#but the knowledge has been invaluable

[lavcha]

My current favorite thing is using this super professional, really expensive CAD software for my silly little ideas. Like yes, i will make a little heart shaped box. Of course I'd love to make a little sword keychain! Thank you engineering class for giving me access to this lol

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt. Nocturne.

When the Justice League is faced with the need to summon one of the Ancients, Batman categorically refuses to perform the summoning ritual and takes out his phone with a dissatisfied look.

When a shadow with a pattern of stars, crowned with elegant horns, appears next to the vigilante, Tim realizes everything and gasps with indignation. Nocturn. That's why such a paranoid man like Bruce didn't resist a cooperation agreement with Infinite Realms.

Of all the mentors of the new King of all dead ones, in addition to Frostbite, who has invaluable medical knowledge that can be useful to Jason, the Ancient of dreams and nightmares has been considered one of the most welcome guests in Bruce Wayne's manor for several weeks now. And it's all because he is the only one able to knock out Red Robin and make him sleep for more than three hours in a row. It's just that none of the children were allowed to know about it.

Batman looks away, not wanting to meet Timothy's gaze. Someone would consider using a helping hand from a being who commands the very essence of dreams a dirty and excessive trick, but this someone is not Bruce Wayne who in the analysis of caffeine taken from Drake's vein from time to time hardly found blood.

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Cold-hearted wolf

Pairing: Cregan Stark × Martell reader

Tags: arranged marriage, cregan starts out mean in this, enemies to lovers cus he's grumpy and has no time for feelings,

Chapter 3: the way he's obsessed with you, can't stop thinking impure thoughts while he's away, the calm before the sex... pick your favorite.

Note: I made up a war with Highgarden subplot that's not Canon. Ahem, for the plot, so bare with me.

Cregan Stark sat inside a tent with his face twisted in a mix of pain and discomfort. The maester carefully worked to stitch up a nasty gash that ran from his neck to his lower abdomen, courtesy of an enemy soldier's sword. He had little pity for the other man when he cut him clean through the heart with his own blade. The wound was a battle scar from the successful siege, a strategic victory that had his soldiers celebrating and chearing outside.

One of Cregan's knights entered the tent, bearing two pints. He handed one to his injured ruler. "This ale should ease the pain, my lord."

Cregan took the offered drink. "Bring more. This stitching feels personal."

The old man, still focused on his task, dismissed Cregan's jest. "Your Highness, if you'd stop squirming, it would help."

Cregan held still as the maester continued his work. "How many casualties did we suffer?"

The knight looked thoughtful for a moment. "Surprisingly low, my lord. The plan was exceptional."

Cregan's gaze shifted to the ground, and a sense of guilt crept over him. The plan that had proven so effective during the battle was one that you had worked on together. Right before he rudely discarded you. Your tactical insights and knowledge of warfare had been instrumental to saving his and his men's lives today. "I should have listened to her sooner.”

“My lord?”

“Lady y/n.” Cregan specified.

The knight nodded in understanding.

The maester stitching spoke up. “It takes time to see the wisdom in others, my lord. We can only strive to make amends."

Cregan hated being proven wrong. He kept his mouth shut.

As the stitching neared completion, the knight spoke up, "You've fought well today.”

Cregan shook his head with a satisfied smile. "I can't take all the credit. Tyrell's sword was his own downfall.” His enemy's weapon, though notoriously giant, was unwieldy, and Cregan, younger, more agile, and more practiced with his weapon, found his opening.

With the gash stitched and the pain somewhat subsiding, Cregan took another sip of ale. He couldn't help but feel a need to have you close. To celebrate with you, and thank you for your strategy, which was invaluable to his cause. He wanted you beside him in the next council meeting.

But you were far off, warm, and safe in Winterfell. No doubt giving his sister an earful about what an awful husband he's been if the letters he's received from her were any indication.

I like her very much, Cregan. And if you open your mind you would come to like her too. Also, it would help if you'd stop behaving like an ass.

The thought of you two getting along made him smile. Even if it was at his expense.

He was ashamed to admit there was truth to your accusation that night. No, he had not seen you as an equal. How could he?

What could you possibly know of the plight of living in the harsh and unforgiving environment of the North. Of its values and way of life. He'd read about Dornish life in his studies. Sunspear was warmth, music, dancing, and hedonism, literally the opposite of Winterfell. This showed to be true the moment you stepped foot on his grounds. You, with your carefree attitude and enticing dresses, perhaps accepted in your culture, but downright scandalous in his.

He remembered his anger in the hot springs when he heard the men going on about your wardrobe.

“I'd like to see if the Dornish sun forgot a few places.”

They were only jesting. Men, especially soldiers, made vulgar jokes all the time. But the fact that his men spoke about you in such a way made his blood boil hotter than the springs underneath the palace grounds.

All it took was a look from Cregan, and the man shut his mouth, swallowing nervously. But Cregan's anger didn't subside so easily.

He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, remembering taking his frustration out in your bedroom that same day he heard the vulgar comment, and the two more times that evening, and once more the next morning. His hands gripped his chair, mimicking the possessive way he'd held you with every thrust.

He wondered if you questioned why he was so upset. Although even if you did, judging by your whimpers and moans, you didn't seem to mind.

He laughed. Maybe his sister was right. Stubbornness was something you two definitely had in common.

Visions of you flooded his mind. Walking around with a high brow, flaunting your skin freely with seductive silks for his court to admire. Looking elegant and graceful while flipping him onto his back in the training yard. Unknowingly offering up a fantasy of an exotic warrior princess from the far south to hungry and repressed northern eyes… all just so you could prove a point.

----------------------------------------------------------

War was a lonely ordeal. And despite the women from the neighboring towns being more than happy to keep his men company, Cregan’s mind kept finding flaws in each of them.

Their lack of quiet defiance made them too agreeable, he decided. Although, no, not only that. It was also the missing fire in their eyes, the missing pride. They also had the wrong color hair and the wrong length, too. And on top of that, their clothing was also too... cold, yes. Too modest.

The gods help him. He was fucked.

Amidst the noise of his tent, he sat at a table surrounded by his men who were drinking and celebrating. The soft glow of candlelight cast a warm ambiance in the night. A raven's message had arrived, and he quickly sloppily unfurled the parchment, his eyes scanning the words eagerly.

The letter was from you, recounting the events of the day. "In an attempt to offer you a change of scenery, I will try to paint an image of how things are back home.” Your handwriting said. “Winterfell is alight with celebration of your victory. The town square was full of life. The common folks greeted me with glee and danced and sang. I even tried deer meat at an inn. It was… chewey."

A corner of his mouth lifted as he red the letter in your voice.

"You are well loved and admired, my lord. And missed. Also, please pet Grey for me as he is dearly missed as well."

A chuckle escaped Cregan's lips as he reached over to scratch his loyal dog behind the ear before continuing to read. "I even showed one boy how to use my Dornish blade. My favorite one."

Your willingness to connect with his people - your people, he corrected himself, was quite marvelous. A smile tugged at the corners of Cregan's lips as he pictured you among the celebrating townsfolk. He felt a painful pull at his chest, his hands itching for your skin.

He wondered, not for the first time, how he could remedy his actions of your last night together before he marched off. Regretfully recalling the fire and hurt in your eyes.

It would take more than a letter to make up for it. Cregan was neither poet nor a man of many words. He took action. He needed to fix this the only way he knew how.

The next day, he helped his squires and men pack the Stark army camp. With victory secured, they would be marching back to Winterfell.

Cregan was coming home.

@malfoycassimalfoy @leahnicole1219 @literishdegree99

[hotvintagepoll]

Do you have any opinions on modern (post-1970s) movies that you feel capture the essence (in a good way) of Old Movies?

No, unfortunately. That doesn't mean I don't like modern movies or that modern movies aren't good, but modern movies—and here I'm really using modern to mean post-2010, so contemporary movies—have different standards for pacing, characterization, budget, and production that make it harder (or impossible) to capture some of the magic of old movies. Even when modern movies clearly try to emulate that old-movie feeling—I'm thinking of La La Land, The Artist, The Shape of Water, In the Heights—they play the homage too broadly, or they ignore crucial components that make the original films work.

There's kind of too much to go into here without writing a full essay, but essentially, the Old Hollywood system—ugly, failed beast as she was—made some movies simply more accessible to make, due to the ongoing storage of props, sets, master craftsmen, crew, and onscreen talent that could move from one movie to the next without pause. If you needed a dancer, he was already on staff. If you needed a fancy bed, it was already in the warehouse. That kind of longterm storage is invaluable if you want to crank out movies quickly and cheaply because it saves so much time on individual negotiation and sourcing. Modern production companies have to work out individual contracts for every actor on every film; crew members have to negotiate rental contracts and source pieces from scratch; if you need someone with specialist skills, you have to contract them specially at a high rate, which a lot of small companies can't (or won't) budget to do. There's sand in the wheels where there needn't be any. It's wasteful, and costly, but that's the system modern movies are made with.

Which all means that even if the modern movie system wanted to make a classic movie musical just like the old ones, they couldn't, because the talent isn't already there—it hasn't been trained up enough, and there's not that breadth of knowledge you can only get from people who have been allowed to work in the same department in the same place for decades. Movies like La La Land fail, for me, because they present themselves as descendants of Fred Astaire or Busby Berkley movies, while missing the bit where Fred Astaire was a master of his craft. When you watch Fred Astaire dance—or Moira Shearer, or the Nicholas Brothers, or Ann Miller—you are watching a true artist at work, purposely showcased by the studios because they already have them on contract. Modern movies, on the other hand, tend to take people who already have star talent (as actors) and try to convert them into dancers/singers—or they pull dancers/singers off of Broadway, but then they don't have the star power built in. You end up with lackluster musicals where no one truly knows what they're doing, or they do but they're not built up enough by the studios to sell. And that's me discussing just on-screen talent for musicals—there is a huge loss behind the scenes, as well, for all kinds of movies, where roles that would have been filled by union crew who moved continuously from one job to the next have been swapped for freelance labor who live with immense turnover, financial insecurity, and knowledge loss. You could hand me the budget and I could try to make an old movie, but the industry itself has changed so much it's impossible to recapture that charm of steady, niche talent, the amazing possibilities of bonkers set design, and the ability to take a risk on a smaller movie because the other films being produced by the same studio can help balance the budget.

I've talked way, way too much about all of this! Sorry, I just have a lot of thoughts—and the one above is just one of them; the talent loss and storage issues are only facets of a much bigger problem that extends to how we watch movies today, how we market them, what we expect of them, and what's allowed in them. It's a crying shame because the talent is still there, but times change and so does the industry, for better or for worse. (And, just again to clarify, I don't think modern movies are bad—they're just missing a lot of the juice old movies got to play with, even if there's more talent available than ever before.)

[brighteuphony]

On the way back from Tea Country with Chakra-poisoned Kakashi tryna "casually" fish for some info before Sakura comes in with the one-hit KO on accident.

So she's got some complicated feelings for Kakashi as well, though they're a lot milder than what she feels about Sasuke.

There's a moment in my AU where Sakura goes through a deep reflection ritual, in which she has to face Inner Sakura -who is representative of all the ugly truths her day-to-day self hasn't been able to face- and come to terms with who she is.

During that time, she's got to face the music.

The music:

Sasuke is the last prodigal son of a clan that was brutally butchered. He's a genius with one of the most powerful dojutsu out there (that he has no idea how to use) and is coming in hot with more baggage than an airport terminal.

Naruto is not normal. She doesn't know what he is (as in-canon, she finds out after the time-skip and the Sakura from above is right on the cusp of Shippuden), but there's nothing normal about a kid who can pull wild orange chakra and who can fight Gaara's tailed beast and come out on top. He's got the personal attention of the Hokage, but the entire village has banded against him for some reason. He's special.

Kakashi is a war veteran turned Jounin and an infamous ANBU captain (I headcanon that some ANBU names are leaked specifically to generate a healthy level of fear/caution among other villages- which is why we know of Itachi/Kakashi/Shisui very publically) and is ALSO the last prodigal son of an old noble clan.

(No way a bookworm like Sakura didn't consume every publically available scroll on Konoha clans).

It doesn't take the big brains to figure out that he got team 7 specifically to help deal with Sasuke's trauma/teach him about the Sharingan, and put a leash on Naruto (and in the future, when she finds out that Madara was able to control the Kyuubi with the Sharingan as well as the knowledge that Kakashi was Minato's student it becomes even clearer why he got the Sasuke/Naruto combo.)

And Sakura? Sakura is a civilian. No clan, no dojutsu, nothing to her name except great chakra control. She's the literal meat in the meat-grinder of the military machine of Konoha, the acceptable sacrifice in a group of otherwise invaluable shinobi. She's just a...girl. (And it doesn't help that she was obsessed with Sasuke instead of training, furthering the gulf between her and Kakashi.)

Kakashi was absolutely not built to handle her- in fact, Kakashi has NO idea how to relate who hasn't gone through a mountain's worth of trauma or someone who hasn't been ingrained in the shinobi-as-a-tool lifestyle, and even then, he's not fully equipped to handle people who have (lmao Sasuke). Not to mention the man is a prodigy- he has no idea how to teach people who have to work hard to get somewhere in life. How do you teach someone if you've never had to 'work hard' to get there yourself?

So, Sakura understands that Kakashi was put in one of the most ridiculous situations of his career- a situation he had NO idea how to handle. She can forgive him for that. BUT, she can't forgive him for not trying his best.

Sakura spent a lot of time coming to terms with the fact that she rushed into the Chidori/Rasengan combo without a single idea of what she would do, but...Kakashi was a big reason for that.

She was HIS responsibility, and he fumbled that bag. Whatever his reasoning, whether it was to 'protect' her, or whether he thought she was worthless, whatever: he should have TRIED.

Kakashi was an adult with resources aplenty. He recognized that she had stellar chakra control but never bothered to teach her genjutsu or direct her to teachers who could pick up the slack.

And after the accident, he abandoned her again. Being forgotten in lieu of Sasuke and Naruto hurt...but she could heal. Being abandoned as some kind of martyr to Kakashi's failures as a teacher? It's gonna take a while for Kakashi to make that up to her...if he can muster the courage to face her.

Sakura finally understands why he preferred the memorial stone to the living. He already failed the dead, and it's easier to wallow in self-flagellation than it is to try and step up for the living.

Sakura stopped being a coward some time ago, and when Kakashi finally does the same, she'll forgive him.

Thank you so much for sticking with this wall of text! And thank you so much anon for the question! Once again, I really appreciate all the kind words people have been throwing my way. <3 <3 <3

[katyspersonal]

The best Bloodborne Wiki is a passion project of a single person, is about to get even better + how it can be sustained for years to come!

Hello guys! So like many of you've learned from the post with super good model view of Winter Lantern, recently, on Twitter, Meph announced ( x ) the plan to fill the wiki with very useful, very comprehensive screenshots of the models for bosses, enemies, NPCs and even cut content! The wiki has already been a huge help for lorediggers and artists, but THIS is what we will get:

This page is for Lady Maria and you can check it yourself here: ( x )! It is broken down in the categories of general close-ups of her model, then very high-quality screenshots of every attack during her boss battle and walking, and then raw model!

(I never was able to capture a good look at her using Arcane too like here, for example!)

Winter Lantern page ( x ) is using similar principle!

This is not a secret that very often in Fromsoft games, additional information can be obtained not through descriptions but through visual hints! For example, some people only learned that Winter Lantern's head is made of melted Messengers only now, after a proper look at her model! So, of course getting a proper look at every single character and creature from the game could always be helpful!

This, however, is just a recent highlight for this Bloodborne Wiki! Even prior that, it has been providing invaluable help for the fans! Examples off the top of my head: comprehensive data on what character has what items used or not, great and comprehensive hints and tutorials on upgrades and farming and builds for the players, making every bit of information on Chalice Dungeons and glyphs easily accessible, making datamined NPC sliders of all characters way more accessible and easy to grab and repeat, access to much more obscure models (like Gratia's model), full list of internal filenames and patches progress, making information from physical Bloodborne tutorial book accessible...

There are probably more things to cover that me and others found a great help in, and sometimes we might not even notice! I am sure many people could name at least one way where this wiki has been very helpful, offering raw facts and 100% valid information (and properly sourced whenever someone else helped!) without any speculating, in the most elaborate manner! We should not take it for granted because all this information, found or reshared, was compiled by just one guy out of raw passion for the game! And although this project is not profit-based and Meph is willing to commit to it and pay as much as needed to keep it living, I really still wanted to share the Ko-fi link that exists for anyone who is willing to help sponsoring it!

This is not necessary, and Meph has stated the same, but this project is not only helpful but also really hefty to sustain. The monthly support is only $3 per month, but every little bit not only helps the sustenance, but also knowing how much fans care and simply feeling their support is very significant and sometimes you don't even know how much. Heck, when Meph learned how excited people on Tumblr were about Wiki improving with full compilation of models from every angle.. the reaction was "I am so glad that people still care"! I think everyone who does their best to be useful for the fellow fans needs confirmation that they ARE, for sure, helping!

I just really wanted to get the word out anyways because honestly, none of my super elaborate theories and detailed fanart would've been possible without Meph's Wiki. and also because I am trapped in a clown country where I can't send any international money transfer so the feeling of 'do what I can't' got to me too fsdhfdhs There is no pressure or necessity, but here is the link to anyone who can help and feels the wish to! You've noticed I didn't tag Meph.... since there is no Tumblr account to tag, but again, the Twitter link is also here: ( x )!

