immense amounts of guilt for waking her up at this hour. It had to be at least 3 in the morning, and here you were, a niece who hadn't contacted her in two years (not that you were allowed to) standing in her doorway, soaked to the skin from the rain.

You remember the last words she said to you, the hurried phone call as she told you Will was home safe, no longer missing. You didn't even care that your father had cut the phone call short, quite literally taking a scissors to the cord, you were that happy to hear your cousin was okay.

"Yeah I'm uh..." You'll be honest, you didn't think this far ahead. You knew where you would be living, you'd called ahead to the trailer park owner from a shady motel and told him you'd pay him a deposit tomorrow. Well, today. But you hadn't planned what you'd say to Joyce, how you'd tell her that you skipped town with your sister in an attempt to save her from the abuse back home. "I'm back home. Just us.."

That was all she needed to hear to usher you inside, her arms wrapping you in the first hug that wasn't your sisters in four years.

Telling everything to Joyce was actually a lot easier than you thought, especially when you didn't have to tell her at all. She took a good look at you and noticed the deep bruise under your eye and the small scar on your chin from where your mom had forgotten her own strength, causing you to hit the kitchen counter. It hadn't been there when you left, so it confirmed what Joyce already knew. You didn't have to utter a word for her to understand.

"I'll be moving into Forest Hills in the morning, I'm only asking for two things, and I'll make it up to you as best I can, I promise." Your eyes were pleading with her, not that they needed to be, Joyce would've done anything to help you. She saw you almost like a daughter, wanting on more than one occasion to sweep you away from them and take care of you. She'd never gotten to meet Willow, but already she was in love with the bouncy brunette curls that fell across her face as she slept in your lap, cuddled up to you on the couch like you were the only person in the world.

"I don't have a lot..." She reached into her purse, bulling out a few crumpled bills, only stopping when you put a hand on her arm and looked at her. Everything favor with your parents had to have been paid back with interest. If you needed a ride to school, you had to fill the car with gas and wash it. If you needed to borrow $5 for lunch, you had to pay back $35, all under the guise of 'this is how it is in the real world, no ones going to love you for free'. And yet here was Joyce, a woman who wasn't even technically related to you, who you hadn't spoken to in years, offering over whatever she had with no strings attached.

"I have the money, thank you though. I just..." You blinked back tears, the overwhelming feeling of gratefulness washing over you like a waterfall. You had never been great at accepting help, no clue why. It's not like you were in a transactional relationship with your parents. You stroked Willow's hair. If it weren't for her you wouldn't even be asking, you'd be determined to do this alone. But you needed stability for her, along with a steady cash income. "I need help with a job."

You saw Joyce's eyes light up, holding your hand that had been on her arm. She smiled at you, a soft gentle smile that made you feel at home again. This house had been your home away from... whatever it was you could call where you lived. You used to play board games with Johnathan at the kitchen counter, or lie on your stomach and draw pictures with Will on the floor. It all smelled the same, a thick mustiness in the air combined with a lemon cleaning product.

You stayed and talked with Joyce for a while, she told you she could secure you an interview at the local music store, and if that failed she joked about having someone on the inside at Melvalds. She hugged you goodbye, kissing the top of your head like she used to when you were a kid, standing in the doorway as you drove off, not closing it until your tail lights were out of sight.

It was early morning when you pulled up to your new home. The owner had given you a discount along with a look of pity. Usually you'd be the first to tell a person off for looking at you like that, but hey, if it got you a discount you weren't going to say no.

You parked up outside and instinctively looked across the dirt road, realizing why it felt like such a familiar drive. Right across from your trailer, where you planned on laying low for a while, was 53 Forest Hills Park.

The Munson Residence.

You swore you saw a curtain move back into place when you took Willow from the car, balancing her on your hip as you held your new key, but maybe you were imagining things, because you stood there for five more minutes to see if the door would open, and all it did was remain shut. For some reason that hurt you more than if he was to actually show his face.

Not that you wanted him to.

You brushed it off, looking down at the key before you pushed it in the lock, a little extra force was needed as it was somehow already rusty, even though he told you it was new. Not that you were going to complain. A home is a home after all. All you needed was somewhere for yourself and Ivy to rest your heads and eat food, everything after that was secondary.

You walked into the bedrooms and saw that the beds already had sheets on them, though they looked... questionable. You didn't want to run the risk of Willow or yourself being bitten by something, so you hastily undressed the beds, flipping both mattresses. It was a temporary solution until you could take them out back and beat them senseless with the sweeping brush to be a bit more certain they weren't infested.

Once again, you weren't complaining, anything was better than a motel bed where the springs threatened to burst through and stab your skin. You were really looking forward to a night where you weren't swaddled in blankets and towels to avoid being impaled.

"Here you go monkey, snug as a bug in a rug." You had put one of your hoodies on Willow, the fabric coming down to her ankles, the sleeves well past her fingertips. It looked ridiculous on her, but you didn't pack sheets because why would you think of that? You walk over to a closet in the hallway and find some relatively clean linen, pulling them out and making the beds. You'd plan a trip to a laundromat soon, you needed to wash your clothes from the journey anyways.

You pulled the blanket up to her chin, kissing between her eyebrows gently. As you went to pull away, you felt a tiny hand grab onto you, or at least attempt to. She was too tired to speak, but you knew what she meant, what she wanted you to do.

Crawling onto the bed beside her, one arm bent up behind her head as you stroked her rosy cheeks, you smiled down at her as you felt your eyes droop, growing more and more tired by the second.

"I'm here petal, I'm not leavin'." You mumbled lightly, sleep overcoming you as you lay beside her.

A few days had passed, and Willow seemed to be settling down to the idea of being here for a while. You'd been keeping an eye on the news, and there were no reports about either of you, so even though you'd been gone just over a week, you're parents hadn't reported you two missing.

You were standing in the kitchenette, having just gotten back from your first shift at the record store, a resounding success if you did say so yourself. Willa sat in the manager's office, you were going to need to find someone to look after her. Joyce had to work too, even though she told you numerous times that she could babysit.

She was sitting watching Looney Toons, giggling at something Bugs Bunny did on the TV. You looked over at her as you flipped pancakes, having only grabbed the bare essentials to make a few meals. Your paycheck was due at the end of the week, and you were planning on going grocery shopping then.

The room felt hot from the sun pouring in, the rays of light accentuating every speck of dust in the room. It filtered through the curtains, the room now a soft glow, the dark brown furnishings looking brighter. You were calm, and relaxed, setting down the plate of pancakes in front of Willow when there came a knock on the door.

Of course you were nervous, why wouldn't you be? just because they hadn't called the cops doesn't mean they hadn't figured it out for themselves. They could be standing outside, waiting to drag you both back to Nevada to be their personal punching bags. Hunching down, you stayed low as you walked, or rather crawled over to the window, peering out.

