#didn't see this anywhere on tumblr and i felt like it needs to be seen by a lot more people

[janiehellion]

Close Quarters

ONESHOT

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Trapped overnight by a horde of walkers during a supply run, you and Daryl Dixon find yourselves in close quarters with nothing but time on your hands. But can you keep your hands to yourself?

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: DARYL DIXON X FEMALE!READER

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: SMUT / LANGUAGE / ORAL SEX

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.664

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: This oneshot is inspired by a post from & dedicated to @ophelialaufey on Tumblr.

MASTERLIST

"Keep ya eyes open," Daryl grunted and kept walking. His crossbow hung over his shoulder as his eyes looked left and right in search of any danger. He wasn't much for words, more action than unnecessary chit-chat, but you didn't complain. 

Today's task had been simple: Scavenge for as many supplies as you could until night began to fall, and then get back to the safety of the group. And that's exactly what you did, with your supply run partner being once again: Daryl Dixon.

You only nodded, holding your own weapon tightly. For all his rough exterior, you trusted him with your life. Over the last months, you've seen Daryl in action a lot of times already; to your eyes, he seemed to be one of the best survivors among the group. But tonight felt a bit off. It didn't feel like any other supply run; you were uncomfortable, and you just couldn't shake the feeling that something was likely to go wrong.

As the last rays of daylight finally vanished, sudden growls came from out of nowhere. You and Daryl immediately stopped dead in your tracks, your hearts racing in your chest as you realized that a small horde of walkers approached. Still, there were too many to take on, and running was definitely out of line. You had to find shelter, and fast.

"This way," Daryl whispered, tugging at your arm to lead you toward a building. He pushed open the door, and both of you slipped inside, shutting it as quietly as you could behind you. The room was dark and full of dust and the familiar smell of decay.

"Looks like we're in here for the time," Daryl said, walking over to a window and looking out through a gap. "They ain't goin' anywhere anytime soon."

You sighed, trying to steady your breathing. The reality of the situation was hitting you. Being stuck in this tiny, dark room with Daryl Dixon—with a horde of the undead outside—was just what you needed. 

Daryl, meanwhile, turned away from the window and explored the room further, but then he suddenly stopped and faced you. "Gonna need to check for scratches," he said, leaving very little room in his tone for argument. "Help me with my shirt."

"Okay, I guess..." You stepped closer, your hands shaking slightly as you reached for the hem of his shirt before you lifted it slowly to reveal his stomach. His skin was rough and scarred from the years of survival, but to you, it was mesmerizing.

"See anythin' on my back?" He asked, his eyes boring into yours.

You shook your head, trying to focus. "No, you're... definitely clear."

"Thanks," he said gruffly, pulling his shirt back down. His fingers brushed against your hand as he did, and for a brief moment, you both froze, but the sudden sound of a distant groan made Daryl’s eyes snap back to the window. "Damn it," he mumbled, annoyed. "We should make sure this place is safe."

You followed him as he began to inspect the room, moving from one corner to another. "You need any help?" You asked, trying to keep the stutter out of your voice.

He glanced over at you, his eyes not giving away anything. "Just stay outta the damn way."

You took a step back, feeling a bit disappointed. There was something almost painful about the way he kept you at arm’s length, like a barrier you could never cross. Yet, it only intensified your need to break through his walls.

He still hadn't found anything, so you turned your attention to an old armchair in the corner of the room. You walk over to it, brushing off some of the dust, thinking it might be a good place to take a seat and wait out the night. But in your approach, you had knocked over a few empty glass bottles, which shattered on the floor.

"Be careful, woman," he snapped at you. "Ya wanna attract more of 'em and get us killed?"

You immediately apologized and bent over to pick up the pieces, your face blushing with embarrassment. "Sorry, I didn't mean to."

Soon enough, he was done checking out the room, and he sat down in the armchair that you cleaned off. "Looks like we're stuck here for the night," he said, though not to you in particular.

Meanwhile, you sat down on the floor across from him, trying to get comfortable. Daryl's eyes looked at you, though he didn't really manage to hide behind his usual stoic expression. "Ya cold or somethin'?"

You shook your head. "No, I'm okay. Don't worry."

He nodded, and for a moment, you thought the conversation might end there. But then he shifted around in the chair, as if uncomfortable with the silence. "Ya’ve been quiet," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Usually ya've got somethin' to say."

You hesitated, unsure of how to respond. "Just… thinking, I guess."

"Thinkin' 'bout what?" He asked, still looking at you.

You shrugged, trying to seem casual. "Everything. How things have changed since all of this started."

Daryl grunted, his eyes returning to the window. "Yeah, things've changed alright. Ain't much left in the world."

You didn't reply; instead, you watched him, noticing the way his muscles moved under his shirt and the way his eyes darted around, constantly on alert. It was almost hypnotic—this man who lived on the edge of survival, so strong yet so guarded.

As the minutes ticked by, you couldn’t help but glance at Daryl’s stomach, where his shirt had risen slightly when he sat down. Your eyes were drawn to the trail of hair that led from his belly button downwards, something you couldn’t ignore, and the more you tried to focus on something else, the more your gaze kept drifting back to him.

Daryl shifted again, his eyes catching yours. "Got a problem or somethin'?"

You looked away quickly, feeling your heart race. "Nope."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, well, ya can't just sit there starin' at me like that."

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

He sighed, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms over his chest. "Alright. What is it ya wanna say?"

You fidgeted around, trying to find the right words. "I just… I guess I'm curious about you. About who you are when you’re not out fighting walkers or scavenging for supplies."

Daryl stared at you, his eyes darkening slightly. "And maybe I don't see the point in talkin' 'bout that."

You shifted on the floor, your movements restless. "Maybe we could make this night less pointless."

Daryl’s eyes narrowed. "What're ya talkin' 'bout?"

You hesitated, then took a deep breath. "I mean, we could talk about something else. Anything, really."

He studied you for a long moment, his expression guarded. Then, unexpectedly, he broke the silence. "Alright, fine. What do ya wanna know?"

You nodded. "What about before all this? What did you do?"

He seemed to ponder the question before answering. "Didn’t do much beyond huntin'."

You smiled faintly, lost in thought. "Sounds like a simpler life."

"Simple don't mean easy," he answered back quickly, looking away again.

Without even thinking, you closed the distance between the two of you, your heart racing in your chest and your hands shaking just a little bit as you held them out to him. Why? You didn't really know it yourself. You just did.

"What're ya playin' at?" He growled and narrowed his eyes.

You didn't respond. You went down to your knees in front of him, your eyes locked on his and your fingers brushing against the skin of his stomach. His muscles tensed under your touch, but he didn't push you away. Instead, he watched you with curiosity.

"You like this?" You asked, your whisper barely audible over the far-off moans of the walkers outside.

Daryl's jaw clenched, his eyes darkening. "What're ya tryin' to prove?"

You ignored his question, pressing your lips to his stomach in a matter of seconds. His skin was warm and slightly wet with salty sweat.

"Stop," he growled, but without conviction.

But you couldn't. You did not stop and continued to kiss and lick his stomach while your hands searched for every inch of his body. It was in the way his muscles twitched at your touch, the way his breath hitched—that really turned you on.

"You want this," you whispered, more a statement than a question.

Daryl's eyes blinked fast—part need, part hesitation. He was already at the edge, his breathing ragged, his eyes on you as if he willed himself to fight but failed.

"Yeah," he mumbled, his voice shaking. "Goddamn it… I want it."

That was all the motivation you needed. You reached out and placed your hand on Daryl's thigh, feeling him tense up slightly, but he still didn't pull away.

"I want to suck your cock," you whispered, your hand sliding up his thigh, closer to the bulge in his pants. As you reached for his belt, your fingers fumbling with the buckle, he helped you with shaking hands.

You smiled up at him, your fingers soon enough wrapped around the base of his cock, and slowly you leaned forward and pressed your lips to slide over the tip.

You teased him with soft, slow kisses, using just the very tip of your tongue to outline his head. His moans were very low and almost barely audible, but they fueled your lust all the same when you licked off the pre-cum.

"Fuck!" Daryl gasped, his hands gripping the sides of the chair. "Just get on with it."

Your mouth opened wide, and you took him in almost immediately, starting with just the head and letting it slide slowly past your lips. It was almost too much, that feeling of his cock in your mouth, and so you pulled back a bit, swirling your tongue around the head before trying to take him in further.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," Daryl mumbled, his eyes closed, as he fought to hold on to some sort of control.

Your hand didn't stop stroking the part of his shaft that wasn't in your mouth, moving in rhythm with your lips and your tongue's movements.

Daryl's hips bucked involuntarily with short thrusts, and every time he pushed forward, you took him deeper, feeling your throat expand around him.

"Ya keep makin' me harder," he said, his voice breaking. 

"Good. I want you to be," you grinned around him, and without hesitation, you dove back down on him, taking him in as deep as you could.

"Fuck, keep goin'," he urged. "Ya gonna make me lose it."

You were more than happy to obey, and you quickened the pace of your movements, your mouth sliding up and down his cock. His hands were gripping your hair now, guiding you and pushing you to take him even deeper. His groans were getting louder, sounding more desperate, and you could tell he was close already.

"Jesus, I'm gonna cum," he moaned, his voice trembling. "Gonna blow my load."

You smirked around his cock, but you certainly didn't mean to let him come just yet. Drawing back a bit, you let your tongue slide along the underside of his cock before swirling around the sensitive skin just below its head.

Daryl groaned loudly, his body arching due to the ruined orgasm. "Fuck, don't stop," he pleaded, his hands gripping your hair tighter. "I'm so fuckin' close."

At those words, your lips parted slightly, teasingly, allowing a strand of spit to connect you to his cock before you leaned forward again, but not taking him fully into your mouth.

"Goddamn it," Daryl groaned, his hips bucking reflexively. "Don't play 'round."

But you continued teasing him, your tongue playing with the pre-cum, letting it gather in your mouth before you let it drip back onto his cock.

"Tease me like this," he gasped, "and I'm gonna go fuckin' crazy."

"You want more?" you asked. "You want me to make you come?"

Daryl nodded desperately, his eyes half-closed. "Yes, fuck yes."

Instead of giving him what he wanted, you pulled away once again and began to kiss and lick his cock from the base up, sliding your tongue around his shaft and softly nibbling on it as you moved slowly back up, paying careful attention to every inch of his throbbing cock.

"Shit," Daryl moaned, his hands gripping your hair harder. "Fuck, stop teasin' me."

His moans grew louder as you finally gave in to him, your tongue swirling around his cock like a snake, leaving nothing untouched. Daryl gripped your hair tighter, and his thrusts grew more insistent, pushing you further on his cock as you gagged on him, and you took him deeper still while you could feel his balls tightening and the base of his shaft tensing.

"I'm gonna come," he warns, but you don't stop. You want to taste him and feel him explode in your mouth. "Oh, fuck," he cried out again, his grip on your hair tightening as he cursed. "I'm gonna fuckin' come!"

You sucked hard and long, your tongue twisting around the ridge of his cock, teasing the sensitive spot beneath. With every suck, you could feel the pulsating veins in his shaft, and finally, Daryl came. His cock throbbed and pulsed in your mouth as he shot thick ropes of cum, filling your mouth with the salty, bitter taste of it.

You pulled off of him with a smirk, having swallowed the last of Daryl's cum, your lips glistening with the remaining drops before you wiped it off with the back of your hand.

"You okay?" You asked as you leaned in to press a soft kiss to his stomach.

Daryl looked at you, a half-smile on his face as he met your gaze. "Yeah, I'm good."

You leaned in closer, letting your fingers explore the warm, sweaty skin of his belly. "So," you said, your voice playful, "since we're still trapped here, do you want to know what got us into this mess?"

Daryl's eyebrow arched upward in confusion. "What do ya mean?"

You pressed your lips lightly against his belly. "I was just thinking about how all this started. It was your belly that got me going in the first place."

Daryl's eyes narrowed slightly. "Oh, so that's why ya were starin', huh?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Your belly's kind of a big deal to me, but I can't really explain," you grinned up at him.

He smirked back in amusement. "Fine, if ya don't wanna."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "No need to explain. Only appreciating the view."

"Well, don't get too distracted. We've still got loads of shit to do," he answered, getting up from the chair to prepare to take a quick look outside the window to see how many walkers are still outside and roaming around.

Brushing the dust off your clothes when you got up as well, you turned to Daryl with a little bit of a spark in your eyes. "By the way, Daryl, I hope this check-up was thorough enough for you."

He looked back at you with a confused expression on his face. "This check-up? What are ya talkin' about?" He asked, taking a step back from the window.

You smirked as you got closer again, both your hands running over his belly one more time. "Well, considering how things went down, I think we both should consider this our routine maintenance from now on, don't you think?"

Daryl's eyes widened for a second before he suddenly let out a small laugh. "A routine maintenance, huh? Alright. But next time, maybe we'll save the check-ups for a safer time. Now, get ya ass up and follow me."

"Deal. But I gotta say, I'm looking forward to the next routine check-up already," you laughed, following him to the door and closing it slowly behind you.

[happy74827]

After Hours

[Billy x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You never fully believed the saying, “wrong place, wrong time…” until now {GIF credits: moviebuffs on tumblr}

WC: 4,392 (whoops)

Category: Hurt/Comfort {TW — Melinda, threats, mention of drugs + blood, lots of cursing}

I watched this two nights ago with my friend (love you @yoursacredqueenmother) and now here I am… obsessed. The ending was lame ngl but I highly recommend this movie if you like messed up situations (and Josh looking spicy 🥵).

『••✎••』

You hated driving at night. All the darkness outside and the light reflecting from the headlights, it all gave you a headache.

Your eyes darted over to the passenger's seat. It was empty and you were glad. The road was bad enough, you couldn't imagine trying to deal with someone else's conversation while driving.

