#my dad is me with far less anxiety

[quillyfied]

Having had many boredom-induced (my dad’s boredom, to be clear) long talks with my dad during long road trips now, I think the posts (that are important!!) talking about how “the adults in my life as a child weren’t paying attention to my obvious mental illness/struggles” are missing a key point of the puzzle.

Yes, sometimes it’s adults not paying attention. More likely, it’s adults who have no idea what to look for because what you have wasn’t a “thing” when they were growing up (yes it was, but strides have been made to recognize and treat mental disorders since then and past ignorance isn’t necessarily their fault but future ignorance after being told/educated about the issue sure is).

And just as likely (DAD), it’s adults who grew up with the exact same symptoms, internalized their own weirdness as a personal defect rather than a treatable disorder (keeping in mind that for so, so, so long, these were NOT treatable disorders in the modern sense and the treatment was to institutionalize them if it got “bad” enough, and frankly still is but that’s another conversation), developed their own coping mechanisms, and now think the way you struggle and see the world is how “everyone” feels and acts and you need to toughen up a little and stop blaming your “mental illness” when everyone else struggles just as hard but does just fine (spoiler alert: while everyone does struggle, it hits different when you have a mental illness and no amount of being told “it’s okay, everyone struggles like this, you gotta let it motivate you, not paralyze you” will ever lead you to think anything other than “then wtf is so wrong with me that I CAN’T, i just CAN’T????” without better support and treatment if necessary).

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Seven

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.8k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Brief suggestive content, sex dream. Mentions of domestic violence, stalking. Hospital setting, nurse!reader. Feelings of fear, anxiety. Mentions of stress and weight loss. Soft dads. Little bit of flirting. Simon is... Simon. You get caught in a spell.

Johnny knows this is a dream. 

It’s an odd thing, to be conscious of it, to know you’re dreaming but still unable to control your actions. It’s like watching a movie of yourself, but also being yourself, directing your body without having a say in what it’s doing. 

He knows this is a dream, because you’re in it. You’re in their home, in one of Simon’s oversized sweatshirts, boy shorts rucked up over the little lightning bolts that arc across your hips, the underside of your cheeks. You’re smiling at him too, like you belong in there, like it’s yours too, and his heart swells, growing to a preposterous size.

“There’s my bunny.” He pulls you into his chest, mouthing up your neck and over your jaw. Your skin tastes like sugar, and when he gets to your lips, his hands shift, sliding down your back to grab two fistfuls of your ass with a groan. “Missed ye.” 

“We missed you too.” His fingers trace the edge of your panty line, barely dipping into where you drip for him. “Come to bed, Si’s waiting.” You whisper, stifling a moan. 

“Johnny.” Simon calls him, too loudly. He wants to hiss, snap at him about not waking the baby. “Johnny!”

His eyes blink open. White ceiling stares back at him, and he turns his head, finding Simon with a bemused look on his face. 

“I was havin’ a great dream.” Johnny grumbles, latching onto him. Simon scoots closer, lifting the back of his hand to his lips with a secretive smile, dotting kisses down to his wrist. 

“I know.” 

 “- and he has access privileges, as long he’s not interfering with care, he’s allowed to be in the room whenever he deems fit. Obviously, in cases where he shouldn’t be, like burn debridement, he’s fine with stepping out, but you should expect him to sleep here.” The nurse nods, nervously peeking over your shoulder at Simon, who’s lurking in the hallway, staring through the glass at the transport techs getting Johnny settled in his room. You catch her eyes, motioning to redirect her attention, and she mumbles a meek apology. “They have a daughter, who Johnny has been mostly separated from since he got here, and he’s hoping to see her often, since she’ll be allowed to visit more freely now. I told him it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Okay.” Her toes tap against linoleum, weight shifting from foot to foot, and you resist the urge to sprint back to her boss and demand someone else. Fuck. Why does Nora have to be on maternity leave? 

“This is my favorite patient.” You warn her instead, dropping your voice low, pitching it brazenly serious. “I don’t ever want to see him back upstairs again, and that’s going to depend a lot on you.”

“Okay, okay.” Her work phone rings, and you jerk your head in dismissal, not quite finished, but not seeing a need to continue to harangue her, either.