[ironunderstands]

2.1 was so good holy shit (spoilers, obviously)

GOD THEY ATE AND IM SPECIFICALLY GONNA TALK ABOUT HOW WELL THEY WROTE RATIO IN THIS BECAUSE IM FOAMING AT THE GODDAMN MOUTH IT CHANGES HOW YOU VIEW EVERYTHING BUT IN A GOOD WAY.

so, let’s start from the beginning in 2.0 I want to walk you through my experience of it

ratio mean to aventurine, everyone gets mad. I feel weird about it, pre-2.1 I come to the conclusion that he got used as a plot device in that scene, since being racist contradicts his core motivations and the dialogue is awkward and has no real reason behind it, I chalk it up to bad writing but ultimately forgive it because 2.1 seems centered around Aventurine so they need setup for that

2.1 drops, my bsf plays the update throughout the night and we are losing our shit. He gets to the part where Ratio “betrays” Aventurine. I fucking lose it, I try to reconcile this with my preconceived notions of ratio, they don’t match up at all, his behavior that whole time doesn’t in the slightest. I am confused, I wonder if I have been wrong about him this whole time, if his whole speech on the Space Station and his character quests were some kind of fluke. I mean it could be in character? Knowledge of how a stellaron works could save millions if not billions of lives, invaluable information which Ratio would have trouble turning down because of its value. It still feels deeply wrong, Ratio isnt a backstabber, and he wouldn’t so easily bargain with Sunday over information he has no confirmation of (and could likely obtain in some other way).

The story continues, me and Haseeb (aforementioned best friend) are still pissed, I’m losing it because my favorite character just did something so unforgivable and out of character and I feel like a complete and utter idiot for interpreting a character to be a good person when they so clearly weren’t. Well, I (luckily) was so so so so so so so wrong about that, as it was all a setup, a plan devised by Aventurine to distract Sunday and forward their goals. I’ve never been happier, and suddenly every weird behavior, every “this doesn’t make sense” goes from “bad writing” to perhaps one of my favorite retroactive twists in fiction.

Ratio belittling Aventurine for his background doesn’t make any sense, I mean we literally saw the guy give a whole ass speech about how he believes all people deserve access to knowledge and that everyone is capable of being creative and having intellect, but that they just have to try for it, and if they are incapable of it, he DOCTOR Ratio is there to lend a helping hand. To cure the galaxy of stupidity, something which he views as not the lack of knowledge but rather the misuse and misinterpretation of it, how he depises the Genius Society because they mostly do not try and use their intellect from the betterment of other, and actively guide/encourage other scientists (and in Hertas case the researchers at the space station) to view knowledge as some sort of prize or commodity rather than tool. This notion is what causes Screwellum to acknowledge that Ratio is more like a medical doctor than a scholar. And this notion is something Sunday Isn’t Aware Of.

Sunday doesn’t know who Ratio really is, he may have heard of his various exploits, but Ratio has a reputation for arrogance, bluntness and insensitivity, something which Ratio plays up to the nines. The 2.0 scene with Aventurine goes from seemingly massively OOC for Ratio to him actively playing up his negative reputation to play into Sundays perceptions of the pair for their plan. Ratio->

a) makes it seem like Aventurine fucked up and he’s mad at him for losing the cornerstones, something which Sunday would see and go “hmm they don’t like each other

b) this “oh I can drive a wedge between them” notion gets worse (although in their case better) when Ratio brings up Aventurine’s (not entirely accurate) background. Sunday now thinks he has leverage over Aventurine and even more of a chance of getting Ratio to betray him. Ratio also makes it seem like he just learned this information by stating he “did his homework” and this supposed unfamiliarity with one another would give Sunday more confidence to try and drive a wedge between them

c) this makes it seem like the IPC are unaware of the Families constant surveillance, as it looks like they are having an important conversation in a private room, which would make Sunday think they are unaware of his eyes and ears everywhere

Now let me qualify this notion with more evidence because you could still try and argue that the deal Ratio and Aventurine struck was post 2.0 argument

Topaz (my glorious Queen). At the end of the 1.4 (or was it 1.5?) Belabog quest she has a conversation with Aventurine in which he requests for her help in Penacony, and we do not get a confirmation on if she said yes or not. Until 2.1, in which the the Topaz (and Jade) stone in in Aventurines possession, meaning she took him up on that offer prior to 2.0 because how else would he bring multiple cornerstones there, which we know there are many because Ratio says he lost the cornerstones, not just his own. Topaz would not give this item up easily or on a whim in between 2.0 and 2.1, meaning she would have to be let in on his plan prior, meaning the plan was formed prior. Since Ratio was also assigned to this mission keeping him in the dark would make negative sense and actively undermine their collaboration, something which he brings up in their fake argument

2. The Final Victory Lightcone. I originally thought this scene to be after their argument for complicated reasons, the most important of which being the minor snippet of conversation we see between Ratio and Aventurine during the first time we meet Acheron. Aventurine mentions 3 chips, Ratio doubts him, and the lightcone description starts with Aventurine questioning his doubt and firing three shots, a perfect correlation that made me place the order of events in that way. However, we get to see the snippet of conversation between Aventurine and Ratio in game, right before they meet Sunday, not prior to the lightcone events. However, they are still clearly connected for aforementioned reasons, just in a different manner, let me explain. Now we know the three chips reference not bullets but the three cornerstones, and Ratio openly expresses his doubt because the family is always watching (something which I will get into) and because a part of him does doubt this plan will go well. However, Aventurine prior reminds him of the events of the lightcone with the three chips. My interpretation is that Aventurine took that gamble in the lightcone to convince Ratio to go along with his crazy plan since if he can win a game of Russian Roulette with an unwavering smile on his face he an insane gamble means nothing to him (ratio doesn’t buy it because it’s ratio but the sheer audacity or you could say the “charming audacity” makes him go along with it). In my opinion this scene only makes sense pre-penacony, due to the timeline of events, which is why I believe it the reason for the events in it has to be Aventurine trying to convince Ratio to join in.

3) The family is always watching. During the 2.1 story quest it gets brought up several times in many different ways that it seems like the family has eyes on everything and everyone. Sunday’s fuckass bird is everywhere, and the man himself (minus being a goddamn biblically accurate angel) is covered in eye shaped shit and possesses close ties with the Harmony, which lends itself well to a character that knows things considering the Aeon itself is a conglomeration of many different perspectives. He fucking perception checks Aventurine, when the crew goes to look for info on firefly they learn the dream pools monitor people’s vitals and everything, even producing a dialogue option where the trailblazer states they feel like their every move is being watched. Topaz gets stalked by bloodhound members upon arrival, I could go on. TLDR Sunday knows almost everything that’s going on in Penacony, this is what leads him to believe the traitor is within the family, and his access to knowledge is something the IPC 100% knows about. I mean they have been presumably attempting to try and get it back for a while, and they would reasonably extensively try and learn everything about it. The Family notoriously hates negotiating with them so the IPC either learning and/or coming to the conclusion that the Family is watching their every move isn’t a ridiculous notion. If this conversation was genuine, if Ratio truly wanted to discuss this matter with Aventurine, why would he do it in a likely wiretapped, not very soundproof room where any passerby could hear Ratio loudly exclaim that Aventurine lost the very important cornerstones and that he is also one of the most despised groups in the galaxy because that would really do numbers for both their reputations. If you think about it, this not being staged is an incredibly stupid blunder on Ratio’s end (minus the deliberate OOCness) because of all the places Ratio could set up a very important meeting he does it in one of the worst places ever.

4) The dialogue in the scene. It’s awkward, it’s so awkward and the whole “also my family died I didn’t get an education” seemed so tacked on the first time I watched it. Knowing now, it seemed so tacked on because it was, Aventurine had to shove the info in there somewhere and their incredible conversational skills decided that was the best part in there. Ratio fucking leaving before Aventurine is even done talking goes from a “huh weird” to a “wow he is really playing up this arrogant scholar role”. And if Ratio is playing the arrogant scholar, Aventurine is playing the dumb, helpless, blonde to a T. Losing the cornerstones and acting nonchalant about it, letting Ratio insult him so callously and letting the insults slide, talking absolute nonsense at the end about random things that don’t matter, sadly lamenting into the distance that he’s alone again. Bro is playing it up and I live for it. They also and play up these personas in their little adventure prior to meeting Sunday, Aventurine asks stupid questions like wondering about the species of the bird that make up the statues and talking about how he wants to play in the sandpit and even insulting Sunday a bit, behavior that would make Sunday think him unprepared and unserious rather than cold and calculating. If Aventurine does that well, Ratio plays up his arrogant, uncaring scholar persona to the nines. He insults any and every decision or thing Aventurine does, loudly sighing of how happy he is to finally have some peace and quiet when Aventurine leaves his sight for 0.00008 milleseconds, pointing out his sarcasm, beefing with a random Pepeshi bodyguard no reason, pointing out his sarcasm, just the exaggerated way he talks in general, and suggesting he admit Aventurine into the Genius Society (even Ratio wouldn’t stoop so low as to suggest Aventurine was worthy of that).

Moreover, this is really, really tragic because I do think there are several moments of genuine banter and fun the two share “Ratio, you’re huge!” was not added to the script to enhance the plot guys. And obviously Aventurine knows most of Ratios behavior is acting, however he has such severe trust issues, and Ratio is so damn straightforward and blunt that he worries the man was serious about some of it which just breaks my heart. Soft Ratio please add it give me one conversation, the note at the end of 2.1 doesn’t count it’s too short.

Ultimately, knowing what I know now I can’t help but view the 2.0 conversation with Aventurine as being anything but staged, it simply makes no sense otherwise, and it happily obsolescent Ratio of his sins. This was a bit incoherent I honestly just wanted to rant (if you couldn’t tell haha) but I hope you enjoyed it regardless. I need sincere Ratio more then I need oxygen and I’m not afraid to say it.

[books]

Writer Spotlight: Rose Sutherland

Rose Sutherland @rosesutherlandwrites is a Toronto-based writer who grew up a voracious reader with an overactive imagination in Nova Scotia (where she once fell off a roof trying to re-enact Anne of Green Gables!). She's been to theatre school in NYC, apprenticed at a pâtisserie in rural France, and currently moonlights as an usher and bartender—in between writing queer folktales, practicing yoga, dancing, singing, searching out amazing coffee and croissants, and making niche jokes about Victor Hugo on the internet. She's mildly obsessed with the idea of one day owning a large dog, several chickens, and maybe a goat. A Sweet Sting of Salt is her debut novel.

Keep reading for more about character arcs in A Sweet Sting of Salt, Rose's favorite fanfic tropes, and some excellent reading recs 👀

Can you tell us about A Sweet Sting of Salt and how you came to write it?

A Sweet Sting of Salt is a queer (f/f) historical reimagining of the classic folktale of the selkie wife, set in 1830’s Nova Scotia. I call it a “reimagining” because while it draws on the folktale, it’s not a retelling of that tale so much as a story playing out in relation to that mythology. I’d wanted to write something centering a love story between two women for a while, but the initial spark came from a Tumblr post! It suggested the idea of selkies testifying before the UN as victims of human trafficking, which reminded me of all the things I disliked about the original folktale and its inherent darkness that is generally glossed over, starting me down the rabbit hole toward finding my own story.

How did you approach research for A Sweet Sting of Salt, and what is a favorite historical fact you learned?

I joke that I did a lot of research by osmosis: I already had a lot of base knowledge about the location, having grown up in Nova Scotia, and then set the story in a period that I’ve been absorbing information about in a low-key way for ages—1832 is also the year of the student rebellion in Les Mis, so I’ve been gleaning tidbits about this era since I first got into the musical and book back in high school. However, I had to do more specific research into things like British divorce law, period midwifery, and animal husbandry. I also visited some small, hyper-local museums on the South Shore that gave me an invaluable glimpse into daily life. I also did some fun practical research into things like “How long does it take to walk from x to y?” and “How cold IS a plunge into this body of water in March?” (Spoiler: Very.) 

A fact that fascinated me but didn’t make it into the book was that some early European settlers in the area were granted lands by luck of the draw, pulling from a deck of playing cards: Each card was assigned to a specific 50-acre lot, and whatever you pulled, you were stuck with it.

When we meet them, Jean and Muirin are isolated for different reasons. What do you hope readers still searching for their people take away from A Sweet Sting of Salt?

That there’s always hope. It’s valuable and important to keep reaching out to the world around you, to be open, and not cut yourself off—the biggest reason for Jean’s loneliness at the beginning of this story is the way she has come to keep everyone around her at arm’s length, shutting herself away out of fear, and refusing to let anyone truly get to know her because she thinks that’s the best way to protect herself from being hurt again. Reaching out to others can take a real act of courage, especially if you’ve had bad experiences in the past, but “your people” will reach back to you.

Found family elements play a strong role throughout the novel, within supernatural and mundane settings and across species. Was this something you intended from the beginning, or did this grow out of writing the relationship between Jean and Muirin?

I always intended for Jean to have a found family of this type, which is something that a lot of queer people identify with, but those bonds also got stronger and more meaningful as I wrote, especially once Jean and Muirin began growing into their own family unit—their new relationship and the real danger that comes along with it put pressures on Jean’s other relationships that I hadn’t originally considered. Disagreements with Anneke and Laurie over Jean’s choices arise from their deep concern and love for her, and her own love and care for them, reflected in her responses, is a big part of what made them feel like a real family, for me. Jean and Laurie always having each other’s backs while also being the first to call one another out on their bullshit ended up being one of my favourite dynamics in the whole book.

The selkie myth carries an inherent element of transformation. What is a character transformation you most enjoyed writing, and why?

On a character level, the change in Jean’s worldview following a conversation with her childhood sweetheart meant a lot to me—it heals an old wound for her. I love how grounded and self-assured she is afterward, in spite of the daunting task still ahead of her. But my favourite transformation to write was the antagonist’s mask-off moment, where they directly threaten Jean for the first time. It’s so sly and coded so that only she will understand the menace behind it, a real dun-duh-dunnn moment, which was a lot of fun for me—I also enjoy the foreshadowing elements in that exchange.

This is your debut novel. Did anything surprise you about getting it from manuscript to published book?

Oh my gosh, how LONG it took! After I finished the original draft and decided it was worth attempting to publish, I spent over a year revising based on my own thoughts, input from beta readers, critique partners, and my mentor, Maureen Marshall (whom I connected with through the now defunct Author Mentor Match program, and whose book, The Paris Affair—about a young gay engineer attempting to help Gustave Eiffel secure the funding to build a certain celebrated Parisian landmark— is coming out in May). After that came a full year of querying agents and getting rejected. A lot. People loved Salty but weren’t quite sure what to do with her or where the book would fit in “the market,” which was hard to deal with at the time but is hilarious in retrospect: Salty was snapped up less than a month after she finally went out on submission! But that was back in 2022, and the book is only coming out now. Publishing can be painfully slow.

You’ve written fanfic in the past—do you have a favorite fanfic trope?

I’m not sure either of these counts as a trope, but I adore a character that’s “pure of heart, dumb of ass”, and love a truly unhinged Fanon Explanation For Canon Object. As a longtime Les Mis stan, I ship Tholomyes/Getting Punched. If you know, you know.

Do you have any favorite queer retellings of folktales you can recommend?

Right here on Tumblr, I’m a huge fan of @laurasimonsdaughter, who writes delightful riffs on classic folktales, truly inventive urban fantasy spins on old lore, and her own original folktales. 

I’m currently reading Spear, an amazing queer, gender-bent, Arthurian novella by Nicola Griffiths. Anna Burke’s books Thorn and Nottingham are up next on my TBR. Lately, I’ve been reading a lot of brilliant queer historicals that aren’t retellings (I recently loved Suzette Meyr’s The Sleeping Car Porter and Heather O’Neil’s When We Lost Our Heads) and wonderful historical retellings that aren’t queer (I highly recommend Molly Greeley’s beautiful, heartbreaking Marvelous, about the real-life couple that inspired Beauty and the Beast). Queer, historical retellings aimed at adults seem to be considered quite niche, still, and can take some digging to find! So, throwing this out to Tumblr: Do you have recommendations for me?

Do you have a writing routine? Is there a place/state of being/playlist you find most conducive to your writing practice?

My routine is chaotic at best, but I find I do my best work earlier in the day, so I usually scribble in my journal while I have breakfast, and then progress to working on my current project as I drink my second cup of coffee. I’m lucky—my day job is an evening gig, which mostly allows me to write on my preferred schedule… but I’ve also been known to have a bolt of inspiration strike at 10pm and dash home to write until well past midnight on occasion. Nothing quite like the hyperfocus zone!

What’s next for you? Are you working on anything you can tell us about?

No official news yet, but I’m currently working on a story set in 18th-century provincial France based on a true unsolved mystery of the past. It has me delving into a very specific branch of French folklore, and I hope future readers will pick up on common threads with one popular fairytale in particular. I’m really excited about where this one is headed, but keeping the details close to my chest for now!

Thank you Rose for taking the time to answer our questions! If you love queer fantasy and old folktales, grab yourself a copy of A Sweet Sting of Salt, and be sure to share your queer folktale reading recs with Rose on @rosesutherlandwrites!

[itshype]

How I Met Your Brother (DC x DP)

Dan joins the Justice League - not as part of his rehabilitation, but as a reward for doing so well.

Tucker makes the grave mistake of mentioning Dan in front of Jazz. And as an eldest sister myself I would not be happy about an alternate version of my sibling being left completely alone in the world, no support, no family to then be turned into a psychopath. And I would be furious for them to then be imprisoned - not for life but for all time?

However, unlike me, Jazz is the world's foremost authority on ghost psychology. She has Dan out of his Thermos and in a larger enclosure within the week.

Now, a lot of fics have Jazz as a magical therapist who can say a few sentences and make any bad guy cry. Sorry, not today though.

First, they resocialise Dan like a feral cat (solitary confinement does make people get loopy), sitting outside his enclosure and hanging out, doing homework etc. This sort of gets him to figure out emotionally that he's no longer in the timeline where everyone he ever cared about died.

Danny discusses with him how many nightmares he's had over just the idea of losing his entire support network the way Dan did and he can't imagine what he's been through. But no emotions are not, in fact superior to having negative emotions.

After a few months, he decides that he does in fact want to actively try and get better. He goes to a therapist (because family members can't do therapy!!!) who's just unhinged enough to get a kick out of counselling a ghost from an alternate timeline.

There's only one relapse. Clockwork fixed it and they don't talk about it.

A month or so later they let him out of the enclosure for good. They offer to symbolically destroy it but Dan thinks they should keep it just in case.

While Dan's humanity has returned, his actual human half is gone forever. But he's interested in doing something with himself. He can't get a GED, or a degree, or be an astronaut. Maybe something in entertainment?

Tucker makes the grave mistake of mentioning that the Justice League headquarters are in space. Dan isn't as powerful anymore now he's no longer a halfa, but he knows he's handy in a fight. He loves space and due to having them repeatedly and ineffectively implemented against himself - a deep knowledge of international war tactics.