The only sound was the soft rumble of the car, the whirring of the engine, and the sound of the tires rolling over the rough pavement. Your hands were tense on the steering wheel as you squinted in an attempt to see a few feet ahead of you. There were no lights out here, no street lights or traffic lights, and you were starting to think there wouldn't be any towns, either.

It would be the last straw if you ran out of gas out here.

You didn't even know where you were going, you were just following the GPS's directions and praying it would get you out of this desert and somewhere safe.

You sighed and shifted in your seat, tapping the steering wheel anxiously. You hadn't seen any other cars for a few hours now, which wasn't unusual, but it was still a little nerve-wracking to be driving out in the middle of nowhere.

But of course, as all nightmares go, suddenly, your car made a strange noise and started slowing down.

"Shit!" you hissed, smacking the steering wheel. "Shit shit shit!"

The car sputtered and then finally came to a complete stop, the engine dying. You slammed your hands against the wheel, feeling tears of anger and frustration welling up in your eyes. You were completely and utterly screwed.

You sat in the car for a while, letting the silence and darkness envelop you. The heat had faded quickly as soon as the sun had set, leaving behind an eerie chill that seeped through your clothes and into your skin.

You took a deep breath and looked around, but you could barely make out the landscape around you. It was pitch black and you knew if you tried to leave the car you would lose it immediately and end up getting hopelessly lost. You weren't sure what to do.

You looked over at the empty passenger seat, now wishing more than anything that you had someone with you.

You sighed and laid your head back, trying not to think about how scared and alone you felt.

As you sat there, staring up at the roof of the car, you decided you needed a plan. You couldn't just sit here forever, and if you were going to get anywhere, you were going to need help.

You grabbed your phone from the cup holder and held down the power button, watching as the screen lit up. You had service, thankfully, and a decent amount of battery left. You unlocked the screen and opened the maps app, waiting as it searched for your location.

You watched anxiously as the small circle spun, feeling a pit of dread growing in your stomach as the minutes ticked by.

After what felt like an eternity, the screen finally lit up. You sighed and put a hand on your chest, feeling relieved.

Zoomed out on the map, you looked for the nearest town. You didn’t find one, but you found a gas station… they were sure to have a jumper cable, right?

You plugged the coordinates into the GPS and started the car again, hoping that it would start.

It didn’t, of course. The whole point of getting stranded was that your car wouldn't start. So, you had no choice but to walk.

You grabbed a bag from the back seat and threw a few necessities inside, along with your wallet, your phone, your charger, and a small pepper spray bottle that your best friend had insisted you carry.

You were glad she'd been so insistent, you'd never have thought you'd need it.

You slung the bag over your shoulder and opened the door, stepping out into the chilly air. You shivered and closed the door, locking it, and then turned away from the car, setting off into the dark.

The moon was hidden behind thick clouds and the wind whipped around you, kicking up sand and rocks that stung your face and hands. You shivered and wrapped your arms around yourself, pulling your coat tighter around your body.

You wished you'd had the foresight to bring a thicker jacket or something, but you hadn't planned on getting stranded.

The walk was slow, the uneven ground and lack of light making the journey difficult. You could hear the wind howling around you, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched.

You kept walking, trying not to think about what could be lurking in the shadows, watching your every move.

Finally, after about twenty minutes, you spotted a light in the distance. You picked up your pace, your heart racing. As you got closer, you could see it was the gas station, just like you'd hoped.

You jogged up to the doors, pushing them to open but finding them locked.

You groaned and knocked on the glass, looking inside. There were no lights on, and you couldn't see anyone.

"Hey!" you yelled, pounding on the door. "I need help!"

There was no answer, and you were starting to think no one was inside.

You sighed and sat down on the concrete, putting your face in your hands. You had no idea what you were going to do now. The stupid location said it was open twenty four hours a day, so where was the damn staff?

You were about to get up and try the door again when you were startled by the light above the doors flickered on. You looked up and saw a woman standing behind you, her dark hair flat and dull. Her clothes were a mess, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

She looked exhausted, and when she spoke, her voice was strained but polite.

"Can I help you?"

Your eyes widened, and you scrambled to your feet, trying not to look panicked. But when you noticed the name tag pinned to her shirt that read ‘Melinda,’ your fear melted away and you let out a sigh of relief.

"Oh thank god, I thought no one was here," you laughed.

She didn't laugh with you, her face remained emotionless.

"Sorry, I was in the back," she explained. "What can I do for you?"

"My car broke down… honestly, I don’t remember where. It was really dark, and I don’t know this area." You shook your head and continued, "I was hoping I could buy a jumper cable or something? Just enough to get me out of here."

She nodded slowly, her expression never changing.

"Yes, they should be near the back with the other supplies." She paused, eyeing you warily. "I would offer coffee along with it, but… we're out of stock at the moment."

"That's fine," you said. "Just the cable will do."

She nodded again and stepped past you, pulling out a key and unlocking the door. She stepped inside and motioned for you to follow her. You did, and the moment you entered, a rush of cold air hit you, making you shiver.

She walked to the counter, her footsteps echoing on the tiled floor. She stopped at the register and began pressing buttons, her movements slow and methodical.

You couldn’t really care at the moment, as your eyes roamed the store, searching for the cables.

You walked down the first aisle, but didn’t see them. You kept walking, and when you came to the second aisle, you spotted them. You were about to grab them, but then you noticed the hall with the bathroom sign hanging from it.

Suddenly, the bottle of water that seemed so important earlier became a major regret. You hadn't gone to the bathroom since before your car broke down, and it was starting to catch up with you.

You took a step towards the bathroom, glancing back to the cashier. You could see her staring down at the counter, her fingers pressed to the keys, not really typing.

You didn't want to interrupt her, so you decided not to ask. You hurried into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You flipped the lock, and then turned to face the mirror.

You grimaced at the sight of yourself. Your hair was messy and your face was dirty. You splashed some water on your face, and then grabbed a paper towel and dried yourself off before doing everything you had to.

You left the bathroom, planning on returning to the aisle, but then you heard a noise.

A small sound, a whimper, like a puppy in pain.

You looked down the hall, trying to find the source. It sounded like it was coming from the storage room.

"Uh, hello?" you called, taking a hesitant step towards the door. "Are you alright?"

There was no response, just another small, pitiful cry.

You bit your lip and pushed the door open, stepping into the darkness.

"Hello?" you said again. "Is someone there?"

The door creaked behind you, and then closed. You spun around, panic rising in your throat. You reached for the handle, but before you could grab it, something moved in the darkness.

You jumped back, a gasp escaping your lips.

Something moved in front of you. You couldn't tell what it was, or where it was, but you knew it was there.

You took a step back, trying to stay calm. Your heart was racing and your palms were sweaty.

"Please, I just need help with my car," you pleaded.

A low, guttural growl came from the shadows. It sounded like a wild animal, and when it moved again, it was close enough that you could see the outline of its form.

It was… not tall. Not in the slightest. In fact, it probably was only taller than you by an inch, if at all. It was hunched over, its shoulders curved inward, its spine protruding slightly.

It took you a long minute to realize that it was just a guy in a chair. Man, you were blind.

He had on a denim jacket, and it hung off his small frame, the sleeves rolled up. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, and he was trembling slightly. That’s when you noticed the bundles of red tape around his eyes, mouth, arms, and legs. He also seemed to be bounded to the chair, strapped down and unable to move.

“Oh my god,” you breathed. You stepped towards him, reaching out a hand, but he jumped out at you, attempting to attack. Though, it was pretty much useless on his end. He couldn’t move more than a couple inches in any direction.

He started to speak afterwards, but the tape had prevented it from being coherent, and all you could make out was a low, angry rumble.

"No! No, no, no!" You stepped back, putting your hands up. It was rather pointless and stupid of you too, because the tape had also covered his eyes, you just looked like an idiot. But, still, you kept them up. "I'm not going to hurt you, I just need some help with my car!"

He growled at you, a low, threatening sound, but then he stopped, seeming to realize that you were telling the truth. He was breathing hard, and his chest was heaving, and then he mumbled something under the tape.

"What?" You asked.

He mumbled again, but you couldn't understand him. It was like talking to a brick wall.

You hesitated, but then moved forward, reaching up to take the tape off. If you had to guess that was probably what he was mumbling about.

He flinched when you touched him, but then relaxed. You peeled the tape away from his face, both the strands across his mouth and the one over his eyes, and dropped it to the floor.

He was breathing heavily, and when you looked up at him, you were surprised by how young he looked. His face was pale and his lips were dry. His hair was greasy and tangled, and the side of his head was badly burned and bruised. There was even dried blood on his temple.

“Jesus, what happened to you?"

He stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"Get me the fuck out of here, and I'll tell you," he hissed.

His voice was surprisingly smooth, despite how rough he looked. His words were short and sharp, like he was angry.

You weren't sure what to do, but then he started moving.

"Please," he said, his voice sounding desperate. "I promise, I won't hurt you. Just, please. Please get me out of this fucking chair."

"Did that… lady put you in here?”

"Yes, Melinda," he spat. "She's a nutcase psycho. Drugged me and… and… whatever the fuck. Just get me out of here!"

He sounded more frantic now, and his eyes were wide and pleading.

"Well, I-” You started to say, but he cut you off.

"Well what? What’re you waiting for?!”

“I- I need a jumper cable. My car broke down outside… somewhere. I'm not from around here, and- I don't know where I am. I can't exactly go anywhere until my car's fixed."

He looked at you with the most exasperated look you'd ever seen. It was almost comical, how exaggerated the expression was, but then he seemed to relax.

"Alright, how about this…” he said, his voice low and soothing. "You let me out of this shitty chair, and I'll help you fix your car. How's that sound?"

You didn't know what to say. He didn't seem like he was lying, and he seemed to be genuine about his fear. But could you really trust him? You still had no idea who he was or where he came from.

He seemed to sense your hesitation, and his expression softened.

"Look, I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "But I can't really help you unless I can get out of this stupid chair. And if we stay here, Melinda's going to find us, and trust me, you do not want to deal with her."

"And if she finds us, what will she do?"

"Look at Sheila over there wrapped up like a fucking Christmas tree," he replied, jerking his head towards the woman's corpse.

You gasped, covering your mouth.

"Oh my god, I didn’t even notice," you mumbled.

"Yeah, well, she's been dead for about an hour now, so," he said.

"And- and you've been sitting here, tied up the whole time?!"

"Yeah, it's fucking awful," he grumbled. "Now, will you help me, or not?"

"Oh, uh, yeah." You looked down at the remaining tape, trying to decide how best to go about it.

"Just, hurry up," he urged.

"Ok, ok." You reached for the tape, and he leaned forward, letting you pull and tug on the strips.

After a minute, you had all the tape off that was pinning him down and he was able to stand up. Again, he wasn’t that tall, maybe a five to six inches above five feet, but that didn't stop him from moving fast. He darted around the room, looking around frantically, and then grabbed a crowbar from a nearby shelf.

"Where did you even-"

"Not the time," he interrupted.

He turned towards you, his expression hard. He was pretty intimidating, and it wasn’t just because of the crowbar. He was skinny, but muscular, and the way he moved was fluid and agile, like a predator.

Though, you couldn’t help but noticed how attractive he was, with his expressive eyes and the way his hair was pushed back from his face. He was gorgeous.

"Hey," he snapped. "You listening?"

You blinked, and nodded.

"Sorry," you said, shaking your head. "This has just been a very, very strange night."

"Tell me about it," he grumbled. "That’s why when I’m done with her, we are getting the fuck out of here."

"Done with her?"

"Well, yeah, obviously. We're not just gonna let her get away with this shit."

"Um, are you sure that's a good idea? She's, like, a million times your size," You smiled at the small joke, but he didn’t seem amused at all, so you added, "Not to mention, hurting people seems like a bit of an extreme response."

"Hurting people is kinda her thing," he muttered.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off.

"Look, are you coming with me, or not? Because, if not, then just leave. You're already making this way more complicated than it needs to be."

"I can’t leave, not until my car's fixed," you protested. "That's why I'm here in the first place.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated.

"Ok, fine, fine," he relented. "Whatever. You can come with me, but just don't slow me down, alright?"

"Right," you said, nodding.

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue. He just started walking, motioning for you to follow. You did, and soon the two of you were standing outside the storage room, the door open and the hallway beyond shrouded in darkness.

"Alright, the plan is, I'm going to distract her and make her pay," he whispered. "While I'm doing that, you're going to grab the keys to her car or whatever and get it started. We'll meet up outside and drive off, and that'll be the end of it."

"You're… very confident for someone who was tied up to a chair five minutes ago," you had another attempt at lightening the mood, but he just gave you a pointed look.

Again, he didn’t seem amused. "Yeah, well, she's a bitch, and I don't appreciate being treated like a goddamn lab rat."

He has an odd way of speaking, you noticed. His words were short and clipped, and he never used more than he needed. It was a little intimidating, but mostly it was just kind of interesting.

"How’d do you even end up like that, anyway?"

He gave you another one of his annoyed looks. It was weird how much he could convey with just his eyes, but the look was gone almost as soon as it appeared.

"Don’t ask stupid questions,"

"Well, it seems like a reasonable question, considering the circumstances," you retorted.

He rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Look, do you want my help or not?"

"Um, yeah. Yeah, of course,"

"Then stop asking stupid questions and focus on the task at hand. You get the car, I'll take care of Melinda. Simple."

You didn't know what to say, so you just nodded. He seemed pleased with your response and began to lead the way down the hall, moving quietly and staying close to the walls.

You followed him, keeping your footsteps light. As you went, you thought about the situation.

Melinda, in the five minutes of knowing her, never struck you as the violent type. A little socially weird, yes, but not violent. It seemed out of character, and you wondered if she had a reason for acting the way she did. Or maybe she was just crazy, like the guy had said.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you saw him hold up a hand. You stopped, and he pointed to the corner. You looked, and saw Melinda's form moving past the entrance to the hall, a flashlight in her hand.

The man motioned for you to stay put and moved silently towards the entrance. You watched him, unable to do anything else.

