#feel like a goddamn sitcom

[lucyvaleheart]

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[strangersmunsons]

Eddie, My Love! eddie munson x reader // valentine's day special series Day 8 Prompt: Rom-Coms 🎟️ ~ 2,400 words Watching a romantic comedy on TV brings back some memories for Eddie. (angst, w/ a hopeful ending)

Eddie taps the lit end of his cigarette into an ashtray, staring at the television screen with tired eyes. The bluish light casts an eerie glow about the room; it feels cold, sterile. 

This has been his ritual for far too long now: go to work, come home, and watch some mind-numbing program alone until he falls asleep. Wash, rinse, repeat. 

He yawns, and rubs his stubbly face with one hand. He should get in bed before he passes out on the couch — save his back the trouble — but instead he picks up the remote again, flicking through channels, waiting in vain for something stimulating.

Coca-Cola ad. Late night talk show interview. Some black and white picture from MGM. Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal. Sitcom rerun. 

He pauses, thumb hovering over the button.

Eddie switches back to When Harry Met Sally. He rented it from Family Video once upon a time, but he hasn’t watched it in years. It feels like an eternity has passed since then and yet, he remembers it like it was yesterday.

That’s what every memory with you feels like to him; it’s both an old scar and a fresh wound. He doesn’t know what feels worse — the hot, gut-wrenching ache of longing that pains him now, or the knowledge that those memories, no matter how agonizing they may be, might start to fade one day.

But it seems an impossibility; he can recall every detail. He wets his lips, remembering how you had pleaded with him in line to rent this particular film, even though he’d been hoping to see the new Indiana Jones movie.

“Rob Reiner doesn’t make bad movies, Eddie. He did The Princess Bride, remember? Besides, it’s Valentine’s Day!”

He relented, as he always did. Who was he to deny you anything?

But oh, how things change.

Pipe dreams turned to reality. Demo tapes turned to albums. Dive bar gigs turned to international tours. You, bravely avowing that he had to grab hold of every opportunity he could — you told him that no matter where in the world he went, you would always be here, loving him. All the while, secretly, the small pit of fear planted in your stomach was sprouting and unfurling as the distance between you two grew further, and the silences louder. 

He should have tried harder. Came home more. Picked up the Goddamn phone. He’d always had to call you; it was too difficult to get a hold of him yourself, to keep track of where he might be, when he was traveling constantly.

And then that awful night, when he’d lost everything. Everything that mattered, anyway. 

It was the last time he ever saw or spoke to you. Hours of arguing, pleading, crying; it was the death rattle of the most important relationship of his life. You finally told him what you were afraid of, what you had been afraid of, and that it had come true.

“I’m just a girl from back home, Eddie.”

Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. You were never just a girl to Eddie. Not then, not now. Not ever. But what difference had it made? When the time had come for him to make a choice, he had still walked out the door. 

The world was being presented to Eddie Munson on a silver platter. He was young, up-and-coming, successful. A talented musician — gifted, even. He had the right look and the attitude.

Being his partner wasn’t easy. Your support was unwavering, but your lives were going in different directions, it seemed. You both loved each other enough to want the other person to have what they wanted, which were…no longer the same things. 

But it was still horrible. 

He spent the next few weeks in a near-fugue state, numb and inconsolable. His bandmates whispered to each other in the studio, casting furtive glances over at their supposedly-invincible leader, while the rest of their team offered him pseudo-smiles tinged with impatience, and suggested that he focus on channeling the pain towards his music.

After that, when he had the time, he’d leave LA and come back to the city he’d initially dragged you out to after graduation. He had no idea if you still lived there, but it didn’t matter. It was the last place he knew you to be and so he wandered those familiar streets, looking for you in every person he passed, as though it were likely that he might bump into you at a bus stop, outside the grocery, sitting on a park bench.

It was a luxury he could afford until Corroded Coffin started to fall apart. Disputes between band members, both personal and professional. Declining album sales. Bad management. Once sold-out venues were a struggle to fill. The once-steady flow of cash turned into a trickle, and then the boys were unceremoniously dropped from label, the execs deciding that keeping them around wasn’t worth the expense.

He supposes he could have stayed in the industry if he really wanted to. Formed a new band or begged to join another that was in need of a guitarist, but Corroded Coffin was his baby. The idea of starting all over again or leeching off of another group’s success left a bad taste in his mouth. And the producing gigs and session work somehow felt even worse; he dreaded having to watch others succeed at what he had ended up failing.

Fame had chewed him up, decided it didn’t like the flavor, and promptly spit him back out. His music career felt like a fever dream now. His life before that, with you, was the realest thing he’d ever had. 

As he watches Harry and Sally dine together at Katz’s Deli, his mind wanders to the slip of paper stowed carefully away like a sacred jewel, all alone in a drawer of his bedside table. 

No, he won’t.

Harry and Sally fall apart.

He won’t dare.

Harry runs through Manhattan to find his girl. 

Not after everything he’s done, after all this time.

Harry tells her all the reasons that he loves her…

Eddie abruptly switches the TV off, unable to hear anymore. He sits in the darkness for a moment, aching with bone-weary sadness. What had Dustin told him, as he passed the paper to him across the table over lunch one day?

“It couldn’t hurt to try.”

But Dustin was wrong about that. It could hurt him very, very much.

Eddie stands, and pads through the apartment to his bedroom. He sits on the side of the bed, and pulls open the drawer that holds his very last tie to you — a scrap of old receipt bearing your name and phone number. He picks it up with trembling fingers, then lowers it again, terrified that his clammy hands with smudge the ink. The phone seems to taunt him from where it sits atop the nightstand. As though he’s having an out of body experience, Eddie’s arm reaches out beyond his control and picks it up, the dial tone emitting a low buzz in his ear. He stares down at the number in the drawer, as though he didn’t memorize it the second he got it. He doesn’t even know how Dustin found you; but the geeky little shit has his ways. 

He punches in the number, heart racing faster with each digit he puts in.

It rings…and rings…and rings…

“Hello?”

Eddie’s mouth falls open in a low gasp. Your sweet voice is the same, only slightly marred by the bewilderment you must feel at receiving a call this late in the evening. Embarrassingly, his eyes sting with tears; he can’t speak.

“Hello? Anyone there?”

Eddie slams the phone back into the receiver, white as a sheet. He gets up, paces a lap around the room, chugs a glass of water, and finally takes his seat again, trying not to hyperventilate. 

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he picks up the phone again, and re-dials.

His heart is in his throat now, swollen and beating so violently it threatens to choke him. 

Your voice again, slightly more annoyed, though you still sound like an angel. “Hello?”

“H-Hi,” Eddie says hoarsely, and tries to swallow his fear. 

There’s a brief silence on the other end. “...who is this?” 

“It’s me. It’s…it’s Eddie. Munson,” he tacks his surname on at the end, as though he needs to specify.

Muffled noise through the speaker. The seconds tick by, and Eddie waits with dread for you to hang up. 

Finally, you whisper, “Eddie?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“H-How did you get this number?”

He has the phone in a vice grip. “Dustin gave it to me.” 

“Why…why are you calling?” He wishes he could see your expression. You sound terrified, like he’s going to bite you through the phone.

How can he answer that? What is there to say, after so much time, after so much pain? I miss you. I love you. None of it was worth it, even when I was on top. Losing you was like being cut in half.

“I wanted to see how you were. How you are, I mean.”

“I’m okay.” The response is quick, automatic. But you don’t elaborate any further than that, and awkward silence prevails again.

Eddie deserves that, he supposes. Sweat trickles down his back, under his arms, breaks out on his forehead. He pushes his damp bangs back out of his eyes. “That’s good. I’m glad to hear it, sweetheart,” the term of endearment slipping out as though a day hasn’t gone by where you haven’t been his sweetheart.

“Don’t call me that,” you tell him tersely, sounding pained.

“I’m sorry,” he replies, ashamed. He had no right to do this to you. Drudge up old memories that you probably wanted to forget, or had so already.

“What is this about?” you ask him again, voice shaking.

“I told you,” he mumbles, “I want to know how you are. And I guess…I want to apologize.”

“You want to apologize,” you repeat skeptically, with an incredulous huff. “Now? Really?”

“Yes, really. I’m sorry,” he repeats, eyes glazed and wet. A dry sob rattles his chest. “I don’t what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have called, I shouldn’t be…I’m sure you hate me and I don’t blame you, because I do too.” He wets his lips and presses on. “But if I can take this time to say one thing to you it’s that I’m sorry. For everything. I am so fucking sorry. For leaving, for hurting you, for every stupid little thing I did. That’s why I really called. To tell you that.”

“Oh God,” you say, almost to yourself, voice suddenly small. “I — I’m not ready for this.”

“You don’t have to say anything back,” he whispers, voice breaking, closing his eyes, letting the tears slip over his lashes.

“Are you crying?”

He wipes furiously at his nose. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

Eddie can’t lie to you, certainly not now. “Yes. I’m sorry, I can’t help it. Your voice…”

“That — that came out sharper than I meant it to —”

“No, I mean it’s beautiful. I missed it.”

“Eddie…”

“Yeah?”

You start to speak and then falter, struggling to articulate what it is that you’re feeling. “I’m sorry, I have no idea what to say.”

Eddie laughs brokenly. “Funny, because there’s a million things I want to say to you. I just don’t know if I should or not.”

You swallow with an audible click. “I don’t know if you should, either.”

Another silence. Eddie thinks he could pick out the sound of your breathing from a mile away, he’s still so in tune with it. After hundreds of nights spent laying next to you in bed, no other sound could send him to dreaming so quickly or peacefully.

“But why call now? After all this time?” 

“I miss you.” The words escape before he has a chance to stop them; he bites his tongue against the rest of them. He considers his next words carefully before continuing.

“I never reached out before, because I made my bed and now I have to lie in it. I didn’t deserve to ask you for another chance, and I don’t think I do now, either, but…I was thinking of you tonight. Even more so than usual.”

Your voice shakes. “Does…does that happen often?”

He sucks in a sharp breath. “All the time.” The floodgates open; all his woe and regret from the past spills forward. “I am always, always thinking of you. Even when you thought I wasn’t. I know I was a shitty partner, but that didn’t mean — that I didn’t love you more than anything.”

“Eddie —”

But he can’t stop now. “I’ve missed you like hell since that very last night. I loved you so much, a-and I threw it away! How could I bring myself to speak to you after that? Especially after I lost it all? I would — God — I would hate for you to think that I was only coming back to you because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I couldn’t do that. I didn’t wanna hurt you again, baby, and I know it would’ve.”

There’s a quiet sniffle on the other line. “It broke me when you left. And now this hurts, too.”

“I’m so sorry,” he breathes. “I wish I could make it better. I would do anything to make you not hurt anymore. I won’t ask you for a second chance, but just know,” Eddie takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and seals his fate. “I’ve loved you for more than half my life,” he whispers. “I’ll love you until I die.”

And with that, the line goes dead.

Eddie stares at nothing, doesn’t move. He doesn’t know how long he sits there for; eventually, his body moving on autopilot, he hangs up the phone and crawls under the covers. He’s done sobbing, but tears drip down his temples as he lays back in bed, dampening his hair.

Time doesn’t exist anymore, but he hopes he’ll fall asleep soon anyway.

Breathing, quiet and even. Eyelids slightly heavier. He thinks maybe it’s finally within reach.

He’s almost there.

The phone rings.

Eddie blindly feels with one arm, and picks it up from the receiver for the third time tonight.

“Hello?” he asks hoarsely, not daring to believe it.

An angel answers.