NGL, this isn't where I thought this story was going. But Dan is now an international politics, war policy and foreign affairs expert, I guess.

He helps a fair bit on the team, but his key contributions are his encyclopaedic predictions of how different international communities will react to events. If an out of control meta in Paris takes down the Eiffel Tower, he predicts which countries will immediately 'crack down' on their superpowered citizens - that sort of thing. It's invaluable for their PR team and young meta safety.

He's a friendly guy, doesn't judge anyone for losing control of their powers or going 'too far' on a villain who hurt their friends and family. And he never shuts up about his kid brother who is apparently also his best friend. He briefly mentions a baby sister he's never met and that makes everyone pretty sad.

He doesn't consider this Jazz his sister. He's already had a sister named Jazz and isn't looking for a 1:1 replacement. This Jazz is more like a mum-friend. However, he never had a Danny or an Ellie in his last life.

"My little brother told me about the trick to this level in Doomed 17, want me to explain what you're missing?"

"Sorry, I really can't possess you, even for 'anti mind-control' training. That isn't how overshadowing works, you can't become immune without exposure to ectoplasm in dangerous doses. No, I can't get you some pure ecto, my baby brother would kick my ass to hell."

"Yeah, my baby bro and I both wanted to be astronauts, I died so it's not in the cards for me anymore, but he has a real shot still, we're all rooting for him!"

Most Justice League members think he's a dead eldest brother with living siblings he's still in close contact with.

It's all fun and games until he tries to take a bullet for Batman during an ambush and it's actually an amnesia ray designed to make Batman forget about a specific case until the bad guy can complete his plan.

"I killed you all before, and I will do it again."

[giuliettagaltieri]

Duel of Knowledge

Pairing: Uni Student!Coriolanus Snow x Uni Student!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: The Rival

Warning: academic rivalry, elitism, morally gray reader, greed, Dr. Gaul's laboratory, mentions of mutated animals, Capitol cruelty, nepotism, spoilers

Word Count: 2487

2 of 6

It was a fresh start for Coriolanus Snow.  A life in the university, studying under Dr. Volumnia Gaul. 

After District 12.  He was a different man.  His purpose now was clearer, his actions more calculated, more dangerous.

Society welcomed him with open arms.  The star mentor, the academy protégé, and Crassus Snow’s legacy.

Life was also serving him well.  He no longer had to wear buttons made from the bathroom tiles.  No poisoned rats to dispose of.

Sejanus Plinth’s parents invite him for a luncheon on weekends.  He also met the president a couple of times because of the said couple.  Dr. Gaul has also been most helpful.

Had it not been for her, Coriolanus would still be rotting away in District 12.

The university was almost similar to the academy, only better.

He was with the same set of people he studied with.  Although, Clemensia Dovecot steers away from him now.  Two small scars from sharp fangs reminded her what happens when she crosses Coriolanus Snow.

The lessons are much more difficult than what was taught in the Academy but it was nothing he cannot conquer.  He was blessed with the most brilliant minds.

Connections made in the University are better too.  The people he meets are the ones who are currently the ones ruling the world.

The secrets he learns about them, invaluable.

Coriolanus understands the power that a piece of information can hold.

Information saved his tribute in the games.

Information nearly got him hanged.

Information nearly drove him mad.

There were all sorts of it.  Right, wrong.  It was up to you how you use it.  And use it well, he did.

And then, there was you.

The daughter of Thanatos Swansworth, a former associate of his late father.

He had gotten to know you as the girl who craved his attention and thirsted for his validation.

The last time he saw you, he knew he might have broken your heart.  You were just good at covering it up with your smiles.

And until today, he is seeing that exact same smile from across the room.

The air around you is different.  You are more mature, more sure of yourself.  You carry yourself with confidence like how a real Capitol woman does.

“While ethical implication might raise some concerns about the modified epigenetics, the boldness of the concept and the possibility of pioneering a breakthrough is reason enough to continue this research.  My study can advance the frontiers of science in a way that benefits humanity on a broader scale.”  You spoke calmly to Dr. Volumnia Gaul as she cross examined you for your research.

Coriolanus sat with his back resting against the chair, his calculating eyes watching your firm yet inviting demeanor.

A few more questions from Dr. Gaul did not make you falter, you managed to make every query an opportunity to showcase your work.  It was something that he can commend.

“Miss Swansworth, I would like you to come to my office later on to further discuss these ideas of yours.”  Dr. Gaul grins at you.

A glint of pride is visible in your eyes, making Coriolanus narrow his.

“Of course, Dr. Gaul.”

It seems he has competition for Dr. Gaul’s odd fascinations.

Coriolanus watches you return to your seat, his finger tapping atop his desk.

A focused look was plastered on Coriolanus’ face the entire day, he almost cannot wait to meet you by Dr. Gaul’s lab later.

When classes are over, he makes his way to the secured lab of Dr. Gaul.  The strong smell of formaldehyde greets his nose, he has come to get used to it.

His steps are long and purposeful but he was careful enough to silence his glide.

And he was glad he did.

He finds you crouched in a corner, your skirt touching the floor, you are too engrossed with a mutated animal that was trapped behind the glass.

“You found Thumper.”

The startled squeak you made had a sadistic smile spreading on Coriolanus’ lips. 

You glare up at him before standing up.  “Do not sneak up on me.”  You say coldly.  “Especially here.”

The mutated rabbit in front of you gives a jolt with the sound of your voice, its eyes trained on you.

“What did she do to it?”  You ask silently, looking at the mutated animal with chin slightly tipped higher.

Coriolanus stands next to you to eye the poor rabbit. 

Its once soft fur was replaced with a coarse beard-like iridescent coat.  Its paws were bigger with ears larger than normal, and its eyes, ghostly pale.

“Nothing.  The rabbit was exposed to the toxic aftermath of an outdoor experiment.  We had it captured in case it proved dangerous.”

“Is it?”  You ask, trying to maintain your indifference.

“Do you pity that mutt, Miss Swansworth?”

Both you and Coriolanus straighten your posture as Dr. Gaul saunters inside her lab.

“It simply piqued my curiosity.”  You respond carefully.

Coriolanus leaves your side to sit himself in a desk set off for him and your eyes squint at how he acts so casually in the place.

“That was a good presentation you gave earlier.”  Dr. Gaul says as she cuts open what you think is-...was a salamander.

“Thank you, Dr. Gaul.”  You try to not to sound too giddy, you must have failed as you hear a snicker from Coriolanus.

Her hand stills and she looks at you with those dangerous eyes of hers making you hold your breath.

“You mentioned earlier that your study can advance the frontiers of science and that humanity can benefit on a broader scale.”  She looks at you fully now.  “To whom are you referring to, with this…‘humanity’?”  She waves her blood red glove in the air as she asks.

The scratching of pen stills from Coriolanus’ desk and you match Dr. Gaul’s intense stare with yours.

“Who else but us, Dr. Gaul.  The outcomes of my research will contribute to the collective well-being of the Capitol.  Subsequently, the Districts can derive…some advantages from the positive outcomes we achieve.  We cannot reap the same rewards.”  You tilt your head to the side, looking at her coyly from under your eyelashes.  “Afterall, anyone who is not us is an enemy.”

Coriolanus looks up from his desk to eye you.  Dr. Gaul recognizes the look.  It was the same one Crassus Snow had when he married his wife, and the exact same when he submitted the idea he had stolen from Casca Highbottom.  Dr. Gaul only laughs as she resumes her work.

“Would you be interested in studying under me?”  She asks after calming down from her crazed outburst.  “I see potential in you, just like Mr. Snow.  I would love to watch the two of you rise to power.”

You glance at him from your shoulder and find him already looking at you with so much intensity.  You had your eyes on him as you uttered your next words.  “I would love to, Dr. Gaul.”  With much satisfaction, you watched his jaw tighten, bringing a sly smile to your lips.

Having to work after classes in the laboratory gave Coriolanus a chance to observe you.

You were very much like the person you were before he left, but ironically, also really different.

He recognizes the way your eyes narrow and how your hand finds your chin when you encounter a setback.  You also became really proper.  The smiles you gladly throw at everyone back in the academy are gone.  You attended the social events alone too, no longer following Coriolanus around to get him to ask you to come as his date.

There was also the swarm of boys he loathed.

You did not entertain them of course, kindly declining their invites for coffees and luncheons.

“You seem awfully popular with the male population of the Capitol.”

The comment did not stop your movements, not even for a second.  The decadent caramel tart was far too good to waste a moment.

“Mmh, it appears so.”  You reply to Corioalanus who seated himself in front of you at your table.  You preferred having lunch alone, it gave you time to think.  But apparently, that was too much to ask.

You saw this a mile away.  He was coming to talk to you sooner than later, and here he is.  His caramel tart ignored as the polished man found you more interesting.

Wiping your mouth with a napkin, you reach for your coffee as you locked eyes with him.  Almost taunting him to say something about it.

Now, with his slicked back platinum hair, tight jaw, and eyes so cold and calculating.  He looks every bit like his father.

“Is that all you are here for? To talk about my suitors?”  You lean back in your chair, careful to keep your posture straight.

Certainly, that is not all he is here for.  You have witnessed this all around you, even back in the academy.  Protégés sizing up their enemies and rooting out possible competition.  It was not your fault Dr. Gaul was interested in how your mind works, although you have to be responsible for your mischievous glances after you win an argument against him.

Winning arguments, if only you knew how much he was holding back, to save you the embarrassment, to not scare you away with his twisted arguments.

He is letting you go as you please, letting you think you are winning, it would be far more rewarding when he steals the prize right before your eyes.

Coriolanus wonders if he can get you to cry.

“No.”  He grins charmingly, making your blood freeze.  “The Plinths invited me to golf this Sunday.  They asked me to bring a friend.”

Your eyes dart all around his face, trying to search for something that would give him away.

“What are you playing at?”  You spoke slowly.

Coriolanus only laughs heartily, a hand placed over his chest in feign hurt.  “You wound me.  I simply wanted to catch up.  Afterall…”  His eyes dart to the family crest pinned on your chest, his eyes suddenly darkening, smile sharpening dangerously as he looks up at you with hooded eyes.  “We’re childhood friends, aren’t we?”

He can be very persuasive. 

Especially those eyes of his.

You heave a sigh and gently bring your cup to your lips, taking your time to sip. 

“Alright.”

“Perfect.”  He beams brightly.  There is something awfully unsettling about it.

Coriolanus Snow finds your distrustful nature inviting.  You are right to be wary of him. 

Sunday comes faster than you would have appreciated. 

The Plinths were very kind people.  Partly because they oh so wanted to be accepted in the Capitol. 

You are leaning on the golf cart, arms folded as you watch Coriolanus laugh with Sejanus Plinth’s parents.

Your thinking posture returns as you observe them.  Back in the academy, you do not recall Coriolanus and Sejanus to be very close.  They were acquaintances, yes.  Nothing beyond that.  In retrospect, Sejanus was a really lonely kid.  Everybody loved his money but friendship with him was something the Capitol kids never crossed.  The kindness Coriolanus showed him, he must have mistaken it for bond.

Poor Sejanus.

“Y/N.”  Mrs. Plinth calls you over and you fix your sunglasses back on and you head their way.

“Sorry, needed to cool off a bit.”  You smile at them.

“Oh, of course.  Would you like some refreshments?”  She asked, worried.  You smile at her, watching closely if this is real or not.  It might be.

Coriolanus swings his club and sends the ball flying to the cup.

Mr. Plinth slaps his back showering the young boy with compliments.

You are unaware that it was you who is being watched now.

“It has been difficult for my husband and I.”  Mrs. Plinth says softly as she guides you under the shade and pours you a tall glass of lemonade.

You thank her but are not letting your guard down for whatever she may spring at you.

“Our son is gone but that boy.”  She smiles in the direction of Coriolanus.  “Our son loved him like a brother.  It may be selfish on my part but I see my boy in him.”

You drop your head, watching your reflection in the lemonade.

“And he has the Plinths’ full support for his endeavors.”

This catches your attention and the woman smiles at your expression.

“In every victory Panem has, there is always a Snow behind it.”  She raises her chin to gauge your reaction.  “And a Swansworth to help them see it through.”

You tip your own chin up and watch Coriolanus do a perfect swing.

“And so there is.”  You give her a sly smile and she returns it with her own.

You might have just met an ally.

The day ends and you cannot be upset with how it turned out.

“In a better mood, are we?”  Coriolanus says cooly, lips tugging up to one side.

You shrug as you both enter the building where you both live.  “Mrs. Plinth is not an awful company.”  A playful smile is also thrown his way.  “I also enjoyed the view.”

There it is.

“Oh, you did, didn’t you?”  He stops you dead on your tracks, preventing you from getting in the elevator.

You did not let his height be a great advantage as you met him with a proud smile.  “The golf course, I mean.”

“Indeed, the golf course.”  He nods as he looks down at you, a smirk tugging on his lips.  “The golf course with its blistering heat and dry wind, that golf course.”

“Exactly.”  You smile sardonically.  “Now, if you don’t mind, I must get to my apartment.”

He lets you inside the elevator and he follows closely.

You stand next to him in silence as the elevator ascends.

A couple of times, your gazes meet in your reflection.

“I’m running as president.”

You sigh as your back meets the cold elevator wall.

“I know.”

He looks at you now, arm leaning on the handrail.

“I want you with me.”

You roll your eyes, arms crossing.

“I was afraid you’d ask.”

He chuckles lowly.

For a moment, only the soft whirring of the elevator accompanied by the classical tune playing was the only noise filling the space.

“Forgive me.”  He finally says.

It is long overdue but you appreciate it still.

“There is nothing to forgive.”

The elevator dings and you get off.  He walks you to your apartment. 

“Good night, Y/N Swansworth.”

“Good night, Coriolanus Snow.”

And you gently close the door, your eye contact never breaking until all you see is the hardwood door.

You stand there for a long time, contemplating.  Your apartment is cold and empty but the lights from Capitol reflect inside your apartment, casting a soft glow in your family portrait and you look at your father in the eyes.

“Snow will land on top.”

Hunt for Glory

[queenshelby]

Auctioned (P. 3)

Pairing: Dark!Thomas Shelby x Virgin!Reader/OC

Warning: Darkish Themes, Prostitution, Smut, Eventual Loss of Virginity, Dubious Consent, Corruption, Destructive Behavior, Massive Age Gap

Notes: Damn, I had this in my drafts for a while but could not publish it as I was a little afraid about how it would be perceived. Also this is the first time I used an OC, so be gentle with me.

You settled into your new life at Arrow House, a grand estate where elegance and opulence intertwined with darkness and danger. As a shy and inexperienced woman, you had much to learn about the ways of pleasing Thomas Shelby, the dominant gangster who ruled over this unforgiving world.

The days passed slowly as you acclimated to your surroundings. You found solace in the stables, where the horses seemed unbothered by the treacheries that lurked beyond the estate's walls. Their gentle presence offered a temporary respite from the weight of your newfound responsibilities.

Inside the library, you delved into books, seeking knowledge and distraction. It became your sanctuary, a place of refuge where the stories transported you to distant lands, far from the clutches of Thomas Shelby's demanding presence. 

The library was adorned with antique furniture, its rich scent of leather bindings and aged parchment elevating the ambience.

You felt safe there, hidden amidst the countless tomes that were silent witnesses to the sins committed within these walls. But even here, you couldn't escape the shadow of Thomas Shelby. His presence loomed over everything, a constant reminder of your precarious position.

Alison often visited you in the library, offering her wisdom about navigating your role as Thomas' "possession". Her guidance was invaluable, yet it never seemed enough to fully ease your fears.

The more time you spent with Thomas, the clearer it became that he was a man of many contradictions – tender one moment, cruel the next.

***

One evening, after a lavish dinner party, you were summoned to his office. Nervously, you followed Alison down the corridor, trying to hide your trembling hands behind your back. She glanced back at you with a reassuring smile, reminding you to breathe and find your centre.

Thomas waited patiently inside his office, seated upon his large, comfortable leather chair. He leaned back, studying you with an unreadable gaze. The room was dimly lit, adding to the air of mystery surrounding him.

"Y/N," he began, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated through your core. "Tonight, I require your services as Alison has not been feeling too well." His eyes flickered to Alison, who stood quietly beside you, nodding, and you took a deep breath, feeling your nerves calm slightly as you tried to focus on the task ahead. 

Thomas continued, "You have proven yourself capable before, so I know you can handle this." Your confidence wavered slightly as you considered the pressure he placed upon you. But you knew it was necessary to prove yourself to him once again. 

As such, and without words, you approached him, kneeling on the floor in front of his imposing presence. He allowed you to take control, giving you an opportunity to showcase your talents while still hurrying you along since he had business to attend to. 

"You have fifteen minutes, Love. I suggest you get to it, eh?" Tommy pointed out while he opened his belt and then his zipper. 

Your heart raced faster than usual; your hands trembled as you reached out to touch him. Time seemed to slow down, the only sounds in the room being your heavy breaths and the rustling of his clothes as his erection was revealed to you once again.

His powerful thighs his commanding presence, all enveloped you, making you feel like you were floating outside of your body, a mere observer of the events unfolding.

With shaking hands, you reached forward, letting your fingers brush against his skin, feeling the heat radiating from him. You could sense his impatience growing as you wrapped your hand around his hard, throbbing length.

He wanted satisfaction quickly and efficiently. You focused intently on your task, desperate to prove yourself worthy to him.

"Come on, Love, use your mouth," his eyes remained cold and distant, making you question if your efforts were truly appreciated.

"Yes, Mr Shelby," you confirmed before taking his length into your mouth with a mixture of nervous excitement and determination. Your tongue swirled around the head, tracing patterns designed to bring him pleasure. You listened carefully to the sound of his breathing, monitoring the rhythm to match your movements.

"That's it, Love. Keep going," he eventually groaned as hips shifted restlessly, and you maintained your focus, determined to prove yourself worthy of his attention.

With each passing minute, your resolve grew stronger, driven by the desire to win his approval.