When he reached the opening, he paused. He was still, and for a moment, you thought he had lost his nerve.

He didn't hesitate for long. In one quick motion, he darted out of the hall, his crowbar held high.

Melinda jumped back, the light from her flashlight swinging wildly as she tried to regain her footing. She swung her flashlight at him, and the metal bar made a dull clang when it collided with her temporary weapon.

He stumbled, but managed to stay on his feet. He lunged at her again, but this time she was ready. He had stopped fast when she pulled out a gun, pointing it at his head.

I guess he was telling the truth.

“Just stop, okay? You can leave now, I'll let you go. Just don't-"

"Give me one good reason why I should listen to a word you say," the man interrupted, his tone low and menacing.

She stammered, trying to think of an answer. She didn't get the chance, though. Her eyes had caught sight of you, and she had noticed that you weren't where she had left you.

"Oh, oh god," she whispered, her voice filled with horror. "No, no, no. No, you weren't supposed to-"

The man swung the crowbar, and the gun flew out of her hand, skidding across the floor.

He moved in quickly, swinging his arm again. She dodged, and the metal bar hit the wall, creating a large dent in the plaster.

Melinda backed away, her hands raised, her eyes wide.

"I'm sorry, okay?" she cried, backing away from him. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Sorry?! You… you drugged me and tried to…” He paused, stopping momentarily before pointing the crowbar at her face. “The point is, sorry isn't going to cut it, you bitch."

He swung at her again, and again, she dodged.

She was fast, and he wasn't, and soon, he had lost his balance. She shoved him hard, sending him flying backwards.

He landed hard on the ground, the wind knocked out of him. He didn't move, and Melinda stood over him, panting and wild eyed. The gun found her hands again, and she pointed it at his head, her hand trembling.

You had to do something. You couldn't just stand by and watch him die.

You did the only thing you could think of.

You went into your bag and took out the very same pepper spray that you had been carrying since the start of this nightmare, and fired.

The stream hit her right in the eyes, and she screamed, dropping the gun. It hit the floor with a loud thunk, and you dove for it, picking it up and pointing it at her.

"Don't move," you yelled, your voice shaking. "I'm warning you. I'm not afraid to use this."

Actually, that was a lie. You were absolutely terrified, and your hands were trembling so badly that you were barely able to keep a grip on the gun.

But you couldn't back down now. Not after everything you had been through.

She had stopped screaming, but was still clutching her eyes, tears streaming down her face. She was moaning and stumbling around, trying to find her way back to the wall.

She finally found it, and leaned against it, her eyes closed.

"Please, please don't hurt me," she sobbed. "I didn't want to do it. I didn't mean to hurt anyone. Please don't hurt me."

You glanced at the man. He was staring up at you, his expression unreadable.

"I should take that gun and shoot you right now," he said. "After what you did, I should kill you."

"Please," she whimpered.

He stared at her, and for a moment, you didn't know what he would do. Then, he got to his feet, picking up his crowbar as he did so.

Before she can even react he took a swing, hitting her right in the stomach. She gasped and fell to the floor, curling up into a ball.

He took another swing, this time aiming for her face.

You stepped forward, about to tell him to stop, but the blow didn't land.

Instead, he stood there, the crowbar held high. Melinda was looking up at him, her face red and streaked with tears.

"I just needed money," he spoke, his voice low and harsh. "That's it. Money. No one was supposed to get hurt, just a simple robbery with no one getting hurt."

She said nothing, just stared at him.

You, on the other hand, were frozen in shock. Robbery? He was robbing the damn station?

He sighed and lowered the crowbar, shaking his head.

"It's not like I wanted to do this, okay? I needed the money, and it was just an easy target. But you couldn't just let me get away, could you? You just had to make it difficult. Now look at the mess we're in."

"You were robbing?” Your voice was small, barely above a whisper, but it still cut through the tension like a knife.

He didn't turn, but his shoulders sagged slightly.

"Look, it's not what you think, okay?" He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I was in trouble, probably still am, and I needed money. Lots of it. That's why I picked this place, because it was an easy target. I wasn't planning on anyone getting hurt, I was just going to rob the place and get out. I wasn't expecting this crazy lady to come along."

He gestured to Melinda, who was still curled up on the ground.

"I was just trying to rob the place," he repeated. "It was nothing personal. And look, you helped me, so I guess I owe you one, or whatever. So, let's just call it even, and we can go our separate ways. Deal?"

“Even Melinda?” You asked, your voice shaking.

He paused, and his eyes flicked over to the woman on the ground, a slight grimace crossing his face.

"Of course not. She was a psychopath who tied me up and threatened me, and I'm not about to just let her walk away after all the shit she's pulled."

Melinda looked up at him, her face contorted with fear. He didn’t seem to care though, but what he did was tell you to leave, and that he'll take care of things.

So, you did, but not before grabbing your bag, and not before snagged out those car keys of hers. The odd thing you did notice though, while leaving the store, was how the entire floor seemed wet. It wasn't until about an hour of just simply waiting in the dark that you figured why.

And you realized as you saw the sudden rise of flames, the smoke billowing from the open door, that you indeed did not have that help from that mystery man after all.

Your car will remain broken.

So, I wrote this long piece of work because I went searching and found ABSOLUTELY NOTHING (which honestly it’s a crime given how fine he was in this movie — at least people realized it with Mike lmfao) so I wrote what I wanted to read.

I hope that this becomes a Rhys Montrose type of situation (For those who don’t know what I mean, this character Rhys from Season 4 of the show, You, had no fanfics on here and I basically jumpstarted it by writing like 4 of them lol) because I feel this character and movie deserves more hype and attention. Just look up edits of Billy from the movie and you’ll see what I mean.

Anyways if you’re actually still reading, thank you for coming to my ted talk. Hopefully you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it 🫶✨

(Also, if you see any more fics of this man… pls tag me. I’m desperate lmfao)

[tenpintsofsundrop]

Reader refused to sleep in her and Spencer’s apartment when he was arrested. She let their son and daughter sleep over at JJ’s house. She slept on the couch in Aaron’s office- when she slept. When they finally got him out they only made it to their SUV before they made up for lost time.

TLDR; Please don't just copy/paste the same requests and send them to a bunch of different fanfiction writers.

Okay so I don't really know how to go about saying this because I don't want to shame anyone or make them feel bad. Especially not people who have followed me for a long time and admire my writing.

When I first read this, I thought that it seemed oddly familiar to me.

So I tried looking in the Spencer x reader tags and I couldn't see the fic I had previously scrolled by.

So I copy/pasted this prompt into google, and I found a fic that I know was from a different author (because the one I scrolled by had a Spencer pfp and this one had a Steve Harrington pfp) that was from all the way back in 2021. And they had even answered a different request like one of the ones you copy/pasted to me.

Also: I don't have the links to those exact fics because I was just randomly scrolling through the mobile browser tumblr on my phone (and like I said, one of them I couldn't find but I know I saw it the other day) - but if you have seen those fics or know those writers, please go show their fics some love! I bet they worked hard on those requests and they deserve a lot of love for their fics.

I haven't stated this anywhere in my request rules, because I never felt the need to, but there is a certain etiquette around sending requests to fanfiction writers. And because I am old school fandom, I thought that I would never have to outright explain that kind of etiquette. Stuff like: a request is a request, not an order. Don't hound an author to get your requests finished. A request is more like a collaboration on an idea than it is a command to action.

And I think one of the etiquette bits around sending requests is that you shouldn't send the same exact requests word for word to a bunch of different fanfiction writers because it seems rude.

When you send someone a req, it's because you're saying "hey, I really like your writing! I like your style, the way you write these characters. I have an idea in my head for this fandom and because I admire your talent, I think that you could do it best." It's like going to a bakery because you think that they have the best chocolate chip cookies. A lot of places make chocolate chip cookies, but that one bakery makes them in a way that you think is the best.

Sending the exact same copy/pasted request to multiple writers sends multiple covert messages.

1) The person who did it the first time didn't do it up to your standards.

I have had requests filled before. It's rare that I request fanfiction, but when I have and someone has answered it, it has made me feel insanely special. And I treasure those fics (unfortunately a lot of the ones I reqd are on dead platforms now) and I go back and reread them over and over again.

So when you send a request to someone and they actually take the time to write out a whole fic answering it, and then you copy/paste that exact same request to another fanfic author - you are basically saying that the first person (in this case, at least two people with ^^^ this prompt) didn't do it correctly. That their fanfiction for your request wasn't up to your standards and you need to see it done again by someone else in a different way.

If that wasn't the case, you would simply treasure the original fanfiction that answered the request, reread it over and over again, and then go back to that original author with more different requests when they have their reqs open.

2) You are saying that you are too impatient to wait for your request to be finished.

I have seen times where someone copy/pastes the same request in different authors inboxes within the same week, basically just seeing who will finish the fanfiction first. Which is ... very annoying. If you enjoy an author's work and respect their time, then you will wait patiently for them to finish writing your request.

For me personally - I don't finish all requests. Which brings me to my third point.

3) Write it yourself.

If you are so passionate about this idea that you feel the need to see it written by different fanfiction authors multiple times, then please, write it yourself. All the details will be satisfying and exactly as you imagined them in your head.

There has been multiple times in my life when I have had a good idea for a fic and I have been so tired, and I considered taking that idea to another writer's inbox, but I knew that they wouldn't write it exactly as it was in my head - because HELLO - we are all individual artists with our own unique visions. So I just wrote it myself and wrote all the details as I imagined them and I was so much happier.

And that's how I grew my talent as a fic writer. By practicing writing my own ideas instead of just waiting for someone else to feed me the fanfiction I want. And now, whenever I want a hyper specific fanfiction that is not in the tags - I just write it.

But like PLEASE understand that fanfiction writers are not "content creators". We are not some big corporations like Netflix that has so much time and energy to pour into making this stuff - we are human. And it hurts to see you just feeding the exact same ideas to everyone else, because it means you don't value our work as individuals.

(Idk what I'm gonna do with the rest of the stuff in my inbox that you obviously sent. One of them really appealed me so idk.)

Anyway - Sundrop out ☀️💧

[camaro-and-smokes]

Pretty (wo)man

Chapter 12: (you don't have to) Put on the Red Light

Tags and warnings for this chapter: Graphic depictions of violence, blood, attempted rape/non-con, date rape drugs/roofies

Notes: Here we are, at the end of this story. I'm letting go of these two reluctantly, but knowing that by finishing this story there will be space inside my head for new ones to tell. Thank you to everyone who's read the story, given lovely comments and fed me with kudos. I love you all 💜 Title from the iconic song 'Roxanne' by The Police.

Moodboard by the lovely @a-redharlequin 💜

Summary: Billy finds himself in a situation he hoped never to get into again.

Read all chapters on tumblr >> / Read on AO3 >>

::::::::::

“So, an ambulance is being called anonymously and over the call, the ambulance is told to take the prostitutes to that hospital,” Tommy explained. “They're treated like any other patient there, privately, top-notch style and not allowing them to see anyone else but their designated nurse and the doctor. When they've healed, they're sent home with a big stack of money. Most have severe memory issues and they can't really remember anything from that night they were brought in. So, yeah, the guy is some big-shot who has the money and the means.” “Fuck,” Steve spat. “Any idea who?” “Well, there's been seven of these and each one has been fully treated, operated if needed and then sent home with 10 000 dollars. That bill has to be in the hundreds and the guy is willing to spend that on a whore for one night. You tell me.” Steve thought for a moment. He knew a lot of businessmen who could have the means. But several times, just one night and, yes, a whore. They had to have a lot of loose money... His breathing halted at the sudden realisation.

Shit.

“Gotta go,” he said to the phone. “Shit, shit, SHIT!” he muttered to himself as he ran towards the front deck. He shouldn't have left Billy alone. When he entered the deck, he couldn't see Billy anywhere. He ran to Heather. “Have you seen Billy?” Heather looked up at him. Her eyes were swimming a little of all the champagne she'd probably been drinking. “Uh... Yeah, he was here with me...” She looked around, surprised that she didn't see Billy with him at the table. “When?” Steve asked urgently. Heather blinked quickly, and her gaze seemed to sharpen a little. “Um, I'm not sure.” She looked at her glass that was half full. “I think it was before I went to get this drink. I got caught up with flirting with one of the bestmen...” “Fuck!” Steve spat and tried to think. Maybe Billy felt sick and went to their cabin. That would be the most likely case. He should check that first. If he was being done something to him, that would also be the most likely place. He started running towards the doors and into the staircase.

“Ah, we're here. Come on,” Charles said and helped Billy into the cabin. Billy blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, desperately trying to make any details of the cabin. “This...isn't my cabin,” he said, confused, as the man helped him on the bed. “You're right. This is not your cabin. It’s mine.” The quiet dread that had been swirling in Billy’s stomach hit his whole body at once as Charles pushed him, making him stumble backwards and fall on a bed. The world made several somersaults in his head at the quick movement and he felt panic raising within him. “I know you,” he groaned, trying to get back up. His arms failed him and he slid back on his back onto the mattress. “I must know you from somewhere else,” he slurred desperately. “Yes, I would hope so, William. The scars... I enjoyed making them, they were beautiful. I’m sure you still have them. Don’t you, Sweetie?” Fear filled Billy's whole body. “No...no, no, no... Not you,” he repeated again and again, and tried desperately to get up. “You motherfucker...”

-oOo-

Steve barged through the cabin door. He turned the lights on and saw the untouched bed in front of him. Everything was just as they had left it. His hope of finding Billy safe and sound snuffed away and icy dread and desperation placed it.

“Fuck!” he shouted and ran back to the staircase, striding up two-three stairs at a time all the way to the third floor.

