#listen i have complicated feelings about it

[jesse-pinko]

“Stanley wouldn’t actually be that nice to Fiddleford” “Stan wouldn’t treat Fidds any better than Ford did” WRONG u guys have no vision unlike me and I am exploding your dimension to liberate you so you see the stars (yaoi). Stan wouldn’t be nice to Fiddleford… at first. He would be too wrapped up in his guilt over accidentally pushing Ford into the portal to and preoccupied with getting him back, his defenses are already up from years on the run and he would assume that Fiddleford thinks as little of his intelligence as Ford does. He would be snapping and boorish and difficult to work with, but one day when Fidds gets fed up and begins to angrily storm off, wondering aloud why he’s even there, putting so much time and effort into rescuing someone who wouldn’t have to be rescued if he’d just listened to him in the first place, Stan throws himself in front of the door and begs him to stay and help him save his brother and opens up about their relationship in a panic, and the two warily wind up bonding over their respective complicated feelings about this person who they both deeply resent and desperately miss. And Fidds isn’t bad company, for a hippie, and it’s been so long since Stan has had anyone to talk to at all. And then, when Stan had to cook up a last minute scheme to get them out of some Gravity Falls monster shenanigans, Fidds actually called him brilliant. This guy is a riot! Blah blah getting stoned karaoke night as a euphemism etc etc… but in the harsh light of day it all begins to make sense. He’s just a cheap copy of Stanford to Fiddleford, that’s the role he’s played his entire life, and when he tries to call Fiddleford out on this, Fiddleford does call him stupid. And pigheaded. And… courageous? And creative? And caring?? And one-of-a-kind??? And… a good brother????

[cesilly]

- you owe me

hamzah x reader

18+ MINORS DNI

contains: arguing, swearing, oral (fem receiving)

my first actual post don’t come for me ok idk how this works and idk if it’s too long cause idk when to stop ok thx

————————————————————————

“god, fuck!”

you’re rudely startled awake in the middle of the night by a string of loud cusses and grumbles. you quickly sit up straight, stiffening as you glance around the dark bedroom belonging to mandy and martin, in their apartment where you were currently sleeping for the night while the two of them were on vacation.

a little frightened, you hear the cats begin meowing loudly as heavy footsteps can be heard throughout the living room.

“shh, shh!” you can make out the sound of frantic pleads for the animals to stay quiet when you get out of bed and press your ear up against the door.

“where is it? martin, fucking call me back right now. jesus!”

you continue to listen, and now you recognize the voice.

hamzah.

you and hamzah have somewhat of a complicated relationship, due to both of you always being around this apartment, especially when you’re trying to hang out with mandy and he’s trying to hang out with martin. the couple has tried easing you and hamzah into being friends, yet you both have no interest in being around each other because of this annoyance that has only grown between you two over time.

you gently push the door open, being met with the humid summer air that resides outside of the bedroom, where you have a fan plugged in to help you sleep. you catch sight of him, pacing around the kitchen and living room, searching with his phone’s flashlight.

he doesn’t notice you.

you think about the easiest way to make your presence known without scaring the shit out of him, so you decide to just flip the switch to turn the hallway light on.

“huh?” he exclaims anxiously, his eyes quickly darting over and landing on you. “what the hell are you doing here?”

his voice is harsh and unforgiving as he shines the flash into your eyes, not even giving you time to adjust to the overhead light.

you shield your vision from the brightness, letting out a groan. “i could ask you the same thing. i just needed a place to sleep. which you’re interrupting right now, by the way.” you clear your throat.

“and shine that thing somewhere else, please.”

he grumbles and tosses his phone down onto the kitchen counter with a loud clatter. “i don’t have time for you right now. this is great, this is great!” he rambles. you watch him with furrowed brows as he tangles his own fingers in his hair and tugs on it, his back to you, seeming as if he’s struggling to keep his composure.

“what is your problem?” you ask, already not appreciating the way he’s speaking to you.

“no, no, you don’t get it.” he mutters. “if martin took the fucking key, if he took the fucking key with him, he’s dead. i can’t find it. i have so much work in there, and i can’t find the goddamn key.” his frustration increases with every word, as he stalks over to the couch and throws the pillows to the floor, feeling a for this key.

you assume he’s talking about the key to the studio that him and martin share for projects and whatnot, but you couldn’t care less about that. him being here has already aggravated you enough, you don’t want to help him at all.

“this is not my problem. i’m going back to sleep so, keep it down, okay?” you say with an small, sarcastic smile.

“no, no. you’re here, you’re going to help me.” he replies, his back still turned towards you.

this makes you laugh. “um, no? i’m not going to do anything for you.”

in less than a second, he turns and around and he’s suddenly an inch away from you. the room is almost unbearingly hot, the humidity making your skin sticky. you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

his voice sounds like a warning when he speaks again. “whether you help me or not, i’m not leaving until i find this thing, so you’re most likely not sleeping any more tonight unless i do. if you’d just fucking look, maybe we’d get done faster and i won’t have to be around you any fucking longer than i’ve already had to.”

you stare up at him for a few moments, realizing that it technically would be better for you if you at least looked around a little bit.

“you’re sure that it’s here?”

“yes.” he says, with his jaw clenched. “fucking obviously.”

“fine.” you say affirmatively. “you’ll fucking owe me if i find it for you.”

“fine.” he replicates your tone, heading towards the bedroom without another word.

•••

it takes you over an hour, but you find it.

the key was shoved under a notebook in the drawer of martin’s desk. stupid fucking spot.

you clutch the small key attatched to a little chain in your hand, walking into the bedroom where this man is currently looking underneath the bedside table. you stand and watch his frantic demeanor, fighting back a laugh before somehow he senses your presence and turns to look at you.