You saw what looked to be a kind but stern man standing outside holding a tupperware box. He looked vaguely familiar, like he was from a distant memory. Something about him felt safe, or at least safe enough to open the door anyways.

Pulling it open, you looked at him as his eyes widened slightly like he was surprised to see you. You stood there trying to piece where you knew him from when it finally clicked with you who was before you.

"Jesus Christ darlin', thought I was havin' a vision when I saw ya'll pull up just t'other day. Said to myself, surely Y/N Y/L/N isn't back here." Wayne's southern drawl made everything sound pleasant and inviting, and you couldn't help the smile that grew on your face. He looked different than when you last saw him, his hair was thinner and his skin was more aged, but no one would ever be able to forget the energy Wayne Munson radiated.

"Oh my god, Wayne! How are you? Come in!" You stepped back, holding the door open for him to come and sit, suddenly realizing something as your words caught in your throat. There was a chance that Wayne wasn't going to be alone, and that his nephew was going to be joining him very soon. "Is he uh... Is he going to join you?"

There was a reason you knew the drive to the trailer park so well, why you stared at the Munson trailer for a solid five minutes, afraid to blink in case you missed him, why you knew Wayne and he knew you, both acting like old friends. It's because you were. Or at least you had been with his nephew.

Eddie Munson, in all his wickedness and cruelty, had been your best and closest friend in the world. He was the first boy you ever loved, the first boy to break your heart too. No guy you met since then has ever been enough to make you forget about him.

Despite how much you wanted to.

"No no, he..." His words faltered, his eyes cast down at his hands as you placed a cup of coffee in them. The trailer wasn't much but at least it had a kettle. "I don't think he knows you're here. Y/N I really think you two should..." But you cut him off before he could finish.

"I'm sorry Wayne, but after everything he said, everything he promised and and what he did, I can't look at him right now." Mentioning him made your chest ache, and made you want to not hate him. You wondered if he'd grown his hair back, if he'd gotten any better at guitar, if he still had that tattered old copy of Lord of The Rings that you'd gotten him for his 9th birthday with your pocket money that you'd hidden away.

You twisted the ring he gave you on your finger, something you always did when you were nervous. It was a thick silver ring, with a chain pattern around the middle of it. You'll never forget what he said to you when he walked up, holding out the ring on a small chain. You were only slightly older than Willow. It also happened to be the very first thing he said to you.

"Hey! Wanna see what I have?!" He came barrelling over to you, his hand clasped around something tight. You were worried if he was going to show you a bug because surely it would be dead by now. He was a small boy with shaggy dark brown hair to match his eyes. You hadn't seen him in your grade before.

"Um.. sure?" You had been making daisy chains on the grass, taking a short break from the swings. You were gonna go back to them though, you were determined to swing so high you could see your house.

"I think it might be too big for you, but I won this at the arcade." He looked shy, nervous even. He'd been admiring the way your pigtails flowed when you soared high, and he remembered he had the ring in his pocket.

"Thank you!" You were at the age where you didn't question anything, and where someone being friendly was only that, a person being friendly. You took the necklace from him, slipping it around your neck and giggling as it swung side to side. The boy looked a little older, maybe a year? You slipped the ring over your finger, giggling as it slipped back off again, danging from the chain.

"My mom talks about growing into stuff all the time, maybe that's what you can do with that!" He looked so excited, so eager and happy and joyful before sitting down on the ground and plucking a long blade of grass, holding it between his thumbs and trying to make that noise you'd seen people do before. He kept muttering about how he almost had it even though he was nowhere near close.

You sat like that for what felt like hours before a young-looking woman called him over, walking and taking his hand. She looked so much like him, a striking resemblance between them both. He began to walk away, before breaking his grip on his mother's hand to run back and tackle you into a hug.

"I'm Eddie, see you soon!"

You told him your name, and if anyone were ever to ask you when you fell in love with Edward Munson, it would be that moment exactly.

"I understand, just... try to go easy on him okay?" He nodded his head, hands clasped around the mug. You both heard scuffles coming from the side and turned to see the mischievous brunette staring at you from over the sofa, the lower half of her face obscured.

"Where are my manners! Wayne... this is my sister Willow." Walking over, you scooped her up in your arms, her giggles warming your heart and Waynes as you sit down again with her on your knee. That was the thing about Willa, everything about her made people want to smile, and her very presence lit up the room.

"Well hello there little lady, how are you this fine afternoon." He grinned over at her, his gruff exterior giving way to that heartwarming smile you remembered from childhood.

The one thing about Willow, the one thing that you knew for certain, was that she had absolutely no filter whatsoever. She sat there for a second, ignoring Wayne's question before looking down from his receding hairline to his face.

"You have a very shiny head."

She said it with full confidence, no hesitation. You felt your face turn bright red with embarrassment. You were about to scold her, tell her that she couldn't just go around commenting on how people were bald, when you heard a loud bellowing laugh from across the table.

Looking at Wayne, he was clutching his sides as a stray tear rolled down his face. He started wheezing, which caused you to laugh, which caused Willow to laugh. Her laugh was like a lilted giggle, bouncing on your leg and hiding behind her hands as her lopsided pigtails danced around her.

"I suppose you're right, my head is rather shiny.." He chuckled further, finishing up his coffee. You sat there and talked for a few minutes, before Wayne stood up, carrying his mug to the sink, ignoring your protests claiming that you would take care of it yourself.

"I best get going, working night security at the plant, they need me over there at 7 on the dot." He reached over, playfully pretending to steal Willows nose. "Now we have to meet again so I can give this back, okay darlin'?" Willa just nodded her head and giggled, hands flying up to cup her face.

The two of you walked out to the front of the trailer, chatting away again, completely oblivious to the figure watching you from 53 Forest Hills Trailer Park. A figure with a heart that was beating a mile a minute, because there you were, after some long, excruciating years of being without you, and you were talking to his uncle like nothing was wrong.

He was still in his daze when he felt her soft hand on his bicep, pulling his focus away for a second.

"Eds, come back to bed, Wayne's left for the evening, wanna have some fun with you." He used to like the way she said his nickname, the nickname you started for him, but now it felt wrong, weird even, and he wasn't sure why.

"Sure Chris, lead the way..." He followed Chrissy into his bedroom. He knew he should be thinking of her, of his girlfriend, the prom queen and former High School Queen, but his mind still thinking of you, his mind filling with questions, but predominantly one.

"What the hell were you doing back here?"

part two part three

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[punemy-spotted]

A Worthy Grave - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - The Dead Become the Emperors of Memory

Pairing: Federal Agent!Ari Levinson x Witch!Reader

Masterlist; Chapter 1; Chapter 2

Pairing: Federal Agent!Ari Levinson x Witch!Reader

Warnings: THIS IS STILL A HORROR FIC; A Whole Lot of Body Horror; Blood and Gore; Harm to an Animal; Gruesome Murder; Religious Iconography; Straight up Heresy; Christ Imagery; Gruesome Descriptions of Organs; Ghosts; Ghouls; Violence Against Women; Discussion of Grief; Witchcraft; Blood; I Cannot Articulate Enough That This is a HORROR Fic; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat; Seriously so so dead, HEED THE WARNINGS

PLEASE REMEMBER THAT YOUR CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA IS YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY AND IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE CONTENT THAT IS BEING PRESENTED, PLEASE DO NOT READ

Chapter Summary: Death was not supposed to visit you in the one place you spent your day speakin’ for it, carvin’ answers out of flesh and bone.