-oOo-

Charles laughed a cold, emotionless laugh. “You were easy then, you're easy now. Nothing but a cheap whore,” he snarled. He pushed Billy back down on his back on the bed, climbing on top of him and hastily pulled the hem of the dress up, ripping it. “Oh la la, going commando!” Charles plunged his hand between Billy’s legs and groped his dick and testicles. Billy squeezed his eyes shut. This is not happening, he tried to tell himself. This is just a nightmare, just a nightmare. When Charles’ hand reached Billy’s hole, he laughed with glee. “And a plug too? My my, just waiting for someone to fuck you, aren't you? Oh, you still can make a man so hard with so little, Sweetie.” Billy tried to push Charles away, but he was weak, and when he tried to turn on his side, he was easily pushed back by Charles. “I'm not...for sale...anymore,” he croaked. “Oh, please. Of course you are. I'm sure Steve was very generous. Especially with the stones. I bet you put the plug on only after he gave them to you,” Charles laughed. “But you're worth everything he’s throwing at you. I would know,” Charles said, forcing himself on Billy and kissing him violently. When Billy tried to push the older man away again, the man smacked Billy hard with an open palm. “Yes, keep fighting back. I like it,” he said cheerily. Billy’s teeth clanked together with the smack and he tasted the blood that erupted from a wound in his cheek that resulted. He felt his consciousness fading, but he managed to spit the blood on Charles' face, for he was too weak to do anything else. The older man laughed. “That's the spirit! I remember you liked this last time, too.” He plunged his hand between Billy's legs and yanked the plug out, making Billy grimace. “I so like it you were ready for me.” “It wasn't for you, you asshole,” Billy slurred, tears already stinging his eyes, still trying to push the man away. “Maybe not, but I'm the one taking you,” Charles hissed, and leaned up just enough to unzip his pants and pull out his dick. The tears fell on Billy’s cheeks. He felt utterly hopeless for having the same man raping him again, exactly the same way he did the last time: drugging him. He was only hoping that Charles would just rape him and not torture him in any other way like he did the last time. Despite the horror, Billy felt his consciousness and the fight in him fading away as he lulled into unconsciousness.

-oOo-

When Steve reached the upper deck, he saw that there were six suites there. He frantically tried every and each door and listened if there were any alarming sounds coming through. Once he got to the final suite door, he heard sounds of groaning through it. Since it was locked, he kicked the door as hard as he could and it swung open.

Billy was lying on the bed limply, his eyes closed, head lulling on the side, his mouth hanging open – clearly unconscious – and Charles on top of him, looking at Steve, surprised.

“Get the fuck away from him, you piece of shit!” Steve shouted and attacked Charles, hitting him on his cheek. Blood spattered from Charles' mouth and he pulled back from Billy, losing his balance and falling onto the floor. He spat out blood before he started cackling manically. “You bought yourself a whore. A whore!” he howled. “You drugged and raped him!” Steve shouted, attacking the man again and punching him in the face again and again. Charles' cackles toned down. When he managed to take a breath between Steve's punches, he groaned, “I did no such thing.” Steve grabbed Charles' jaw in his hand, squeezing it tightly, and turned it to make him look at Billy's limp form on the bed. “Look at him! You drugged him and were about to rape him. Just like you did back then!” “You know nothing, boy,” Charles sneered and tried to get Steve to let go of him. Steve hit the older man again, making him fall back and curl on the floor. “Stay the fuck down!” he bellowed. “I might've not have evidence for the other time, but this I witnessed myself. You're going down!” He attacked Charles again and again, hitting and kicking him.

Suddenly, someone grabbed Steve's arms and pulled him away from Charles. “Stop it. Right now,” a calm but stern voice of the man who was holding Steve said. It was the captain. “We'll take it from here.” Steve pulled himself free of the captains hold and rushed to check on Billy. The ship's nurse was already checking on Billy, pointing a flashlight into his eyes and checking his vitals. “How is he?” Steve asked, worried. “He needs help. Probably he's been drugged with some rape drug. I'll call the air medical service to pick him up and take him to a hospital. We should be close enough to Miami for that already.” “Can I go with him?” The nurse nodded. “Sure. I think it would be best for someone who knows him to fly with him.”

-oOo-

Billy was released from the Mount Sinai Medical Center in Miami two days later. Steve tried to help Billy get up from the bed, but Billy pushed him away. “I'm just a little bruised,” Billy laughed. “It's not like I got stitches in nasty places this time. I'll live through these.” “I'm just trying to help,” Steve said with a small smile as he looked at Billy, who started going through his clothes in the luggage Steve had brought with him. “I'm not sure you can wear the dress again, though. It was pretty badly torn.” Billy's smile faltered, and he stopped rummaging the suitcase, looking down at the garment that was in his hands. “I never want to see that dress again,” he whispered. Steve nodded. “We'll get you other dresses. New ones.” Billy let out a laugh, and he looked at Steve with sad eyes. “We're from different worlds. I wouldn't fit in yours, and you wouldn't want to get into mine.” Steve smiled and reached out his hand to brush Billy's arm. “Can I be the judge of that?” Billy looked back at the garment in his hands. “Are you sure?” he asked quietly. Steve cupped Billy's chin in his hand and turned it gently so that their eyes met. “I want you,” he said softly. “No one else. And you'll fit my world just fine. There's no need for you to put on the red light anymore.”

[erixyin]

Poison Running Through My Veins | Part 3

Summary: Reader has a mental breakdown and its bad, her friends cheer her up and lots of fluffy moments with more angst thrown in. It is a short one I'm sorry! But hopefully it's something that will keep you all happy for now.

Thank you so much for al your lovey comments on tumblr and AO3, they have motivated me to keep writing. I'm sorry I'm so bad with consistency.

Warnings: eddie munson x reader, billy hargrove x reader, past relationship with billy hargrove, current relationship with eddie munson, angst, little bit of fluff thrown in, possessive! eddie, jealousy! eddie, mentions of injury, mentions of food, descriptions of injury, bruising, alluding to being sick, mentions of being ick, fluff, platonic fluff,

[lmk if I've missed anything!]

Tag List:

@sidthedollface2, @yaskna, @ancheyew, @samurai-hearts, @bucky-hydra-hoe-barnes,

Words: 1976 words

No minors allowed please and thank you.

Please do NOT repost anywhere. I will be posting on my AO3 account and linking it here.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Seeing Robin and Steve still over by the stage. Their faces said calm, but their body language said concerned. In between listening to the hellfire club and picking at your food, you kept checking on Steve's face.

As they walked over to you guys, Max didn't say anything but gave you a small smile as she sat down. You tilted your head at Steve, but he just gave you nothing. Same with Robin you thought to yourself.

Eddie was sat next to you. Talking with the hellfire kids and acting like yesterday's explosion had never happened. Still, Steve didn't miss the way Eddie covered your wrist with his hand, exactly where the bruise was. As if to act as your little reminder. Your eyes quietly pleaded with Robin as you watched Steve shove more and more mashed potato into his mouth.

He wanted to give Dustin an excuse as to why he wasn't talking, which meant Dustin just turned to you and Eddie.

"When did you write that song you guys sang? It sounded pretty good." He gave you a little wink as to which you just chuckled. You did not miss the way Eddie's grip around your wrist tightened. "Someone almost fell off beat with the tambourine" He looked at Steve as to which Steve just sent him a middle finger with his tongue sticking out. Only earning him an eye roll in return.

"Oh I-" You looked at Robin quickly as she slightly shook her head. You weren't gonna tell him and the whole hellfire kids, but you didn't really have the best cover up answer. "I just wrote it this morning" You looked back down at your food, continuing to be disinterested in it.

"You guys have a fight?" Mike piped up, asking what all the kids were thinking. One quick glare from Eddie was all the younger boy needed to shut up again.

They had seen Eddie drive off with you in the car yesterday. They had seen your faces and the interaction with Billy. Ooo boi.

The question still lingering in the air, you realised you had waited a beat longer than you had wanted to answer, "No of course not. No, the song was about something else..." You looked at your best friends for help, but their blank stares back answered your own question.

"Something else?" Asked Dustin leaning in. He was such a little gossiper. Steve was shooting him death stares and a 'cut it out' hand gesture but Dustin was ignoring him.

"Or someone else..." Eddie muttered as he leant across and stole some of Gareth's fries. Thankfully the kids hadn't heard, but the wide eyes of the band members and the way they looked from you then back to Eddie made you swallow any words you were about to say.

"I wrote it ages ago; the lyrics were already done. It was holding me back." You tried to keep your voice normal as you could feel the rings that you loved so much on Eddie imprint onto your skin again. The bruise throbbing underneath your sleeve and you knew he knew what he was doing.

With your stomach turning, you felt your body begin to sweat. Looking around you at the familiar faces, for an escape - you felt your eyes lose focus. It felt like the whole room was swaying.

Someone was speaking at you but nothing was registering. The grip on your wrist the only thing you became aware of. The pain making you bite the inside of your cheek.

Then it felt like all eyes were on you, and still your mouth refused to function. No sound. The room swayed harder. The sounds became more muffled. You felt the pain on your wrist cease and that's when you bolted.

You hoped the words out of your mouth was some sort of excuse and not just panicked noise. Running. You were running. You didn't know where at first but your subconscious did. Muscle memory at its best. Falling back to the place you knew you could always escape to when things got too much. Shoving past people to get there fast.

Run! Just get out of here! Run!

Making it to the bathroom, you found an empty stall, thank fuck.

And then everything came out. All of the words that were said last night, all of the thoughts surrounding your head, the bruised skin on your wrist. All of the upset and the pain inside of you, you forced out through your mouth.

Once you had exhausted your body, it literally rejecting you to get rid of any more - you sat on the floor, quietly shaking. You hugged your hands around yourself and you whispered to yourself, "it's okay. It's gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay" over and over again until you would believe it.

Flashbacks to the mall and hiding from the men with guns with Robin and Steve. How you had felt so strong. And then your strength being removed from you when you saw the monstrous thing from the Upside Down in the centre of the mall. The place where you had just begun to be yourself.

The memories coming to the front of your mind in flashes. Hiding like a child. Holding yourself tight. Messy mascara falling down your tired cheeks. Billy stood there and him being teared apart. Max screaming-

You clamped your hands over your ears as if to drown out the noise. "No please no, I want to forget. I want to forget!" you half-choked out.

Remembering where you were, you quietened yourself down and went back to repeating the same thing over and over. The rest of school didn't matter. You just needed to be away from it all.

Wiping the snot from your nose on your sleeves. You rolled up both of them and looked at the two black and purple bruises, one for each wrist. You could see the indents from where his rings had embossed themselves into your skin.

Honestly, if it wasn't Eddie being the one to have done this, you would have killed the person who hurt you like this. But after everything you two had been through. And how he made you feel safe, even after the trauma of last summer.

But you never knew this side of Eddie. And you never thought he would be this way towards you.

A gentle knock from the bathroom stall door, woke you up from your thoughts. Pulling your sleeves back down, you managed a, "hello?" Your voice sounding shaky and tired.

"Is everything okay?" you heard Robin's voice on the other side. Sighing, thanful that it wasn't someone else but also taking a deep exhale trying to calm yourself down.

"Not really, no" You admitted, shakily reaching up and being just able to unlock the door without getting up fully.

The door slowly opened and Robin was there with Nancy. Seeing your face, she gave a kind smile and said, "I brought reinforcements"

Smiling back your tears returning to you except these were tears of love. Nancy held out her hand and Robin held out another and you were gently pulled to your feet by the both of them.

You were pulled into a tight hug by Nancy and you melted. Nancy wasn't the type to be physically affectionate. She was better with her words than anything. It just wasn't her love language, unlike Robin. But when you really needed a hug, Nancy would always be the first one to give it to you.

"I'm sorry-" you started to apologise but Robin shushed you gently, using a soft tissue to wipe away the dried tear stains under your eyes.

"Where do you wanna go? What do you wanna do?" Nancy asked you, looking at you directly. Her eyes filled with concern and love.

"I can't make you miss school" you looked a her worriedly.

"Oh please, anything to get out of science class with Mrs Bustleby." You heard Robin say from behind you. Her hands gently finger brushing your hair back in place.

"I wanna stay here with you guys. Wherever you go I go." Nancy looked at you, her brow furrowing as she grew more concerned. "Please." you pleaded.

You hadn't been this bad since everything that had happened. You couldn't be alone, you had stayed over at one of their houses [usually Steve's] because you couldn't sleep, the nightmares plaguing you everywhere you went.

"Okay" Nancy said finally, glancing down at your hands quickly before taking one hand and leading you outside the bathrooms.

As you opened the door you saw Steve leaning against a wall and talking with Jonathan. Both of them turned to look at you.

"You could have come in ya know" Robin said, teasing Steve. Now that you were back to focused reality, you were aware of how many people were in this corridor again. Your breathing was still shaky.

"I'm not a girl dumbass" Steve said, gesturing in a confused manner and raising his eyebrow at her.

"Never stopped you before" Nancy chimed in as to which Steve then shut up and almost went a bit red and Robin had the biggest grin on her face. Jonathan took a minute to process it before clapping Steve on the back as if to say 'You walked into that one'.

"Is everyone still at lunch or...?" You looked at Steve nervously. It's not like you were going to avoid Eddie. You just really didn't need to see him right now.

"He went off with the hellfire gang. I actually think Dustin took an emergency meeting. Kid's pretentious as fuck but he means well." You knew an 'emergency meeting' was used when it was to either talk about the Upside Down or deal with an issue.

"Part of me is kind of intrigued as to what they are saying." Robin said before realising that that would be a very bad idea.

"I'll find out later from Dustin. Or you will." He pointed at you.

Before you could ponder the thought, the bell rang. Signalling the end of lunch and soon to be science class. Steve, Robin and Nancy lead the front of the pack - as a protective shield to anyone not welcome and to guard you.

Jonathan walked beside you. Fidgeting with his hands he looked at you and then looked down, then looked back at your hands that were crossed, holding yourself up. "I've got a first aid in my car, for after school" he said quietly enough so that only the four of you could hear him.