“E-Eddie? It’s me again…”

thank you for reading!! xoxo Valentine's Day Special Masterlist

[shewroteaworld]

Detatched

Premise: You think you're alone in a storm of feelings. There's one person who won't let you get drenched in this downpour alone.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (relationship can be read as purely platonic or as a budding romance)

Approximate word count: 650

Warnings: Self-deprecation

“I just want to feel things. And not feel bad about feeling them.” 

Tears fall and splotch the lines of your notebook paper. You’re relieved your writing was spared. But you're also annoyed. If it washed away the graphite evidence, maybe you could shy away from this. Maybe you could not feel this.

How could you feel such contradictory desires at the same time? How could you hold both in your heart? You couldn’t. You literally couldn’t.

It was only inevitable. You were meant to destroy yourself. You had brain power, sure. But connection to yourself? Your soul? A real knowledge of self?

You sniffle. You bite your knuckles to choke the sobs. If someone caught you here, crying in the BAU bathroom on the toilet…you could never live that down. 

You sigh. Everyone was busy with work, packing up to go home, or already in the parking lot.

You were fine. You were safe. This was safe.

Of course, as if you were in a sitcom, as soon as the thought passed your mind, there was a goddamn knock on the door.

“Are you okay in there? I was passing by and couldn’t help but hear…do you need help?”

Spencer.

You shiver. You pull on your sweater as if you can squeeze warmth out of it. 

“I’m-I’m fine Spencer.” And just like that, the portal closed. You detached. If you could get him to leave quick enough, maybe you could touch it again– actually have a chance at feeling it. Releasing it.

Oh, why did you have to go to therapy?

“(Y/N)? You’re definitely not fine, open up.” 

“Spencer, I’m…” You shut your eyes tight. “I don’t want to worry you, so you should just leave.”

His scoff cuts through the mahogany door. “I’m not leaving you. You’re not okay.”

“Spencer, please.” You wipe snot from your nose on your sleeve. Like a toddler. “Leave, please, I just want to be alone.” You beg.

“I–” A dart of hope cuts through your heart. He sighs. “I don’t believe you.” It’s dashed. “Please, let me in, let me help.”

You can’t piece together enough words to form a rebuttal. When did you get a rubber tongue?

“(Y/N), I care. I’m your friend. Let me in.”

You sniffle, a smile tugging at the corner of your lip. He didn’t have to remind you of who he was. 

The smile slips away faster than the millisecond it arrived in. You couldn’t do this alone, and he wouldn’t let you.

There was finally someone in your life who wouldn’t let you.

“You can come in, Spence.”

You stare at his khaki–slacked knees as he slips through the door of the woman’s restroom. 

“I think we’re breaking company protocol.” You say to his patent leather shoes.

“For once, I’m putting personal protocol above that.” He says softly. “Letting you cry in the bathroom alone is against my protocol.”

You close your eyes. “I think I’m damaged goods.” 

“I think you’re way too harsh on yourself.” He pounces.

You open your eyes. “I don’t know how to feel things.” You croak.

“You know more than you know. That’s how the greatest intellectuals feel when they touch feelings. You’re not alone.”

You scoff. “Am I some great intellectual?”

“Stop that.” He cuts in. “You know you are.” He crosses the Rubicon between you, the tips of his toes stopping centimeters from yours. 

“I’ve been there. You have never been alone. And I’m here. To hold this with you.”

You meet his eyes. They’re soft and cold with worry yet there’s a warmth– like the warmth from the taste of home baked cookies. You feel it in your bones.

“To hold this with me?” You ask.

“To hold this with you.” He affirms.

For the first time in a long time, the cork pops from the bottle in the pit of your stomach.

You speak. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Great Escape

Warnings: allusions to non con/dubcon, kidnapping, drugging and other possible dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: Here is another wish! This one with Lloyd.

Please leave some feedback so I know you want me to do more of the wishes I got. Otherwise, I find it hard to keep my motivation.

Wish Corrupted: I wish Steve or Lloyd (dealers choice - I'm feeling indecisive today) would save me from my crazy, stress-filled job and give me more free time to enjoy my hobbies (reading, crocheting, quilting, or baking).

You hit the bar on the door. It doesn’t budge. You look up frantically at the beaming red EXIT sign above. You hit it again, again. You throw your body against the metal barrier, the calm footsteps closing in beneath the rampant puff of your breath.

“Real cute to see ya try, princess, but I’m doing you a goddamn favour,” his voice rolls down the hallways towards you.

You turn, pressing yourself to the door, pushing your elbows back as you continue your struggle to find some give. His shadow is skewed by the emergency lights, the stale office made sinister by the outage. You whimper. Who is this man?

“Aw, you don’t gotta be scared,” he silhouette reaches up with his pistol, scratching his head nonchalantly with the barrel, “but I can’t say it doesn’t fill my balls with joy.”

“Who are you?” You breath, choking on a sob as he struts closer, steps slow but startling. He doesn’t hurry, he knows you have nowhere to go. “Please, I… I didn’t do anything. Don’t hurt me.”

“I told you, kitten, you don’t needa be scared,” he coos, “I’m not gonna hurt you… much.” He snickers, the hall darkening the closer he gets, “I’m gonna do you a real big favour.”

You sink down to your knees. The door isn’t opening. You’re trapped. You put and arm up as you slump against the metal, waiting for the end. This psycho is going to murder you.

“Just don’t move,” he slithers as he stops before you.

He crouches and brings the silencer under your chin forcing it up. You bat your lashes and peer up at him. His face is lost in the dark. He tuts as pushes the barrel firm against you.

“Such a pretty face,” he purrs, “all you gotta do is hold still.”

There is no sudden explosion of gunpowder, no bang, just a prick. You slap your neck and he pulls away, chuckling as he holds up the long syringe. You brace the door with your other arm and whine.

“What was that?” You croak.

“Shhh,” he says, “deep breaths.”

Your muscles slacken, your lungs grow heavy, and your head wobbles. You lean into the door as the strength drains from you, eyelids drooping as the world tilts dangerously. The blackness of your subconscious swallows you up before you collapse.

💉

You come to slowly. Your body is stiff and your head is muddy. Your eyes open bit by bit, taking in the expanse of the strange room. The unfamiliarity fills you with dread. What is this place? How did you get here?

You can’t remember. You groan and touch your head, your hand clumsy, seeming almost detached from the rest of you. It takes all your effort to sit up. You gape at the pink skirt across your lap, the scalloped hem, and the tight cinch of the belt around your waist. You never wore anything like that.

You plant your hand on the cushy mattress beneath you and lean on your arm as you steady yourself. You let your eyes explore. The wooden bedframe, the frilly edge of the sheets poking out from beneath the duvet, the round rug beneath the bed, the matching night table; every piece pristine and exact. Like the replica of a fifties sitcom.

You turn your head. There’s a double-wide dresser with a mirror over it. Your reflection gives you a start. You shift your body to face yourself. You watch as you stand, as if you’re looking at someone else. The pink dress buttons up the bodice, cap sleeves top your shoulders, and a round collar frames your neck. 

You lean forward, hands on the dresser as you gape at yourself. This can’t be. Where are you? Who are you? No more stiff-cut blazer, no tucked blouse, no tailored pants. It’s a twisted joke.

The door opens but you can’t bring yourself to move. You glance at it from the mirror. A man enters but you can only see to his shoulders. He stops just inside the door.

“You’re awake,” he says flatly, “nice to have you back in the land of the living, buttercup.”

The voice sends a shiver through you. You know it. You close your eyes and see the flashing emergency lights, the nearing shadows, feel the cold barrel on your chin. You spin to face the man and look at him head-on.

His hair is slicked back, his sides buzzed, a trim of bristly hair across his lip, a singular flaw in an otherwise handsome face. A stranger, like the woman in the mirror. You grip the edge of the dresser and stare at him.

He laughs and reaches for you. You cower as he caresses your cheek.

“I couldn’t figure out the makeup so you’ll have to do all that,” he says.

“What– what is this?”

He snorts and tilts his head, letting his hand fall down your throat. He inhales as his eyes follow his touch and he plays with your collar.

“Not much of a thanks,” he hooks his finger under the top of your dress and draws you away from the dress. He keeps you close as he watches you placidly, “you’re free, sunshine.”

“What? Free?”

“That corporate wheel was grinding you down,” he intones, “it’s your turn to do the grinding.”

You shake your head. You don’t understand. He sweeps his other arm around you, groping your ass as he pulls you flush to him.

“Keep me happy, and I’ll do the same,” he rocks you with him, “eight hours at a desk or a couple minutes on your knees, I know what I’d choose.”

You blink at him in horror.

“Don’t worry, you’ll have more than enough time to catch up on that book,” he affirms.

“Book?”

He nods towards the bed and you notice the familiar curled corner. The same book you’ve kept on your coffee table for months, the one you never had the time or energy to finish. You gulp and look back at him.

“No more spreadsheets, cupcake,” he winks, “but you’ll damn sure be spreading those legs.”

[kechiwrites]

meant for each other

toxic baby daddy!ghost x reader

3/?

synopsis: after ruining your very rare date night, ghost has some choice words for you.

wc: 2.3k

cw: afab!reader, a bit of dom!ghost, angst, choking, headlock (the hot kind), language, unprotected sex, creampies, jerking off, threats of a facial (is that a thing?), possessive!ghost, threat of cervix penetration (that is a thing, my friend taught me so). no use of y/n ever.

author’s note: for the anon asking for very toxic ghost (i couldn’t go too hard tho, he still wants redemption after all)

read this first for context or don't! It’s pretty stand-alone friendly. mdni

Cutting your date short had been humiliating to say the least. Neil had been polite, but undeniably angry and uncomfortable, slapping his credit card down to cover both of your drinks and your unfinished appetizers before leaving the restaurant. 

The car ride home is filled with a choking tense silence, one Neil only breaks when he pulls into your driveway, putting his car into park behind Ghost’s giant “fuck-off” SUV.

“Look, I get that the co-parenting thing is difficult, but you may want to decide whether you and your ex are really over or not before you decide to go on a date again.” Your chest burns with embarrassment, you’re grown, this should not be happening to you. This night should’ve ended with this man’s head between your thighs at least, now you’ll be lucky if he doesn’t block you before you get through your front door.

You nod along, if only to have whatever painfully awkward lecture he’s trying to give end as soon as possible. “I know. I’m sorry, Neil. He wasn’t supposed to-” You cut yourself off. Obviously Ghost wasn’t supposed to show up to your first date in years, with your son in tow no less. “He shouldn’t have been there. He has a problem with boundaries.” And keeping his hands off your ass in public, apparently.

“Right. Well, I think maybe there’s some stuff you two need to talk about.” Neil is short and dismissive, and sure, you get where he’s coming from but your contriteness is slowly curdling into anger with every pedantic word. 

“Understatement of the goddamn century.” you speak under your breath, “Thank you Neil.” You grit through your teeth, tossing him a half hearted goodbye before you tear out of his car, bone tired and almost shaking with irritation, into your dimly lit driveway. The cream colour of your front door sings to you like a siren, teasing at the peaceful, uncomplicated oasis that lies behind it, at least until you remember what’s in there waiting for you. Neil pulls his car out of your driveway before you can even fish your keys out and you kiss that avenue of relief goodbye forever. 

Your exhaustion seems to double when you cross your home's threshold to find Ghost sitting on your couch, manspreading like he fucking lived there. Like he belongs there. A headache is already beginning to build in the back of your skull, and you just pray to god he’ll say whatever he wants to say quickly and fucking bail. Your skin feels like it’s weighted down when you drop your bag on the carpet by your door, legs heavy as lead while you toe off your shoes.

“Welcome home.” Beyond the rise and fall of his chest and shoulders he barely moves an inch, keeping his attention glued to your television, more eyeballing the sitcom rerun than actually watching it. You were not going to rise to his provocation. He was going to get the silent treatment from you, you wouldn’t utter a goddamn word-

“You were so out of line tonight.” You stomp all over your own vow before you even finish making it, letting your annoyance and his arrogance win out.

