#i never followed them to begin with either but i have gone and blocked them all

[gojogoblin]

catch me if you can | 18+

featuring: megumi fushiguro x reader

[in which to encourage Megumi to hone his skills, you offer yourself as a prize if he manages to catch you in the woods]

wc: 1.9k

cw: fem!reader, predator/prey dynamics, pet names (princess, sweetheart), mocking, praise, fingering, megumi is slightly rough

“So like bait?”

“Kind of. I mean, no one is going to be coming after me.”

“Except me.”

“Except you.”

You were sitting at the table across from him, fidgeting with your hands underneath it in your lap. There were times when you struggled to read the man you called yours, and this was one of them. He sat forward a bit, elbows on the table. His hands folded together neatly, chin resting on top of them as he squinted at you.

“And what’s in it for me?”

You felt the beginnings of victory bubbling in your chest like champagne, making you sit up a bit straighter in your seat. “Me.”

Megumi’s head tilted to the side in the slightest of movements, left corner of his lips curling into the smallest of smirks. Never one to waste time or energy. “You.”

“Me.”

“And what’s stopping me from just having you now?” He questioned, unfolding his hands and stretching his arms out across the table. Your eyes flickered to his hands pressed flat against its surface, gaze tracing his knuckles.

“The fact that you need to train.”

“Mm.”

It was silent for a moment, but it was charged. These silences used to make you nervous, used to make you wonder if he’d ever speak again. Since then, you’d learned to be patient, learned that rushing him either flustered or annoyed him. You could hear a pin drop as he just stared at you. As you stared at him. It was only when a blush began to creep up up your neck and cheeks that he smiled sweetly.

Maybe you should’ve chosen a warmer night. A chill ran through your body as you tiptoed through the underbrush as quietly as you could. You walked in a strange pattern, trying not to leave clear footprints. You also paused frequently so that if he were nearby, he wouldn’t hear a steady gait rustling the leaves. Your eyes were nowhere near as trained as his, so you squinted when the leaves above became denser and blocked out what little moonlight there was.

You’d walked this forest many times, both with and without Megumi. It was where you liked to come to get away from life for a while, where there were no judgments, no fears. Nothing but you, the soft forest floor, and the trees.

And something watching you.

You stopped dead in your tracks, feeling the hair at the back of your neck rise slightly. You felt it in your stomach too, a sinking feeling that would eventually twist itself into nausea if you weren’t able to find the source of the intuition. You’d stepped into a small clearing, feeling very exposed at that moment. The worst part was knowing it was him and still not being able to shake the nervousness in your body. Because it was obvious it was him. No one else’s mere presence affected your body the way he did. But you couldn’t see him, and it was as unsettling as being watched by a panther.

Unbeknownst to you, he watched from a crouch about fifteen feet away, hand braced on a tree. He’d tracked you down embarrassingly quickly, though he wouldn’t tell you that. It wasn’t your job to train in stealth anyway. So he’d been following you, and the way you thought you were doing well almost made him smile. He didn’t, though. Light could glint off his teeth. And he enjoyed this game anyway, this predator/prey dance. He knew that was really what you were after. ‘You can practice your hunting skills. You know, being stealthy and stuff!’

He’d almost laughed in your face. Princess, he’d wanted to say. You can ask for what you want, you know. But instead, he’d gone along with your little game with the understanding that he’d play by your rules and you’d play by his.

Your rules:

1. You get a head start of at least fifteen minutes

2. You have to be tagged physically for the catch to count

3. He doesn’t get to see what you’re wearing first

4. He’s not allowed to use his dogs

5. He’s not allowed to use his phone

His rules:

1. He gets to do whatever he likes with you when he catches you

You moved in a slow circle, swallowing the lump in your throat. Your fingers twisted together in front of your hips restlessly, and Megumi licked his lips as he watched. You were nervous, and it was cute. And you probably shouldn’t have put your perfume on, either. He could smell it wafting his way with the gentle breeze, and it only encouraged him.

“Okay… you can come out now,” you called, staring at a dark spot between a few bushes as if you could force yourself to see something that wasn’t really there. “Megs…”

But he wasn’t giving up this easy. Where was the fun in that? What happened to stealth training? What good would it be if he revealed himself and strolled towards you right then? No, he wasn’t finished playing with his food. He lowered his hand, fingers sliding along the dirt until finding a small rock. He lobbed it easily in your direction and watched it land about a foot away from you with a soft thump and hiss of the plant leaves it disturbed.

You let out a soft cry, jumping back and bringing your arms close to your chest. “You’re just being mean now,” you called out. You were met with a silence oppressive enough to make you lower your head in misplaced shame.

He let himself smile now as you walked away, exposing yourself so nicely. It reminded him to never let you go anywhere alone, and he liked that. He liked that power, liked the dependency. Liked how soft, how pretty, how fragile you were. To think you ever had a chance!

He’d closed the gap between you as quickly and quietly as a shadow. You didn’t even have time to process the way his knee knocked into the backs of yours. Your legs buckled instantly, and you would’ve shouted if he hadn’t had one arm wrapped around your body to pin your arms to your sides and one hand over your mouth. Within seconds, you were on your knees in the grass between his legs, his chest pressed to your back and thighs bracketing yours. You could feel the heat from his body, almost instantly debilitating.

“You make it too easy, princess,” he whispered. His lips brushed along the shell of your ear with the full intention of making you shiver. It worked. His hand fell from your lips.

“How did you–?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“But–”

“Shh.” His palm covered your mouth once more, and you just closed your eyes, trying to control your breathing, rein it in enough to pretend you weren’t breathless over the feeling of his skin on yours. It wasn’t enough to fool him, and he chuckled softly. “I get to do whatever I want with you, remember?” He was satisfied with the jerky little nod, so he uncovered your mouth again.

“What do you want?” You whispered, not trusting your voice to not betray your excitement.

“You,” he answered simply, tone reminiscent of yours at the table earlier that night.

You let out a shaky sigh, slowly tipping your head back to rest on his shoulder. “Go easy on me…”

He only smiled, turning his head to press his face into the crook of your neck. You could feel the gentle graze of his teeth on your skin. “I don’t think that’s really what you want,” he murmured. “Is it?”

It was his turn to be patient with your silence as you tried to make sense of the scramble in your brain. The heat of his body pressed to yours, the tickle of his hair under your chin, the faint smell of peppermint on his breath. It was all too much to allow you to do much else but shake your head in response.

“Good girl.”

He kept his arm around you, effectively immobilizing you as his other hand slid down your side. Even through your clothing, he left a trail of fire on your skin where he’d been. His hips pressed forward slowly, and you couldn’t help the way your breath caught in your throat as you realized he was hard already. He had been since the moment he’d watched you seize up in fear. And you’d been wet since the moment his hand had first covered your mouth. “Dirty,” he breathed in your ear. His hand had found its way under the waistband of your joggers, fingers swiping slowly over the dampness beginning to soak through your panties. “You act so scared, and yet here you are, soaking for me, aren’t you?” He sucked his teeth softly, easily pulling your panties to the side and pressing two fingers into you before you could take another breath. “What if it wasn’t me?” He murmured, rolling his wrist in a smooth movement to work his fingers deeper into you to the tune of your pretty whimpers.

“I knew it was you.”

“Did you?”

“I could feel you.”

He paused, smiling as he pressed his lips to your shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Y–” You cut off with a sharp gasp as he pressed his thumb to your clit. Your back arched, but his strong arm around you instantly yanked you back to his chest. He just laughed.

“And can you feel that?” He hummed melodically into your ear. When he didn’t get a response, just a breathy sigh, he pulled his thumb back.

“Yes! Yes..” you gasped, hips lifting pitifully to chase his touch. You were absolutely aching by now and he knew that.

“I see.”

This time, it wasn’t his thumb, but the palm of his hand grinding against your clit as he pressed a third finger into you. He didn’t stop you from rolling your hips in rhythm with his pumps, either, too distracted by the way your chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. His arm loosened slightly so he could reach down and palm at your breast. His own hips were subconsciously rutting against your ass, and the feeling made you putty in his hands.

He couldn’t get enough of your sounds, your whimpers, your whines with each quirk of his fingers, each twist of his wrist. “Good girl, doin’ so well for me,” he sighed against your neck. “You gonna cum for me?” And when you didn’t answer because you physically couldn’t, he grabbed your jaw suddenly, squeezing his thumb and forefinger to your cheeks to force your mouth open a bit and drawing a broken moan from you.

“I asked you a question, sweetheart,” he all but growled in your ear.

“Yes, god, fucking- yes, Megumi, please!” It all came out in a jumbled mess of a sentence. Your jaw ached as his fingers didn’t let up, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Then cum.”

You were so well trained at this point, he probably didn’t even need to touch you anymore. You came with a strangled cry, body shaking and back stiffening against his chest. He pumped his fingers through your high, and you whined as you felt the beginnings of overstimulation beginning to itch at your nerve endings. But you knew better than to think he was finished with you.

After all, he caught you. He fully intended to enjoy his prize.

[cultofdixon]

That’s one hell of a goodbye

Negan Smith • She/Her Pronouns • Youngest Dixon!Reader • You miss your brothers. You were separated from them since the beginning…then this “savior” found you and grew a liking to you that he did everything to bring your family back. No one said…that blood wasn’t going to be shed for such • ANGST/SFW • TW: Canon Violence / Anxiety / Injuries

Requested by: Anon

Negan stepped out of his car walking the old yet familiar neighborhood to clear his head when he heard footsteps, fast paced ones. He quickly picked up his own to follow the sound and when he reached the house he normally visits, a woman aimed her gun directly at him trying her best to keep standing even if by the looks of it. Her leg was bothering her.

“I ain’t here to hurt yea. I’m unarmed” this was true. On these trips he takes alone, he leaves his gun and knife in his car.

“Are you alone?”

“Yes. You’re hurt. I can—-“

“I’m just peachy. Were you following me?!”

“I don’t even know who you are, darling—“

“DONT CALL ME THAT” She snaps, causing herself to stumble a bit as she lowers her gun to crouch a bit gripping her leg. “Fuck”

Negan slowly approaches her as she gave up trying to aim her gun but she did stumble back trying to avoid him getting to her. “Listen. I’ve got a community. With a doctor. He can patch yea up”

“You think I’ll just roll over and trust you right off the bat?” She scoffs continuing to pull herself away.

“No. But this could be a start.” He extended his hand and the woman hesitantly took it. Letting him full on pick her up so that none of the weight would rest on her leg.

Next thing the woman knew she was being carried into this building that looked like an old factory, but she was taken to a well set up room. Something she never exactly had but it looked like the rooms she stayed in when wandering the destroyed world.

“Who’s that Negan?”

“She needed help, mind getting the doctor and tell him to meet in my room?”

“Sure. Is she—-“

“She ain’t a danger. Ain’t bit either.” Negan states pushing the door open with his back and laying the woman down on his bed as she quickly sat up.

“Your name is Negan?”

“Heard it before?”

“No, you don’t look like a Negan…that’s all”

“What do I look like?” Negan laughs. “A Jeff?”

“Not that either” She laughs a bit bringing herself to the edge of the bed. “Just a unique name I guess”

“What’s yours? Given I brought yea here and getting the doc to check you out”

“Right. Right! Makes sense to share my name too…it’s Y/N. Y/N Dixon”

Negan sat in the conference room staring at Simon after being told about the massacre in one of their outposts. The grip on his bat could’ve snapped it in half if he continued to hold it as tight as he did.

“Get the vans ready, and given these people have some connection with our man Gregory in the Hilltop?” Negan gave Simon a look only he understood. “Go get the patrols to keep an eye on these people. Block a few roads. Narrow them in until my big reveal”

“On it, boss” Simon states making his leave as Negan notice him hold the door for a moment to let Y/N in.

The big bad scary leader of the Saviors took his bat and set it aside pushing his seat back enough to give his woman to bring herself onto his lap.

“Were you eavesdropping again?”

“Mm. I know the demon like things you do behind closed doors when I’m not around you.” Y/N brought her arm around his shoulders as he held his head low when she said such. “What happened to turning a new leaf Smith?”

“A lot of my people died. I can’t just turn a blind eye”

“Hm. Sometimes I wish I never learned about what you’ve done. But that would be asking the universe for a lot now wouldn’t it?”

“Are you leaving again?” Negan frowns keeping her close as she messes with the scarf around his neck eventually tugging it off. “Takin’ a piece of me with yea?”

“Mhm. I won’t be gone for long this time. I have a lead”

“Oh? Are you going to tell me about it?”

“Nope”

“Then all I ask is for yea to take a radio and be safe.” Negan gently rubs circles on her back as Y/N gently held his chin forcing him to look at her.

“Don’t do anything too risky, Negan”

And with that she got up from his lap leaving the room to go finish getting ready. Leaving Negan to contemplate everything.

“You’re leaving” Negan frowns finding Y/N rummaging through one of many pantries. She was fascinated by how much the community had but part of her was leaving from something she heard.

“Yeah. I have to find my brothers. I’m not going to give up even if the burning feeling in my chest is telling me something bad happened to them or they stopped looking for me”

“You can always come back to the Sanctuary. There will always—-“

“Listen. Negan…I don’t understand you” Y/N stops stuffing her pack giving him a saddened look. “When you helped me here, I thought I was getting myself into a positive situation…but then I found out you have wives and you’ve killed hundreds. You expect me to ignore that? I’ve been here a month and you’ve kept so much from me. Hell you’ve kept an entire side of the community away from me just so I wouldn’t see who you actually are”

“You don’t know who I actually am because before all this? I was just another deadbeat”

“That doesn’t excuse your actions”

“But I’m gonna be honest with you. From here on out”

Y/N gave him a confused look as he slowly approaches her keeping a respectable distance as well.

“Ever since yea came here. I stopped doing my usual bullshit. Inflicting fear onto those I have under my thumb. My right hand has an ego of his own and makes one of the communities I “rule over” go through hell all on his own. Not saying I don’t take responsibility. I just have too long a leash on the man. Besides. The wives yea knew about? Aren’t my wives anymore. They’ll be pissed and not for the fact that I took them as my trophies but because of the hell I put them through. I haven’t killed a soul since you arrived”

“Will you continue if I leave?”

“I wouldn’t force yea to stay if I said yes. But then again, I wouldn’t. You’ve changed me but none of them will ever forgive me”

“You’re going to keep your rule on these people? These communities? And for what? It’s the end of the world. No one is going to want a president. All they’d want is to survive. Remain safe”

“I’m changing a lot. But I know for a fact, I will act on my anger”

Negan sat in the RV that they highjacked from this man named Eugene who was a sobbing mess sitting in his spot in the line up while the Saviors got the rest of this man’s group in line. Including revealing those they’ve caught in one of the vans they brought.

