#definitely shouldn’t have come back to this side of the fandom

[starryjkoo]

ARMYs are really just burnt out and I don’t think the rapid fire pace of releases has helped anything. It’s amazing as a fan to get all this music, but the expectation to chart everything I think is unrealistic and kind of overwhelming. People just don’t have that kind of time, energy, or money to go all out for every comeback when they happen every other month, sometimes several in a single month. It especially doesn’t help if ARMYs aren’t feeling the song, and I don’t think they’ve felt quite a bit of CH2 music.

I have longer thoughts on all this, but I just have so much annoyance towards some chart ARMYs and their unrealistic expectations and their refusal to acknowledge that the current organized fandom streaming power isn’t what they think it is. Another big wave of HL victimization (but sometimes TH is also included??) from ARMYs and it just opened the doors for so much resentment and hatred to be thrown towards jkk but especially Jimin. It was really disturbing to go and block these people & find I had 5-10+ moots following each time. It’s really out of control.

I’m just tired of this RL discourse while they ignore the twenty elephants in the room that explain why the streams are where they are (and no it’s not because “ARMYS hate RL”.). Instead they just throw these tantrums that further divide an already deteriorating and toxic fandom. I don’t know what it will take for them to understand that a fandom that doubled with Dynamite is going to prefer pop music, and that the majority of ARMYs are in fact not zombie streamers but fans who casually listen to the music that appeals to them. Not to mention the fact that a lot of ARMYs aren’t even active right now, so many of them have been dropping off and waiting for BTS to return as a group.

It really just keeps getting worse and worse in ARMY spaces. I’m pretty sure active ARMYs are about 90% diet solos at this point. It’s extremely messed up what a lot of them can get away with saying and not get canceled or called out for. It’s also just this hyper-fixation on drama, shooter accounts, NewJean’s, MHJ, raging against whatever fandom approved villain of the month, trending pointless hashtags for random reasons, and then being shady and resentful because of these arbitrary goals they set that are often influenced by using Jimin as a goalpost.

[mommyslittlebird]

You Look So Good (On Your Knees)

Voyeur!Mommy!Wanda x Daddy!Natasha x Reader

What was supposed to be just a weekly movie night quickly turns into something else when you catch a glimpse of something you weren’t supposed to see.

CW: Voyeurism, threesome, strap-on, flogging, orgasm denial (? A tiny bit?), caught in the act (once again a tiny bit), punishment, dacryphilia, degradation, hair pulling, choking (not really), reader calls WandaNat mommy/daddy

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: This is for @wandamaximoffsbadgirl. Thank you for all your help! I hope this was worth clawing your way under the door. Writing this (particularly the very end) has put me in a total WandaNat x Reader tailspin so expect some fluffy domestic stuff in the coming weeks.

A/N: I kinda sorta definitely double dipped for this fic, and it’s a spin of a different fic I did for a different fandom. But new fandom new crowd, and I figure almost none of you have read my non-marvel work. So the self-plagiarism is strong, but will probably go unnoticed anyway.

“Wanda? Natasha?” You called into the seemingly empty house.

It was Thursday night, your designated movie night with the couple: your long term friends and fuck buddies. They’d given you a key months ago. So, when you knocked and no one answered you just let yourself in.

You set down your bag in the living room, looking for them around the house. Their cars were both in the driveway. They had to be home. After investigating the first floor, you went upstairs. Maybe they were already in the bedroom waiting for you. That is where you always had your movie nights, after all.

You cracked the door open to find them both on the bed, Natasha underneath Wanda in an intense kiss. Natasha was grinding up against Wanda’s thigh, whining and breathless. You could tell by the way her hips were starting to falter, she was close. They must’ve been at this for a while. You didn’t want to interrupt.

You took a step back, trying to quietly shut the door. Maybe you could just wait downstairs until they finished. But before you could click the door fully shut, you heard Wanda’s commanding voice. “Not so fast, little girl.”

You sighed. You’d been caught. You opened the door back up, revealing Wanda pulling herself away from her wife. She looked at you with a cold glare, curling her fingers, instructing you to come to her.

She had you stand between her legs at the foot of the bed. “Did you not think to knock when coming into mommy and daddy’s room?”

“I-I knocked outside! I couldn’t find you! I was just looking for-“ you desperately tried to explain.

Wanda cut you off with a smirk. “Well, you found us.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you apologized. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Oh but honey, you did interrupt,” Wanda explained condescendingly. “You interrupted and now daddy doesn’t get to cum.”

“W-what? No but she was so close! Please let her cum mommy,” you pleaded on Natasha’s behalf. You genuinely felt terrible. You knew what that kind of denial felt like and you would never wish it on anyone, especially not your daddy.

Natasha smiled when you jumped to her defense, joining you and Wanda at the end of the bed. She beckoned you over to her, quickly pulling you to sit on her lap. She wrapped her arms around your waist, whispering into your ear. “It’s okay, baby. You're gonna make daddy cum so good later, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, shivering against her. God, you had hoped movie night would start like this.

“But for right now,” Wanda started. “We’ve got to teach somebody a lesson about knocking, don’t we? It’s your fault daddy didn’t get to cum, so daddy should be allowed to punish you, shouldn’t she?”

You looked to Natasha, who just raised her eyebrows expectantly, and then you nodded. “Yes mommy.”

“That’s our good girl,” Wanda purred, running her hand down the side of your face and lightly pinching your cheek. “Now, daddy’s gonna get you all set up on the bench while mommy goes to get some toys, okay?”

They both stood almost synchronously. Wanda briefly disappeared into the next room while Natasha hoisted you up in her arms, laying you face down on the leather bench next to the bed. She propped the back part up so it turned into more of a seat.

Wanda came from the closet with a long black leather flogger, her implement of choice for this particular scene. She handed it to Natasha, who smiled and gave her a kiss. Wanda sat down next to you, propped up over a seat you were now straddling.

She wiped the hair from your face. “Ready?”

You nodded into the soft, plush leather of the seat. You could already feel yourself easily slipping into that fuzzy space, where all the thoughts, worries, and responsibilities became irrelevant.

Wanda smiled, noticing the way your eyes glazed over. “I need to hear you say it, angel.”

“Yes, mommy,” you said as clearly as you could muster.

Wanda ran the back of her hand down your cheek. You shivered. She was the only lesbian you’d ever meet who always wore acrylics. The sharp point of her stiletto nails on your face sent tingles down your spine. You closed your eyes, losing yourself to the sensation.

You felt the leather tassels of the flogger brush lightly against your back. You whimpered, squirming in your seat.

“You don’t have to count, honey,” Wanda soothed. “Just let go. Mommy and daddy are gonna take care of you. You don’t have to think about anything at all.”

With that you felt the first sharp sting of leather snap against your back. You let out a noise between a whimper and moan. Natasha started slow, each hit a distinct sensation on your back, but as she started to pick up the pace, the strikes became less distinct.

In less than five minutes, she’d made a mess of you. You whined and squirmed against the leather seat.

“Aww sweetheart,” Wanda cooed. “Do you need mommy to hold you still while daddy whips you?” Before you could answer, the blows stopped. 

“Nooo…” you whined. “Daddy keep going. Please I promise I’ll sit still. Please don’t stop.”

Despite your protest, you felt two strong hands pick you from your seat. “I’m not done, princess,” you heard Natasha’s soft voice say. “But you’ve gotta stop squirming or I’m accidentally going to hit you in the kidneys.”

You were lowered into Wanda’s lap, where your legs were forced wider apart in order to straddle her. It made it significantly harder to move. She locked her hand around your thigh to keep you in place. Her other hand gently massaged your hair. “That’s it honey. Mommy will make sure you stay nice and still.”

Her long nails against your scalp were almost enough to make the thoughts fly from your head. “But… But you’ll get hit.”

Wanda chuckled and kissed your temple. “Daddy has excellent aim, sweetheart. I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about anything at all.”

The leather cracked against your back again. It hurt more now that your back was already raw. If not for Wanda’s hand pinning you in place, you might’ve jumped off her lap entirely. You whined wrapping your arms around Wanda.

She cradled your head over her shoulder, gently shushing your cries as she watched Natasha bring the leather down against your back over and over again.

“Mommy…” you whined into her ear. You were trying to ride her thighs like you had ridden the leather seat, but the awkward position prevented you from getting any friction whatsoever. It wasn’t even until Wanda felt drops of warmth on her thighs that she realized why you were whining.

“Aww,” she hummed, “you’re making a bit of a mess on mommy’s lap, baby.”

“I’m sorry, mommy,” you mumbled into her shoulder. “I just… it feels so good.”

“All this just from a flogging, sweetheart?” She teased. She would’ve loved to tease you further, but she was genuinely afraid you’d accidentally hurt yourself if she stopped holding you in place, much less if she had her hand between your legs.

You blushed, burying your face into her neck. “Mommy…” you whined when the leather stung your back once again. “Mommy please…”

Wanda’s heart melted at your words. The combination of your pathetic voice begging her for relief and your frail body in her arms made her want to ruin you in a different way. You were just so vulnerable. It would be such a waste to not take advantage of you in this state. “Alright,” She cooed. “I think she’s learned her lesson, hasn’t she Tasha?”

Natasha chuckled, but she stopped her flogging. “Do you think she’s learned her lesson, or have you just gone soft for a ‘mommy please’?”

Wanda wrapped her arm around your back, long nails still masterfully massaging your scalp. She rocked you back and forth in her lap. “Oh come on Tasha, look at her: getting all pathetic and leaky in her mommy’s lap. Doesn’t it just make you wanna…”

“Throw her on the bed and fuck her into the mattress until the only things in her little head are mommy and daddy?” Natasha finished.

“Exactly,” Wanda smiled mischievously. It was such a marvelous thing that she married someone who was always on the same wavelength as she was.

You were promptly picked up out of Wanda’s lap from behind. You whined, reaching out for Wanda.

“Now now,” Natasha chided. “None of that. Mommy’s not going anywhere. She’s gonna be here with you the whole time.”

She guided you to kneel on the bed, nudging your legs apart. Almost instinctively, your hands were crossed at the wrist behind your back.

Wanda hadn’t exactly planned on binding your wrist, but when you sat so perfectly, so expectantly, she could hardly resist.

“Natasha, would you like to bind this little darling's hands for us?” She instructed.

Natasha smiled, eagerly grabbing a length of pink ribbon and getting to work on tying your wrists together. She so loved tying you up. While a simple figure 8 around the wrists would’ve done the trick, she decided instead on a more complex design that would bind you up to the elbow. She knew she had time. Wanda would require a thorough inspection before she’d let Nat fuck you.

Wanda ran a singular finger through your slit. Her cold rings and sharp nail bumped over your clit as she dragged her hand upward. The sensation caused you to jump and whimper. Wanda just chuckled, bringing her finger lightly up your body until it was at your lips. You took her finger obediently between your lips.

“Do you think your ready for daddy to fuck you, baby?” she asked. “Does this needy pussy want daddy’s cock?”

You nodded, trying not to wince as her rings made their way onto your tongue, filling your mouth with a metallic taste.

“Which of daddy’s toys do you want, huh?” She asked, intentionally pushing down on your tongue so you couldn’t talk. “I’ll think I’ll have daddy use the purple strap. The one with the- what did you call them- the ‘mean ridges’? The ones that scrap against your special spot?”

You whined around her finger, giving her the most endearing puppy dog eyes you could possibly muster.

“Oh sweetheart,” she cooed, “do you not like that one? Maybe you’d prefer it if daddy tied you to the chair and you watched her fuck mommy instead, hmm? Maybe you’d just prefer not to have any orgasms at all?”

You shook your head frantically. You wanted to protest, to promise you’d be good and take that dreaded purple strap, but you couldn’t speak.

She chuckled. “That’s what I thought, baby. You’re gonna be a good girl for mommy and daddy, aren’t you?”

You nodded. She pulled her finger from your mouth and tilted your head up to kiss you gently.

“That’s our sweet girl,” she praised. “Aw it looks like daddy’s finished tying you up all pretty. Can you say thank you to daddy?”

You craned your neck to the side, trying to see her behind you. “Thank you, daddy, for tying me up all pretty.”

Natasha laughed, pulling you back towards her by the ribbon. She kissed you and smiled. “You’re welcome, baby. Can you show mommy your pretty ribbon?”

You attempted to turn around to show Wanda the way your hands and arms were intricately bound behind your back, but Natasha pushed you forward into the mattress. You yelped, surprised by the sudden move.

“A present, wrapped special for you, my love,” Natasha said to Wanda, leaning over you to kiss her wife.

“You always know just what to get me,” Wanda breathed against her lips. “Now go get ready, love. I wanna watch you make our sweet little girl cry.”

Natasha climbed off the bed behind you, disappearing into the next room.

Wanda’s nails were against your sore back, rubbing soothing as you lay in wait. You attempted to sit up, but Wanda clicked her tongue. “No, baby,” she chided. “Stay just like this.”

You felt the bed dip as Natasha climbed back on behind you. Her calloused hands lifted your hips so you were kneeling tall. The angle forced your face even further into the mattress. You couldn’t put your hands out to hold yourself up with them tied up behind your back.

Natasha ran the tip of the strap up and down your slit, pulling a muffled moan from your lips. She lined the toy up with your entrance, gently easing it inside. She threw her head back and moaned as she felt each of the ‘mean ridges’ push into you, then she pushed your hips forward and pulled them back, silently commanding you to fuck yourself as you adjusted to her girth.

The toy was, admittedly, slightly too big for you to manage without any discomfort. The ridges cruelly raked against your inner walls, causing you to wince with each movement. But with time, you were able to adjust to feel only a slight, delicious stretch.

After you’d grown to a moderate pace, Natasha took over, grabbing your thighs and pulling them back to meet her own. You let your body go limp, allowing Natasha to control your movements completely. You were putty in her hands.

“Fuck, Wands you should see her from here,” Natasha groaned, looking down and watching the large toy disappear inside of you over and over again. “Fuck it’s like she swallowing me whole. Needy little cunt. Can’t get enough of daddy’s cock can you?”

You tried to bury your face into the sheets to muffle the noises she tore from you, but you were unsuccessful. Without your hands or your arms, your range of motion was severely limited.

Wanda’s eyes went wide and her face cracked into a smile when she heard the first hiccup of a cry. She leaned forward. “Tasha, hold her up. I want to see her face.”

Natasha reached down and grabbed your hair, pulling your head up so you were face to face with Wanda. She could see the build up of tears in the corners of your eyes and the way your bottom lip quivered, threatening to give way to a sob.

“Aww, sweet girl,” she cooed. “Are you going to cry for mommy? It’s okay angel, you can cry. Daddy’s not gonna stop fucking you even if you are going to be a sobbing little mess.”

Natasha fucked you harder, nearly pulling all the way out before she slammed back into you again. She kept your head up, forcing you to look at Wanda even as your eyes rolled back and your vision went blurry with tears. Natasha wrapped her hand around your throat, grabbing you just under your chin. She braced her forearm against your chest, pinning you upright against her.

The position only accentuated the effect of the ridges, causing them to bump more aggressively against the spongy spot inside of you. “Aww look at how pathetic you look, crying your little eyes out while daddy fills you with her cock.” Wanda teased.

You felt Natasha’s breath hot against your ear. “Tell mommy how pathetic you are.”

You offered little more than a whine in response. Your bottom lip continued to tremble as tears rolled down your cheeks.

“Aww, sweet girl, there’s no need to be embarrassed,” Wanda assured. “It’s just me and daddy.”

You weren’t truly embarrassed, if you were being honest. You honestly felt like a masterpiece: a carefully constructed vision that Wanda and Natasha had crafted you into. But you played coy nonetheless. You had more fun when Wanda told you how pathetic you looked anyway.

“Poor thing,” Wanda taunted, “never learned how to take a proper fucking without crying.” Her eyes never left yours. Everything about watching her wife handle your helpless body drove her wild.

“I’m sorry mommy… I can’t help it… daddy’s cock feels so good inside of me,” you panted.

Natasha felt a burst of heat in her own core. Between yours and Wanda’s words she could feel herself creeping towards the edge. She just needed a bit of a different angle. She released her hold on you, causing you to fall helplessly back into the mattress. Wanda gently turned your head, preventing you from muffling yourself in the sheets.

You cursed. The combination of Wanda’s gentle hands and the new angle that hit all your most sensitive spots had you so close to an orgasm. All it would take was just a little more pressure on your clit. Unfortunately, with your hands bound behind your back, you were completely at their mercy.