Simon glances at you from down the hall, head turning once you’re alone. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t call to you, or say your name, but you’re helpless to the magnetic yank of his presence, a beam of gravity dragging you closer until you’re shoulder to shoulder, looking into Johnny’s room. He’s asleep, dark lashes feathered against his cheeks, blissed out and nearly snoring. “This will be great.” You say quietly. “He can see Penny almost as much as he wants down here. There are far less restrictions, and he’s doing so well, there’s nothing to worry about it.” He doesn’t say anything, just watches you with the x-ray vision that peels you open. Like he’s digging around in your head again.

“D’you have a minute?” You blink at him, graceful words dried out and missing.

“Uh, I… yeah, I’m technically off now so. Sure?”

“Have a tea with me? I’ll meet you outside the café, on the patio. Ten minutes alright?” Have a… have a tea with him? 

His eyes are heavy. They’re lasered, locked onto yours, brows knitted together in something soft, some form of emotion that you don’t understand, framing his face above the mask. How can you say no? 

“Okay, sure. Ten minutes.” You try to hide how your hands shake, tucking fingernail to palm, squeezing tight.

It doesn’t escape him.

You grow more afraid with each day, that nothing does.

The paper cup cradled in Simon’s outstretched grip is like every other paper cup you’ve seen before, drank from a thousand times, with steam wafting from its rim and aromatics spilling out into the air. “Sorry.” You blurt, reaching. His fingers brush against yours, warm contact momentarily stunning you. ‘Thanks.” You lift the tea to your nose, inhaling deeply.

Irish breakfast. With milk. Your favorite. 

“How do you know what tea I drink?” You don’t mean for it to sound so suspicious, or aggressive, but it does. It’s nearly accusatory, but doesn’t affect him. He merely shrugs in response.

“I pay attention.” An engine turns over in the carpark, a small car sweeping across the lot as it turns out onto the street. You watch, feigning mild interest, trying to get a closer look at the driver without appearing too fixated. “So.” He sips, and then removes the lid, vapor rising from the top in a delicate little dance. “How long have you been at Addenbrooke’s?”

“A few years.” The answer is effortlessly supplied, like you’re under a spell. Your eyes go round. What are you doing? Crow’s feet crinkle at the corners of his own, and you manage a shaky smile.

“What brought you across the pond?” He jokes, velvet, soothing lilt in his voice.

“Work.” It’s easy to lie about this, the fabrication usually used in casual conversation almost every day with patients and new coworkers, people who are interested in you being from somewhere else, having a different accent, different education, customs, the whole lot. His jaw moves behind the mask, and before he can push the question further, you rush out your own interruption. “Simon, I want… I want to talk to you about something.”

“Sure.” He nods. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s… the other night Johnny said something about,” Your face is nearly scalding, embarrassment laden lump stuck in the back of your throat. “about you and him, and… me, I guess…” you trail off, eyes darting down into the tea.

“Go on?”

“He said that you guys think I’m special, and you- you said-“

“That we’re here for you.” He finishes, nonchalant.

“Right.” You breathe a little easier, knowing he knows what you’re talking about, words picking up steam. “I want you to know that it’s totally normal to feel this way. It happens a lot, you know. Patients and, or their family members, loved ones, they get attached. This affection starts to happen towards a member of the care team because we become that person who… provides care, twenty-four seven. So, you and… and Johnny, feeling like you have this attachment towards me, it’s very normal. Not a big deal.” You finish in one big breath, cutting your ramble short. His cheeks swell behind the fabric, like he’s smiling, eyes squinting again.

“That’s not what this is.” That’s not… what this is? What does that mean? 

“What?”

“Transference. That’s not what is happening here.”

“How do you…”

“I’ve had years of therapy.” He sighs. “Are you uncomfortable?” Say yes, the girl in your head screams. Tell him you need it all to stop. That you don’t like them, that it’s inappropriate. You know how this will end. 

“No.” You don’t know why you don’t acquiesce to your own good sense, why you ignore the very clear boundaries and rules that have kept you alive this long.

“Bunny, I need you tell me, honestly, if you are uncomfortable.” He levels you with an intense look, seriousness bleeding from his irises to yours. You press your palms flat on the table, quelling their trembling.

“It’s not… it’s not you. Or Johnny.” You whisper, eyes slipping shut. It’s easier that way, to just close them, to hide. To pretend you’re somewhere else, to block everything out.

What the fuck are you doing right now? Your brain screams, but your heart wails.

What is it like, to be loved like that? To be known like that? To be held in someone's heart, cherished and protected? 