You’d meant for your accusation to sound more angry, but your fatigue seeps into every word and sucks out all the venom.

“Sure. Come here.” He spreads his thighs wider, until there’s a, frankly miniscule, space on the couch between his fucking tree-trunk legs, assumedly created for you to sit in.

“You want to act like a fucking child, leave my baby out of it.” You stay rooted to the spot, not because you're tempted to follow his command, you’re just worried you’ll attempt to slap the shit out of the soldier. 

“Our baby.” He grunts, folding his arms across his chest. His bandana is back in place, but somehow he still manages to look petulant. 

You’re going to need to see a doctor about your blood pressure for sure.

“You know what, Ghost? I’m here, I assume Thomas is asleep, so you’re done for the night. I suggest you go wherever the fuck it is you go when you aren’t here making my life hell. Oh and next time-”

“Enough.” He thunders, and your jaw snaps shut. It’s a special talent of his to feel so intimidating even when sitting in the midst of a painfully suburban living room. God knows where he learned it or why. “Come here. I won’t ask you again.” The dark tone of his voice shoots up your spine and pushes your body into action, heart thudding in time with your footsteps. Your ex watches you comply, eyes heavily lidded when you stand in front of him, looking down at the exposed half of his face, the twice broken crookedness of his nose bridge, the long lashes rimming his eyes. 

“What? Do you want?” You hiss, hands balling into fists at your sides. 

“Sit.” You start to obey, you figure you know what he wants and it’s hard to deny him when you’d had hopes of riding the guy you’d met at the convenience store into the sunset. You attempt to straddle him, raising your knee to the sofa before he stops you.

“No.” He murmurs, heavy hand on your shoulder. “Like this.” He pushes you down until you’re kneeling between his thighs. Until he eclipses your vision and the warm, off-white light of your living room forms a halo around his head from above. Ghost makes quick work of his fly, fishing his half hard dick out of the open zipper. He pumps a broad, rough hand over the length of it, working himself over until his erection is full, angry red, and leaking precum onto the tip of your nose. Your gaze bounces from his cock to his face and back again. Eventually, he decides his precum isn’t enough. 

“Stick your tongue out.” He groans, circling a hand around the root of his length, and angling it towards you. You do as you're told, palms sweating where they sit uselessly on your lap. You’re sure you make a pretty picture. Soft, obedient, pathetic. Weak when it comes to him. Weak when it comes to getting what you think you need.

Ghost drags the ruddy head of his cock over the slick pad of your tongue, once, twice, three times, until the salt and skin taste addles your brain. The sound of your spit against his heat under the heavy jerks of his hand fills your ears, shaking loose your last little bit of dignity. All of a sudden you couldn’t care less that the lecture you’d planned to deliver is being swallowed down in favour of drooling over the dripping head of Ghost's dick. You couldn’t care less that he’d ruined any chance of a second date with Nicholas or Nate or whatever the fuck his name had been. 

“Do not move.” He spits, teeth clenched, while he works his hand over his length, his free hand keeps you crumpled below him, so he can fill your sight with the heavy, veined curve of his cock, brushing your lips and the tip of your nose with his knuckles while he fists himself.

His cheeks flush the softest shade of pink and his barrel chest heaves as he gets closer to finishing over your face. Satisfied with your position, he removes the hand weighing down your shoulder and lifts your face. 

“Knees.” You almost sob with relief when you turn to face away from him, letting him carelessly tear your jeans and underwear from your body, exposing the soft, slick lips of your cunt to the open air. 

The solid thunk of his knees meeting the hardwood floor of the living room is the only warning that preempts him breaching the warm clutch of your insides. He fucks into you slowly, slower than you ever thought possible, and you wonder whether it’s to stop himself from coming or to punish you further. His hulking frame bends over you, covering your back with his obscene warmth, even through your clothes. His zipper scratches you when he forces your pussy to accommodate his girth, filling you over and over until you're punch-drunk and gasping, hands slipping against the floor with every hard thrust and grind against you. Ghost’s hips rock and stutter when you cry out, bending further down, bringing his mouth to your ear to hiss at you to shut the fuck up, lest you wake your son. 

You’re stuck oscillating between sighing or crying, stuck wanting to surrender and wanting to fight back, screaming and shouting and grasping at straws to get you the fuck out of this because you’re frightened. You are scared of him, of what he can do and has done. To you, to your son. You’re scared that ultimately, deep down, you are meant for each other. Meant to stay locked to one another, holding hands while you inevitably sink into deep black nothing, choking on each other’s frustrations and wants, your shortcomings and would-be’s. 

Empty and unchanged. Fighting the same fights, wishing the same wishes. 

Then, Ghost speaks your fears into reality.

"You're mine," he huffs over you and you are so thankful he can't see how you need to bite your wrist to stop from moaning aloud. When he finally lets up, leaving your back woefully cold, he clamps his palm around the back of your neck and pushes, until your cheek is crushed against the floor and he can mount you properly, fucking you with what feels like all his strength, his leg hitched up to reach deeper, so deep it almost hurts.

"Hate me all you want now, but that kid back there means you will always belong to me. I will always be the man who gave him to you. No matter what poor sod you try to replace me with, I'll be the one who makes you feel like this. Eventually things will go back to how they're supposed to be.”

It’s probably the most words he’s said all week, in your presence anyway. It chokes you, fills your mouth, your lungs until that familiar drowning sensation threatens to pull you under. But not before you hear him mutter to himself;

“They have to.”

You can barely breathe underneath the pressure Ghost seems to bring with him everywhere. When you don’t respond to his claim (as if you could say anything with him taking your mind apart piece by piece), he hooks his arm around your throat, pulling you up against his chest, which of course, doesn’t make breathing any easier. Ghost drags his teeth over the shell of your ear, dropping his free hand low to draw small, deliberate circles against your clit. Air flees from your lungs while your hips twitch to follow along with his hand. The tip of his dick brushes your cervix and you yelp in response, the inevitable throbbing pain sending a lightning bolt right to your brain, and accompanied with the feeling of breathlessness, the sensation forces you to come over the length of his cock, the slick walls of your pussy clenching tight around him. When his arm finally slackens, you slump in his hold, eager to draw in lungfuls of precious air while Ghost batters the inside of your cunt while he continues to hold you upright. You groan loudly and he covers your mouth with his palm, soaked in your arousal. The light overhead feels like it’s blinding you, your skin feels raw and exposed, nerves on nerves that Ghost plucks and brushes to reduce you to rubble, nothing more than ruins underneath his practiced hands. 

You screw your eyes shut, heavy breaths from your nose are the only thing keeping you from blacking out, your pulse pounds in your throat while your mind tries to catch up with your body. 

Ghost lets his forehead fall to your shoulder and he finishes inside you, murmuring something you can’t hear while his hips knock into yours. He’s tense against you, before his limbs go languid and soft, brushing his half-covered nose against the side of your neck. You bat uselessly at the arm circling your midsection with a shaky fist, urging your ex to release you. It’s too much, you can smell him on your skin, feel him drip down the inside of your thigh, and you need it to be over now. He complies and you fall forward, unprepared for the sudden weightlessness. In a flash, his hands are back on you, grasping at your forearms and pulling you against him. It’s a breeze for him to drag your lax body onto the couch and cover you with the flimsy throw blanket you usually just laid over the back of the sofa. Your mind spins with the change of position. You don’t even know when he’d pulled out of you. 

For now, you’re just content to have the heavy curtain of sleep close on the events of the day, the funny little tragedy that your life has become. Content to have Ghost tuck you in and pull his favourite disappearing act. 

You mumble dreamily; “The invisible boyfriend!” Your arm flailing upwards in a mock flourish. You think that maybe, you hear him laugh at you. A quiet huff of air, muffled by a skull themed bandana. You think that maybe, you hear him flick the lights off in the house, like you usually do before bed. You think that maybe, you hear him check on Tommy in his room, cuddled into what is undoubtedly too many stuffed toys for his tiny mattress. You think that maybe, he sits on the floor by the couch and goes back to watching television while you drift off into a dreamless sleep, resting his head against your blanket-covered knee.

But, like always, he’s gone when you wake up. So maybe what you think you heard doesn't really matter.

series masterlist here

[sibillascribbles08]

Truly the first episode of rottmnt is flat out peak comedy if you consider any of it from Draxum's POV. Like literally it's the most normal day ever. You manage to get back a supply you need to finish off a major experiment after spending years rebuilding your lab from the last time it blew up. The testing phase works. This is great! Then suddenly out of nowhere some intruders announce themselves and they just so happen to be the results of the last experiment (the one that resulted in your lab blowing up). You thought they were dead this whole time. But no, there's your beautiful mutant warriors who proceed to immediately fall flat on their face. They have a human with them (whom you despise) whose first action is to grab onto your prisoner's cage with her teeth and try to rip it open. And just as you're taking that in, these turtles start attacking you, except they really suck at it. You're torn between disappointment and sheer bewilderment at how much they suck. Even the one that was kind of doing okay at hand to hand combat got knocked on his ass by his own sibling. You're starting to feel like you got trapped in a sitcom when all the chaos not only releases all your mutating mosquitos into the wild but also blows up your lab. Again. The first person who blew up your lab was the one you took DNA from to make these turtles and now they also blew up your lab. Why were they even in there? How did they find you? You have no goddamn idea. All of this happened in less than an hour.

[worflesbian]

RIGHT i've watched the first six episodes of enterprise (five if the two-part pilot only counts as one) and i have things to say. take all of them with a pinch of salt bc ive only just started it but i have a sneaking sense that it will continue in much the same fashion.

first of all the backswing from ds9 + voyager's first black captain and first female captain is TANGIBLE. to quote eleanour "girlboss" guthrie-blacksails so many goddamn (white) men here!!! too many goddamn (white) men here!!! not only are they white men, archer and trip specifically are Cowboys in the most "we clearly want to write a classic western" sense. if i closed my eyes and listened to a scene with just the two of them i wouldn't be able to distinguish it from firefly, a show where they purposefully put on cowboy voices because apparently space westerns were all the rage in 2001-2002.

t'pol is really the only woman i would call a main rather than supporting character and her role thus far seems to be emulating the nagging sitcom wife, in that she naysays everything, gets utterly disregarded, is proven right by the end of the episode, and then is immediately disregarded again next episode. i find the idea of vulcans intentionally curtailing human progress into space and humans rebelling against that really interesting, but i hate the way the casting and direction turns space travel into this gung-ho boys will be boys situation because even though t'pol is right, she's being Framed as a killjoy in such a gendered way.

back to the western thing - i watched a Lot of 50s' and 60s' westerns as a child and out of the five episodes of enterprise i've seen so far, three have used tropes or stock situations directly from westerns with the worst offender being s1e6 terra nova. i was fucking gobsmacked by that episode like it was BLATANT. the fact that most of their outdoor scenes are probably filmed in california which is where a lot of westerns are filmed by pure hollywood convenience probably doesn't help, but it's really evident in the writing as well. i remember reading that the original series wanted to take the western frontier into space and make a "wagon train to the stars" and it feels like enterprise decided to go all the way back to that concept and do it far, far less subtly.

of course the problem with this is that rather than engage with the politics of that genre and how they've influenced the formation of star trek (is the federation an imperialist entity? is starfleet a colonialist military? etc) it feels so far that enterprise is just having a great time playing uncritical cowboys and aliens, completely erasing indigenous people from the narrative of westward expansion or replacing them with the non-human which. fucking sucks!!

the fact that t'pol is constantly getting racially harassed and abused as the only vulcan aboard, the fact that hoshi is inexperienced with combat and space travel so its always the men doing the action scenes, the fact that travis is the youngest and least ranking officer on the bridge and the fact that enterprise was "rick berman's baby" are all adding up to a conscious agenda of putting white men at the forefront of trek again.

if i'm wrong about any of this i would love to hear from people who've watched further than me! i dont mind about spoilers i've already had loads

[bigskyandthecoldgun]

electricity

very loosely based off that one exchange from episode 6 of the dhmis show

words: 4,444

ao3

“Closing shift again, Harrington?”