“Negan?”

The man quickly scrambled getting his personal radio out to reply that he was there. His anxiety built when he heard Y/N on the other line.

“My lead was a dead end.”

“I’m sorry darling…you’ll find uh Daryl right? You’ll find him soon”

“Most likely only him. I doubt Merle is still around…it’s a lawless time. Someone probably took out his racist ass”

“Are you heading home?”

“Yeah. Gonna check on Sherry when I get back and give the doc the meds I found”

“I wish I was there to greet yea when you get back…” Negan frowns when she didn’t immediately reply back in any way but he soon heard a sigh. “Y/N?”

“You’re acting on your anger, Negan.”

And her end turned off. Negan gripped onto the radio tightly before putting it away and right on cue he heard the knock from his right hand.

It escalated. It escalated fast and a man is dead. A man is dead and Negan got a shiner from this brute that should’ve had a hard time getting up given the blood loss from his gunshot wound. The leader of the saviors turned to the now pinned brute while a few sobbed over the death of their friend, their love. He crouched to his level seeing him struggle against those keeping him down.

“You have quite the balls on yea, dontcha?” Negan exhaled a short lived laugh as the brute continued to struggle while one of his men, Dwight readied the crossbow in his hand right at his head.

“Daryl has caused us a lot of trouble. Give me the word and I’ll—-“

“Daryl?” Fuck. Fuck fuck F U C K! Negan shouted in his head as he kept a front when internalizing he wished he was dying. “Yea have a last name or what?”

“Like I’ll tell yea” Daryl struggled some more noticing Negan’s grip on his bat get to the level of a white knuckle grip.

“Is it Dixon?” Negan frowns as the silence grew louder especially when Daryl stopped struggling against his men. Simon took note of what he was seeing as he took his radio adjusting the frequency to match the private one between him and Y/N. Something Negan didn’t know that Simon wrote down for his own future gain.

“Daryl Dixon” Negan repeats over and over with spaced out moments until Daryl nodded. “Do these people know you also have a sister? Y/N Dixon”

Rick and Michonne instantly shot a look to Daryl as his body went limp but not from added injury, but from the shock of how much this monster knew about his personal life. Rick turned to his people as they were going through everything that was happening personally and united but he tried to find a way to get them out of there that when he shot Michonne a look, she shook her head. Knowing what was going on in his mind and how it will most likely kill Daryl if he acted…then he wouldn’t be able to reunite with his remaining living blood.

But that didn’t stop Negan from acting on his anger. His anger toward Daryl’s action and toward his own.

Once Daryl was pulled back to his spot in the line up and the man couldn’t help the silent tears that spilled as they only got worse when Negan held his bat with both hands and simply gave up.

“Back to it”

Then another life was taken, causing more pain than he had initially thought. But in his mind he had to make a point…

He’ll never change Y/N frowns holding the radio in her hands as her own tears fell from her eyes. “Simon”

Simon took a step away from the group once the RV drove off with Negan and Rick. Raising his radio to his face. “Yeah?”

“You’re a monster for this”

“Someone has to tell you the truth”

“Is he taking Daryl back to the Sanctuary?”

“Most likely”

“ETA?”

“I’ll chime in when we leave.” Then Simon turns his end of the radio off looking over to Daryl who kept his attention glued to the life that was taken, that he’ll forever take the blame for.

When Negan showed the leader of their group that he means business and that he’ll be going back to how he ran things. He returned to the Sanctuary before the vans did as he was greeted by a saddened Y/N.

“Darling…”

“You killed people…almost killed my brother?”

He held his head down as Y/N brought herself close looking up at him watching how hard he tried to avoid her beautiful E/C eyes.

“Negan did you—-“ Then her attention quickly turned to the banging on the van that suddenly her older brother Daryl stumbled out of. “Daryl. Oh my god Daryl!”

The youngest Dixon quickly ran to her older brother dropping to her knees in order to hug him. The second he latched on the best he could, he fell silent knowing a few tears fell that once his mind was sure it wasn’t playing tricks. He tightened his grasp on her.

“He killed some of my friends, Trouble” He whispers feeling her hold onto him tighter from her end as her tears spilled but hidden in his shoulder that she soon realized was injured.

“You’re hurt”

“Y/N…we have to leave” He whispered.

“You need to see the doctor. I’ll—-“ then Y/N was pulled away by Negan causing the rage to stir in her brother but he was quickly pulled away by a few saviors and then taken to see the doctor they have. “Let go”

“No. He’s gonna see the doc. Then put in your room. Alright?”

Y/N frowns thrashing in Negan’s grasp until he finally let go when it was just the two of them in the loading dock. The tears spilled down her cheeks causing the knife to dig deeper in the man’s chest.

It didn’t take long for Daryl to get patched up and tossed in this unfamiliar room but there were a few things that stood out to him. The first thing he picked up was an old Polaroid of Y/N when she was little and forced her brothers to join the picture. Merle of course not looking at it and Daryl only complying because it was his sister. Then her army green jacket with a patch on the arm for the biker gang Merle was temporarily in. And a few things that were most likely found in the now but scream his sister. Then she finally entered the room met with an angry yet confused older brother.

“You fucking that guy?”

“Woah! No!”

“Are you sure?! Cuz how do you have all of this with a monster like—-“

“Because he changed for me! He changed for me. Then your group triggered that part of his mind that I can’t reach…”

“Why didn’t yea kill him when you first realized—-“

“I didn’t realize until a month of being here and I’ve been here for six now…I—-“

“STOP SAYING YOU THOUGHT HE CHANGED! You learned the hard way just like I did when it came to Merle saying he’d never do meth again. He “changed” but never truly did.”

Y/N turned away to avoid her tears being noticed because she knew Daryl would be upset with himself and apologize. But he was just being honest.

“He saved me Daryl…he…kept me from losing myself when I had endless runs to look for you” She frowns keeping her head down. “I know you and your friends will never forgive him. I can’t for going back on his word…”

“Y/N…you know this place” Daryl frowns grabbing his sister’s shoulders to get her to look at him. “We need to leave and tear this place down with it”

“I can help you leave…but I’m not leaving with you”

“Y/N”

“Daryl” Y/N brushed his hands off of her looking him dead in the eye with the seriousness she held even in this weird reunion. “If I leave without a word, he’ll come after all of you”

“Please…we’ll end him and you go out free”

“The thing is Dar, I’m not trapped.”

The two didn’t share a word for a few days and Daryl was brought to a cell. But suddenly his door opened and Dwight was with Sherry in their streets. The man gave Daryl his crossbow and vest back as Sherry shined a light on blueprints of the building they found. The two that caused a lot of hell for him before the Sanctuary, were now the two helping him out but little did Daryl know that their escape was planned by his sister.

That kept Negan busy, but also in the know of what the future plan is.

“He’ll come after me, darling. I’ll never be safe even when it’s just the two of us”

“Well, you’re leaving this hell behind. You’ll always be haunted, but you’ll never be alone. And knowing my brother…”

He knows when to stop looking

Daryl stood beside Rick and Maggie, including a few of the community heads that were once under Negan’s thumb watching the place burn once they got all the good people out. He took in a deep breath before walking away from the scene ignoring the concerned questions from his family.

As the fire continues to go and the smoke rises from the ruins of the Sanctuary, Y/N stood within the nearby tree line watching everyone leave in the night as she felt Negan gently take her hand after burying his bat for his own sort of send off. She carefully takes out the Polaroid from before looking at it and remembering the past she never thought she’d wish to go back to knowing she never will.

This was one hell of a goodbye

[lookitsstevie]

Okay, this is the last post about this situation since this is getting pointless... I'll just debunk every claim they have and then. Ignore them. Since they won't change. they're telling ME to change 😂

This is a screenshot of their newest post, provided to me from another user (clarifying this since they seem to believe I'm some kind of evil mastermind and sending people to look at them....? People don't listen to me, they have their free will! And most of them also had some stories to tell about this user)

Okay let's start from the beginning:

posted untagged porn on twitter : never happened, already explained. Nobody on twitter saw that either

blocked multiple people on twitter : is blocking.... problematic?

'I just know that a blocklist was involved' : so no evidence 😭 I just blocked everyone in that thread, that thread is a blocklist if there is one

'They have posted about me both on Twitter and on Tumblr' : The twitter thing was because of. This (and this confirms that this person is the same user who tweeted this) (also this screenshot was provided from a friend, since they had me blocked already)

Hid their handle (red) and the other artist's name (teal). Well yeah, I had to clarify that it was nothing personal at that point, since this user was claiming I'm... victim blaming them... by.... blocking

On tumblr? Of course I had to say something since... they're..... telling people not to support me while providing zero evidence why

6. 'making up rumors saying that I'm attacking multiple artists' : again.... where. Also in the screenshot above you were actually attacking multiple artists yes

7. 'sending people to look through my account' : as I mentioned above... PEOPLE HAVE THEIR FREE WILL AND THEIR OWN STORIES. Actually I explicitly stated that people should not go interact with them in the last post....

8. 'just try to speak to me' : HOW?? They have me blocked and I won't make a burner account just to speak to them, and as the one who got accused of being problematic I should let people know that is completely false lmao It's not between them and me anymore. Also look at the screenshot above they were already malicious in November 2022

9. 'coming from a grown adult' : This is a weird thing to say because this person... is also a grown adult iirc. Really why are they trying to frame themselves young and vulnerable, they don't even know if I'm actually younger than them or not

Okay! That's all. As I said this is the last post, I'll pin this for a while since this person would keep making up things about me : ) Thank you so much for reading this!

+ Edited to specify that I have NEVER talked to or otherwise interacted with this person before that weird calling out happened - it's possible I answered them when they commented on my art, but the twitter account is long gone and I can't find anything by search. The only interaction was Me blocking them, Twice (bc of course they made another account to follow me when I blocked their first).

Oh wait, they have sent me a LONG twitter dm when the first blocking happened, but when I checked the message I couldn't answer it; Probably they have already blocked me on that account before I answer, or that account already deactivated. I took a screenshot of it then, bc I had no idea why I can't send them messages back so I wanted to consult my friends : )

[thedancingcostumeyoungadult]

Tiny beginnings - S.R.

Hi! I'm not dead! I got a couple of requests for more Dad/Husband!Spencer X Pregnant!Reader and here it is! I don't think I'm quite done with this lil au yet so if you have any requests or ideas I'd love to hear them

Part 1 Part 2

Words: 897

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, mentions of a case, anxiety symptoms, light mentions of nausea

“Hey you,” Spencer hums as he crawls onto the bed, his comforting weight settling atop you, “you feeling any better?” 

“I’m pregnant.” The world seems to slow to a crawl as he freezes, his hands braced on either side of your head. He stares down at you, stunned, the gears of his mind faltering as they try to process what you’d said. 

“Really?” He can barely get the word out, almost choking on the hope rising in his chest as you nod, a small, tender smile playing on your face as your fingers brush along his cheek.

“I took about a hundred tests if you wanna see.” 

Spencer pushes his weight off of you, lowering himself reverently down by your side and scooting down the bed. His hand creeps under your shirt, fingers gently drawing your pajama shorts down to expose the skin of your belly. Your hands cradle his head as his forehead presses gently against your stomach. He’s still trying to wrap his mind around it, somewhere right in front of his face there’s the beginnings of a child, his child, part him and part you and all he’s ever dreamed of. A well of emotion long untapped floods to the surface and breaks the dam. He cries, tears of joy and hope and heartache and years and years of wanting finally coming true. He holds you and he cries until there’s nothing left, your gentle hands a lifeline as they card through his hair.

When he can breathe again, he raises his eyes to yours, joy and adoration shining through the tears tracing his cheeks, which you tenderly swipe away with the pads of your thumbs, offering him a smile through the tears in your own eyes. There are no words for this feeling, he thinks, at least none that do it justice as he crawls back up to catch your lips in a tender kiss. A thought crosses his mind and makes him laugh, half overwhelming joy and half disbelief as he breaks the kiss to look at you again.

“I’m gonna be a dad!”

You decide to wait to tell the team until after the first trimester, and you almost manage it until you’re about nine weeks in. You’re on a case somewhere in the Rocky Mountains, preparing for a takedown with the team. The unsub is holed up in an abandoned refinery and as Spencer watches you strap on your kevlar, he’s flooded with sudden panic, every possible danger running through his head like a tidal wave as he struggles to breathe.

“Y/n.” He manages, catching your eye as you look up. Understanding immediately, you follow him a little ways away from the team and allow him to block their view of you with his body.

“Spencer, what’s wrong?” You take in his shallow breaths, the way his hands shake as they find yours, “Talk to me, baby, what’s going on?” He wants to run, to spirit you far, far away from the dangers of the world, to keep you safe, keep you both safe. Instead he forces himself to take a deep breath, praying that it would steady him, help him think straight.

“Is it unfair for me to ask you not to go in there?” His dark eyes are worried as his hand cradles your face. He knows that you’re an exemplary agent, and that you would do anything to protect your baby, but logic is little match for fear. His heart eases a bit when you give him a soft smile.

“A little, yeah.” Your hand rests on his chest, your thumb rubbing soothingly across the fabric of his shirt, “I know where you’re coming from, and I know I haven’t gone on one of these since… yeah, but I need you to trust that I can do this.” His hand covers yours, pressing it closer to his heart.

“I know you can, I’ve never doubted that, and I know this doesn’t change how capable you are, I just-” He trails off, swallowing hard, “I’m so afraid.” It comes out in a hoarse whisper, his hand tightening protectively around yours. You lace your fingers with his, your free hand brushing a curl out of his eyes.

“How about this, I’ll go in, but I won’t go in first and I’ll stay behind you and Luke.” Spencer doesn’t like it, but he can live with that, so he nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Thank you.”

The takedown goes smoothly, the unsub barely even arguing as he’s placed in handcuffs and loaded into the police car. An ambulance takes the most recent victim, bruised and shaken, but expected to recover, and the team finally makes their way back to the jet. Exhausted, you slump against Spencer’s shoulder, the twinge of nausea that’s been lingering near constantly making you grimace as the plane takes off. You’re just about to nod off when Emily, your unit chief, slides into one of the seats opposite you. 

“Is there something you two wanna tell me?” She grins slyly across at you as she crosses her legs, her hands folded expectantly. You glance up at Spencer, finding him grinning bashfully back at you. He gives your hand a squeeze, then turns back to Emily.

“It’s that obvious?” In the row behind you, Tara snorts.

“You two can’t keep a secret for shit.”