“what?” he says impatiently, his knuckles going white as he grips the edge of the small nightstand.

you smile and let the key drop from your palm, holding onto the little chain and dangling it around like it’s a prize you’re showing off.

he immediately stands and steps toward you, his face lighting up as he snatches the key from you and simultaneously grips your waist with his other hand. he doesn’t even realize where his hand automatically flew, he’s just staring at the key, looking puzzled.

“where? what?” he mumbles.

you stay silent, frozen in place. you’ve never come close enough to this man to let him touch you, and you don’t know why his hand is making you feel nervous.

hamzah snaps out of it and looks at you, then down at his hand, retracting his arm silently. he pockets the key in his shorts. “where?” he repeats, looking down at you.

“desk.” your voice is barely above a whisper.

he shakes his head. “it makes me even more annoyed with you because you found it before i did.” he says.

you chew on your lip. “doesn’t matter.” you say with a straight face.

he cocks his head to the side, looking aggravated, confused, and curious all at once.

“you owe me.” you remind him with a slight nod, your baby hairs sticking to your forehead as result of the heat in the small apartment.

“right, right.” he nodded. “what do you want?”

as you think of a response, he looks at you like an animal hunting prey.

“what are you willing to give me?” you reply.

“don’t ask me that.” a breathy laugh escapes him, and he rakes his hands through his hair like he’s stressed. “you have no fucking idea.”

“i don’t?”

“no, not a goddamn clue.” he runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek.

the sound of your own heartbeat rings in your ears, your pulse quickening. you don’t know why this ongoing tension you’ve had with him suddenly feels different, like a switch has been flipped.

“what do you mean?” is all you can manage to say as you look at him and his bewildered face, seeming like he’s lost in his own thoughts.

“what do i mean? jesus, what do i mean? yeah, fuck, i can show you what i fucking mean, okay?” he grabs your face in his hands. “you bother me so much. i can’t fucking figure out what it is with you.”

you hold onto his wrists, meeting his eyes, seeing his expression that seems almost challenging.

“god, just shut up.” i whisper urgently.

he pauses for a few seconds, but quickly makes up his mind. “yeah. ‘kay.” he responds too casually, like he can read your thoughts. he runs his thumb along your bottom lip. “can i?”

you nod.

“no, say it.” his voice is barely audible.

“yes, hamzah.”

his lips then press to yours with the urgency that his tone was lacking.

his hands travel to your waist, gripping harshly as his lips overtake yours. “fuck.” he starts to mutter as he breaks away repeatedly, like he’s trying to control himself but he just can’t stop coming back to your lips.

“m’gonna,” another kiss. “give you,” another. “what you deserve.”

you exhale against his lips, snaking your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist when his grip tightens on you and he lifts you up.

he carries you to the couch where he had thrown all the pillows from earlier, sitting you on the edge. he slides his hands under your shirt as he sinks down onto his knees.

watching him kneel before you finally makes it painfully clear what he was intending on doing, because this was what he’s willing to give you.

“oh,” you whisper.

he looks up while he’s in the middle of positioning his head between your legs.

“what?” his brows drop. “not good?”

you gaze down at him. the way he got into this position so quickly, it gives you the impression that maybe this isn’t the first time he’s thought about this.

you start to have doubts, but watching him stare up at you on his knees..

jesus christ, why the fuck not?

“no. s’good.” you nod, lifting your hips up off the surface of the couch. “c’mon.”

his lips part and he lets out an exasperated sigh, wasting no time before he tugs down your shorts and underwear. his breath hitches as your entire lower half is exposed.

“i hate you.” he says. “i hate you, and you’re so beautiful. c’mere,”

he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder and extends his fingers toward you.

“hold my hand.”

your heartbeat is overwhelmingly fast, and you can barely believe the words you’re hearing and the sight before you. your thoughts aren’t even coherent right now, so you decide to ignore them and interlace your fingers with his, your hands clasped together as they now rest upon your stomach.

“squeeze as hard as you fucking want,” he murmurs, finally leaning all the way in to kiss the inside of your thighs.

your grip automatically tenses, your body reacting embarrassingly quick to the fact that his lips are so fucking close to tasting you.

you hear and feel him laugh against your skin like it’s a million tiny electric shocks in your stomach. aside from all your desire, you still feel frustrated with the fact that you hate each other so much, but he’s still buried between your thighs right now.

not just frustrated, you’re angry. he owes you.

“hamzah,” you breathe out, holding onto his hand so tight, you feel as if your bones are touching his. “just fucking- ugh,”

you rake your other hand through his hair, easing his face towards your pussy that’s painfully aching for him by now.

you see his eyes flash up at you for a split second before he responds almost immediately, latching himself onto your pussy and eating you out like his life fucking depended on it.

a constant waterfall of gasps, moans, incoherent mumbles interrupted by groans of his name come spilling from your lips as you feel his tongue working against you, his nose rubbing against your clit.

he doesn’t let go of your hand once, making sure he glances up at you every few seconds to watch your pretty face become damp with sweat, and see how your chest rises and falls with each sharp breath.

“so fucking good,” his voice vibrates against you. “how could i ever hate you, really?”

you can barely hear those last few words, but you’re too caught up in the moment to actually process what they mean.

“i feel, mm,” you can hardly put a sentence together when he’s stimulating every single part of your body so perfectly. his blunt nails gently trace along your leg that he holds over his shoulder, a stark contrast to the way he’s absolutely devouring you right now.

“hamzah, i’m..”

“i know, beautiful. let it out,” he groans.

“oh, shit, fuck!”

your orgasm possesses your whole body within seconds. your thighs trembling, sweat dripping down your chest, your face flushed, your hand still interlocked with his as you release.

it’s silent in the humid room as both of you regain your composure, hamzah taking it upon himself to lay his head against your thigh.