“Sweetheart,” Simon’s voice is low, calming, and when you don’t answer, one of his hands folds over yours. “are you with me?”

“Yes.” You peek at him, and then fully let yourself look around, steadying the rancid fear that permeates through your body. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” He hums, hand still over yours. It’s warm, and broad, big thumb stroking a slow circle into your skin. “Is today your Friday?” You nod.

“It is, yeah. I’m… I’m looking forward to catching up on some sleep.” He straightens in the chair, shoulders and torso so unbelievably wide, like a long forgotten mythological god. Or the trunk of a massive tree.

“Will you have dinner with us, tonight?” The last of the orange red dawn spills over the crest of the buildings, and the world spins, cold sweat breaking out down your back. 

“What?”

“Dinner, with us. I’m picking up takeaway for Johnny from his favorite place as a celebration, for graduating the ICU. We’d love to spend some time with you. Get to know you, if that’s alright.”

“Oh, I…” Say no, you have to say no, shut this down. It’s too much risk. 

“No pressure. Just, hanging out, talking. As friends, if you like.” Butterflies thrash in your stomach so violently your knees bounce, and your heart leaps, pitching itself off a cliff like it wants to die.

“Okay.”

“Great. I can pick you u-“

“No! No, I’m fine. I have some errands to run after I get up for the day so, I’ll just meet you here.” It will be just like going to work. No harm, no foul. You can hang out with them, and go home, just like you’re at work. It doesn’t mean anything. It won’t. 

You barely sleep. You pace, you nap, you thumb through endless craigslist listings in faraway cities for apartments, you read. You take the long way through the city back to your flat and slowly sift through pieces of your life that you want to keep. Your quilt from home, that’s been tucked away on a shelf. A sentimental trinket that belonged to your mom, also hidden in a drawer. These things that can be removed, without being noticed.

Not that it matters.

He hasn’t been here. Not since the sick shit he pulled with your underwear. It makes you curious when you inspect the undisturbed tape on the back side of the door, the light dusting of baking powder on the bedroom carpet, but not surprised.

It’s not unlike him, to make himself known and then suddenly disappear, the endless mind games partially intentional, and partially something not even he can control.

After all, duty calls.

He could still be in the city. He could still be watching. You don’t know anything for sure.

“Three things you cannot outrun in this world, babe. Death, taxes, and… me.” You mumble it to yourself, the same words that live in your head, in his voice, repeated, pulling a pair of scrubs from your dresser.

But you had been running, and still had your life to show for it.

It doesn’t matter, you know how this will end. 

You’ve changed your clothes five times. You hem and haw in front of the mirror, trying not to look too closely at any one piece of yourself, switching shirt and pant combos until you finally settle on your usual, a pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt. They’re high waisted, because low rise is not even within the realm of possibility for your hips, and you appreciate how they fit, even if they may sit a little loose right now, given your recent stress levels.

You look fine, you decide. You look professional. You don’t really look attractive, in any way, but the scars on your torso are hidden, and with a little bit of make-up, you think you look presentable. At the very least, you don’t look like you’re half asleep, which is exactly how you feel.

Not like it matters, you chide. This isn’t a thing; it’s just hanging out. You’re going to put an end to this entire charade, tonight.

The train is quiet, and you’re extra watchful. Every face, every movement is logged, every jacket or hat or hood is inspected. Posture, skin tone, height, of every person you pass or see is tabulated and run through your mind. Your brain, a supercomputer in its own right, does it all, seamlessly. It wants to protect you, it keeps you on guard, it can look at a crowd of twenty people all facing the opposite direction and locate a potential threat, just by the shape of the shoulders.

You don’t see him, you don’t feel him, your skin doesn’t prickle, and you let the lack thereof bring you peace, if only for a few moments.

Johnny’s floor is bustling. You wave hi to those you know, checking in with his nurse for a moment, letting her know you’ll be hanging out for a bit. She doesn’t even bat an eye, thankfully, and you try to settle yourself as you turn down the hall.

You’re not prepared for what you find when you knock on his door and slide it open, breath catching for a moment, and you scramble to cover your initial balk.

Their daughter is here. She’s cuddled up on Johnny’s good side, the one without the burnt tissue or recovering surgical wound. She’s asleep, wearing a black onesie covered in skulls, her head tipped back and mouth open, chubby cheeks and sweet little face perfectly content. She’s got her entire fist wrapped around one of Johnny’s fingers, holding it right under her chin like she’s afraid he might vanish while her eyes are closed. “Hey, bun.” Johnny whispers, smiling so wide, two fingers stroking through the wispy curls on top of her head. “We snuck in a visitor tonight.”