~~

~taglist~

@reidsbookclub @f-me-reid @spencer-reid-wonderland @dungeons-are-too-cold

~please like and reblog if you enjoyed! Comments and feedback are always welcome and they keep me writing <3~

[666writingcafe]

Exam Prep, Part One

Barbatos

"Your professor has informed me that lately you have been struggling with the lab portion of your seductive speechcraft class," I calmly tell MC, who sighs.

"I can block advances just fine, but actually trying to seduce someone is proving to be quite difficult," they explain. "I don't feel like I'm sounding genuine, if that makes sense. I mean, I never had that much luck with it in the human world, and it seems like I've not had to work super hard here, which still baffles me, but that's a topic for another day." Interesting. I didn't realize they were that introspective. Most humans aren't.

"If it's any consolation, you're doing better than some other demons."

"Like Levi?" I allow myself to smirk, amused by their observation.

"Exactly. Leviathan either can't bring himself to seduce anyone at all, or he pulls from existing media and provides out-of-context lines that don't fit the person he's talking to. From what I've heard, you at least are trying to be original. We--your professor and I--just think that there's room for improvement."

"Of course."

"So, for today's session, I want you to try to seduce me." Of course, that's the moment Diavolo decides to walk past the room MC and I are in. My back may be turned to him, but I can still sense his energy.

You may watch, but do not disturb us.

Understood.

"What?" MC asks, appearing both confused and terrified.

"I am one of the oldest and most powerful demons in the Devildom. If you can manage to produce some sort of effect on me, then you'll pass your exam with flying colors."

"But I don't know that much about you."

"A demon never has a lot of information on a particular human when they first encounter one, but they can use past experiences and context clues in order to be successful."

"I see." In order to ease their nerves, I kindly smile at them.

"Just try the best you can." MC closes their eyes and begins one of the breathing exercises that I taught them.

Why are you doing this? Diavolo just can't resist the urge, can he?

Their power is heavily tied to their emotions.

That isn't what I'm talking about, Barbatos.

Would you rather I have them seduce you, Young Master? Silence. Excellent.

MC opens their eyes, and immediately something seems different about them.

"You do so much for Lord Diavolo, the brothers, and the Devildom at large," they state. "Any other person would have gone insane from the sheer amount of responsibility, and yet you stand here before me with a cool, calm demeanor."

"Practice," I respond.

"You have most people fooled into believing that this life is easy for you, but not me. I know that you work a thankless job that forces you to put everyone before yourself." They're glowing, which isn't entirely unusual for them, but the color's different this time. It's not completely white like it normally is.

"Deep down, you want someone to take care of you. You have been forced to hold yourself up for so long, and you are utterly exhausted. You feel completely alone, like there's not a single soul in the entire universe that would want to take the time to get to know who you truly are." As they step closer to me, I can see spots of pink mixed in with their white light. I don't know how, but I think they've managed to tap into a portion of Asmodeus's power.

"I want to help you, not because I want anything in return, but because I care deeply about you. You deserve to have someone love you unconditionally." MC gently grabs my hand and leans closer to me. "All I ask of you is to let me in. Allow me to grow closer to you, Barbatos."

One might expect MC to take the opportunity to kiss me, but instead they remain still, staring into my eyes. My heart begins beating faster, and I find it harder to focus on my surroundings. In this moment, I finally understand why everyone seems so enamored with MC. I don't even have a pact with them, and yet my mind is begging them to give me an order to follow.

As MC steps back, the glow emanating from them begins dissipating. They're returning to normal.

Why can't I?

"Barbatos? Are you alright?" Shit. I'm on duty. They're not supposed to see me in this condition.

"You'll do just fine, MC." My voice sounds hoarse, and I have no idea why.

Someone's caught feelings.

I would appreciate it if you didn't tease me, Young Master.

But I'm not wrong.

That is irrelevant.

[themarginalthinker]

Centennial

(Dwayne is turning a hundred years dead. He and David go for a walk about it.)

-

It's a quiet night when they go for their walk.

They both know why, and both feel the need for the intimacy. David and Dwayne slip outside into the coolness of the fresh autumn night. It's not truly the height of the season yet, the leaves on the few deciduous trees not quite turned yet. It's in the air, though. The Wheel spins ever on...

Dwayne sets the pace, the direction. Really, they're not walking to any particular destination, but David follows along to wherever his packmate's heart desires.

Their stroll takes them over little streams, rock formations they clamber like squirrels over. It's nice to stretch their limbs, their claws, their senses. Not human. But not hunting either.

Eventually, on a tall ridge overlooking a deep valley, Dwayne stops. He sighs, leaning against a tree and staring out at the deep, clear sky. Never, never again will David be trapped under the glow of city lights, blocking the stars from view. But this night isn't about him. He takes a comfortable crouch, waiting.

It's a while before Dwayne slides down the tree to sit. Longer still until he speaks.

"A hundred years tonight."

David nods. "Almost to the hour, huh?"

"Can barely fuckin' believe it."

No. David neither. Between them in the bond, a hundred years passed, in memories and feelings. The wonderful, the fair, the bad, the hideous. People come and gone. Places seen and left behind.

"We finally did it. And it wasn't even us," Dwayne comments into the night.

David knows what he's talking about, because it's also on his mind.

"Yeah. Go figure."

Max was dead. Their sire, the reason for all of this in the first place. The monster who, from the very beginning Dwayne and David had been planning, hoping, praying a day would come when they could finally be rid of, was dead. And they'd not laid a finger on him.

"...Are we old, David?"

The vampire in question blinks, looking to Dwayne properly now.

Across the bond, almost as clear as words spoken aloud from so long having it, being as close as they are, sharing so much, David knows what Dwayne means. Watching the seasons, the years, the decades tick on, but here they were. Maybe not celebrating, but certainly commemorating after a fashion, the night Dwayne died at the hands of a beast the both of them only ever wanted to be free from.

"Not as old as some," David answers instead.

Dwayne hums, looking away, back to the valley below.

David cracks a smile. "I personally don't think you get to bitch about anything until you're at least a hundred 'n fifty."

Dwayne snorts at that, sending David a look. "Now you're just moving goal-posts to feel better about your own dusty ass."

"Heh. Not too dusty for the whippersnappers last night, apparently," David simpers.

They share a small, but genuine laugh.

It feels good. It feels freeing.

David moves first. Not rising from the crouch, but leaning into it, loping on all fours the few paces left between them. He's not a man, and hasn't been for a long, long time.

Dwayne meets him as he comes close, turning so his body is open to it. David fits himself beside Dwayne. Thighs pressed close, knee to hip. Shoulder to shoulder.

Tonight, a century has passed, and the two vampires, the eldest of their pack now, watch the stars pass overhead.

Maybe, a thousand years from now, they will be here again.

They find themselves hoping so.

[marvel-starwarsfangirl]

Bad Batch Chopping Block

(some spoilers, tread carefully)

Alright, the safety net is gone. Even though Pabu still stands, it will never be safe for Omega or the boys anymore. The Empire has truly closed them in from every direction. So, who's gonna make it out of this season? Just to get this out of the way, Tech is either dead or comes back. The Tech Debate is too big to tackle here.

Definitely dead:

Echo- I think he's 100% a goner. Aside from being a strong mentor figure to Omega, Echo is gonna be a martyr for his cause. He believes so strongly in his fight for clone justice and he will follow it to the grave. I can definitely see him going out in a blaze of glory while Rex watches hopelessly. Plus, Echo dying might be the reason for Rex to retire and turn to Joopa farm. Echo is the last true connection he has to his old life and the 501st. Echo also gave Omega a new weapon which doesn't bode well for him. A gift he gave her is something she can remember him by.

Most likely dead:

Hunter- I do have some hope for him. There is a chance that writers don't kill him off because they want to finish the show with all the boys together. But sadly, that is unlikely. Hunter is the mentor figure and the first real paternal figure to Omega. As the oldest of the Batch (minus Echo), he has a responsibility to watch over them. In season 3, we see Crosshair slowly learning to take over as Omega's parental figure. It's possible that Hunter will die, as many mentor figures have before him, and Cross will carry the torch. I can definitely see that happening. Hunter dies protecting Omega and Crosshair is left to pick up the pieces

Wrecker- sweet Wrecker is too dang lovable. Unlike the others, he doesn't fit as neatly into a trope category like Crosshair and Hunter. Therefore, he could honestly survive because of that. However, I definitely think he could go out in a blaze of glory as well, something akin to Hevy or Hardcase. Imagine Wrecker getting caught in an explosion as he stays behind to save his brothers and Omega? But at the same time, I don't want it to happen.

50/50 (but most likely fine):

Crosshair- I honestly think he might make it out this season mostly in one piece. The only trope he fits right now is redemption equals death and honestly, I think we're past that point. Crosshair already began his redemption arc. He saved Omega, reconciled with his brothers, reconciled with Howzer, admitted his wrongs, and genuinely wants to be a better person. He doesn't need to prove to his family that he loves them or has changed because we see that. His brothers see that. Even his new poster shows him looking at his helmet. He has found the light. It's possible this show ends with him leaving his old life to retire with Omega. He could still die protecting her, but I'm starting to think otherwise.

Crosshair has suffered so much since this show started. I made a list, but we could be here all day talking about it. I feel like it would be overkill (literally) to just kill him off after he's come so far. Also, the fact that he is getting the Dad Batch ™ treatment means that they could be propping him up to take over the role from Hunter. That or they're speed-running Crosshair's dad mode activation because he was MIA for two seasons. Honestly, I think Crosshair narrative wise is mostly safe because his redemption arc is playing out right now instead of later down the line. His arc right now is mostly about coming to terms with himself, his trauma, and his identity as a sharpshooter and soldier. I really think that this show will end with him hanging up the helmet and raising Omega.

Fine:

Omega- let's be honest, they're not gonna kill off our sweet bean. She was been our focal character since the beginning and I can't see the writers going this dark. She's safe!

Alternatively: the Batch all live plus or minus one of them. The final episode could be all of them charging in together for one final fight. They make it out (mostly) and retire with Omega. Boom, the end.

[rosewaterraindrops]

Nandermo Blocking and Season Finales

In past seasons, people more knowledgeable than me have written meta on the way Nandor and Guillermo are positioned at different levels in relation to one another, and I found it super interesting! Every previous season finale has left us with a very specific image of Nandermo that we've carried with us to speculate about what their relationship will be like in the next season. So I wanted to do an analysis on Nandermo's relative levels/blocking in the two-part finale of S5 and see how it compares to previous season finales.

Here’s a rundown of the previous season finales. 

S1 (top left): This one is sending mixed signals. Guillermo is looking down at Nandor, but it’s in an act of servitude. Nandor’s scolding Guillermo, thinking he’s the one in charge, and he has no idea that Guillermo is beginning to discover his vampire-killing powers. 

S2 (top right): Guillermo is elevated, looking down at all four vampires, and this time he’s very clearly the one in charge. Nandor is literally tied up and helpless and forced to confront how powerful Guillermo really is - and we know that Nandor defends him and respects his power in S3.

S3 (middle row): This time, Guillermo is looking down at Nandor, who’s kneeling on the ground, and they’re both happy about it. Guillermo has just passed Nandor’s “test” and they’re about to embark on their journey, which will end with Guillermo becoming a vampire. Nandor even happily agrees to take Guillermo’s bag to the train station. This is the most equal we’ve ever seen them be (up to that moment).

S4 (bottom right and left): They’re on the same level, both sitting down in chairs, and I don’t think either one of them is fully clear on where their relationship currently stands. Guillermo slips back into his familiar role after Freddie is gone, but something feels off. They don't even appear in a frame together, which is why I had to get two different screenshots. It’s not very companionable, it’s awkward, and it sets up a tense dynamic in S5.

By and large, these finale images have given us hope that Nandor and Guillermo will be on more even footing in the following season. The blocking never reinforces Guillermo as a servant, but rather elevates him in relation to Nandor and aligns with each finale’s sense of anticipation - how will the two of them respond to the latest change in their power dynamic? How will Guillermo assert himself further next season, and how will Nandor react?

That brings us to the end of S5. We get some really pivotal moments in which the dynamic is shifting yet again, starting with the scene in S5E9 in which Nandor has found out about Guillermo’s turning.

I think they made a deliberate choice to have the cages be elevated here. They could have made it so that the Guide and Guillermo are looking down at the prisoners somehow. But instead, even from his cage, Nandor is the one fully looking down at Guillermo. It’s emphasizing the emotion of the current moment: Nandor is angry and ready to enact his revenge on Guillermo for his “betrayal”, and Guillermo is full of regret. 

Then in S5E10, they reconcile, Nandor has Guillermo drink human blood, and we get this moment.

Guillermo literally rises up to be above Nandor as he embraces his vampirism, and Nandor is looking on with wonder. It’s reminiscent of the S3 finale, in which Nandor was happy to be looking up at Guillermo - and that time, Nandor had just promised to make Guillermo a vampire. When it comes down to it, Nandor wants Guillermo to embrace power and vampirism, and when Guillermo takes joy in his power, Nandor does too. 

So what’s the last Nandermo image we’re left with until S6? It’s this:

We have never, not once, had a season finale that ended with Nandor looking down at Guillermo - until now. Their dynamic has been constantly shifting ever since S1, but the consistent thread has been that Guillermo gains power and confidence, while Nandor gains more respect for Guillermo as a companion and a warrior.

But now? Guillermo has just rejected power, rejected vampirism, in favor of being human, and seconds later he’s on his knees, looking up at Nandor, being ordered by Nandor to clean up Derek’s corpse. Nandor isn’t surprised or awed, he’s not happy, he’s not confused or pensive - he’s just sympathetic and probably very disappointed. He likes when Guillermo embraces power and Guillermo just did the exact opposite of that. This is a clear image of a servant and his master.

I’m sure this isn’t a full regression to their S1 dynamic, and I assume the show will find a way to make it new and interesting. But this is a striking last image of Nandermo that we’re left with until the next season, and when compared to the previous finale images of Nandermo, it really stands out in an unsettling way. Let’s hope that in S6, Guillermo doesn’t take too long to embrace power again - because we know that that’s what he and Nandor really want.

[niphredil-14]

Homemade Pizza

(Jason Todd X Reader) This is a super self indulgent drabble because I have ARFID and love pizza but can’t eat it due to the sensory issues i have regarding slivers of tomato skin in the sauce.