Eddie watches as Steve’s face shifts from muted disinterest to something like annoyance. “Unfortunately for both of us, yeah,” he mutters, a little red in the face as he rips that stupid little sailor hat off his head and tosses it over his shoulder into the Scoops Ahoy break room. Eddie snorts as it misses the table. Steve runs a hand through his hair and cocks a hip so that he’s leaning against the doorframe. “So, what’ve you got for me?”

Patting the massive tubs of ice cream beside him, Eddie gives Steve as wolfish of a grin as he can muster. “For your beloved freezer,” he says with a low bow, and he glances up just in time to watch Steve roll his eyes. Eddie kicks up the dolly the tubs are stacked on and nods at Steve, to the doorway behind him. “Lemme roll these in.”

“You got it?” Steve asks, stepping aside but hovering at the side of the dolly as Eddie wheels it into the back of Scoops. A couple of the tubs wobble—the ones at the top, because Eddie’s stacked it ten high. He’s not making multiple trips. Steve hisses out a curse under his breath and outstretches his hands by the ice cream, as if he’ll be able to save all of them as long as they fall in his general vicinity. “Careful, careful! Jesus, Munson, these are gonna fall on top of you if you’re not careful, ruin that fantastic hair of yours.”

Eddie huffs out a laugh at the definite sarcasm as he wheels the ice cream into the freezer and sighs contentedly at the feeling of cold air on his skin. He started working at Starcourt a little over a month ago, and the summer’s only gotten hotter. It’s ridiculously hard work, carting around shit to different stores and helping out when security’s short-staffed, and Eddie’s not exactly the most fit person around. Years of smoking and skipping gym class will do that to a guy.

But what makes it all worth it, in Eddie’s humble opinion, is that he gets to spend his summer tormenting King Steve, Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, Steve from Scoops Ahoy. It’s a fun little dive into Eddie’s favorite pastime—enacting sweet, sweet revenge. Sure, Steve might not have done anything to him directly, more preferring to stare down his nose at people like Eddie while his lackeys—namely Hagan—did the dirty work for him. Nonetheless, Eddie hates the guy. Well, maybe hate is a bit of a strong word, but he still can’t stand Steve and his stupid hair and his dumb little sailor uniform that has shorts that are way too tight and his dashing smile and his long lashes and his sparkly laugh and—

Bottom line is that Eddie can’t stand the guy. No amount of pretty can fix past slights.

“So,” Eddie says, drawing the word out as Steve heaves the cardboard tubs onto the shelves, and he lets his eyes linger over the cord of taut muscle in Steve’s biceps. Sue him, the guy’s nice to look at. “You got any big plans tonight, Harrington?”

Steve makes a sound that’s about halfway between a scoff and a laugh, with a little bit of contrition mixed in. “Not unless you count sitting on my couch with a lukewarm beer and watching reruns of shitty sitcoms as ‘big plans,’” he says, shifting the tub in his hands to one arm so he can do some sarcastic air quotes, and Eddie blinks. Steve raises a brow at him. “Why, are you offering?”

Willing the heat that’s rushing to his cheeks to screw off, Eddie squints. “To make plans with you? Maybe when hell freezes over, Harrington,” he says, coming off a little more biting than he’d really intended, and Steve’s shoulders tense. A minute change, but a noticeable one. Eddie taps his hands on the now-empty dolly and gives Steve a shit-eating grin. “Well, see you tomorrow, sailor.”

“Can’t wait,” Steve says.

Just as Eddie turns to wheel the dolly towards the freezer door, the power goes out. Shit.

“Jesus H. Christ, can’t catch one goddamn break,” he mutters, fidgeting with the flashlight clipped to his belt until it turns on, and Steve groans beside him. Eddie waves the flashlight around the freezer until he shines it at Steve, who squints and throws his hands up in front of his face, and he snickers. “Looking good, Harrington.”

“Shut up,” Steve huffs, cheeks flushed, and he smacks Eddie’s flashlight until the beam’s directed away from his face. It’s hard to see him now that he’s not directly in the light, but Eddie can still see the way his eyes dart around the freezer, can hear the way his breathing picks up. “Shit. Shit, d’you think—it’s probably just a power outage. Right?”

Eddie snorts. “What else would it be?”

Steve levels a glare at him, and Eddie makes a face back, because he hasn’t said anything wrong, and Steve’s just being a dick. “Okay, well, let’s just…get the hell out of here so we can go home,” Steve says, and Eddie couldn’t agree more, actually. He moves past Eddie to get to the door, and Eddie half-expects him to shove past, shoulder him or something, but he doesn’t; he makes himself small, even, shrinking back and around him. Steve tugs on the handle, but the door doesn’t budge. Uh oh. Steve tugs at it some more. “Wh—oh, you gotta be shittin’ me.”

“Are we locked in here?” Eddie asks, and it comes out as an embarrassing squeak. Steve’s answering groan doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. “Why the hell didn’t you prop it open if it locks from the outside?!”

Sighing as he rattles the door some more, Steve glances back at Eddie over his shoulder. “I didn’t know the power would go out while we were in here, man,” he huffs. “Starcourt uses these fancy electronic locks for all the freezers in the building to keep the cold in them as much as possible, helps keep all the stuff in ’em from going bad, but they’re only supposed to go off after hours.”

“So we’re stuck?!” Eddie asks, and Steve gives the door one last yank before giving up.

“Just ’til the power comes back on,” he says, and Eddie can’t think of anything he’d rather avoid more than being stuck with Steve Harrington for an indeterminate amount of time.

That can’t be true. There’s gotta be a failsafe or something, right? That’s a total fire hazard if it doesn’t have one, and the mall wouldn’t cut corners, would it? Oh, who’s Eddie kidding? A corporation cutting corners is, like, a given. Shit. Shit! “For fuck’s sake,” he hisses, doing some yanking of his own on the door handle, flashlight pointed down at the floor, dangling from his belt, but it doesn’t budge. “Fuck! Shit! Son of a fuckin’ bitch, man!”

“Alright, woah,” Steve says with a nervous laugh, “calm down, man—”

“I’m not gonna calm down, we’re fuckin’ trapped!” Eddie snaps, and Steve winces.

“I mean…could be worse? We could be stuck out there, in the heat…?” he offers, and Eddie affixes him with the most supremely unamused look he can muster. “At least we’ve got each other for company, right?”

He can’t make out a lot of Steve’s face in the dark like this, but just looking in the guy’s direction is enough to annoy him. “I’d get heatstroke in a heartbeat if it meant I’d have the ability to be further than five feet from you,” Eddie tells him.

Whatever expression that garners from Steve, Eddie can’t see. “Harsh,” Steve mumbles, and Eddie barks out a laugh.

“Yeah, okay, pardon me for being pissed off that you didn’t do your job and prop the damn door open!” Eddie snaps, and Steve puts his hands up. That, Eddie can see, can make out the gestures in the way his silhouette moves.

“Dude, how was I supposed to know the power would go out?” Steve asks, clearly exasperated, and Eddie hates that that’s a fair point.

He gestures out, all flappy hands and uncoordinated limbs, and he’s pretty sure he smacks a couple of ice cream tubs in his dramatics. “Because it’s common sense! You don’t let a freezer close behind you, man, haven’t you ever worked a food service job before?!” he asks, and Steve is quiet for a while. Eddie huffs out a humorless laugh. “Of course. Of course you haven’t, because Daddy Harrington probably has enough money to—”

“I’m cut off,” Steve interrupts. “Been cut off for years. He sent me money for basic groceries when I was still in school, but he forced me to get this stupid job when I graduated. Since I didn’t get into any colleges, he wants to teach me a lesson about being too dumb for higher education or some shit. I don’t have his money.”

“Oh,” Eddie says.

“Yeah, ‘oh,’” Steve echoes. “And besides, just because I haven’t worked a job before doesn’t mean you have to be a dick about it. It’s not like the training Scoops gave me was, like, good. Even without a manager, I'm pretty sure we’re not supposed to leave the freezer open.”

That’s…pretty fair, actually. Eddie’s kinda certain he hasn’t seen a manager at Scoops Ahoy since the day the mall opened. And most of his food service job knowledge is based off of sitcoms and movies made for TV that have someone getting trapped in a freezer as a plot device anyway, so who is he to talk?

Still, though, he kind of doesn’t want to give Steve the satisfaction of being right. “Alright, there’s gotta be some way out,” he mutters, grabbing his flashlight to aim it at the doorframe, but there doesn’t seem to be anything. If there is, he certainly doesn’t know what it is. “Shit, shit!”

“Dude,” Steve says, and he sounds a little farther than he’d just been, “chill out. The power’s probably gonna come back any minute now.”

Eddie whirls around, and Steve is sitting on the floor, twirling that stupid sailor hat around his pointer finger. He squints a bit in the beam of light, and Eddie hates that it makes his nose scrunch up all cute and shit. He can’t stand the guy. “You’re infuriating,” he tells Steve, “you know that?”

Lips quirking up in what Eddie’s pretty sure is a sad little smile, Steve shrugs. “So I’ve heard,” he says, and Eddie’s eye twitches. Steve pats the empty spot next to him. “You can sit down, y’know.”

Eddie sits where he is. He doesn’t feel like getting closer to Steve Harrington than strictly necessary, thanks very much. Steve just shrugs, tossing his hat from one pointer finger to the other, and Eddie redirects his flashlight. There’s the soft thump of something hitting the ground, followed by a quiet swear. Eddie snorts. “You drop your hat?”

“Maybe,” Steve says. “You wanna lend me some light?”

“Not particularly,” Eddie says dryly.

Steve just hums. It drives Eddie a little crazy. “Wanna play twenty questions?” Steve asks him, and it’s so goddamn bizarre that Eddie busts out laughing.

“Are you—you’re not serious,” Eddie cackles. “What, like we’re at a high school party? C’mon, man, why the hell do you wanna play twenty questions with me in an ice cream freezer?”

A short pause. “To pass the time, I guess,” Steve says. “You got a better idea? ’Cuz I’m all ears, Munson, really.”

Damn.

Eddie doesn’t have a better idea.

“Okay, fine,” he sighs, “what’s your first question?”

There’s some shuffling, like Steve is sitting up properly, and it’s not endearing, it’s not. If anything, it should be pathetic that he’s so excited to play some dumb party game in the freezer of a nautical-themed ice cream parlor. “What’s your favorite hobby?” Steve asks him. “Like, not the one you do most often, or the one you’re best at, but the one you think is the most fun.”

Eddie makes a face. “You have hobbies that aren’t fun?”

He moves his flashlight over to shine at Steve, who nods. “Yeah, man. Like, I don’t hate them, but they’re not fun. Just something to do to pass the time, or something I do with my dad and his business partners, like golfing,” he says with a shrug. “Go on, answer, what’s your favorite hobby?”

Eddie’s having a hard time getting past the idea that Steve isn’t passionate about his hobbies, but only does them to have something to do for the sake of doing something. Or for the sake of someone else, someone that had apparently cut him off. “Uh,” he says eloquently, “I don’t know. I like all my hobbies.”

Steve tilts his head like a confused dog. It’s dumb. “Really? Huh. Alright, lemme change my question, then. What are your hobbies?”