“hamzah..”

he perks up.

“i still don’t like you, you know.” you breathe out with a lazy smile.

his lips spread into a grin. “shut up.”

————————————————————————

[starzzmissthesun]

i think you should totally drop whatever hc/ideas you have lying around honestly...i would love to see more into ur brain...pls <33

:DD

Hi!!!! Sorry this is a little late, I got so distracted with an animatic im working on(😈) and then a stupid essay😭😭 being honest rn... Almost all of what I've been thinking about is my fic.. 😔

But!! I can still go a little into that without spoilers. I've finally figured out The Perfect ending for this story that I feel fits with the overarching themes I wanted to tell. I've been making sure that every little detail fits with the themes I wanted to show, I wanted it to overlap Regulus and barty's characters and their overarching themes with PD. I also didn't want to just replicate PD cause I feel like that doesnt have the depth or commentary I want to out into it. Idk ive always thought it's super fun to put everything as some sort of symbol or metaphor or foreshadowing. I'm like literally so close to being done drafting and then I can actually talk about it a little more😭

Anyways! I've also been thinking about barty post regs death 😔(when am I not) But more specifically how every memory he had would almost be tainted, everything now would have an air of questioning and unsureness. Even memories where Regulus isn't there, just wondering where was he? What was he thinking? Am I remembering this right? What could've I changed? What was the domino that caused all of this to happen? Eventually finding it hard to accept the way it really was, having the "I guess it was" and feeling it, but overintellectualizing it. His logic and reasoning is his downfall in this situation, that's what makes him go crazy. (Side note I NEED to make a little post about his intersection between intelligence and madness) Hes doing a complicated version of when there's a task that seems so simple that you think it's a trick, but it's not, it's just that. What happened with Regulus was just that.

Also, I've recently self reflected and realized that a lot of my barty characterization is similar to how I think of Leonard Cohen's art(who I LOVE LOVE LOVE) Idk if you've listened to him or read any of his work, but I HIGHLY suggest it, it's perfect for fall. Anyways, a lot of his songs and poems carry themes of having a twisted self image, not completely self deprication though it may seem, but something else. It's closer to understanding and knowing that you are. Different. And unconventional. It's an uncomfortablility he has with himself. Being soemthig twisted from what you should've been. A lot of his stuff is also to do with tragically losing someone, out of their own choice, and still feeling very loyal yet bitter. Also of loving something so much that it turns dark, or it goes too quick, it spirals. Also his love songs are very barty's perspective on bartylus to me. And like, obvious war mentions. I could give some specific recs similar to barty or them if you'd like.

Another thing is of Regulus and his relationship with his dad. Though I see it completely reasonable if his dad was just kind of, not there and neglectful, it could give very interesting implications to his character, I like it the other way around. Orion seeing what a more carefree attempt at raising a child does and keeping Regulus even closer than he did before. I think Orion always liked Regulus more, despite him being the second, because he was a model son. I don't think he wanted this life or even to have kids, so Regulus being so complacent and in line with what he was supposed to be as a pure blood made him the decided favourite(as much as he could have one). He was always keeping a close eye on Regulus and he could feel it, but he didn't do anything out of place anyways. Orion could tell when he was even thinking something he wasn't supposed to. I believe that, no matter how much she tried, walpurga was too caught in her own head about her duty as a mother to see S+R as anything other than Her Kids, as property that she was supposed to care for and tend to, she obviously loved them, but couldn't see through them. But Orion was there around every corner looking through regulus' eyes into his soul to search for any thing out of his perfect kid.

Anyways.... That's all I can think of rn😭 but if you have questions about ANY of them lmk!!! I love yapping about my little thoughts 😁😁

[lovelyatomicpeace]

Guiding Light

Plot: Steve suddenly lost his father and doesn't know what to do, but luckily y/n is there for him.

Warnings: Sadness, crying, comfort, flashback

A little ff that I created from an idea that came to mind. Enjoy ❤️

As the sun began its slow descent behind the treetops of Hawkins, the air filled with the cool bite of autumn, Y/n ran down the familiar road toward Steve's house. His heart was pounding, not just from sprinting, but from the weight of urgency and grief. The news of her father's sudden death had reached her painfully, like broken glass on a marble floor with which she felt all too intimate.

Steve and his father had never had such a close bond. Their conversations were usually abrupt, punctuated by misunderstandings and the silent tension of unfulfilled expectations. Y/n had watched from afar, every argument and every harsh word exchanged between them etched pain in her heart. She knew Steve needed her now more than ever. As she reached the front steps of Steve's house, she hesitated for a fleeting moment. She could hear the sound of muffled voices inside: friends and family gathered, each carrying the weight of their grief. But that was the last thing he thought about as he stretched toward the doorbell. She was not there for pleasantries; she was there to be his anchor. The door opened and there appeared Steve, disheveled and pale, his brown eyes wide and glassy.

Before she could even formulate a greeting, he collapsed in her arms, the dam breaking as he sobbed into her shoulder. It was the kind of heartbreak that echoed in the pit of her stomach; she held him tighter, feeling his tears against her neck, the tremors of loss shaking them both.

"I can't..." he gasped between breaths.

Y/N tightened his grip, cradling him as he cried. "It's okay, Steve. I'm here," he whispered, in a calm voice as if he could channel his pain through words.

The usually cavernous house was now full of people: friends and familiar faces were scattered, hushed whispers mingled with the subdued background of soft music coming from the living room. Lucas sat with Max, their usual quarrels absent. Dustin was solemn, preoccupied with scraping a nonexistent splinter in the sofa. Robin and Nancy clutched each other, offering silent support, while Jonathan and Will exchanged glances that said much about the pain they shared. Mike sat off to the side, fingers intertwined with El's, both looking lost. As the commotion hummed slightly behind her, Y/N guided Steve into the living room, away from prying eyes. The light filtering through the drawn curtains cast shadows but also warmth; it felt like a cocoon, a safe space in which to share his vulnerabilities. Gently, she led him to the couch, where they sank together, the outside world temporarily forgotten: one of his knees resting on the floor as he bent over her. She ran her fingers through his hair, reassuring him, rooting him on.