Food related insecurities were always a struggle in the beginning of a relationship. The number of times they’d heard something along the lines of  ‘Wow! I pity any guy that wants to take you out on a date!’ while growing up, and the number of times it had rung true had really increased their anxiety and self-consciousness regarding the topic. It was a big part of their fear in the moment, commuting to Jason’s apartment while the sun had just begun to set. They knew he loved to cook, and though he had been very understanding when they had explained their eating disorder to him, they worried of when he would get tired of being compassionate, of when he would get tired of their differences, of when he would get tired of the burden of them. The fact that their eating routine was thrown off by the date hadn’t made them any less anxious either, and though they knew that it would’ve been alright for them to turn down the date, they didn’t want to. Jason was a busy man, and they didn’t want to miss out on an opportunity to spend time with him. So lost in their thoughts, time passed quickly, and the subway doors opened. His apartment was only a block or so from the subway, so it took little time to arrive at his doorstep. He answered their knocks almost immediately, swinging the door open and greeting them with a short kiss on the cheek, waving them in. The fear in their veins shot up when the smell of food wafted into their nostrils. Pizza, a food that they liked, but was never worth the suffering to eat. 

“Before you freak out.” He said. “I remembered what you told me about your ED, and how you really liked pepperoni pizza but couldn’t eat it because of the tomato skin, so I made the sauce myself and skinned all the tomatoes first, so that I could make sure there weren’t any skins in the sauce.” They turned to him stunned. Most people were somewhat sympathetic to their struggles, but that was the first time that anybody had actually gone out of their way for them. “But please don’t feel pressured to eat any of it! If we don’t then my family will be more than happy to reheat it later.” They turned their gaze away from him, and instead landed it on the table he had set. It was meant to mimic a vintage Italian restaurant. A red and white checkered tablecloth laid upon the semi-small circular rustic table he had moved to stand in front of his main window, with a candle lit in the center and a plate laid out on either end with napkins and wine glasses and the whole ensemble. The lights throughout his apartment had been dimmed, and soft Italian jazz was playing on a record player at the far end of the room. They could only imagine the look they had on their face, because of the concern written all across his when he called out to them softly. “Baby? Are you okay?” He questioned. “If this is too much, then I’ll put it all away and we can just watch some TV and cuddle instead.” That brought their attention back to him as a soft smile graced their face and they threw themselves into his arms. 

“No, please don’t put this all away. I love it, I was just surprised.” Leaning up and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, they hurried over to the table and took a seat. He followed suit, and the two sat and sipped on their wine as they talked. The peace as temporarily interrupted when the oven timer went off and Jason got up to get the pizza. In the short time that he was gone, the anxiety had started to creep back up on them They trusted him, and his cooking skills, but that didn’t erase the fear that their eating difficulties would act up and, in their mind, ruin the date. Some of the anxiety subsided when he walked in with the pizza; it looked absolutely delicious, their only worry then was that looks could be deceiving. The rest of their fear melted away with the first bite. A surprised yet pleased muffled moan leaving their lips as their eyes fell shut, utterly enjoying the slice. 

“‘s that good?” Jason teased. Covering their mouth with their hand as they chewed, they responded with,

“I’d fuckin’ die for you, Jason, this is amazing!” 

“Not if I die for you, first.” He chuckled, partially glad that they didn’t get the joke yet. The dinner went by without much talking after that, save for a few short sentences. Neither of them minded much, though, the background music was calming and beautiful, the view just as much so. When they had finished eating, Jason refused to accept any help cleaning up, insisting that they were his guest, and that Alfred had taught him better than that. There was much more conversation during the clean-up than there was during dinner, though the mood hardly changed. Still serene and romantic like it was at the beginning of dinner, and it stayed like that even when they moved to the couch, cuddling with the TV on quietly in the background. 

“Jay?” The spoke, quietly so as to not shatter the atmosphere. 

“Yeah, Doll?” 

“Thank you for tonight, I’m not sure I could explain just how much it meant to me.” Their jaw felt funny moving as it rested on his shoulder, but not unpleasant.

“It wasn’t a big deal, I’m glad you liked it.” They scoffed lightly and lifted their head up, looking into his eyes so that he could see their emotions, and everything they felt that went beyond words. 

“Maybe it wasn’t a big deal to you, but it was the world to me. All my life, it’s seemed like however bothersome my eating disorder was to me, it was more of a burden to the people around me. It’s always felt like I’ve been a burden because of it. I can’t tell you how many friendships and relationships it’s ruined. Even when people were nice about it, it was just them doing their best to ignore it.” They spoke, wrapping their arms around his thick neck, lightly playing with the short stubbled buzz at the nape of his neck. “But you not only acknowledged it, you went out of your way to do something kind for me, in a way that I could enjoy.” A smile made its way onto their face as their eyes shone with unspilled tears. “I really like you, but even if we don’t work out in the long-term, which to be honest, I really hope we do, this will always be a gesture and a night that I’ll hold close to my heart. So don’t pretend like you didn’t do anything important, please. Because you did, more than I think you’ll ever really know.” His hands moved to rest on their waist, as he spoke. 

“You’re not a burden, Sweetheart, not to me.” He said, firmly, despite how quiet his words were. Their smile widened as they shifted forward, slanting their lips against his. Their arms tightening around him as his tightened around them.

[thatsparrow]

post-banshees of inisherin thoughts

the quick n dirty bullet point rundown of the, like, 40-min conversation my mom and I had about this while hiking earlier (spoilers ahead, ofc)

beautiful. this one goes without saying, but truly, every shot of the landscape is the most stunning vista you’ve ever seen. god let me live in colm’s house on that bay

the setting and environment is so specific (and claustrophobic, almost, despite the grandeur of the scenery) in a way that’s so vital to the story. in terms of the town, we only ever see the same handful of streets, the same three or four buildings, the same two-block stretch of storefronts and the harbor. because it’s set in the ’20s, we of course have no phones or tv, but no radio even. it’s an island off the coast of an island. there’s no sense of needing to labor to make ends meet, and so there’s an abundance of free time that lends itself to how quickly things unravel. pádraic asking “do you think I have nothing better to do with my time” and colm saying, “yes, you have nothing better to do with your time.”

jenny my beloved :(

feels rare that you get a story about a friend breakup that’s treated with the same gravity and intensity of a romantic relationship ending. of course pádraic loses his mind—what else does he have (never mind that their friendship didn’t make much sense to begin with.) who could see an ex-anything having the time of their life after they’ve cut you out of it and not feel needy, desperate, insecure, hopeful, jealous, manic (which is also why the ending feels like it leaves the two of them in a very co-dependent, destructive place that seems very reflective of a romantic relationship gone bad. colm’s not looking to punish himself for pádraic’s company anymore. he didn’t stop pádraic from burning down his house, but he didn’t let himself die either. pádraic’s violence and follow-through has finally made him interesting enough to colm to renew the relationship, even if it now seems inevitable that it will end with one of them dying)

truly the scene that clinches the movie for me is when siobhan goes to return the first finger and tries to understand what’s gotten into colm, and he says that it’s because pádraic is dull, and she fires back that they’re all dull—it’s colm’s inflated sense of self-importance and the value of his own time that sets everything in motion, but is it really earned? of course not, but here’s siobhan telling him as much. he’s not special, and neither are you. none of us are

only saw it once, and so am working off last night’s memory of the costuming and color usage, but special shout out to that bright yellow coat that siobhan wears when she finally leaves inisherin

the whole question at the heart of it—what makes a life worth being lived? to be kind to those around you, and to be remembered as such, even if it’s only for a generation, or to dedicate all your efforts to creating something that lives on after you, no matter the cost. how does that play out? all pádraic’s got is his niceness, and that’s burned out of him by the time the movie’s done. colm’s spited himself enough to prove his point to pádraic that he can’t play the violin anymore. but who’s to say the story of this disastrous friendship won’t live on after the both of them are gone?

overall impression: I’m glad I saw it, and I’ll likely never watch it again

[collidescopeeyes]

Time is a Roulette Wheel: Swain WIP

SFW

There's been a raven following you around since you started approaching Noxus occupied territory. It's more annoying than you thought it would be, honestly–getting jumped by a shadowy cabal of assassins would be a pain in the ass, and if you're going into negotiations with the Trifarix you'll need the upper hand of surprise. No, you carefully do not use your powers while Swain is watching, even though it's a huge pain in the ass. You can't even get rid of them, either, because the one person you ask when you get a moment of fucking privacy seems to think they're just crows. Even though they're a) too huge to be crows, and more importantly b) have six glowing red eyes. A side effect of Noxus hemomancy, the ferryman says cheerfully as he takes you across the gulf to Shurima. The so-called crows don't seem to be inclined to cross the open water, and the one that's been tailing you watched balefully until your ship disappeared into the distance.

Another raven is on you as soon as you disembark. You're not the only one, either–travellers of interest all seem to get a corvid escort. It follows you in the days it takes you to travel out of town, into contested territory, to the City under siege by Noxian forces. You don't bother learning it's name–they’ll change it soon. It's in a key location to expedite trade routes between the existing Noxian settlements, but it's resisted capture so far by virtue of its defences, natural or otherwise. The city sports a grand wall, set against the edge of a narrow ravine on one side and a mountain on the other, the city was accessible only by a great drawbridge–by the same turn, though, it was constrained in size and relied on it's status as a trade hub to sustain its populace. Currently, you believe the Noxians plan was to starve them out, but that had its own complications–the city was dug in for a seige, and the Noxians had to keep their own troops fed and safe from the Shuriman wildlife, not to mention the resources required to sustain an extended seige. That makes it the perfect place to make your point.

The raven follows you as you trek your way out to the ravine. The mountain blocks the moon, and a lone figure without a light passes without notice.

(It was always dark, in the Void, yet you could still see. You thought that was just the way it was. It didn't occur to you until after that it was you that had changed.)

You reach the edge of the ravine, the wall towering overhead. The raven perches on a jagged rock nearby. You lean over the abyss, holding out hand out towards the wall, and you don't pull time backwards so much as you tear it away like peeling wallpaper. Back, before the walls were built, and then further still, to when the desert had water and the streams eroded this cut into the earth. The stone around you blurs, reality ripping at the edges, and then the city stands undefended.

You turn to the raven. It blinks, one eye at a time, so that it's never not looking at you. “Tell Grand General Swain I’d like a word. I’ll be in Tereshni.” You glance back at the city, now swarming with the beginnings of panic. “I can put the walls and the ravine back after you have the city, don't worry.”

The bird cocks it's head, and then takes flight north. You wait until it's gone, and then rewind yourself back to the room you rented. You're safe, for now–the ravens probably knew you'd paid for the place, but they couldn't get in on their own, and it would take at least a few days for Swain to arrive from Noxus Prime.

The world spins into little fractals of darkness, and you feel sleep dragging you down like a riptide. Undoing centuries like that will take you out for a week at least, but you have no doubt Swain will send someone after you before then.

Here's another trick you learned from your time in the Void; whatever brings you back, it brings you back perfect. Sleeping in the Void generally ended with you dying anyway, but if you really can't afford to be out that long, well. It's not like dying is anything new for you.

—

You come back a few hours later, clean up after yourself, and then sleep until morning. A polite knock wakes you.

You're greeted by a man in military uniform, who bows his head at you. “We're here to escort you to Noxus Prime, per Grand General Swain’s command,” he says. “Are you ready to depart?”

You blink. “What's your name?”

“Colonel Garrett, ma’am,” he says. “And you're Iso…?” He trails off, searching for a last name. On the rooftops around your rented room, ravens peer intently down at you.

“Yes,” you answer instead. He blinks. “It's like seven am, Garrett. I'm going to get breakfast, and then we can go.” You grab your bag off the side table, sweep past him and head for the market.

There's a whole squad you hadn't seen in the courtyard beyond your door. Garrett falls into step beside you, and they fall into step behind him. The pastry vendor you stop at doesn't even charge you.

—

They escort you to a private ship, and from the ship a carriage. Your escort spares no expense, though nobody exactly expects them to pay–the one thing they don't bend over backwards to accommodate you on was getting to the capital quickly. Before long, the looming plateau of Noxus Prime pierces the horizon. The gate guards let you through, and you're taken to a tower near the center of the city. There, you're taken to a refined yet reserved sitting room, and Garrett bids his farewell. A maid comes in to serve out tea, but other than that, you're alone.

You're sure this is a power play of some kind. You're sure it's also no coincidence that the assortment of artfully arranged finger foods are all the sort of thing you like. You are kind of baffled that Swain's magic demon arm that fed on secrets was being used to set the snack menu, but also, you're not complaining. It didn't take an army of spying birds to figure out that you're food motivated.

Swain comes in about five minutes later. He sweeps into the room, and he has the sort of commanding presence that makes him seem grand without doing anything in particular, an air about him that demands attention when he's doing something as utterly mundane as entering a room. You can't even attribute it to the glowing demon arm you know he has, because it's hidden behind the imposing coat he wears over his shoulders. He sits elegantly on the couch across from you, and does not say a word. You get the distinct impression that he's sizing you up.

You blink at him. “Did you want some tea, or can we get straight to business here?”

His expression doesn't change. “Let's. You brought down the walls of Bitharix to let our troops in. Why?”

You nod. “I figured you wouldn't take my offer seriously without a gesture of good faith, and a show of power.”

He inclines his head. “That is the Noxian way, yes. What is it you seek?”

“I'm from a world beyond the Void. I want to go home. If you agree to help find me a way back, I'll be your weapon for a year,” you tell him evenly. You figure it was better to be concise here. Swain does not strike you as a man with an open schedule.

He considers you clinically for a long moment. “I assume there's a reason you elected to bring this offer to me specifically, and not the Trifarix?”

You nod. “You’re the one with the demonic arm that eats secrets. I figure if anyone knew how to get me home, it would be you. I can also guarentee that if at any point during my employment the demon in your arm happens to take control of you, I can undo it.”

His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. “And how do you know that?”

“About your demon, or that I can fix you?” You ask. He doesn't answer. You shrug. “I know a lot of things about this world. I know about the Immortal King that built the bones of this city, I know about the Black Rose and their experiments, and I know who you have on staff to kill you if you ever lose yourself to that arm of yours. I also know that all the promises in the world don't mean shit when it comes down to it, so you can test my powers however will make you believe me.”

He considers you. Then he says “Very well,” and then explodes into crackling red energy. It's only years of instinct that moves you from the path of the arcing scarlet lightning that fan across the couch you were just sitting on, flickering back in time to stand just by the doorway. The air burns, and you watch as shadowy wings flare from his back as he comes to hover in the center of the room. He looks almost disinterested, the fucker.

You flicker back to the now ruined couch, darting aside from another blast of eldritch energy, and as you close the distance between you a blast soulfire rips through you. The burning wound it leaves barely lasts for a second before you rewind it, and as you reach your hand out towards him you watch your skin crack and burn from being too close. Then, you rewind him, until that burning shadow recedes, and he lands on both feet with an infuriating grace. He examines the shining red of his hand for a moment, and then looks up at you, now unharmed and more than a little annoyed.