You gave him a small smile. He then went back to being silent and you felt your breathing even out. You were just about to say thank you when you heard him say, "You have to leave him if it gets too bad. If he won't get help and he makes you empty promises, you have to leave before it gets worse."

You looked at him. You saw Nancy slightly straighten up. You didn't know Jonathan as well as the rest of the group, but you had grown closer in the last 12 months, along with Nancy. He was the only one who understand your situation with your parents. He understood and got Nancy to help get you into the trailer park when you moved out. He was one of the first to know how bad it was.

And here he was telling you the same piece of advice he told you then. You silently promised him, meeting his eyes with a look of sadness mixed with agreement. Then you both looked down as you walked into science class and managed to get the seats five seats at the back. You put your head down and dissolved into your dreamland, and for once, Eddie was not invited.

If you liked this please like, follow and reblog for more! Please leave any feedback in the comments! :)

[cheshire-castle-library]

I've been playing around on Bluesky for a couple weeks now and I have opinions; but other than "ooh shiny" drawing me to use it, I don't really think I'm going to stay posting there forever. It's like Twitter, which means its like Twitter, and I don't really want to have a habit of "instant media consumption", which is why I deleted TikTok and why I avoid Instagram. I don't want to be that addicted to the instant dopamine hit of each new post.

At least here, I have to look, ingest something, make a decision, and then either leave it alone or record it for later. Like, at the end of the day, I'll without fail find content on Tumblr that turns out to be a resource that I can apply to future goals and projects; which I can do along side getting to be mass-social in a semi-safe way, and getting to be creative in a semi-safe way.

What I noticed about being on Bluesky was that I felt like everything I was doing was "begging for attention". Which, is kind of what all social media is about; but the reason I post on Tumblr is very different than posting on Twitter/Bluesky. Here, I share a story because I expect that someone, somewhere will see it eventually. Sometimes that happens, and I post something that helps or at least interests someone that day. Sometimes that happens, and I post something that goes unseen for weeks or months, but at some point someone sees it and vibes and maybe it matters a little. And sometimes it doesn't go anywhere at all; but it still has the potential to be seen and to help someone. There's at least a chance that anything I post might matter to someone down the line; so I post and I try to be authentic about it so that my experiences can help other people with their experiences. On Tumblr, posts aren't instantly disposable - they don't cease to matter after they cross your eyes, because there's still a chance you'll see it on my blog, or deep enough in the tag, or reblogged from someone else.

But on a "media flood" sight like Bluesky and Twitter, I know everything I post dies within a few hours, if it didn't die as soon as I hit send. Sure, some TikToks get passed around, but how many do, out of the billions out there? Each Twitter and Bluesky update is like a text message into the aether, once its conveyed its very time-sensitive meaning, it no longer has value. And unfortunately that leads more complex communications, like art that is posted out there, to be treated as a consumable too. That format of social media means, I have to try and get attention, or I simply do not exist.

And that's not comfortable. I don't like having to think about my life from the perspective of "what little tidbit in each moment of my day could I make public online to make someone like me". It's not the way I was raised, and if you are essentially vying for "survival" (read as "existance" or "humanity", in this case) you never relax or find a status quo. The recreational media fails to to be recreation.

I know I make studyblr posts that are effectively "this is what I did today", but those are different in my eyes. That's a matter of "this is what I find important in life, here's what I'm proud of" and include some "pretty" picture to go along with it; and I don't really.... need the validation of having it reblogged or interacted with, to feel like I am intrinsically a human in a human space. It does feel nice to have people like something I posted, but I don't live like I need it seen in order to feel valid in having a blog. But almost instantly on Bluesky, I found myself sharing inane little things I wouldn't bother sharing here, and making comments I wouldn't assume anyone wanted on their posts here, and generally doing things that were more meant to show that I was there and alive and human, than they were meant to actually interact and make some positive effect or creation within that community. Which is not my reason for using a social media.

So once all the people on my list who want to see Bluesky for themselves have their invite code, I'll probably stop using it; the same way I don't use Twitter often, and the same way I don't use Instagram often. Of all the hellsites, Tumblr is mine. And my internet presence will probably die when it does.

[fictionandtheatre]

Hello!

Indeed I do follow you on tumblr! I didn’t think you remembered, I’m on here so infrequently these days. I’m honored.

Anyway! I would like to start this exchange by saying that I adore your writing. It has been a real treat reading your latest story! In the chapter you just posted, you talked about plotting the kidnapping plot. How did you prepare that? Did you look for sources of inspiration or do you just wait for your own ideas?

I’d also like to ask about POV switching. Do you ever get stuck because a detail you want to include can’t be expressed by a certain character? Like, you’re loving this thought that Spock has, but, blast it, you’re writing from Jim’s POV so you can’t use it. Has that ever happened?

Here’s hoping this finds you in good spirits!

Best Wishes. BT/Robyn

Hello!! Haha, yes, I remembered ur username after seeing it both here and ao3. Thanks for all these great questions! My answers got kinda long, so I've put a read more. Also, for other followers, the story in question is Trial By Fire - a pon farr, ace Spock fic.

The kidnapping plot started as a random thought. I was part way into writing the pon farr scenes, and thought "ooh what if Jim gets kidnapped afterward by logic extremists? That would be fun!" But I wanted to have some background behind it, rather than just having a random kidnapping. So, thinking about how to justify this kidnapping, I built up the entire Admiral Sevrin plotline, Jabilo and Uhura sections, etc. Kinda wild how that one thought is responsible for like half the fic lol.

As for how I come up with the ideas in general, it's a combo of my own thoughts, and inspiration from Trek and other stories. I was really interested in the logic extremists when they appeared in Discovery season 1, and I always thought they would make a great villain for a fic! I hadn't seen them used very much either, and I do like to explore the underused elements of canon. I also find that I get a lot of my ideas from reading other works and thinking, "wait, they should do this thing instead" or "but what about...!" and then I just write from that place. Building from a preexisting concept can be super helpful to diving into the writing, I find - which is probably why fanfic works for me.

For POV switching, I'm not sure if that exact problem has come up. But I definitely have written scenes from a character's point of view, and found they didn't go anywhere or felt really bland. That happened during the "chasing after Sepel in the tunnels" section of Trial. I wrote that scene originally from Jabilo's POV, but it just didn't work. I needed Spock's angst to really move the emotions of the scene along - and Sepel's fanaticism too. Switching perspective can be a handy trick tho! It's helped me break writer's block a couple times.

Thanks again for these questions! I love ranting about my own writing lol. Feel free to ask any more that come up! :)

[rigginsstreet]

I'm not going to be teying defend Jason here. Some of his actions were terrible. The fact he felt the need to go all vigilante and round the town in like that was insane (like fucking Gaston over here) and that scene where he's intimidating Nancy is pretty godamn sketch. His friend threatens to break Erica's arms and that was really fucked (I did find an old ask of yours where an anon said that Jason said he though Lucas "was one of the good ones" but I can't find that anywhere, but obviously pulling a gun on him in the first place was very bad)

That said, as someone with a lot of religious trauma, I really understand his fear regarding the situation. Like... he saw that shit happen with Patric and with what he believes about the world, of course he would think it's some kind of demon shit. Honestly, if I was even just , like, medium religious and I saw that shit, I would probably become a bit of a nut too.

Now I didn't get a lot of talk about dnd but I did get a lot of fear mongering about ouija boards. I just thought that... idk, I'd bring it up. I see a lot of people talking about how people are shitting on Billy without addressing his abuse, but then those same people never talk about how Jason is clearly in so much emotional distress which is propagated by a system that people unfortunately just fall into. He's harming other people, yes, but it's clear he's terrified of just everything constantly, because the kind of religious circle he was probably indoctrinated into really drill that into you and then he's experiencing these gruesome murders. Who wouldn't become hysterical?

I try to be understanding of Billy even when it's hard to watch him get violent like that, but I see little grace for Jason who I relate to to an extent (as someone who was raised in a cult, funnily enough), and then the people who wholeheartedly support and defend Billy will act like Jason didn't have any understandable motivations. They'll literally make fun of people for even bringing up that his girlfriend died so it makes sense he'd be emotional.

I'm sure you'll try to dunk on me about this too, but I think that both Jason and Billy or morally gray and are both products of their environments and they're both sad. So... do you have any thoughts on that?

I mean I haven’t watched season 4 so any thoughts I have on Jason come from what I’ve seen others say, so truthfully I cannot give a firm opinion on him because I just don’t have the full context.

But I also have an interest in religious cults…(watch a lot of documentaries and YouTube video essays lmao) so I do often think about those aspects coming into play with Jason and the brainwashing that goes on. I get mad at a lot of religious discourse in tumblr for these same reasons cuz I don’t think people ever consider that these people actually believe what they’re doing is for the greater good/trying to help people get into heaven etc etc but that’s a whole other topic we don’t need to get into right now

So I can totally understand how in Jason’s mind he thinks he’s being a hero (which most good villain ideologies operate this way tbh. Or at least should). Like I don’t hate Jason. I’ve come around to him to the point where I joke about shipping him and billy. I’ll include him in things from time to time, granted not in the best light but if i straight up hate a character I simply do not include them at all

I think the difference between Jason and billy is that we SEE where billys trauma comes from. We have visual canon proof of it. So it’s a lot easier to look at that and go “ok now everything’s making sense”. With Jason, it’s not canon he was indoctrinated into anything (unless it is. Again, didn’t watch season 4). For all we know he could just live like that. Yes it can be easily assumed since he is still a teenager it is most likely his parents are also cuckoo and passed their ideologies down to him, but again, without any real confirmation, it remains a guessing game.

I also think with billy it’s like, he went after the people he went after for good reason (to him). Max gets his ire because they’re pitted against each other by neil, he goes after Lucas because he’s directly tied to max and everything that gets billy in trouble, he goes after steve for lying to him and being a creepy weirdo with his underage sister

As far as my knowledge of the Jason situation goes…there was no reason to go crazy on Lucas and Erica? Like yes they know Eddie and I guess it was about Jason thinking they were hiding him or something? But it’s like why do they need to be physically attacked (or threatened) so aggressively for it? The two situations in my mind are not the same. And maybe it’s because I’m a billy apologist. I’ll own that. But it comes down to billys safety specifically was in jeopardy the entire time, which led him to act out vs Jason just going on a vigilante crusade that ultimately had nothing to do with him

[izanyas]

hi ok this is gonna be really damn long i think Very sorry in advance... so i recently got into bungou stray dogs and when looking around on twitter i saw someone recommend your fics as, quote, some of the best bsd fics ever written, and in the past month i have read a LOT of them. like, probably most of them. i have a folder in my google tabs for all my favourites, some of which include "light", which inspired so much kouyou + chuuya siblings thoughts in my mind, "growing back", which was just really nice and i generally really enjoyed, and "feet over harsh ground", which actually made me lose my damn mind over how good it was, both in premise and the carry out. your writing style is AMAZING and i have no idea where you get your ideas from because every one of the fics of yours that i read was so incredibly memorable and enjoyable that i think it will be a long time before i forget any of them, and btw i still have MORE i haven't read yet but i am planning to whenever i get the chance. but recently i started reading "build upon the ruins" - and oh my GOD. its four am as i type this, and i fully finished it about twenty minutes ago. it's taken me a couple weeks to read the whole fic in full because i've been busy with work and stuff but this morning i binged the last three or so chapters and i seriously cried so hard i thought i was gonna be sick 😭 like holy shit the emotional rollercoaster that i went through reading that was SO PAINFUL yet SO GOOD.... 73.5k words that i will never fully forget because it was so gorgeously written and beautifully structured that i actually feel sad that i'm not into the same things that you're currently writing for, whatever that may be, because i'd love to read more and more of your writing literally forever and be able to feel this same feeling over and over. every time i get into a new interest and eventually start reading fanfiction, i always think i've found That One Fic Writer that's made me feel a way i'll never feel again, and i think you've seriously topped them all with build upon the ruins. to the point where i searched up your name on twitter in an attempt to see if anyone else had felt this same pain over the same fic, only to accidentally stumble upon your actual twitter - i don't know why i thought you wouldn't have one, probably because you didn't have an ao3 (if you had your twitter or tumblr linked anywhere on your fic website i didn't see it LOL) [note from after me editing this ask - you do have your socials linked i'm just a dumbass -__-]. anyway i felt the need to send this long ass ask to tell you how your writing made me feel because it was just that utterly brilliant and i seriously feel like a different person than who i was before i read your fics 😭 probably a slight exaggeration but like i said it's four am and i am incredibly emotional over that fic right now. i don't know what else to say other than something cringe like "thank you for putting your writing out there for me to stumble upon years or months or whatever after you wrote it" or something like that LMAO... sorry for all this at once but i wanted to get all my thoughts out there before i went to bed and lost the feeling of having just read a really damn good fic. anyway cheers i wish you luck in whatever you're up to now BYE

slight side note - did not know build upon the ruins was a pacific rim au until after i read the entire thing. i have never seen pacific rim. i deeply enjoyed the fic anyway and will definitely be watching that movie whenever i get the chance

ANON... I LOVE YOU... i have been staring at this message all day incapable of formulating a reply because i'm so smug happy and flustered over it afgjhdfjkfd THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! it always makes me feel warm whenever people read my old bsd fics and tell me about it, i loved writing and sharing them so much and i know that a lot of people who follow me today did so because they read them at the time!!!

and build upon the ruins is a special one for me, i went quite literally insane the second the idea for that au popped into my mind and i barely slept until i finished writing it... it's so sweet of you to say all this and to take the time to message me! especially since i am actually re-reading it myself at the moment and i intend to run an edit of it soon (just fixing grammar/style, my habits have changed since 2017 haha). it holds a very dear place in my heart!! thank u guillermo del toro for inventing drift compatibility for soukoku

thank you so much!!!