Notes: So yes it took me 84 years to update and I'm SORRY. Please take this update as an apology. (also yes this was on Ao3 ages ago… depression’s a bitch, y’all.)

I cannot emphasize enough that this is a horror fic so things are going to get gory going forward. PLEASE read at your own discretion, I'm begging you.

As always, I crave feedback so please let me know your thoughts! Have questions about the lore? Let me know about those too! As a reminder, reblogging fics supports authors so please let me know you want more by liking AND reblogging!

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

The next morning comes with lab results and Ari Levinson bringing you coffee, bright and early.

Good coffee, too, which you note with amusement the moment you take a sip, You convince Janice to upgrade the beans?

Pretty sure she’d tell me asking wasn’t even on the budget. I went to Jed’s.

You go to his restaurant or his house?

You’re teasing him — which you’ll admit is new for you, especially with Ari fuckin’ Levinson standin’ in front of you, sipping coffee and enjoying one of Jed’s famous breakfast sandwhiches — but considerin’ your couch an’ the fact that he slept on it night before last, it’s not like you’re unjustified, is it? A fact which he, to his credit, takes in stride, taking a smug sip of coffee — if such a thing were possible, it would be Levinson to pull it off — and shrugging, Showin’ up unannounced at the ass-crack of dawn’s a privilege I reserve for you, Doc.

You roll your eyes, hide your smile behind the lip of your coffee cup, Just cuz you spent the night on my couch don’t mean I’m gonna be any nicer to you, Levinson.

Shit, Doc, you start bein’ nice to me and I might swoon here and now.

You’d refuse to admit it if he or anyone else asked you to, but that makes you laugh, hidden behind a huff that could be annoyance or amusement, Hope you ain’t expectin’ me to catch you, Levinson.

I learned my lesson last time the Chief tried makin’ us do trust exercises.

Not my fault you didn’t warn me.

He shrugs, you roll your eyes, turning back to the computer as it dings with a message for you to review, You better have ordered me a sandwich too, or I’m bannin’ you from my biscuits for the foreseeable future.

That’s for you to find out in the lunchroom, Doc.

Where the hell’s your apple butter?

In a twist of fate you will not be thankin’ anyone for — least of all Ari Levinson — there is a sandwich waiting for you in the breakroom fridge, labeled and everythin’. You pop it into the toaster oven like you always do with Jed’s takeaway, pouring yourself a glass of sweet tea and taking the time you deserve for yourself an’ your lunch break, having taken great care to make sure there’s not an ounce of paperwork or results to review while you sip tea an’ enjoy a meal to the sound of blessed silence.

Most of the office would be done with their lunches by now, or eatin’ at their desks to avoid traffic in the break room. ‘Course, with your lab, the idea of eatin’ a meal with a frozen corpse in the next room waitin’ for you to finish rummagin’ around in its guts did not whet the appetite.

Least the break room don’t smell like formaldehyde all the time.

So you take your vigil here, disappearing into your thoughts and the quiet joy of pastrami on rye.

Until Ari Levinson, like a bloodhound sensin’ the exact moment you find silence in your life and choosin’ to hunt it down, comes strollin’ in, See you found the sandwich, Doc.

You might’ve been grateful you’d already finished your meal, just sippin’ tea by the time he came by, but you’re already missin’ silence and there’s a good fifteen minutes left before you need to clock back in an’ pretend you’re comfortable ‘round grieving parents, so you’d thank him to forgive you for lookin’ like he made you swallow a lemon. Whole. You bribin’ me with a sandwich to keep talkin’ to you, Levinson?

Is it working?

You open your mouth, poised to continue the time-honored tradition of tradin’ barbs with him, sarcastic quip ready to fly from your tongue, when you see her. Standin’ there in all her spectral glory, mouth open wide in a static scream of horror an’ fury, a livid necklace of purple bruises blooming around her throat, hollow eyes trained on you.

And Ari Levinson, goddamn him and his goddamn training, notices. Notices. Watches you. Makes silent note of how your mouth snaps shut, how your lips fold into a grim line and follows the trajectory of your gaze with a turn of his head, watchin’ the hallway behind him.

Hey Doc, he calls back to you, voice as level as he can probably manage it.

Yeah? You make a valiant effort at doing the same, refusin’ to take your eyes off the specter once known as Jane Doe #117.

I’m assuming you see her?

Sure do, Levinson.

There’s a pause, a moment, Ari’s hands slowly reaching for the gun at his holster and you slowly reaching a hand out to stop him, ears ringing as you try to make sense of the radio static pouring from that endless scream, your daddy’s lessons servin’ you well. Run.

A beat.

Then—Levinson, I need you to get security over to the lab.

The look he fires back at you is pure confusion, hand still poised over his gun and you know in your bones the only reason Jane Doe #117 hasn’t moved is cuz you’ve got eyes on her right now.

Bad deaths. The humanity is rotting out of her by the second, an’ no amount of cornbread offerings an’ promises to do our best are gonna keep her from lashin’ out at the humanity she’s lost, not ‘til the person who took it from her is found and named. Named for her to haunt until they too, turn to rot.

But you don’t got time to think about that right now, not when Ari’s already arguing with you ‘bout leavin’ you alone with an eyeless, bloodless, ghost. Or haint, you ain’t sure what he’ll call it—Doc, I know—

I know I didn’t stutter, Levinson. Security. Lab. Now.

It’s already too late.

Jon Doe #43 is less pleasant lookin’ than the girl whose ID he had hidden inside his flayed jaw — the girl whose radio static warning is still ringing in your ears as you take in the sight of him now, lookin’ leagues worse than he did the first time he showed up on your doorstep… two nights ago.

How quickly things move.

Ari swears low under his breath behind you, both of you frozen in place and trying to make sense of the tableau before you, the sight of a dead man strung up against the wall, arms outstretched and a crown of broken scalpels forced into the exposed bone of his scalp, head hanging low as if looking down at the figure kneeling at his bloody, skinless feet.

Is that…?

It is.

Something sick rises in your gut as you take a look at the blood-bathed figure kneelin’ before the corpse you know she’d been busy trynna put back together into somethin’ buryable, her gloved hands bound into some bastardization of penitent prayer by a line of what you’re pretty sure is John Doe #47’s own large intestine, havin’ been cleaned out after another one of your techs “recovered” it from the tupperware container it’d been found in when the whole mess’d been discovered.