“Acceptable,” he says with a nod. “I will vouch for you before the Trifarix. There will be a meeting in the morning. In the mean time, you may avail yourself to Noxus’ hospitalities. Good day.” He inclines his head at you, and then sweeps out of the room just as swiftly as he came in. As he leaves, Garrett enters again, now followed by a small squadron of maids. You have the distinct feeling that you've somehow been played.

“Is he always like that?” You ask Garrett, pointing at the door Swain just left through.

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean, ma’am,” Garrett says placidly, pointedly not looking at the destroyed room around you. The maids begin to pick up the shattered china.

You open your mouth, then groan. “Crazy fucking Noxians,” you mutter under your breath, and wave a hand across the room as you rewind it to its pre-Swain state. One of the maids squeaks in surprise.

Garrett blinks once, and that's about the extent of his display of surprise. “I'll show you to your accomodations, then?” He asks. You nod, and as he turns and walks out of the room, you grab one of the macarons off of the newly restored biscuit platter. If you're going to get ambushed at your job interview, you're at least getting sweets out of it.

[clovermarigold]

Smoke & Ice Chap.7

Hey everyone! I am sooooo sorry for how long it took to get this chapter out (like half a year). I had a technical issue that ended up making me need to retake all my tests. A family pet died, and then I had a last minute surgery. So, things didn’t exactly go as planned lol. I’m looking to get back into writing more and thankfully this story gave me a pretty good urge to write as well as lasted the longest before I got writer's block at some point. Thank you all for your support and kind words. I absolutely love and read every single one of your comments. Even the ones not related to my health. Your comments are so hilarious, fun and inspiring. As a reward I made an extra long chapter. Thank you all for reading <3

Masterlist

Bold + Italicized = greek

~~~~~~~~~~

Gods above, men were easy. The second the Lin Kuei bastard had entered Greece his pompous dick swinging had alerted her to his weakness. Pride.

Calla had her reservations on being able to make the rabble leave, but now she was confident. After all, Bi han had looked ready to kill when she followed him into the gardens. Not that she blamed him, she had half a mind to throw him across the mangrove. Just a little more prodding and he’ll either lash out or leave. Either way he would be gone shortly. She would make sure of it. 

The fire god had unknowingly given her a hand in removing them from her presence by putting him in charge. She knew well enough that Liu Kang was blind and foolish, but she didn’t think it to this extent. Having someone so prideful and arrogant with so much unkempt power was a catalyst for undoubted disaster. 

Beyond that, there were obvious flaws in his other choices of representatives. The American was obviously taking nothing seriously, and his Japanese counterpart seemed to only be concerned with something of his the American had. The Shaolin with the hat was oblivious and thought with his stomach. And as for Raiden and Tomas….. She would hand it to Liu Kang, they would be obstacles for her. Well, had they not been made to babysit their fellow champions.

If one of them was set to represent Earth realm in the tournament, she would hope it to be Raiden. She knew nothing of his combat skills, but she would certainly not trust any of the others given their…. Intellectual struggles. 

“Matron?” Calla was dragged from her thoughts as Raiden had seemed to come to her side along with his companions. “Ah, I assume you’re ready to join us as Hamadryad?”. The group bowed, “we will work hard to prove our good intentions”. She had to hand it to Liu Kang, he had good taste in followers… for the most part.

This was a day that Calla would never forget. Looking back on it she wished she had done things differently. Maybe she could have assigned different tasks to her unwanted guests, maybe she could have approached the situation differently. But one thing stood as a fact. She should never have let Tomas near those kids. Everything had been going according to her plan. So why did Tomas have to ruin everything!

“This is Alycia, she leads our agriculture and harvests. Since you say that you were farmers I’m sure you will have no difficulty with assisting her”. The hand off went well enough, the two men not protesting as Alycia dragged them off, no doubt ready to take out all of her frustrations on them for invading her home. It was similarly easy with Johnny and Kenshi. Coriander not giving you so much as a second to explain what they would be doing before dragging them off to begin construction of the children’s home.

So why, WHY, did everything have to go upside down once Tomas was involved. It wasn’t even because of Bi han’s involvement. In fact, Bi han was absent from training. And the worst part, it wasn’t even because he messed up.

The Mangrove was the ideal location for the Hamadryad in many ways, one of the major reasons being space. The Mangrove’s training area was simplistic in design. Split into three sections; a wide open area for sparing, an area with target dummies, and an untouched overgrown area with trees and tall grass. 

To say Miche was excited would be an understatement. The blonde haired boy was practically bouncing off the walls since breakfast when he heard that Tomas would be training him. Calla couldn’t help but smile as she watched Miche ramble to the Lin kuei as the three approached the grounds, every other word switching out of english in lack of knowing the translation. 

A part of Calla felt a little bad for Miche. It was obvious that after the fire he had grown attached to Tomas, which was going to make his inevitable departure painful for him. Miche was the youngest of the Hamadryad. And the only one who had no concept of a life before the megáli fotiá. The last thing Calla wanted was for him to be at all like a paternal role to him. 

Which is why looking back on this day she would always wonder what the hell she had been thinking when she told Tomas to train him.

“Widen your stance” Tomas instructed, tapping Miche’s foot with his own. “Like this?” Tomas smiled, “exactly”.

It was almost unnerving how calm Tomas was. At this point a few others had begun to watch the lesson between him and Miche. That paired with Calla watching and openly judging him should have at least made him wary. But instead he seemed entirely focused on Miche. For a moment Calla had wondered if her plan had backfired.

Around half an hour had passed of Tomas teaching Miche to throw an opponent before he told the boy to take a break “Sister, what do you think?!”. “You’re learning fast. Well done” Calla gave a curt smile as the boy drank water. Looking over, Tomas seemed to be speaking to the small group of onlookers. Most of which were the children only slightly older than Miche…. Oh no.

Calla’s eyes widened as she watched a number of the smaller boys start to show off to Tomas, sparring with the air and laughing. She had accounted for everything. Their little groups arrogance, pride, ignorance, and folly. But she had never thought to take into account them actually being likable. Calla had half a mind to yell at the children to go away. But that would do little good in the end. No, she would have to pivot from this miscalculation. 

In a matter of minutes Tomas’ task of training a singular pupil had expanded into three. The two extra little boys being around two years older than Miche. “Elm! Misha! Leave our guest alone. He has enough to do”. Tomas could understand the gist of Calla’s meaning based on the way the two slinked backwards looking between him and her, “With respect, I would very much enjoy the opportunity to guide more students”.

Calla looked at Tomas from the corner of her eye, holding back the urge to narrow them in irritation. Turning back to the boys in question would prove to be another mistake, the now three of them huddled together looking pathetic and no doubt attempting to guilt her into caving.

“...Of course. If you insist” Calla smiled, before turning to leave. She took back what she said. Men weren’t easy. Boy’s were. And unfortunately for her there was at least one man in Liu kang’s little horde. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Johnny groaned, stretching his neck to the side as he approached the long low sitting tables sat underneath shaded ivy. Sitting next to Raiden he was quick to dive into the tray of cold fruits laid out. 

“You know when the matron said we would be helping rebuild an entire building, she could have mentioned by WE she meant us and two people”. Normally Kenshi would be quick to chastise Johnny for complaining, but he had to admit he was right. Coriander had them working non stop through lunch. Apparently, Dryads had different work and eating cultures than humans. Having two communal meals a day and not believing in breaks. 

“You think that’s bad?” Kung lao huffed, visibly stained in dirt. “Dryads harvest fields daily. Wait, let me rephrase that. The same fields, daily. Every time I thought we were done they just regrew everything”. 

“It was more than I anticipated, I will admit,” Raiden said, massaging his hands. “And that lady, Alycia, does not like us,” Kung lao shook his head before biting into an apple. “I think that’s true for everyone here, Kung lao” Kenshi said. The four watched as both Tomas and Bi han approached and joined across from them, “Are things going better on your end?”.

“The boys are making progress if that is what you’re asking” Tomas said, earning a glare from Bi han, “You were tasked with training one. We do not need you wasting our time on frivolous children”.

“I would hardly call this frivolous, Bi han” Bi han’s nose scrunched. “Divulging Lin Kuei secrets to Dryad brats is not our prerogative. Finish the mission, so we may leave” Harshly he stood to walk away. “What's up his ass?” from both sides Johnny was met by sharp elbows knocking into his ribs. 

Johnny sighed, “I’m starting to really miss meat” he looked at  the long tables flooded with Dryads eating together, searching for anything hearty. “Eat the vegetables Johnny, they’re filling enough on their own” Tomas said exhausted. As if on cue, the second he reached for his own plate a small swarm of young teens came buzzing over to surround him, overlapping Greek and laughter making it impossible to know what they wanted. 

What was understandable was the three hands pulling him from his seat towards another table. “And the chaperones are gone” Johnny sat up, “I’m gonna see if this place has anything to drink”.

~~~~~~~~~~

Calla sat with her arms crossed, “You’re pouting” Cypress took a sip of tea. Calla glared, “I don’t pout”. “You do”, Calla glared at Tomas. “He’s becoming a problem” Cypress looked over at the man currently covered in children before looking back to Calla with a brow raised. “Whatever shall we do? He is viciously teaching our children table manners” Calla’s eyes narrowed at the obvious sarcasm, “The last thing we need are people getting attached. The entire point of letting them in was to make them lose hope”.

“Careful, Sister, you’ll sour your dinner” Calla gave up staring at the Lin Kuei in favor of turning to Cypress. “I don’t want them worming themselves into their minds”. Cypress laughed, “hmm, by the looks of it the girls are particularly interested in his… worm” Calla’s eyes shot wide and darted back to Tomas who was surrounded by a number of the younger girls, a couple older ones too. 

“Absolutely not! Get away from him!” the group flinched, dissipating back to their tables. Calla rubbed her temple, trying to act as though she didn’t create a scene. Thankfully no one wanted to comment on it, or at least were too scared to. 

“Children” she huffed, “Chasing after the first thing with legs they see”. “It’s their first time seeing people from the outside world, you can hardly blame them for being curious” Cypress argued, “Honestly, I expected you to react the same”.

“I’ve dealt with the outside world more than enough” Calla rolls her eyes. “I’d hardly call threatening lost hikers a conversation” Cypress paused, “Sister… I am aware of your lack of interest when it comes to… physical pursuits” Calla was on edge. “And I know it is because you see yourself as a parent to the mangrove and everyone in it. Perhaps, being able to release any pent up urges with someone who will not remain for long would be-” Calla slammed the table, shooting up, cheeks red in embarrassment. This had certainly created a spectacle, both the Mangrove and Liu Kang’s brats staring at her. “You will never speak to me of this again”. 

“What was that about?” Johnny asked, watching as the matron stormed off. “Oh, suddenly I’m fluent in Greek, let me tell you all about it!” Johnny frowned at Kenshi’s tone. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Calla huffed as she stormed towards her home. The gall on Cypress! To try to give advice on her sex life. Cypress was well aware why she chose not to couple with any of the Hamadryad. She had practically raised all of them, with a few exceptions. And even then, after everything with Atticus… she couldn’t do that again.

She had half a mind to march to the temple and call upon the fire god himself and make him remove his pawns from her home. But that would do nothing but invite more trouble.

Calla sighed, perhaps going to the temple would be the better choice of action. Not summoning Liu Kang, certainly not. But tempering herself and seeking guidance in Lady Cetrion would be wiser than stewing rage in an empty home.

The temple was quiet as per usual at this time, the only sound emanating being the quiet flow of gentle rushing water. Calla never quite understood spirituality, even as matron. She just chalked it up to being too young. By the elder gods she hated that. Too young. It was the source of her every problem and insecurity. Lack of experience, continuous questioning, and now a plethora of intruders she allowed to stay in her home.

Even now, sitting in the wood and marble building, kneeling beneath her Lady’s statue she didn’t feel any divine guidance. Just… cold….Cold?

“In the time it took for you to notice me I could have killed you” the grating gravel voice of Bi han sounded behind her. “Have you come purely to interrupt my content or do you have an actual purpose here” her jaw ticked. 

“Content?” he laughed, “Your fists say otherwise”. Calla stood from her cushioned altar to face him. “You can fool everyone else with your charade but I know better” Calla puffed out her chest at the accusation. “I don’t know what is more insulting. That you are ill kempt to be the Hamadryads Matron, or that you’re the best the Hamadryad have to offer”. 

“Continue to spew vile in my Lady’s temple and I will show you how kempt I am” She popped the t, words dripping with malice. Calla looked up and down his figure. She had done nothing more than be in his presence and he looked ready to murder. Oh, now she understood, “Is it painful?”. “What-” Calla cut him off, “Having someone ‘beneath you’, have more power than you”. 

Cold vapor began to fume off of his shoulders and hands, mask failing to cover any of his rage. “Unkempt. No leash. No job other than the wellbeing of my own people. Must sound nice after years under Liu Kang’s thumb” his hand shot out to wrap around her neck, cold fingers frosting over her skin. 

“How sad” Calla said straight faced, concealing all fear she had in the moment in favor of the most pitying look she could give him. 