[gamerkats]

I don't even know how to say this but thank you for writing. I just finished nocturne of flowers and it's the first writing where I ever felt like I could be me. I'm a furry and I get bullied a lot for it. And all the books I ever read are werewolves and shit like that and that's not my fursona. And I don't have anywhere really to be unless I'm some kind of infected character if that makes sense. But Primevals. When I read your version of humans I literally cried. I still tear up. Mutherfucking finally! This shot straight to my heart and I needed to say thank you. Thank you for seeing me. Thank you for writing a world I can be in and I can be me. I'm absolutely obsessed now. I'm rereading nocturne and I'm reading the side story. I'm not a big fan of first person but you write so well I actually like it. I love your writing snd your style you're so good why are you sharing this for free? Thank you for being on Tumblr so I can follow you. Fuckiety fuck I'm in love with you both. PLEASE keep writing!!! Sorry if this was weird I don't want to make you uncomfortable.

Wow. We really didn't know how to handle this. Thank you for being patient while we processed our feelings. Apologies up front if we sound like weirdos, but we don't human well when emotions are involved. And you brought us the feels...

First of all, thank you. Thank you for telling us, and for sharing your feelings, and how Nocturne of Flowers is vibing with you. It made us feel seen too.

As a writer, you always kind of hope that your work will resonate with readers, but you don't actually expect people to feel like they're seen. And damn, yeah, this is a lot.

We've said in the past, that we aren't furries ourselves. However, we have furry friends, and they've been bullied too. The stories we've heard are harrowing. When people don't fit inside society's perfect little box, it seems the next step is to try and force them to by any means deemed necessary. And if you're broken and battered enough, society can bend you into any shape they find comfortable to be around.

So, furries hold a special place in our hearts. Because they follow those fluffy, feathery, scaly hearts that beat too wild to be in a box.

Nocturne of Flowers is part of our Saccharine in Nightmares universe created for our D&D campaigns. It's our nonsensical, whimsical, rollercoaster, literary self-indulgent, escapism world. We don't often talk about our real life, but we will say, 90% of our day jobs is writing. It's part of why chapters are so slow, because of how much we actually write. Work, Kindle Vella (no, we're not sharing our penname), fan fiction (again, silence on the handles), and GamerKAts.

Write. Write. Write.

GamerKAts is our favorite, though, because it's the only works that are truly ours. Our style. Our words. Our OCs. Our crazy minds. We don't worry about word count, or comma over usage, or grammar rules. We just go ham, and throw it out there.

Is it as popular as our Vella's or fan fics? No. Absolutely not. But that's the point, really. We want readers like you, who connect with our works, and enjoy our works, and want to get lost in them for hours. You're exactly why we keep writing.

When designing the Primevals, we didn't want the traditional werewolves and vampires of being bitten and changed either. We wanted to have vast types that included whatever the readers could imagine. So that if someone wanted wings and gills, they could design their own species and fit the lore. This is literally a series designed for people to go absolutely nuts with the fan fictions.

But it was most important for us to emphasize, that everyone is Human. A Lycan is still a Human. A Vampire is still a Human. Not only is this important to the overall plot (no spoilers, but this is a series of Humans versus non-Humans... So... Stay tuned for who the real villains are...), but it allows us to write about and explore the dichotomy, hypocrisy, and complexity when society dehumanizes people; especially based on looks, community, and culture.

Overall theme of Nocturne of Flowers: What is a monster?

Tearing apart the intricacies of humanity is something we want to explore, while simultaneously creating a world where hopefully others feel like you.

It's a book series. It's our escapism to write, and reader's escapism to read. And if we're all escaping together, none of us are actually alone.

Also, thank you for reading Berrybottles' Travel Guide too, we hope you like it. It's probably the only first person we'll ever write, because we're not the best at that POV. But as it's an "Expedition Journal" of sorts, first person felt right. It's written specifically as a treat for our super fans who are feral for the lore, extras, and side stories.

Thank you again for reaching out with your feels. It's readers like you who are exactly why we keep going.

[cuckoo-among-beasts]

♥ ☢ ♒

salty af munday meme || @pctaldrunk

♥ What’s the WORST thing that has happened to you rp wise?

*sighs and stares into space for a moment* My first tumblr rpc was Su.per.natural. I rped the trench coat clad celestial, however, I was not into the main ship for that muse, but a smaller ship with the younger brother of the duo. The amount of hate and threats I got for that. I've never in my life met a fandom so vicious and venomous as that one. It didn't hurt me per se, but after a while it gets annoying and tedious to constantly log in to at least one nasty message. It all went so far that I can't watch that show again, so a small portion of the fandom completely ruined a show I used to love and I might end up being bitter about that for a very long time (I'm trying not to).

☢ What fads/trends are you so over?

First one is all the elitism. Like heavens we're all here to write and have fun. If you absolutely can't write with someone because they don't use fancy icons and five different kinds of editing to their posts, then just... fuck off (from me). Don't get me wrong, if people want to use formatting and fancy graphics etc, they absolutely should, but when that becomes a requirement for interaction, that's when I bristle. Thankfully, this seems to be getting better, at least in the rpc corner where I am.

Second: the instant hate for OCs. That OCs have to hop through some extreme hoops to get interaction. I get wanting a bio, but if it's too short - people complain, if it's too long - tl;dr. Like, it's never good enough. In my experience, some of the best muses I've interacted with are OCs. I've seen just as many bad OCs as bad canon muses (bad imo, obviously).

And third, that female muses has such a harder time. I really don't get why many seem to look down on female muses. It makes no sense to me. Especially "softer" female muses, seem to get the brunt of it and I'm like... don't we need all kinds of muses? Just like society needs different kinds of people too? Idk.

♒ Thoughts on the fandom you’re currently rping in?

I have many thoughts! I'm very new. I created the sideblog version of this account on the 12th of August, so I've not even been here for two months and never have I felt this welcomed anywhere else. I thought that I might never find any other rper within this fandom and if I did that they would be so established in who they rp with that I'd never have a chance. Plus from the posts I saw, many dislike Huaisang a lot, seeing him as evil and "worse than JGY" etc, so I expected dislike and being ignored (especially since the only adaption I've finished yet is the donghua) when what I've received is appreciate and love. Haha I'm blushing as I'm typing this, definitely not used to this. But yeah, I love it here. Thank you so much to all of you who have welcomed me and rped with me and indulged all my ideas and headcanons. I'm looking forward to further interaction as well as interacting with those I haven't done so with yet.

[thesherrinfordfacility]

Hello, your theories and analysis are marvelous and always brighten my day! I've seen you and others refer to the argument/kiss/breakup in episode 6 by a few different names, like the "Feral Domestic" and "Every," and I feel like I only halfway understand why they're called that. Did you originate either of those names, or could you explain where they came from?

oh anon thank you!!! that's so sweet of you to say!!!✨💕

"Feral Domestic" was mine, referring essentially to the last 15 or so mins of ep6; it didn't really come from anywhere, but first mention it in this post. i just felt like the whole scene - the argument, the kiss, the breakup - all needed a proper title lmaooo!!! you will however see me refer to it on occasion as simply the Domestic, or just the breakup/argument. depends on how jazzy im feeling that day!!!

and 'Every'. god, where tf do i begin with Every.

*deep breath* okay. essentially, the kiss was actually leaked way back in june💀 prime did a great compilation video for pride month, with various lovely queer moments on their shows... and accidentally leaked two frames of the kiss in that compilation. someone spotted it after the video had been up for, like, at least a couple of days? it then got captured, and hit tumblr/twitter proper on ✨13th june✨, and was spread around. superimposed on the kiss was the word "Every", hence why it got coined as the 'Every' event/kiss etc.

in fact let's relive that image shall we??? it's practically a sacred, heritage image at this point (under the cut). god we were such wee babies living in ignorance when this happened, i miss not knowing the context of the kiss💀

hope this clarifies, anon!!!✨💕

[portraitdelajeunefilleenfeu]

elisabethmossofficial: They should never have given us uniforms if they didn’t want us to be an army… 👊🏻😉 #emmys #handmaidstale

BONUS

[mariamariquinha]

Versos de Placer (Colonel Carrillo x f!reader) - Eight

Summary: *Daddy Issues by The Neighbourhood playing in the background*.

Word count: 4.6k (hell yeah)

Warnings: Bad words, daddy issues (of course), talks about paternity, mentions of violence, family problems, unprotected p in v sex, slight nipple play, kinda of copy mechanism (?), typos (I’ll try to check again if there’s something), very brief reference to country singers, allusion to historical events.

Author’s Note: Guys I’m really sorry that my links are not working, but I don’t know what’s going on and it’s kinda freaking me out. I still need to check on Tumblr to see what’s up, so I’m sorry for everyone who tried to reach the last chapters (that’s why I didn’t even linked the masterlist here). 

Also, I’m sorry for being late with this one haha Things wasn’t working for me so I give myself a small break to go back in the mood, so... yeah, 4k words later, here we are! WOO-HOO!

(I love this gif so much, ugh)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

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

It was a cliché. A big one. Girl who had problems with her father, like… yeah, okay. Kick a bush anywhere and find five or six with similar stories.

He was born in Nashville, used to listen to Patsy Cline and Jim Reeves with absurd frequency, and disowned everything after the 70s, which included Alan Jackson, even if you've seen something about the guy in his record collection - not that the visits to his house were that frequent (or existent). Hillbilly, another cliché. Harsh personality, another cliché.

He didn't even have to hide so much in his astute personality to accurately trace what that past, filled with sermons, church Sundays and hay, would have done to the relationship that type of man developed with a female daughter. There was a cruel side to you, cold and even calculating, that personified itself as a consequence of the way things had been. How unhappy he was with his decision to move to Texas for work and then turned to be even more bitter at the idea of ​​having a daughter with someone he'd met in a single night; how marriage was a bankrupt institution from the beginning and how it hurt you and your mother unscrupulously.

You weren't from Texas, though. Javier used to say that you still had a long way to go to be like that, even if there were certain remnants of the education your father gave you - if he gave you any. Your metropolitan Los Angeles style was something of your mother's and that only made the crumbling relationship turn to dust in the wind. Join the DEA? Stupid. But he would take credit, after all he saw the Department being created and felt 'honored' to have nurtured enough good fruit in you, making you a young woman in the field.

Firstly, when he walked towards you at the airport, you noticed that there was confusion on his face when he saw you. Whether it was your presence or you just looked more miserable, he was expressionless for a while. It was night, the trip from Bogotá to Medellín had been adjusted to a more strategic time, but you knew the Ambassador would offer lunch or something similar to create amenities.

“... I feel flattered.” Not a ‘hello’, or even a ‘how are you doing?’. He needed to tease. He needed it.

You rolled your eyes at him, keeping your arms crossed over your chest and rolling your head to the side.

“Don’t feel, you’ll still carry your own luggage,” Your tone was light, a little sharp but… light. “And it’s a long way to the car.”

“Oh, I'm sure that courtesy was a privilege reserved only for your arrival.”

Without an answer, he just followed your strides down the landing strip, the cool breeze making your clothing choice more valid than his, who opted for those tailored pants that were expensive in an unhealthy way financially. He was always bigger, stockier, better able to withstand cold breezes. If there were any complaints, it would be about the wind messing with his hair, but the time had made him bald enough that the effects of the breeze were nil.

“Where will you stay?” The question sounded stupid, at least for him, who replied with a bigger frown after getting comfortable in the passenger seat of the Ford Bronco you’ve been driving for quite some time. “What?”

“Where do you think I would be?”

“Not with me.” After a beat of silence from his part, your hand hesitated on the ignition and you looked at him a little desperate. “Or it is?”

“No, of course not.”

“Thank God,” You breathed with relief, finally giving life to the car in time to see the man scoffing a disbelieved laugh. Perhaps he reconsidered a little before giving his address, which was in a discreet hotel - this time you masked the relief in knowing that the stay would be temporary.

You didn't dare turn on the radio for much of the drive, opting for the natural silence of the streets and the car's engine instead of trying to fill the void of a conversation neither of you wanted to have (or so you thought).

“How’s everything going? I’ve heard a lot about your progress.”

Huh.

“Did you?”

“Since you don’t appreciate giving me any updates…”

“You seem to be having them just fine without me.”

“Or maybe you just didn't want me to know about your adjustment difficulties,” This made you gaze at him with a bit of annoyance, where he found enough encouragement to continue with that tone. “Which I understand, after all, the local police aren't always very cordial with us.”

“Do you think this is the biggest of my problems here?”

“No, but the name Horacio Carrillo may have caught my attention. I imagined he was patriotic enough to be averse… It must have been a fun experience, watching you two beating horns.”

The mention of Carrillo made you grip the steering wheel tighter and keep your eyes exclusively on the street so as not to give any suspicious reactions. That was one thing that had been probing your head a little bit, the idea that they had a past you knew very superficially. Your father wouldn't pay much attention to it if it was something forgettable, like most of the memories he never wanted to share from his time in Colombia, and it certainly wasn't something that boiled down to a simple soldier learning torture techniques to fight the ELN*. Plus, of course, there was the shadow of the fact that you hadn't even enjoyed the amazing time the two of you had together, especially with the great distance you both naturally established with your father's aura hovering there.

“Beating horns.”

“I know how tough and stubborn you can be.”

“It came from somewhere.”

“Me, I assume.”

“He had his reasons for not liking me right off the bat,” You gazed at your father again, this time for sure of your intentions. “Do I need to elaborate on this or do you also have more memories of Carrillo?”

“So you are no longer in the title phase, this seems to be progress.” The teasing way he mentioned it, not even amused by your provocation, made you clench your teeth in anger. Fucking bitch. “But how about Peña and Murphy? Good partners.”

“Why do I get the impression that you already have the answer to your questions?”

“I do, but I need to understand if you can still get a good shot at your targets knowing that a minute's delay could cost you your life.”

Again, you didn't give him the pleasure of sharing any reactions, focusing solely on driving the car, but the strained air gave away what he really meant by that.