You can’t see her face — part cuz she’s turned away from you, lookin’ up at that flayed Christ, an’ part cuz of the horned thing resting on her shoulders, a shape you wish you didn’t recognize as you take in the sight of cream-white fur stained with drippin’ viscera — but you suspect you know exactly what kinda expression she’s wearin’ underneath that “mask” forced over her.

Blood for blood.

You made a life of it, death. Cornbread offerin’s like your momma taught you the first time you met one of the wailin’ spirits of the woods ‘round your home, let ‘em gorge themselves on the vitality of food the same way a livin’ bein’ might fuel themselves with the actual thing. Tried to make sense of the static the way your daddy would when he stepped off the pulpit and into the graveyard behind your family home, always hissing warnings to the bein’s beyond to keep away from his family.

You made a life of it.

But just like the mountains, the ones meant to keep you safe if you kept ‘em safe, death was supposed to stay way the hell away from you, was supposed to keep its scythe off you an’ yours until they were good an’ ready to travel through that big black door. That was the promise written all over that big ol’ family Bible you spent  your childhood copyin’ so you’d be ready for the world outside your homemade Eden, the one you wielded like shield an’ sword against any manner of haint unwillin’ to recognize the darkness in your own blood.

Death was not supposed to visit you in the one place you spent your day speakin’ for it, carvin’ answers out of flesh and bone, woe to you who rend the flesh.

Your lab is now an active crime scene, casting you out to make your calls to next of kin — you know them, you’ve met her husband ‘bout a half-dozen times this past month alone, bringin’ her lunch when her scatterbrain forgot it, got used  to seein’ him lingerin’ sheepishly in the doorway and then hollerin’ for her to come out front an’ give her beau a kiss — and try to get used to sayin’ her name in conjunction with, There’s been… an incident.

You’re no grief counselor.

There’s no training for this, but it ain’t right. It ain’t right for someone who ain’t family to call hers, someone who don’t remember laughin’ at her gettin’ giddy over stomach contents. Someone who don’t understand what it’s like to miss the sound of her hummin’ some pop song you ain’t even heard of—

You holdin’ up alright, Doc?

Ari Levinson makes you jump for the second time in as many days, office phone clatterin’ from your hand as you spin ‘round and try not to let your heart beat out your chest, still too busy overthinkin’ to manage a glare, I’ll be fine. You get the security footage from the lab?

Yeah. Got a couple computer guys on it now, trying to figure out what happened.

Well, you sigh, rubbin’ the bridge of your nose as you lean against a metal countertop, We better hope we find out soon enough, cuz I’m ‘bout three seconds from shakin’ this whole goddamn buildin’ apart lookin’ for someone to pin this shit on.

Ari nods, mouth pressed into a thin line as the silence ‘tween you stretches out, eyes wanderin’ over to the closed-off lab, sanctuary swarmin’ with corpse beetles mournin’ the loss of one of their own as they try an’ find out whodunnit.

You know they won’t, ‘course, but it’s enough to let ‘em try.

You’d never admit it, of course — an’ maybe you’d almost forgotten it by now, those childhood truths givin’ way to the kinda truths you needed to keep your callin’ here in these mountains — but it used to terrify you. An’ why wouldn’t it, all ‘em screamin’ mouths an’ radio-static pleas beggin’ you to make sense of the injustices of the world they’d been cut right out of?

Too much, too much pain, too much horror, too much for a girl of tender years to tolerate hearin’, much less repeatin’ to those still grieving.

Problem with the dead is, well, they’re selfish. Don’t care if you’re barely old enough to understand the meaning of death, still meant to be shielded from those things that should long have left this plane of existence an’ passed through that big black door.

Ari Levinson don’t know none of that terror though, don’t know much more’n what you jammed into his head after blowin’ away another one of your ghosts, but he means well. Stands a little to close behind you like he could just peer ‘round an’ see the way your lips twitch as you swallow down blood an’ bile, holdin’ back the shadows of your daddy’s own temper.

You gonna be alright, Doc?

Ah shit.

You’d rather chew glass than tell him you prolly won’t be, tell him you just lost a girl you loved like your own blood, tell him you got cocky and now the very community you called your home was in danger cuz of it.

But there he is, standing in front of you like a fuckin’ sentinel while he waits for you to give him something back. Assurance, more likely, but as much as you’re used to tellin’ lies an’ keepin’ secrets, there are some falsehoods even yoou can’t keep.

Sure, you finally answer, trying to sound convincing and feeling the hollowness bitter itself on your tongue, I’ll live. Gimme a few hours an’ I’ll have somethin’ to say for her.

[rjshope]

creator game tag! - post some of your gifs before and after coloring

I was tagged by @cordiallyfuturedwight Sorry, Kayla, it's been 84 years, i know😅 I just didn't have enough psds to make a post. And some other gifsets that i made, i didn't like the coloring so it took me a really long time to get here.

Links to the original posts: one, two, three, four, five.

I'm tagging @raplinenthusiasts @kimtaegis @magicshop @jinstronaut (no pressure💖)

[callsign-bunnie]

Love Spells and Mistakes - Part 1 - Build A Fic

--

Rodolfo yawned, softly, as he walked into the command room. Alejandro was out at the moment and he doubted their friends from England had any too particularly pressing issues that would require them to be in the command room as of this moment.

Even still, he was shocked to see it was quite empty, save for Laswell, who was sat in a chair, her legs crossed over themselves. "Rodolfo!" She smiled as he came in. "You're up early."

"Big mission." Rodolfo nodded. He liked her. She was an alpha, but she didn't treat him, an omega, any different from anyone else. In fact, she was one to rarely mention presentations at all. "I don't know many of the details about it, yet."

"That's right. Alejandro asked me to hand you these." She nodded and sat up, dropping three files on the table. "He said he'll be back in a bit to tell you more about the mission."

Rodolfo frowned and took the files, opening them and finding himself surprised to see a file on both Ghost and Alejandro. "I don't think I need to see a file on my Colonel. We've been friends since we were children."

Laswell shrugged. "He said it was important that you have both files. Said it might help you choose."

Rodolfo made a face. "Agent Laswell, please. Can you just tell me what's going on?"

Laswell smiled, sympathetically. "Fine, I'm sorry. The mission you're going on is going to be in the United States. Graves has fled up there and you're going to be finding him. The problem is, he's definitely going to be expecting the Mexican Special Forces officers who he betrayed to be going after him.

Alejandro trusts no one else on the mission. So, you and either Ghost or the Colonel are the only options. Your mission will be to pretend to be in the states on a vacation with your husband. Whoever you choose will fill that role. Both alphas have presented a fake story that was made for them based on the skills they have for undercover work. Alejandro said it was entirely up to you and he knows this would likely be a hard decision for you."

Rodolfo stared at her for a moment. His nerves over the mission had suddenly increased, tenfold. "I... Alright." He nodded and took a deep breath.