“Please…” you begged mindlessly. “Please don’t stop. Fuck daddy. Please never stop.” You felt so certain that if Natasha pulled out of you right now, you’d simply die on the spot.

“You want to cum on daddy’s cock so badly don’t you?” Wanda teased. “But you can’t touch yourself. Poor baby.”

Natasha changed her pace. She could feel her own orgasm building as she felt the pull of the toy’s ridges pumping in and out of you. “Beg for mommy to let you cum, baby. I wanna hear you begging like the little slut you are.”

“Fuck!” you sobbed. The words poured out of your mouth nearly as fast as the tears poured from your eyes. “Please I’m all yours. I’m mommy and daddy’s little slut. Please, you can use me whenever you want. I’m just a little toy for mommy and daddy. Please I just need daddy’s cock inside me forever. Mommy please let me cum.”

“That’s a good girl,” Wanda praised, “begging mommy and daddy to use you like a little toy. That’s all you are right? A toy for mommy and daddy’s pleasure?”

“Yes!” you chanted. “Yes! I’m mommy and daddy’s toy. Please let me cum. Please mommy.”

“I wanna see you cum on daddy’s cock. Can you be a good girl and cum on daddy’s cock for mommy?” She asked.

Natasha curled her arm around your waist, pinching your clit and milking it between her fingers. Your eyes rolled back and your mouth opened in a silent scream as you fell apart.

Natasha continued to fuck you as you came, clenching around the strap. The pulsing put the perfect amount of pressure on her own clit, sending her into an orgasm not long after you.

She steadied herself on your hips, taking a few deep breaths in an attempt to regain her composure. She pulled the ribbon, and Wanda watched in fascination as the entire thing unraveled itself. They both chuckled as your arms bonelessly flopped down beside you.

Natasha hooked her arm around your waist to prevent you from simply collapsing when she pulled out. She laid you gently on your side before climbing off the bed. She disappeared into the bathroom, leaving you with Wanda.

You whined as the toy left, suddenly feeling terribly empty. Wanda sat down on the bed next to you, chuckling again as she bent over to kiss your temple. “I know, love. It’s just devastating that daddy can’t stay inside you forever, isn’t it?”

You nodded, whining again as you felt her wipe away the remnants of your orgasm.

“You did so well for us, love,” she praised, adjusting your position on the bed so you rested against the pillows. She pulled up some blankets, smiling as you wiggled in blissful content. “Comfy, honey?”

You nodded, reaching your arms out for her.

She crawled into bed next to you, wrapping her arms around you. She kissed your forehead, earning herself a dopey, blissed out smile from you. She kissed your cheek, licking up what was left of a few salty tears. She moaned at the taste.

Natasha came out of the bathroom, freshened up in nothing but a pair or boxers. She joined you and Wanda in bed, crawling in next to you. She kissed the top of your head. “Are you girls ready for movie night?”

You nodded. “I already promised mommy she gets my movie night cuddles this time, though.”

“What the hell?” Natasha said jokingly, pulling you forcibly into her lap and berating you with kisses. “Daddy fucks you so hard you can’t think straight and mommy still get the movie night cuddles?”

You giggled, squirming out of her kiss attack. “You always fall asleep anyway!”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Because I just fucked you so hard you couldn’t think straight. You wear me out, little girl.”

“Fine, daddy cuddles until you fall asleep, and then mommy cuddles,” you compromise.

“That sounds perfect, princess,” Natasha smiled, kissing you briefly.

You looked to Wanda for her approval. She smiled. “Fine. You can cuddle with daddy for the 20 minutes she’s awake, and then you’re all mine for the rest of the night.”

You wrapped your arms around both of them, pulling them into a tight hug. “Deal.”

[batfambyval]

okay. So.

Serious Red Robin theory coming.

Tim wasn’t put in the Lazarus Pit. But. That doesn’t mean they didn’t use it on him. The pit’s healing properties have been shown to work in small portions. Like, the healing is proportional to the amount of lw used.

The cave with the pit isn’t exactly a sterile environment. So either the pit was needed or it was an attempt to put Tim off balance, a psychological weapon. Though the White Ghost’s reaction to the assumption seems to dispute that. If the pit’s healing is proportional to the amount used it makes sense that the psychological effects are to, along with the duration of those side effects.

Ra’s had serious reasons to use the pit on Tim, between the additional room for emotional manipulation and Tim’s life threatening injury which wasn’t immediately treated and was in fact exacerbated like, a lot… yeah. Tim lost a lot of blood. He lost was stabbed in the organ that filters blood: meaning all your blood passes through your spleen. He was bleeding out, he should have died, he dragged himself and another person to a car, drove said car back to the city, and got them both up to the penthouse. Recovering from that would take a long time, he shouldn’t have survived at all. But he healed quickly and well, it isn’t an issue, it happened and it was over. I know we as a fandom like to have fun with Tim’s missing spleen and what that means but… canon didn’t and looking back I feel like there was a lot pointing at the pit being used in a much more insidious was, not just in the logistics of Tim’s recovery.

Ra’s was insanely trusting of Tim. Not just in his ability to do what he wanted but in his belief that Tim would ultimately come around to his way of thinking. Now, I can obviously see that Tim was in a very vulnerable position and if Bruce hadn’t actually been alive Ra’s could definitely have succeeded. But it feels like more than that, especially with Tim’s ensuing behavior. A lot of his time with the league is glossed over or seen from Tam’s perspective, but Tim was acting different. It’s easy to attribute this to the objectively terrible situation and the year he’s had, but his behavior isn’t the same as it was at the beginning of the run either. And the difference in behavior fades. As Red Robin Tim is more ruthless and pragmatic, mostly due to necessity. Even stealing from a museum and fighting for it makes him incredibly uncomfortable. He still did it. But he was still acting like Tim, making jokes and doing his best to diffuse the situation and keep everyone alive. After the surgery his focus gets even more single minded. He barely puts up a fight about leading the league. Of course partly for Tam, and he tried to keep killing to a minimum but cmon. He was leading the league of ASSASSINS. There were assassinations happening. People died when he blew all the league bases and he barely registered that beyond thinking that the council of spiders probably made it out, implying part of him knew death was a possibility and he didn’t care. But he didn’t think about the moral implications of that in a way that was very reminiscent of Jason’s selective morality. If he had stopped to think about it he wouldn’t have done it, but he was focused to much on beating Ra’s, on not compromising, that the complexity of the situation didn’t sink in. The obvious effects of his actions, the possible deaths and injuries of anyone inside a league stronghold wasn’t acknowledged while the underlying message sent to his opponent was the only thing he could think about. Just like when Jason attacked Tim at Titans Tower to send a message to Bruce despite his hardline stance against hurting kids.

So. The League did use the pit on Tim, just a little. Maybe two tablespoons in the wound to accelerate recovery and weaken his morals a bit. It would certainly make a lot of sense. And the writer did change when Tim came back to Gotham so it’s entirely possible that it was meant to be touched on later but was discarded.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Find Another Moment

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!SWAT!reader

Summary: Through a trip to find his mom, a series of explosions and executions, and an impromptu dinner date, you realize that you need Jim Street by your side all the time. Almost as much as he needs you.

Warnings: spoilers for 2x23 "Kangaroo" and Cinque story line from s2, angst to fluff, Karen Street being a bad mom, lots of comfort and love!

Word Count: 4.2k+ words

A/N: I shocked myself by making a rewrite that isn't chock-full of verbatim lines from the show! I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!🤍

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

There are very few people you rush to answer the phone for. When Jim Street calls hours after your shift ends, you nearly trip over your feet to get to the phone and talk to him.

“Street, hey,” you greet when the line connects. 

“Hey, sorry for the late call,” he says. “But I, uh, I wanted to ask if maybe you could get another ride to work tomorrow? I know it’s late notice.”

“Sure. Is everything okay?”

Street sighs, and your worry and concern for him grows.

“You can talk to me, Street. You know that. But you don’t have to.”

“No, I want to,” he answers. “It’s my mom. That thing with the credit card information worked out and I got an address. Now that I know where she is, I can do something. I’m going to go check it out in the morning before I head to HQ.”

“No problem. Family comes first. If you want me to come along though, just wait in the car, I can. You shouldn’t have to do this at all, but it’s really messed up that you’re having to do it alone, Jim.”

You don’t often call him by his first name, so you hope he doesn’t take it as trying to force your way into his personal life. He gets enough grief from Hondo about his mom, and the last thing you want to do is make him think you want to interfere and give your opinion, too.

“Your decision,” you add. “But I can definitely call in a favor from someone else. And my car should be back from the shop this week, so I’ll finally stop asking you to chauffeur me.”

“I don’t mind. Just… with my mom, I don’t want to make anything awkward between us if she is there.”

“Street, there’s nothing that could happen that would change how I think of you or our relationship,” you assure him. “I understand if you want to go alone, though.”

“I don’t,” Street says softly. “I really don’t.”

“Then pick me up before you go. What harm can some moral support do?”

“Thank you.”

“What friends are for.”

“No, really. I don’t think you realize just how much you’re doing for me. Thank you.”

“Goodnight, Street.”

Street sits back and sighs. You said nothing could change your relationship, but after moments like this, he wants to be the one to change it. Being friends and teammates is great, but you could be more. And, for once in his life, Street wants to do something for himself, to be happy with you without any care for what others think. If his mother doesn't scare you away, by some miracle or chance of fate, Street will tell you that he has feelings for you. Then, you get to take it from there because Street has been manipulated too many times in his life to find comfort in causing others to rush into big decisions. Especially when his heart and happiness are on the line, too.

The following morning, you wait on the curb of your usual parking spot for Street. He seems nervous as he pulls in, and you hope that the moral support you came to provide eases him. You’ve heard the horror stories about his mom but haven’t talked to her extensively like some of your other teammates. If she is here, you’ll give Street room to do his thing and then navigate the rest as he instructs. Street is special to you, and you refuse to lose him by overstepping or pushing his boundaries. He’s your friend, and you stay there because if you lose Street, you lose everything that matters.

“This is it?” you ask.

Street leans over the steering wheel to look at the old, sinking apartment complex. People wander aimlessly around the building, and clothes and furniture hang from windows. A distinct sense of doom and gloom escapes through all the cracks and crevices, showing the building's age and lack of care.

“Come in with me?” Street requests. “Please?”

You nod as you open the door. As you walk toward Street, you have to step over broken beer bottles, cigarette butts, and empty nos canisters. At his side, you smile, trying to remind Street that you’re with him, no matter what.

Inside, you follow Street up a staircase lined with trash. The hallway at the top is dark and dirty, and the cheap laminate floor is peeling from the corners. No one deserves to live like this, you think as you notice someone sitting at the end of the hall, rocking back and forth.

Street slows beside an open door, and you stop as he pushes it open further. Music plays inside, and Street looks over his shoulder at you and nods once.

“Good luck,” you whisper. “I’m right here.”

You watch Street step inside, then turn slightly to see inside the apartment. It’s trashed and nearly unlivable, but Karen Street is sitting on the floor and laughing at an old cartoon. Your eyes move to Street as he tries to get her attention. A sound down the hall draws your attention momentarily, but you turn back quickly when Street asks who someone is.

“Bryce,” the unseen man answers.

“So, you leave the apartment and disappear for weeks without a word and starting using again ‘cause you chose this guy?” Street asks.

“Name ain’t ‘this guy,’ it’s Bryce,” Bryce says. “And you need to go.”

You can see Street, but not Bryce from your position in the hallway. When Street stands quickly, you step inside and watch as he shoves the man against the fridge.

“Okay,” Bryce pants.

“Hey, stop it,” Karen calls as she stands. “Stop it, stop it! Eddie, baby, please.”

While Bryce asks who Eddie is, you debate whether you should walk back into the hallway or try to help Street. When Karen hugs Street while talking to his father, you wait. You step toward him as he shoves his mom back.

“Oh, Jimmy,” Karen says when she realizes it's Street and not her husband. She pulls her robe closed and murmurs, “I’m gonna… straighten things up.”

She moves toward the kitchen, and you follow her, nodding at Street. You gently place your arm before Karen and smile when she turns toward you.

“Hey, Mrs. Street,” you greet softly. “I can straighten up for you, but why don’t we go somewhere else for now?”

“What’s she on?” Jim asks behind you.

“We took a mix,” Bryce answers. “A mix of a lot of things.”

“Maybe we could go get breakfast,” you suggest. “Wouldn’t you like some time with Jim?”

Karen nods and turns toward Street. “I can make waffles,” she offers. “I might have to go to the store though.”

“I don’t want waffles, Ma,” Street answers.

Street grabs a blanket from the table and drapes it over his mom’s shoulders. “I’m taking her home,” he says as he places his hand on her back. “Bryce.”

You follow Jim and Karen for a few steps, then stop. “Bryce,” you call. “If I find out that the mix of a lot of things was your creation, I’ll be back.”

“It wasn’t!” he yells after you.

You wave your hand over your shoulder as you exit, leaving the door open behind you. When you catch up with Street, he’s almost back to his car.

“You take her home, I can call someone,” you offer.

“I’ll drop you off. Tell Hondo I’ll be late?” he replies.

“Sure.” Street closes the car door, and you catch his wrist as you ask, “Are you okay?”

He shrugs, and you nod in understanding. You squeeze his hand gently, then release him to get in the car. Street means more to you than he’ll ever know, and you’ll do everything you can, even covering for him to Hondo, to be here for him.

“Street, it’s me,” you say to the voicemail. “Hondo knows you’re running late, but I didn’t tell him anything specific. I’m going to the courthouse with Cortez. Um… if you need anything, let me know.”

After you hang up, you exit the car and meet Jessica on the sidewalk. She knows who you called, you’re sure of it, but you’re hoping that she won’t try to meddle or give you advice. The walk into the courthouse is a comfortable silence, which you’re grateful for. As you sit, Jessica speaks to the reporter on her other side, but you keep your eyes on the defendants before you. When they stand suddenly and begin chanting, you roll your eyes. They’ve been saying the same thing since they were arrested.

“The time to be good to each other has passed,” they add. “The system will be burned to ashes, starting with this courthouse.”

You look at Jessica as you lean forward.

“That’s new,” she says.

Outside the courthouse, people begin yelling, and you don’t hesitate to stand and walk toward the door. Jessica follows behind you, and when you enter the hallway to see Cinque on the screen, you stop in your tracks.

“Cinque,” Jessica says. “He must have hacked the feed.”

She raises her phone to film the live video, but you listen to Cinque rather than focus on who is with him or where he is. Hondo and the rest of your team will be watching back at HQ, but if you can help, you want to be prepared.

“So,” Cinque continues, “this time we don’t want money and we don’t want to bargain. We’re going to burn the system down and rebuild on its ashes.”

Cinque raises a phone and presses the screen. Several cars outside the courthouse explode, and you duck down as the people around you scream. Jessica pulls her gun and instructs people to move farther into the courthouse. You stay beside her and fight every instinct to run out and help the people closest to the explosion.

“Cortez, this isn’t over,” you say over the chaos behind you.

Jessica holsters her gun and pulls her phone out of her pocket. “He’s going to sentence a politician on live television every hour,” she tells you. “He’s just getting started.”

“That was the 4th Street bridge, but he’ll move. You need my team.”

Your phone rings before Jessica can respond. Street’s name on the screen is the best thing you’ve seen all day, you think as you answer the call.

“Street,” you greet when the call connects.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine. Cortez is good, too. No casualties here. How are things there?”

“Hectic. When are you coming back?”

“When am I coming back?” you repeat, looking at Jessica. She shrugs, it’s your decision. “I’m not. I’m going to stay with Cortez and keep an eye on everything here.”

“Be careful,” Street implores. “Keep me updated.”

“You, too.”

“Councilman Strub’s body, hanging from the 4th Street bridge, it seems familiar.”

“Figure it out, Street, we both know you can.”

“I have to tell Hondo all is good there.”

“I’ll see you later, Street. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Less than an hour later, you’re still at the courthouse when Cinque executes another politician. You don’t watch this time, but you text Street to be careful immediately after the broadcast ends.

Back at HQ, Hicks tells Street, “Get the rest of your team and go grab Cinque!”

“The rest of my team isn’t here,” Street mumbles as he and Deacon exit the situation room.

“I know you’re worried about her,” Deacon says, “but she’s okay. If we want to get her back here safely, we have to stay focused, Street.”