“I play guitar for my band, I run Dungeons and Dragons campaigns—”

“Oh, shit, really? That’s cool, the kids I babysit play that game, too,” Steve says, and Eddie’s brain screeches to a halt. Steve’s head-tilt gets a little tiltier, and he snaps his fingers. “That’s right, you run the club at the high school, don’t you? Hotfire or something?”

“Hellfire,” Eddie corrects hollowly, and Steve winces apologetically.

“Sorry. Shit gets mixed up in my brain sometimes. Buncha concussions, you know how it is,” he dismisses, and Eddie very much does not know how it is. Steve perks up. “Your turn.”

Eddie is, admittedly, kind of dumbfounded. “Uh, what’s your dream job?”

Frowning, Steve glares down at the tile. “Hm. I don’t know.”

At that, Eddie scoffs. “Oh, c’mon, you can’t be serious,” he says. “Everybody’s got a dream job, man, even if it’s totally outlandish. I mean, I wanna be a bigshot metal guitarist for a world-famous band—preferrably mine—even though I know there’s, like, an almost-zero chance of that happening.”

Steve just shrugs. “Maybe, like, be a teacher or something? But I couldn’t get into college, so…not likely,” he says. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Yellow,” Eddie says, “yours?”

“Swear you won’t laugh,” Steve says, and Eddie blinks at him. Steve crosses his arms. “Munson, swear it.”

“Okay, okay, I promise I won’t laugh,” Eddie says. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Tiffany blue,” Steve answers finally, and, come on, Eddie can’t help it if he chuckles just a little. “You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

Eddie snickers, trying and failing to hide it behind his hand. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just—that’s such a snooty color to pick,” he wheezes, and Steve glares at him.

He drags his hat around in circles on the ground with one finger and pointedly doesn’t look at Eddie. “Yeah, well, I like it ’cuz it’s my mom’s favorite,” Steve mumbles, brows drawn together, and now Eddie feels kinda bad for laughing. Only a tiny bit, though. Steve glances up at him. “If you had to pick a movie world to live the rest of your life in, which would it be?”

That’s…actually a pretty cool question. Not that Eddie would tell him that.

“Um…my favorite movies are horror movies, so those are a no-go,” he says, and Steve laughs. It’s good-natured and nice, stupid and sparkly. Eddie clears his throat. “But, uh, I’d probably go with Star Wars.”

“No way, me too!” Steve says, and Eddie blinks. Steve grins. “I like the one with the little teddy bear guys, you know the…”

He trails off into an impression of the ewoks, and it’s painfully charming. Annoying. Annoying, not charming. “You know those are called ewoks, not ‘little teddy bears,’ right?” Eddie asks, because he’s nothing if not a pedantic asshole, and Steve just smiles at him.

“Eh, tomato, to-mah-to,” he says. “Your turn.”

Eddie tilts his head back. “Who was your first kiss?” he asks, and Steve doesn’t answer for a while, which is weird. There’s this pained look on his face, and he won’t quite meet Eddie’s eye. “What, is it, like, someone you’ve deemed ‘embarrassing?’”

“That’s…not it,” Steve sighs. “It’s just—I don’t want you to, like, flip out and punch me or some shit, man.”

At that, Eddie laughs, but his curiosity is piqued. “Have you seen me, Harrington? I’m a total toothpick. I’m, like, pretty sure if I tried to punch you, I’d break my own arm,” he says. “Who was it, seriously? Some dorky chick you think I know? Is that why you think I’ll flip out?”

“No,” Steve tells him, “it was, um…it was at camp, summer after fifth grade.”

“I asked you who, not when or where,” Eddie says.

“And I don’t know who it was,” Steve shoots back.

Eddie makes a face. “Oh, bullshit, dude, you were at camp with this girl and you didn’t know who she was?” he scoffs. “I mean, I wouldn’t put it past you to forget, but just say you forgot her name, then.”

“I didn’t forget,” Steve tells him, “I don’t know.”

Crossing his arms, Eddie points his flashlight right at Steve’s eyes. “Be so serious. You gotta know. Why else would you think I’d flip out?”

“Because—! It doesn’t matter.”

“Just tell me! You’re not honoring the rules of the game, Harrington, you’re the one who wanted to play—”

“I keep telling you, I don’t know who it was!”

“Bullshit!”

“I never got his name!”

Record scratch.

Steve’s face goes bright red, and he ducks his head so that Eddie can’t see his expression. It’s just as well, because the flashlight clatters to the ground when Eddie drops it, and he hurries to scoop it back up, eyes as wide as humanly possible. There’s no way. There’s no way, right? He’s just doing this to fuck with Eddie, he has to be, that’s—that has to be what it is. It’s eerily silent, and Eddie shines the flashlight at Steve again, swallowing.

It’s audible. It toes the line between gross and annoying.

Eddie toes that line often.

“It was a dude?” Eddie asks, because he really needs some clarification here. “Your first kiss was with another guy?”

There must be something in his tone that he hadn’t intended to put in there, because Steve’s whole posture shifts. His shoulders square, his jaw goes tight, and he looks down his nose at Eddie, even though they’re both sitting on the ground, like it’s a challenge, like it’s a dare. “You got a problem with that, you keep it to yourself,” Steve says, voice carefully even. “We’re gonna sit here and—and we’re not gonna say anything ’til the power comes back on. Game’s over.”

He looks away again. Eddie’s flashlight flickers, and he turns it off, because it they might need it to get out of the mall once the power comes back, in case the timed lights turn off by the time it does. It’s silent for a long while, and Eddie’s kicking himself. He shouldn’t have pried. Shit, now Steve probably thinks he’s a total asshole.

“Sorry for ruining the game,” Eddie says after a while. “My bad, man, really.”

A long stretch of nothing. Eddie calls Steve’s name after another couple of minutes.

“It’s fine,” Steve says quietly. “I don’t know why I didn’t just, like, lie. I usually do, y’know, when that question comes up.”

“If it, um, makes you feel any better, I’m—I haven’t had one,” Eddie offers. “A first kiss, I mean.”

More silence.

“Are you messing with me?” Steve asks, several long moments later, and Eddie shakes his head, even though they’re bathed in darkness, and Steve can’t see him.

He scoots closer, close enough that he can feel the body heat radiating off of Steve without the two of them touching. “Nope. Cross my heart, hope to die, all that good stuff. Haven’t kissed anybody. Not for lack of trying, mind you, but, uh, pretty sure nobody’s exactly jumping at the chance to kiss the town freak, and it’s not like it’d be any good if they did, because, like I said, zero prior kisses,” Eddie rambles. “I’d probably suck at it.”

A light chuckle. Thank fuck. “Probably,” Steve agrees.

“Probably,” Eddie echoes.

They sit in silence for a while longer, though it isn’t uncomfortable this time, which Eddie supposes is a plus. The freezer is just barely less cold, which means the power’s still out, which sucks. How long are they gonna be trapped in here? It’s chilly as hell. How long is Eddie supposed to be trapped in a freezer with Steve Harrington, armed with the knowledge that he’s apparently kissed one whole boy before?

Eddie definitely isn’t straining to see the time on his watch. He definitely doesn’t watch it tick for fifteen whole fucking minutes before Steve speaks up again. “Hey, uh, what happened to your flashlight?” he asks.

“I’m saving the batteries,” Eddie tells him.

A beat. “Saving the batteries…for what?” Steve asks.

“Oh, I was planning on putting them in my Walkman, actually,” Eddie snaps, a little on the sarcastic side, because they’ve been trapped in here for a while, and the freezer is steadily dropping in temperature. Embarrassed, though, because Steve should arguably be the only really upset person in this freezer right now, Eddie barrels on. “Anyway, we may as well get used to being in the dark.”

“Yeah…” Steve murmurs, trailing off, like there’s another thought accompanying it that he just isn’t saying.

Eddie’s brows furrow. “What?”

“Well, it’s just not that great, is it?” Steve hums. “I wouldn’t mind looking at the mall again, and…maybe…looking at you.”

Eddie snorts. “Really? You like looking at me?” he scoffs.

“Uh…yeah,” Steve admits, voice soft. “I suppose I do.”

Eddie feels his face go hot. “Well, I like looking at you, too,” he confesses under the cover of darkness, because it feels a lot safer than it would if he could see the pitying wince that’s probably on Steve’s face right now.

“Oh, yeah?” Steve asks, sounding vaguely pleased, and Eddie doesn’t get him. He doesn’t understand King Steve, Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, Steve from Scoops Ahoy, who apparently babysits D&D-playing kids and likes the ewoks in Star Wars and kissed a boy at camp. Steve’s shoulder presses against his own. “Thanks. For that.”

Eddie swallows. It’s audible again, and he really wishes he knew how to cut that shit out, because it does a hell of a job of giving him away. “Yeah, man, no—um, no problem.”

“You know,” Steve starts, “I could be your first kiss. For practice.”

“For practice,” Eddie repeats flatly.

What an asshole. He should’ve known this was some elaborate setup to get Eddie to admit that all the rumors about him are true, to humiliate him or some shit.

Steve laughs, but it isn’t cruel like Eddie’s expecting. It’s soft, almost embarrassed. “Sorry, I just—that’s how the boy at camp got me to kiss him, figured I’d try the line out,” he says. “Guess I still don’t have my game back.”

“Your game?” Eddie asks, because what the hell is happening right now?

“You know, how I, like, suck at flirting lately,” Steve says. “I mean, I’ve been flirting with you all summer, and it took us getting stuck in a freezer for you to be even a little nice to me. Well, to get you to admit you don’t hate looking at my face, but I’ll take it.”

Record scratch number two.

“I—sorry, what?” Eddie asks, eyes practically bugging out of his head, and Steve shrugs with a quiet laugh. Eddie shakes his head. “Not fucking funny, man, you can’t just—you can’t say shit like that.”

“What, I can’t be honest with you?”

“You’re not—! You aren’t being honest, you’re fucking with me!”

Another little laugh. “Well, I’d like to be, but you don’t seem to like me very much,” Steve tells him. “What’d you say again? ‘When hell freezes over?’ Robin’s gonna have a field day with that ‘You Suck’ board of hers when I tell her I got rejected again.”

Eddie rethinks his entire summer.

Come to think of it, if he doesn’t consider a lot of Steve’s comments to be sarcastic, it actually does come across as incessant flirting.

Son of a bitch.

“How—why are you—what makes you so confident I won’t be an asshole about this?” Eddie asks, utterly bewildered.

Steve tilts his head—the shadows move, he sees the silhouette of Steve’s annoyingly perfect hair sway with the movement. “I mean, considering you apologized for ruining the game after I told you my first kiss was with a dude, figured I’d have nothing to lose except for my pride, of which I have remarkably little,” he says. “I’m pretty much shameless, man. And besides, your whole thing is, like, standing on tables and shitting on everyone else for conforming to society’s expectations, so…it’d be pretty weird if you were homophobic.”

This shit just gets crazier and crazier. “You paid attention to me in high school?” Eddie asks, and his eyes are adjusting to the light now. He can make out the faint, nostalgic smile on Steve’s face.

“Oh, I had the biggest crush on you my freshman year,” Steve tells him. “But, y’know, you made it very apparent you weren’t the biggest fan of jocks, and I’d already joined, like, a bunch of different teams, so—”

Eddie cuts him off by practically smashing his mouth against Steve’s, all jittery nerves. He’s not a very good kisser, but Steve lets out a tiny, pleased hum anyway as he lifts his hands to Eddie’s waist, tugging him closer just slightly. It’s insane. It’s bizarre. By all rules of both basic logic and the Munson Doctrine, this should not be happening. Steve Harrington should not be carefully and softly moving his lips against Eddie’s, but here they are.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie breathes, pulling back, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You’re kind of an asshole,” Steve tells him, and Eddie can’t really argue with that, “but, uh, I’m sorry, too. The whole pigtail-pulling strategy really doesn’t work with you, huh?”