Now Bi han really was going to kill this bitch

Taglist

~~~~~~~~~~

@whore-of-many-hot-men

@cherryblossomly

@anightlikethisss

[thedo0zyslider]

so this post by @/weaselishmcdiesel gave me some. ideas. happy grumbo tuesday

click below for gay people

It had started out as a simple meetup between friends, it really had. But the outcome of said meetup was defiantly more than a little friendly.

Grian had invited Mumbo over to his base, still eager to catch up with the mustached man after his return to Hermitcraft. The blonde had been buzzing with excitement since he woke up, unable to stay still for a second. He'd already had a reunion with the redstoner, and it was beautiful, but he hadn't seen his best friend in like, eight months! That was a long time, and Mumbo had yet to fill Grian in on his own adventures during those months. He'd heard plenty about what had transpired on Hermitcraft in his absence, it was time Mumbo recounted some of his own adventures.

Grian never really understood all of his friend's redstone talk, having listened to many over the years, but he'd grown to miss it. He missed Mumbo dropping by his base, ranting about whatever technical inconvinces that had fallen upon him that day while Grian listened, building as he listened to some of Mumbo's worse and most frustrated rants. It had served as bonding time for them, Mumbo learning to hand Grian whatever blocks he needed at the moment, since the taller was often ranting by his shulkers. Everything about those days had become familiar, a comforting routine that Grian had found himself longing for often in Mumbo's leave. Scar had stopped by for a few chats over the months, and he loved the brunette and his disney rants dearly, he really did, it just wasn't the same as Mumbo

He hoped, that by inviting Mumbo over, they could have one of those peaceful days again. Just with less angry ranting, and Mumbo preferably talking about the eight months away. The redstoner would probably have a few tales of how he'd been an absolute spoon, which Grian was very much looking forward too.

The two would have a different kind of meeting instead, one more passionate than peaceful. And it wasn't the angry kind of passion either.

Mumbo arrived around midday, and Grian was there to meet his friend almost immediately. Mumbo barely had time to put away his rockets before a small figure was running towards him. Grian practically ran into the other, with how fast he approached. Mumbo laughed, stumbling as he tried to keep his balance when Grian slammed into him. "HI MUMBO!" The blonde yelled, wrapping his arms around the taller's middle.

Mumbo returned his hug, arms coming to wrap around Grian's own torso. "You still miss me?" He asked through giggles, beginning to wriggle out of the embrace. Grian pouted slightly at that, but it was quickly replaced with a smile upon seeing Mumbo's face properly. His black hair was windswept from his short flight over, suit a little wrinkled and the corners if his eyes were crinkled up in joy. He looked quite nice like that, Grian had to admit. The sudden butterflies in his stomach could be thought about later, now was Mumbo time.

"Yes!" Grian squeaked, barely remembering that Mumbo had asked him something. "You were gone for eight months Mumbo, eight months! That's so long!" He turned his back to the redstoner, beginning to walk through the opening to his base. The taller followed him into his base with a few more giggles, the sound of Mumbo's laughter acting like music to the blonde's ears.

"Besides, you still haven't told me what you were up too during all those months!" Grian smirked, turning his head to look back at Mumbo. "We've told all about Hermitcraft!"

Mumbo blinked, before letting out a fond sigh. "Well, I guess that's fair." He said, seemingly preparing himself to tell quite a tale. "So..."

That was how the two spent god knows how long, just talking about whatever came to Mumbo's mind. They shifted all through Grian's base as they conversed, finally settling in a room the blonde didn't really remember building. Time became a blur, the duo enjoying some much needed time together as they sat and talked.

Grian wasn't sure how the next thing happened in hindsight. All he remembered was that he was teasing Mumbo about something he'd said, getting in the taller's personal space like he normally did. This time he'd apparently gotten too closer, now practically in Mumbo's lap where he sat.

Mumbo stared back at him somewhat awkwardly, blinking. Grian on the other hand was mortified, quickly scrambling away. He hadn't mean to make Mumbo uncomfortable and ruin the day completely.

A hand on his wrist stopped him, pulling him back. Grian looked back at Mumbo, slight confusion spreading on his face. The redstoner was looking at him, almost pleading for him to stay. Grian blinked in confusion, Mumbo moving closer. The position they'd ended up in was quite awkward, both of them shuffling into a more comfortable pose ad Mumbo wrapped him into another hug.

"Sorry about that.." Grian muttered, head gently resting on Mumbo shoulder.

"No, you didn't do anything wrong." His friend's voice was barely above a whisper, tone soft and comforting. "It's fine, really." He muttered, pulling back. Grian felt a wave of relief flood through him, watching as Mumbo sat back again.

They'd ended up in a arguably worse position than before. Grian was propping himself up off the floor, and Mumbo was now straddling him. The latter hadn't backed up much either and both their faces were very close. Grian's breath hitched slightly, watching as Mumbo's gaze wandered to his lips momentarily. His own gaze did something similar before meeting Mumbo's eyes again. Mumbo was looking at him almost needily, leaning in closer so their noses touched and breaths mingled together. Grian didn't mind at all when Mumbo leaned in even more, lips pressing against his.

He happily let Mumbo kiss him into the floor, the others tongue slipping into his mouth hungrily. He tugged at Mumbo's tie, loosening it, hands fumbling for purchase against Mumbo's suit. Grian's arms eventually came to wrap around the others neck, pulling them even closer. He whined when Mumbo pulled away, listening to Mumbo's amused huff as he tried to recapture the other's lips.

Lips were pressed against his neck instead, and Grian shivered at the sensation. He let out pleased sounds as Mumbo pressed kisses against his throat, trailing down to his shoulders as well, red jumper being moved off the side of his shoulder. Mumbo's suit jacket had ended up on the floor in the chaos of the moment, and he was now in an unbuttoned undershirt. A louder, more embarrassing noise escaped the Grian's lips when the taller bit down particularly hard, a bruise already beginning to blossom against his skin. He felt Mumbo smirk into his neck, counting to press even more kisses to Grian's skin.

The two were soon interrupted by footsteps sounding in the base, and a familiar voice ringing through the air. It was then Grian remembered he had invited Scar over as well, and the brunette was later as per usual. This was possibly the worst meeting to come late too after all.

"Grian? Mumbo? Where--oh my!"

Mumbo pulled away abruptly, face turning several shades of red when he saw Scar standing at the door way. He moved so he was no longer pinning Grian, now sitting on the smaller legs instead. It didn't help the situation they were in the the slightest, but it did give Grian some breathing room.

The blonde himself was flustered yes, but he could feel the smug look spreading across his face. Scar himself was also red, gaze glancing between the two of them in surprise.

"It's...not what it looks like?" Mumbo said awkwardly, even though it was absolutely what it looked like.

"I'll just erm, leave you guys too it!" Scar said, quickly shuffling out of the rom. Mumbo spluttered something above him, while Grian just laughed

"You could always join us, Scar!" He yelled after the man, giggling more when the sounds of rockets could be heard a moment afterwards.

"Grian!" Mumbo exclaimed, burying his head into the smaller shoulder with embrassment. Grian himself just kept giggling, content to lay there for a while. They could sort this out later, when he stopped wanting Mumbo's lips against his skin.

[brattylikestoeat]

OK, if you don’t mind being detailed here —- could you please share with the class Re: the following —- how exactly do you go about telling you partner what you want/expect/what kind of treatment you want? Like, you’ve mentioned princess treatment/spoiled GF treatment and I found a lot of what you shared is in line w it what I would want. I’ve just never bothered with guys because I find them annoying… but now I’m curious.

So, let’s say beginning stages with Ted or with someone completely new = what do you usually say/how do you say it? Also,

What are your needs and wants?

Again, I’ve never really explored this because I typically just did for myself but now… if a good dude decided to be giving? Maybe…

I feel like if I have to ask, we already aren’t going to work. Being a gentleman should be a base thing he does because he is a good man.

Do I expect new men I meet to just bow down and hand me their wallet? No.

But I do expect gentlemen behavior and respect.

Is he asking for a date or to just chill?

Does he actually plan a date or make you put in the work?

Opening doors, is a minimum.

With gator it was a process because I wasn’t use to it. He put me on game and then Donald came in and finished.

So when I meet TG, Ted, and 6’7, ect I knew what I expected.

Once we exchanged numbers there is no talking stage for me. Either we going on a date or you are blocked. Extended talking stages are killing the dating game. That is what dates are for, to get to know each other.

I give them two weeks, give or take circumstances. If I’m busy I won’t hold them to that two weeks. But I let them know they are on borrowed time.

Something like, “I really enjoyed texting/calling you, can’t wait to get to know you better in person.” Aka plan a date.

I’m not bougie, I don’t care where the first date is. I know some women frown on coffee dates, or going to chain restaurants. I don’t care. I just wanna see you putting the effort in.

People don’t know what you don’t tell them. I tell everyone how much I love flowers. Now I get them weekly.

As far as being a spoiled gf, idk how to explain this other than if he really like you, he gone do it. And everyone definition of spoiled is different. 

I’ve always let it be known that my time is valuable and I won’t allow anyone around me who won’t treat me at the level I treat me or better.

Why do I need a man around if he going to treat me worst or drag me down, and the he expects pussy???

I see it all the time with white women, when their man really loves them, biggest simp in the world.

My needs: I need it all lol. I want all your love, all your attention, all your time, I literally want you to be crazy about me.

My wants: gifts, flowers, money, good dick.

My niggas ain’t millions or billionaires, so I don’t expect a new gwagon with a fully funded trip to Dubai. But yes pay my rent so you know I’m carefree and have a comfortable place to lay at. Yes make sure my car is running well so you know I’m traveling safely.

That isn’t rich nigga shit, that’s just a man who really like you shit. Blue collar men make decent money but most aren’t rich, but they wouldn’t let the women they love be stranded on the side of the road.

Once you find a man that really likes you, he will go the extra mile to ensure you are happy.

[latenightsimping]

THE EDGE

“...There is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who’ve gone over.” - Hunter S. Thompson, Hell’s Angels

Summary: A part of the deal to freedom included a stay at Pennhurst. It’ll take everything to keep the hope that one day the locked doors will open, the windows will no longer have bars that block the view, and that one day, the name Eddie Munson will be synonymous with the word ‘innocent’. The hope, he never realised, would also come to be synonymous with your name.

Chapter: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

Pairing: Eddie Munson x reader

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: angst, heavy themes of inpatient treatment/hospitalisation, heavy themes of mental health, institutional deprivation of liberties, body injuries, mentions of suicidal ideation, themes of institutional abuse, can be a dark read (continue with that in mind, look after yourselves), canon divergence, Eddie survives the demobat attack, post-S4 timeline, slow burn romance, eventual smut, 18+, eventual fluff

Chapter warnings: angst, hurt (no comfort), bittersweet feelings, it's a difficult one ngl but I'll make it better I swear lmao, reader is described as having scars but no specifics, story tags still apply

AN: Ayy another chapter done. I'll try and find time to keep updating, but bear with me as I switch between this, other oneshots, and my own personal work. To those who follow along, thank you. This is such a passion project, and I'm loving the story so far.

October, 1984

It all still feels like one horrific nightmare. You’ve still got blood in your hair, staining your skin, with no idea who it belonged to. For a while, the pain had vanished, as you clawed your way to a nearby road. Perhaps a leftover survival mechanism passed down the generations. But now, now you couldn’t ignore the agony that your wounds created. The gashes that would forever disfigure you, a reminder that would become apparent every time you looked in the mirror. For now, covered with clean white bandages. You had no idea what it looked like beneath them, and you weren’t ready to look anyway.

 Everyone had looked at you with such vitriol that made you want to wither into nothing. The doctors and nurses were doing the absolute bare minimum for your care, giving you minimal pain meds and spending as least time with you as humanly possible. The steel handcuffs that clasped your wrist and secured you to the hospital bed were starting to chafe, but you knew better than to say anything. Not like anybody would care, or even do anything about it. You knew the police officer that sat outside your door from high school, someone that had graduated when you were a sophomore. Harmon, you think his last name was. Either way, he hadn’t said anything to you yet. Not even made an appearance, just sitting himself down and reading the newspaper. You couldn’t see it, but you wondered if your name was in the news yet. Unlikely, considering everything had only happened a couple of hours ago. You prayed for it never to happen, but it was unlikely anyone up there was listening anyway. 

Someone came through the door and stopped by the end of your bed, a small notebook in one hand and pen in the other. Horned rimmed glasses framed eyes that bore into you, a squint that conveyed the disgust he had for you. He was dressed in a police uniform, the Hawkins P.D badge on his chest slightly glinting under the fluorescent lights. Callahan, the name badge opposite it said. You’d seen him around town, but had never crossed paths with him until tonight.

He said your name with a tone that told you he’d rather be anywhere else than here. You nodded in affirmation, as he looked down at the notepad, pen tapping against the pages. 

“Wild night you’ve had,” he drawled, a slight sneer as he shook his head. “Wanna tell me what happened?” 

For a moment, you said nothing. How could you possibly begin to explain it all? It was all such a blur, time doubling in rate with no hope of slowing. Your gaze lowered to the thin blanket that covered you, free hand picking at the off white fibres. “I don’t know.” Your voice was quiet, far away. You didn’t sound like yourself. 

A scoff. “You expect me to believe that?”

Another pause. No, you didn’t. You expected absolutely nobody to believe you. 

“We’ve found two bodies so far,” he continued. “Are we going to find any more?” 

You shook your head. They’d found Cynthia and Scott. Cynthia was your friend since Kindergarten, your neighbour that you grew up with. Your best friend, who never judged you. Scott had started dating her when you were all sixteen, and you actually liked him. Thought he was good for her. Thought they’d end up the childhood sweethearts that actually stuck together through life; would get married, have 2.5 kids and a white picket fence. Get a dog, and live a boring but fulfilling life. 

Where had it all gone so wrong?

“Done any drugs tonight?” Callahan asked, though he sounded like he already knew the answer, and way just testing you to see if you were going to lie about it. 

“I uh, smoked some weed,” you admitted, rubbing the heel of your hand into your eye. You still felt fuzzy around the edges, but it was wearing off all too quickly. “Drank some beers.” 

“Nothing else?” he asked you. “Hallucinogens, PCP, anything like that?” 

“No.”

You swore you saw an eye roll, though his glance away was helping to conceal it. “We’re going to be testing your blood, you know. Easier to just admit everything now, rather than it coming up in court later. I’m tryna’ help you here.” 

No, you aren’t, you wanted to say. You’ve decided I’m guilty. And you want to lock me up to rot. 

You could barely remember the rest of the interview. A lot of “I don’t know,” and “I can’t remember.” You can remember being sent to the place that terrified you as a child, though. Family horror stories of a great Aunt who went in and never came back out. You remember crying every night for the first six months, only for nobody to comfort you. You remember having to clamp down on your emotions, to bury them deep and hope they never resurface. 

You can’t remember your parents ever visiting you. 

August, 1986

The sweltering heat of Indiana summers were finally starting to break, cooler air filtering through the iron bars of the gaps of the slightly opened windows of the dayrooms and cutting the thick scent of sweat and cleaning products. You and Eddie had engaged in small talk during the countless games of cards, and you’d learned quite a fair bit about him. You learned he liked pickles on his burgers. His favourite album was still up in the air, citing that “you just couldn’t do that, it’d be like admitting you have a favourite child.” His favourite colour was red and black, leading to a couple of hours of heated conversation about black being technically a shade, not a colour. He missed being able to play electric guitar, but there was something about the ward’s battered acoustic that he appreciated. 