Your mouth moved fluidly up and down his length, creating an erotic dance that matched the tempo of his breathing. His moans and gasps intensified, feeding your confidence as you perfected your technique.

Time seemed to warp around you, as if every second was a lifetime spent entirely under his gaze. Your lips wrapped tightly around him, sucking firmly, creating waves of pleasure coursing through his body. With each movement, you felt your power grow, and your connection to him deepened.

"Good girl, keep your tongue firm against my cock", he groaned, his grip on the armrest tightening, his eyes burning with intensity.

Your hands worked together, caressing his thighs, teasing his balls gently. You could feel his arousal building, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Yes, just like that…" he muttered, his voice thick with desire.

Every word, every touch, served to fuel your determination.

As the minutes ticked away, the intensity of your focus heightened.

You could hear the echo of your laboured breaths, the creak of the leather chair, and the subtle click of the clock. Each sensation brought you closer to achieving the level of mastery you sought.

The warmth emanating from Thomas radiated onto your face, filling your nose with the distinct scent of masculinity. His fingers clenched and unclenched, mirroring the turbulent storm of his thoughts and emotions.

Alison watched from a distance, silently observing both of you, her expression a mix of admiration and concern.

"Almost there, Love. Fuck," he cursed, his hand reaching back to play with your hair. "Don't stop now," he commanded, a possessive tone in his voice. His gaze held yours, daring you to defy him, but you knew better than to test his patience.

You kept working diligently, maintaining eye contact with him, allowing him to see the depth of your commitment. Your lips continued to slide up and down his length, creating a rhythmic pattern designed to please him.

"I expect you to swallow every drop, Love," he went on to say before; with a loud roar, he came, shooting hot liquid into your mouth.

Your reflexes kicked in instinctively, taking his seed into your mouth, savouring the taste as he let out a long, satisfying sigh. His breathing gradually slowed down, and he released you from his grasp.

You gently touched his thigh, looking up at him with a mixture of humility and pride, unsure of how he would react. He looked down at you, a slight grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Not bad, Love. Not bad at all." His praise sent a surge of relief through you, washing away any lingering doubts about your abilities. 

"Thank you, sir," you confirmed before licking the remnants of seed from your lips.

You felt a strange mix of apprehension and accomplishment, proud of your ability to provide him with pleasure yet concerned about what the future might hold.

***

Over the next two days, you spent more time at the stables, and even Thomas joined you on one occasion, taking an interest in your passion for horses. 

As he watched you tend to the animals, you found yourself sharing anecdotes about your life before Thomas Shelby. His attention focused solely on you as you shared stories about your family and childhood dreams. Despite the awkwardness of sharing such personal experiences, it strengthened your bond with him.

He listened intently, asking questions about your past, genuinely interested in understanding who you were beyond the physical aspects of your relationship. It was during those moments that you realised Thomas possessed a complexity rarely seen in others.

As you tended to the horses, he observed you with a keen eye, almost as if he was searching for something deeper. He inquired about your love for horses and how it had begun. Your heart fluttered at the genuine curiosity in his eyes, and you shared your tale with fervour. You spoke of your first horse, a gentle mare named Whisper, who taught you the art of connection and trust. It was evident in his expressions that your words resonated with him, striking a chord that few other subjects ever did.

As you shared your stories, Thomas became increasingly invested in learning more about you. He asked probing questions, seeking to understand the motivations behind your actions and choices.

You couldn't help but be amazed by his genuine curiosity and openness. In the midst of it all, you found yourself drawn to him in ways you never imagined possible. The warmth in his eyes whenever he looked at you was intoxicating, leaving you yearning for more.

Yet, you remained cautious not to let your feelings for him run wild. You cherished these rare moments of solitude where he appeared vulnerable and engaged.

As the days passed, you continued to learn more about him, too. He revealed parts of himself that surprised you, and you discovered a gentler side hidden beneath his hard exterior. However, you couldn't help but notice the darkness that occasionally clouded his eyes, hinting at a past filled with pain and betrayal.

It left you wondering how someone so wounded could find joy in a world that seemingly brought him nothing but suffering. As you delved deeper into his history, you uncovered the reason behind his controlling nature. It was a need to protect himself, and he seemingly enjoyed the thrill of being the one in charge.

Taking charge was exactly what he did that same night again when you were called into his chambers, and it was Alison who gave you a pep talk before your impending encounter. 

"Tomorrow night, Mr Shelby wants to claim what he acquired during the auction," Alison told you softly. 

"You will be spending time with him alone. This is what he wants," she added, her voice steady and confident.

You nodded in understanding, knowing full well that giving in to his desires would keep you safe and secure within his domain. 

She placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, telling you not to worry about it too much.

"You will do well; I have no doubt about it. Despite this, Mr. Shelby seems to have a soft spot for your innocent nature. I think it intrigues and arouses him all at the same time," Alison explained, watching you carefully. 

"But don't fret; it's just another aspect of his personality. He enjoys pushing boundaries and testing limits." She smiled reassuringly, offering advice to calm your nerves.

"Which brings us to tonight, where he wants to see us both to ensure that, come tomorrow, you are ready to lose your virginity to him," Alison exclaimed, and thus, as the night fell, Alison led you through the labyrinthine hallways of Arrow House, guiding you towards Thomas Shelby's private quarters. The anticipation and nerves danced in your chest, each step amplifying the thump of your heartbeat.

Finally, you stood before the imposing door, your palms slightly damp as Alison knocked, her knuckles rapping against the solid wood. The sound reverberated through the silence, announcing your arrival. You had not been in his bedroom before and were surprised that tonight, this was where he wanted you both to come.

The door creaked open, revealing Thomas Shelby, his eyes sharp and piercing as they scanned both you and Alison. His lips curled into a predatory smile, and you felt a shiver trickle down your spine.

"Come in, close the door," Thomas said, his voice carrying the weight of authority.

Alison stepped aside, allowing you to enter first. You walked slowly across the threshold, careful not to make eye contact with Thomas, your heart racing in your chest. You followed the path Alison had shown you earlier that evening, walking towards the centre of the room. As you approached, Thomas' presence became more pronounced, enveloping you in his powerful aura.

"Y/N, stand here," he ordered, pointing to a spot near the edge of the large, ornate bed. As you moved closer, the fine detailing of the furniture around you caught your attention.

The opulence of the room seemed to overwhelm you, a stark contrast to the simple life you had once known. Standing beside Alison, you took it all in – the rich fabric of the curtains, the intricate patterns carved into the bedposts, and the sense of power that hung thick in the air. Thomas' eyes bore into you, his intensity causing your pulse to race faster.

Alison broke the silence, addressing Thomas with a calm demeanour. "Mr. Shelby, Y/N has proven herself capable of pleasing you, so what do you expect of her tonight?" she asked.

His lips tightened, the lines around his eyes deepening.

"Well, first, I want to see how receptacle she is to my touch, and then, we shall see, eh?” Tommy said, and your heart raced as you absorbed his words, trying to hide your nervousness.

Alison seemed unfazed by his crude language, her face remaining composed.

"Of course, Mr. Shelby," she replied coolly, maintaining her composure despite the demanding situation.

Tommy's eyes locked onto yours, assessing your reaction. He leaned back against the bedpost, his gaze turning predatory. "Let's begin then."

You hesitated for a moment, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise within you.

"Undress, Sweetheart," Tommy then ordered, his tone commanding and authoritative. With trembling hands, you began to shed your clothes, revealing your body to him for the first time as you stood there, vulnerable and exposed.

Tommy walked towards you, his eyes trailing across your now-exposed body. You held your breath, trying to mask your discomfort. "Beautiful," he whispered, running his fingers lightly along your skin.

You felt your cheeks flush as you met his gaze, a mixture of surprise and attraction burning in your eyes.

Without warning, he grasped your wrist, pulling you toward him. Your breath hitched as you found yourself pressed against his hard chest, the heat of his body seeping into yours. You closed your eyes, trying to remain composed amidst the intense sensations coursing through your body.

"Don't be afraid, Love," he murmured, his voice low and seductive.

"This isn't something to be ashamed of." Your eyes met his, finding solace in the sincerity of his words. You allowed yourself to relax slightly, the tension easing from your shoulders. As your confidence grew, so did the desire coursing through your veins.

He led you over to the bed, sitting you down on its edge. He positioned himself behind you, his hands resting gently on your shoulders. "You must trust me, eh," he whispered into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

"I won't hurt you." His tender touch made you believe him, even though a part of you wondered if he was lying. Still, you found yourself wanting to surrender completely to him despite the lingering uncertainty.

Slowly, he ran his hands up and down your arms, gently tracing the curves of your body. His touch was gentle yet firm, stirring both excitement and trepidation within you. The warmth of his touch caused your heart to beat faster, filling you with a longing for more.

His touch was masterful, expertly skimming over your skin with just enough pressure to leave you wanting. As his hands continued their journey down your body, you found yourself growing increasingly aroused. You were caught between the desire to satiate your yearnings and the fear of revealing too much of yourself.

Your mind drifted to the various lessons Alison had taught you, trying to find strength in those memories. You remembered the way she spoke of Thomas, describing him as possessive yet kind.

"Now, listen carefully," he began, his voice resonating with control. 

"I want you to lie down, legs spread open so that I can get a good look at what I acquired," Thomas told you before gesturing for Alison to join you on the large bed.

Alison, ever composed, obeyed his order without hesitation. You watched her, taking note of her composure.

"Come here, pet, rest your head on my lap and present yourself to who owns you now," she said, her language surprisingly crude and dominant, just like Thomas enjoyed it.

You felt your heart quicken, unsure if you could fully comprehend her words. But as Thomas' strong fingers wrapped around your nape, you realised that you needed to submit to his will, as Alison had advised you previously.

So, you obliged, placing your head upon his strong lap and looking up into his penetrating eyes. They were cold, like steel, but there was also a hint of tenderness beneath it.

"Spread your legs wide for me, Love," he commanded, his voice harsh yet commanding.

Obeying instinctively, you extended your legs, feeling the vulnerability of your exposed position. As you lay there, exposed and submissive, you couldn't help but feel the intense mixture of fear and arousal coursing through your veins.

"Look at me," he demanded, his voice echoing throughout the room. Unwilling to disobey, you raised your gaze to meet his steely eyes.

"Do you understand that you belong to me? That your body belongs to me?" He asked, his tone demanding an answer.

Nodding your head, you acknowledged his claim, feeling the weight of his ownership settling upon your shoulders. You swallowed hard, the lump forming in your throat growing larger with each passing second. As you lay there, feeling the heat radiating from his body, you tried to come to terms with the fact that you belonged to him.

"Good girl," he cooed. "Now let me have a look and see whether you are really still a virgin, eh?" Tommy smirked playfully, his eyes filled with curiosity and determination. Despite your anxiety, you felt a rush of excitement surge through your veins. This was a new experience, one that would change your life forever.

As you lay there, exposed and vulnerable, the room was filled with an electric tension. The atmosphere was charged with desire and apprehension. Your eyes darted to Alison, who remained poised and calm, seemingly unaffected by the intensity of the situation. She smiled at you encouragingly, conveying confidence and reassurance.

Your heart skipped a beat as Thomas approached, his powerful presence casting a shadow over you.

"Are you ready?" he whispered, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through your core.

Nodding your head, you managed a small smile, hoping it conveyed your readiness. Your stomach flipped in anticipation, and your heart raced in your chest.

"That's my good girl," he responded his approval warming your soul. He leaned in, his rough fingers tenderly tracing your cheekbone.

"Trust me, Love, I will be gentle. I won't claim you just yet, not until tomorrow night," he whispered softly, his warm breath tickling your ear. Your heart leapt, caught between excitement and apprehension. You wanted to give yourself wholly to him, even though doubt still lingered in the back of your mind. However, Alison's assurance that Thomas wasn't entirely cruel lent you some comfort.

With a delicate touch, he began exploring your body. His hands brushed over your sensitive skin, eliciting waves of pleasure you'd never imagined possible before, finally descending to your core to assess the condition of what he purchased.

You felt a mixture of nervousness and anticipation as his fingers traced over your slit before he opened you up slightly. He then used two fingers to spread your pussy lips open slightly, determining the truth of your virginity.

You felt a twinge of pain and discomfort, which only heightened your awareness of your vulnerability. Yet, simultaneously, you found yourself becoming increasingly aroused by the intense sensations.

As he examined you, you felt a strange blend of fear and arousal, a complex mix of emotions that you had never experienced before. The knowledge that you belonged to Thomas, that he could do anything he pleased with you, sent a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins.

"You are already wet, my love. Are you enjoying this?" Tommy asked his voice husky with desire. You nodded, unable to find your voice due to the intensity of the sensations coursing through your body. His fingers were skilled, teasing you expertly, drawing out your pleasure and tormenting you simultaneously. It was a sensation, unlike anything you had ever experienced before, leaving you craving more of his touch.

Thomas's gaze locked onto yours, his expression one of satisfaction and control. "You're so responsive, sweetheart," he purred, leaning in to press his lips against your forehead.

"Let's see how you taste, eh?" Tommy said, wanting to run his tongue through your slit.

You couldn't hide the mixture of fear and excitement that gripped you at his proposal. But as his face drew closer to your core, you felt a surge of trust welling up inside you. Perhaps it was because Alison had been so kind and reassuring, or maybe it was simply your growing desire for Thomas. Whatever the reason, you allowed him to take you in his mouth, opening your legs wider to accommodate him.

As he began to taste you, you closed your eyes, letting the exquisite sensations wash over you.

Thomas's mouth moved skillfully, causing waves of pleasure to course through your body. You moaned softly, lost in the intensity of the moment.

Meanwhile, Alison watched you both intently, silently observing the interplay between you and Thomas. There was a sense of pride in her eyes but also some profound jealousy.

She wanted Thomas to acknowledge her as his primary source of lust, not some inferior second choice. However, she knew that your innocence held certain allurements for Thomas. Thus, she didn't show her feelings on her face, hiding them well.

You, however, were too preoccupied with the sensations cascading through your body to notice her jealousy.

The sensations continued to build, culminating in a powerful climax that left you shuddering. Thomas released you from his grasp, pulling away to admire your flushed face and quivering form.

You looked up at him, the afterglow of passion evident in your eyes. His gaze burned with possession and desire, the power dynamic between you tangible in the air.

"This is just tonight's beginning, Love," he murmured softly, a wicked grin playing on his lips, and your heart raced as you processed his words, anticipation building within you. 

"Now, what do you think, Alison? How many fingers could I get into her virgin hole without tearing her?" Tommy asked, his voice laced with dark desire for you.

Alison raised her brows in a challenge and considered for a moment. "Two fingers, no more than that," she replied confidently. 

"Two, eh?" Tommy mocked. "How about we start with one, Love?" Tommy suggested before asking you to spread your legs wide again. 

As you complied, your nerves became jangled with anticipation.

You looked at Alison, seeking guidance from her as you lay there, exposed and vulnerable. Her cool demeanour seemed unshaken, giving you courage. She smiled reassuringly, telling you that you could handle this.

As Thomas moved closer, his hands slowly caressed your thighs, sending shivers down your spine. He took his time, pressing his first fingers against your entrance, attempting to penetrate you gently.

You cringed at the sudden intrusion, your body tensing in response.

Thomas, surprised by your tightness, forced his digit into you nonetheless.

You cried out in pain, your body resisting his intrusion. He stopped, hesitated for a moment, then pulled his finger out carefully. Alison's expression remained unchanged, unperturbed by your distress.

"You may need some practice, Love," Thomas commented, his voice dripping with condescension. You bit your lip, trying to control your tears, fighting back the urge to succumb to despair. You refused to accept defeat, determined to prove your worth in Thomas's eyes.

"I can take more than one finger, sir," you said defiantly, looking directly into his eyes. Thomas regarded you with a mix of curiosity and appreciation.

"Let's see how much you can truly take, Love," he murmured, his tone hinting at the challenge ahead. Slowly, he pressed his second finger against your entrance, this time applying more pressure. You winced, your body instinctively protesting the intrusion.

Thomas observed your reaction closely, his eyes narrowing in concentration.

As you clenched your teeth, refusing to cry out in pain, he pushed his finger deeper into you. Despite the burning sensation, you maintained your resolve, staring straight into his eyes with determination. Alison continued to watch from the sidelines, her demeanour unmoved by your discomfort.

"Not bad, Love," Thomas acknowledged, his voice imbued with respect. His fingers flexed within you, pushing further in as you tried to bear the increasing discomfort.

Your face contorted with pain, your body struggling to adjust to the foreign invasion. With each incremental advance, you gritted your teeth, silently vowing to overcome the pain.

Alison's gaze remained steady, unwavering, her expression betraying no sympathy for your suffering. As your agony intensified, you felt a renewed sense of determination, fueled by your need to prove yourself worthy in Thomas's eyes.

Sweat trickled down your forehead, a testament to your resolve.

"I can take it," you reassured Tommy again, even with tears forming in the corner of your eyes.

Thomas was now visibly impressed with your resilience. He admired your courage and tenacity in the face of immense pain.

"I know you can, Love, but I don't want to stretch you too much just yet. My cock will take care of that tomorrow night," he groaned, withdrawing his fingers from you, causing a wave of relief to wash over you.

You wiped away the tears, taking deep breaths to calm your ragged nerves. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, trying to regain composure.

Alison watched Thomas's every move with an unreadable expression, her thoughts hidden behind her emotionless mask. She seemed neither envious nor impressed, merely observant.

 You looked at Thomas, seeing something new in his eyes - a hint of admiration, perhaps even respect." Tomorrow night, Love, I will not be so kind," Tommy then said to you, his voice carrying a warning mixed with promise. Your heart skipped a beat, the excitement growing within you before he told you to leave his bedroom so that he could finish off with Alison.

"Mr Shelby, may I watch? Perhaps I could learn something from it for our encounter tomorrow night," you suggested, and Thomas smirked.

"By all means, Love, you can watch while fuck Alison. Although bear in mind that what I am about to do to her is not something you will be capable of enduring just yet, eh" Thomas said before motioning for Alison to come over so that he could fuck her.

She approached him with a cool confidence, undoubtedly aware of the power dynamics between them.

Your eyes followed every movement, absorbing the raw, primal energy of their interaction.