So, he picked up Ghost's file, first.

...

Lieutenant Simon Ghost Riley

Rodolfo and Simon have been married for five years. They're having marital issues so Rodolfo's mother suggested they go on a vacation and they landed on Georgia in the United States.

Simon, aged 30, is a successful businessman who owns several businesses across the United States, England, and Mexico. He came from a hard upbringing, which left his face scarred. As such, he wears a mask and he's become asocial, bordering on agoraphobic.

Rodolfo, aged 32, came from a poorer upbringing, so he doesn't know much about the middle class lifestyle. He's not completely social, either, but he does like going out and doing things 'on the town' so to speak.

Rodolfo and Simon met when Simon was on a trip in Mexico, working on acquiring another business. It was a fast, perhaps too fast, romance and they were married within a year and a half of meeting. Simon moved his primary residence to Mexico a month before they were to be married.

However, he spends much time in his other residences, leading to tension as Rodolfo feels neglected.

They own two large dogs, named Ryker and Dulce.

Lieutenant Riley has very little experience in this form of espionage, but he's scored high in proficiency for it.

He was chosen because his profile matched Sergeant Major Parra's profile at an overall 82%.

Sexual Compatibility - 94% Romantic Compatibility - 75% Platonic Compatibility - 84% Domestic Compatibility - 75%

...

He blushed dark red at seeing that not only was sexual compatibility was listed, but it was a whopping 94%. He quickly put the file down before he thought too much about it and he turned to Alejandro's file.

...

Colonel Alejandro Vargas

Alejandro and Rodolfo are newly weds, freshly married on their honeymoon. They chose Georgia in the United States to find somewhere new to go outside of their hometown.

Alejandro, aged 32, is a fresh faced doctor. He's newly successful and ready to spoil his new bride. He's incredibly social, which is a contrast to his partner, but he's known to stay home if Rodolfo asks him to.

Rodolfo, aged 32, is a stay at home wife, who's getting ready to do online classes in his free time so he can get a degree. He's not completely social, but he does like going out and doing things 'on the town' so to speak.

Rodolfo and Alejandro were childhood sweethearts. They were together for 16 years before choosing to marry because Alejandro wanted to finish his degree before asking.

They were pressured into a prenup by Alejandro's family, leading to slight tension in their fresh marriage.

They do not own pets.

Alejandro has mild experience in this form of espionage but he scored high in proficiency for it.

He was chosen because his profile matched Sergeant Major Parra's profile at an overall 83.5%.

Sexual Compatibility - 88% Romantic Compatibility - 92% Platonic Compatibility - 85% Domestic Compatibility - 69%

...

Rodolfo was quite surprised at the number for romantic compatibility, not having expected he and Alejandro to be so... compatible in that area. Platonic made sense, though he was surprised it wasn't higher. He would admit, the domestic compatibility being so low made him a little disappointed, but that was more than made up for by the romantic compatibility.

He set Alejandro's file down and looked at Laswell, who was watching him, expectantly.

"Maybe you should read the mission file before deciding." She gestured to the third file.

Rodolfo hesitated before nodding and took up the file.

...

The Mission

Commander Phillip Graves of the Shadow Company was last seen in Georgia. It is believed he has a safehouse there that he is laying low in. Your mission will be to travel to Georgia and get close to his connections in order to find him.

There are four known connections in the state of Georgia.

Damian Smith Liam Martin Dale Horran Emily Black

One of the four of them are suspected to have the safehouse location. You will need to gain their trust and then either follow them to Graves or find some other way of locating the information.

Your implant team will have everything set up for your arrival, including a

Mating Suite and the Twin Flames Hotel Several romantic dates which will involve each of the four members above A car to get around the coastal town you will be staying in A full wardrobe which will be fully suited to the characters you will be playing And an arsenal of supplies, weapons, and gadgets that will aid you in your mission.

This mission is estimated to last 6 weeks.

...

Rodolfo took a deep breath, now incredibly nervous for this mission. "I don't know if I'm the right choice for this mission..."

"Alejandro doesn't trust anyone else to run it." Laswell smiled, sympathetically. "He said he knew you could do it, as long as you were confident and didn't get too into your own head."

Rodolfo hesitated before relaxing and nodding. "Okay... I..." He looked over Ghost and Alejandro's file.

"There is a third option." Laswell spoke up. "A third backstory but... it's complicated and I'm only allowed to explain it to you if you choose it. But... Alejandro mentioned that you might need... extra help. So, Ghost and Alejandro are willing to make this work with both of them, should you choose that option."

Rodolfo saw her drop a fourth file on the table and he bit the inside of his lip, looking down at the table.

Two alphas, both of whom had their merits.

Alejandro, who he knew it might be easier to pretend around because he knew Alejandro so well.

However, it might be awkward because of how well they knew each other. How does one just pretend to be in love with the alpha you grew up with?

And Ghost, who he didn't know very well, yet, but who it might be easier to pretend with for lack of awkwardness. They didn't know each other very well and Rodolfo remembered Ghost as easy to work with from the mission where they broke Alejandro out of prison.

However, both did sound appealing. Having both of them there might help him to feel a little more at ease and it would be the best of both worlds.

However, the worst of both, too...

He needed to choose. Laswell placed the fourth file between Ghost and Alejandro's and Rodolfo took a deep breath, looking over them, again.

--

Sorry this took a hot minute to get out!

Do you want to be added to this taglist? Reply to this post that you wish to be added to the taglist and I will start to tag you in it every time I post it. You can also use this form!

Ships: @the_pluto_828 @Humanmilkerr @vergilnelospardaa @cathsolos @thegodofsleep @lieutenant-storm @roachboy @toasterduck23

Omegaverse: @arwenprinses @vergilnelosparda

[lannisterdaddyissues]

I want to enable your BillRita screaming so for those ship asks...

How do they sleep?

What's their most and least favorite thing about each other?

How are they with PDA?

What's their favorite thing to tease each other about?

What little things remind them of each other?

I would apologize for how many of these things I sent but we both know I'm not sorry...

OHHHHHHH HEATHER YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH YOU’VE ENABLED ME WITH THIS I’M FROTHING AT THE FUCKING MOUTHHHHHHH GRGSHGRHFJGHASRJGHASJFHSAGRJSFSGAS YOU KNOW I LOVE THEM!!! YOU KNOW I DO!!!!