And in return, you’d shared the tiniest amounts that you hoped sated him. Safe little facts that couldn’t be used against you. And to his credit, he never pried. Instead, he did what he was best at. Talking enough for the both of you, when your social battery wasn’t at its fullest. 

“I swear man, Miller’s got something going on at home,” he mumbled under his breath as his eyes bounced between the project in his hand and the Doctor that seemed to be in the middle of an under-the-breath argument with an orderly on the other side of the dayroom door. Time had been allotted for arts and crafts, or rather, whatever shit they could throw in a box that could vaguely be suited for the occasion. Dried up glue and mangled pipe cleaners, a box of googly eyes that Eddie had pocketed for ‘later use’, and egg cartons that were probably older than you. But you’d found some lengths of different coloured string and a pair of the bluntest craft scissors known to mankind, and had decided on weaving them together to make bracelets. Eddie had decided to join in, and after a crash course in the most basic braids you knew, you were both winging it in trying to make something that wouldn’t just fall apart. 

You looked up from the strands of black, red and white that you held in your hands to follow his eyeline, shaking your head as you spared a glance at the man opposite you. “She still givin’ you shit?”

You knew full well about the meetings he had with her, from the venting he always did afterwards. Apparently, medium security was a privilege, not a right. As if Eddie was capable of doing any harm with what little means he had in here. Fuck, you saw him shed a tear when you watched Bambi together not last week. It had only been a month, but you were absolutely positive of one thing, given you’d had enough time to make your own conclusions. Eddie wasn’t capable of his charges. Not for a second. 

You expected him to frown at your question, but instead, a lopsided smirk played upon his lips. “Same as always, but nah. I’m talkin’ about what I overheard one of the nurses mention about her.”

You couldn’t help but snicker as you continued braiding. “Really, Munson? What’re you, a housewife at a damn Tupperware party?” 

“Hey, I’d look fuckin’ fantastic in a pair of heels and a flouncy dress, thank you very much sweetheart,” he playfully chided, pointing at you with faux accusation and making you chuckle. “But seriously. Apparently, someone found a bottle of vodka stashed in the filing cabinets in the records room. And apparently, there’s only a handful of people that have access. She’s one of them.”

Finishing the last knot of the makeshift bracelet, you looked up to give Eddie your full attention. You had to admit, he was pretty. The long hair, full lips and rounded eyes were a given, yes. But it was the way that he looked at you, how much kindness he gave you, that sealed the deal. The way he would duck his head to make eye contact with you when your eyes felt glued to the floor. When you felt like all hope was lost, stuck in your own misery with no way out, a large hand would be felt on your shoulder, a slight touch that didn’t push your comfort levels. His shit jokes that cheered you up, and the fact that he seemed to know just what to say to make you feel better. In another life, you might have asked him on a date at one point. Maybe to get milkshakes, or to see a movie. But those ideas were bitterly shoved back down, when you remembered where you were. That’d never be an option. Not again. 

You rolled your eyes as you leaned back in your chair, fiddling with the length of woven bracelet as you raised an eyebrow. “So you think she’s drinking on the job?” you asked, pulling the conversation back to something nonchalant. Before you had a chance to think of him in any way other than a friend. 

“I think she’s doing a lot of things on the job, and caring for people ain’t one of them,” he muttered with a slight sneer. His demeanour seemed to change with the final touches of his own craft project, a triumphant look crossing his face as he held it between his fingers. “Here, gimme your arm.”

You shot him a look of confusion as you crossed your arms instead. “Why?”

“So I can yank it out of its socket and use it as an improvised weapon,” he drawled, sarcasm heavy on the words. “Just trust me, alright?”

You did trust him. Or at least, trusted him better than anyone in the whole building. “You’re a sick puppy, y’know that?” you chuckled, holding out your arm on the table. 

“So I’ve been told,” he answered, tone ever so slightly taking on an edge of bitterness that you noted. Calloused fingertips brushed the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, and it took everything within you not to shiver at the sensation. The softness averting your eyes to the window past his shoulder, your inner critic beating down whatever sticky feelings got caught in your ribs at a deep inhale. Get it the fuck together for Christ sake, he’s just-

“Aaaand done.” You looked back to see that lopsided grin of his, though his eyes betrayed him with a slight sense of panic at what you guessed to be the impending sense of rejection. “You like it?” 

You finally allowed your eyes to dip down to your arm, twisting it to get a better look. Purple, blue and lilac threads had been twisted haphazardly into what could technically be considered a braid, though on every fourth or so knot, it twisted at the seams and knocked all uniformity right out of it. But a part of you hoped it was made with intention. The same intention that middle school girls gave them, when they swore up and down to be best friends forever to the other girls they’d bonded with at summer camp, only to forget their names in the next couple of years. The same that still rattled around your old jewellery box back at home, buried under tacky hoops and cheap pendants that teenage you liked wearing. You still remembered the pale pink half of a heart that you kept there, on a chain that’d seen better days. The other half at Cynthia’s house, hanging on her notice board underneath a picture of you two together, smiling at the lake five summers ago. 

Friendship. A word that up until now, had lost all meaning to you. Something that was beginning to spark, though the rockiness and unease of having it for a long time was throwing you off balance. Something that was being offered, and you were so starved for it, you let yourself believe it. Even if it was fake, you’d take it.

You let the smile that graced your lips grow wide, as you nodded your approval. “Bit of a bold colour choice, but I dig it,” you shrugged, your tone taking any malice out of the words. 

“Yeah well, I’m not exactly in a position to waltz on down to Hobby Lobby to get the perfect shades or anything,” he snorted, now idle fingers seeking stimulation by opening a new pack of cigarettes. “Cut it off if you don’t want it.”

And there it was. That slight drop to his smile, as his eyeline averted. No doubt already trying to soothe the sting of assumption, to protect his dignity. Laugh the pain away, don’t let anyone see into it. This was about more than a seemingly simple act of kindness, and you knew the feeling well. God, you wanted to soothe it. Make it go away for him. Because it would be a damn sight easier cheering him up than the sheer amount of effort it’d take to try and do the same to yourself. 

But it needed to be carefully done. Replied to with the same jest, play the same game right back, otherwise the raw vulnerability would cause him to clam right back up again. “Nah, I’m keeping this sucker. Really makes my eyes pop, don’t ya think?” 

You both shared a look of amusement, before your hand darted out before thinking. You noticed the way he flinched, and again, the inner critic was back with the whip to flagellate yourself with at the ready. You willed it away by turning your hand around, an open palm rather than a grasping claw. “My turn?” you offered, hoping the look on your face didn’t give off the desperation you felt. 

You noticed the way his expression morphed, brows furrowed and lip darting out to moisten his lips, as he usually did when he was thinking in rapid motion about something. It relieved you to see his arm come into view, elbow to the deep gouges of the wooden table, an offering of his scarred wrist. You noticed the way his muscles tensed if the pads of your fingers brushed one of them, and you were careful not to make too much contact in securing the bracelet, pulling away when you were done to a respectable distance. Letting him bring his limb back to assess the new adornment, wrinkles around his eyes fading slightly and crinkling into a smirk as he picked at the fibres. A hum of acknowledgement, of endearment, rattled around his chest as he looked back up to you. “Same colours as Hellfire.”

Hellfire. You remembered that name, and you rattled your brain for the memory. “That’s the club you had, right? The one you had with your friends?” 

“Yeah.” He fiddled with the smooth braids, rubbing the tip of his thumb back and forth across the length. You noticed how his voice had taken an edge to it as he shrugged, seemingly to shake off an intense emotion. 

You wondered if the memories of the group was sinking him back into the realisation that he’d most likely never have a meetup with them again. Never have that sense of normalcy, of feeling a part of something. You knew full well that remembering could be a dangerous thing. Something that should be avoided, lest you fall trap to the longing of your freedom, sending yourself mad with the knowledge that things would never indeed be normal again. 

You were still thinking of something to say, a distraction, when Eddie’s name was called from the hallway. His neck nearly snapping with the force of him looking over with a shocked expression, as the orderly grimaced at him as he beckoned him over with two fingers. With a glance at the clock, you noted the time, and something uncomfortable settled in your stomach as you waved the orderly in the room for a lighter. You’d seen a couple of people over the years be summoned around this time, to a part of the building you knew you’d probably never see. You didn’t want to give Eddie the heads up, just in case you were wrong, and this was all just mere coincidence. You bolted that heavy mask to your face as you swung your chair on it’s back two legs, a balancing act as you waited for your turn with the sacred lighter. 

“Better hope Miller hasn’t picked up on your suspicion about the records room,” you smirked as you waggled your eyebrows, a sarcastic laugh volleyed back your way as he got up to cross the room. You spared him one last glance as his shoulders slumped, head down and eyes glued to the floor as he trailed behind the staff member. For all his bravado that he was slowly getting back, you knew that was the true Eddie. A man caged against his will, and the strength long since stripped away from him. A husk of a person, just like everyone else in here. Just like you. 

You just prayed that for his sake, your assumption was correct. 

~

In Pennhearst, knowing where you were going wasn’t exactly something that got shared often. An orderly would begrudgingly call out a last name, and with a jerk of the head, you were just expected to follow behind. At first, it had scared Eddie something fierce. Long were the days of coming and going where he pleased; in school, it was common for him to just wander out of the building for a smoke, and classes were optional in his mind. Part of the reason he could never graduate. Why bother going into a room where you’d be belittled? Where a label was instantly placed on you, and where it stuck no matter how hard you tried to shift it. He’d practically had ‘troublemaker’ stamped on his head since his Junior year. So why even bother? 

A trick he learned was to look at the signs, commit them to memory. Try and figure out a map in your mind, and follow it. The orderly in front of him had passed left at the laundry room, and past the West wing bathrooms. He’d lost track of where he was since the right hand turn by the low security ward doors, and he was going down the corridor blind. Asking wouldn’t help. He wasn’t expecting an answer anyway. 

The sight of a battered sign that seemed to be straining free of the plaster caught his eye, craning his head back to see it. The two words seemed foreign to him. A feeling that he knew them, knew the meaning, but hadn’t seen them put together before. The two words that both made his heart skip a beat and his stomach to churn in anticipation and excitement. 

VISITOR ROOMS 1-5

It ached how much he was wanting them to stop at one of the doors. How much he needed them to. He started praying to anything and everything, things he didn’t believe in, right up until the man in front of him stopped at the door with a number three painted on the front. His hand stayed on the handle, and over his shoulder, Eddie could just make out a window that most likely let staff keep an eye on the patients without having to enter. He could just make out the fabric of a deep blue denim jacket in the bottom left corner, before it shifted and moved out of sight. 

“You’ve got five minutes,” the orderly growled through gritted teeth, finally making eye contact with a venomous glare. “Any funny shit, and your ass is getting thrown into solitary so fast it’ll make your head spin. Am I clear?” 

Eddie’s tongue darted out of his mouth to moisten cracked lips, nodding fervently as his hands clawed at his issued shirt to ground him. It took the raised brow of the man in front of him, a sign that he was quickly losing patience, to make him respond verbally. “Y-yessir. I understand.” 

With one last glance into the room, the door opened, and Eddie was ushered inside. His breath getting stuck between his ribs as he took in the sight of two faces he thought he’d never see again. 

Dark blue eyes, and a gruff face marred with wrinkles and tanned from the sun. A face with the expression that reminded him of being ten years-old, when he was just a kid with a bruise on his cheek and tears that wouldn’t stop falling. The hand of the social worker on his back doing nothing to comfort him, but the look of ‘I get it kiddo, I understand. You’re safe now’ that was worn by a man that looked so similar to his Dad but didn’t have any resemblance at the same time. And like the kid he once was, a sob bullied its way out of his throat as he rushed into the open arms of the one parental figure that never beat him, bellitled him, or expected anything more of him than trying as hard as he could.

The hug was crushing from both parties, with how Eddie clung to his Uncle Wayne, and how those solid arms around his chest added the pressure he so sorely needed. Gave him a reminder of just how much human contact he’d been starved of for five months, and how much he needed it more than oxygen. If Wayne was bothered by the way he buried his face into the older man’s neck and wracked out stifled cries, he never said anything. The large palm that cradled the back of his head seemed to encourage it, as if he knew this was what his nephew needed.

It seemed like an eternity, time suspended in the air, until firm hands carefully grasped his shoulders and tenderly pushed. Eddie relented, a hand flying up to wipe away as much snot and tears as he could. He recognised the next look that he was given, too. A look of pure worry, as Wayne’s eyes flitted from feature to feature. Eddie wasn’t stupid, he had access to some sorry excuses of polished metal as mirrors in this place. Dark circles practically tattooed onto heavy eye bags from the lack of sleep, features getting gaunt as stubble tried to force itself through the skin. Eyes no longer shining like they used to, now replaced with a soulless stare. Once, when he stomached a flash of eye contact in the mirror, he was reminded of his Mom. The way she looked after a blowout fight with his old man, when she lay in bed and cried for what seemed like hours. 

“Eddie… You uh- you look good man,” another voice said quietly from his right, causing his head to snap violently towards the noise. 

Dustin’s mop of curls were hard to mistake for anyone else's, the fondness in his facial features still the same as they were before. That certain look about him that occasionally glimmered underneath it all, the one that gave away that he’d grown far too fast for a kid his age. Had seen too much, and had to deal with far too much burden for a grown man to carry, let alone a fifteen year-old. The comment made Eddie gargle a sort of chuckle, hesitantly pulling away from his Uncle to wrap the kid up in an iron grip. He was happy to feel it returned with fervour, rocking his friend as he swayed with each bounce on the ball of his foot. 

“I look like shit,” he weakly responded, making Dustin laugh as he squeezed even tighter. How long had he waited for this moment? To see someone from the outside, and to know that they were as happy to see him as he was to see them. That they wanted to hug him, and show him tenderness, even when he felt he didn’t deserve it. 

Eddie jolted away as soon as he heard the latch of the door forced open, as if his friend was made of blistering coals. Eyes habitually returning to the faded and torn excuse for carpet, as the harsh words of the orderly that had brought him here made him flinch. “Hey, no contact in here,” the voice barked. “It’s against the rules-”

“Now you listen here,” another voice hissed, though through the venom, it sounded so much louder than it actually was. A southern drawl that Eddie was familiar with, but only when Wayne was riled up to the point of fury. Sparing a glance upwards, he could see Wayne’s finger pointing towards the door with an accusing jab. “It’s the first time I’ve seen my boy in God knows how long. If I wanna give him a damn hug, if his friend wants’ta give him one too, then we’ll do as we damn well please. Y’hear me?” 