The mental image of Steve tugging his hair does something to Eddie that he’s a little too ashamed to admit. “Um,” he manages, “yeah.”

“Sorry about all of high school, then,” Steve says, and he kisses Eddie again.

And just as Steve’s hand snakes underneath Eddie’s shirt, the lights in the freezer come back on, and cold air begins to blast through the vents.

Once again, son of a bitch.

[taylorswiftaylor]

TAG GAME: EIGHT SHOWS TO GET TO KNOW ME

Thank you for tagging me Benita @tisdae 💖

House of Anubis: The first show that I've watched every episode of. I used to watch it on Nickelodeon bcs it was before the streaming era and every episode had a cliffhanger which made me wait till the next day. I think this show got me into watching shows.

Sherlock: One of the best shows I've ever watched! The way Benedict Cumberbatch embodies Sherlock Holmes is just perfect and the plot never fails to amaze me.

Friends: Everyone's favorite sitcom, I love this show so much! It has helped me on the worst days of my life. Every time I need a pick up, I go to watch Friends

Succession: Amazing show, literally TV excellence right here! The comedy parts of this show is more hilarious than actual comedy shows. The plot is so outstanding and the casting is so precise like every actor really knows how to play their part.

The Summer I Turned Pretty: The most feel-good show ever! It really gives a cozy feeling to me, my hopeless romantic self loves this so much.

Only Murders in the Building: For starters, Selena Gomez is in it and the genre is Mystery and Comedy? I'm solddd! Loved it since the beginning!

Pretty Little Liars: This show got me into binge-watching! Love how it makes me guess everything. Love the couples, especially Hanna & Caleb.

Ramy: I relate to most parts of this show bcs it portrays a Muslim living as a minority. It also makes me laugh a lot! Love the cast too.

Tagging: @dearmirrorball @delicatetaylorsversion @chiara-swiftiedreamer13 @explorerswiftie @sparklezfallsinlovewithbooks @ohh-goddamn @stars-alinged @coffeeisaritual @mymagician @everlorelover @afterglow-of-lover @ts1989fanatic @endupsomehow @clearlypositive @scaredofghosts 🖤

[gaykarstaagforever]

I just watched When the Wind Blows (1986). Yes, because this guy did this video.

Do you know that 90s BBC sitcom Keeping Up Appearances? Sure you do, it was a plague on the entire English-speaking world for 5 years. Well. Have you ever wondered what it would be like to watch Hyacinth and Richard slowly die of radiation poisoning for an hour? Of course you haven't. But that's basically what When the Wind Blows is. Written and illustrated by the guy who did The Snowman.

Yes. THAT The Snowman.

His next project was exploring the existential horror of quaint British bumbling vs. the nuclear holocaust. And the same people turned it into another TV movie.

Featuring the music of Roger Waters, David Bowie, and Genesis. Because sure, thing I never heard of before today. Someone on staff was friends with an agent.

The animation is a combination of hand-drawn and real object stop-motion, which makes it feel like a CG animated film, which it isn't, because it's 1986. The sound editing is also amazing, the voice actors acoustics changing as they move through an animated house. If you are an animation nerd, you already know about this movie. If you aren't, go watch it free on Tubi and see some goddamn brilliance.

People call it England's Grave of the Fireflies. Fair enough, but Grave came out two years later. I'm not saying it ripped off this obscure English TV cartoon. It was just that people in the 1980s were concerned about dying in nuclear fallout, for some reason.

Grave hits me harder. But that is because it is about little children; if you prefer adorable elderly people, this will hit you just as hard.

The way the couple here interacts is fantastic. While these are supposed to be Greatest Generation members from England in the 1980s, most of you will immediately recognize their terrible banal overconfidence in the midst of abject ignorance. Regardless of the specifics of what they're saying, you will recognize friends or family in these people. As you watch in horror as a woefully unprepared government gives them bad advice about how to survive what is an utterly inevitable death.

This is a delightful, horrifying, funny, brilliant, sad movie about people who are simply too average to survive the End of Days. And as that probably describes 99% of us, we should all watch this.

Poor bastards, the lot of us.

[acircusfullofdemons]

ETERNAL LABYRINTH: AN INTRODUCTION

It is, officially, the 7 year anniversary of when I made Eternal Labyrinth. Yippee! So, to celebrate, here's a hopefully coherent introduction to the shit that's taken over my life for. seven goddamn years holy shit.

Eternal Labyrinth is the overarching name for my main 3 paracosms: Phantasmagoria, Mad as a Crow, Fractured Fables. They are all connected thanks to Multiverse Bullshit! The 3 also have AUs  that are semi-canon, in which they have crossovers and the characters interact with each other. The AUs are:  the Mad Rabbit AU (MaaC/FF), the Tamagotchi AU (Phantasmagoria/FF), and Constellations (Phantasmagoria/MaaC).

A quick rundown of what each paracosm is about: 

Phantasmagoria: VRVerse || Major oddcore/weirdcore/dreamcore vibes, literally almost anything can happen. Behaves like a video game most of the time, I suppose.

Mad as a Crow: Superhero Universe || A terrible DC/Marvel crossover that’s trying to have one coherent storyline with consistent characters.

Fractured Fables: FairytaleVerse || Fanfiction I don't feel guilty for writing because all of the source material is in the public domain. Quite literally my city now.

You can find me talking about each paracosm on these blogs: 

For Phantasmagoria only content, go to @acircusfullofdemons.

For Mad as a Crow only content, go to @madasacrow.

For Fractured Fables only content, go to @fractured-fables.

Each paracosm exists inside each other, if that makes sense?? It’s kind of like the Nickelodeon Sitcom Universe. They are both real events and also taking place on a reality show at the same time.

Phantasmagoria is a video game, Polybius, that can be played at JoyHall Arcade.

Mad as a Crow is a comic book series/company, Mad Crow Comics (similar to DC or Marvel).

Fractured Fables is a tv show, Toybox Tutors, aimed towards children.

When doing crossovers, the general vibe is “oh hey, this is like that [media] I like, just slightly to the left”. The only exception is for things like the APOCALYPSE AU, where the ‘cosm they’re from doesn’t really matter as they’re all put in a Situation.

WORLDS & DIMENSIONS

HUBS

The (Dimensional) Hub — All dimensions are tied together due to “The Hub”, aka Earth I. The Hub is an endless void that often takes the form of an empty arcade or mall. Each dimension also has its own unique door and key.

Player Hub — A mini version of the Dimensional Hub, except now it’s suited for a singular person. Everyone that has played Polybius has one.

DIMENSIONS

Holius — Space, primary home to Aliens.

Heaven — Primary home to Angles, mirror of the Netherworld.

Earth I — The original earth. Used to be full of animals before Vitalis added humans.

Earth II — Thisverse/our earth, no magic or supernatural creatures. Mirror of Arcadia.

Earth III — The apocalypse, technical ‘sequel’ to Earth II.

Earth IV — Magic exists, but only in specific locations. Supernatural beings also exist in secret.

Arcadia — Supernatural beings are the majority. Mirror of Earth II.

StoryBrooke — Where various fairytale & classic lit characters live.

Avalon — Fae realm.

Cyberspace — Dimension made by Genesi H. Voltrian. Only Computer Errors can enter.

Mirje — Dimension made by Myriam Travers/Bloody Mary. Only Spirits can enter.

Netherworld — Primary home to Demons. Mirror of Heaven.

Afterlife — Specifically the Arcadian afterlife. Primary home to Spirits.

The VoiD — A pocket dimension that people can clip into on accident, basically the Backrooms. Often used for storing unwanted stuff/trash. 

SPECIES

Aliens —Extraterrestrial/celestial beings.

Aquaentians — Aquatic supernatural creatures.

Computer Errors — Sentient Errors that spawn within Cyberspace. They can only be created if an existing CE kills you AND takes your Soul into Cyberspace — the process won't work otherwise. Because of this, some may see them as a subtype of Spirit, though as they're still relatively new classification is still being debated. Their appearance is very upsetting, often giving people headaches, and they make circuit-like markings under their eyes / neck / shoulders.

Dragons — A now extinct species.

Gods — So, this one brings up the concept of religion in Arcadia as the Gods are a part of their own pantheon and such, but that's not really related to this topic. They are omnipotent & omniscient in their specific domain (ie; the god of nature knows everything about nature, but very little about space). Gods can be either born or given their powers from another God.

Onerioi — Personified dreams & nightmares.

Puria— Angels, Demons, & Faed.

Humans

Avians — Humans with wings.

Cambions — Hybrid between Human & Demon.

Dhampir — Hybrid between Human & Vampire.

Elementalists — Humans that can control an element.

Empaths — Humans that can control an emotion.

Halflings — Humans that can turn into animals, basically werewolves / werecats / shapeshifters.

Regular / Purebloods — Humans with 0 magical ability or Zaryis DNA.

Seers — Humans that can see Spirits.

Witches — An old term used to refer to a Human that uses magic. By now this is the standard / expectation.

Reapers — Zaryis that takes Souls to the Afterlife.

Grim Reapers — Reapers that take anyone.

Ritions — Reapers that take those who died of famine.

Valkin — Reapers that take those who died in battle.

Pestis — Reapers that take those who died of sickness.

Spirits

Ghosts

Poltergeists

LORE

I’m gonna…try and keep this brief, but y’know. I’ve had this for about 7ish years so it’s kind of a Mess.

ORIGINS — Everything on Earth I was fine and chill until Vitalis (God of Life) introduced Humans. After some conflict between the Humans and Sentient Animals that previously lived there, a pair of twins get separated from one another. Theia (Goddess of Death) and Vitalis take in a twin each: Theia with Shadow, and Vitalis with Lumi. Ketrill (King of Shadows/Darkness) & Eloise (Queen of Light) are also made by the Gods, in order to protect the twins. Ketrill cares for Shadow, while Eloise cares for Lumi. Each twin is cared for by their patron until they almost die. Shadow is revived and Lumi is made immortal. The twins manage to reunite, and all is well until Vitalis grows jealous of their friendship, because he and Theia can’t really be together. So, he sets out to kill the twins. With Emory’s (The Librarian/God of Knowledge) help, Theia, the twins, Ketrill, and Eloise manage to escape Earth I. Unfortunately, they all get separated. 

CROSSFIRE — Shadow, now named Nox, winds up on Earth II. His memories have gotten wiped, forgetting about his supernatural origins, and lives a normal life until Emory finally finds him, where he’s then taken to Earth IV while Emory searches for the rest of their little family. While there, Nox meets Jake, an Angel shoved into a Human body as an experiment of sorts. The two team up to unravel the mess of supernatural shit going on. 

FAUX PIXIES — Lumi, now Lucien, and Eloise, wind up in Neverland together with their memories intact. They live as Fairies in Pixie Hollow, with Lucien longing for her twin, wondering if he even made it out alive. Despite her oncoming depression, Lucien befriends Captain Hook, and helps him ward off Peter Pan from time to time. After helping Wendy attempt to get her brothers back, Lucien discovers that Fifi (Goddess of Time) has trapped StoryBrooke in a time loop thanks to a deal she made with Blake Grimm. Unfortunately, Lucien doesn't have the power to stop her. So the loop keeps going and she's kinda scared her & Eloise will get stuck in it and lose their memories. 

REUNION — Thankfully, the two wind up reuniting with Emory after arriving in StoryBrooke. He takes them back to Earth IV, where Nox is. While Emory was away, Nox had managed to get most of their memories of Earth I back. He also reunited with Ketrill! After Emory gets Theia from Arcadia, the gang's all back together and helps Nox piece a few more things together. Of course, there’s still the problem of Vitalis, who’s been mainly focused on Nox but now that they’re all together? Yeah he’s not gonna be happy.