Juan Marcos taking the knife. The pain of that cabinet breaking apart in your back. His weight beneath you as it made him pass out with a force created by the desperation of survival. Carrillo's face, the blood running down your forehead… It was the kind of thing you tried to forget, that you clearly didn't tell.

You couldn't deduce whether he had the right to be offended by it.

“We're not going to talk about it.” You decided.

“It’s because of this kind of behavior that bad things happen.”

“Well, you being here seems to be proof of that.”

“If that means you'll stop playing lone heroine around here, I'm glad I'm not welcome.”

“Maybe the problem is you're always more than content to be alone all the time, dad.” This abrupt harsh comment made him shut up. You sighed again, closing your eyes for a few seconds to compose yourself. “... As I said, we’re not gonna talk about it. It's always like that with you and... And we don't have time for that. Yes, I'm alive, yes, it was my mistake. And believe me when I say that my consideration kept you from worrying enough for me, so let’s prevent the drama.”

There was something else about your father that could have ambivalent meanings: his silence. He would be quiet to think, to anticipate a sharp response, to be surprised, or even to show offense. You could never tell which was which until the next reaction came.

When that didn't happen and the two of you made your way to the hotel in a new vacuum of utter nothingness, he just said he'd see you the next day as if nothing had happened. The frustration, however, was the same - he still hadn't learned to listen to what you had to say.

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

The tension was palpable, but no one dared to put a finger on it for the sake of that mission. Carrillo would look at you, then to your father, feeling a particular helplessness, as if being there was like watching a bomb about to explode without being able to do anything about it.

Javier had told him about the relationship, at least what he knew, which went almost unnoticed by Carrillo since at the time he didn't like him and there was no justification for it; not that what had been going on between you should mean anything, but a protective instinct surged through him at the memory.

“We met at that party, you know. Everyone could see that she didn’t want to be there or whatever,” Peña mentioned. “Maybe they don't talk to each other after what happened here.”

And Horacio knew that was a subtle cue to speculate on his motives for not liking your father, but the silence that followed was enough for no one to bring it up again. It took a while for the walls of rejection to come down - a little longer for him to understand that there was a cliff of difference between you and that brusque, hostile father figure.

You had a fire like him, but Carrillo would never be on guard with you for the same reasons he would be with your father.

It wasn't much, at the time he'd seen plenty of other guys like him walking around Colombia and taking up space as their own, wasting time and money on hookers and alcohol before going back to the grueling job of ripping a person's fingernails off in interrogation.

When he first met him, he was still a low-ranking soldier, limited to orders, with words of obedience on the tip of his tongue. The primal nature of always being ahead, of being number one, of... being the best, was something that pleased your father immediately, and the two spent more time in a closer relationship - which was not a friendship. There was a story about family; Carrillo had just gotten married. Your father laughed, clapped a hand on his shoulder, and said that he would soon find out that this would be a stupid decision.

When he found out that you and your mother were in the States, uncertain about the whereabouts of the man who was supposed to protect you two, there was a sense of morality in him, and in that aspect he was pretty strict about keeping his distance. When he saw your father bragging about the women he'd been paying at the brothel, Carrillo saw his respect for the guy completely drained from his body. When the training ended with one of his partners in the hospital almost dead, the decision to make him an enemy was already right.

It was strange to think about it at that moment, because since then he's been thinking about you. The woman who was there, in front of him, smoking a cigarette with the worst of expressions as she listened to the man without any dignity of his own talking about something with such propriety. Horacio wondered if you had feelings for the man, at least one that was good. If the two of you fought a lot, if you found out what was happening in Bogotá, if there was any connection of affection.

He suddenly felt bad for being hard on you at first, even though there was a part of him telling him that he wasn't the worst man you'd ever faced in your life.

“So basically the three of us are going to be playing with dolls while you guys do the work?” Your voice was so full of rancor that everyone was surprised, except your father, who just sighed with his hands on his hips.

“That was the deal.”

“The 'deal' was collaborative work. I know it may seem like a difficult term for you to understand, but no one here has been scratching their own ass all the time. You are here for what we achieved.”

There was a unique silence in space; everyone agreed with you, that was a fact, and the dissatisfaction was shared enough that no one tried to appease it.

You took more of the cigarette and looked him straight in the face, not hesitating for a microsecond with your defiant gaze. Tough girl, that was Carrillo’s thought while watching the scene - he needed to resist the urge to smile at it, to say you’re doing just fine right then and there, wearing the pants and giving your father shit.

“We don't have to go into that merit.”

“Oh, I think we do,” Your answer was sharp and fast. “What do you think we’re doing here, basically?”

“I can't risk putting agents unprepared for an operation of this size,” He crossed his arms over his chest, just as tough as you. “Considering the recent episodes of how your so-called great job led you all, I’m more than sure that this discussion isn’t necessary.”

There was a second silence, much stronger and more intense than the first time, because everyone understood what it meant and it was a subject no one wanted to discuss. It was his plan, after all, and he sure as hell used it as a weapon to disarm your aggressive behavior.

It sounded unfair. Carrillo couldn't be the only one to think that, mainly because everyone was involved and there were still the marks of the attack on your body. How could someone who wasn't there, who didn't know what you were doing with some competence, act like that? How could a father limit himself to calling his own daughter incompetent when she almost died?

“What happened with Juan Marcos was…” Javier tried to speak but you interrupted him right away.

“Say what you mean.”

“You know what I mean.”

“So let's be clear, maybe no one here has seen how cowardly you are to use this against all of us.”

“It's not a question of cowardice, it's a question of safety to make sure you don't get all lit up to do grown-up work and risk all the work trying to play heroin,” The tone your father used was bitter, full of anger and loud enough for everyone to listen. Carrillo clenched his fists at it; Javier and Steve looked between you and the man in silence. “So no, you are not going to make part of this and be thankful to have the right to be sitting here right now.”

Yes, there was a third silence, and even though there wasn't a hint of tears on your face, it was obvious that you were hurt by it. You held a disappointed expression, fingers fiddling with the still-lit cigarette between them, jaw clenched - it was like a bucket of cold water right in the middle of your face. Who was he to talk about incompetence? Who was he to treat you like that in front of everyone?

Carrillo once again resisted the urge to go to you when he saw you sigh, put out your cigarette in the ashtray on the table, and brush the ashes off your pants.

“... Peña and Murphy have experience in this type of operation. Technical knowledge doesn't trump field experience, at least not here, so consider the possibility for the sake of your team. If that's what you want.”

The colonel's mind and tongue worked before he could stop it.

“No.”

Everyone looked at him in confusion, including you, but since word was out, he stared at the table for a while before facing your father specifically.

“This won't work if we don't come to a consensus.”

“Colonel, the situation is more delicate than it appears.”

“I was there wiping the blood off your daughter’s face when they tried to kill her, and despite our differences I assure you that my trust is in every person in this room.” The decision in his voice made your father squint. “We're here to strategize, so be it, but with all due respect I'd rather have someone I know watching my back than a bunch of southern men who've only seen Colombia on postcards.”

To say that there was one more moment of silence was a bit obvious, but Carrillo could see the same feeling of anger emanating from his father as the time he had challenged him years ago, when his body was leaner and his confidence more precocious.

That time nobody said anything because it was an unusual attitude; not the retaliation, but the fact that he was defending you from an awkward situation and using as an argument the fact that he trusted not only you, someone he had reservations about, but Steve, who was hardly in his favor even afterward so long. Maybe that surprised your father too, maybe he knew the two of you didn't get along in plain sight, but that logic made the work dynamic in the name of the mission.

That didn't include the fact that you were sharing a bed with him at times. This was a secret justification that only surfaced in the exchange of glances you had as Carrillo watched everyone for a brief moment and saw you with a dumbstruck expression.

“By land and by air. We're going to need communication all the time,” He nodded at the map on the table nonchalantly, leaning against it to refocus on the plane and ignore the amount of stares directed at him.

If you squeezed his forearm gently and smiled discreetly after that, probably as a way of showing some sort of good reaction to what he said, Carrillo tried not to feel satisfied with his own self.

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

“How does it work?”

Horacio looked up in time to see your father with both hands in his pants pockets, looking at him with a curious expression. It was already night, a little late to have so many employees in the Search Bloc building, so he looked between the man standing in front of him and the door, ready to ask why he was there.

“This thing between you and her. What kind of strategy is there between you to make everything so smooth?” He talked about you as if you were a stranger, which made Carrillo particularly angry.

“My strategies are limited to my work. I do what has to be done.” The answer came politely, even as the colonel continued to stare at the revised plan on his desk.

“I know her well enough to know that she is not easy.”

“Me neither.” You neither, he thought.

“But she's not what you were when we first met,” This caught Carrillo's attention, and he raised his head again with a frown. “I brought her up to the strict function of doing a fucking decent job. Nothing out of the ordinary. What happens is that there is a difference between learning and putting learning into practice.”

“She handled the situation pretty well on her own, she's been doing it since she got here.”

“Being attacked by a narco three times her size isn't handling the situation pretty well, Colonel. You know this more than I do, we come from the same place.”

Once again, Horacio held his tongue so as not to say anything else he regretted; instead, he abandoned the focus of the documentation on the desk and leaned back in his chair, staring at your father as if the man's words were an insult - because they were.

“When your daughter arrived here, I almost committed the indiscretion of writing a complaint to the Embassy. I thought like you. I figured she would be a spoiled brat who came from the right place to the wrong fight and particularly that lasted longer than ideal.”

He paused just to remember you two on his bed sharing a cigarette, then your face while negotiating with the Montoya boy.

“I've seen too many men die to understand the weight of what these motherfucker narcos are putting on my country, agent, and I've come to recognize what I really value in a team that has the same ideals as I do.”

Dissatisfied and unconvinced by the answer given by Carrillo, your father moved with some discomfort and scoffed.

“And what ideals would those be?”

“Among other things, being ready to not pull the trigger.”

Which sounded very unusual to both of them. Not pulling the trigger? Did they really believe in this philosophy in the midst of the hell created by Escobar? Well, there you were, right? Talking to a boy sold into the drug trade, asking about a man you barely knew as you nearly died at the hands of Juan Marcos, giving up work with your father if it meant seeing your partners get recognition.

This was the kind of sense of morality that put both of them to the test of their convictions. Vocalizing it made Carrillo realize that he loved it about you - and that your father hated it.

“Balance then.”

“Yes. Balance.” Horacio nodded, already going back to his papers. “I would rest if I were you, by the way. None of us are in the physique of those years ago, we better be fine for tomorrow.”

With no direct response to the brief provocation, Carrillo smirked when he heard the office door close after a brief 'good night' and thought that, at least that way, your father had received a dose of humility he so deserved.

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

The idea was not for Horacio to show up at your apartment so late, or to show up there anyway. It wasn't part of the plan. But Javier and Steve weren't there in the building and he wanted to know how you were, which took you by surprise when you saw him standing there in the doorway.

“I thought you were going to stay in the office all night to check the details.” You said with a frown of yours, closing the door and standing considerably close to him in the small space of your corridor.

“Changed my mind.”

“... Why?”

“You know why.”

It was a thought that lasted half a second and you only had this delay because the whole situation with your father was stressful, like there wasn't a single obvious possibility for what you two could do alone in that apartment. God knew how great it would be to have a good distraction from all that shit.

Without further questions or doubts, he pulled you by the hem of your sleep shorts and grabbed your neck for a hot kiss. The first contact of your body with his made you sigh, considering he was still chilled by the night air and you had slipped out from under the covers. It wasn't so uncertain; Carrillo has come to know your body well enough to have an idea of where to start.

A hand on your neck, the other grabbing a handful of your left ass cheek without a single reservation. That would be the style of it: messy, intense, necessary.

“No panties?” He whispered against your mouth after biting your bottom lip, pupils dilating with desire as he used the same hand to massage your buttock.

“As if you liked me that much with it.”

“Remembering the important things... Really sexy, you know?”

You had to lead him to your room, so you took him by the hand to lead him to the more discreet and simple bed that adorned the small space. He'd already shed his shirts and boots by the time you climbed into bed, and the sight of his bare torso had you biting your lip before pulling him by his belt closer.

With a bite to his left breast, he growled; when repeating the process on the right side, he grabbed your hair by the back of your neck and pushed you away, which made you smile before having your mouth attacked by another kiss, this time more intense. You were two angry people, frustrated with the day, impatient with the lack of contact recent events had created, wanting more than what appeared to be just a glimpse of what you could do with the other.

This time you didn't let him rip any of your clothes off and he chuckled at your haste to get rid of the tank top you were wearing. When your hand stopped his motion to lean towards the bed, he lost some of that humor to confusion, but before he could ask, you wrapped your arms around his neck and draped your torso over his. The contact made him hiss, just to moan lowly at the way your nipples brushed on his, creating a delicious friction.

All that was left for him was to grab your waist and let you enjoy it as much as he did, while you watched every inch of the man's reactions with a smirk. It was your turn to pull him by the hair at the back of his neck, taking his attention from your breasts so he could kiss you.

The rest was improvised, he didn't even take all his pants off and you only pulled out one side of the shorts as soon as you both lay on the mattress; the garment was hanging from your leg as he put your knees on his shoulders and entered you in one fell swoop. That poor bed, miserable and cheap compared to his, creaked more than anything with the movements of his hips, the simple headboard hitting the wall with such force of the thrusts.

You were left to surrender to the moment, eyes closed to focus on the sensation of that moment and your mind lost in the pleasure he was providing you. He literally started to pound inside of you, making your voice weak in moans and whimpers, surrendered by that intercourse that took you to a strong and magnificent orgasm.

“... Where?” Was all Carrillo managed to say as he panted above you, pulling his face from your neck to look into your eyes as he asked.

“Inside,” You said with a mewl, legs still shaking from your high. “I want you inside.”

Perhaps on other occasions he would say something quite indecent, but hearing you say that seemed enough for him to spill his cum all over your pussy, groaning loudly at the sensation of filling you so good just like that.

It was like getting rid of a giant weight.