Without losing any time, Alison got on to all fours.

"Very good, Alison. She knows that this is how I like to fuck her," Tommy said before he took position behind her, grasping her hips firmly and pulling her close to him.

He was hard and ready after having toyed with you for an hour, and, without losing any time, he lined himself up with Alison's entrance without giving consideration as to whether she was wet enough or not. 

His forceful entry caused Alison to let out a sharp gasp, her body jolting slightly as she tried to adapt to his unexpectedly brutal thrust.

Thomas, driven by lust and power, took control of the situation, forcing Alison to submit to his desires. Her resistance, if there ever was any, was crushed under the weight of his dominance.

You watched with bated breath, fascinated by the spectacle unfolding before you. Alison's face remained impassive, though her eyes betrayed a mixture of pain and resignation.

In her moments of quiet defiance, she would occasionally look over at you, her gaze holding a subtle challenge. It was clear that she was both envious and threatened by your presence, torn between admiration for Thomas's preference for you and fear of being replaced entirely.

As Thomas continued his brutal assault on Alison, you found yourself growing increasingly aroused by the sight. The erotic tension between them heightened, fuelling your own desires.

You could not help but feel a twinge of envy as you watched Thomas and Alison engage in their fierce, unapologetic union. Their bodies moved in harmony, each thrust eliciting a moan or grunt from the other. Thomas's strength and dominance contrasted beautifully with Alison's feigned indifference, creating a seductive dance of power and submission.

Your heart raced as you observed their fervent exchange, your breath quickening with each powerful thrust.

The atmosphere in the room was charged with palpable sexual tension, leaving you feeling utterly captivated. Alison's performance was a masterclass in maintaining composure despite the brutality of Thomas's thrusts. It was almost as if she enjoyed being on the receiving end of his domination, albeit with a veiled resentment towards you for being his chosen concubine.

As the intensity of their coupling reached its peak, Thomas pulled out of Allison and called for you.

"Kneel and open your mouth. I want you to take my cum" he said, his voice laced with authority. You felt a surge of power as you obeyed him, opening your mouth eagerly, your lips parted in anticipation. Thomas's arousal was evident as he stood above you, his eyes filled with desire.

"Make sure you swallow, eh?" he groaned before shooting his load into your open mouth. Your cheeks bulged as you swallowed, savouring the taste of his seed as it coursed down your throat. The act served as a reminder of your place in his world – submissive and willing to please him at any cost.

Thomas watched you intently, a hint of satisfaction playing across his features. His gaze held a mixture of admiration and possession, making you feel cherished but also owned. Alison, having witnessed the entire encounter, glared at you with a jealous, defiant air.

You held her gaze, unfazed by her hostility. Though you were physically weak, your spirit was strong, unbowed by her disapproval. The battle lines had been drawn, and you knew that your relationship with Thomas would only grow more complicated as time passed.

As you cleaned up, you could not help but feel a sense of accomplishment. Though the evening's events left you drained and sore, you knew Thomas's trust in you had grown significantly.

[uwmspeccoll]

Native Knowledge

Medicine Generations: Natural Native American Medicines Traditional to the Stockbridge-Munsee Band of Mohicans Indian Tribe, published in 2013, is part of our Native American Literature Collection. Misty Cook (Davids), M. S., of the Stockbridge-Munsee Community, wrote the book and is also credited with the photography.

The Stockbridge-Munsee Community, a band of the Mohican Indian Tribe, has a profound cultural heritage that has always placed a strong emphasis on traditional medicine. For generations, the knowledge of plant medicine has been passed down as an oral tradition that traces its roots back to the native lands of both Mohican and Munsee ancestors. Jeanette "Granny" Gardner, Cook's ancestor, is responsible for keeping much of this knowledge alive.

This knowledge comes together in her book, which contains 58 Native American herbal medicines. It serves as a guide to learning about and how to use the Medicines, and it also includes the history of the Medicines as passed down through her family's lineage of Wolf Clan Medicine people. At its core, this book is a testament to the resilience and wisdom of the Stockbridge-Munsee Community. It stands as a vital document, preserving and sharing the invaluable knowledge of traditional Native American medicinal practices for future generations in the community and beyond.

View other posts from our Native American Literature Collection.

-Melissa (Stockbridge-Munsee), Special Collections Graduate Intern

[jesperweidemann]

Top 5 Writing Applications for Worldbuilding and Complex Story Planning

In the realm of creative writing, particularly when it comes to worldbuilding and complex story planning, having the right tools can make a significant difference. Writers often find themselves juggling multiple characters, intricate plots, and expansive settings. To manage these elements effectively, specialized writing applications have been developed to assist in organizing thoughts, tracking details, and fostering creativity. In this article, we will explore the top five writing applications that are indispensable for worldbuilding and complex story planning.

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1. Obsidian: The Ultimate Tool for Writers

Obsidian is a robust note-taking and knowledge management application that has gained immense popularity among writers for its flexibility and powerful features. Whether you are working on a novel, a series of interconnected stories, or an entire fictional universe, Obsidian provides the tools you need to keep everything organized and easily accessible.

Key Features of Obsidian

Markdown Support: Obsidian uses Markdown, a lightweight markup language, which allows writers to format their notes with ease. This feature is particularly useful for creating structured documents and linking related notes.

Bidirectional Linking: One of Obsidian's standout features is its bidirectional linking capability. This allows writers to create connections between different notes, making it easy to navigate through complex storylines and character relationships.

Graph View: The Graph View in Obsidian provides a visual representation of how your notes are interconnected. This feature is invaluable for worldbuilding, as it helps writers see the big picture and understand how different elements of their story fit together.

Plugins and Customization: Obsidian offers a wide range of plugins that can enhance its functionality. Writers can customize the app to suit their specific needs, whether it's adding a calendar for tracking writing progress or integrating with other tools like Google Drive.

Cross-Platform Sync: With Obsidian, you can sync your notes across multiple devices, ensuring that you have access to your work wherever you go. This is particularly useful for writers who like to jot down ideas on their phone and then expand on them later on their desktop.

Pricing

Personal Use: Free

Commercial Use: $50 per user per year

Add-ons:

Sync: $4 per user per month, billed annually

Publish: $8 per site per month, billed annually

Catalyst: $25+ one-time payment for early access and VIP features

How Obsidian Enhances Worldbuilding and Story Planning

Obsidian's features are designed to support the intricate process of worldbuilding and story planning. The ability to create detailed notes for each character, location, and plot point, and then link them together, allows writers to build a comprehensive and cohesive narrative. The Graph View provides a visual map of the story, making it easier to identify connections and ensure consistency. Additionally, the customization options and plugins available in Obsidian mean that writers can tailor the app to their specific workflow, making it an indispensable tool for any serious writer.

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2. Scrivener: The Writer's Swiss Army Knife

Scrivener is a well-known writing application that has been a favorite among writers for years. It offers a wide range of features designed to help writers organize their work, from drafting to final edits. Scrivener is particularly useful for long-form writing projects, such as novels and screenplays, where managing large amounts of text and research is essential.

Key Features of Scrivener

Project Management: Scrivener allows writers to break their projects into manageable sections, such as chapters or scenes. This makes it easy to navigate through the manuscript and make changes as needed.

Research Integration: Writers can import research materials, such as PDFs, images, and web pages, directly into Scrivener. This keeps all relevant information in one place, making it easy to reference while writing.

Corkboard and Outliner: Scrivener's Corkboard and Outliner views provide visual ways to organize and rearrange sections of the manuscript. This is particularly useful for plotting and structuring complex stories.

Customizable Templates: Scrivener offers a variety of templates for different types of writing projects, from novels to screenplays. Writers can also create their own templates to suit their specific needs.

Export Options: Scrivener supports a wide range of export formats, including Word, PDF, and ePub. This makes it easy to share your work with others or prepare it for publication.

Pricing

macOS: $49

Windows: $45

iOS: $19.99

Bundle (macOS + Windows): $80

How Scrivener Enhances Worldbuilding and Story Planning

Scrivener's project management features are ideal for worldbuilding and story planning. Writers can create separate sections for different aspects of their world, such as characters, settings, and plot points, and then easily navigate between them. The ability to import research materials directly into the project ensures that all relevant information is readily accessible. The Corkboard and Outliner views provide visual ways to organize and rearrange the story, making it easier to see the big picture and ensure consistency. Overall, Scrivener is a powerful tool that can help writers manage the complexities of worldbuilding and story planning.

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3. Campfire: A Comprehensive Worldbuilding Tool

Campfire is a writing application specifically designed for worldbuilding and story planning. It offers a wide range of features that allow writers to create detailed and immersive worlds, from character profiles to interactive maps. Campfire is particularly useful for writers who are working on large-scale projects, such as epic fantasy series or intricate science fiction universes.

Key Features of Campfire

Character Profiles: Campfire allows writers to create detailed profiles for each character, including information on their appearance, personality, and backstory. This helps ensure that characters are well-developed and consistent throughout the story.

Worldbuilding Tools: Campfire offers a variety of tools for worldbuilding, such as interactive maps, timelines, and relationship webs. These features allow writers to create a comprehensive and cohesive world for their story.

Plotting Tools: Campfire's plotting tools help writers outline their story and track the progression of the plot. This is particularly useful for complex stories with multiple plotlines and subplots.

Collaboration Features: Campfire allows writers to collaborate with others on their projects. This is particularly useful for co-authors or writing teams who need to share information and work together on the story.

Customizable Templates: Campfire offers a variety of templates for different aspects of worldbuilding and story planning. Writers can also create their own templates to suit their specific needs.

Pricing

Free Plan: Limited features

Standard Plan: $19 per month or $160 per year

Custom Plan: Prices start at $0.50 per month per module

How Campfire Enhances Worldbuilding and Story Planning

Campfire's features are specifically designed to support the process of worldbuilding and story planning. The ability to create detailed character profiles and interactive maps allows writers to build a rich and immersive world for their story. The plotting tools help writers outline their story and track the progression of the plot, ensuring that all elements of the story are well-organized and consistent. The collaboration features make it easy for co-authors or writing teams to work together on the project. Overall, Campfire is a comprehensive tool that can help writers manage the complexities of worldbuilding and story planning.

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4. Aeon Timeline: A Visual Timeline Tool for Writers

Aeon Timeline is a visual timeline tool that helps writers organize their stories and track the progression of events. It is particularly useful for complex stories with multiple plotlines and characters, as it allows writers to see the big picture and ensure consistency.

Key Features of Aeon Timeline

Visual Timelines: Aeon Timeline allows writers to create visual timelines for their stories, making it easy to see the progression of events and track the relationships between different plotlines.

Character and Event Tracking: Writers can create detailed profiles for each character and event, including information on their relationships and interactions. This helps ensure that all elements of the story are well-organized and consistent.

Customizable Templates: Aeon Timeline offers a variety of templates for different types of writing projects, from novels to screenplays. Writers can also create their own templates to suit their specific needs.

Integration with Other Tools: Aeon Timeline integrates with other writing tools, such as Scrivener and Ulysses, making it easy to import and export information between different applications.

Collaboration Features: Aeon Timeline allows writers to collaborate with others on their projects. This is particularly useful for co-authors or writing teams who need to share information and work together on the story.

Pricing

One-time Purchase: $65 (includes 1 year of free updates)

Additional Year of Updates: $35 per year

How Aeon Timeline Enhances Worldbuilding and Story Planning

Aeon Timeline's visual timeline feature is particularly useful for worldbuilding and story planning. Writers can create detailed timelines for their stories, making it easy to see the progression of events and track the relationships between different plotlines. The character and event tracking features help ensure that all elements of the story are well-organized and consistent. The integration with other writing tools makes it easy to import and export information between different applications, ensuring that all relevant information is readily accessible. Overall, Aeon Timeline is a powerful tool that can help

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5. Plottr: Visual Story Planning Made Simple

Plottr is a visual story planning tool that helps writers outline their stories in a clear and organized manner. It is particularly useful for writers who prefer a visual approach to planning and want to see their story structure at a glance. Plottr's intuitive interface and powerful features make it an excellent choice for both novice and experienced writers.

Key Features of Plottr

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[hotdaemondtargaryen]

EWAN MITCHELL INTERVIEWED FOR NERDIST MAGAZINE.

IN SEASON TWO OF HOUSE OF THE DRAGON, AEMOND BLAZES HIS PATH TO POWER, AND HE'S READY TO START A WAR. WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE IS HIS OVERALL MOTIVATION FOR HIS ACTIONS? IS HE JUST SEEKING BLOODSHED, OR DOES HE WANT SOMETHING ELSE?

"That’s a good question."

"I think it could be a multitude of things."

"I think that’s the beauty of Aemond’s ambiguity."

"You don’t necessarily know what he’s thinking or where his true motivations and allegiances lie, but you definitely know that he is thinking."

"There is this calculative quality behind his eye."

"What his motivations are, I don’t know if I want to spoil it too much, but it’s a few things."

"I think he loves his mum [Alicent]."

"He wants his mum."

I’m going to quote Spider-Man… “with great power comes great responsibility.”

"He has the largest, baddest, oldest dragon in the known world."

"He has to be seen as someone who can wield that effectively."

"And so I think it could be a multitude of things, and I think there’s certainly a fear in the unknown there as well."

"What do you think are his motivations?"

I FEEL LIKE IT'S A SPLIT. SOME OF IT MAY JUST BE, 'I WANT TO GO INTO WAR, AND I WANT BLOODSHED. I WANT TO BE ABLE TO PROVE THAT I AM A MAN AND I FIT INTO THIS TYPICAL BOUND OF MASCULINITY.' BUT THEN I ALSO THINK THAT SOME OF IT IS A BIT OF WANTING TO BE SEEN AND BE HEARD. AEMOND IS NOT THE FIRSTBORN NOR THE ONLY DAUGHTER ON 'HOUSE OF THE DRAGON,' AND SO MAYBE IT'S WANTING TO PROVE YOUR WORTH AND SHOW THAT YOU ACTUALLY MATTER. AEMOND JUST WANTS SOMEONE TO SEE HIM.

"Yeah."

"One thing that I’ve touched upon before is the idea that kids need that unconditional love to develop a balanced view of themselves."

"If a child isn’t embraced by the village, they’ll burn it down to feel its warmth."

"And so Aemond, like you said, he’s going to find that validation through other means, that attention through other ways, and he might just do that through war."

THAT IS THE DIRECTION HE'S HEADING! ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT CONVERSATIONS IN THE HOUSE OF THE DRAGON SEASON TWO FINALE IS WHEN AEMOND IS SPEAKING WITH HELAENA AND TRYING TO CONVINCE HER TO TAKE DREAMFYRE INTO WAR. IS HE ASKING HER TO DO THIS PURELY OUT OF DESPERATION TO BEST HIS OPPONENT, OR IS IT MORE OF A STRANGE ATTEMPT TO PROTECT THE FAMILY AND THEIR LIVES?

"I think it’s a little bit of both."

"It’s a fight for self-preservation."

It’s basically, “Look, it’s either going to be them, or it’s going to be us, so it might as well be them… we’re out-dragoned seven to three. If we don’t bind together and take Harrenhal, take out Daemon, and destroy all of the influence that he has in the Riverlands, we’re going to be on a serious back foot.”

"And like you touched upon, the idea of desperation; he is desperate at that moment."

"He’s been made a fool in Rhaenyra raising new dragonseeds, and he had to make a U-turn and fly back to King’s Landing, and he definitely has to feel like he has to overcompensate."

RIGHT. IT'S INTERESTING THAT AEMOND STILL WANTS TO CHART THIS COURSE ON HOUSE OF THE DRAGON, ESPECIALLY AFTER HELAENA TELLS HIM ABOUT THE VISION OF HIM DYING IN BATTLE. WILL HE TAKE THAT OMEN SERIOUSLY OR DOES HE STILL THINK THAT HE'S THE MASTER OF HIS OWN FATE?

"He always thought that he was the master of his own fate, but this new knowledge very much challenges that."

"I think Aemond will believe that information."

"He just doesn’t want to… [the show] planted seeds earlier in season two, episode six, after he’s made Prince Regent."

He is looking up at the Iron Throne, and he yearns for it, and Helaena appears behind him and says, “Was it really worth the price?”

"It gives the impression that she’s always been ahead of the curve and always known the secrets that happened all around in the skies above Rook’s Rest."

"He knew that his sister possessed this foresight."

"And maybe if you were able to, in some way, shape, or form, harness that power, that might be actually incredibly invaluable for the Greens to possess that foresight to know when a blow’s going to come before it lands."

"It would be invaluable."

IT IS A POWERFUL ASSET TO HAVE ON YOUR SIDE! DO YOU THINK THAT AEMOND ACTUALLY HAS THE CAPACITY TO BE A GOOD RULER AND MAYBE REDEEM HIMSELF OF HIS TRANSGRESSIONS ON HOUSE OF THE DRAGON?

"Do I think he’d be a good ruler?"

"No. No, I don’t think he would."

I'M STILL ROOTING FOR HIM BECAUSE I AM AN AEMOND-APOLOGIST.

"[Laughs] … For the majority of season two, he’s so composed."

"Whilst all the members of the council table are raising their voices and arguing, Aemond’s always been the kid who sits back and waits for his moment."

"There is a very cold, calculative quality to him."

"But as soon as he sits in the King’s chair, he starts to chuck people out of the council, and it’s very interesting…"

"You never say never, but at the moment, he seems pretty bad."

"Atrocious."

HE'S TRYING HIS BEST! ON HOUSE OF THE DRAGON, AEMOND OFTEN TALKS TO OTHER CHARACTERS ABOUT SACRIFICING FOR THE THRONE IN ORDER TO BEST RHAENYRA. OUT OF ALL THE SACRIFICES HE'S ALREADY MADE, IS THERE A SACRIFICE YET TO COME THAT WOULD ACTUALLY BREAK HIS HEART? PERHAPS LOSING VHAGAR?

"Losing Vhagar would be…"

"Oh, my God, I’d be heartbroken! I would be heartbroken as Ewan because I want to see Vhagar on screen as much as possible."

"Vhagar was very much his first friend."

"He was the first friend that he ever made and the first being that recognized Aemond and actually showed him some sort of attention."

"She saw something in him that maybe he didn’t even see in himself."