"I couldn't even say goodbye to him," Steve said in a choked voice, wiping away tears with the back of his hand. "We had to make things right-it was my last chance, and I blew it."

"You didn't ruin anything, Steve," Y/N reassured him, in a firm voice. "You loved him, even with all the hard things. That's all that matters now."

"Yes, but it wasn't enough," he murmured, lowering his gaze to the floor. "He never understood me. My whole life has been a struggle for his approval that I never got."

"Sometimes people are just ... complicated. Your relationship was not easy, but you still meant a lot to him. You were his son," Y/N replied softly. "You showed him love in the ways you could."

"Why did he have to be such a jerk to me?" he croaked, wiping tears from her face with the back of her hand. "He was so consumed with his life that he never stopped to listen ... to understand anything about it." Y/n nodded, her heart aching. She had witnessed Steve's struggles, his attempts to gain acceptance and recognition from a father who had inadvertently rejected him. The loss of a parent was complex enough, but when mixed with unresolved feelings, it turned into something even more bitter.

Steve stood in front of her, lost, remembering his last argument with his dad:

It was one of those stormy afternoons when the thunder rumbling overhead echoed the tensions brewing in the Harrington mansion. A heavy downpour painted its chaos against the large windows, mirroring the struggle that was brewing between Steve and his father. The opulent surroundings of the estate looked like a gilded prison. Steve stood defiantly in the spacious living room, his muscles tense with anger.

"Dad, I'm not going to trade school! You can't make me!" shouted Steve, the resolve in his voice trembling to the edge of desperation.

His father, Robert, sat behind a polished mahogany desk, his fingers intertwined under his chin. The man was the epitome of success, a tycoon respected and feared in equal measure. "I can and I will, Steven. You don't even want to follow in my footsteps. You want to waste your life chasing ... what? You want still to work for a stupid video store? You're not cut out for that."

"I'm not cut out for it either!" spat Steve, gesturing to the room full of memorabilia, awards and an expectation he couldn't stand. "I hate your idea of success. You want me to be your perfect little clone, and I won't do it! I refuse to be part of your empire!"

Robert's eyes squinted, his voice deceptively calm. "There are choices in life that shape your future, Steve. You think you have it all figured out, but you're just a child playing at adulthood. I have sacrificed so much for this family; the least you can do is live up to the legacy."

"Sacrifice?" Steve's voice cracked, the weight of lost years overwhelming him. "You never sacrificed anything for me! You were too busy building your empire to notice me!"

"Do you think this is easy? Do you have any idea how hard I worked?" retorted Robert, rising from his chair, anger exploding. "Look at you, look at what you are! A failure! You're a disappointment!"

Disappointment. The word hung in the air, choking, as if it had just settled in Steve's chest. That word shattered something deep inside him, igniting a longing for freedom he had never known existed.

"That's not true!" he cried back, hot tears filling his eyes. "You've never even tried to understand me. All you care about is your image, your successes! I don't want any of that!"

"I am your father! I'm trying to prepare you for life, and this is what you do? You throw everything away for ... you for nothing?"

Steve seethed with anger and pain, the mix of emotions contending inside him until he could take no more. "You know what? Maybe I don't need you at all!" he shouted before running from the room, tears streaming freely down his cheeks.

As he left the mansion, the storm was equal to the turmoil in his heart. He rushed out into the rain, letting the deluge wash over him. He could not face his father, the anger swirling in his chest was a tangible entity demanding to be released. It felt like the beginning of the end, a farewell to a future he had not chosen...

Suddenly y/n's hand on his cheek brings him back to reality. Steve looked up, searching her face for answers, something she could not give. "What good is love without understanding?" The question remained there, charging the air with a melancholy that enveloped them like a fog. Silence fell between them, filled only by Steve's occasional quiet sobs. It was then that she reached out her hand, placing it on his knee, a gentle but firm gesture. "I'm not going anywhere, you know that, right? You're not alone in this." Y/N says felt a chill run through her. "It's the only love we have," she said softly, and it's still valid." A faint ghost of a smile ripped through his tears as he wiped his face with the cuffs of his sweater.

"But I don't want you to feel like you have to put on a brave face," she murmured, her heart pounding. "It's okay to be broken. You don't have to go through this alone."

"I feel so lost," he confessed, her voice broken again. "What do I do now?"

"Take it one day at a time," Y/N replied, her heart breaking for him. "You let yourself grieve. You let yourself feel everything: the anger, the sadness, even the joy of memories. And when you're ready, you can start to heal."

Steve looked at her, and for a moment the heaviness lightened, if only a little. "Thank you, Y/N," he said, in a firmer voice. "You always know what to say."

"Not always," he admitted, with a sweet smile on his lips. "Only when it's about you."

"What if I can't get over this?"

Y/N leaned closer, their knees brushing. "You will, Steve. Just like you fought for everything else. You have friends who care about you, who want to help you. Lean on us." He nodded, but uncertainty hovered in his eyes. The truth was stark; he was afraid.

After a few beats, it was his turn to unleash his feelings. "And ... you don't have to pretend with me," she murmured, "about your father or how you feel. This is a safe place, okay?" He inhaled sharply, studying her face. "What if I want to pretend everything is okay?"

"Then we can pretend together."