THE FIGHT — The twins get the idea to take the fight to Vitalis. Theia tries to advise against them, but basically everyone agrees that he needs to be stopped sooner than later. The only problem is, how do you kill Life himself? The answer: with Death herself! Though Nox and Lucien did most of the fighting against Vitalis — with Ketrill & Eloise’s help — Theia is the one to land the final blow. Her and Vitalis exchange some words, he basically apologizes and explains he just wanted to be with her, but clearly he did it all wrong. Theia extracts his soul/essence and becomes the Goddess of both life and Death. Earth I, and the rest of the multiverse, can finally know peace. Kind of.

CURRENT — Upon Vitalis' death, Nox and Lucien are granted godhood, with Nox becoming Entropy — god of chaos — and Lucien becoming Harmony — goddess of order. As Harmony, Lucien now has the power to order Fifi to stop the time loop in StoryBrooke, which she finally does. Still concerned over StoryBrooke, Harmony asks her family to help keep everything, well, harmonious. Without the time loops, then the Fables will have children and more Tales will take place. Given that she used to be Tinkerbell, this is a valid concern for her. Emory, too, as he was Cheshire. Not wanting his role anymore, he gives it to Entropy, who is ecstatic to be one of their favorite literary characters. Harmony, meanwhile, decides to settle into Neverland, so she can keep an eye on Peter Pan and help any other Lost Kids who wind up there.

tldr: life & death get a divorce and have a custody battle so bad it becomes the entire multiverse's problem

And that’s it! I guess. I know that doesn’t seem like much, but y’know. Side-stories and multiple other paras that don’t have anything to do with the actual plot … well, this is all technically going on in the background of all my other paracosms. so. really, THIS has nothing to do with the plot lmao.

[swearyshera]

Advance apology for the long ask in a likely sea of 'em. A lot of people talk about wishing they could experience something they love again for the first time, this series was genuinely as close to that as I've ever felt. Just given the span of time my attention flucuated on and off but once the latter half of s4/s5 began my attention was absolutely nailed to your feed. Its up with Dragon Ball Z Abridged as parody series that become so dramatically effective they become a valid or definitive way to experience the series. Goddamned sensational.

Your portrayals of the characters soar. They provide a hilarious, cruder take on each that still cuts right to the soul of who these people are and lays it bare, which I think is the mission of any good-natured parody. Adora, Catra, Glimmer, Scorpia, Bow, Prime etc. There is not one that does not shine. It tackled a ton of issues and misgivings I had about canon, and even elevated or clarified many scenes and arcs through addressing them a more direct fashion. You took full advantage of not having to dress up and dance around the dark subjects canon was sort of doomed to handle inadequately given its age bracket and thematic priorities. Many scenes were jawdropping. Ive raved about it before, but your scene with Glimmer actually talking about her mom with Catra still leaves me gobsmacked every time I reread it. Your big moments towards the finale btwn Adora and Catra are obviously sublime and tie their wonderful arc off fantastically, but in my heart of hearts that cell talk will be the crown jewel of this project. Loved seeing the LGBT message take center stage in way canon had to hold back. To paraphrase Tolkien, I'm can't count myself among those gifted people, and youve def got a target audience in mind, but if youve ever worried if your stories resonate on a quote unquote "more universal" level, I promise you can put those worries to bed. Since becoming an adult ive intentionally sought out more and more queer-inclusive/created stories and I havent regretted it a bit, and the rising tide of fascist sexist/homo/transphobic bile in politics gets more and more frightening. But I've also seen how strong and resilient LGBT people are in the face of it, empowering themselves in no small part thru stories like yours. Please don't ever give up on your art. The world needs artists like you. Sorry if I come off pretentious or condescending, I feel like that when I try to get everything I think out at once. I'll be among the first to come running if you ever start another project like this or make something on an even grander scale. Thank you a thousand times for this. Also writing a wholeass sitcom pilot based on an offhand quasi-joke I made is the most weirdly touching thing I think anyones ever done "for me" (at least nominally cuz of me), especially a stranger. So thank you for that too.

Aw, you'll make me cry, you know! I think you've understood everything I wanted to do with this strip (or at least, when I started thinking beyond just 'characters saying fuck'), and... yeah, it's been an incredible journey, both for the blog and for me personally.

I've always tried to keep the parody good-natured. You can often tell, particularly in parody, when the creator dislikes one particular character (I mean, Horde Prime was probably the exception here), but I love all of them, so it really comes from a place of love. It's quite odd because I never set out to "fix" the show, and I wouldn't want to, but some things I've done seem to have had such an impact that a lot of people think I have done just that.

The Glimmer/Catra conversation is absolutely one of my favourite things I've written from this. It's such a pivotal moment in both their stories and character development, and I am truly humbled that multiple people have called it 'better than canon'. Like... I'm just some person trying to be funny and occasionally serious, and people are saying something I wrote is better than what a team of experienced professional writers did? Give over, no... But it's still a moment I can be proud of.

I won't be stopping writing things. This whole blog has given me a new lease of life and something to aim towards. I've got an excellent pilot script pretty much finished, and I do want to bring Hellspawn up to that standard too (thank you for suggesting someone make a Sweary Frosta sitcom - I'm someone!). That may well involve a complete re-write, but I'll be sure to share it.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your kind words along the way. It really keeps me going :)

[unlikely-course]

Does anyone else ever think about how like the specter of Allison’s bisexuality haunts the show just as much and in the same sort of way as big, painful things that are shaping the narrative but are never directly seen, like say her and Patty’s childhoods or Chuck’s violence?

It’s most apparent to me in her talking about high school—like her only friends were devoted church girls! Swimming was very important to her but those girls “didn’t really like her” because she was “too competitive,” there’s something about that (ostracization, perceived aggression, actual aggression as a deferral of some other emotion). She liked Sam, and she also liked feeling like she was beating his girlfriend (but also anxiously assured herself that it wasn’t so awful because they weren’t friends). Like, it's not not a thing a straight girl would ever think, and certainly can’t be divorced from Allison’s insecurities, but still…when Sam tells Allison that he told Jenn, the first thing she says, the first thing we hear in that scene, is her saying “does she hate me?” Once again, it’s something that’s very Allison to say generally, but also…!

Then there’s everything about Kelly (another woman Allison talks to while she’s on a porch smoking), clearly admiring of her (among other, murkier things), bringing swimming back up again, bringing up paths not taken, precipitating Allison’s vicious self-recrimination in City Hall. Kevin punishing her for daring to pay Allison attention.

Do you ever think about the thing Patty says to Tammy in the “let it be hard” conversation, where she says “I have cable, okay? I know we’re all fine with everything now”? The way that communicates to me having lived a past that was so intensely hostile to Patty being queer that she had to reject it immediately and totally and not even so much as think about it…and then living through the world around her changing as though that pain had never happened to her, as though she’s the weird one for hanging on to what protected her. It's like double for Patty, too, Miss “Good Catholic repression takes time,” who fucking hates having her emotions seen or talking about them—MHI’s delivery of “it’s embarrassing” tears my heart out of my chest every goddamn time. And then how this scene is the first of a specific sequence—we go right from there into the sitcom scene with the band, how she can’t be in the band because she can’t be “one of the guys” (bonus rejection of even the suggestion of gayness in “you can’t have a girl in a band named Jenny McCarthy Tank Top”) but she can’t be seen fully as a woman either (calling her a “half-chick”). It’s important that this scene comes between the scene with Tammy and the tub scene, because when she realizes at the end that’s she falling in love with Allison, it’s not just about the terror of the new feelings, possibly jeopardizing their relationship, or her belief that Allison won’t return the feelings. It’s that being this way and feeling these things are impossible in this house, in this world that she’s lived in, and she has to go to this new world with Tammy to even feel this way at all.

Do you ever think about how Allison also lived in and stayed in that same old world? When Kevin starts the fire in the trashcan it’s his symbolic attempt to destroy her, but it’s also a little tour of things he’s already taken from her. He puts in three things that we see specifically. He puts in Allison’s purse (the money he stole from her) and we see at the end he burns her passport (identity, freedom of movement, dreams he specifically sabotaged and mocked her for, like going to Paris). But what’s the first thing he put in there? A coat! Warmth and comfort and safety. But it’s not just any coat: it’s her fucking. bisexual-colored. coat.

It’s immediately apparent in the show that Allison is so fucking hungry for any minute of consideration Patty will give her, any conversation, any touch or glance or laugh. She works so hard to make Patty like her. Part of this is because she’s been almost totally alone for like ten years and desperately needs any kind of human contact or support that actually sees her. Part of it is because she needs Patty to do things for her, to help her with her plan.

But also.

Also, Allison just fucking loves to talk to her. She thinks she’s funny, and cool, and confident—and as we will learn later, she’s still at that bar wishing this cool, confident girl would sit down and talk to her. What she wanted fifteen years ago she still wants now; it doesn’t go away no matter how many times she’s been rejected or she’s packed it up. It’s still there. She just wants more and more time with Patty because things come easier and feel better with her than with anyone else.  Whatever nebulous, insurmountable thing lurked between her and other women her whole life, even before Kevin, just isn’t there, despite the fact that Patty invokes it specifically (“You’ve never had girlfriends, have you?” “I have you”). And the thing between Allison and other women is the thing that’s between her and everybody but also it’s not, it’s something else enormous and painful and awkward until she’s with Patty and it goes away, or maybe it changes, or maybe it just finally finds a space that it fits. Maybe it’s a starving thing that’s finally being fed.

At the end of 2x08 when Patty stands up on the step, I see her standing on the step in 1x07 in front of Tammy, with Tammy telling her it isn’t a big deal, Tammy telling her that if she was the right person, Patty would kiss her without thinking or worrying who could see. And I know now what the tub scene told me, that Allison is the right person, and I know that Patty would kiss her right now without thinking or caring what anyone thought. But I also remember how painful that was for her in 1x07.

When Patty goes down the stairs and takes that step towards Allison, I see her take that step towards Allison in 1x08 during the argument, when Allison could not finish that crucial sentence and Patty moved forward hopefully, and asked “What?” But Allison couldn’t answer then. She tried, as hard as she knew how, but she couldn’t get her head around it. She didn’t have the language to talk about what she was barely even aware of, much less understood. So in 2x08 Patty takes that step and that good long look at Allison and knows that she’s still not there yet, that she hasn’t really even begun to unpack that yet even though she’s been through so much and grown so much in other ways. And Patty’s not gonna press it, and she’s not going to tell Allison something Allison needs to figure out on her own. She’s not going to make Allison talk about this before she’s ready any more than Allison is going to make Patty stop eating burgers or move out of her house. When Allison says “I miss you,” and Patty says “I know,” well, she knows a lot of things now about how Allison feels because Allison has demonstrated that to her, and she’s decided she can handle waiting for Allison to be ready, because they have time. After all, they’re dying alone together.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 33

Sequel to Unsolicited

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, car sex, Lloyd being the worst, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“Making friends?” Lloyd’s terse greeting is exactly what you expect.

You sigh as you approach him bracing the door frame as he blocks your way. Your other hand goes to your lower back and you groan. You just want to sit down. 

“Neighbour saying hi,” you match his tone, “excuse me.”

You gesture past him and take a step forward. He doesn’t budge and you lean back on your heel. He stares off over your shoulder.

“Lloyd, please, I was only being friendly–”

“Well, you shouldn’t be friendly to him. Tight ass and his goddamn hedges.”

“What? Would you please move? I need to sit down.”