IM SORRY THIS TOOK 84 YEARS BTW AND THERES A LOT OF TONAL DISSONANCE IN THIS BECAUSE I WAS BEING SILLY AT FIRST BUT THEN I GOT SO FUCKING SERIOUS ABOUT THIS YOU KNOW HOW I AM AHRESGAKJHJSGKHALSJGKHFASG ANYWAY-

im putting this under a cut because it is. so fucking long. im so sorry for my mental illness

3. What's their favorite thing to tease each other about? AHHHHHH i think we all know rita will bully bill over anything and everything because she's just. so mean to him 😭 but i think her favorite thing to make fun of him for is his accent, or really just his being american in general because i think he’d be the most stereotypical american guy lol. he has a silly, dumb american accent and he likes silly, dumb american sports and silly, dumb american food! rita pretends to find his Americanisms™ exasperating but privately she thinks they're funny lmao

as for bill, his favorite thing to tease rita about is how messy she is. i’ve already said it, but rita being a messy bitch and bill being a neat freak is one of my favorite headcanons about them sjdfhskjgffjs… you’d think being in the army would’ve taught rita how to put things away but no, bill finds her bras and stuff lying around all the time and it was awkward at first but he’s gotten used to it now, so he lets her have her little rebellion against army regulations and politely pretends that isn’t her. uh. underwear. wedged between the couch cushions next to him when he sits down to do Important Media Relations Major Stuff™ on his computer 😳

5. How do they sleep? they sleep back to back because it's a show of trust and vulnerability for both of them... blubbubbublbddlwwbwudfbfbldludubldublub;;,.,$$.,$,&.,., goodbye... i'm crying now...

of course, by the time the morning rolls around bill is normally lying half on top of rita and drooling a bit on her shirt, which isn’t super sexy but bill will be bill 🤷‍♀️

7. What's their most and least favorite thing about each other? AHHHHHH oh my god. i have to think long and hard about this and it sounds like a cop-out but i truly don't think bill really has a favorite thing about rita. if you ask him what it is, he will actually spontaneously combust from thinking too hard.

but the short answer is her smile!!! he works so fucking hard to make her smile—cracking jokes, doing nice things for her, earning her praise by proving his competence—and he swears it lights up the entire room whenever he can get her to do it!!! 😭 and if he can get her to laugh? he won’t be able to think about anything else but that sound for DAYS

on the other hand, his least favorite thing about her is…well, probably her optimism. she's not very good at it. in fact, most of the time it just makes him feel worse whenever she tells him he’ll just have to try harder next time! like gee, thanks rita! he was already doing that but he’ll take it into consideration… just like he did the last time… and the time before that… and before that…

when it comes to rita though, she would never, even on pain of death, say anything sappy like her “favorite thing” about bill where someone else can hear her, but i think her favorite thing about him is—surprisingly, since it’s his least favorite thing about her—his optimism.

for her, it’s just been so long since she was able to enjoy things without feeling guilt or some kind of loss, but bill somehow never lost that. which certainly isn’t to say he didn’t acquire his fair share of trauma or grief or loss along the way, but he remains steadily resilient in the face of adversity even in the very last iteration—“we’ve had worse :)”—and that strikes a chord with her, i think. then, slowly, being around someone so stubbornly happy despite carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders starts to not only impress her, but it heals her. with his help, she learns to enjoy things again: the delight of a good meal after years of carrying a bad aftertaste in her mouth, the comfort of a spacious hotel room and a soft bed after sleeping on the ground for god knows how long, the satisfaction of a healthy jog just around the block after spending years running at a sprint with no breaks. the all-consuming joy of someone knowing her the way she never dreamed anyone would ever know her again after before. the relief of not having to think about 'before' anymore because now she has an 'after' to look forward to instead.

ahem. sorry. i got carried away for a second.

that being said, her least favorite thing about bill is easy to pin down and that is his complete and utter lack of dignity LOL... rita can say for absolute certain she has never met a man with as little pride as bill cage, and although he is rather funny and makes for surprisingly good company on a quiet day, he is often ridiculously embarrassing to be around and can be very difficult when he doesn’t want to do something because he’s being a chicken about it🙄

14. What little things remind them of each other? ohhhhhhh 🥺🥺🥺 i apologize because u will get a LOT of sappiness for this but-

on bill's side, he is reminded of rita in everything, but mainly in their experiences together. he sees her in a young woman's loosely braided hair as she passes him on the street. he sees her in his coffee cup when the waitress taking his order asks if he wants sugar or cream. he sees her in the sun at 6:45pm exactly, when he and rita sat together on the fence outside the farmhouse and watched it disappear over the horizon. in his lifetime, he's experienced everything with her, and he probably has as many things to remember her by as there are stars in the cosmos.

of course, he's reminded of her in other ways as well. things she taught him. he thinks of her when he looks to the sun to check the time rather than turning over his wrist, just like she taught him. he thinks of her when he does his stretches at the gym, just like she taught him. he thinks of her when he checks all his exits every time he enters a room and someone closes the door, just like she taught him. everything he knows he learned from her and for her.

it's harder for rita though, because she doesn't have anything to remember him by, so she remembers the little things instead: his preferences and whatnot. she pretends not to care when he tells her where he's from or what his favorite color is, but she thinks of him when his favorite baseball team is shown on television, or when she goes for a walk in the park and it starts to rain even though it's sunny out because sunshowers make him smile the brightest :')

26. How are they with PDA? UGHRGRHREHGHUDRHGJSHRKHASG DONT MAKE ME THINK ABOUT ESTABLISHED BILLRITA AND PDA ILL EXPLODE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

no but bill has ALWAYS been a pda guy that much is so obvious!! i think he was always chasing something real with his old girlfriends, and even if it never felt like much with them, it was better than nothing... and then he fell head over ass into the mimic war and the closest thing to PDA he got was a kick in the gut or the barrel a gun trained on his temple, so surely no one can fault him for craving comfort, reassurance, intimacy—anything to take him away from the reality he was living in for even 5 seconds.

...and this did not answer the question at all which is to say bill is SO fucking annoying (affectionate) about pda 😭 rita please hold his hand please kiss him on the forehead please cuddle him he wants to hold you he wants you to hold him PLEASE!!! he will actually die if you don't and then you'll be sad (he hopes) :'(

meanwhile rita is a fan of pda in the way cats are a fan of anything. she either wants all the fucking pda or none of it. if she's not the one initiating, bill is Not the one getting it 😔

[emilykaldwen]

how do you make a original character for a fanfic?

Anon, I'm sorry for delay in answering this but you see, when you dropped this into the inbox, I legit sat up and went 'My Time Has Come'. You can ask my citadel girlies (gender-neutral) about my passion for character creation because I like to smack them in the face with it (affectionately) on the regular. And here's the thing, I'm nowhere near the Word on how to do this. In fact, I am genuinely surprised to have gotten this ask. So thank you? I'm glad you like my writing!

There's like, five million ways I could do this sort of breakdown, touching on internalized misogyny and why we connect with the media we do and how this all ties into our mental health at the time but I don't think that's what you're asking about, so I'm gonna pull back on myself and talk about how I create original characters for Fic.

I feel like character creation, especially in fanfic is such a nuanced discussion that I don't think has really been talked about but we'll be here for 84 years if I launch into this now.

ALL OF THIS IS MY OWN OPINION. I'm just a rando on the internet and have my own approaches and opinions on things. If you feel like I'm specifically calling you out, I can assure you, I'm not, and I will not entertain people getting snippy at me because they want to be offended because they think I criticized them personally on the internet.