A moment passed; their gazes met, understanding flowed silently between them. It was a moment of connection that was full of hope, even in the midst of pain. Steve's brown eyes shone with a potential nuance: something unspoken that hovered beautifully in the air between them. They stayed like that for a while: an embrace, a clinging to each other's presence. Outside, the world continued to struggle with the weight of their shared loss, but in those moments, they both began to feel a glimmer of warmth; a reminder that in the deepest despair, the bonds of friendship could shine brightly enough to illuminate the path ahead, even if that path was shrouded in uncertainty.

[seaemberthesecond]

PLEASE tell me all about your textual support for Aurora/Declan, i am LISTENING 👀🙏🏻

This is heinously late and I'm so sorry for that 😭 but this is one of my FAVOURITE things to think about.

Aurora is such an interesting character to me, particularly in relation to Declan. For all that Ronan spends all of TRC furious that Declan has denied Aurora personhood ("She's nothing without Dad") and trying to keep her awake, it's actually through Declan's eyes that she really comes alive. Ronan's version of his mother is more one-dimensional than Declan's, ironically enough, even though he's the one who supposedly 'loves her more.' It's Declan who's spent his life grappling with the philosophical implications of her dreamt-ness and her replacement of his actual mother (which, in a stunning parenting move by Niall, only he seems to remember) and as a result, his feelings toward her are considerably more complicated than his brothers' and he's the only one who really seems to think deeply about her.

The mystery Aurora is shrouded in for Declan turns her into almost this... sinister figure in his mind. It's like - Niall is this known entity for Declan right? He doesn't think of him in nearly the same lionizing light Ronan does, because he actually knew Niall. He doesn't need to create a mythology around him the way Ronan has. His "hatred" for Niall is not only comparitively straightforward, it's self-aware. He knows exactly what his grievances with his father are and he knows that he doesn't even really hate him.

But with Aurora, he skirts around the thought of her. He can't even look his complicated feelings for her head-on. She's inscrutable to him, and that's kind of terrifying in a psych-thriller kind of way.

There's this unease that he associates with her in the text, that's just not there when he thinks about Niall. He's constantly second-guessing himself when it comes to Aurora re: how much did she know, how real she was etc. In Greywaren, there's this part where he's thinking about when he was sick as a child. And it's fascinating to me because there's this implication there that he didn't feel safe in the house with Aurora until Niall came back. He only relaxes and goes to sleep when Niall comes home. And it adds to this general malaise that Declan associates with Aurora.

I've talked before about how the secrets Declan is forced to keep are an allegory of sexual abuse, and in that light it's kind of damning when you consider that in the Lynch household, the arbiter of secrets is Aurora, not Niall. Throughout the Declan Christmas short, it's Aurora who's reinforcing the importance of secrets, who makes him help her hide them. She's the one who tells Declan that he has to keep Matthew's origin a secret. And in MI, it's Aurora who first tells Ronan that he needs to hide his dreaming and never show his dreams to anyone. So if we're looking at the text through the lens of allegory-for-csa, Aurora's position in the household becomes much more sinister because a lot of the harm that's been done to the kids and particularly Declan is attributable directly to her.

And then there's the fact that all the Ashleys' looked like her - there's something Freudian going on there for sure.

tl;dr while the textual evidence is slim lol it is there if you wanna see it and I am looking with a magnifying glass. Was any of this done with authorial intent? Probably not, but who cares?

And this is where stuff diverts from the text itself and veers more into my spin on things, but everything about Aurora/Declan becomes insanely compelling to me when you think about it in relation to Mor. Mor is the hole inside Aurora. Imagine you're a young woman who was molested her whole life by a family member and now you're out-of-touch with your own emotions and you have this kid and you think you love him with this man and you think you love him too. But you know you're fucking them up, so you and your husband dream a version of you that's perfect. She's the perfect wife and the perfect mother and you've sanded down all the edges and sharp, spiky parts that make you you because you think that's the version of yourself your family deserves and then you leave. But you can't dream anything without putting your pain inside it. So you have this hollow half-woman walking around with a pain inside her she doesn't know how she got and a life she doesn't remember and the only person who seems to have any answers is this kid that she think is her own but is he really? And in her attempt to feel the shape of the hole in her she re-enacts your trauma on your kid.

I am EATING GLASS. The cycles are CYCLING. NO ONE talk to me.

[radish-club]

From what I understand people were initially dismissive of Pact saying it was bad (WRONG) but later gave it a reassement saying it was good (CORRECT).

Similarly, I saw folks being dismissive of Pale saying it was bad (WRONG) but one day it may also get a reassessment with people saying it was good actually (WRONG).

[lomlompurim]

Do yall have headcanons for heavenly demon babies/toddlers ? (as speaking of half demons like Binghe) I have a preg Bingge eventual BinggYuan AU where he has a little son, and I'd love to read what you think about the growing process and shenanigans of raising heavenly demon child

(little doodle of reference of Bingge and his son, Chuxin)

[afewproblems]

Season 2 Halloween AU Part Four

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

A very big thank you to @strangersteddierthings for chatting with me today and being such a great sounding board for the next update!

Synopsis: What if Eddie had been at Tina's Halloween Party in Season Two? Featuring Steve!Whump, Stancy Breakup, and Eddie just trying to keep up with all these new revelations about who King-Steve actually is...

***

"So…I have to ask," Eddie blurts out, cutting through the awkward silence that has fallen between them, "how were you gonna pick up your car before you ran into me?"

"I don't think it counts as running into you, if you were waiting for me Munson," Steve side steps the question expertly, flashing him a strange smirk that seems out of place. It falls after a second and twists into something pained.

"I was hoping Nance would take me," Steve says eventually, his voice soft, "which was pretty stupid in hindsight, 'specially cuz she was counting on me to drive her this morning, which--"

Steve cuts himself, snapping his mouth shut with a harsh click of teeth, he shakes his head and lifts his hand to run roughly through his hair.