"If he lost Vhagar, he’d be heartbroken. Aemond and Vhagar, they’re a power couple."

"They’re soul-bonded."

"I think if Aemond has a breaking point, he definitely hasn’t found it yet."

VHAGAR IS THE BREAKING POINT FOR NOW, I THINK. YOU KNOW, YOU HAVE QUITE THE FAN CLUB NOW. THERE A LOT OF PEOPLE WHO DIG AEMOND! I CALL HIM A ROYAL PIRATE ON A DRAGON BECAUSE HE'S GOT THE EYEPATCH. HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THIS INFLUX OF ATTENTION AROUND AEMOND, AND WHAT HAS YOUR EXPERIENCE BEEN WITH THE HOUSE OF THE DRAGON FANDOM SO FAR?

"Well, I’m not on social media, so I receive a lot of beautifully articulated fan letters that are often badass as well, and I never take it for granted."

"I use it all as motivation."

"It means the world to me, and it also means that in collaboration with Amanda Knight, the hair and makeup designer, and Caroline McCall, the costume designer, that our work has really paid off."

"It’s a testament to their hard work and talent."

"So I love it all."

"I read every single one of them, I swear to God."

[rip-quizilla]

Impossible to Hate You ~ Part 5

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Summary: Everything is falling- leaves from the trees, rain from the sky, you for Eddie, and Eddie for you.

Word Count: 10.1 K

A/N: Big thanks to @the-unforgivenn (happy birthday❤️) for all of the help you gave me on this chapter, and honestly this whole fic in general. You've been an invaluable part of the writing process of this story, and the fact that you care so much about Eddie & Ace just makes me feel so loved... you don't even know. Ily wifey✨

Thank you @vintagehellfire for your priceless tattoo knowledge- I hope I did you proud!!

Also thanks to @blueywrites for helping me decide on what Eddie would tattoo on reader back in our Tumblr DMs in June😂 y'all that's how long I've had this scene in my brain. This part of the story has been a long time coming.

Divider was created by the lovely and talented @hellfire--cult❤️

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Part 5

Fall, 1983

“Rick, are you serious, man?”

“Dead serious, I’ll sell it to you for twenty.”

You caught the tail end of their conversation as you approached the red plastic picnic table in Forest Hills trailer park. Today was the first day of fall, and while it may not have felt like biting cold and crunchy leaves yet, it did feel like flannels tied around waists and long-dead grass that broke beneath the soles of your shoes. You hopped up onto the surface of the table, swinging your feet around to rest beside Eddie where he sat on the bench. 

“Sell what?” you asked, producing three cans of Coke from your bag that you’d brought from home and handing one to each of the boys. Rick had grown accustomed to your presence since the spring, so he actually cracked a smile when he answered your question and nodded in thanks as he accepted the can.

“Munson wants to buy my old tattoo gun.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wait, seriously?” you asked Eddie.

He didn’t take his eyes off Rick. “And I’m wondering what the catch is if you’re selling it to me for so cheap.” 

You cracked open your can of soda with a hiss, joining Eddie in his Rick stare-down. “Hmm,” you mused, “I bet he forgot to clean it and it’s staph-infested.”

“Nope,” Rick popped the ‘p’ after taking a swig from his shiny red can. “Never been used, so I can guarantee it’s staph-free. Always meant to use it, but after that brush with the cops I had last month, I don’t want to risk having it.”

You narrowed your eyes at Eddie, trying to discern whether or not he’d thought about the fact that if he bought it, then he would be in possession of paraphernalia for illegal Indiana activities. 

Then again, you knew he smoked weed and that was most definitely against the law as well, and he hadn’t been caught yet. You trusted him not to be stupid enough to get arrested.

You turned your line of questioning on Eddie. “Why on earth do you need a tattoo gun anyway?”

“Well you see, Ace-” Eddie lifted one of your feet up from the bench, straightening your leg and presenting your right shoe- your white converse, half covered in mythical creatures and random doodles that Eddie had slowly been adding to with his fine-tipped Sharpie ever since you’d bought them in early August. “-it seems that I need a canvas for my art, and it won’t be long before I run out of shoe.” 

You quirked an eyebrow. “So now people are the canvas?” 

Eddie held up his arms, bare skin nearly translucent in the afternoon sun. His nearly-too-small Iron Maiden tee showcased just how much bare skin he had to spare along the contours of his limbs. “If by people you mean me, then yeah.” 

“You’re going to tattoo yourself?”

“Yep!”

“Without practicing on someone else first?”

Eddie smirked, “You volunteering?”

You rolled your eyes, but for some odd reason the idea stuck. You decided to play along. 

“Let’s say I am, what would the tattoo be?” 

Eddie hadn’t anticipated this answer. He was so surprised, in fact, that he choked on the soda that he’d just sipped into his mouth before your question. In a cacophony of coughs and wheezes, Eddie managed to regain his composure as you smiled wryly, feeling as though you’d bested him somehow in some small way. To fluster him with something as small as this, something he hadn’t expected. 

“You’re serious? You want a tattoo?” Eddie responded skeptically, before turning away from you to fiddle with his soda can still held in his hands. 

You shrugged, as if he were asking if you wanted a pizza, not a permanent brand inked on your skin. “Why not? I think I’d look pretty badass with a tattoo.” 

You weren’t sure what was making you feel so bold today, but you had a feeling it might be related to the thought of Eddie covered in ink that wound up and down his skin that was making you ache to touch it when it was still naked and peach-pale. You scooched a couple inches down the tabletop to the left, placing your seat directly behind Eddie’s neck. 

Then, in a stroke of something between bravery, stupidity, and need, you carefully slung your legs over Eddie’s shoulders so that they sat in the bends of your knees.

It was a simple gesture- familiar, even. You made a point to lean back a little, bracing your hands behind you on the tabletop so that the apex of your thighs stayed a good distance from the back of Eddie’s neck. You felt Eddie’s shoulders stiffen, each muscle under your jeans tensing for a moment before relaxing into the closeness. 

Then Eddie brought his hands to your ankles, his fingertips brushing the spare skin between your high tops and the cuffs of your jeans. The pads of his thumbs barely caressed the skin but they felt like a kiss- a thing coveted and then forbidden, then coveted even more. 

His touch drifted over your legs, warm hands coming to rest over your shins and squeeze, heating the denim that separated his skin from yours. You were holding your breath. You’d been so confident a second ago yet here he was, knocking the very air from your lungs. 

You waited anxiously for him to say something; if he didn’t you were sure you were going to do something stupid. Something that would involve more of his skin on your skin.

“Would you want this tattoo of yours to show?” Eddie asked at last, breaking the silence between the two of you- well, the three of you. Rick was still there, taking in the sight before him with a smirk on his face. 

“Not easily, my parents would kill me.” you said, ensuring that your tone of voice was nonchalant, casual. “But I don’t see the harm in something small that I could hide.” 

Eddie tilted his head back and up, earthen eyes flicking up to yours. “What happened to ‘looking badass’?”

You pursed your lips as you leaned forward, bringing your faces to hover parallel over each other. “You’re saying that taking my pants off to reveal a surprise tatty isn’t badass?”

You watched as Eddie’s eyes flashed darker for a split second- nearly imperceptibly so- before his lips stretched sinfully into a mischievous grin. “Oh, under the pants then, huh?” 

His hands traced higher, ghosting on your knees and burning his fingerprints through your jeans. 

“Easy to hide,” you said, struggling to keep your voice even. “It’s a practical placement.”

Eddie’s thumbs stroked absentminded circles into the flesh of your lower thighs, tight denim puckering with the motion. “Practical placement…” he murmured, low enough that it sounded like he hadn’t even meant to say it out loud. 

“You could put it on your hip.”

Both of your heads whipped around to focus on Rick, who was grinning at both of you like he’d just discovered a fun new game to play. He shrugged, hopping up to sit beside you on the tabletop. “You want it to be hidden all of the time, right?” he leaned to shove you congenially with his shoulder. “When’s a good girl like you gonna be showing off some hip? I bet the only one who’ll see that will already be married to you when he lays eyes on-”

“Hey!” you interjected. “You act like I’m some prude, I’m not a nun.” Rolling your eyes, you looked back down at Eddie hoping to meet his gaze and laugh together over how ridiculous Rick was being. However, you looked down only to find Eddie’s chocolate browns trained on Rick with wide-eyed warning. A silent message was clearly being exchanged, but it wasn’t for you.

Rick was smiling smugly down at Eddie, unbeknownst to you, and Eddie was getting the message loud and clear:

It’s time to raise the stakes, kid. 

“Perfect!” Rick chirped, smug eyes still trained on Eddie’s. “So you wouldn’t mind letting Eddie use your hip as his, uh… canvas, then?”

If Eddie’s looks could kill, Rick would be a dead man. 

“Yeah.” you choked out, refusing to give yourself time to chicken out of what you’d gotten yourself into. “Yeah, why not?”

Rainy days in autumn just felt right.

Sure, you were in Latin class. Sure, you were supposed to be working on a packet the substitute teacher had just passed out. However, it was raining outside. The sub was easygoing enough that she hadn’t made a move to stop Eddie from doodling on your shoe that was perched comfortably on the crook of his hip. 

You sat behind him in every class you had together- there were four of them this year- and Eddie had gotten into the habit of reaching back to tap you on the leg whenever he knew he was losing focus. Every time he tapped, you would carefully stretch your leg forward until his hand caught on your ankle, lifting it up until it rested on his lap. His sharpie would go to work on whatever blank spots he could still find on your white converse, and the mindless activity of his drawing would keep his mind awake enough to listen as teachers droned on and on. 

The change in Eddie wasn’t lost on his teachers- they had all noticed the impact that your company seemed to have on him, and it was the only reason why they hadn’t had any issues with your constant companionship. When you were around, Eddie actually paid attention in his classes and turned in work- that was good enough for them.

The silence of the classroom and the soundtrack of rainfall beating against the roof and windows had created the perfect work zone for you, and your focus on your classwork was only interrupted when you noticed a folded piece of torn notebook paper on the edge of your desk. 

Smirking as you felt Eddie continue doodling on your shoe, you unfolded the paper and read the slanted scrawl that you’d come to recognize instantly as Eddie’s handwriting. 

Were you serious about the tattoo thing? It’s OK if you’re not.

Your cheeks heated, contemplating whether you were still serious about it or not. The only fears you had about it were completely logical- Eddie had literally no clue what he was doing. Yours would only be his second tattoo after his own. Worst case scenario, the tattoo would get infected and you go to the hospital. Eddie gets arrested for tattooing without a medical license. Best case scenario… you get to sit there while he grips your naked thigh for as long as it takes to leave a permanent reminder of him on your hip. 

You blinked a couple of times, letting that mental image wash over you, before confidently penning your answer beneath his message. 

I’m serious. 

Folding the scrap of paper and handing it back to him, you felt his Sharpie leave your shoe as he took the note and read it. You watched him register the two words, glance back at you through the loose strands of hair that hung over his shoulder, then smile softly into a shake of his head. A second later, he was handing the note back to you.

If you say so, Ace. What am I tattooing, and where?

You had to think about it for a moment before passing back your answer

Hip is fine. What are you gonna do? We could match.

Eddie’s reply came faster than you’d ever seen him write any of his notes in class, that’s for damn sure.

You want matching tattoos?? Are you sure?

Your heart began to race. Was that bad? Was he judging you for wanting to match him? Maybe you were being too clingy, trying too hard… you glanced down at his jacket, which was wrapped around you almost every day at this point- it was practically a second skin. His handwriting was all over your shoes. You stared at your fingers, scarlet polish chipping from the tips of your nails, and you remembered that you’d chosen red solely because he’d mentioned it was his favorite color. 

Were you coming across as desperate? Were you weirding him out? Maybe you needed to dial it back-

A new piece of paper slid across your desk, Eddie’s eyes glancing your way with nothing but warmth in his gaze before he returned his attention to your shoe on his lap. 

I’m fine with it if you are. 

Putting bats on my forearm. 

You released a breath that you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, giving ways for butterflies to take flight inside your chest. You grinned, jotting down your reply beneath his writing. 

I’m more than fine with it. 

Could you do just one little bat on my hip?

Eddie took a little longer this time with his response, and you understood why once you saw the adorably small silhouette of a bat penned in black on the paper he’d passed back to you. 

You leaned forward, letting your chin nearly brush the fabric of his denim jacket as you whispered low enough that the substitute teacher wouldn’t hear. 

“It’s perfect.”

A snicker from the other side of the classroom caught your ear. Eddie and you both turned to see a cluster of letter-jacketed assholes staring at the two of you, whispering and laughing with each other. 

You knew deep down that you didn’t care what they thought. You knew that you should just keep your head down. Ignore them. 

But then you caught the tail end of one of their sentences.

“...fucking freaks.”

Two things happened simultaneously: your eyebrows jumped, and Eddie’s stomach dropped.

The ringing of the bell was all you needed to angrily shove your belongings into your backpack and march over to the other side of the classroom, stopping the jocks in their tracks. Eddie was right behind you, tugging you back by the crook of your elbow as you steadily ignored his pleas to sit down and ignore them, they aren’t worth it.

“You want to repeat what you were saying over there, Alan?” You stared up at the freckled boy, his harsh features sneering down at you from where he stood nearly half a foot taller than you. His height did nothing to deter you, however. Neither did Eddie’s death grip on your arm.

Alan snorted, raising an eyebrow at the sight of the two of you before him. His eyes flicked over you, appraising for about two seconds before directing his attention to Eddie behind you. “You letting your girl pick your fights for you now, Munson?” 

Eddie didn’t have a chance to respond; you didn’t give him one. “Don’t look at him.” you stepped forward, bringing you mere inches from the freckled football star. “I asked you a question.”

Alan and his cronies laughed, apparently amused by the show of dominance you were trying to make. You opened your mouth to berate him further, but the sharp tug on your arm from Eddie was strong enough this time to jerk you away from them and toward the door of the classroom. 

“Wh- Eddie, quit it!” you tried to shake off his grip but it wasn’t going to budge; Eddie marched you out the door and down the hallway like a man on a mission. 

“Yeah, Eddie, quit it!” You both could hear Alan’s patronizing whine from the classroom, his voice thrown into a reedy falsetto that made your blood boil. His voice trailed off, melting into the nasal snickers of his friends.

Eddie didn’t let go of your arm until the two of you reached his locker, at which point he finally looked you in the eye- and his stare embodied an intensity that you hadn’t seen from him ever before. You’d seen him intense, of course… just not like this. 

This looked like fear. 

“What the fuck was that for?” Eddie bit out, his teeth clenched and eyes wide. 

You crossed your arms, suddenly defensive. Had you messed up, somehow? “I… I mean, they were calling us names, I wasn’t going to just sit there.”

“Alan’s an illiterate asshole, you don’t need to explain yourself to him.”

“I know I don’t need to, but…” You chuckled humorlessly, that familiar vengeful feeling from moments ago beginning to bubble back up. “You know what, no. I do need to. I’m not the kind of person who can just sit there while jerks like him run around slandering good people, it’s wrong!”

Eddie huffed, his hands on his hips as he glanced around and shook his head. “Slandering, huh? That’s a big word, Ace. What’s that, the college word of the day?” You raised an eyebrow, watching him closely and curiously. 

He was fidgeting nonstop, repeatedly picking up his feet and replacing them on the floor only an inch or so away from where they’d been before. His eyes darted in every direction, as if scanning for potential threats so that he could run from them before they decided to pounce. 

“Eddie, why are you so afraid of those guys?” 

Big brown eyes widened to saucers, refocusing on you. “This isn’t fear, Ace, it’s just common sense.” Eddie checked over his shoulder to ensure the jocks were gone, then took a step closer. He leaned his shoulder against the locker, lifting his opposite arm to gently place his hand on your upper arm. You shivered, feeling his thumb trace small circles through his own black leather. Maybe that’s why he’s so scared all of a sudden, you pondered, leaning closer to Eddie. He’s given me his armor. 

You lowered your voice, sympathetic to Eddie’s plight. “You know I wouldn’t let them hurt you, Eds.” Looking up into his eyes, you expected to see them soften, gratitude coating his gaze. Instead, they widened and crinkled slightly at the edges. Eddie huffed out a gaudy laugh, incredulous at your admission.

“Hurt me?” he shook his head, stunned, and began to rifle through his locker for the books he needed for next class. “Ace, I just don’t want them to hurt you!”

You balked. “Me?” an eyebrow raised, you crossed your arms over your chest, defensive once again. “You really think they’d hit a girl? They’re jerks but I don’t think they’d go that far-”

“Nah, they’ll only sick their girlfriends on you.” Eddie punctuated his sentence with a slam of his locker door. “Purebred harpies with matching scrunchies who’ll make your life a living hell and then pretend that you’re the crazy one.”

It was a struggle to keep up with him at the rate he was walking, strides each a yard wide as he tugged you along by your hand. 

Your hand. Eddie Munson was holding your hand. 

“You, uh… you speaking from experience?” You stuttered over your words, cheeks heating at the sudden skin-to-skin contact. He had just admitted that he didn’t want to see you get hurt- his blatant protectiveness of you coupled with the way he was decisively dragging you by the hand to your locker right now was nearly too much for you to handle. 

“Trust me,” Eddie sighed, swinging you around as he reached your locker and (to your dismay) letting go of your hand. “You get asked out on a dare enough times, you figure out how their coven operates.” 

Eddie wasn’t meeting your eyes. You had to actually place your hand on his shoulder to capture his gaze. “Eddie,” you said, making a conscious effort to keep your voice steady and be something stable for him to feel at least a little grounded on. “Deep breath.”

Surprisingly, he did as you said. Eddie closed his eyes, inhaling deep and allowing his lungs to fill long enough that his chest expanded before his exhale blew softly on your cheeks. It smelled like the apple you’d brought for him at lunch.

 When you were once again treated to that warm hazelnut gaze, your hand acted without thinking and flew up to gently rest against his jawline. You were crossing some invisible line- you knew that- but the light in the hallway was causing shadows to take up residence in the dusting of whiskers that decorated the sharp incline that led to his chin. Your fingertips brushed his skin reverently, and he seemed frozen. Eddie didn’t dare move; you were like a butterfly that had deigned to land on him of all people, and damn it all if he was going to fuck it up and scare you off. 