“I see.” Your heart trembles.

“Fell asleep right away, next to her Da. Been missin’ him these past few nights.” Simon chuckles, patting Johnny’s leg gently, affectionately. There’s a bag of take out on the table behind him, as well as what looks like an overnight bag, a purple duffel stuffed full. “Price is on his way to pick her up.” Penny gurgles, eyes blinking open in a sleepy daze like she knew they were talking about her.

“Ye’re alright, sh-shh, wee lamb.” Johnny coos. She’s half soothed by his words, but the lights in the room are far too bright, and her small noises waver into a cry, frustrated and tired. He tries move her, cradler her higher up his chest, but his face falls with pain, and Simon swoops in, pulling her into his arms. “Bunny, could ye-“

“Would you-“ They both try to ask at once, and you flounder once you realize the intention, a cranky, sleepy Penelope being pushed into your arms.

“I-“ she wails, interrupting you, bending you to her will without fuss, and you hold her closer, rocking side to side, humming above her ear. Just like the NICU, like a patient, like your stint in L&D, it’s fine, it’s-

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Not fine. It’s not fine. Heat burns in your belly. He can’t call you that, not when you’re holding their baby. “Thank you.” Simon says over his shoulder. He’s moving Johnny, lowering the bed slightly to help reposition him, and they speak quietly to one another, voices low enough you can’t make out any of the words.

“I can help you with him, if you want.” He waves you off.

“I need the practice, won’t have you around all the time anymore, yeah? And once he gets home…”

“Ach. ‘m not paralyzed. Jus’ uncomfortable.” Johnny glowers, pouting, and you roll your eyes, rhythm steady, gently bouncing, letting Penny cuddle into your chest, snuggling her face against your arm and side. She’s beautiful, precious and sweet, cooing herself back into a light slumber, and you smile despite yourself, still rocking after her eyes start to shut. “Knew she’d like ye.” He says softly, and you glance up, surprised by the intensity of their focus, heavy gazes fixed on you.

“She’s very sweet.” Your lips twist.

“She is.” Simon agrees. “We were happy to get her some time with her Da. Good for both of ‘em.” His fingers find Johnny’s cheek, and then their hands meet, a palm pressed to lips, a whispered a I love you. 

An intimate moment, as you stand there with their baby in your arms.

“Alright, now that ye’ve done the hard work by gettin’ her back down,” Johnny gestures, urging you to step forward, and you carefully place her back in his arms. For a moment, your faces are level, and you get caught in his eyes, nerves strung so tight they could be a tightrope. “I’ve got her.” Weeks in the hospital, and he still smells like cedar and oranges, woodsy citrus that envelopes you, your lashes fluttering on the inhale. “She likes ye.” He murmurs, breath warm and tickling over your cheek.

“Well, she’s...” you straighten, hands smoothing down the front of your top. They’re moist, somehow, and you tuck them behind your back. “She’s a good judge of character, I guess.” Simon’s phone vibrates, Johnny’s plush smile turning dour, and he sighs.

“Okay baby girl. It’s time.” She cries a little, readjusting to Simon’s hold, and he slings the purple duffel over his shoulder, promising to be right back. Johnny nods, eyes downcast, and his face twists once the door shuts, cheeks turning red, staccato, hiccupped breaths coming fast.

“Hey.” You whisper. “Hey, Johnny.” The chair at his bedside creaks under you, and you lean forward, fingertips lightly caressing the tape residue that still sticks to his skin. You should clean that off. 

“’m alright.” His shoulders roll, chin jutting out, brilliant blue gleam in his eyes returning, like storm clouds rolling off after rain. He’s silent for a beat, pinky finger folding over yours. “How was yer day?”

“Oh, it was… fine.”

“Simon said ye were goin’ to catch up on some sleep?”

“Yeah, I didn’t.” You laugh, and he smiles. “I feel okay though. Still awake at least.”

“I’m glad… ye came. I’m sorry if the other night, I was too… forward.”

“That’s okay. You’re just… so flirty, I don’t even know what to do with myself.” You tease, expecting to get a lighthearted quip in response, or a laugh, but he gives you neither, only a serious, sympathetic expression.