"Doesn't matter anymore".

Eddie holds his breath, feeling the conversation begin to shift. It's as though he's stepped onto a tightrope and any wrong move could potentially send him over the edge.

He settles for nodding once, turning the key in the ignition.

Steve sighs and lets himself fall back into his seat, "I know you know already, the whole fucking school does, Billy saw to that," Steve gestures to his face, "say what you really want to ask". 

Eddie's fingers tighten around the wheel as he turns them out of the parking lot, fighting the immediate urge to say, 'why did Miss Priss throw it all away?' 

"You think I believe the rumours that come out of that shithole?" Eddie lies, keeping his eyes on the road this time.

He can feel Steve's unimpressed stare as they continue down mainstreet.

"Right, so you had no clue I was in detention?"

Eddie chews the inside of his cheek to fight the sly grin that begins to creep over his face, "Alright smart ass".

He hazards another glance at Steve as they begin to hit the residential area, he looks so different from the night before.

His limbs are loose, tension free, if it weren't for the heavy bags under Steve's eyes and the nervous tap of his fingers on the passenger door, Eddie would think he was finally relaxed.

"I knew a fight definitely happened, it's Hargrove," Eddie says slowly, carefully weighing his words, "but I typically prefer to hear the whole sordid story from the source before I pass any judgements, ya know?" 

Steve doesn't say anything as they continue driving through residential  the houses getting progressively bigger as they go.

"Did you," Steve pauses and breathes out slowly before shaking his head and lifting his face to meet Eddie's gaze, "is that offer for something stronger still open?" 

Eddie smiles, "I think that can be arranged". 

***

Eddie pulls over beside Tina Cline's house, wincing as the right front tire rolls over the curb and bounces the van as it lands on the street once more, startling a snort out of Steve. 

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up Harrington," Eddie huffs as Steve shoots him a grin.

"Didn't say a word," Steve hums, unbuckling himself from the seat. Eddie watches as he opens the door and hops out. For a moment Eddie worries Steve will pull the same disappearing act from last night but he simply stops beside his car door and motions for Eddie to roll down his window. 

Eddie cracks his door open instead, "window's broken, what?" 

Steve rolls his eyes, "whatever Munson, you know the way? It's north on 5th and--"

"Then two more rights, yeah man," Eddie says with a laugh in his voice, "I dropped you off remember?" 

"Fuck off," Steve huffs out, he's grinning though.

Steve swings the Beemer’s door open and slides in. He turns on the ignition and flinches at the loud burst of music from the stereo, the volume obviously set from the mood of the previous night. 

'I want to know what love is, I want you to show me--'

Steve slams his hand against the console, cutting off the song with a harsh crack. 

The van is parked just behind the Beemer so Eddie can't see Steve's face, but his head drops down onto the wheel for just the briefest moment before he slowly lifts it, turns on his signal and pulls away from the curb. 

***

Steve beats him to the house.

He's getting out of the car, which is parked on the long driveway as Eddie pulls up to the street. 

Eddie hops out of the van, hiking his backpack higher up on his shoulders, not bothering to lock it. Who would even want his shitty van among the BMWs and Mercedes parked down this street --hell, Eddie could have sworn he saw a Jag three houses down.

Eddie stops short of the lawn. The Harrington house is so different in the light of day, the strange emptiness that seemed to ooze out of the dark windows the night before has disappeared, leaving an ordinary house in its wake. 

"Well?" Steve calls out as he pulls a pair of keys from his back pocket and spins them once on his finger, "you coming or what Munson?" 

Eddie rolls his eyes and jogs to catch up to Steve who turns on his heel to stride up the walk. He stuffs the key into the deadbolt and swings one of the double doors inwards before shucking off his sneakers.

No shoes? Fucking rich people man.

Steve must notice Eddie's expression because he blushes and shrugs, "I know, I know, but my parents will be home for Thanksgiving this year so…may as well…"

He gestures around the sterile foyer with a tight smile, as though it explains everything. 

If anything, Eddie has more questions. 

Steve cuts off the thought by clearing his throat, "we should smoke outside, last thing I need is for you to burn a hole in the couch or something".

Eddie steps over the threshold and has to stop himself from whistling, were the ceilings always this high in this place?

He lifts his foot to unlace his left chuck, snorting at the strange little table in the middle of the foyer. A giant vase sits atop it filled with a mixture of what have to be silk flowers --no way they were real. He pulls the shoe off and tosses it to the side before lifting his right foot. 

Eddie never had the greatest balance so he hops back and forth with his right foot in the air before hopping as close as he can to the wall of the foyer and leaning back against it.

He finally gets the knot in his laces undone and throws the sneaker to the floor, dropping his right foot to the hardwood.

Eddie looks up to find Steve staring with a bemused expression on his face, he ignores the wide hazel eyes and removes the backpack from his shoulders -which can't have been helping the balance issue. 

Eddie unzips the top and yanks out the trusty metal lunchbox, sliding a wicked grin into place.

"You said something about outside?"

***

By the time they've settled, facing one another on a couple of pool loungers, the sun has begun to dip low, painting the patio and empty pool a warm glowing copper. It catches Steve's hair, which shines like gold in the dying sunlight, like some Autumnal Fae King--

Eddie wants to slap himself, suddenly thankful for the November wind that cuts through the backyard, forcing him to chillout.

He picks up the grinder from his lunchbox, unscrewing the cap to open it.

"You good with a joint this evening my good King?" 

He pours a handful of a new strain Rick let him try the other day into the grinder and starts twisting. It's not something he would typically share with anyone other than Jeff, but Steve seemed like he could use something a little more special tonight.

Eddie looks up after a beat of silence, "yo, Major Tom, you with me?" 

Steve's face is pinched, tilted towards the empty pool, "please don't call me that," he says quietly.