Deacon joins Luca as Street calls for Chris and Tan to visit the location of Cinque’s last IP address. As he works, Street realizes that Deacon is right and wrong at the same time. He doesn’t just want you back to be part of the team, Jim Street wants you by his side all the time. Having you at his side, as a teammate, when things are bad, is great, but that’s not all he wants. He needs more.

 After successfully saving Councilman Washington, 20 Squad is surprised to see Jessica back at HQ. Street, however, only looks for you.

“She’s still at the courthouse, waiting for things to settle there,” she tells Street. “Deputies didn’t mind the help.”

Street nods and watches Jessica walk to her office with Hondo. He’s glad you’re okay and safe, but he’d prefer to see you in person. You stepped up this morning to help him with his mom, and now, Street isn’t sure when he’ll see you again.

“We need to find Cinque,” he tells Luca.

“For personal reasons or the public’s safety?” Luca asks knowingly.

“Why not both?”

Your phone rings during a conversation with a bailiff. Jessica’s name on the caller ID makes you answer it before you even excuse yourself.

“Cortez, hey,” you greet. “Everything okay?”

“It will be. Cinque is in custody, and Deacon and Hondo are reviewing all the intel we have to find the last Emancipator. I need you to join me at City Hall, if everything is under control at the courthouse?”

“As under control as it can be. They’re understandably freaked about the explosions and the live broadcasts, but they can spare me. I’ll be there in twenty.  Do you think we’ll actually find anything or have to wait for another lead?” you ask as you exit the courthouse.

“I wish I had an answer for you.”

Before you leave for City Hall, you text Street to let him know where you’re going. You hesitate over the ‘Send’ button, then add, I’ll see you soon. It’s a promise.

“Find anything?” Street asks as he enters the situation room.

“There’s a live press conference at City Hall, we think it’s the next Emancipator target,” Hondo answers. “Cinque’s been planning all of this for a while. Was there anything going on at City Hall in the last year?”

“Let me see,” Deacon murmurs. After a quick search, he pulls up a record and photos. “They installed new security cameras four months ago, and the installation crew had to scan IDs to gain access to the building. And that work crew sure looks like our Emancipators on trial.”

“They used the installation job to plant explosives inside City Hall,” Hondo realizes.

Street’s phone buzzes, and he continues listening to Hondo as he reads your message and rereads it.

“Cinque likes an audience. Now he’s got one on live TV,” Hondo adds.

“Tell Cortez,” Deacon urges.

“She’s not the only one there,” Street says, looking up from his phone. “They’re both in a death trap.”

“Call her,” Hondo commands as he raises his phone to his ear. “We need everyone out without raising flags.”

Standing in the crowd at City Hall, you watch as Cortez turns to the side and answers her phone. Your phone begins buzzing immediately after, and you step back to answer the call from Street.

“The Emancipators are planning to blow up City Hall,” Street says, skipping his usual greeting. “Hondo wants everyone out.”

“Got it,” you answer.

“No, hey, listen to me. You get out of there.”

“Street, I will.”

“Don’t wait, just get out of there and come back here. Okay?”

“I’ll be back soon, Street. I promised, didn’t I?”

Now, you just have to keep that promise.

Back at HQ, Hondo preps 20 Squad, and they roll out in Black Betty less than five minutes later. In his seat, Street forces himself to pay attention to Hondo. If he doesn’t focus on his job, his mind will run rampant and make him think of everything that could happen to you.

When people begin exiting City Hall, the final Emancipator detonates one of the explosives hidden inside. You’ve strayed from Hicks and Cortez to make sure everyone gets out safely, and when the building shakes and the first explosion echoes through the halls, you cover your head.

“Go, get out of here!” you yell to a man in the same hall.

The explosion sounded like it was on the two-side of the building. Though you know the sound may have been distributed oddly and you could be wrong, you begin moving that way. Street told you to leave, but you’re this close; you can’t sit back and do nothing.

“Go,” you call as you run past civilians exiting doors off the hallway.

You near the two-side as the explosions continue, ranging in speed and location. Without communications with your team, you have no idea if the bomber is even in the building. Or anyone else, for that matter.

“22-David, Chris got the bomber,” Luca alerts.

“30-David to D-Team. Status,” Deacon requests.

“26-David, clear,” Street answers.

“25-David, clear,” Tan adds.

“20-David, all clear,” Hondo reports after a moment. “And I’ve got Cortez.”

“Just Cortez?” Street asks.

Street doesn’t wait for an answer before he rips his phone from his pocket and calls you. You don't answer, and Street runs toward one of the only standing entrances. As he enters the falling building, he yells your name, screams through the dust, ignores the burning in his eyes and throat, and climbs over the rubble.

“Talk to me!” he yells, feeling ready to collapse. Leaning against a pile of debris, Street yells your name once more.

Each explosion disorients you more. Between the dust, the noise, and how the closer explosions throw off your balance, you lose sight of the exterior wall and your escape. Instead, you focus on moving forward and keeping your hope of finding any door.

Someone yells in the distance, but you can’t decipher where they are. Everything is muffled, and your steps are growing slow and heavy in your oncoming lethargy.

“Street,” you whisper, reaching for your phone before remembering you dropped it while running past a falling pillar.

Your eyes flutter closed as you lean against a wall. Investigators will be inside soon, so you rest amongst the wreckage and consider simply waiting for them. Until someone yells your name, that is.

“Street?” you ask without opening your eyes. You try to imagine the voice in your head again, and the simple thought of Jim Street gives you the strength to stand. “Street!” you yell. You’re interrupted by a cough, but you call for him again and hope you aren’t imagining his presence.

“What can you see?” Street yells.

He sounds closer now, and you smile as you reply, “Dust!”

“Cute,” Street says, his voice quieter but clear.

You turn to the side, and your eyes widen when you see him. Street steps to you and pulls you against his chest, hugging you tightly. He cradles your head against his chest for a moment before he pulls back and lays a hand against your cheek to look at your face.

“Let’s get out of here,” he suggests. “You feel okay?”

You nod and agree, leaning against Street as he follows Luca’s radioed directions to a clear exit. In the light of day, you can see that you and Street are both covered in dust, but there’s no one else you’d rather have beside you for support. You like having him by your side, you realize, and you wouldn’t mind staying at his side even when you’re off-duty.

“Thank goodness,” Street sighs. “I thought I’d forgotten what you looked like without all the City Hall powder on you.”

“You stare at her enough it should be burned into your mind,” Luca teases as he waves at you. “Have a good one.”

“You too, Luca,” you call.

“You want to come over?” Street offers, pulling his backpack onto his shoulder. “I can make you dinner.”

You smile as you close your locker. “I really want to, Street. But isn’t your mom at your place right now? Don’t you need to spend time with her, before, you know?”

“Is that the only reason you’re saying no?”

“I didn’t say no,” you argue with a smile. “I don’t want to intrude, though.”

“Come with me,” Street repeats, offering his hand.

You lay your palm over his, and you know you are home. Your place has always been by Jim Street, and you’re finally seeing that.

“Go ahead,” you murmur at Street’s door. “I’ll either be here to take you to my place or I’ll come in later.”

Street nods and squeezes your fingers gently. As he enters his apartment, he sighs. “Hey,” he tells his mom.

“How was work?” she asks.

“It was good,” Street lies. You were in danger, it was terrible, but his mom has enough to deal with already. Not that he would have told her the truth anyway. “How you feeling, Mom?”

“My headache’s cleared away, so… Thank you so much for coming and getting me. Uh, thank your friend, too. You okay?”

Street doesn’t answer, his eyes straying to the door, where you’re waiting to be everything he needs and more. Not because you have to or feel some obligation or twisted sense of responsibility for him, but because you want to.

“I’m so sorry, Jimmy, that you had to see me like that,” Karen continues. “Sometimes your mom’s just pretty sick.”

The door opens, and Street doesn’t turn around because he knows it isn’t you.

“Mrs. Street,” Karen’s parole officer says, “I have to remand you back into state custody for parole violations. You missed several check-in appointments and were found under the influence or narcotics.”

“You reported me?” Karen asks Street.

“So that you can get treatment, get better,” Street explains.

“I can’t go back to jail. Jimmy, I can’t go back to prison, I can’t. After all I’ve been through and all I’ve done for you, you’re sending me back? What kind of son would do this to his mother?”

“The kind that doesn’t want you to die.”

You watch as Karen is led out of Street’s apartment. With her back to you, she never sees you, but you heard everything. The door is still open, but you knock regardless as you step into Street’s home. His eyes are on the floor until you enter, and then he looks up with sadness evident on his face. Jim Street has never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but with you, he’d rip it out of his chest and place it in your loving hands without second-guessing that you’d treat it better than he ever could.

“Jim,” you say softly. “I’m so sorry.”

Street gently grabs your left wrist, closing his fingers around your skin and feeling your pulse thump beneath his touch. With his other hand, he pushes the door closed. When you step closer to him, Street pulls you into his arms and drops his head to your shoulder. Carefully, you move your hands to rub between his shoulders while gently brushing through his short hair.

“You did the right thing,” you promise him. “You love her. Even if she can’t see it, you did the right thing.”

Street’s arms tighten around your waist, and you close your eyes as you hold him.

“What do you want for dinner?” Street asks against your shirt.

You chuckle at his sudden change of subject, but neither you nor Street move. The comfort, the peace, the love you feel at every point of connection you have with Street is better than anything you’ve ever felt or will ever feel in the future.

“What if we order from your favorite place?” you suggest.

“Why?” Street mumbles, his hands clutching the back of your shirt.

“Uh, because you like it.”

“No, I mean, why stay with me, be here for all of this?”

You gently push Street back to look into his eyes. With your hands on either side of his face, you smile and answer, “Because I want to be. Right here is the best place I’ve ever been.”

Street smiles, his dimples appearing beneath your thumbs at your honesty. With his hands at your side, Street leans his forehead against yours and sighs.

“I really am hungry,” he admits.

“I thought we were having a moment,” you tease, brushing your thumbs over his dimples.

As you look into Street’s eyes, you desperately want to kiss him. After everything that’s happened, you don’t want to make him uncomfortable or force him into something he isn’t ready for yet. So, you wait.

“You didn’t listen to me. When I told you to get out of City Hall… you were all I could think about and when we realized what Cinque’s crew was doing, I realized that I need you, all the time,” Street confesses.

“I thought you were hungry,” you whisper.

“You can’t have it both ways,” Street replies happily. “Unless you want it both ways, and then I’ll find a way to make it work.”

“I want you, Street,” you say. “Now and forever, I want nothing but you.”

“Even with all the drama?”

“And the trauma,” you affirm with a nod. “We all have pasts and baggage, Street.”

“Would kissing you immediately after sending my mom back to jail be weird?”

“Now that you’ve pointed it out, yes, it would.” You step back and suggest, “Dinner and then we try to find another moment?”

“Only if you’re in it,” Street answers.

[rimunagenius]

I loveeee your writing! could you write some head canons about Caitlin clark dating a famous pop star think Sabrina carpenter and her just being obsessed with reader, talking about her non stop in interviews ect

hi anon! i love this idea and thank you so much!💕

Caitlin Clark x Pop Star!reader

you met the most cliche way but super cute nonetheless

you had been sitting court side at an iowa game after the wrap of your tour

you had been a basketball fan since you were a little girl; you played growing up and in college as well before pursuing your music career

she had caught your eye, you having a little crush on her (her confidence through the TV when you followed on tour, enticed you insanely)

your relationship is definitely she fell first and she fell harder (you fell first and she fell harder)

Caitlin loved your music, putting the whole team on you so when she saw you in the crowd, courtside, she came to impress

you just so happened to show up on the biggest night of her career (she broke all those records and she’ll say it was her playing…her teammates would say your presence contributing to her ambition to break the records quicker)

after the game, you stayed behind, talking to your other friends in the music industry who had been there when some of the team came up to you asking for pictures

Caitlin had press interviews, and when they were over so you asked to take a picture with her

“I should be asking you this question, shouldn’t i?” She smiled at you before putting her arm around your waist, and you to her taking the picture

“My biggest flex is I met my celeb crush.” You told your crowd at your small venue show. “I met the Caitlin Clark, and she’s so much prettier in person.”

You treated your fans like your friends. doing a lot of crowd work and have conversations. You told them the real meaning behind ‘because i liked a boy’

a fan had recorded and leaked the footage, it everting around everywhere and inevitably reaching Caitlin

Jada had showed Kate, who had told Caitlin

That’s when Caitlin had it bad

For the next several weeks after that clip went to the media you and Caitlin went back and forth sharing posts to your story of eachother with “stunning” (directed to you) and “i’m your #1 fan” (directed to her)

you didn’t try and hide it your lyrics more controversial than admitting you had a crush a Caitlin

then you both were at a event, you shooting your shot and inviting her as your date

You guys talked more after the stories so inviting her seemed like the right move to you in starting your evolving relationship

you guys definitely were close that night…

i’m talking paparazzi getting shots of you where Caitlin just so happened to have her arms or hands on your waist

then she started appearing more at your shows wether they were small venues or big arenas

Caitlin definitely was starting to get more confident and cocky with you

“this wouldn’t be an issue if you were my girl already”

“oh, so you got something to ask me?”

“no because you already know you want me, and you know i want you.”

Cait obv asks you to be her gf despite this, and it was very intimate and romantic

the hard launch went absolutely bonkers too because both of your fandoms were so large

you made ten times more appearances at her games, courtside, and repping her number loud and proud

you wrote songs about her, and they did so well because you guys were the model couple

“So how do you feel now that you’re dating the Caitlin Clark?” you’d get asked that so frequently the answer was automatic

“Like the luckiest girl in the world.” It was cheesy but it was true

your dream come true

you were subtle; no matter how cocky Caitlin had gotten and how she was usually the most dominant one (Cait is definitely a top and the more masc one when she’s put in a wlw relationship…can’t change my mind)

but was your biggest cheerleader and wouldn’t stop gushing about you when you came up in press interviews

she’d find ways to bring you up like

“oh, me and my girlfriend…”

“my girlfriend would’ve thought that was funny…”

“my girlfriend…”

you two were literally meant to be

two big careers matched you both

[gloriousburden]

I’ve been trying to keep this blog about appreciating OG Loki instead of any negativity, but goodness is the series the bane of my existence. Imagine looking up your favorite character, and having to scroll past every result that comes up.

Imagine the only part of the fandom/community you can enjoy being a small side of Tumblr away from the main tags.

You cannot relate to anyone on Twitter, TikTok, Instagram, etc..

A subdivision on Tumblr of a fandom is all you have!

Finding decent Loki merch is hard enough as it is, but now you need to look out for hourglasses, and the colors orange and brown.

This is all because of the series. This is why us anti series blogs/OG Loki fans are so “cruel” and “evil.” This is why it’s so serious to us. It’s weird to feel alienated where you should feel like you belong.

Many of us lost the fandom that we once knew and loved. It’s not just about the series or how Loki is miswritten, its about us losing the connection we once easily had with others. You shouldn’t have to constantly explain yourself to others who are supposed to be in the same fandom as you.

I share a fandom with people who don’t understand the source that spawned the fandom in the first place. I share a fandom with people who’s only knowledge (of the character we’re all supposed to know and love) is ship fanart, fanfiction, fan theories, and headcanons. I share a fandom with people who take lighthearted Tumblr posts from years ago that jokingly state that Loki is around 16/17 years old seriously and as canon. I share a fandom with people who refuse to think critically.

It’s not just a fictional character or movies. It’s something we are passionate about, and it’s hard to share those passions with others who do not understand a fraction of any of it.

I’m very grateful for this side of Tumblr and I hope that one day we could have our fandom back. You shouldn’t have to make an entire subdivision of a fandom in order to see things about the characters ORIGINAL and DEFINITIVE appearances.

Fuck the series as well as anyone who groups OG Loki with the variant. Makes things a thousand times harder. I can’t even watch edits because you’ll think it’s an edit of TDW Loki… but then here comes clips of that variant. 🤦🏻‍♀️

Girl if I have to see that clip of the variant bent over a table one more time… I think i’m gonna lose it.

Certain sides of Pinterest, old Tumblr posts/blogs that have been inactive since 2014, and Google’s/YouTube’s “Before:Year” feature my beloveds. Blogs on dedicated to OG Loki my beloveds. Thor 2011, The Avengers, and Thor The Dark World my beloveds. My oomfs/mutuals my beloveds.

[solarmorrigan]

First Fic Tag Game

Pick a fandom and post an excerpt of the first thing you ever wrote in that fandom. Could be a scene, part of a scene, a couple of lines, whatever your first foray into writing for that fandom was. Feel free to include a link to the story it comes from if it’s been published (excerpts from WIPs count too).