He could hear the orderly start to splutter, as if it was the first time he’d ever been refuted. Knowing that the staff around here liked to elevate themselves above all, as if they were some kind of capricious deities, it was likely to be true. “I’ll be letting my supervisor know about this,” was his answer, a thinly veiled threat. Wayne’s short burst of laughter was devoid of all humour. 

“Go ahead,” Wayne replied. “I got my numbers t’ call too, if I think Eddie’s not gettin’ the help he needs. Wanna see who wins the little pissin’ contest ya got goin’ on here?” 

For a second, no reply. Then two. Another look showed both men in some sort of stand off, before the orderly finally sneered his final taunt. Door slamming shut behind him, making Eddie jump out of his skin. Dustin’s gentle guidance got him to sit on one of the uncomfortable plastic armchairs, his fingertips finding the bracelet on his arm to fiddle with. Back and forth, stroking the braid and focusing on his breathing to try and even it out. He heard the two other inhabitants take a seat, Wayne’s clasped hands just in view as his elbows rested on his thighs. His voice now gentler, as if coaxing a frightened animal to come closer. “How’re you holdin’ up, son? They treatin’ ya decent in here?” 

Eddie didn’t mean the bitter laugh to escape his lips, as he swiped the back of his hand across his face to try and clear his face. Finding the bracelet again, studying it as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. Normally, he’d make a joke about it all. Call this place a five star hotel, but make a comment about how they could use better pillows. But he couldn’t find the words, no matter how hard he tried. Resigning himself to the truth, as he shrugged. “S’fine.” 

“Did uh… Did you get moved to medium security?” Dustin asked, and the puzzled look Eddie gave him in return as he looked up to see the boy must have prompted a further explanation. “Hopper put in a call. Well, several. Explained to the right people about what happened. He uh- he sends his best, by the way. Everyone does.”

Hopper? He thought the old chief of police had snuffed it in that Starcourt fire. More questions than answers given, and Dustin sighed wearily before explaining it all as best he could. As best as anyone could, given they had such a short time period to meet. 

Hopper was alive, something about being in Russia for a while. El was back from California, and shit was still going south with the upside-down. Hawkins was still in trouble, but they were on the case. Some sort of higher ups were working on Eddie’s case, but it needed to go through proper channels to keep an illusion of normality. Evidence to be hidden, to be planted, to clear his name. They were waiting on Max to wake up, so she could give her statement and have all charges officially dropped. All of it barely sticking in Eddie’s brain, no doubt the meds he was on still keeping his neurons dulled. 

But one thing stuck out. They were working on clearing his name. It was a shot at freedom. Not much, but it was there. In the darkness, came a small glimmer of hope. Like seeing a seam of gold in a coal mine. Something to cling onto for dear life, to keep putting one foot in front of the other for. 

It was hope. 

“You’re gonna get me out?” Eddie questioned, timbre cracking on every other syllable. Daring to look up to see the two people who probably cared about him more than anyone else on this Earth, and being met with a soft smile in return. 

“Yeah, we’re getting you out,” Dustin echoed, voice soft as he rubbed his palms on his jeans. He reached over to retrieve a plastic bag, leaning over and placing it by Eddie’s feet. “But for now, we’re allowed to come and see you every two weeks. And we’re allowed to bring stuff, too. I mean, it’s something, right?” 

Eddie felt too full of emotion, an experience he usually wasn’t fond of. A big reason he liked to get stoned, or listen to heavy metal music, or play his guitar. An outlet always helped, and right now he had nothing. Nothing but three pieces of string circling his wrist, and his leg bouncing a fast tempo. Peeking from the bag, he could see a book and a carton of Camels so far. Something he’d previously took for granted, but not any longer. He’d sworn to himself an oath during his two month mark in this place; if he ever got out of here, he’d never take the little things for granted ever again. 

He nodded along to the words, unlatching the harsh grip his teeth had on his lower lip before answering. “Yeah, it’s… It’s something. Thank you.” 

“Don’t sweat it man,” Dustin replied. “If you need anything, just… Just tell us, alright? We’ll see what we can do.” 

It took all the self restraint he had not to openly laugh, instead scrubbing his palm down the length of his face. He needed a lot of things. He needed a good night’s sleep, and a shower with water more than lukewarm and to never again smell carbolic soap. He needed to be able to take a long drive, maybe to the woods, avoiding lover’s lake to not have to remember those frightening and isolating days of hiding. He needed a good ounce of bud and his record player. Lots of things were needed. None were likely to actually be received.

“So, uh… Where’d you get that from?” Wayne asked after seconds of silence that went far too long for his liking. He knew better than anyone what a downward spiral looked like in his boy. 

It took Eddie a moment to realise what he was talking about, before clicking all the pieces together when his uncle stared at his arm for too long. He said your name, softly at first. Like a secret that wasn’t meant to be shared. An eyebrow raise prompted him to clear his throat and explain. “She uh… She’s helping me out around here. Someone to talk to.” 

Wayne didn’t seem impressed in the slightest, arms folding as he leaned in his chair. “You sure you can trust ‘er?” he asked, head slightly tilting. 

Eddie’s head nodded erratically, sending split ends and frizz flying. “She’s like me, Wayne. Innocent.” 

“And you believe her?” 

“...Yeah.” 

He did believe you. He couldn’t explain it, but there was a sort of gut feeling to be had around people that meant others harm. He’d felt it a couple of times in his life. Hairs on the back of his neck standing up, a nausea that couldn’t be replicated by an illness, a sense of unease paired with an urge to run. He first remembered it when his father would come home drunk, the front door slamming open and shut with heavy footfalls. He’d felt it when Jason and his lackeys were chasing after him that night on the boat. Hell, he felt it when that patient with the missing piece of his ear came a little too close for comfort, before you’d come to his rescue. 

He could trust you. He had to. The only other option was doing all of this alone.

He watched the wrinkles in Wayne’s face to deepen for only a few seconds, before they relaxed to his natural frown. The Munson men had a habit of speaking without words, knowing each other well enough to be able to see slight gestures and eye contact to mean something that nobody else could pick up on. This particular eyebrow raise meant ‘I believe you’. Eddie’s slight nod was a thank you. 

It was all over before it felt like it truly began. The sense of normality, of a conversation between three people who knew each other well, was cut short by an orderly opening the door and barking Eddie’s last name. With the faded grocery bag in hand - after yet another check of the contents, as if a shiv would magically appear after opening it for the fifth time - he was led back to the common room to engage in the mind-numbing routine that never changed. 

But at least you were sitting there, waiting for him. Lounged in one of the threadbare sofas, flipping through a magazine that he’d seen you read at least a half dozen times. You looked up, the ghost of a smile playing on your lips as you nodded towards the other side of the couch. No judgement, no questions barraged at him as he crossed the room. Just patience and a slight eyebrow raise. Thank God that won’t change, was his first thought. The smallest bloom, like the first of springtime, got caught in his ribcage. Swallowed back down, bitter as whisky, before it could cling to his heart and not let go. 

“Visitors?” you asked as he leaned over the armrest, your eyes not leaving the freshly turned page. He could sense something in your voice; something that caught his attention. It wasn’t anger. It was deeper than that, hitting at a lower emotional register. He noticed an ever so slight furrow of your brow, eyes ever so glossy. Then it hit him. Visitors. 

Something that not once, he had ever seen you leave for. 

He recognised that feeling. The feeling of always being left out at the playground, never allowed to join the other kids. Of being dumped at a doorstep you didn’t know by your piece of shit father, the memory of the back of his jacket exiting view through a haze of tears. It was being called names, or worse, being flat out ignored. He knew it all too well. And he’d always hated seeing it in others. 

But there was no point lying about it, either. “Yeah,” he nodded, plucking the carton of cigarettes from the bag and beginning to unwrap them. “My uncle and a friend. Hadn’t seen ‘em since…” He trailed off, shaking his head as he grasped a few packets from the sleeve. If you noticed his choice of words, you weren’t showing it.

 He placed them by your feet where they were half tucked underneath you with a wry smile. “For all the ones I stole when I first got here.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” you frowned, finally tossing the magazine to the floor. He noticed the way you seemed touched by the gesture, though. “This place gives ‘em out like fucking candy.” 

“Yeah, but you hate the brand they give out,” he chuckled, remembering how often you complained about it first thing in the morning, still half asleep and grumpy from the medications used to sedate you. “Just take ‘em. Save them for special occasions.” 

For a moment, he expected more of a fight. But to your credit, you took them with grace. Opening a pack and handing him one, you motioned for the lighter as you nodded your head towards the bag. “What else you get?” 

“Uhh… Good question,” he shrugged, finally taking everything out to inspect. The Colour of Magic by Terry Pratchett, and from the looks of it, it was secondhand. A quick inspection of the first page gave him the name of the previous owner.

D. Henderson. 

“Love that little shit,” he mumbled under his breath, a fond smirk as he plucked the last item. Well, items. There were various envelopes, already torn open and no doubt already read, bundled together by a rubber band. He recognised the one on top from the character sheets he’d had handed in over countless times. Lucas’ neat handwriting spelling out his name. Already, a lump formed in his throat as he hastily shoved them back. Not here, he reminded himself. 

“Good haul,” you said quietly, no doubt well aware of his sudden shift in mood. It was strange, how two people adrift could find equilibrium. He could sense your fluctuations, the small changes in behaviour, that let him know to tread carefully. And now, it was happening in reverse. 

All he could do was nod. Allow the static of the silence to wash over you two, and to your credit, you never pushed.

He was thankful for that. 

~

Small stacks of paper surrounded his silhouette on the bed, the one he was trying to read gripped tight in his fist whilst the other hand muffled his sobs. Eddie hadn’t had many good words heard about him over his short life. Words were usually spat with venom, and he flicked barbs back. But now, it was there, all in black and white, and in various calligraphy. 

“Be strong man, you got this,” wrote Steve. 

“We’re fighting for you as hard as we can out here, just hang tight,” Robin scrawled. 

“I’ve always known you didn’t do it, son. I need you to know that.” In a font he remembered the most. 

His ribcage broke with the force of how much his heart hurt. The grief, the sadness, the shame. It was washing over him like waves, threatening to drag him under for good. He grieved for Chrissy, and he grieved for himself. It just kept pouring, like molasses sticky in his throat, and he couldn’t breathe. It didn’t stop until dawn broke, when he finally managed to put a lid back on everything and shut it away. Close the door and refuse to look, for fear a monster is in the closet. 

Hide it away, so it doesn’t hurt. Hide it until it’s safe to come out, if it ever does. Hide it, conceal it, consume it until it’s as dense as a neutron star. And if you did hear him crying from across the hall, you didn’t say anything. God, he was so thankful you didn’t say anything.

[ashtonsunshine]

hey carmo!! i'm wondering if i can ask you maybe a couple questions/for advice as someone who's on other social medias than just tumblr? (to which i have to say 1) you're so pretty omg and 2) congrats on ashton retweeting you and liking your poster) i've been off basically all my other socials for about a year now and i'm realising i'm much more able to be myself on here without the expectations of all the people i still have on my socials from school and uni and every part of my life, and showing this side of myself on say, instagram, is kinda terrifying me, but at the same time it's important to me to push through this and get to the point i can be more genuine on there, i know it'll feel good when whoever still follows me knows a version of me that isn't as fake and highly masking as i've been for most of my life.

kinda pressuring myself on this rn too because i've gone and made a parody of red line that's about protesting genocide and i know if i post it there's a nonzero chance ashton will see it and if he sees it he will absolutely love it but i've never posted any of my music online before and i've also never sung anything in public either. and these are just things that are scary but i can get through them, but in the meantime i did want to ask, how do you do it, how do you decide what to post on there vs here, etc, if you're willing to answer at all? anyway thank you so much <3

Hello! 😊

Thank you so much! That's very nice of you. 💛

I've been on Tumblr for so long now and I'm pretty sure that people on here who follow me from the beginning can attest to the fact that I'm not the same person I was back then. I've grown a lot here. More confident. More outwards. More free. More unashamedly me.

Back then, there were no relatives on my Instagram, which made it easy for me to just do whatever I wanted. I've always been very careful in keeping family away from me online (hence Tumblr) because, as you said, expectations. That's why my Facebook is dead. All of them are on there. I was never afraid of my friends or uni colleagues. At 23, I had stopped caring in a way. I just wanted to be me, but it still didn't come naturally. I was still in my shell and afraid of what people would think, but I kept posting photos I liked that I wasn't ashamed of.

However, as the years went by, relatives started migrating onto Instagram, and I couldn't just block them (I mean, I could, but, ya know, interrogation would follow), so I just let it happen. I did block them from seeing my stories, though, so I still have some total relative-free freedom on there. Now they comment on my pics online and irl and they just accept it. What are they going to do? Tell a (almost) 30 year old woman what to do? I don't think so. I'd tell them to fuck off. They know not to mess with me anymore. 🤣

I personally always used social media for the things and people I like, and not to please anyone but me. I created and upkept my own bubbly, happy and genuine bubble, and I love it and wouldn't trade it for anything. I'm still very awkward in person, though, but I'm embracing looking stupid and silly in order to be able to move on with my life. It's not easy, but we roll anyways. 😎

My point is: it takes time and a it's a constant effort. You don't need to go all out, just bit by bit. You'll reach a point where you don't care anymore. And if someone has anything unpleasant to say about you or what you like, then bye bye! You don't need them in your life. You said "whoever still follows me", and that's exactly it. Those who don't mind your quirks and genuinely like you will stay, and that's all that matters. Hell, they might even encourage you further! 😊

When it comes to what I post here vs anywhere else, it's simple. I have different standards for each. Tumblr is for fandom and for me to be silly and fun and weird and insanely unfiltered. Instagram is for me irl, so it's more curated (my photos, my art, be it 5SOS or not). And Twitter is for...., honestly, I don't know. The reason I still have Twitter is because Ashton follows me on there, so I have a higher chance of him seeing my stuff. My Twitter page is very quiet. My feed is basically updates from artists I like. I don't do the social on there because I've always been scared of Twitter fandom, ngl. 😅

I only started posting my art on Instagram and Twitter because I wanted 5SOS to see it, and it has paid off on various occasions, which made me very happy. So there is a chance he will see your song, but you have to tag him in it. That's what I do. That's how he saw my StyH poster.

My advice to you, and for anyone who's reading this, is to be yourself, and I don't mean that in a magical oh just be yourself kinda way. I mean it as be genuine in what you post, wherever and whatever it might be. Masking or not masking. If you post something you truly like and that you are truly fully comfortable with, then there's nothing to fear. If people leave, then they leave. It doesn't need to be grandiose. It can be something little for a start. A photo that you absolutely adore but think that people will find weird, for example.

For me, I've learnt over the years to just be. I'm living my life, and I'm not ashamed of what I like. I'm insignificant, so I'm just gonna exist my own way. I don't care anymore. If people think I'm crazy for liking a band so much, so be it. I'm not hurting anyone. 🤷🏻‍♀️

I kinda ramble a bit, but I hope it was helpful. 😚