His eyes fall to you and he squints, “what did he say?”

“Please,” you growl between your teeth, “your daughter is about to break my back.”

Exactly as you expect, the mention of the baby defeats him. He relents but not without an air of reluctance. He lets you through and closes the door slowly behind you. As you waddle through, you pause and glance back at him. He continues to watch through the window beside the door.

“Jeez,” you grumble and carry on, the cinnamon tempting a growl from your stomach.

You find the table already set for two. You’re even more surprised by that. You sit and struggle to get comfortable in the stiff seat. You’re almost out of breath as you try to adjust your posture around your stomach. You still have a few more months to go. You’re going to get even bigger.

Lloyd enters as you reach for the platter of pancakes and he swipes them up before you can. He puts three on your plate as you watch him dully. You feel that familiar twinge in your back. You should’ve stretched a bit longer this morning.

“Orange juice?” He offers.

You nod and plant your elbow on the armrest as you cradle your stomach. You don’t think you’ll be doing too much today. You don’t have the energy or the tolerance.

“You okay, peaches?” He asks as he pours the juice.

“Fine, just… damn kid likes to sap up my lifeforce,” you huff, “a lot like her father.”

He smirks proudly. It wasn’t meant to be a compliment but he takes even the merest mention of himself as such.

“So,” he sits, pulling up his chair as he fills his own plate, “names? I’ve been thinking of names. Now we know it’s a girl.”

“Lloyd, we have time,” you add a pat of butter to your stack, “can’t it wait? Preferably when I’m not eating?”

“No time better than the present.”

You hover your hand toward the syrup, just out of your reach the table presses to your bump. Lloyd shifts to help and slides it closer until you grip the neck. You notice how he eyes up your stomach. Ugh. Men are so fucking weird.

“Please don’t start with all those cliches,” you sniff as you drizzle the syrup, mouth watering at the scent of sweet blueberry.

“Look, I gotta be ready. Every dad needs a repertoire of jokes and–”

“Do you think you're cute?” You interject, “because you’re not. We both know this isn’t a goddamn sitcom. Neither of us is cut out for this.”

“Speak for yourself,” he says as he cuts into the fluffy pancakes. They are surprisingly well done. “I’ve been on some dad forums, you know? Trying to brush up. You see, peaches, I’m a Harvard man. I don’t do anything without extensive research. My job ensures that I always have the relevant intel.”

“That’s all fine and dandy, but babies don’t abide by whatever’s written in books or on forums,” you cut out a triangle and bite into it. Oh my god. You nearly roll your eyes back in delight. So fluffy and tasty. “Is this buttermilk?”

“Uh, yeah, mom’s recipe.”

“Wow, pretty good,” you shove a forkful into your mouth. You focus on your urgent hunger, smothering your agitation with the flavour of cinnamon and berries.

“Thanks, uh… well, anyway, names. How do you feel about something old fashioned? Like Elizabeth or–”

“Marion?” You offer.

He grimaces and drags the tines of his fork around the edge of the plate, “okay, fine, how about something more modern.”

“How about we table this talk until I care?” You ask, “apparently you’ve been thinking about this for a while and I haven’t even had a chance.”

“You haven’t? Not at all?”

“Not really,” you shrug as you shift in the chair, “you know, I’ve had other things on my mind.”

“Besides our daughter?”

“No, just… the name, that’s not exactly the most important part– Arghhh.” You drop your fork as you back spasm, “fuck me.”

“Gladly,” he kids even as he gets to his feet, “peaches?”

You sit back and touch your back, “it’s fine. I’m fine. It’s just this damn– stomach. Pulling on my muscles.”

“Shit, do you need help?”

“No, I’m good,” you grit out as you sit up, shakily grasping the arms of the chair, “It was just a spasm.”

“If you need to lay down–”

“I can finish breakfast,” you insist as you grab your fork, squeezing it tight as you force your hands to stop trembling, “thanks. It’s pretty good, actually.”

“Actually?” He repeats as he lowers himself cautiously back into his chair, watching you warily, “you didn’t think I could figure it out? It’s just reading directions. I’m used to giving them but I can take some from time to time.”

“I just assumed since you brought me all the way here to do just that.”

“Easy excuse,” he smirks, “I just liked seeing you in an apron… and not much else.”

“You like seeing me suffer. Let’s be honest.”

“Depends on the suffering.”

“Mmm,” you poke the pancakes and bolster through another pang, “how about… Abigail? That’s a nice name.”

“Abigail?” He scowls, “no, I don’t like it.”

“Hmmm,” you chew your lip. You really don’t care but you don’t want him to see how much pain you’re really in. You want to finish your food without him crowding you, “Suzy?”

“Suz–” he nearly chokes, “Suzy? Definitely not.”

“Oh? You know a Suzy?” You wonder.

He smirks, a subtle slant of his lips. He shrugs and waves off the suggestion, “I just don’t think that sounds right. Suzy Hansen… ew.”

“Alright, well, you seem to have a list prepared, so let’s hear them.”

“Funny you say that, because I do,” he reaches into his pocket and takes out his phone, “let me just find it.”

You grumble and have another bite, counting the pancakes left on the platter. You’re definitely going to have at least one more. If you have to entertain his fatherly farce, you’re going to need something to make it palatable.

💎

You lay on the couch, propped up against several pillows as the television blears in your eyes. You’re not really paying attention. The agony jabbing into your spine keeps you from doing much but wallowing. Besides, you don’t really care about the show. Without Harlan there to make his wise observations about the bug eyed boy, it’s just not as interesting.

You can hear the low tone of Lloyd’s voice through the walls. He’s not loud enough to make out his words. You figure he’s on a call or something. Maybe he’ll be leaving for another mission soon. What then? Another month away and another month closer to your doom.

You close your eyes as the sky begins to dim slowly outside. The cool breeze flows in from the open windows and eases you slightly. That’s the only thing that helps is relaxing but you find it harder and harder to do.

The moment of peace doesn’t last. The chime of the doorbell goes off and you groan. You contemplate getting up but can’t. Whoever it is, they can go away.

It rings again, drawing tight the tension in your muscles. Go away! No one’s home.

You hear a door and footsteps. You sense Lloyd in the foyer and hear him snarl as his fingertips tap across the tablet. He sighs.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” He snarls.

“Who is it?” You call lazily, putting a hand up on the back of the couch.

“I told you not to talk to that fucker.”

“Lloyd,” you push yourself up slightly and bite down on a grunt, “who is it?”

He doesn’t answer you as the front door swings open and you drop your head back in exasperation. You can’t even get yourself up to follow him. You just rub your forehead and wait. Shit, you know who it is. He said he’d be dropping by but you totally forgot.

You feel awful but maybe Lloyd will chase Andy far enough away that you won’t have to worry. As nice as he is, you just don’t need another stressor. Nor do you need your husband finding another reason to gripe.

You watch the screen, trying to unravel the argument between the two blondes and huff. You wiggle your toes as your impatience builds and builds. You hope it’s okay.

Fuck, as if you don’t know Lloyd well enough. He’s probably starting a fight. He wouldn’t do too bad on one of these sleazy shows.

You hold your breath and force yourself to sit up. You better go make sure there isn’t blood on the pavement. As you get to your feet and turn, the front door slams and Lloyd stomps through with a box in his arms.

“Jerk off,” he snaps as he turns into the living room and strides toward you.

“What’s going–”

“Baby clothes,” he drops the box onto the chair, “that fucking asshole. Acting like such a good guy.”

“Why are you so upset?” You ease yourself back to cushion and hiss.

He stops and grips his hips as he looks at you. He pulls the earbud out and lets it dangle by his collar. He runs his fingertips along his jaw and sighs.

“I just… I don’t exactly get along with that jackoff,” he puffs, “look, peaches, I know you’re not going to listen to me but you should steer clear of him.”

“I didn’t– I just said hi.”

“Yeah, well…” he waves to the box as he pivots on his heel, “next time, tell him to fuck off.” He shakes his head and grabs the earbud, shoving it back into place, “I’m in the middle of a job. We’ll trash all that after.”

[whileurmine]

@icarian-carrion

he hadn't meant to. he really didn't. he was just driving, aimlessly. the equivalent of doing rounds if he had been allowed to go back to work already. just a few more weeks. he was driving and looking around and not thinking about much and, there was this guy, this guy just fucking walking around town in a plaid pink skirt god it didn't just ruin frank's goddamn mind. ripped him of the ability to think straight, stole him of the capacity for rational thought. he turned the car around and drove home willing himself to force white noises where now was this fucking guy. it was the whole day, even, drinking milk straight out of the carton while willing himself to replace the thought with some image of tisha's body. sitting through a bad sitcom while ignoring the voice of at the back of his mind that kept insulting him for no discernable reason. laying in bed with the love of his life — was he even allowed to think of her like that already? god, even his fucking thoughts were fucking stupid — his arm around her body, while anxiety prickled his skin, "baby, can i," frank was almost tired of it. this whole thing where he asked her something that seemed so very obvious to her but was impossible for him to grasp. the thing was— who the fuck else was he gonna ask? his therapist? hey, yes, sup buddy, i saw a guy just living his life and his clothes made me feel profoundly weird about my sexuality and gender expression. that wasn't what the guy was there for. wasn't what tisha was there for either, right? nevermind. nevermind, nevermind, nevermind. he wasn't talking about it, wasn't thinking about it, he wasn't dealing with it. "are you, hm, do you wanna, i mean, are you gonna wanna go to pride this year? because the one here in town is real small and it would probably be more fun for you if we drove to the city. it's, what, it's why i am asking."

[arcplaysgames]

lmao just a heads up this shit is HORRENDOUS i LOVE it, i love it as much as the fucking Protect Adachi ending, it's so terrible

Reverie wakes up like a fucking month later and everything is wonderful. People are hanging out in the cafe, Kasumi has joined the gang, and everything is jovial and bright.

oh my god. /gasps a bit at Akechi

It fully feels like there should be a sitcom ending theme playing here, it's so false.

SHIN MEGAMI TENSEI

PERSONA 5

THE ROYAL

This game just took a hammer to my fucking kneecap, holy shit. The intentional echo, the way it takes your sentimentality and fashions it into a knife to shove in your fucking ribs, that's incredible. I wanna fucking applaud.

The world jumps ahead again to graduation day, when Haru and Makoto are done with school at last. Everyone is sad for a bit and is like "oh but what will this mean for the group?"

YUSUKE CONSIDERING TRANSFERRING TO SHUJIN

the knife fucking twists and twists and twists. I followed Yusuke as he struggled to settle into the dorms and his own school, as he fought to keep his prestigious art scholarship, as he turned down other options he felt would compromise his work

and here he's just like "nah i'll transfer to shujin"

How do you solve a problem like Goro Akechi?

Apparently you take his princely mask and you bolt it onto his face and leave it there until the person underneath suffocates.

There is nothing in him, he's a doll with fresh paint.

Oh, aren't they just. They're all friends. That's the happy ending you designed, isn't it?

The fucking audacity of this self-made god walking among his most problematic wards to enjoy his victory over them. I respect it. It's an absolute horror.

are you ready for the fucking worst of it lmao

I can't even handle it, it's horrendous, it's terrible. It's white gloved hands reaching into each of them and ripping out chunks and calling it medicine.

The fucking shot of Reverie and Akechi in particular is brutal, as the one time Akechi sounded scared was the moment when Reverie took the fucking deal.

What Goro Akechi wants, the desire he has, is to be completely unfettered. It is completely incompatible with Maruki's reality. So, nothing but a doll remains.

THAT WAS TERRIBLE! TEN OUT OF TEN! NO I DON'T WANT TO SAVE MY CLEAR DATA, PERSONA 5, BUT THANKS FOR ASKING.

goddamn.