“I didnae mean to make ye uncomfortable. Felt terrible, when ye ran off, I-“

“I’m fine, Johnny. You… you didn’t. I mean, it was just… confusing, this is… this is a lot.” He nods.

“I know it is.”

“And you don’t even know me.” His brow creases, focus narrowed in so tightly on you, white walls, white hospital blanket, white everything falling away in a spiral of color.

“I know ye better than ye might think." He cracks a smile. "We want to, if ye’d let us.” No, you don’t. You almost say it. Almost promise him that knowing you would be the stuff of their nightmares, that they have no idea what they’re trying to bite into, or bite off, a near guarantee that it would be than they could chew.

“Well, no harm in making new friends, right?” You entreat weakly, and his eyes flash, ethos of an entire life that you have no knowledge of slipping through, and the dark severity rumbling in his gaze sends a shiver down your spine.

“Aye, bun. Especially when they look like ye in a pair of jeans.” 

Dinner is an idyllic affair. Johnny’s favorite takeaway turns out, is Indian, like yours, and the three of you talk for hours, trading bites back and forth, laughing and listening to stories, discovering little bits and pieces about their lives while running interference on personal questions about yourself, allowing them to dip in skin deep, skimming off the top but never getting further. They tell you about themselves, Penelope, their jobs, how they met, and Johnny confides in you about his sketchbook collection, pages upon pages of charcoal and pencil line work, portraits of Simon and Pen covering each page, landscapes, and the occasional cartoon. Your spine eventually starts to wilt, muscles liquifying into goo that can barely hold you upright, and you curl up in the armchair, chin on your palm, listening to the ebb and flow of their voices as they tell you a particular story about how they came to find their current home, a near slapstick comedy about an interaction with the previous owner. Their voices soothe your restless mind, wrap you in a cozy embrace that feels so safe, so comfortable that you can’t fight the languid, siren call of sleep, eyes drooping into darkness, drifting away on their melodies, content and too tired to rationally put together what’s happening. At some point, something covers you up, knit warmth that is tucked in around your shoulders, your feet, a tender touch on your neck and cheek. A whisper of affection soothes the unease that lurks in the background of it all, and you fall into it lazily, farther into the hold of sleep, something your brain and body are desperate for.

When the lights go dim, you don’t even realize, already lost to the sand of slumber.

Around midnight, you wake with a start. Your heart is racing, triple timing in your chest, and you squint in the dark, trying to parse together where you are, what happened.

Oh no. Oh god, did you fall asleep on them? Did you fall asleep in Johnny’s room? 

Simon calls your name. He’s settled in a recliner, head turned your direction, mellow light from the little lamp spilling across his features. “Are you alright?” Your mouth is dry, the web of sleep that holds you in suspension finally starting to wane, fuzzy clouds in your head trying to clear without much luck.  

“How long was I out?”

“Four hours.”

“I’m so sorry.” He shakes his head.

“Wanted to let you sleep. I know you were tired, and Johnny was out almost immediately after you.”

“Th-thanks.” Your back groans, muscle and bone grinding together, stiff from sleeping in a cramped position for hours, and you’re surprisingly unsteady on your feet. Simon’s out of his chair in a second, turning around the end of Johnny’s bed to offer you a hand, his other lightly resting between your shoulder blades.

“Easy.”

“Sorry… just… think ‘m more tired than I realized.” It’s dark, and you’re disorientated, woozy, tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, limbs and lids still heavy and desperate to fall back asleep.

“I’ll drive you home.” His keys jingle, and you know you should reject him, refute this presumption, push him off, but you can’t string the right words together in your mind, can’t bring yourself to truculently pull away.

So, you don’t. And to your surprise, your shock, it feels… nice. You let him open the door for you, get you settled, you listen to his music on the way, city flying past outside the window, quiet hour of the night crawling by. You let him help you out of the car when you pull up to the curb, and when he asks if he can walk you up, your rational pugnacity is nowhere to be found.

“This is me.” You gesture to the door, fumbling in your wallet for your keycard.

“How long have you been in the hotel?”

“Oh, not long. Reno just started so…” His head turns, surveilling the hallway. You’re in an end room, far from the elevator but close to the stairs, as requested, and there’s a camera that sits on the ceiling, green dot consistently blinking. He glances at it, then back to you, head tilted.

“Are you safe here?” The world goes cold. Your stomach roils, blood draining from your face, and you try to hold yourself steady, mind turning over a million times. You’re overreacting. He’s just asking in a general sense. He doesn’t know. He couldn’t. Breathe. Deep breath. 