“I’ve got you, you’ve got me… right?” Your voice was barely loud enough to be heard through the noise of bustling students. “We look out for each other, Eddie, we’re stronger together.” 

Eddie remained still under your caress, wishing he could focus on your touch. Wishing he could rip his eyes away from where they were trained behind you- held in terrified contact with a sadistic-looking Alan who stood with his cherry-lipsticked girlfriend across the hallway. Alan’s lips were curled into a sneer, watching as the thing that Eddie wanted most became his worst nightmare.

You were openly touching him, while wearing his clothes, standing in shoes covered with his drawings- and Eddie watched in horror as the harpy pushed up on her tiptoes to whisper something in Alan’s ear before both of them refocused not on Eddie, but on you. 

They laughed like fucking heyenas, eyeing their next meal. 

It took every ounce of self control Eddie had, but he gently took your hand in his and lowered it from his cheek. He ignored the way your eyes gazed up at him the same way a scorned puppy begged for some kind of affection, any confirmation that they are, indeed, loved. 

“It’s the together part I’m worried about, Ace.” Eddie whispered, keeping his voice low. 

You were quiet, which Eddie hated because it was his fault.

“Oh, and um-” Eddie raised his shoulders and shivered, rubbing his hands along his upper arms to warm himself with the friction. “-it’s a little chilly today… you mind if I wear the jacket?” His hand drifted down to the flannel that hung loosely tied around your waist, taking a corner of the material and feeling it between the pads of his thumb and forefinger.

“This’ll keep you warm, yeah?” 

You stared blankly for a moment, stunned. You had nearly forgotten that the jacket was his to take. You’d assumed he liked that you always wore his jacket, but… perhaps you’d made that up. You were eager for him to want things like that, after all… ‘more than friends’ kinds of things. However, asking for a borrowed item to be returned was completely normal for friends. You chided yourself for reading too much into it and smiled warmly up at him.

“Yeah! Of course!” you sprung into action, setting your backpack down on the floor as you began to shrug off the jacket. “You’re right it’s frigid in here today.” 

You handed the jacket to Eddie, who donned it with a thin-lipped smile. Parting ways for your next class, you departed in opposite directions down the hallway. 

Upon arriving in your calculus class, you glanced out the window eager to zone out as you watched the rain, only to be greeted by a gray sky drained of its water. The rain’s reprieve left nothing in its wake but a tired sun, soft mist that obscured all surety, and packed Indiana dirt softened to mud too loose for one to find their footing. 

The sort of mud that, should you try to walk through it, you’d be destined to slip and fall. 

When Eddie thought of Halloween, he thought of blood and sugar. 

It was a strange contradiction, the way that Halloween’s association with horror and gore had balanced itself out with candy corn and fun-sized Snickers bars, and yet the juxtaposition of the two brought a smile to his face. The combination of sweet and terrifying embodied the holiday perfectly. On Halloween, there was no need for any kind of steely exterior that might protect him from judgment. No need to hide the way he really feels behind the scary metalhead armor he’d so carefully curated as a defense mechanism. 

On Halloween, he wasn’t just allowed to be a freak. He was celebrated for it. 

On Halloween, he could just be. 

It was the reason why Halloween just so happened to be the day he’d had enough courage to look through your bedroom window exactly four years ago. It’s the day when Hell meets Heaven to make something sweet, and anything can happen.

Anything- including matching tattoos on the floor of his trailer. 

Everything was ready- Eddie had laid out sheets of newspaper to cover what he’d deemed the tattoo zone, and broken down a cardboard box to act as a stable surface on the soft carpet of his bedroom floor. Eddie had scrutinized every instruction he’d been able to wrench from Rick for how to work the tattoo machine. Grips, needles, fucking rubber bands that were apparently very necessary… he’d made sure he had it all. He’d even practiced on an orange that he’d swiped from the kitchen counter.

A thick black cable now snaked across his carpeted floor, connecting the machine to a pedal, the pedal to a power supply, and the power supply to the yellowed plastic outlet on his wall. Beside the machine sat a stack of paper towels and all sorts of other shit Rick had advised him to make sure he used. He was lucky that Rick had bought a bottle of black ink- Eddie wouldn’t have known where to seek out medical-grade ink in a state where it was illegal to ink your skin without a license. 

Your knock at his door made Eddie jump; he wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. It would be easy to write his nerves off as adrenaline before his first tattoo, but who was he kidding- it was you. You’d gone from someone who made him nervous to someone who made him nervous for different reasons, and all of this was very inconvenient for Eddie. 

“Trick or Treat,” You’d chirped when he opened the door, and it was at that moment Eddie realized that this night may very well be the death of him.

You wore your favorite baggy sweater over a tight black tank top, which you’d tucked into some high waisted acid washed jeans. Unsurprisingly, the chucks on which he’d scribbled his claim were fastened securely on your feet. In your hands was a variety pack of halloween candies and a shopping bag from the local drugstore. Everything about you radiated warmth, and Eddie had to fight the urge to change tonight’s itinerary to movies and a blanket fort and spend the whole evening on the couch with you, surrounded by candy wrappers and the light of his television set. 

“I brought antibacterial soap,” you said, bringing Eddie back to reality. You rifled through your shopping bag to show him your spoils as you stepped through the threshold and into his trailer. “-large bandages, and a little travel first aid kit just in case. Oh, and I did a little bit of reading at the library and I couldn’t find much on tattoos, but the one commonality between every book and article I could find said to make sure you wash the wound often and disinfect everything-”

“Ace,” Eddie interrupted, taking the bag from you and closing the front door. The corner of his mouth quirked up, keeping an amused chuckle at bay. “You went to the library to read about how to safely care for an illegal tattoo?” Your expression soured, shifting to a half-scowl, half-pout. 

“Well one of us has got to do it,” you huffed, grabbing the bag and marching towards Eddie’s room. “And I know you wouldn’t set foot in the library unless you were forced.” You continued to yell at him from his room, “You’ll thank me when your kitchen-scratched tattoo doesn’t get infected, and you get to grow old with all of your limbs intact!”

Eddie stayed glued to his spot as his smirk grew into a goofy grin. You were fucking adorable. 

You hadn’t argued when Eddie insisted that he start with his own tattoo- before he got started on permanently marking your skin, he wanted to be sure that he at least had gotten the hang of it first. He immediately started getting to work with his trusty fine-tipped Sharpie, sketching out a scattering of bats on his forearm and glancing every once in a while at his notebook for reference. You’d flipped through that notebook on several occasions when the two of you had sat idle during classes or study sessions. The drawings were always sprawling, sharp and gruesome in a way that wasn’t so much scary as it was fascinating to you. 

You laid stomach-down on his mattress, positioned behind where he sat on the floor, his back leaned up against the bed frame and close enough that you could probably reach down and play with his hair if you were bold enough. You didn’t- no matter how tempting it was, you didn’t want to risk anything that might mess up his focus. You settled for watching Eddie’s reflection in the mirror that sat leaned up against the wall in front of him. 

When the Sharpie stencil had dried and Eddie picked up the tattoo machine, you couldn’t deny the nervous uptake in your heart rate. You watched him gingerly begin the process of permanently inking his drawing into his skin, and before the needle touched skin, Eddie looked over his shoulder at you and winked, whispering a surprisingly shaky “Point of no return.” Before you could ask if he was having second thoughts, he was already outlining the first bat, his socked foot pressing decisively on the pedal that whirred his machine to life. 

Minutes ticked by before you uttered a soft “Does it hurt?” to break the awkward silence. Normally, Eddie had some sort of music playing, Metallica or WASP or something along those lines spinning on his cheap old turntable- but tonight there was nothing but the electric buzz that filled the small bedroom, and it was starting to make you antsy. 

Eddie huffed, and it was as much of a laugh as he could afford while holding still. “Well, Ace, it’s a needle sticking in and out of my arm repeatedly, so if I’m being honest it ain’t exactly sunshine and rainbows.” You watched him wince as he moved on from outlining the first bat and started on the second. 

“Does it at least make you feel a little badass?” You watched his reflection in the mirror glance up through the curtain of his hair and raise an eyebrow at you. 

“That depends,” He said, “do I look badass?” 

“A little.” You teased. “You’ll look more badass when the tattoo is finished.” 

That earned you a snort from him. “What, fifty percent of a tattoo doesn’t cut it?” His reflection flashed you a genuine smile, that lopsided grin affecting you the way it always does, spiking your body temp and rushing the thump of your heart. 

“Nope. Though, if your intention is to tell the world that you have commitment issues-”

“I do not have commitment issues-”

“Then what kind of issues do you have?” 

Eddie parted the needle from his skin, taking a moment to glance wryly over his shoulder in your direction. 

“You.” It was punctuated by a tongue that peeked out from between his lips. You followed suit, shoulders shaking as you chuckled.

Silence threatened to fall for a moment then, but Eddie put a stop to that. “Keep talking.”

“Huh?”

His voice was quiet, muttered like he was biting the inside of his cheek as he spoke. “Hurts less when we’re talking.”

You smiled, watching as he avoided your eye contact in the mirror, focusing on his arm as a subtle blush began to creep onto his cheeks. Tempting as it was to tease, you opted for a more neutral topic.

“Which is better, sour candy or chocolate?”

You could barely see his eyebrows furrow behind his curtain of curls as he considered your question. “Chocolate.”

“You’re crazy.”

He barked out a laugh. “After all the ridiculous shit I’ve said, that’s what crosses the line for you?”

You shook your head, amping up your reaction for his benefit; he was laughing, and it was music to your ears. You were greedy for more of it. 

“Sour candy is a whole experience, chocolate is just sweet! That’s all it has going for it!”

Eddie gawked but kept his eyes trained on his skin. “What do you have against sweets?”

You rolled your eyes, flopping from your stomach to your back and staring up at the water stain on Eddie’s ceiling. “I haven’t got anything against sweets… I just like a little tart to go with it. Oh hang on, that reminds me-”

You stuck your hand into the plastic bag you’d brought with you, producing a variety pack of cheap Halloween candies. “Do you normally get trick-or-treaters? I thought we could pour these into a bowl and set it out on the porch- you know, so we don’t have to keep answering the door.”

Eddie Shook his head. “Nah, not a lot of kids who live here. Those who do always high-tail it to the neighborhoods where the good shit is, like-”

“Loch Nora?” you finished, smirking. 

Nodding his approval, Eddie echoed, “Loch Nora.”

“Well in that case,” you yanked open the bag of candy so hard that a few individually wrapped pieces were flung onto the bedspread as well as the floor below. “I guess we’ll have to eat all of this ourselves.”

Eddie paused his tattooing to glance at a fun-sized packet of sour gummy worms that had landed on the carpet beside him. “Gummy worms?” he asked.

You flicked the back of his head while the needle was off his skin. “Uh, yeah, they’re delicious.”

“Did you at least get candy corn?”

You gagged. “Candy corn?!”

The two of you passed the next hour like that, debating about various arbitrary topics and inevitably disagreeing on almost all of them. There were only three things that you both agreed on without any debate whatsoever: Santa Claus was the superior holiday mascot, Joan Jett could easily beat Cyndi Lauper in a fight, and The Empire Strikes Back was way better than A New Hope.

When Eddie was finally finished with his tattoo, you were off the bed in an instant and already reaching for the antibacterial soap. 

“You should wash it under some warm water first before anything gross has a chance to get in there-”

“Hey hey hey, whoa hold on!” Eddie was laughing, eyes wide as he smiled at you. Your hand was already encircled around his wrist, tugging his arm (and the person attached to it) toward the bathroom. “Ace, you haven’t even looked at it yet, c’mon you’re bruising the artist’s ego here.” 

You sighed but couldn’t hide the rueful grin that danced on your pursed lips. Softening your vice like grip on his wrist, you shifted your hands to cradle his forearm and survey the last hour’s work.

“It looks good, Eddie… really good, actually.” You absently swiped a thumb over the soft skin of his wrist. “If you’d told me it was professionally done, I’d totally believe you.”

“Yeah?” He looked up from where your thumb stroked the base of his forearm, eyes shining.

“Yeah,” you smirked. “Of course, I’d tell you to try and get your money back, but-”

“Oh shove it up your ass, Sweet Tart.” The playful shoulder-check had you letting go of his arm, but both of your faces were painted with ear-to-ear smiles. 

Eddie washed his new tattoo in the bathroom sink, admiring the way the bats stretched and shifted with every flex of his forearm. Your mouth hurt, as did the muscles in your cheeks; you couldn’t stop smiling. He was so happy with his work, and you had to admit that he had actually done a really good job with that tattoo machine. 

“We’ve got to get you out of Indiana, Munson,” you murmured to the mirror where he continued to scrutinize his work from every angle. “I think you may have just found your calling.” 

His eyes were wide and shining with pride as they glanced your way. “You think?” 

You nodded, that saccharine smile stubbornly staying put on your lips. To be fair, you didn’t fight it.

“You’re coming with me, then.” Eddie replied, his own smile glowing in the dying light above the bathroom mirror.

There it was- that familiar fire beneath the skin of your cheeks.

“Oh I am, huh?” 

“Hell yeah.” Eddie braced his arm on the doorway, leaning over you until your faces were mere inches apart. “We’re stronger together, remember?”

Breathe. Breathe… Why can’t you breathe?

You’d barely managed a nod before Eddie was ducking around you through the doorway, grabbing your hand, and leading you back to his room. 

“Your turn, Ace.”

Oh yeah, you were also getting a tattoo today. You’d almost forgotten. Were you nervous? You weren’t sure. Actually, yes, you were very nervous- not so much about the tattoo as you were for where the tattoo would be. 

In minutes, you were both sitting on Eddie’s bedroom floor- Eddie readying everything he needed for your new ink, and you sitting eerily still as your soul started to feel like it might leave your body.

“Ace,”

Eyes refocusing, you blinked a few times. “Yeah?”

Eddie’s expression was calm, sympathetic to the inward freak-out he had a feeling you were on the verge of. “We don’t have to do this, you know. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out sounding a little more strained than you had intended. “Hah…you saying I have commitment issues?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up, but Eddie’s eyebrows stayed knitted together above his big brown eyes. “No,” he murmured. His voice was soft, as if he were speaking to a stray animal and trying not to spook it. “I guess I’m just… trying to give you an out, so you don’t feel pressured or anything.”

You shook your head, “I don’t want an out.”

Eddie blinked, “No?”

“No.”

There was a second of silence between the two of you before you both took in a collective breath, exhaling simultaneously and giggling when you both realized that you were breathing in sync. Perfect harmony; sour and sweet, nervous but willing. 

“You, uh…” Eddie stammered, his eyes flicking down to your lap and back up to your face. “...you still want it on your hip?”

Your heart rate doubled. 

“Um, yeah.” you awkwardly shifted your weight onto your knees, grabbing hold of your waistband and unbuttoning your shorts. You shimmied them over your hips, revealing the rest of your leotard- leotard, Eddie realized. Not a tank top. You were wearing a black leotard. It was almost like the kind that he’d seen ballerinas wear, except it cut so high on your hips that he was sure it wouldn’t be allowed in any of the dance studios he could think of, and….yep. YEP, it was practically a thong. Your ass was out. You were sitting on the floor of his bedroom with your ass out. 

Chill out, Munson! He screamed inwardly at himself, Chill the fuck out!

Of course, you couldn’t tell that there was a war going on between Eddie’s ability to function and the short-circuiting that threatened to render him unable to do anything but stare at you. All you could see was the way his jaw had gone slack and his eyes bugged out of their sockets.

You smiled shyly, a twinge of something between satisfaction and guilt nudging at your heartstrings. “I figured this thing would be less awkward than if I was sitting here in my underwear,” you laughed nervously as you gestured to your leotard.

Eddie gulped. He couldn’t see much of a difference. “Yeah, totally.” 

A beat passed. You grabbed a bag of gummy worms from the floor, tearing it open with a crinkle of the plastic that would not have been so loud if the two of you weren’t dead silent. You bit into the candy where the color changed from pink to blue, then finally muttered through your chewing, “Ready when you are.” 

Eddie blinked rapidly, taking his Sharpie in his hands. “Uh, yeah… yeah, okay.” 

With your free hand, you pointed to the part of your hip where your flesh naturally creased as your thigh met your pelvis. 

“Is here good?”

Eddie gulped. 

“Yeah, that’s good.” But Eddie was very much not good. He was the opposite of good, he felt like he was malfunctioning. When he placed his free hand on your upper thigh, he almost apologized. Why the hell did he feel like he had to apologize? He had no clue. His palms were sweating- did you feel how sweaty his palms were? Oh god. He forgot what a bat looked like- you were trusting his artistic skills enough for him to permanently ink his drawing into your skin and he couldn’t even remember what a goddamn bat looked li- oh, wait, he had them on his own forearm now. Eddie glanced at his arm, reminding himself what a goddamn bat looked like. 

He’s never felt like more of a nervous idiot than right now. 

Meanwhile, you felt like you were about to explode.

His hand was warm. So warm as he grasped your thigh. Whenever he’d touched you before, there was always a barrier, some form of separation between his skin and yours- jeans, a sweater, a flannel. 

A leather jacket.

That’s right- he had taken his jacket back. Maybe you were reading too deep into things, but you had this unshakable feeling that taking back that jacket had been a message. 

We’re just friends. Nothing more.

But if that was true, then why was he looking at your thighs the way he was? Why had he looked at you the way he did when he said you should go with him when he leaves Hawkins? 

He wasn’t your boyfriend… you knew that.

So why couldn’t you shake this undeniably girlfriendish ache in your chest?

“Okay.” Eddie’s voice jolted you out of your downward spiral into your very inconvenient feelings. “Check that out in the mirror, make sure you like it.”

You straightened up, walking on your knees until you faced the mirror leaning against the wall and inspected the tiny, perfect little bat that he’d drawn on the fullest part of your hip.

It matched the bats that now decorated his arm, now surrounded by an angry red halo that bloomed across his skin. Once that bat was inked, it would be something connecting you and Eddie forever- a shared experience, a secret that the two of you would always be in on. 