Tagged by @devondespresso! Thank you!

The first thing I wrote for Stranger Things was actually the start of a Joyce & Steve bonding fic where Steve has a migraine and Joyce mothers at him. I think I've mentioned it in a couple of WIP posts before? I got to about 1700 words before I stalled out, and I'm not sure I'll ever actually finish it, so I'll toss the whole scene at you

I'm a bit behind, so I'm not sure who else to tag at this point? If you'd like to do it, though, I'd love to see what you post! Say I tagged yooooou~

-

Steve had dropped the boys off thirty minutes ago. They had all come rumbling into the house with quick hellos for Joyce and had immediately shut themselves up in Will’s room.

Steve’s car is still sitting outside.

It isn’t at all that Steve isn’t welcome at the house—Joyce doesn’t want to run him off—it’s only that he hasn’t come into the house. As far as Joyce can tell, he’s just sitting in his car out there.

Giving up any pretense of subtlety, Joyce draws the front room curtain back from the window and peers out onto the lawn.

He’s definitely in his car, slumped forward with his head resting on the steering wheel. The sight gives Joyce a little jolt of anxiety, and she’s shoving her feet into her boots before she even realizes she’s made a conscious choice to go outside.

There is a possibility that he’s simply asleep – he’d agreed to pick Mike, Luke, and Dustin up this evening, and maybe he doesn’t have anywhere better to be. Maybe he’s just waiting. But then why not just come inside?

And for that matter, he shouldn’t be napping in a car in the middle of January, Joyce decides. It’s cold.

She wraps her arms around herself as she approaches the driver’s side of the BMW, where she can see now that Steve’s hands are still clenched on the wheel and his shoulders are tensed up to his ears. If he’s asleep, Joyce will eat Hopper’s ridiculous hat.

The window is rolled down (and that definitely can’t be healthy), but Steve gives no indication that he can hear Joyce approaching. He’s holding himself so tense, so still, that Joyce can barely see his back rising and falling as he breathes. The anxiety wells up further in her stomach.

She raps her knuckles gently against the car door. “Steve?”

Steve jerks upright in his seat, hissing through his teeth with the motion. His eyes are scrunched shut, and it takes him a moment to open them and look around.

“Mrs. Byers.” The words spill out in a hurried slur as he blinks at her. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Joyce gives him a small smile, even as she meets his eyes, carefully searching. They aren’t red, and though his gaze is a little unfocused, she can’t smell any alcohol on him. If anything, he just looks tired. “What’re you doing out here in the cold?”

Steve grimaces. “Sorry. I’ll, uh. I swear I’ll get out of your yard in just a minute, I was just kind of… getting my bearings.”

“For thirty minutes?” Joyce asks gently.

“Crap, has it really been that long?” Steve passes a hand over his face, as if he can wipe away the exhaustion. “I’m sorry, I’ll – I’ll get going now.”

He fumbles with his keys, attempting to single out the right one to start the car, and Joyce can see his hands shaking. She reaches in and places a gentle hand over his wrist.

“I really don’t think you should be driving right now. You don’t seem… all there, sweetie.” Joyce offers an apologetic smile as Steve squints back up at her. “Have you been sleeping?”

Steve shakes his head, but it’s more an automatic motion than negation. “‘s just a headache,” he mutters. “I just got dizzy for a minute. I was waiting for it to go away, but I’m good now. Promise.”

He’s trying to give Joyce that charming smile she’s seen him turn on other people, the one that convinces them that he’s not doing anything worth paying attention to (he’s used it at least a few times in service of the boys in the last couple of months, she knows, finagling them into or out of places they probably shouldn’t have been) but it’s a pale copy at best. Joyce won’t be swayed.

“Why don’t you come inside and lay down for a little bit? Drink some water. Then, if you can walk a straight line, I’ll let you drive home.” Before Steve can say anything, Joyce’s hand darts down and snatches the car keys from his lax fingers, and he barely manages a choked-off protest before hissing and pressing a hand to his forehead.

Joyce waits, half patient and half concerned, for him to uncurl from himself.

“You’ve been spending too much time around Hopper,” he says when he finally does.

“Oh, please, Hopper should spend more time around me. No one protects like a mom,” Joyce teases.

It doesn’t pull any of the reluctant amusement out of Steve—a little too cool to be laughing at a mom’s jokes, but letting it out all the same—that she expects. He gives her a twitch of a smile at best before his expression falls blank. He stares back at the steering wheel.

Joyce reaches out to squeeze his wrist again, angling to keep his attention on her, instead of wherever his mind had just taken him. “Come inside. It’s freezing out here.”

Steve shrugs, but moves to open the car door. “Cold helps my head, sometimes.”

There’s a brief echo somewhere in the back of Joyce’s mind—he likes it cold—but she shakes it away. “Do you get a lot of headaches?” she asks instead.

Walking beside her, Steve shrugs. “I guess? It’s not a big deal.”

A typical and perfectly helpful teenage boy answer. Joyce fights the fond roll of her eyes.

Steve reaches the door first, reaching for the handle, and Joyce watches with a frown as he fumbles to get a grip on it. She says nothing, letting him hold the door for her once he manages to open it, but turning to make sure he isn’t about to keel over in the doorway. If Joyce had to guess, given the dizziness and the unsteadiness and the green tinge to Steve’s otherwise pale face, she’d say this was less a headache and more a migraine.

She’d also be willing to bet it isn’t his first.

Steve shuts the door quietly behind them, only to physically cringe at a sudden swell of noise coming from Will’s room – Mike and Dustin shouting about something, it sounds like. Lucas’ voice rings out over theirs and the shouts die back down to background chatter almost as quickly as they’d risen, but Steve remains hunched over, eyes scrunched shut, breathing gone quick.

“Steve?” Joyce reaches out, her voice soft and her hands fluttering around his shoulders, but she’s afraid to touch just yet, uncertain if she’ll cause more pain.

With a few sharp breaths in and out, Steve straightens back up, shaking his head. “Sorry. ‘m alright.”

“Are you sure?” Joyce presses. “Look, you go sit on the couch, I’m going to ask the boys to quiet down. The walls are a little thin here.”

“No, they’re fine. It’s fine,” Steve insists, though his voice has gone a bit thin.

Lips pursed, Joyce stares at him for a few long moments. Gaze bleary, Steve stares right back. Honestly, he looks a bit more confused than defiant, but there’s stubbornness there all the same. Finally, Joyce lets a breath out through her nose and gestures to the couch.

“Okay, go sit. You said cold helps your head sometimes? What else?”

Steve shrugs, and makes no move to go sit as she’d instructed. “Maybe just a glass of water?” he hedges; he looks more and more uncomfortable as the seconds pass. “Look, it’s not that I don’t appreciate this, Mrs. Byers, but this is a huge imposition for you, and I should really just go.”

“Hey,” Joyce says, sharp enough to get his attention but without ire behind it, “who said it was an imposition? Did I tell you that?”

Startled, Steve spends a moment blinking at her. “Uh. No. You didn’t, I just… I mean, isn’t it?” he asks a little helplessly. “My mom never – um.”

Steve stops there, now looking pained both by his head and by whatever he thinks he nearly admitted to, but Joyce isn’t about to let that one slide. The concept is too outrageous.

“Your mom never took care of you when you were sick?”

“No, of course she did,” Steve says quickly, meeting Joyce’s eyes guilelessly as he explains. “She just, y’know, hated taking time out to make sure I didn’t die, or whatever. She had other stuff to do, and she got frustrated if I made her postpone it.”

Joyce’s immediate thought, though she isn’t entirely proud of it, is, What a bitch.

She doesn’t voice this thought, because she has better manners than that, and because she doubts Steve would take kindly to it. But the way he imparts this information—the matter-of-factness of it, the way he talks about being sick as though it had been a personal failing on his part, the way he doesn’t even seem to realize he should resent this treatment—it makes something in Joyce burn.

“Well that’s not how I do things,” is what she finally comes out with. “I want to help.”

Steve looks nearly convinced, but he still glances uncertainly towards the door, even with his hand braced on the wall to stop himself from swaying on his feet.

Then Joyce is hit with some inspiration. “It would make me feel a lot better if I just knew you were taken care of, alright? Besides, Will is getting a little fed up with my hovering. Give me something to do with all my extra mothering for just half an hour,” she wheedles, as though Steve would be doing her a great favor. “Then, if you feel alright to drive, I’ll let you go.”

“Uh. Okay. I could – I could do half an hour,” Steve says, as if he has anywhere else to be.

Joyce smiles at him and pats his forearm gently. “Thank you. Now go sit.”

Watching the way Steve weaves unsteadily towards the couch, Joyce is pretty sure the boy will be lucky if he can even stand back up in half an hour, never mind drive, but she keeps the thought to herself.

[acradelius]

Butcher Mako smut where the reader is a witch who summons Mako to form a pact where he obeys every command of the reader?

"Revenge-! It Can Wait, Actually."

Fandom: Overwatch / Overwatch 2

Pairing: Butcher! Roadhog ("Mako Rutledge") x Gender Neutral! Witch! Reader

Rating: Lemon [🟡] - (NSFW!)

Warnings/Mention Ofs: Minors Do Not Interact With (MDNI), Overwatch Alternate Universe, Butcher! Roadhog, Witch! Reader, Gender Neutral! Reader, They/Them Pronouns Used For Reader, "Burn The Witch/Kill The Witch" Similar Trope, (Accidental) Aphrodisiac Usage - One Sided, Consent Is Present Despite (Y/N) And Roadhog's "Relationship", Fingering - Recieving! Reader, Mentions Of Multiple Orgasms

Word Count: 2,189 Words

Taglist: @masterofpuns

Indignation. 

Outrage. 

Resentment. 

Fury. 

Irritation. 

Five different words, yet all having similar definitions. 

Similar connections to each other. 

Yet, it wasn’t any of those words or any other similar words that could be conjured up from the depths of (Y/N)’s mind to even begin describing the anger that was bubbling up within them.

It thrummed within their veins. 

It roared throughout their mind. 

It vibrated throughout their being. 

Times have changed, therefore, shouldn’t the people have changed as well? Apparently not so for those that reside within the nearby village, only being some miles away from where that small and cozy cottage of (Y/N)’s was located within the surrounding forest. It seemed that after all these years of assisting the villagers with various tasks and activities, some as simple as enchanting some plants to grow more quickly to some as extraneous as bringing someone back to health from the brink of death, none of that mattered. How there had been plenty of opportunities for the Witch to essentially take advantage and cause havoc amongst the villagers, but yet had not, and assisted in what they thought was good for everyone. Despite the good deeds, (Y/N) was well aware that there were still suspicions from the village elders about their intentions. 

Typical elder type of mindset, or at least, (Y/N) had thought that the suspicions were only amongst the elders. 

The thick, choking black smoke could be seen billowing from the treetops of the forest from some miles away from the general location of where the village and (Y/N)’s was at. At first, they hadn’t really thought anything about it. There were some individuals within the village that were known of being “fire starters”, or possibly it was that the village was having some sort of celebration or feast that required a lot of wood burning. Yet, as (Y/N) continues to approach the location of their beloved cottage, it seems to dawn on them that the location of the fire is indeed not coming from the village, but from their cottage itself! Considering that they essentially were carrying a sack from their most recent travels, it takes some minutes to finally make it back. 

Upon reaching the crumbling, burning cottage the elders of the village have formed a semicircle around the cottage, the rest of the townsfolk gathered around behind them, some holding lit torches. While there might have been some villagers that had objected or even refused to participate in burning (Y/N)’s cottage down, (Y/N) viewing each and every one of them as guilty of the crime. Them just standing there watching, watching as (Y/N)’s home and the place where they had their life’s work was now destroyed, left to scatter in the wind as ashes. 

“After everything I have done for not only those of you individually, but as a village as a whole, this is how the lot of you proceed to show your appreciation and thanks?!” There’s an obvious combination of rage, betrayal, and devastation within their tone of voice, alongside the features of hands being clenched into fists, eyebrows are furrowed, and there’s a frown upon their lips. “This is an act of treachery!”

“You’re quite mistaken,” Though their attention seems to be more diverted towards the more prominent danger at hand, the elders are completely aware of the angered Witch standing some feet away. It’s the high elder of the village that begins to speak in response to the displeased Witch. “We are simply cleaning this village from the dangerous, immoral establishment and influence that you have bestowed.” It might’ve been just the anger clouding her mind or the trick of the light as the flames continue to burn, (Y/N) swears that they could see a smirk upon the high elder’s lips. 

“..Remember this, and remember this quite well then..” 

A momentary pause, a moment to briefly recollect thoughts to prevent oneself from outbursting and bringing the whole village to its knees.

At least, not yet. 

“I will be back to exact my revenge!” 

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

Some might address to the Witch that the way they are attempting to handle the situation of the village’s betrayal was simply as “being petty” or even be described as “being melodramatic”. Yet, (Y/N) didn’t necessarily care about others' opinions on their situation and how they were going to handle it. All that mattered to them was that they were so close to completing the final steps before launching their assault. It hadn’t taken long to come across a cave that was mostly hidden by the dense forest surrounding it, which made a comfortable and suitable home for the time being. It was enough to offer a temporary place to work to figure out the best means of attack, but also to house not only the Witch, but the brute of the underworldly being that they had summoned to assist them as well. 

 “I have listened to your story, your tragedy, Witch,” He speaks, his voice deep and gravely, glowing yellow eyes seemingly piercing into the soul of the Witch upon their knees in front of him, the Butcher only slightly amused that someone such as the Witch themself would have summoned him for such purposes, but it hadn’t been the first time. “While I am intrigued, you have yet to offer anything in exchange for my temporary loyalty for you and your objective.” There happens to be a moment of silence that begins to settle within the environment as the Witch begins to think. It had been true, never the doubt, they had presented their story to the Butcher, asking for his assistance, but hadn’t necessarily offered anything in return. The Butcher was definitely not a being to do such a task without payment of course.

“As for payment.. I will offer the souls of all of the villagers.. Child, Adult, Elderly.. I will then allow you to take my soul as well, and then I will be of your servitude for the remainder of time.” 

Will it be unpleasant to essentially be a slave to the Butcher for the remainder of their existence? Who knows? Maybe he will be somewhat generous to the Witch due to their offer of a bundle of souls to torture or feast upon. The thoughts were floating amongst (Y/N)’s mind, their gaze slowly moving from the alchemy table in front of them to the Butcher who sat there silently staring into the flames of the small campfire, all while (Y/N)’s hands were still working with the ingredients of the current potion. How could he just sit there and stare into the fire the whole time? Wasn’t he unamused about it? Bored of just sitting there and waiting? Eventually they return their attention back to the potion at hand, though an eyebrow raises at the color of the potion itself, it being something similar to a fuchsia pink. Definitely not the color of the strength potion that the Witch thought it would’ve been, but they simply shrug their shoulders and then begin to drink the potion, not stopping until it was completely gone. 

Throughout the time to allow the potion to course throughout their system to test the full effect, the Witch decides to complete some tasks within the cave, mostly tidying up things and then prepping some meals. Eventually there happens to be a moment that (Y/N) finds themself standing still, trying to decipher the strange, stirring feeling within them. It’s then that they begin addressing the symptoms that begin becoming more apparent within them. How the Witch had come to realize that their body temperature was increasing significantly, followed by the increasing pace of their heartbeat and breathing, certain body parts becoming more sensitive than typically normal and other parts becoming sensitive when they typically weren’t. 

Slowly, but surely, the pieces of the puzzle begin to come together, and there’s a loud audible gasp that escapes past their lips, scurrying throughout the cave to make their way back to their workbench. Eyes frantically moving across the ingredients that had been used for the potion, and then eventually stopping and staring whenever (Y/N) comes across that specific one. 

Rose petals. 

A strong ingredient it is, and when handled or portioned incorrectly it can lead to some dire consequences. 

The flustered blush that covered their face was  now descending down their neck as they came to realize their mistake. It wasn’t a super strength potion that they had made, but in fact it had been an aphrodisiac. One of the most dangerous potions of all time if not handled carefully, such as this moment right now. Knowing their mistake it’s now that they have to suffer the consequences, but was there actually anything that could resolve this increasing, almost agonizing arousal that was continuously building up within them? Fingers would be like just trying to ignore an internal itch, and attempting to use inanimate objects with the assistance of magic would just cause their energy to deplete significantly, and (Y/N) would probably still be as horny as ever. Yet, that would leave one other option.. 