“I uh, yeah. It’s got a deadbolt.” Along with a door stop alarm, and a security bar. He steps closer, so close that you can smell him, fresh laundry and musk, something spicy lingering there, something dark and enchanting.

“Are you in trouble, little bunny?” You’re in his shadow, beneath the stretch of a mountain, shielded by it, by a monolith so large it could blot out the sun. It overwhelms you, slows the racing pace of your mind, and you try to sort through the merry go round of feelings that are all trying to push their way out of your mouth.

You’ve never felt this. Never felt this… desire, to entrust someone with your life. Never felt this… attraction, this hold that the two of them have on you.

It makes you want to trust them. Makes you want to lay it all out and beg them to help you. Makes you want to close your eyes and leap, praying they’ll catch you.

It’s wicked. It’s dangerous. It’s a fool’s errand.

It’s unfair. 

“No.” You whisper. You can’t look at him, and time slows in the silence, your anxiety piquing. Of course, he would assume something is wrong, after witnessing the panic attack. Don’t read too far into it. 

“But you wouldn’t tell me if you were, would you?” He’s pragmatic, yet still kind, watching you with intent. It doesn’t allay any of the stress that’s building up the back of your throat and closing it, cutting you off from the oxygen you desperately need.

After an eon, he sighs.

“Okay, sweetheart. You can keep your secrets. For now.” You choke. 

“I… I should probably-“ you jerk your head towards the door, half turning away to swipe your keycard.

“Alright.” He moves carefully, dipping low, and you stand immobilized, confused and quivering as his cloth covered mouth presses a slow kiss to the top of your head. It’s like he’s bewitched you, cursed you, and you can’t do anything but stand there, stunned. “Thanks for coming tonight.” You’re a deer in headlights, a rabbit in a scope.

“Simon.” His name is the only thing you know right now, and it comes out reedy, almost a squeak.

“Get some rest. We’ll text you tomorrow.” He pushes the door wide, arm snaked behind your shoulders, and when you don’t move, he urges you forward, an encouraging hand on the small of your back. Your feet blindly stumble through the motions, searching for the light switch, for your sanity. “Goodnight, bun.” He hums, and the door clicks shut, leaving you alone, staring at the beige-yellow paint on the wall.

The afternoon trains are packed. It makes your skin crawl, not because you dislike busy or hectic places, but because there are too many eyes. You force your head to stay up, casually scrolling past the faces that are turned every which way, keeping your back to a corner or window as often as possible. You’re not sure you even needed to take this route, the one where you loop around and change trains twice, but… old habits die hard.

You’re lighter today, mentally. It’s in your steps on the stairs, the way you tilt your face up to the sun, how you bounce and bob a little along to the rhythm in your headphones.

You try not to read into it, too much. You tell yourself it has nothing to do with the good morning text messages from Johnny and Simon, or the hilarious back and forth between them after Simon sent a god-awful joke to the group chat. It has nothing to do with the heat that spreads through your fingers to toes when you think about Simon last night, kissing your forehead.

You slip inside your apartment, popping your headphones free, glancing at the tape and the door jam, before setting your bag on the counter. You idly sort through some mail you left out the other day. Junk, junk, junk, nothing taxing or important, nothing work related or-

A shadow moves. It flickers against the wall by your bedroom, growing larger, stalking closer to the kitchen, to where you stand, frozen, heart pounding in your ears. 

This can’t be real. This can’t be happening. 

“Hey there, sugar.” He croons, the thick, Texas accent unmistakable, and you breathe his name in horror.

“Phillip.”

[callapilla]

the long and short of the matter: i'm a black trans guy trapped under crushing poverty w an abusive dad who won't leave and a state trying to legislate me out of existence

i'm raf, a 21 y/o black jewish transmasc and complex ptsd survivor. years of neglect and abuse have made living in my current home an anxiety trigger, my piece of shit dad has no intentions of leaving anytime soon, and the increasing hostility of the missouri legislature means my best bet is to leave. i've already got arrangements made to move in w a very close friend of mine.

minimum wage in missouri is $12 and i make less than $600 for 52 hours of work. 3/4 people in our household work, my mom needs my help staying caught up with bills and expenses, and keeping her and my sisters afloat means i desperately need fucking help to get out of here within the next 5 months and every penny anyone can spare is gonna help. having to choose between menstrual products and meals for the next week is incredibly fucking stressful as it is, the situation we are living in is so far past the point of desperation that i've only ever owned four to five pairs of "good" pants at a time my entire life. dm me if you want like a headshot bust drawing or a playlist made or something, i'm more than happy to make something in return for any help i get, but i need fucking help.

info here. don't tag as donation when reblogging.