You and him, surprised as if the sex between you hadn't felt so good already, as if the weight of his body on top of yours was new. There was no other thought in that moment, just the certainty that that protective instinct could be a reality and he was making sure he would use his words and his body to make sure you were okay.

Dammit, you thought. It only took a man like that to appear in your life that you could already feel that idea in your fingertips, between the breath of post-sex and your mind coming back to reality.

That's what I was looking for.

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

Glossary

ELN: The National Liberation Army of Colombia (Ejército de Liberación Nacional) is a Colombian guerrilla organization,[1] of communist inspiration and political-military character, created in Simacota on July 4, 1964, by Fabio Vasquez Castaño, inspired by the successful experience of the Cuban Revolution. 

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

No pressure tags

@cheesybadgers​

@padbrookcottage​

[wiypt-writes]

25 Days Of CHRIS-Mas

Day 6: Home For Christmas

Summary: Syd is reflection on you as he prepares to leave rehab.

Pairing: Syd (London) x Reader

Warnings: Bad Language, Adult situations, Talks of Drug abuse (NSFW, 18+)

W/C: 1k

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, any likeness to any persons or events in real life are purely co-incidental. I do not own any characters contained herein bar the reader and/or any original characters. I do not give consent for my work to be copied and posted/translated onto any other sites. If you see this fiction anywhere other than Tumblr, it has been taken without permission.By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer and ALL warnings posted here.

25 Days Of Chris-mas Masterlist / Main Masterlist

 Day 5: Johnny Storm (Fantastic Four)

It was Christmas Eve. Syd sat on the end of his full size bed in his room, looking around at the walls around him. They were bare, boringly white, clinical. The carpet old and no doubt stained with vomit acid from many who'd come before him. But this stay was necessary. The final check on a long list of things he'd done to get to today.

London never returned and it hurt. Hurt like hell. But, eventually after a year of rock bottom, he'd moved on, and somewhere in between, he'd found someone new to keep his dick wet and bed warm. But somewhere along the line, you’d become more than a fuck. You’d become the person he called when he was crashing, the one he turned to when he needed something more than just the existence he had.

And the person he had finally admitted he needed to get clean to. 

 It had been months since he’d felt your lips on his and months since he’d had you underneath him. He could still feel, hear, taste you. He hoped, after all the two of you had been through, that you were the face he'd see waiting for him when his time for discharge came. But deep-down, he knew this was wishful thinking.

 He hadn’t seen it at the time, but now he did. He would constantly let you down. He had stood you up, missed dates, avoided meeting your family…instead, preferring the release that came from getting high. But then, it had all come to a head.

 He remembered that night like it was yesterday. You’d thrown down hard, you couldn’t deal with being second to his drugs, told him you deserved better. He didn’t’ argue, because he knew it was true, not that he admitted that at the time. Instead, he’d gone out and got himself so off his face he’d almost died when he’d wandered into the middle of a road. He probably would have had it not been for the driver of the car being quick enough to swerve to avoid him.

 That was the point at which he’d had his revelation. Nothing in his life would change unless he did.

 He looked at the 4x6 picture framed on his nightstand. You were in his back, arms wrapped around his neck, grinning over his shoulder. His eyes clouded over from some high he was sure, yours clear as day. You weren't like him, nothing like him in fact. You were cleaner than most girls he knew, not a Saint, but you didn't partake in the hard stuff and rarely did anything more than drink on occasion.

How you'd found him, he was never sure. But more and more, he began to believe that some higher power had sent you his way just to save him.

And save him you had, even if you didn’t know it. 

But now, now he was scared. Frightened that the man he'd become; the him he'd rediscovered that led buried under all the emotional and psychological pain, under all the drugs and booze and sex, was someone you wouldn't want. Because he still wasn’t worthy of you.

Kicking the drugs was one thing, sitting in group sessions another, but this was the sickest he'd felt since he'd checked in. He was amped up, worried his anxiety was going to crash down on him again and all he could do was hope and pray, wow, pray, that you loved him like he loved you.

A knock on his door sounded and this therapist came in, along with a counselor and the director of the center.

"Today's a big day, you ready?" His therapist asked.

He nodded.

"Remember, you have control of your actions and your feelings, no one else is responsible for them but yourself."

“Yeah.”

"We just need you to sign yourself out, Syd, and you're free to go."

Syd nodded and took a deep breath as he rose to his feet. He picked up the photo from the nightstand, the one thing he hadn’t packed, and placed it into his duffel bag. He zipped it shut, slung it over his shoulder and licked his lips.

“Okay, let’s go.”

At the front desk, he signed himself out, congratulatory hugs and handshakes from those who walked this journey with him. He accepted every single one, eyes darting around to find you. Yet, he didn't see you. His heart began to shatter, his mind whirring and he felt conflicted. Maybe he wasn't ready? Maybe he should stay a little longer?

"Deep breaths, there's a car for you outside." The director nodded to the doors.

All he could see was the iconic yellow cabs that ruled the street of New York. And that last string that held his heart together snapped.

He swallowed hard, took a deep breath, picked up his duffle and began walking out.

But then, as he stepped through the double sliding doors, the cab pulled away and there you stood, leaning against your SUV passengers door, waiting for him, grin to your face, sunglasses perched on your head and your frame wrapped in a winter coat.

Syd blinked, as you pushed yourself off the side of the car and moved towards him, your steps slow.

“You… you came.” Syd’s voice was quiet as he stopped in front of you, his chest hitching as you pushed your glasses up onto your head.

“Yeah…” your eyes bounces across his for a split second, before he dropped his bag to the floor and you were in his arms.

"I love you," he sobbed into your neck, the words he wished he had said months ago tumbling from his lips. "I love you so much."

“I know,” you whispered soft assurances, your hand gently sliding into his now longer hair, softly kissing his cheek, “I know. And I love you too.”

"Can we go home?" He sighed tearfully.

"Of course," you softly smiled. "Absolutely."

His lips pressed to yours, you could feel the relief in his system when you didn’t push him away. You stood, wrapped around one another in the street, only breaking apart when it became hard to breath.

Your cold nose bumped his, “Merry Christmas, baby.”

"Merry Christmas," he sniffed.

🎄🎄🎄🎄

Day 7- James Mace (Sunshine)

[multiversxwhore]

☾☾☾Hello! Hope you enjoy what you’re about to read, I would appreciate if you like, and reblog my work here on tumblr. Please do not share my work anywhere else, and if you see it has been, or someone is claiming the work as their own please tell me. My master list is pinned to my page if you wish to see more! ☽☽☽

Pairing: Steven Grant & Marc Spector x Black!oc

Face claims: Normani as Penny Newman, Viola Davis as Neith

Moon Light Knight

Chapter 1: Marc Spector

It was an average day at Norman General Hospital, but Penny’s work days are usually like this. She works the Nurse’ circulation desk answering phone calls, making appointments, and sometimes helping in emergencies. She’s only a nurse technician; Penny’s actually supposed to be doing more than answering phones, however, since her sister got her this job Penny tries to go unseen by her boss.

Penny, you need to be looking for Marc Spector, not sitting here answering phone calls. You have a greater purpose, we have a greater purpose.

Neith’s voice could be heard from beside Penny to her left, but her colleague Thomas is sitting next to her. So she decided to ignore the goddesses words for the time being as she tried to finish up the work that was just given to her.

Penny you cannot prolong the inevitable, either you follow this path on your own will, or you’ll be forced onto it.

Yet again, Penny ignored her, but Penny could still sense the war goddesses energy. Penny has had countless conversations with Neith about not interrupting while she’s at work. If she's caught talking to herself too many times they’ll put Penny in the psych ward down the hall from her desk.

After a long 7 hour shift Penny was finally able to clock out of work, she was glad that her boss decided to give her the morning schedules.

Penny…

“Alright fine, fine, let's talk about this right now. Since you wont leave me alone for like two minutes.” Penny whined out loud, she stood in the quiet parking loot looking up at the midday sun. She would rather be at the museum right now rather than wasting her time on Neith demands.

Do not forget it was you that called out for my help, I could have let your sister's unborn baby die… Marc Spector is the key to our success, we need him, and Khonsu.

“Okay, I’m assuming you know where they are?” Penny asked out loud, she sighed out loud.

20 miles west of this location, that is about as close as I can get you.

“Neith…” Penny called out, her hands on her hips.

Yes… The goddess answered back, Penny rolled her eyes at Neith’s nonchalant attitude.

“Do you know how many establishments are 20 miles west of here?” Penny asked, her tone agitated, and her teeth clenched.

…2,576. Neith replied, though she is sure her estimates were off by a few hundred, though Penny didn’t know that.

“Why do you insist on stressing me out?” Penny asked, as she turned to get into the driver's side of her car, a glimpse of Neith could be seen through the reflection of the window. After all this time, Penny has still never seen Neith in real life, only in dreams, and reflections.

Why do you insist on not trusting me, things will go a lot smoother if you’d stop being so stubborn.

“Because you never tell me anything! How am I supposed to trust you, when everytime I blink you damn near walk me off a cliff, I mean bloody hell, a warning would be nice sometimes! Would a little communication kill you?” Penny shouted, she didn't even realize how crazy she must look to be yelling with no one physically present in the car with her.

Several points are being made…sometimes, I am a warrior first, and a mother second. For that I apologize. Maybe we can learn to trust each other as time goes along?

Penny ponders on Neith’s words for a moment…Penny felt as though even if she denied Neith’s request to help her, that Penny would get dragged into it anyway. Penny’s shoulders slumped as she looked up in the rearview mirror, right about now Penny felt lucky to not be used as a vessel by deity with an alligator head or something crazier. Neith is quite pleasant to look out, beautiful even, but it still stirs anxiety within her. Gods, and Goddesses are supposed to be myths. Penny has seen firsthand the power Neith has, and the destruction she can cause.

“Fine, I’ll drive, you gps me.” Penny pulled out the parking lot, letting a deity give directions was a horrible idea. Somehow though, they got to the location in one piece.

“Yet again, you nearly killed me! Seriously, you've been on earth for how many years, and you still don't know what traffic lights are for?” Penny fussed, finally bringing her car to a stop in front of the Ancient Egyptian Museum.

I was doing the best I could!

“Really warrior goddess? A blind man could do better than that.” Penny claimed, suddenly pulled out of the car, and shoved forward.

“Shit, okay sorry, calm down will you.” Penny dusted herself off trying to look natural to the few onlookers that saw her trip on seemingly nothing. She makes her way up the stairs, and into the building. Penny hasn’t been here too many times, she usually spends her off days at the library reading.

He’s here, I can feel it

Penny walks up to a lazy looking security guard sitting up front, his eyes never leaving his phone screen, she rolls her eyes then taps her knuckles on the desk to get his attention.

“Oi aren't you a site, how may I help you?” He asked, putting his phone down.

“Hi, um I was wondering do you have a Marc Spector that works here?” She asked politely, Penny even added a smile at the end to which made the security guard perked up even more.

“Sorry, no one here by that name, but uh why don't you give me your name, and number. I can phone you if I hear anything.” He offered, right before Penny could answer, Neith spoke up, nearly shouting.

He’s getting away!

“Fuck me, lead the way.” Penny mumbled completely ignoring the security guard, her legs moved on their own accord. It’s always a weird experience when she let Neith take over her body while she’s cognizant of it happening. Without warning Penny sharply turned a corner, and knocked right into a man.

That’s him! We have found them at last!

“Oh goodness I am so sorry, I wasn't looking…” The man trailed off seemingly in shock, Penny holding on to her arm has a throbbing pain in her forearm from awkwardly crashing on top of the boxes he was holding. When she finally locked eyes, a rush of warmth flowed through her, but it also felt serene. Like that feeling she gets when she watches the moon appear at night.

“Are you Marc Spector?” Penny blurted out, no doubt that was Neith’s doing from the way her tongue pressed against her teeth forcing Penny to speak.

“Wh-what? No, I'm Steve.” Steve spoke, his voice soft, and somewhat timid.

He’s lying

“Dear…this is quite an awkward situation, but I’m afraid I don't believe you” Penny sighed, dusting off her jacket, Steve’s eyes darted over to a window of the gift shop we’re standing in front of.

“There’s not much to believe, I’m Steven Grant, not this Marc Spector you speak of. Sorry I can't help you.” Steve begins to slide past Penny, her body instantly jerking forward.

WE NEED HIM PENNY!

The shouting caused her head to pound severely, as if suffering from chronic headaches is bad enough, now she has a head strong goddess taking residence in her mind. Penny blinked, and in that moment her world went black. She went to take a step forward, but ended up crashing into the ground. Steve whipped around at the sound of a thud, and he was shocked to see the same woman that had run into him just suddenly dropped to the ground.

“Oh my, I’ll call 911.” Steve fiddled for his phone, but she stopped him by placing her palm on his cheek.

“No, please don't. Just help me up, and some water will do me fine.” Penny pleaded, Steven wanted to object, but decided against it. He did as asked, letting her lean on him as they slowly walked into the food court, Steven gave her a large ice water, and a PB and J sandwich.

“Thank you…I feel much better. Now let's cut to the chase, I’m Penny Newman, and I know that you're Marc Spector. I also know Khonsu is with you, I know this because I am a vessel for the goddess of war, and creation, Neith. She is looking for him, she is requesting an audience, if you would be so kind. She almost killed me three times to get me here to talk to you. So please make this easy for me.” Penny confessed, she sat and watched as the wheels in Stevens' head turned as he thought about it for a moment. His eyes weren't looking at Penny, but rather through her, Steven clenched his fist, she watched him with a weary glance as his body tensed. Steven’s seemingly light hearted sweet demeanor gone, now replaced with a completely different energy.

That is him…

“I’m Marc Spector…”

a\n: so i wasn’t sure how i was going to go about this. there’s so many angles to approach, so i decided to keep the idea of like “vessels.” like how it’s used in the show. let me know what you guys think, and if you want to see more, or if I should continue. :)