“Butcher,” While (Y/N)’s voice might have been firm for the most part, there was that noticeable wavering to it, watching as the Butcher’s gaze had finally turned away from the flickering flames of the fire and over the the with, letting out a snort of sorts. “I’m in need of some.. assistance.. Dire assistance, if I must state.” What the Witch hadn’t expected was for the Butcher to hobble himself to be standing, making his way over towards the large, makeshift bed of his that had been made of various furs. While raising an eyebrow in slight confusion, the Butcher proceeds to speak before (Y/N) could question his action. “I had been wondering how long it was going to take you to notice that you had messed up, now get over here so we can get through this.” 

He had been watching them make this potion the entire time? If that was the case then why didn’t he say something beforehand? Why did he wait until after- (Y/N)’s thoughts are interrupted by an impatient grunt from the Butcher once again, which causes (Y/N) to hastily make way over to his bed, watching as he plops himself down and pats his lap. There’s some slight grimace from the remaining gunk upon his apron, but the need to be satisfied comes at a much higher regard at the moment. Legs now being spread across his lap, there’s a soft sigh of relief as the Butcher moves the robes to the side and ripped away their underwear, a few of his fingers beginning the job by teasingly brush against (Y/N)’s skin and then slowly dipping them inside, causing (Y/N) to whine out. A slow and steady pace at first, the Butcher is smarter than any other that would just go all the way, a rough and manhandling pace.

Time definitely becomes a blur, moreso becomes something that’s forgotten, as the pleasure slowly but surely takes over the Witch’s mind. How long had it been since the Butcher had first slipped a finger inside of them? Who cares? All that mattered at that moment was how full they were feeling as one finger had now turned into three, proceeding to stretch out the Witch’s clenching hole, the fluids from previous, intense orgasms now coating their thighs, the Butcher’s fingers and his apron as well. Another one begins to creep up on them as that internal coiling sensation begins to tighten, body trembling tremendously while bucking their hips to chase that euphoric high until it comes crashing down upon the Witch. With a loud cry of the Butcher’s name escaping past their lips the Witch’s back arches to lift themself within the air before collapsing back against the Butcher’s large frame. Head bobbing from the fuzzy, lightheadedness of their orgasm once again racking their brain and preventing them from making any logical decisions at the moment. Yet, they’re still somewhat aware of themself as once the Butcher had begun to slowly thrust his fingers once again they proceed to tightly grip at his forearm, shaking their head. 

“B-Butcher~ N-Need a break, please~” 

“Are you so sure about that?” There’s a gentle chuckle that leaves him as he glances down to look at the pleasure ridden, and probably exhausted Witch resting against that. It was more of a teasing question, but he knows that while he could go for much longer even though he was only using his fingers, trying to ignore the growing erection that was beginning to press against the Witch’s back, the Witch would need to take a break more often to regain their energy. “You’ve only had maybe.. seven.. orgasms now?” 

A cheeky laugh of amusement escapes the Witch’s lips at the teasing questions, leaning their head back against the Butcher’s chest and closing their eyes. 

Maybe, just maybe, revenge upon the village could wait just a little longer.

[arrowfleur]

Sam fandom thoughts

Although I can honestly see both sides of what the fandoms been saying about the recent Sam developments I think it’s important to remember that Sam and Darlin are both extremely traumatised characters. Their relationship isn’t going to be ‘normal’. Their coping mechanisms, their timing with events, everything to do with their relationship is different to one of non-traumatised characters if that makes sense?

There are definitely a lot of ways to look at how they handle things, like how Sam being ready for sex and biting with Darlin were both after life-altering events. Would it be nice for them to come to these points in there relationship in a ‘healthier’ way? Yes it would.

But that’s literally not how their brains work. I’m not trying to patronise their characters. Their actions are still their actions, they are grown adults and shouldn’t be minimised to just what’s happened to them. But the things they’ve gone through aren’t just side story’s or plots for comfort audios.

Trauma scientifically changes the way your brain works, it can literally change who you are as person. And for Sam in particular he’s canonically never been in a healthy situation besides his relationship with Darlin (and the Shaw pack).

So if the way they do things kinda seems off to the average folk, that’s normal. Sam literally says ‘it’s not weird, it’s us.’ It’s how THEY handle things.

There’s nothing wrong with disliking it, with wishing it was different or with completely enjoying it. But I think it’s something we don’t keep in mind in this context enough.

I’ve been an avid Sam fan since he got a playlist on the channel and even to me some things seem rushed or ‘strange’ but that’s because I’m not the characters, I haven’t gone through what they have, and in some lights it’s kind of refreshing to see how relationships between different people with different pasts can develop. Instead of a character going through something horrendous having a cry about it and then going back to their old self.

Plus both of their main traumas come from their past sexual partners so yeah sex is gonna be involved in how they deal with things makes sense

[hbyrde36]

NOW COMPLETE!!!

For my beloved @penny00dreadful 💜🖤

My fandom bestie, writing soulmate, and one of my absolute favorite people in the entire world.

Happy (early) Birthday 🌈👠💖

Huge thanks to @pearynice and @hitlikehammers for all your help in making this story come to life!

WC: 3483 | Ch 1/4 | AO3 <-

Chapter 1: Over the Rainbow

To be perfectly honest, Steve always felt a little unsafe riding around in the van with Eddie. It wasn’t that he was a bad driver, per se, but he was definitely a distracted one, constantly needing to be reminded to keep his eyes on the road instead of the tape deck. He also tended to treat speed limits as more of a suggestion than something enforceable by law.

Tonight was no exception, the feeling of unease even worse than usual because of the storm raging outside. They shouldn’t have even been on the road in these conditions, a fact Steve had tried in vain to convince Eddie of. Hawkins was under a tornado warning for fuck’s sake! But the other boy wouldn’t hear it, their errand was too important.

They had plenty of beer, but they needed snacks. 

According to Eddie there was absolutely no way they could enjoy Friday the 13th part 27, or whatever ridiculous number sequel it was that he wanted to watch, properly without the three basic food groups: Pringles, Twizzlers, and some form of chocolate.

They were having a movie night, just him and Eddie. It was no big deal, really. Steve wasn’t nervous about it at all. They’d been getting along fine since Vecna had been defeated, better than fine! They just… hadn’t spent a lot of one-on-one time together. 

Typically, at least Robin, and some-or-all of the kids, would join them on a night like this, but the kids were set on going to the arcade, and Robin—who’d finally gotten over her fear of driving and managed to get her license on the first try—was taking Vickie out for what may or may not be a date, and borrowing Steve’s car to do it.

Therein lay the source of the problem, actually. It was usually Robin’s job to procure movie night snacks, and in her absence neither of them had thought to pick up the slack.

Which is what had led them to this moment. 

Flying down the road at 15 miles per hour over the posted speed limit, minimum, in a fucking downpour, at night. They were just asking for a deer or some shit to come bounding across the road and then—BAM!

As if on cue, just as Steve had the thought, something did indeed dart out from the side of the road to cross in front of them. Fortunately, for once, Eddie was actually paying attention. He slammed on the brakes, simultaneously jerking the wheel, allowing them to narrowly miss hitting the poor wild animal. 

Unfortunately, that combination of evasive maneuvers caused them to spin out, and sent the van careening into a ditch on the side of the road. The vehicle flipped, and Steve had just enough time to think how glad he was that they’d both been wearing their seatbelts, before something from the rear came flying up to smack him hard in the back of the head. 

-

Steve came to slowly, blinking awake, wincing as the bright light of day attacked his retinas. 

Day?

But it’d been night, hadn’t it? It was dark, and it was raining, and…

The evening before came back to him in a sudden rush. The van sliding across the road, the sickening crunch of metal as it rolled, gravity doing what gravity does. He didn't remember anything after that, but it looked like somehow they’d managed to land upright in the end at least.

He rubbed at the nape of his neck, pleasantly surprised to find no lumps, bumps, or blood, nor did he feel the telltale nausea that sometimes came with a really bad blow to the head. He wondered if Eddie– 

Oh my god, Eddie!

Steve looked to the left, finding the driver's seat empty and was instantly gripped by panic. He scrambled out of the car, nearly falling on his ass in his hurry.

“Eddie?” He called out, fear churning in his gut. “Eddie?!”

He spun a circle, relief washing over him as he found the other boy only a few feet away. 

Eddie was sitting on a large tree trunk, rocking ever-so-slightly back and forth, gnawing on his fingernails as he stared at the backside of the van.

“There you are! Dude, you scared the shit out of–” Steve trailed off as he rushed to Eddie’s side to see what he was looking at, and swallowed hard. It was a pair of legs in striped stockings wearing a killer pair of red heels, sticking out from under the rear tires. The shoes glittered cheerfully in the sunlight. “Oh, fuck.”

Eddie dropped his head into his hands. “I thought I swerved in time. I thought we missed it.”

“I thought it was a deer.” Steve mumbled.

Eddie cut him an annoyed glare. “Clearly not, Harrington.”

“Hey,” Steve said softly. He knew Eddie well enough by now to tell when he was scared—when he felt guilty, even if he was trying to act otherwise. “This isn’t your fault. It was an accident.”

“Yeah,” Eddie huffed. “Tell that to the cops! They thought I was a murderer once already. It’s only been a few months where I can actually be seen in public without someone calling me a devil worshiper, or worse. Now they’ll think they have proof that I really am a killer!”

“You know Hop will go to bat for you again, and I’m here. I can be a witness.”

“That’s not all.” 

“It somehow gets worse than us accidentally killing some lady?”

Eddie sighed, raking a hand over his face as he rose from the stump. He turned, gesturing to something behind them, but Steve was still stuck on those legs. He couldn’t look away. 

“Why the hell was someone out in shoes like that in the middle of the night anyway?” Steve mused. “It was pouring.” 

“Steve, look.”

“What if we just said I was driving? Then we– “

“Steve!” Eddie gripped his upper arms, forcibly turning him around. 

Steve’s eyes went wide. They were standing right on the edge of a little town. Little, not only in the way that the town itself was small in, like, area, though it was that—about the size of one city block—but for the fact that all the colorful little buildings and bungalows were miniature. The whole thing was surrounded by gardens laden with all sorts of beautiful plants, shrubs, and trees, with flowers of every shade in bloom.

“What the fuck,” Steve breathed, taking a few tentative steps into the vivid village.

“Yeah.”

“Eddie, what the fuck?! Where are we? And why is everything in technicolor?”

Eddie stepped up from behind to clap him on the back. 

“I don’t think we’re in Hawkins anymore, big boy.”

Steve shot him a look over his shoulder. “What was your first clue?”

“I see where Dustin gets his tone from.” Eddie mumbled.

Steve chewed on his bottom lip. “Do you… do you think it’s like the Upside Down?” 

“In the sense that it’s another dimension? Maybe, but I don't get the feeling this one has any terrifying monsters. It’s too clean. It even smells nice, like roses and shit.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. Eddie had a point, nothing about this place screamed danger. “The Upside Down always smelled like mold and rotting flesh.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

“What do we do? How do we get back?” Steve asked, not really expecting Eddie to have all the answers, but he did his best thinking out loud with company. 

“No idea.”

“Should we start walking? Maybe try and find a payphone?”

Eddie scoffed. “A payphone?”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

The other boy was quiet for a moment, a rare occurrence, but eventually threw his hands up in defeat. “No, actually. So, I guess walking it is.”

Steve turned back, intending on pilfering the van for things that might be useful, like water, weapons, or one of the many lighters that littered the floor, when something in the distance caught his eye.  

“What the hell is that?” He asked aloud, pointing up to the sky at a giant pink bubble that was headed straight for them. 

Eddie squinted up at it. “I think there's something inside.”

“Should we run?”

“Maybe we should pop it.”

“You just said there was something inside! Wouldn’t that let it out?”

Eddie shrugged.

In no time, the bubblegum colored sphere settled near them and faded away, leaving behind a woman with long dark wavy hair. She held a long scepter, and wore a tall crown and a poofy ball gown, of all things. There was also something very familiar about her face. 

“Wait.”

“No.”

“Is that?”

“It can’t be.”

“Joyce?!” They both said, in tandem.

The woman in the ballgown tilted her head. “Who’s Joyce?”

“You are.” Steve said. 

She shook her head, offering him a kind smile. “I’m afraid not. I’m Glinda, the Witch of the North, and who might you be?”

Eddie leaned in, speaking out of the corner of his mouth. “Is she serious?”

Steve snorted a laugh, quickly trying to hide it with a cough.

“What’s so funny?” Not-Joyce asked. 

“Nothing, uh, I’m Steve, and this is Eddie.”

She stepped carefully around them, pointing her sparkly stick at the half-a-dead-body that jutted out from under Eddie’s van. “What do you boys have to say for yourselves?”

“I’m sorry?” Eddie said, sobering quickly. At the same time Steve insisted, “It was an accident!”

“Stop giving them a hard time, Glinda. They did us a favor!” A strangely familiar voice called out from behind a nearby bush, and a moment later 6 small-ish figures came popping out of the surrounding foliage.

“They killed The Wicked Witch of the East!” The one with curly hair shouted, as the others cheered.

Eddie jumped. “Jesus H. Christ, where did all you little fuckers come from?!”

“Oh my god.” Steve muttered under his breath.

It was the kids, except they were actually kids. The 11-year-old versions of Dustin, Will, Lucas, Mike, Max, and El pushed and shoved their way past each other, all trying to be the first to approach.

“Who you calling little?” Baby-Lucas said.

“Okay, what the hell is going on here guys? Why are you so young, and what’s with the outfits?” Steve asked, completely dumbfounded.

Once he’d gotten over the initial shock of their appearance, Steve realized they were all wearing costumes or something. The girls wore pink frilly dresses and tall pointed bonnets, something he knew for a fact Max would never have agreed to, and the boys had these funny little shorts with long socks and matching tops—except for Dustin, who donned long pants and an even longer coat, along with a striped bow tie and a giant pocket watch hanging from his side. 

Eddie looked similarly stunned. “How did you get us here? And how did you get Joyce in on it?”

“Who’s Joyce?” Mini-Mike-Wheeler asked.

“I think they mean me.” Not-Joyce said.

Tiny Dustin’s face twisted up in confusion. “But that’s not your name.”

She shrugged. “I tried telling them that.”

Steve groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “Okay fine, she’s Glinda. Who are you?”

“Oh! I'm the mayor of Munchkinland.” A wide, gummy smile spread across tiny-Dustin’s face as he stuck his arm out, er, up, for a handshake. 

Steve stared down at him, unimpressed. “You’ve gotta be shitting me. I'm done playing whatever game this is. How do we–”

A sudden explosion went off in the middle of the town square only a few yards away, creating a thick cloud of red smoke. On instinct Steve and Eddie both moved to place themselves between the oncoming threat and the Munchkins. 

The air cleared quickly, revealing a woman in a long black dress and matching cloak, carrying a broom and wearing a hard scowl.

Steve blinked at her, then looked at Eddie for confirmation that they were seeing the same thing. 

“Mrs. Click?”

Eddie nodded.

Her complexion was all wrong but the resemblance was uncanny.

Steve leaned in, whispering, “If that’s Click, who do you think the one we hit was?” 

Eddie grinned. “O’Donnel.”

“I am the Wicked Witch of the West. You killed my sister. Prepare to die.” The newcomer declared loudly, sneering at the two of them.

Eddie rounded on her, pointing a finger right in her face. “Look lady, we’ve had just about enough–”

Steve grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back. “What my friend here means to say is, it was an accident and we’re very sorry.”

“I’ll show you an accident, young man,” The Wicked Witch said, raising her green hands and long pointy nails threateningly in their direction.

“Aren't you forgetting something?” Glinda raised her voice, as she too moved to protect the little ones.

“The ruby slippers! Yes!” The Wicked Witch smiled gleefully and made a beeline for Eddie’s van. 

When her back was to them, Glinda winked at Steve and did some kind of wavy-woo with her stick, which, in hindsight he realized was a wand, and the red shoes disappeared from the dead body’s feet right before their eyes, reappearing in Steve’s hand a second later.

“They’re gone!” The Wicked Witch gasped, whirling on the spot and narrowing her eyes at him.

“Why is it always me?” Steve grumbled, resigned to the fight, only to find Eddie taking a protective step in front of him as she approached. 

“You! Give them back. I’m the only one who knows how to use them. They’re of no use to you!”

She wasn’t wrong, but Steve felt like maybe it wasn’t the best idea to give what he suspected was a powerful magical object to a woman whose sister they’d just murdered. All those months of spectating while the party played D&D were finally paying off. 