[reggies-eyeliner]

OKAY AN EXTREMELY SELF-INDULGENT SENSELESS RAMBLE ABOUT JWCT REGARDING GRIEF AND EMOTIONS AND FOUND FAMILY AND COMPLEX CHARACTERS COMING UP AHEAD WOOP WOOP !!!

i cannot stress to you enough. how much i love the way they write processing trauma. like yeah trauma is all silly and angst and whatever but it's a real thing like genuinely and it's exhausting to see shows just dismiss it over and over again but THIS SHOW I SWEAR IT'S JUST. EVERYTHING IS DONE SO SO WELL AND I AM ETERNALLY GRATEFUL LIKE

and not to mention that the animation SERIOUSLY DOES IT JUSTICE like the expressions are SO GOOD OH MY GOSH LIKE IT'S I'M THEY'RE YEAH THE EXPRESSIONS. ARE INCREDIBLE. that looks darius got in his eyes when he KNEW the password to brooklyn's phone and kenji didn't??? so good SO GOOD and just the way their eyes all shine before they start crying is actually done so well that if you listen carefully you can feel my heart breaking

also i love how like emotional processing is also written so much. all of them aren't afraid to cry and i feel like that's just. yeah it's beautiful. they cry soft they cry loud whatever it is they're comfortable enough to do so and if they're not they at least know they won't be judged for it ARE YOU KIDDING ME I'M GOING TO BITE A TABLE?????

the characters have flaws. i love that so much. the characters are not perfect but they're still likable and it's executed so well. darius' grief is PALPABLE and kenji's anger, albeit sometimes annoying, is so understandable that you can't actually be angry or annoyed with him because the story writing makes you understand. that's incredible. yasmina struggles with anxiety and ptsd and she gets frustrated and that is !! okay !! sammy ignores her emotions and struggles with toxic positivity but we understand *why* she talks to yasmina that way (because she's worried and scared and concerned for her girlfriend, but she's also just as worried of truly addressing what she's been through) so it's so hard to get mad at her. ben is THANJ GOODNESS not mischaracterized as a cinnamon roll and is actually a complex character with complex emotions and i can't get enough of it. he's like a pain he's so annoying sometimes but it's endearing because he reminds you of that one classmate from elementary that makes you go ohhh yeah no it's him that's fine

okay paragraph was getting long but I do have more to say about kenji. the relationships in this show are executed SO WELL and I'm beyond relieved that Kenji and Daniel's relationship was written INCREDIBLY WELL

like. okay first off the asian rep YEAHGHH IT EAS GOOD !!! WOOP WOOP YRAHAHDH HONK HONK the part about kenji saying he should get his violin after daniel was like telling his sob story was SO FUNNY OH MH GOSH

and just. kenji and daniel kon. im. like his dad was never perfect. far from it and yet kenji just he loves him so much and wants to make him proud and it makes me sick because the writing helps you UNDERSTAND why

daniel keeps giving kenji ultimatums and kenji standing up to him for once just. yeah. that was done incredibly well. and then not even ten minutes after daniel started to change and gave his son something without expecting anything in return other than his presence daniel gets eaten alive in front of him.

okay now this show holy moly i was NOT expecting daniel to just. get ripped apart but um YEAH THAT HAPPENED and the grief was written so well I cannot stress this enough. I loathe in movies and shows when they skim past traumatic deaths and just act like the grief is just non existent and this show does an incredible job at showing that it is VERY MUCH STILL THERE and it makes people out there who are struggling feel a little less crazy and that's so beautiful

i've been a benrius enthusiast since day one and honestly at this point i just hope everything goes well for them moving on. brooklyn's death and Darius coping with her grief was done SO SO WELL and honestly okay as much as i love sibling-type dinostar i think rewatching scenes with the lens that he was in love with her just makes it hurt so much and it's just. yeah. it's written well.