SO! HOW DO I CREATE AN ORIGINAL CHARACTER FOR FAN FICTION?

Questions, my friend, and the most important one is:

Why am I creating this character?

You need to be honest with yourself. Only yourself. Not the answer you think people will want to hear, or the one that you'll be least embarrassed to share. There are no wrong answers here, creativity comes from so many places within us. THIS SETS THE EXPECTATION.

Why am I creating this character? Is it because you have a crush on the actor? Is it because you want to be the pretty princess and have everyone fawn and fall in love with you? Is it because everyone is stupid in this story and someone needs to clean up the mess? Is it because you see a gap in the story that you feel should be told? All? None?

(In my opinion, the only 'wrong' answer is that you're creating a self-insert avatar to punish yourself. I've been there. It was not a great place, but I wasn't in therapy at the time. I eventually got over punishing myself in fic form)

For me, character creation comes from trying to add something to the story. The existence of my character should have interesting ramifications through the story. For me, if I'm going through the trouble of creating a character that fits into this world, I want them to have effect and change. There should be change. If nothing is changing in the story, then I'll just go read/watch the source material than sit around making someone who basically boils down to a spectator of what's happening.

Characters in our stories are real. They are living and breathing.

Example 1: I have an OC, Myranda Greyjoy. Instead of flying to Storm's End, Aemond flies to Pyke and brings her back to King's Landing. You know what that means? Vhagar doesn't go chomp on Luke, and Luke likely makes it back home unharmed or stays the night at Storm's End until it's safer to fly. So that means blood and cheese doesn't happen, and the war doesn't kick off immediately (which follows canon in terms of Luke's death being the trigger for blood and cheese which in turn means no one is gonna back down).

Example 2: In one of my original drafts of The Maiden and the Drowning Boy, Abby was at Harrenhal when Daemon took the castle (in Fire & Blood, this happens before Storm's End). In the book, Aemond is sent to Storm's End to treat with Borros, but if I kept this event in the fic, it would be in character for Aegon to mount Sunfyre and grab Aemond to go fuck Daemon up because his wife, the Queen, is being held by the enemy. Now, while this is super interesting, it had the potential to cut the dance of dragons down real short and quite frankly? I didn't want to deviate too much from the original dance in terms of some major events because that means that i have to come up with all of that stuff too. My ass doesn't have time for that. (but it's a cool idea)

Okay, so you know why you're creating your OC for whatever reason. Here's the next thing to understand:

CREATING YOUR CHARACTER/STORY FOR POPULARITY/VIRAL/EVERYONE MUST READ THIS IS ONLY GOING TO LEAD TO HEARTBREAK.

You've heard it time and again: write for yourself! and you're like the fuck does that mean asshole? I know, I know! And I really have to thank the AO3 Subreddit for helping me clarify what this means and how it impacts me.

Engagement is Down across the board, across all fandoms. It has nothing to do with you as a writer, it has no reflection on the quality of your work.

Comments are rare. Sometimes they never happen. It fucking sucks. I hate it. I've heard friends go into the lack of comment engagement. Validation is nice. We thrive on it! It feels so good to be told how awesome your work is, what people connected with, etc.

You cannot write for the comments. You cannot write for the external validation. You cannot maintain a sense of stable mental health if you are focused on the feedback.

So find your people.

I found mine! I've been working on my fic since NaNo in November 2022 and am only just now getting ready to start publishing, and I wouldn't have made it if it wasn't because my fic made my one friend happy. Now? I have a handful of people that I've cultivated real friendships with that support and cheer me on just as I support and cheer them on. They're my audience. Everyone else? Are fantastically appreciated extra dessert.

(Perfectionism is a real thing that so many of us actually do struggle with and if you're not meeting the specific standard that you think you should be meeting because you're a better writer than that super popular fic, you are going to make yourself miserable)

So what does this all boil down to?

YOU ARE ENOUGH.

You do not have to put some deep political dramatic plot scaffolding around your story in order for your OC to be taken seriously and so you can be 'allowed' to have your OC and the canon character hook up. This is YOUR story. You get to write what you want! You get to see how this story will go!

but if you want people to be receptive to your OC and the story at large, then you need to work on making your character living and breathing in the story.

Rattle test! Have a few friends who are trusted to talk through your character and plot and make sure they aren't afraid to ask the hard questions.

Me: Should Jace accidentally punch Abby in this scene cause she tried to get between them Me and Friend at the same time: Aegon would kill him, let's not do that.

I had another possible plot line where this other character was flirting with Aegon. It sounded cool in my head! but talking through it, it just really didn't work out or make much sense.

Anyway, I can go on and on about this subject, and probably write a whole thesis on this delving into how character creation in fan works should be an act of love, not self punishment, and how internalized misogyny plays a huge role in why people are usually averse to reading OC fan fic (in that I mean, the OCs often hate other women, are 'not like other girls' but everyone loves them, etc).

It's hard creating OCs to get people to read them. There's a ton of people out there who simply will not read OC work on principal.

But a final note:

Original characters =/= Reader Inserts. By that I mean, the whole reader fic genre is written specifically for the reader to imagine themselves in the situation. Original characters may be an author insert, but they are not the reader cipher. also original character =/= author insert either, but also you should be totes honest with yourself if you are writing your own insert. It's not a bad thing, it just gives your expectations.

[greetingfromthedead]

C8: Odd Job

For more information on the series (tags, CW, etc) click the banner!

Series Rating: 18+ / Explicit

Chapter: 8/84

Words: 1.9k

No particular warnings for this chapter.

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You head back to the inn and slip back unnoticed. Before returning to your room, you give him back his red coat that he had refused to take earlier. You didn't speak much while you walked back, and Vash is still worried he might have pushed too hard. Saying goodnight to you once more at the door, he is happy to see your face this time, and he gives your shoulder a light touch before going to his room.

You had decided to sleep—not that you need to do so, but more so to pass the time, and maybe then the noises in your head won't bother you.Before that, you go to the dirty and broken mirror over the washbasin in the corner of the room. You look at your tired eyes and the trails your tears have made onto your face, where the dust clings. You touch your cheeks, your skin is smooth and flawless. Has it always been like that? You think back on the faces of the people you've seen; time has left its mark on them, be it wrinkles or scars.

You take off the black long-sleeved shirt, and you are greeted by the dark stain over your heart, still visible on the wrappings around your chest. Your fingers brush against the hole in the bindings where the knife pierced through. You unwind the cloth and look at yourself—not a single scar or mark, nothing to suggest you have spent 150 years on this planet, that you have had people throw rocks at you, that you have been slashed and shot at. Just flawless skin.