“Put them on and stay tight inside of them, Steve.” Glinda said, her tone grave. “Their magic must be very powerful, or she wouldn't want them so badly.”

Nailed it.

“You stay out of this, Glinda, or I'll fix you as well!”

The Good Witch waved her off. “You have no power here. Now be gone before someone drops a… a… a…” She stuttered, waffling as if searching for the right word.

“A van?” Eddie supplied.

“Ah, yes. Thank you, Eddie dear.” She cleared her throat, pausing for what Steve could only assume was dramatic effect. “Now, be gone before someone drops a van on you, too!”

“Very well, but I'll be watching.” The Wicked Witch hissed, zeroing in on Steve once again. “I’ll get you my pretty-boy, and your little dog too!”

“Hey! Who are you calling a dog? You looked in the mirror lately?! Witch.” Eddie spat. 

She huffed, raising her broomstick high above her head and bringing it down hard against the road at her feet, sending more red smoke billowing up from the spot to quickly engulf her form. When it was gone, so was she.

“Little dog. Pfft.” Eddie muttered.

“It’s the hair.” Little-Max said, matter-of-factly.

“Yes,” Tiny-Dustin agreed, nodding as he rubbed stubby fingers against his small chin. “The word scruffy does come to mind, to be fair.” 

“Watch it, Mayor.” Eddie warned.

“That, and the way you were guarding your friend there.” Little-Max spoke again.

Eddie glowered as she dissolved into giggles that quickly spread through the small crowd. Soon all the Munchkins, as well as Glinda, were clutching their sides with laughter.

Steve didn’t get what was so funny. 

“Don’t listen to them, Munson. I like your hair. It’s very… metal.” 

Eddie put on a show of rolling his eyes, but under it all was a shy pleased smile. “Thanks, Harrington.”

“That’s rough, boys. You’ve made quite the enemy. The sooner you get out of Oz the better I think.” Glinda said, when the laughter had finally faded. 

“And how do we do that exactly?” Eddie asked. “The van’s broken down, and even if it wasn't, I have no idea where the hell we are or how we even got here! Let alone how to get back to Hawkins.”

“The only person who might be able to help you would be The Great and Wonderful Wizard of Oz himself.”

Steve pursed his lips. “Okay, I'll bite. How do we find this Great Wizard?” It took all his strength not to put those last two words in air quotes.

“He lives in the Emerald city.” She said.

“And how do we get there?”

“Follow the yellow brick road, of course.”

Eddie shook his head. “Of course, she says.”

“Do you not have yellow brick roads where you come from?”

“No.” Steve snapped. He was already so tired of this shit, and somehow he knew that the end of, whatever this was, was nowhere in sight. 

“My, my, you two are grumpy.” Glinda muttered. Without another word she took a few steps away from them and waved her wand, conjuring a new pink bubble around herself. 

“Wait, you can’t just leave us here with these kids!” Steve shouted, but it was too late, The Good Witch had already started to float away. 

“We’re not kids, y’know.” Tiny-Dustin said.

“You look like kids.”

“Whatever.” The boy shrugged, taking one of their hands in each of his. “Come on, we’ll walk you to the edge of town.”

-

The edge of town turned out to be roughly 10 feet away from where the van had landed, which wasn’t a surprise given the compact nature of Munchkinland as a whole, but it did have Steve wondering why they even bothered. 

At least the kids—sorry, the Munchkins, had been helpful enough to point out the yellow brick road. 

As if they could have missed it.

Eddie let out a long whistle. “Wow, that is YELL-ow. Like, I know they said it, but I guess I expected it to be dull or dirty or something, not this bright sunshine color. Kinda reminds me of that sweater you used to wear.”

Steve tucked the pair of heels awkwardly under his arm and started down the path, wishing he had a bag or something to put them in. Holding onto them like this was going to get annoying fast. 

“Aren't you going to put those on first?” Eddie asked.

“Are you serious, Munson?” Steve slowed his pace, turning to gape at him.

Eddie grinned, bumping their elbows together when he caught up. “What, afraid you can’t walk in ‘em?”

“I wear a size 13 men’s shoe, they’re never gonna fit me!”

For a fraction of a second Eddie’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “Jesus, guess I was onto something with that nickname, big boy.”

Steve rolled his eyes, shoving the shoes in Eddie’s direction. “Why don’t you put them on?”

“No, that Glinda lady gave them to you, expressly.”

“I'm telling you they’re not gonna fit.”

“Magic shoes, Steve.” Eddie wiggled his fingers for emphasis. “Magic shoes! Just try, I'm sure it’ll be fine.”

Steve glared as he toed his sneakers off, tying the laces together before throwing them over Eddie’s shoulder, and finally slipped his feet into the sequin adorned pumps. 

They fit like a glove.

He twisted at the waist, glancing behind his own back, sticking first one leg out, and then the other, as he looked down at himself. “Hmm, they do make my ass look nice, I guess.” 

He also just so happened to be wearing his date night jeans, the ones that hugged him in all the right places, and with the addition of the shoes? It was a good look, if he did say so himself. 

A high pitched noise escaped Eddie’s throat. “As if you needed any more help in that department.” He mumbled under his breath.

Steve swallowed hard. “What’d you say?”

“Nothing.”

Eddie was always doing that—flirting, making little comments and then pretending he hadn’t. It drove Steve crazy, never sure if Eddie actually meant it, or if he just liked to tease—not quite sure which answer he hoped was the truth.

Steve turned on his heel, literally, and strode away, tired of wasting time. His first few steps were a bit wobbly, a little like a newborn calf learning to walk, but he got the hang of it pretty quickly. He wasn’t, like, swaying his hips side-to-side confident or anything—yet—but he was reasonably sure he wasn’t going to randomly fall over. It was good enough for now. 

“What are we looking for again?” He asked without turning around. 

“The Emerald city.” Eddie replied, falling into step beside him again, cheeks a little pink. “The little guy who looked like Will said we’d know it when we saw it.”

“Nicely vague, figures.” 

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it. They seem to take everything very literally around here, so my guess is if we see a place with a lot of big bright green buildings, that’ll be the one.”

Chapter 2

[liaromancewriter]

Reckless Love

Premise: What if Ethan decided to attend the interns’ housewarming party? Set in Book 1, chapter 6.

Fandom: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff. Words: 1,575

A/N: This is canon-divergent, but I loved writing this fic and have decided to make it part of my canon of Ethan and Cassie's relationship. Submission to @choicesmonthlychallenge MAYhem event, prompt "regret"

What was he doing here?

Ethan Ramsey watched the numbers change on the elevator screen and wondered if it was too late to turn back. He could only imagine what kind of party the interns were hosting.

He’d been to enough ragers during college and med school to know the answer. Surgeons chugging kegs. Loud music making conversation impossible. Tequila shots.

That last one, at least, wasn’t too bad, he mused, scratching the scruffy beard he hadn’t had time to trim. He might prefer whiskey and wine as he grew older, but he still enjoyed the occasional tequila with its smoothness and sharp bite at the end.

What am I trying to prove? More importantly, to whom?

Ethan knew the answer, even if he wasn’t quite ready to admit it.

The truth was, he felt guilty for rejecting Cassie Valentine’s well-intentioned invitation. He couldn’t get the image of her crestfallen face—or the disappointed way she’d said, “Understood, Dr. Ramsey”—out of his head.

He’d felt like a heel all day. He’d gone home determined to put the incident behind him, but once there, the quiet he usually savored felt oppressive.

Before he realized it, he was changing into a casual shirt, jeans, and a leather jacket—then checking his wallet to make sure his CharlieCard for the T was there. (Parking was always an issue in this neighborhood.)

As the doors slid open and Cassie stepped into view, he knew being here was reckless, and that it was too late to turn back.

If he thought Cassie had looked ‘different’ in the cropped green top that first time at Donahue’s, then today she was a siren, an otherworldly temptation.

The red top shimmered every time she moved, clinging in all the right places as she talked animatedly with a party guest. Paired with black jeans that hugged her curves and that easy confidence she wore so well, she looked effortlessly glamorous. Dangerous, even. And it was definitely going to be a problem.

He shouldn’t be here, Ethan told himself again, uncharacteristically indecisive as nerves had him running a hand through his hair.

Before he could make his escape, Cassie looked up and caught him staring. Her lips curved into a slow smile—just a touch sultry, at least to his lust-addled brain.

The elevator doors behind him slid shut, and he supposed that was as good a sign as any that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“You came!” she said, sauntering toward him.

“What a way to state the obvious, Valentine,” Ethan said in a deadpan tone, slipping into the mask he often wore at work—the one that kept people from guessing what he was really thinking or feeling.

She laughed, unoffended by his words or tone. “What I meant to say was, ‘I’m glad you could come, Dr. Ramsey.’”

Her cheeks were flushed, and he could smell the alcohol on her breath. Ethan wondered if she was slightly tipsy.

She glanced around to see if anyone was nearby and lowered her voice. “In the interest of transparency, you should know you’ll cause quite a stir if you walk inside now. The drinks have been flowing for a while, and most interns have moved on to the complaining about their rankings in the fellowship competition portion of the evening.”

“That’s why I was in the hallway. Just couldn’t take it anymore,” Cassie added as Ethan groaned.

Coming here was definitely a mistake. The last thing he wanted after the week he’d had was to field questions from interns about their scores or suffer through hollow praise meant to curry favor.

“Wait here,” Cassie said, steering him off to the side, out of sight of the partygoers spilling into the hallway. “I’ll be right back. Two minutes, three at the most. Promise me you won’t leave.”

Ethan nodded, still uncertain, but unable to let someone else down this week. Cassie might be more forgiving than Naveen; after all, she reported to him, albeit indirectly. But he wasn’t in the mood to test that theory.

True to her word, she was back within minutes, holding a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses. Balancing the bottle under one arm, she used her elbow to press the elevator button.

Given the late hour, the car arrived almost immediately.

“Let’s go,” she said, waving him inside.

“Where are you taking me, Rookie?” Ethan asked, curiosity warring with caution.

“You’ll see.” She pressed the button for the roof.

A gust of night air greeted them as they stepped out onto the rooftop, the quiet broken by the steady drone of fans and vents.

Boston stretched out in every direction, the skyline rising in the distance like a jagged silhouette against the inky blue sky. The lights of Cambridge twinkled in the distant haze.

Someone had left a few mismatched chairs near the edge, along with a weathered patio table. It reminded Ethan of the solitary corner on Edenbrook’s rooftop where he’d often escaped to as a resident, needing a few moments of peace from the chaos below.

Wedging a wooden block to keep the door open, Cassie moved ahead of him, her boots crunching softly against the gravel-lined path as she made her way to the ledge.

Ethan stepped closer, taking in the view—the glint of the Charles River, the shadowed curve of the Common—and basking in the pulsing rhythm of the city he called home. And Cassie, standing there in that red top, framed by lights and skyline, like she belonged to the night.

She handed him a shot glass, pouring with a steady hand. The tequila caught the light as it splashed into the glass. She filled her own, then raised it between them.

“What should we toast to?” she asked, the corners of her mouth tugging into a mysterious smile.

“To questionable decisions,” he said, thinking how he absolutely should not be here—with her—beneath the poignant intimacy of a late summer night.

Cassie looked momentarily puzzled, then clinked her glass against his. “And not living to regret them.”

They knocked back the shots in unison. The tequila hit warm and sharp, just as Ethan had imagined it would. Cassie winced slightly, exhaling through her teeth, while he barely reacted, merely rolling his shoulders and letting out a low hum of approval.

“You’re good at that,” she said, eyeing him over the rim of her glass. “Who’da thunk it?”

“You might’ve tried to psychoanalyze my brain today,” he smirked, referencing their interlude in the fMRI chamber. “But, I’m not that easy to read.”

Cassie laughed, then leaned back against the ledge, the city glowing behind her. “You’re a man of mystery, Dr. Ramsey. I can appreciate that even if my nosy self is dying to ask a million questions.”

“Let me guess, you want to know why I ranked you so low in the fellowship competition,” he said a touch sarcastically, unable to control the accompanying eye-roll.

“Nope,” she shrugged. “You wouldn’t tell me anyway. Besides, it doesn’t matter. I have to do better, and that’s what I’m choosing to focus on.”

Ethan poured more tequila for them, then joined her, resting his forearms on the stone railing, close but not touching. They sipped in silence, the city humming below.

When a breeze kicked up and she shivered, Ethan did what any gentleman would do—he took off his jacket and wrapped it around her bare shoulders.

A beat of silence passed, stretching just long enough to make both of them feel it.

“Are you often worried about making questionable choices?” she asked, her voice deliberately nonchalance.

Ethan turned his head toward her, noting the way the wind teased a strand of hair across her cheek. His hand ached to reach out and brush it away, but he held himself back.

“Only when I don’t want to regret something later.”

Cassie held his gaze for a moment, her eyes filled some deeper meaner he couldn’t discern. “Good to know.”

The air shifted—charged, unspoken, electric—echoing what had passed between them during the fMRI scan.

That moment of vulnerability, his hesitant admission that any romantic feelings between attendings and interns could be chalked up to neurochemistry and proximity.

Ethan was the first to look away.

“I should go,” he said, straightening up and handing back the shot glass. His voice was hoarse as he swallowed past the lump in his throat and forced himself to ignore the magic of the moonlit night.

She didn’t stop him. Didn’t ask him to stay. Just gave a small nod, as if she understood more than she let on.

“Thanks for coming,” she said quietly. “I know you didn’t want to.”

“I didn’t want to regret not coming,” he corrected. Then, after a pause: “There’s a difference.”

Cassie looked down at the empty shot glass in her hand, then back up at him. “Yeah. There is.”

She handed his jacket back, and Ethan took it, his fingers tightening around the warm leather that still carried the subtle trace of her perfume.

He hesitated, just long enough to feel the weight of everything unsaid—much like he had earlier that day after the scan—then turned and walked away.

As the elevator descended, Ethan exhaled slowly, unsure if he felt relieved… or restless. Whatever it was, he knew one thing for certain: he didn’t regret it.

He might do so tomorrow and the day after that, but not tonight.

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

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @jerzwriter @kyra75 @lady-calypso @loreofyore @potionsprefect @quixoticdreamer16 @snoopdogcone @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @custaroonie @youlookappropriate

[dont-eat-the-algae]

So...People have been asking for my Kelsier Essay.

I'll publish it in several posts that are qued apart.

Kelsier Essay

This is not a formal, academic essay. It’s a loose one but I feel it drives home the point well enough and brings forth good evidence.

 I hope the dear reader will forgive my use of a proper noun as I write this essay; it removes somewhat of a formal aspect from its words but I must admit, it does come from a personal place of my heart. While this essay is meant to be persuasive, it’s also meant to be constructive and to drive a point home that I have been musing on for quite a while. This essay has major spoilers for the entirety of the Cosmere. If you haven’t read all of Mistborn, SH, and all of SL, please refrain from reading this.

In the endless expanses of the Cosmere, there are hundreds of characters whom many hold dear and just as many whom people hate. You could say this is due to the brilliance of the author, who, despite his busy schedules and near constant time spent behind a keyboard, finds time to sign sheets and answer questions. Why is signing sheets and answering questions relevant to beloved and reviled characters? Read on.

Brandon Sanderson answers hundreds of questions, many of which are inane, innocuous, or silly. Some are deeper, others delve into the basis behind some of his choices while writing. Still others pertain to characters. We get to the meat of it. This particular character is known, through the writing, as a brutal man, who let nothing stand in the way of his goal, who, while cleaving the noble class of his society in twain, uplifted the peasants and upended the thousand-year reign of his deity and ruler. Yes, we’re talking of Kelsier, the Survivor of Hathsin, hero of the Final Empire, and a character that leaves many people puzzled.

Reddit forums are frequented by questions about him. r/Mistborn and r/Cosmere alike have had their fair share of debates, and there was one thing I noticed in many of these: they take the words of Sanderson very, very seriously. Why shouldn’t they? He’s the author, is he not? Back in 2013, Sanderson had a Q&A session where someone asked him who his most disturbing character was. The WoB is as follows:

I_are_pant

1.Which of your protagonist characters do you dislike the most as a person? Taking in account that you know all of their inner secrets and motivations. 2. On the flip side, which of your antagonists do you connect with the most? The Lord Ruler seems an obvious choice as he was misunderstood by everyone for so long. But still, I’m curious.