"Major Tom?"

Steve raises his eyes to meet Eddie's gaze, his mouth cuts a hard line across his face, the typical easy grin it usually houses is gone. 

"King-Steve," he runs a hand through his hair, letting the fingers linger to grip and pull, "I just, that's not who I am anymore, I don't--"

Steve swallows harshly, "that's all anyone could talk about this morning".

He drops his voice and octave, "oh, King Steve is so pussy whipped he let his girl fuck Jonathan Byers before she dumped him".

"Is that what Hargrove said?" Eddie asks quietly as he pours out a portion of weed onto a paper.

Steve shakes his head, "that was Tommy, but that wasn't why I hit him". 

Eddie nods, and lifts the joint to his mouth to run his tongue along the edge of the paper. Steve watches him from the lounger, his eyes follow the movement before he blinks and continues.

"Tommy and I had been best friends since we were five, he uh, he knows a lot about me," Steve lifts his hand to his mouth and chews the nail of his thumb briefly before dropping it back into his lap.

"Stuff I don't tell anyone, stuff he knows will hurt". 

Eddie nods, twisting the joint closed, he can kind of understand that, although the only person in his life that knew him like that was Wayne.  

And Wayne would never hurt him. 

Did Steve really not have anyone else like that in his life, someone he could tell anything to that wouldn't look at him weird or judge him. Someone safe.

"Anyway, Hargrove started in on me after that, but he's been fucking with me for awhile so," Steve shrugs again, "he saw his big opportunity here".

"Hargrove's been messing with you?" Eddie asks sharply as he pours more weed onto another paper. He lifts it and runs his tongue along the edge of the paper before twisting it into shape. When he looks up, Steve's ears have gone slightly pink and he's sitting strangely, slightly hunched and twisted.

"Yeah," Steve says after a moment, he clears his throat and straightens his back, "yeah, it's just been at practice so far, and I thought it was just because he wanted to one up me for my spot but," he shakes his head, "it's getting worse". 

"You know, I have a bit of a reputation around school," Eddie says slowly, carefully, watching as Steve freezes and looks at Eddie with wide eyes.

"The Hellfire club is more than just the game we're playing, it's also kind of a sanctuary for kids that don't have anyone to lean on, we look after each other," Eddie continues, ignoring the way Steve relaxes slightly, "you wouldn't need to play or anything but if you need somewhere to sit at lunch now…" 

Steve looks at Eddie for a long time, his expression blank, guarded, "really? Just like that?" 

"Yeah man, besides I get to use my 'Mean and Scary Guy' persona on these fuckers so it's a win-win for me".

Steve grins, raising one skeptical eyebrow, "mean and scary?"

Eddie bristles a little bit at the questioning tone in Steve's voice and can't quite swallow the urge to snarl, "yeah I mean you looked plenty scared of the town freak yesterday". 

Steve winces and immediately starts to shake his head, inching forward in his seat so he's even closer to Eddie, their knees are almost touching.

"That's not, I wasn't," he stops and takes a deep breath, "I was upset about Nancy and it was so dark outside, the trees--"

"You afraid of the dark Harrington?" Eddie cuts him off, the lingering irritation still simmers in his voice as he coos. 

Steve just looks at him, there's something strange about the haunted expression on his face that makes the hair on the back of Eddie's arms stand on end. 

"Things happen in the dark, in the woods," Steve says softly, his eyes drift to the empty pool again. 

Eddie opens his mouth to ask Steve what the hell he means by that, when a voice shouts across the yard.

"Steve? STEVE?!" 

The sound of someone running through the grass has them both of their feet, the joints forgotten on the pool loungers. 

"Dustin?" 

A kid, he can't be more than twelve or thirteen, skids into the porchlight that has replaced the last copper rays of evening light, the sun fully set by now. The kid's blue eyes are wide underneath a mop of curly hair and hat, he's breathing hard.

"I need your help".

Tag List: @eriquin @luvinthefreaks @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @goodolefashionedloverboi @ellietheasexylibrarian @bambibiest @sadboislovebeans @howincrediblysapphicofyou @coleys-a-nerd @whycantiuseunderscore @airconditioning123 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @corrodedbisexual @starman-jpg @ilovecupcakesandtea @yoriposts @clumsiluni @pelinelin @phantomcat94 @lololol-1234 @anaibis @airconditioning123 @steveshairspray @hellfireone @sunswathe @eddielives1986 @tentativeghost @robin-not-batman @estrellami-1 @manda-panda-monium @tinyplanet95 @perseus-notjackson

Part Five

and for some peeps that I think may be interested! @steddierthings @steddie-there @steves-strapcollection @outpastthebrakers @henderdads @stevesbipanic

[simaraknows]

one of the many things that keep me awake at night re: ofmd S2 is that us Izzy people have long argued that his hostility towards Lucius in s1 could be very much read as "your softness has no place in a world like this, you're going to get in serious trouble if you don't change, on any other ship you'd be fucked, I've learned this the hard way why are you being so stupid" and back in S1 none of us expected that to actually become a plot point and then S2 came around and slapped us over the head with "the second Lucius leaves the Revenge he goes through absolute trauma city and when he rejoins the crew, he is bitter and angry and hardened just like Izzy was in S1" and... like... I just want to lock them in a room and make them talk through their trauma ok

[scificrows]

The Roombabot Diaries

"Even without full scan function, I still had my dark vision filters and my own mapping data, so with the fixed point of the corridor hatch, I could retrace my steps to the ramp. It just looked awkward and stupid because for the first part I had to navigate like a floor-cleaning bot." - Martha Wells, System Collapse (Video and audio description below the cut)

VIDEO ID:

An animated video of Murderbot, in a full environmental suit (featuring a little 'Perihelion' logo on its chest and an opaque helmet).