Suddenly, you realized that in this moment there wasn’t a single thing you wanted more than a matching tattoo with Eddie Munson.

Well, there was one thing. But you had a feeling that wasn’t happening tonight. The tattoo, however…

“I love it.” You looked over your shoulder at Eddie, but his eyes were a little too busy staring at your practically naked behind to meet your gaze. 

“Ahem.”

Breaking free of his trance, Eddie shook his head a tad, which drew a small chuckle from your smirking lips. Eddie couldn’t help but smile too, albeit more shyly than you.

“Distracted?” You teased, unable to hold back your glee at this kind of attention- any kind of attention- from Eddie. 

He sighed, blinking rapidly while he finally met your eyes. There was something new in the way he was looking at you- if you didn’t know better you might call it frustration, but it was an amused sort of frustration. Almost like his eyes were saying “what am I going to do with you?” but through sunglasses tinted with desire. 

You wanted to bottle that, stow it away for emergencies. Wanted to preserve the way that gaze made you feel so that you could experience it over and over again. 

“No.” Eddie murmured through a rueful grin. “Lie down, it’ll be easier to ink the skin while it’s flat.” You did as he instructed, feeling the crinkle of newspaper underneath the skin of your rear. Once again, you found yourself staring up at the water stain on Eddie’s ceiling until his face came into view, looking down at you as he readied the tattoo machine. 

“Are you?” You heard him ask. 

You raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

The pads of Eddie’s fingers poked and prodded at the skin around where your tattoo would soon have an indefinite spot on your hip, and you wondered if he could tell that your temperature shot up ten degrees each time you felt his hands on you.

“Are you distracted?” he clarified. “Because it hurts less when you’ve got something else to focus on.” 

“Oh.” Suddenly, your mind went blank. Of course, the moment you wanted something to distract you, all ideas turned tail and ran. “Um…”

Snap!

Your jaw dropped as the elastic of your leotard snapped back to your skin from where Eddie had pulled it away with his pointer finger. “Where’d you even get this thing?” 

Now it was your turn to short-circuit.

“Uh-” You stammered, interrupted by the machine beginning to buzz. 

Eddie didn’t wait for you to finish your thought before reminding you what he’d asked. “C’mon, Sweet Tart, where’d you get the leotard?”

You knew he was trying to distract you so you didn’t feel the pain, but you couldn’t help the tensing of your muscles as the needle pierced your skin. You winced, staring at the water stain with a newfound intensity. “Dance store.” you gritted through lips that formed a tight line. 

“Dance store, huh?” You could hear the smile through Eddie’s words. “And why were you in a dance store?”

You huffed out a short, breathy laugh, careful to keep your hip still as Eddie’s needle continued to do its work. “I was making a Flashdance costume. Heard about this Halloween party a few weeks ago, but then we made the tattoo plans… and I had already bought the leotard, so…”

It was disconcerting to speak with Eddie without looking at him; he was a very expressive person, always talking with his hands, always making sure that he looked you in the eyes when you spoke to him. But now he was focused on his work on your hip, leaving your eyes to shift between staring at his ceiling and fluttering closed.

“You were going to wear this thing to a party?” he asked, incredulous. 

Your eyebrows wrinkled over your closed eyes. “I would’ve worn tights under it…” 

He snorted. “That wouldn’t have made a difference.”

You winced, groaning as the needle hit a nerve that particularly stung. “What- ah, shit- what are you trying to say?” 

The buzzing stopped for a moment. “Fuck, you okay?” Eddie’s face leaned into your field of vision, his frizzy brown hair backlit into a halo by the light from the lamp behind him. “You want to take a break?”

You shook your head, taking a mental snapshot of how ethereal he looked like this. “No, you can keep going, I’m fine.” 

Cautiously, Eddie got back to work. A few wordless seconds ticked by before you spoke. 

“What did you mean, ‘that wouldn’t have made a difference’?”

Eddie’s reply was matter-of-fact, but you could have sworn that you heard a hint of protectiveness in his voice when he said, “Tights or no tights, the whole party would have been staring at your ass, Sweet Tart.”

The “T” sound in “Tart” was soft this time. So soft, it was barely there at all, and it almost sounded like he’d just called you sweetheart. If only. You’d give anything to be Eddie’s sweetheart.

Whether he’d meant to blend that consonant or not, it made you brave. “Is that a bad thing?”

A pause. Then, “Is this a trap?”

“Answer the question, would a bunch of people staring at my ass be a bad thing?”

Eddie sighed. “This is definitely a trap,” he muttered, before replying “No, Ace, objectively it would not be a bad thing. But sometimes people view girls differently when they walk around with their asses out.”

“Do you look at me differently when my ass is out?” You were being cheeky, you knew it. 

“No, I don’t look at you differently.” came his instant response, muttered through nearly-closed lips. “I just look at you.”

Nothing could stand against your smile, not even you. “Yeah, that much I could see in the mirror.”

“You don’t sound too upset about that.”

This was different from the flirting you were used to with Eddie. Your regular flavor of flirtation had always been surface-level banter; nothing past a jab here and there, a joke at his expense or a nickname thrown your way. 

Now? You were talking about the way he looked at your body, and the fact that he could tell that you liked when he looked. The two of you were in uncharted territory, and you buzzed under his touch in time with the inky needle at the beautiful unknown of it all. 

“Okay, the outline is done but I’m about to start filling it in.” Eddie warned. “This part hurts a little more. You wanna take a break?”

You nodded. While Eddie jumped up to get you both a glass of water, you sat up on your elbows and peered over at your hip to get a look at your new ink. When you saw it, you gasped so fervently that you startled yourself.

It was perfect. The perfect little bat. 

It wasn’t completely symmetrical. The outline was a tad thicker in certain places than others. But those imperfections made it his. And the fact that it was on your skin made it yours. 

You couldn’t wait to wake up and stare at it like this every single day. 

Eddie returned a moment later with two mismatched cups of tap water. Once you’d both rehydrated, he got to work replacing the needle at the end of the machine with a new one, as well as changing out various attachments and fiddling with a knobby-looking piece until he seemed satisfied with what he’d changed.

 You were impressed with how intensely focused Eddie was on this sort of work; it didn’t seem to be taking him long to get the hang of this. It also didn’t take him long to come up with another topic of conversation that teetered on the line between friendly and flirty.

“Ever played Fuck, Marry, Kill?”

You had not, but the title of the game brought an unexpected chuckle out of you. “Edward Munson, I am a lady! At least take me out to dinner first-”

“I’m going to take that as a no.” Eddie chuckled, and you could hear his deadpan in the tone of his voice. “I say three people’s names and you have to tell me which you’d fuck, which you’d marry, and which you’d kill. Comprende?”

“Uhh-” whatever you’d been about to say was cut short by a harsher buzz than before, accompanied by the aggressive sting of needles on your skin. “Mmh, shit, okay yeah sure let’s play.”

Eddie smiled to himself. He wasn’t sure why he loved the little noises and whispered curses that spilled from your mouth while he tattooed you, but he honestly thought they might be the cutest sounds he’d ever heard. You were taking the pain like a champ- he was actually pretty proud of you in this moment as you remained still through the sting.

“Lars Ulrich, James Hetfield, and Kirk Hammett”

You rolled your eyes. Eddie had ensured over your many rides in his van this summer that every Metallica song he’d played had been an educational experience. Eddie had picked up a cassette of their debut album in July, and ever since he’d become obsessed. Already, he was trying to persuade the other members of his band to figure out how to play The Four Horsemen by ear. 

Needless to say, you knew enough about the band to at least answer the question. 

“Well I’m killing Lars for sure.”

“Poor Lars never stood a chance.”

You grinned, willing the distraction into something great enough to numb the pain. “And I think I’m gonna have to fuck Hetfield.”

“‘Have to fuck Hetfield,’ such a sacrifice.” 

You carefully stretched your arms up to rest above your shoulders, cradling your head on your hands like a pillow. “Hey, if someone’s got to do it, I’ll take one for the team.”

You heard him snort, then after a moment’s quiet he added, “So you’re marrying Kirk Hammett, then?”

“I guess so.”

“What makes Kirk marriage material? Over the other two, I mean.”

You thought about Kirk Hammett’s wild, dark curls. His build. His brown button eyes. The way he looked holding a guitar.

“I don’t know, there’s just something about him.”

Eddie thought about the way he’d been trying to make himself look more like a rockstar ever since he’d first seen the tiny, grainy picture of the Metallica members in the corner of a page of Rolling Stone; he’d been bumming copies off Jeff’s subscription since the seventh grade. How he’d started growing out his hair after seeing Kirk’s long, black mane. He smiled. 

He must be doing something right.

“Alright, Mrs. Hammett,” He quipped, “My turn, hit me with bachelorettes one through three, please.”

You thought over your options, trying to think of women you’d heard him mention before. Wondering if he thought any of them had something in common with you, and praying to God he didn’t kill them.

“Olivia Newton-John,”

Already, Eddie was descending into a fit of giggles. 

“Why are you laughing? She’s pretty!”

Eddie launched into a falsetto rendition of the chorus from Grease’s Hopelessly Devoted to You, and you were instantly fighting the giggles too. 

“Shut up! I’m not done yet. Olivia Newton-John… have you seen Fast Times?”

His response came in a tone of voice that was the vocal equivalent of a side-eye. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I don’t know if you know who Phoebe Cates is.”

“Oh,” Eddie sighed dreamily, “I know who Phoebe Cates is.” 

You rolled your eyes, but chuckled nonetheless. “Okay then- Olivia Newton-John, Phoebe Cates, and Carrie Fisher.”

Eddie barked out a joyous “Ah!” before answering, “Well this is easy, Ace, say goodbye to Newton-John!”

You mock-gasped. “You’re killing Sandy?”

“I’m killing Sandy.”

“That is brutal. She was so innocent, too.”

Eddie squinted at the half-filled tattoo, smirking into his explanation. “Okay, I see the appeal, Ace, I truly do. That outfit at the end is killer.” He paused. Should he say it? Would he be too obvious if he did? 

Ah, fuck it. 

“I’m a sucker for a woman in red shoes, let me tell ya. However-” Eddie quickly glazed over that last sentence, as well as any opening you might have gotten to think about how that might relate to you. “-I’ve gotta fuck Phoebe Cates. Because… y’know-”

“Boobies?” you beat him to the punch.

Eddie confirmed with a matter-of-fact “Boobies.” He glanced up at your face for a moment, curious to see if he could read what you thought of his answers, but you were staring pensively at his ceiling, expression unreadable. “And you have to have known I was marrying Leia the moment she was an option.” 

“You have a thing for Princess Leia?”

“Are you joking?” Eddie asked, incredulously. “How could I not? The woman’s the definition of a spitfire, she kicks ass and takes names. Not to mention, she’s got a thing for scoundrels.” 

You hummed. “Do you think you’re a scoundrel, Eddie?” 

“Well I’m certainly not a scruffy-looking nerf herder, I’ll tell you that much.”

You winced playfully, “A nerf herder you are not… but you are a bit scruffy.”

“You’ve got me there, princess.”

Eddie went silent. The nickname had just slipped out- all this talk of scoundrels and princesses and strong women who weren’t afraid of a fight and before he knew it, he was seeing more similarities between you and Leia than he’d realized were there before. 

Princess had just seemed right. It just slipped out. 

The line between friendship and dangerous territory had been so clearly drawn in Eddie’s mind before tonight. Where had he gone wrong? That once clear line was getting blurry.

Eddie was absolutely convinced that he would probably find a way to single handedly ruin your friendship before he was finished filling in your tattoo- which you would inevitably hate, because it would remind you of the asshole who you used to be friends with before he made things weird between you.

“My turn,” your voice cut through Eddie’s downward spiral, drawing a relieved sigh from him that tickled the skin of your thigh. “Let’s make this round more interesting. Only names of people from Hawkins.”

“Hm, that is interesting.” he mused, the needle inching its way toward the last remaining centimeter of bare skin left within the outline. “Let me think… Chief Hopper-”

You barked out a laugh, “Oh great start, Eds.”

“Chief’s a good looking guy! I don’t know why you’re laughing!” but Eddie was smiling ear to ear, delighted that his awkward apprehension had already begun to dissipate. “Principal Higgins-”

“Are you only going to give me old men as options?”

Eddie was going to do exactly that, because he didn’t want to picture you marrying or- God forbid- fucking any men in Hawkins that you might actually enjoy doing either of those things with. He wasn’t jealous, per se… but none of the shitheads in Hawkins were good enough for you. Eddie wasn’t even good enough for you; not yet, at least. He could picture a future version of himself one day taking his chances with you, once you’d both skipped town and found your way in some thriving city somewhere. 

You were both too good for this place- you were the first person to make him think that about himself.

“What was that security guard’s name at the mall? Average joe looking guy? Quentin? Quincey?”

“Oh, you mean Quinn?”

“Knew his name started with a Q.” Eddie softly bit his bottom lip as he finished the last bit of your bat’s wing. “Hopper, Higgins, and Quinn. Those are your options.”

You groaned. “These choices suck, can I just kill them all?”

“I kinda like it when you go all bloodthirsty, Ace.”

You rolled your eyes before letting them flutter closed. “Ugh, well I’m obviously killing Higgins… he’s never been nice to you and all he cares about are school sports. I guess… I mean if I have to, I’ll fuck Hopper.”

Eddie was beside himself with giggles, “I mean, that’s one way to get out of a speeding ticket.”

“You’re lucky I can’t smack you right now.” You ignored Eddie’s snickering and continued. “And I don’t think I’d mind being married to Quinn, he always smiles at me and asks how my day was. Plus he’s kind of cute, he’s got nice hair.”

Eddie wrinkled his nose. “I don’t see it.”

You laughed, and the jingling tone of your voice suddenly sounded too loud as the buzzing of Eddie’s machine stopped. 

“Alright, Ace,” Eddie announced, leaning back to survey his work. “Check out your new ink.”

You didn’t need to look at it again to know it would be perfect, but you looked anyway. You stood on your sleeping legs and gazed at the little black bat on your hip- it sat beautifully balanced on the skin framed by your high cut leotard, and you knew at once that you’d think of Eddie each time you saw it. This was exactly what you wanted- a daily reminder of exactly how he made you feel, of who he was to you. 

At this moment, it dawned on you exactly what it was that Eddie made you feel. The way you always wanted to be around him, and the way he had become a balloon that inflated your chest every time he made you laugh, and how you knew- just knew- that you’d follow him anywhere if he asked. 

You loved Eddie Munson. You were in love with him. 

And you couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot at that little asymmetrical bat.

Part 6

Taglist: @emma77645 , @rustboxstarr, @josephquinnsfreckles, @rozxartaki, @sheneedsrocknroll92

[pokemonshelterstories]

this might be a little long so bear with me.

I have a Xatu called Tokko (for the sound he makes when he clicks his beak on his favorite plastic cup) who I raised since he was a Natu. Over the years Tokko has done strange things since he's evolved into a Xatu, ranging from expected Xatu behaviors - like standing on the roof of my apartment complex or in my backyard once we moved and intently observing the sun, meditating for tens of hours at a time, to less expected but aligned to partner Pokémon behaviors like using Psycho Shift to steal my colds and high fevers, using Rain Dance to create a localized storm when he didn't want me going to work and (psychically?) turning down the TV when it's too loud for me while he's indulging in nature documentaries and old movies.

I happen to work as a court reporter. I trained for a long time to properly use my stenotype and as it happens, Tokko came into my life around the time I was finishing up my prep for my certificate course to properly enter the profession. Since, Tokko has known that my stenotype is invaluable to my job. I've been professionally doing this for years now, and Tokko has been observing me more and more since I started going at it in real court cases. He's even started insisting on coming to court with me after an incident with a particularly irate defendant, for which I was thankfully issued a permit. He now flanks me basically at all times in court, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, he's calm, typically meditates and does nothing or simply observes the proceedings. He even teleported my stenotype repair kit from home to me so I can fix it up before recess ended.

Then last week happened. You'll understand why I'm anon now. I woke up to a rainstorm that morning, an obviously manufactured one when I looked out the window and saw the neighbor's house dry as bone. Tokko was just doing his usual bit of standing at the window and staring out at the rain like he's in a 60s album cover, but this is typical for him not wanting me to go to work, so I just gave him a pat on the head and told him bills don't pay themselves. As I'm sitting down with my freshly made instant espresso, Tokko suddenly teleports my stenograph onto the table in front of me, then slowly, ominously floats over and intently stares at it, like he wants me to read it. I take a paper out of it and am mortified by what I see; a perfect, court-procedure conscious record of a trial. To my knowledge, Xatu are known to be highly intelligent when properly raised and educated and I spared little expense in doing that. What scared me was that the record was of a case that hasn't been seen in court. It was for a case due in two days. Tokko probably sensed that I was scared by this and immediately started doing his little apology dance that he usually does when he knocks something over.

Timestamps, notes about witness behavior, down to the exact wording in the evidence used to prove the defendant's innocence, all appearing multiple times, all of it flawlessly written out with only an occasional grammatical mistake. And lo and behold, two days later it all plays out exactly as reported by Tokko.

What do I do. What CAN I do? Do I just keep this a secret forever? I'm not gonna experiment with future sight and I'm not very keen on punishing Tokko for what he probably only thought was helping me with work! I already communicated to him that using my stenograph without asking is rude, so hopefully he won't be giving me early morning heart palpitations anymore, but he's been insisting on trying to use the Stenograph more and more often, he seems very taken by it. I don't know if it's a toy to him now, like some Incineroar might steal home appliances they like and hold onto them just because, so taking the implications into account, would taking the stenograph away from him be like depriving him of enrichment? He only seems to want to use it when it's on, and he pretty much only seems to type out future things.

Any advice MORE THAN welcome

please

//hey so i think this is a REALLY cool story you've come up with and you've captured some really interesting vibes! unfortunately, it also goes against established worldbuilding i have for charlie. a xatu just doesn't have the cognitive capability to do this from her perspective. i do think it's a really neat idea to pursue and i didn't want to have charlie reply and just dismiss it for not being something that would happen, but you might want to send it to another pokemonirl blog where pokemon have that kind of ability.

as a reminder, please read the faq before sending an ask! it'll help make sure that whatever you send is something charlie can answer