Brandon Sanderson  This is a tough one, as while I’m writing, I HAVE to like everyone. However, the most disturbing of them is probably Kelsier. He’s a psychopath—meaning the actual, technical term. Lack of empathy, egotism, lack of fear. If his life had gone differently, he could have been a very, very evil dude.

 This Word of Brandon has had a decided effect on the fandom, namely in the fact that critical thought surrounding Kelsier, his motives, his struggles, and his successes, has all but been erased. He has been branded a psychopath, and there is nothing anyone can say against it.

The word “psychopath” is a very negatively charged word. To preface things, I want to be clear that this essay is going to refer to “psychopathy” as Antisocial-Personality Disorder. The term psychopath is very old, and largely refers to individuals with this particular disorder. The traditional definition of psychopath is someone who both lacks a conscience and lacks empathy.

Through this essay, I plan to painstakingly showcase that Kelsier fits neither the outdated term nor the criteria for the actual disorder, through canon book citations. I will break down each diagnostic criteria for Antisocial Personality Disorder (Henceforth shortened to ASPD) and Kelsier’s character traits at large. I wish to not only prove Brandon wrong (It is a very old WoB and I doubt very much he still believes this.) but to prove to the fandom at large that Kelsier is a good man. A flawed man, but a good man. I will also note specific character traits that I feel are of note in discussing him, his motives, and his current ideologies.

(Please note that there are plenty of individuals with ASPD that are not bad people. Your actions make you bad, not your mental health. I will be using terms such as “bad” and “wrong”, but this is in regards to a fictional character, NOT a real life human being.)

Antisocial Personality Disorder is a disorder characterized by the DSM-V as a Cluster-B personality disorder. It shares its family with Narcissistic, Borderline, and Histrionic disorders, and is characterized by a “continuing disregard and violation of the rights of others, occurring since the age of fifteen. To be diagnosed with ASPD, you must show a pattern of three or more of the following characteristics:

·         Failure to Conform with Laws and Social Norms

·         Deceitfulness (Repeated lying or conning of others for personal profit or pleasure.

·         Impulsivity or failure to plan ahead.

·         Irritability or Aggressiveness (Repeated physical fights or assaults.)

·         Reckless disregard for the safety of others.

·         Consistent irresponsibility. (Failure to keep a job or honor financial obligations.)

·         Lack of remorse.

Psychopathy is a term that was coined before this disorder was identified and refers specifically to a person lacking in both empathy and a conscience. The term is still widely used today, along with the term Sociopath, often interchangeably. For this essay, I’ll be largely relying on the psychiatric standards set in the DSM-V.

[anthurak]

Salt ask list 1, 2 and 5 I think?

Well, since you didn’t specify a fandom, I’m going with SRW Y shows XD

1: What OTPs in your fandom(s) do you just not get?

Kira/Lacus from Gundam SEED. Admittedly this isn’t exactly a case where I don’t ‘get’ that they are an OTP, indeed there was a time where this ship was my SEED OTP. Rather, looking back in hindsight now that Kira/Lacus has basically become THE main couple of SEED and especially after the SEED Freedom movie, I really can’t help but consider this a rather hilarious instance of a fandom massively headcanon/mandala-effecting this ship into something MUCH bigger than it actually was.

Like back in SEED and particularly SEED Destiny, Kira and Lacus are kind of a textbook case of a barebones, ‘take our word for it’ couple. Not just in a ‘they don’t kiss so it doesn’t count’ sense but in that the shows BARELY treat them as any kind of couple, with the writing basically just ‘telling us’ that they care a lot about each other. Combined with any of their other prospective love-interests having either hooked up with other people or coming down with a bad case of beam-rifle induced vacuum-fridging*. I mean back in the day there was actually quite a bit of DEBATE as to whether Kira and Lacus even were a couple in Destiny.** Which all feels especially contrasts by the other, much more conventionally overt couples in SEED like Murrue/Mu, Athrun/Cagalli and Shin/Lunamaria.

So it all just feels frankly kind of HILARIOUS when SEED Freedom puts Kira’s and Lacus’s relationship at the center of its story and tries to act like these two have so much history and buildup together that TOTALLY happened, honest! And just feels hilariously disjointed as a result. Especially coming off the heels of what is EASILY the best, most well-written, fully-realized romance in Gundam by a MASSIVE margin.

I mean after watching Sulemio make just about every Gundam couple before them look like chumps (save maybe Domon/Rain and Garrod/Tiffa), it was honestly HILARIOUS watching SEED Freedom’s tropey, clichéd, soap-opera-y take on Kira and Lacus. I mean I saw that movie in a theater, and I LAUGHED at a number of scenes I definitely wasn’t supposed to find funny, and I’m fairly certain I got more than few dirty looks from some other fans XD

All in all, I certainly don’t think Kira/Lacus is a bad ship to be sure. Just… VERY disproportionately hyped by its fandom.

*Flay definitely deserved better.

** Admittedly much of this was in the context of ship-wars, so you know; grain of salt and all that.

2: Are there any popular fandom OTPs you only BroTP?

Going to have to go with Lelouch/Suzaku from Code Geass for this one. Now don’t get me wrong; I see the VISION here. I absolutely agree that Lelouch and Suzaku are EXTREMELY bi (along with basically every other major Geass character lol) and definitely had feelings BAD.

Rather, my preference for these two as a BrOTP stems more from the fact that I really just want GOOD things for them both? Because I think it’s pretty clear that any actual romance between Lelouch and Suzaku would be a frankly hilariously dysfunctional, toxic MESS of a relationship.

On Lelouch’s side of things, among other things he’s just got this extremely deeply engrained tendency to ‘mask’ himself with various personas around basically anyone, so I really don’t think it’s a good idea for him to be romantically involved with anyone who can’t easily see through his shtick. And as we see many times across the show, Suzaku DEFINITELY fits that category*.

As for Suzaku, I feel like he probably shouldn’t BE in a romantic relationship with… well, anyone? Both for their, and HIS own good. Like this guy is just a complete fucking MESS of dysfunctional and self-destructive complexes and I’m pretty sure him trying to navigate actual emotional/romantic intimacy with another human being is almost certainly going to end with either Suzaku getting himself killed, or getting his partner killed.

Now of course, I have no doubt that everything I just said is precisely what MAKES Lelouch and Suzaku as a couple appealing for some people and I certainly don’t judge or think less of them for it. This is just my personal preference for these characters.

*Incidentally, this is one of the big reasons I really like Lelouch getting together with C.C., as she’s really only one of two people in the entire show who is NEVER fooled by Lelouch (the other being Euphie), and thus is basically the only person whom Lelouch is consistently entirely open and sincere with.

5: Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?

While I can’t say they outright ruined the pairing(s) for me, I will say the SEED fandom and the shipping fandom in particular was a factor in my eventual losing interest in the show as a whole, as well as representing a bit of a barrier to reentry as I’ve found recently. Specifically in their commitment to SEED’s very particular brand of melodrama. Basically I think what I already said about Kira/Lacus sums it up fairly well.

[lemotmo]

https://www.tumblr.com/lemotmo/780656269129334784/in-my-opinion-there-is-no-time-for-any-other

This definitely is an interesting point of view. And while I do think they have time to tell more personal character driven stories in the remaining episodes since as we have seen the show can do a lot in a little time if they want, and I definitely do feel like we have had a lot more direct call and acknowledgment of buddie this season,

I can’t fully say this anons buddie and Tim argument is flawed either though. Because that is an established pattern of the show and Tim. Buddie gets hyped for s bit. Gets the numbers in. We all collectively go omg it’s finally happening and then suddenly the show takes a sharp right turn, issues bts happen that throw everything off and into chaos, and we get left with a “oh haha tune in next season 😉”

It’s been happening since s3 tbh. Which now we know it never stood of actually happening thanks to fox which in hindsight them making any kind of build up while also actively never letting it go anywhere with out our knowledge is even crappier. But I think that’s also why it sucks so much to see now because with ABC it truly has felt possible but like this anon said. The same conversations and concerns that were discussed at the start of the season are now again here at the end. Eddie being sidelined when he shouldn’t be. Pacing issues. Time management issues. Tim getting side tracked. Storylines being moved around and pushed backed. Which this late into the season shouldn’t be happening. But 8 almost 9 seasons into a series most definitely should not still be happening.

And we are very rapidly approaching the end of the season and rapidly heading for once again a “oh haha tune in next season 😉” and more and more I see more and more people starting to say well “buddie canon season 9 here we go!” Which is again an every season occurrence where we all collectively say this is the season! And then by the end we look like 🤡 and adjust the goal post another season. And then it’s rinse and repeat season after season. Which is another interesting point of when do we stop doing that. Because for as long as everyone constantly just goes eh maybe next season, it’s just more room for the show to keep doing it and dragging it out. I know people don’t like to discuss this and it normally gets written off as dooming. Which in a way it is. But it’s also a conversation that eventually the fandom does need to have with itself of when is enough, enough. Like how many seasons of haha maybe this time before sorry your out of chances do we give. Fox we know now was never gonna happen. And with ABC we could maybe give them a pass on s7. It was right off a double strike, and a shortened season, and a brand new network. But if it’s the same old same old at the end of this season? What do we do then. Because this was a fully filled out 18 episodes season with no strikes, no network changes season.

Idk. I’m keeping the hope something is coming for us by season end. But I’ve been doing that for years now so nothing new lol. But with us once more being at the end of the season, chaos happening bts, Tim constantly getting distracted, I can’t say I’d be super shocked to end with yet another hahaha maybe next season guys ending either.

See, I do understand what you are saying here and I get your frustration with the show and with the fandom just accepting it. It's been years now and we're all a little tired.

I see the problems with Tim in charge and I definitely see the problems when it comes to Eddie's narrative and how his story gets sidelined so often. I does frustrate me. But the thing is: it isn't anything new. 🤷‍♀️

I've been watching network TV-shows for decades now and I've seen my favourite characters been sidelined in order to let others shine so many times. In most of those shows the slowburns have always burned extremely slow. The worst one was 'The X-files', no doubt about it.

So I've built up a lot of patience when it comes to my ships going canon. And I've learnt to enjoy the screentime my favourites do get when they are on my screen.

When I watch TV-shows I love, I don't want to waste time on being frustrated, because I know it won't change anything. I cannot influence any TV-show, no matter how much I wish I could. So I've learned to enjoy what we do get. Does that make sense?

And for 911? We have literally never been closer than this. I had zero hope for Buddie canon up until season 6. We got some great Buddie episodes and scenes in all of the first 6 seasons, but it was always something that stood on its own and wasn't properly addressed.

Season 7 and especially 8 have changed all of that. These two seasons are game changers. They have consistently brought us closer to Buddie canon, with 7 giving us bi Buck and 8b actually asking some important questions out loud.

For me that is more than enough. I can now see where this story is going. They have committed to the ship and can't pull back from this, because then they will most certainly face public backlash from the audience AND the press. It's gone too far. They have passed the point of no return.

So I'm content now. Yes, I am critical of some choices Tim made in season 7 and 8a. And yes, I can still be frustrated with Eddie being sidelined in an episode that would have fit him like a glove, but it is what it is. This is how Tim and the writers wanted it and I'm sure it'll all have a purpose in the end. Do I always like these choices? No. But again, there is nothing I can do about it, so why be angry and complain? I don't want to end up hating one of my favourite shows.

Logically we'll see some more evolution in this storyline in season 8. Now, I don't know what this evolution is going to look like, but since the question of 'Buck being in love with Eddie' has been asked by Maddie and Buck himself? I do think we'll get an answer to that question in season 8. It makes sense.

Right now Eddie is still the wild card when it comes to Buddie. But Buck is living in his house now. When he returns to LA with Chris he will most certainly stay with Buck, which would be such a great set up for Eddie to confront his feelings. So yeah, I do think we'll get to see some of Eddie's emotions on this as well and I think we'll get some kind of resolution there, however small it may be.

What this resolution will look like? I don't know. That's up to the show itself. I'm just a viewer and a fan.

Bottom line, for the first time in so many seasons the show has made its Buddie intentions loud and clear. The question has been asked, out loud and on screen. So it is happening and I'm more than happy with that. I am content. 😌

Yes, if I could have written their story myself, I would have made so many different choices than what the show ended up doing. But I'm not a writer on this show. So what is the point of dwelling on that?

We are finally in a position where the Buddie question has been addressed. So I'm going to sit down, patiently watch each episode and be a little disappointed with what we didn't get, but happy with what we did get.

As for the timeline of it all? I haven't a clue. 🤷‍♀️

I never had a clue about the timeline for any other of the TV-shows I've watched in the past. It was always a waiting game, so I'm used to it by now. 😌

Nonny please don't see this as me dismissing your feelings or your opinions in any way. I see you. I get your frustrations and I read your opinions, understand them, even share some of them. Your views matter just as much as mine do.

I'm just in a really good place right now when it comes to Buddie. I'm happy with what we've got and I'm feeling quite optimistic to what we might still get in season 8. That's all.🤷‍♀️

[kanatajelly]

illogical processes

yandere!five pebbles x reader

author's note: hello rain world fandom... i have no idea if y'all are interested in yandere fics lmao, but i love pebbles so i wrote one anyway. also reader is an ancient in this fic.

warnings: general yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, forced isolation, a lot of angst, major character death (reader)

word count: 4134

There was most definitely something wrong about all of this.

It had been so long since someone had come to visit you. Of course, it wasn’t like you weren’t used to being confined to one room for hours and even days on end, but eventually there was always someone who came to visit. Your father, or your aunt, or some of the few friends you’d managed to make in your early childhood, or even sometimes colleagues and acquaintances of your father, who would ask you of his great innovations as if you actually had any worthwhile knowledge of their inner workings.

But now it was just you.

And Five Pebbles.

“Pebbles, I’m bored,” you complained, sluggishly tossing aside a pearl you’d been turning around in your hands for the past few minutes. A pearl that you’d read over and over and over again, just like the rest of them. A sigh came from the robot suspended above you. His umbilical cable moved down the wall as he lowered himself to your level, looking you in the eyes. “Then read something. Or listen to music,” he said matter-of-factly. You glared up at him, annoyed with his response. “I’ve read and listened to everything in this room hundreds of times now,” you pointed out, your voice strained, “Can’t I go outside for once? Or talk to Big Sis Moon and the others? It’s been such a long while since you let me chat with them over communications.”

Five Pebbles mirrored your expression, although his glare contained a venomous iciness that yours lacked. “Don’t you dare say that name,” he seethed. You knew that something had to have happened between him and Looks to the Moon, since he had recently started speaking of her as if she were a horrible person (which she was not); but you had no idea what exactly had happened. Every time you tried to ask, Five Pebbles simply dismissed your inquiries. However, now that you had his full attention, you thought it’d be worth another try. “Why shouldn’t I? I love Big Sis Moon, and I miss her a lot. I know I can’t go and see her anymore, but I want to talk to her at least,” you said, trying to keep your voice as free of frustration as possible so as to not anger Pebbles too much. He avoided your eyes and mumbled something under his breath.

Tilting your head to the side, you pressed, “What was that? I couldn’t hear you.” Pebbles’ eyes darted up to yours again before he repeated, louder this time, “I said, that’s not possible.” Clenching your hand into a fist, you retorted, “Why?! Why isn’t that possible?! You never properly tell me anything, Pebbles! You never tell me about Big Sis Moon… or about my father. Why can’t I see them anymore? Where have they gone?!” Your shoulders heaved along with your breaths. You had been trying to be calm, but his constant dismissals were really starting to grate at your nerves. An odd emotion flashed in Five Pebbles’ eyes for a moment. He looked almost… guilty. But before you could properly process it, it was gone, being once again replaced by the ice-cold annoyance that always seemed to rest on his face. “You ask too many questions. I’m going back to work,” he concluded, returning to his previous position, suspended above you like some sort of god or otherwise ethereal creature.

You were silent for a while, lost in your thoughts. The only noise in the small space was the low hum of Pebbles’ operating system as he worked through his calculations as always. He really never did anything but work, did he? You wondered what he was always doing. You had faint memories of your father explaining why he built Moon and later Pebbles; something about ascension and the Great Problem. You never really understood your people’s obsession with transcending in the first place - you had other things to worry about, after all.

“Pebbles?” you tried again after around ten minutes had passed. He let out another sigh upon hearing you call him, but it wasn’t as exasperated as the last had been. “Yes?” he responded without moving from his spot up in the air. “Can I at least go outside? Just for a bit,” you asked gingerly. Pebbles put a hand to his forehead, rubbing at his temples in frustration. “There’s never an end to the questions with you, is there?” he remarked, surprisingly not sounding as irritated as you assumed he would. You pouted, saying, “Well, if you’re like me and you’re stuck in a plain-looking room for hours on end with your only company being a literal supercomputer who’s always busy and never has time for you, you would do nothing but ask questions too.” 