After stripping yourself naked, you make use of the basin and large jug of water to wash yourself. To get off the grime time had left on you. Untangling your hair took longer than expected, but in the end, you felt clean, almost like you had washed some of your sins away too. Giving your underwear, or what was left of them, a quick wash, you ring them out and leave them to dry before getting into bed and pulling the sheets over yourself. The fabric is rough, but it is comforting in a strange way. You turn to have your back against the wall, unaware that just on the other side sleeps Vash, his back against yours.

You open your eyes at high noon. The sunshine pours into your room, and you are surprised at how this happened. You feel calm and rested; there is no sign of the troubles you had fought with last night. You turn to be on your back and stretch from your fingertips to your toes. Has your body ever felt this good? That's a dumb thought; of course it has, but now it's something more. The way Vash had admired your strength and speed last night had given you a different kind of confidence; it was his acceptance of you that made you feel this way.

A small knock on your door is what finally gets you out of bed. You haphazardly drape the linens around yourself, holding them up on your chest when you shuffle to the door and open it. You aren't surprised to see the blond man standing there, practically towering over you.

"Good afternoon! I'm glad you're still here! Your room sounded so quiet, I was afraid you had left me all alone." His voice sounds genuinely cheerful and happy to see you. "I brought you something. I hope they fit; if not, you can exchange them! I tried my best!"

He takes out a pair of boots from behind him and presents them to you. Only then does he notice your bare shoulders and the bed sheets hanging down from where your hands held them over your chest, the skin over your ribs visible. The realization that you stand in front of him naked with just a sheet covering you makes him immediately shoot his eyes towards the ceiling.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" The words tumble out of his mouth. You see redness climbing up from underneath his turtleneck, over his upturned chin, and painting his cheeks and ears pink. His free hand covers his eyes, which were still directed to the ceiling.

"I... I just wanted to make sure you hadn't run away, and I got you these boots so you don't have to walk around barefoot! I didn't mean to disturb you or anything! I mean, you did choose to open the door like that while you could have just told me to wait or come back later or something, so it is kind of your fault..."

You reach out one hand and gently stroke over his hand before taking the boots from it. Once free, that hand also moves up to cover more of his face.

"You could just come in, you know, instead of lurking behind my door. Don't you want to see me try on the boots? I might just skip all other articles of clothing." You say it with the most devious voice you can muster. Teasing him really gives you a kick, and it is just too easy.

"Oh boy. Really?" You see his chin move down, an eye peeking out from between his fingers as it looks at you, but all he sees is you closing the door on him. "Ahhh, that's not nice of you!"

You look at the boots; they seem to be new and simple, yet they will make walking a bit easier, and you would probably invite attention when walking around barefoot. You put on your other clothes first, smacking most of the dust and sand out of the shirt and pants. Finally, you sit on the edge of the bed and start putting on the shoes. You are happy to find a pair of socks in them. They fit you well; there is no need to exchange them for something different. You wonder how he nailed the size so well.

A quick glance in the mirror, some fixes to your hair, and out you go. You don't feel like hiding in your room; if anything, you feel like giving the world another chance. Things surely have changed in the past century, and after all, you met Vash, and he doesn't shun you; he celebrates you. To your surprise, the man who had just crossed your mind was waiting in the hallway, right across your door.

He looks you up and down, seemingly thinking for a moment.

"You look good. A lot less tired... and sad. How are the boots?"

"Perfect. Thank you so much."

"Glad to hear; they suit you well." He smiles. "I heard that there's an old widow with a toma ranch right outside of town who has fallen a bit ill and could use some help. I was thinking of offering my services there. What do you think? Wanna come with me?"

"Yeah, I have to earn my keep somehow."

"Oh, don't start with this," he scolds you, but his tone is still light. "You want to have some breakfast or more like lunch first?"

"No, but you should."

"Not to worry, I am prepared!" He tries to sound serious with his voice lowered as he pulls out a nutrition bar from his pocket.

Moving through the inn and town makes you uncomfortable, and some people occasionally look at you. Keeping off the larger streets and mostly hiding behind Vash, you make it to the edge of town. It's not difficult to find the ranch; a large pen has the blue birds running around; some of them seem to be playing. As soon as the two of you approach, the curious creatures come towards you to have a look. You stroke the heads of a few who reach out, and so does Vash.

At the farmhouse's door, an elderly woman greets the two of you and is more than happy to have the two of you help her out. She has sweet eyes, with wrinkles radiating from the corners of them as she smiles. She uses a cane to get around, her hands shaking on both the handle of the walking stick and the other clutching a blanket around her shoulders. As she talks, she seems very worried for the well-being of the birds, as she hasn't been able to clean the pens well and has been too weak to get enough food and water from town for them. From her words, you can assume it also goes for her. The house seems in disarray as she invites you in; she needs to sit down, too tired from standing at the door. She explains where things are and what needs to be done. She keeps apologizing and thanking you with every breath. Letting Vash do all the talking, you sit silently and look around, taking in the conversation.

After everything has been made clear, you follow Vash outside, and you realize there's another pen further back with five little blue chicks chasing each other around. When the two of you get to work, you get the task of cleaning the food and water troughs. Once you have rolled up your sleeves, you get to scrubbing. The little chicks flock around you while Vash shovels out all the other waste and mess. You carry the water and feed buckets with ease from the little warehouse behind the house. Every free moment is spent petting the little birds, and they make happy little chirping sounds at you. Soon you move on to the bigger pen, repeating the same process.

"I'll go back into town to get some more feed and water. I'll saddle up one of the tomas to make it quick. I understand if you don't want to come with me. How about you stay here? Maybe there's something else that needs to be done. Or you can stay with the birds if you prefer; you've already done so much after saying you wouldn't," he laughs, thinking back. "Either way, if you get scared or want to run away, go to the rock formation over there," he tells you, pointing to a landmark a bit away from the ranch. "Wait for me there; I'll come and find you. Promise."

"I'll try to be brave," you say with a fake and teasing resolution.

"Don't push yourself. And I mean it, I'll come and find you." He nods at you to drive home his point.

It doesn't take long for him to be on his way with the tomas, and you return to the house. The old lady is overjoyed as you awkwardly give her an update. She doesn't scare you; her eyes remind you a bit of Vash's. She hands you a small stack of doubledollar bills.

"It's not much, but I hope it covers your work. I give the young man's share into your hands too. Such kind children, the world really needs more people like you." She lightly cups your cheek, and you are dumbstruck. She doesn't know you, yet she acts so trusting and kind. "Now, how about we have some tea till the gentleman gets back?"

You offer to help her put some water to boil—the last of what was left of the water in the house at least. You help her clean up a bit while she talks about her late husband and their son, who moved away to May City a long time ago. While the tea is left to infuse, you go to get some more water from the warehouse. You fill the reservoir of the house halfway with two buckets, and as you head back to fetch more, you hear gunfire and shouting from the town. The immediate reaction is for your legs to freeze, the empty buckets clattering to the ground. And when the fear takes over, you run. You run as fast as your legs can carry you.

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