Murderbot is wandering around a dark space, the sound of its footsteps on the stone floor are audible. It walks in a straight line to the right until it hits a pillar with an audible 'thunk' noise and stops. A grumpy smiley face appears next to it.

It recalibrates, making little chirping calibrating sounds, then turns and moves towards the viewer until it seems to hit the camera (again with a 'thunk' noise and a little frowny smiley face next to it) and recalibrates again.

It turns its back to the viewer and starts walking again, this time seemingly hitting the wall in the back. It recalibrates again, then turns to the right and starts walking again. After a few seconds it stops briefly, two exclamation marks appear next to it along with a beeping noise, then it quickly walks out of frame.

[hephaestuscrew]

I do think there's something special about the way that audio drama creators seem to love including cameos of voice actors from other popular audio dramas. Obviously, part of the reason why actors from one show might pop up in another is because the audio drama creator community is relatively small and interconnected, and also because those actors are very talented.

But there's also often such a sense that creators are having fun with these cameos. Like Greater Boston casting audio drama heavyweights Briggon Snow, Zach Valenti, and Felix Trench as famous film actors Matt Daemon, Ben Affleck, and Mark Wahlberg respectively. Or Faux and Stallion having Tom Crowley (who plays a Victorian detective in Victoriocity) pop up as Dr Watson. Or Unseen casting Beth Eyre and Felix Trench as characters who are twins. Or Arden getting Emma Sherr-Ziarko to play an actor impersonating a character played by her former Wolf 359 costar Michelle Agresti (with Michaela Swee also appearing as an actor impersonating the other main Arden lead).

In these cases, it's not just that there's a cameo, but that the cameo is given particular (often comedic) significance to those who are aware of the featured actor's other work. The vast majority of people wouldn't recognise any of these voices. But by doing these very intentional cameos, these creators show confidence that a fair chunk of their audience will know these actors and enjoy the link. There's an awareness that listeners of one audio drama are fairly likely to listen to (or at least be aware of) other fiction podcasts, even when the shows in question aren't of particularly similar genres. Recognising these cameos feels like being in on a secret. It feels like these shows are giving a little nod to listeners to say that we're part of the same club.

[pandora15]

okay but have y'all considered

obi-wan kenobi

[lady-charinette]

I cannot believe the Teen Wolf Movie forced me into my old Sterek phase

I DIDN'T EVEN HAVE AN OLD STEREK PHASE

[zeb-z]

“Red team was so selfish looking past the cursed team like that” listen man they were thinking about it often, and had evidence they were cursed too. They were convinced they were cursed too. Bad (with Pierre’s help I’ll be honest) singlehandedly destroyed any sort of civil relations and good faith between the two teams and this shot Blue in the foot when they tried to make the case about them being cursed last minute, about trying to rig it in the cursed teams favor.

There was never a cursed team in the first place, it was all a tactic to build paranoia and that feeling of betrayal and to get them to tear eachother a part. And it worked super well! At the end, neither would listen to the other about their evidence, not with an honest open ear, not with the willingness to think the other team could be cursed. It’s not a case of ‘Red just refused to listen because they wanted to win more than they cared’ they thought they were cursed too - if they were selfish, then so were Blue in the same way.

Every time Red had tried to talk first early on, it was met with extreme violence - and with Bad consistently proving he’ll play dirty to win, they didn’t trust Blue enough to listen to them in the later game. Maybe they should have listened then. Maybe Blue have listened earlier. The game worked as intended to set them against eachother.

[cosettegf]

i love the penumbra podcast and i love second citadel and i really enjoyed listening to the finale but i feel. weird about the way this show treats its female characters???

[toytulini]

man the thing about beauty standards and being ugly and being pretty and being insecure is that ultimately you do just kinda have to Decide that youre pretty. like ultimately thats how you become pretty, or hot, or sexy. you have to just Decide that you Are. you have to recognize that its made up, its arbitrary, its subjective, and that people might disagree with you about it, and as much as you are able, you need to completely and utterly disregard their opinions on your appearance, and decide that youre pretty now. and THEN.

you need to find beauty in "ugly". you need to recognize that ugly is made up, that its arbitrary, that its subjective, and you need to be able to find the beauty in it all. and this means you cant bodyshame people. you cant body shame shitty celebs or politicians. you need to base your criticisms on the substance of their character and misdeeds and unhinged horrific opinions and not give a shit about what they look like. you cant go calling people ugly for being shitty. you cant go calling people ugly for looking A Way You Dont Like.

and then if you wanna really galaxy brain this shit you start using ugly as endearment. OBVIOUSLY do not fucking call other human beings ugly. that shit is far too loaded, its just Rude. Dont call specific features of people or even characters ugly cos thats also too loaded. as a term it has baggage. but you can see the ugly in tacky, loud, garish clothing, and it can be Good. you can see the ugly in a distinctive, horrible tiny car from the 90s, and it can be good. you can see the ugly in animals that have evolved to look the way they do, without a single thought of what humans find appealing. you can see the beauty and the freedom in "Ugliness". you can break out of this shit altogether and feel nothing but disdain for anyone who stoops to insulting your appearance if they disagree with you about shit. you can get completely out of the cave of these beauty standards. you can find it so freeing to revel.in letting yourself be ugly. in recognizing that the way you look and exist might be ugly to some people, and youre out of the cave enough to simply recognize. thats just your opinion and it doesnt matter. didnt ask.

you can look at ppl arguing about the correct amount of skincare products to use daily, the Correct Amount of makeup, and whether or not its radical to conform to beauty standards or defy them and argue about is it really conforming if visible makeup pisses men off, and you can say, well I dont care about any of that, I recognize the societal pressures of flawless skin and all that but you see,

I just want to look like a silly little clown :o3