Five Pebbles’ shoulders twitched at your scathing words. He was quiet for a moment, before you felt yourself being lifted off the ground and towards him; a result of his gravity manipulation, no doubt. Once you were close enough to him, he tentatively placed a hand on your shoulder. The contact shocked you a bit, as Pebbles had never been the type to initiate physical affection. Even when you gave him hugs and such in the earlier days of your time together, he would simply grumble and begrudgingly accept, but never reciprocate, the contact. His next words were spoken in a very soft tone that was also out of character for him, “Look. I’ve told you this more times than I can count, and I’ll say it again. You’re sick. Going outside could potentially be dangerous for your bodily condition. Even if I send an Overseer with you, there’s no guarantee of your safety. What if you collapse and nobody’s there to bring you back to me? What if you get found and eaten by some sort of creature? There’s too many unknowns. Just stay here.”

One look at his eyes told you that Pebbles wasn’t budging on his point. Your expression fell, the little bit of hope that you felt from his unusual treatment of you having been extinguished once again. “...You used to let me out,” you murmured, “You used to let me go into the city. I want to do that again. I want to be able to see the view from the top of your superstructure again. Please, Pebbles. I can’t handle being stuck in this room anymore… Please.” His hand fell from your shoulder, instead reaching out to take your hand, but stopping halfway. “That’s not possible anymore. The city isn’t what it used to be,” he replied, his tone almost pensive. He then quickly recomposed himself before turning away from you and continuing, “Either way, I’m busy. If you have nothing worthwhile to say, I’d like for you to stop bothering me now.”

That statement was the last straw for you. “Hah, I’m always bothering you, aren’t I? If you don’t want me around so much, then why don’t you just let me die,” you spat angrily. Five Pebbles snapped his head back around to look at you. “How utterly illogical,” he retaliated, “The way your mind works is impossible for me to understand sometimes. Just do as I say and occupy your time with something other than continuously questioning me about such… ridiculous topics. As I say all the time, I am busy.” With that, he floated you back down to sit on your makeshift bed, and resumed his calculations. As per usual, when Pebbles decided that the conversation was over, you had no say in it anymore.

Your body formed a little ball on your bed, trying to hide the tears that threatened to fall from your eyes. “Things were better when I lived with Big Sis Moon,” you whispered, curling into yourself. Suddenly, the mechanical whirring of Five Pebbles’ computer processes stopped all at once, almost like he’d short-circuited. “What did you say?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. When you didn’t reply, he repeated his words, this time in a furious shout, “I asked, WHAT DID YOU SAY?!” All the electronic systems in the room abruptly flared back to life as soon as Pebbles had raised his voice. Multiple discharges of light that looked almost like thunderbolts projected out of the holographic circle which was always behind him. He was really angry this time, and it honestly scared you. You huddled further into yourself, as if doing that would put you in some sort of safe shell where Five Pebbles couldn’t harm you. 

Before either of you could say anything, a loud beeping started ringing out in the room. “Shit!” Pebbles yelled, the expression of profanity an unusual thing to hear from him, “Ugh, of COURSE you made me make an error in my processing! All of you are so absolutely unbearable! Both you, and Moon! You’re always interfering, always getting in the way!” Sticking your head out of the ball you had curled into, you softly said, “Pebbles, I’m so-” Turning to you, he screamed, “SHUT UP! I don’t want to hear anything out of you anymore!” You flinched at his harsh tone, and the tears that had been threatening to spill from your eyes all this time finally came out. As you sobbed quietly, you could hear Pebbles frantically working, trying to fix the apparent error that your interruption had caused him. He was mumbling things to himself, most of which you couldn’t hear. There was one thing you could make out, which he repeated several times, “I hope this didn’t make things any worse…”

Quite a bit of time passed after that - you honestly weren’t sure how long it had been. Pebbles seemed completely engrossed in his work, the multiple screens around the room telling you that he was computing way more parallel processes than he usually did. A thought suddenly occurred to you. Since he seemed so wholly focused on what he was doing, maybe this was your chance. Maybe, just maybe, you could finally get out of this godforsaken room.

As quietly as you could, you crawled off of your bed and slowly walked over to the wall, enough so you were right under the pipe that would take you outside. You glanced over at Pebbles. He was turned away from you. Perfect. You bent your knees to get more momentum, then jumped as high as you possibly could. With the help of the low gravity, you got about halfway up the wall. While floating in the air, you kicked yourself off the wall to further propel yourself upwards, and reached your hands above your head. When you managed to catch the edge of the exit pipe, you used all your strength to pull your body up into it. Although it took a little while and left you feeling exhausted, you eventually managed to pull yourself through the pipe and outside Pebbles’ room. Somehow, you’d done it.

Once you were outside, one look around told you that you’d gone through the wrong pipe. Instead of ending up in the access shaft that would take you on top of Five Pebbles’ can, you had accidentally taken the pipe that led to the inner workings of his superstructure. You considered going back to change pipes, but figured that it was too risky. If Pebbles had already noticed your absence and you went back in, he could use his gravity control to render you essentially immobile. Shrugging, you decided that you’d try and find another way out by going through his superstructure. As long as you avoided the dangerous-looking mechanical parts, you should be fine… right?

As you floated through the center of Five Pebbles, you marvelled at all the colours and noises that filled the large space. Sure, it was a little overwhelming, but it really emphasized the fact that you were inside the heart of a supercomputer. You could see all his neuron flies and other biological parts around you. When you reached out to catch a neuron in your hand, it felt oddly warm, almost like holding someone’s hand. It was a nice feeling compared to the cold metal that Pebbles’ puppet body was made out of. You hugged the neuron fly to your chest for a brief moment before letting it go. Suddenly, you felt awfully guilty for leaving Pebbles alone. Shaking your head, you told yourself that it was fine. You could never understand why he was always so dramatic about you leaving; it wasn’t like you’d be gone forever.

Not long after you’d started your journey, you made it out of what seemed to be the central area of Five Pebbles, and ended up in an area that sported mostly white walls, along with more biomechanical parts. This area was a lot less visually striking than the central part you’d been in before, but it was still fascinating to you. You’d never known that the inside of this superstructure consisted of so many different looking spaces. It just made you admire Pebbles all the more. Of course, this admiration also extended to your father, since he was one of the people who built all of this. You missed your father. Maybe you’d be able to see him after finding a way out, and then you could tell him that you finally understood how amazing his creation was.

Eventually, you exited the white-walled area, and moved into an area which was much darker than the other two you’d been in; although there was a dull, teal-coloured light that illuminated the chamber enough to see. The other odd thing was that this area seemed to have little blue lights along the walls, as well as blue ropes running between them. You continued downwards, wondering if those blue ropes and lights were also some of the biological parts of Five Pebbles. 

Suddenly, the entire room shook violently, causing you to freeze, before you suddenly found yourself free-falling. You let out a yelp and managed to barely catch onto one of the blue ropes before you hit a solid surface. Was the gravity on now? The teal background lighting had turned red, so maybe that signified that the zero gravity controls were disabled. That was strange… This hadn’t happened in any other part of the can that you’d travelled through. You wondered if Pebbles himself had been the one to stop the gravity, maybe as a way to prevent you from moving any further; though that theory was quickly debunked once you noted that it also prevented you from going back. Pebbles would never act that “illogically”, as he would say.

As abruptly as the first time it had happened, the room shook once again before the light turned teal, and you felt your body floating. The zero gravity was back on, it seemed. Pushing yourself off the rope you’d been holding onto, you used the momentum to propel yourself further downwards, grabbing onto another blue rope soon after to ensure you didn’t fall when the gravity turned back on, which it soon did. This was definitely strange, but you didn’t really see the point in pondering it too much. After all, you knew very little about the inner workings of the iterators; maybe this was necessary for some specific purpose. 

While you waited for the gravity to switch again, you observed the little blue lights on the walls of the room. Suddenly, one of them twitched, almost like it was alive. Your eyes widened, and you decided to look closer. That’s when you realized that these blue lights weren’t a part of the wall; they seemed to belong to fleshy, black creatures that were attached to the wall. The creatures also had stubby little tentacles that protruded from them, wiggling back and forth in the air. As soon as the gravity switched, you let go of the blue rope you’d been holding onto, now very aware that those weren’t part of Five Pebbles, but some other… thing. Whatever they were, you didn’t want to go near them. Unfortunately, as those “ropes” were the only things to hold onto in the open space (other than the occasional metal pole), you were forced to latch onto another one to avoid falling to your death once the gravity turned off again.

Something flashed in the corner of your eye. You looked to the wall next to you, only to jump when you noticed something new coming out of a section of the wall that was devoid of the weird black creatures. Your initial shock faded when you realized it was one of Pebbles’ Overseers. The little robot was projecting a holographic arrow at you, pointing up in the direction which you’d come from. It then added a little picture of Pebbles next to the arrow, obviously trying to convince you to go back to him. “I’m not going back yet,” you told the Overseer, “I want to go outside for once. I’m not leaving forever, I’ll be back at some point. I know you can hear me through this thing, Pebbles - so don’t freak out too much, okay? I promise I’ll be back.” 

The Overseer did not seem happy with your reply, shaking back and forth violently as if it were trying to say “no”. It then projected an X in the air, later adding a drawing of a mouth behind the X. “What? Are you asking me to stop talking? My god, Pebbles, you can be so annoying sometimes. I’m leaving,” you stated, propelling yourself off the blue rope you were hanging onto. Pebbles’ Overseer seemed incredibly distressed at this, and went back to trying to convince you to return to Pebbles by pointing upwards. You simply ignored it, huffing in annoyance.

Suddenly, you started to hear a squelching sound. You couldn’t really compare the sound to anything else you’d ever heard in your life, but whatever it was, it made you shudder. You looked below you to see what was producing that sound… only to see a large, spider-like creature advancing up towards you. The main part of the monster looked like the fleshy black things that lined the walls - only this one was mobile and had several long tentacles, some of which it was using to climb upwards. The tentacles that weren’t propelling the creature up were reaching up, reaching towards you. You screamed and frantically swung your limbs upwards, as if you were swimming. The Overseer pointed you upwards once more, towards a metal pole that you could use to pull yourself away from the creature. Reaching out towards the pole, your fingers barely brushed it before the room shook and the zero gravity turned off. 

As your body catapulted downwards, you tried to reach for something, anything, that you could grab onto to prevent yourself from falling into the tentacles of the terrifying black-and-blue creature. However, your efforts were in vain. You felt a tentacle wrap itself around your ankle and pull you down towards the creature’s bulbous body. “PEBBLES! HELP!” you cried out, reaching towards his Overseer. Unfortunately, his Overseer could only reach so far, and it wasn’t far enough. And what could it even do for you if it could reach you? Nothing. It was only an Overseer; its only capabilities were hologram projection and acting as a camera for its iterator.

Even as the zero gravity came back on, you were still being dragged downwards, closer and closer to the creature. As you neared it, it latched more of its tentacles onto your other limbs to stop you from struggling. Once you were close enough, it began to shove you into what you assumed was its mouth, despite being unable to see any sort of facial features on its body. First went your legs, then your hips, then your torso. It felt so painful; as if your body was getting crushed up into mush, every bone in your body slowly shattering and the remnants of your limbs being forcibly pushed together as the creature squeezed you into an easily digestible pulp. Before the creature totally consumed your head, you were able to let out one final, broken cry of Pebbles’ name. The last part of you to go was your hand, still outstretched towards the Overseer, something that couldn’t even help you in the first place. 

~~~~

After Pebbles had finally managed to correct the error that he had caused due to his anger at your final statement, he turned back towards your corner of the room, ready to apologize and smooth things over with you (as much as he didn’t want to admit his own fault). However, he was shocked to find that you weren’t there. He called your name a few times, only to receive no response. Had you somehow slipped out of his room while he was busy fixing things? “No… How could I have let them get out?!” he shouted, angry at himself. He sent a large number of Overseers out to look for you, covering every part of his can, as well as the exterior of it.

Eventually, Pebbles found you. But he found you in the worst possible place you could be in. You were in the area of his superstructure that he called “Unfortunate Development”, as it was the place where the Rot infecting him was the most virulent. He told his Overseer to convince you to come back as quickly as possible - there was no way you could survive in Unfortunate Development. He could hear you speak through the Overseer, “I’m not going back yet. I want to go outside for once. I’m not leaving forever, I’ll be back at some point. I know you can hear me through this thing, Pebbles - so don’t freak out too much, okay? I promise I’ll be back.” 

“Don’t be stupid! You’ll never get out of there alive. Come back, come back right now!” Pebbles shouted, even though you couldn’t hear him. He told his Overseer to tell you to stop speaking, as some of his observations had shown that the mobile Rot cysts reacted mostly to noise. “What? Are you asking me to stop talking? My god, Pebbles, you can be so annoying sometimes. I’m leaving,” you declared through the Overseer, then pushed yourself away from it. Shaking his head, Pebbles screamed, “No, no, NO! LISTEN TO ME!” He continued commanding the Overseer to try and convince you to come back, but his efforts were futile. There was a Rot cyst advancing towards you, and Pebbles couldn’t do anything about it. He had completely lost control over the gravity system in Unfortunate Development some time ago, so he couldn’t propel you away from the Rot cyst; and there was nothing his Overseer could do except project holograms. He could only watch as you were consumed by the Rot.

Five Pebbles had failed once again.

It was all his fault. If he hadn’t been so antagonistic towards you, maybe you wouldn’t have thought of leaving in the first place. If only he was more like Moon; kind, caring, friendly, and warm. But he wasn’t any of those things. He didn’t know how to be kind, didn’t know how to care for others, didn’t have any friends except Seven Red Suns (who he had lost by now), and he was so, so cold. If only he could have made you love him as much as he loved you, maybe this would have never happened. A little voice in his head told him that that wasn’t true. Even though he loved you, it wasn’t like he’d ever told you that. He always treated you horribly too, locking you inside his room with no entertainment other than the pearls that you’d read or listened to over and over again until even they became a source of boredom.

The mechanical whirring that rang out through Pebbles’ room became almost inaudible as he slowly paused or shut down all the processes he’d been working on, as well as all the Overseer camera feeds. They didn’t matter anymore. Nothing did. He’d gotten so used to your presence, and now that you were gone, potentially even dead, Pebbles couldn’t bring himself to do anything. Even if you somehow weren’t dead and you did reincarnate into the next cycle, why would you ever come back to him? There was no way you would. After all, why would you want to be with someone who kept you locked in a tiny room for cycles on end? Pebbles sank to the bottom of his chamber, his legs hitting the floor and putting him in a hunched-over sitting position. He hid his face in his hands; he was sure that if he could cry, he would be right now.

Now he really had nothing.

He was all alone.

Just as he deserved.

[solarmorrigan]

For your works in progress, I’m all ears for:

‘Steve has a migraine, Joyce is there to Mother’

👀💛

Hello! 👀

So this was actually one of the first things, if not the first thing, that I wrote for this fandom. Pretty sure I hadn't even finished S3 when I started it. I go back and poke at it now and then, and maybe one day I'll actually finish it?

Steve had dropped the boys off thirty minutes ago. They had all come rumbling into the house with quick hellos for Joyce and had immediately shut themselves up in Will’s room. Steve’s car is still sitting outside. It isn’t at all that Steve isn’t welcome at the house—Joyce doesn’t want to run him off—it’s only that he hasn’t come into the house. As far as Joyce can tell, he’s just sitting in his car out there. Giving up any pretense of subtlety, Joyce draws the front room curtain back from the window and peers out onto the lawn. He’s definitely in his car, slumped forward with his head resting on the steering wheel. The sight gives Joyce a little jolt of anxiety, and she’s shoving her feet into her boots before she even realizes she’s made a conscious choice to go outside. There is a possibility that he’s simply asleep – he’d agreed to pick Mike, Lucas, and Dustin up this evening, and maybe he doesn’t have anywhere better to be. Maybe he’s just waiting. But then why not just come inside? And for that matter, he shouldn’t be napping in a car in the middle of January, Joyce decides. It’s cold. She wraps her arms around herself as she approaches the driver’s side of the BMW, where she can see now that Steve’s hands are still clenched on the wheel and his shoulders are tensed up to his ears. If he’s asleep, Joyce will eat Hopper’s ridiculous hat.

Curious about a WIP?