I will say that I think the story could have gone on without Darius confessing his love to Brooklyn, and the scene where Kenji asked Darius about the voicemails could have been used solely as a chance to highlight grief. another way the scene could have gone was if kenji sifted through the voicemails and just heard Darius's voice shatter in a way he's never quite heard it or listened to darius blame himself and that could have been a moment for kenji to realize that grief isn't something people should deal with alone, that *he* shouldn't deal with grief alone

regardless i really do think the idea that Darius was in love with Brooklyn was done really well. I don't know a better way for kenji to have figured out the truth, and for that I am grateful :D!! I hope the hardcore shippers don't get too mad though 😭

also I absolutely loved the lady with the whistle. she's cool. her character design is terrifying and the way she treats the dinosaurs reminds me a of a queen that is very fond of her workers like 😭 she's cool but also i would never want her within a 100 mile radius of me

the found family in this show is actually. yeah. it makes me cry because it's just done so well because it doesn't idealize perfect relationships. there are awkward moments, there are sad moments, characters still feel broken and alone despite having people who've actively said that they'd go to the moon and back for them. it's realistic and it's written beautifully

I think Darius might actually be the character with The Writing ever. his grief and his nostalgia, his awkwardness and fascination with learning and his kindness are all things that exist together and I am so so grateful for that. he's allowed to laugh and make jokes while feeling constant, looming guilt. he is fascinated with learning while also struggling to feel like he deserves to be happy, he enjoys learning about dinosaurs while also being terrified of them on the worst days. he feels guilty and feels like a bad person. but he's loved and he's cared for. can you tell he's my favorite now because

enamored with yasmina and sammy as always. they are just the girlfriends ever and i love so much how openly they communicate with each other. sammy apologizes when she makes mistakes, yasmina doesn't hold it against her. they're always at each other's sides and their love isn't conditional. i love them SO MUCH

okay sorry im making this about darius again but this guy actually is The character ever. I don't think I've ever felt so seen in a character and i just yeah the writers are incredible because all of the characters are written to feel relatable, and if not that, to feel real. it was just a huge comfort to me to know that okay im not crazy for feeling this way because of a character, who was written and animated by dozens and dozens of creators was allowed to be written this way, i'm not messed up in the head, im just processing emotions and it's okay that I need help for that

THIS SOUNDS SO CRINGE I AM SO SORRY

but yeah i. i love this show.

[obsessedvibee]

Humble Beginnings

18+, MDNI, NSFW

Warnings: smut, one curse, dry humping, p in v, unprotected sex, cream pie, impregnation kink, awkward boner if you squint

Pairing: Billy the Kid & reader

Words: 3.1k

Summary: Billy and readers wedding is approaching and hormones are rising as the day approaches. Oh, and her dad is over protective & an annoying cock block. This also accidentally turned into to a whole flashback memory sorta ordeal?

Enjoy!

We’ve only been moved into the new house for a week now. It was small, but it was enough; a table and chairs for meal times, a bed in the second room, running water into the kitchen, and even windows on each side of the house. 

Billy insisted on building a home for us himself. Jesse and the gang helped him every chance they could leading up to our wedding. Chopping down trees, cutting the pieces down to size. It became a ritual every evening, helping Billy pick the splinters out of his hands.

Everyday I made lunches for all the boys, and did my best to keep them all hydrated. I felt it was the least I could do to thank them. 

I only managed to deliver the food alone the first time, until my father insisted on coming with me everyday, when I rode up. “I don’t trust any of those men as far as I can shoot a shotgun.” Was his reasoning.

I’d given up trying to argue him on the subject. He wasn’t exactly fond of Billy and I, but since we announced our engagement, he was trying to come around some. 

I couldn’t blame him being his only daughter; my mother passing shortly after I was born.

Billy would never admit his unease when my father was around, but I could see the way he would square his shoulders. He wouldn’t touch me any more than to hold my hand to steady me as I got down from the wagon when I made it to the property. It was endearing, but frustrating. I wanted him alone. The closer our wedding date became, the less time we had each other to ourselves. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted him to kiss him. I wanted to feel his hands pressing me closer to him because he just couldn’t get enough. I wanted to throw all my inhibitions to the wind and jump his bones. I don't know how he managed to keep himself so put together. I started to wonder if he even wanted me in that way.

My mind kept wandering deeper into my imagination, wondering and yearning. Imagining him  stripping away the last barrier between us, his strong arms holding himself above me. 

The older women at tea time were getting looser with their tongues. I’m sure they meant well, trying to give marriage advice and how a wife should be, trying to prepare me; but sharing tips about the marriage bed was not something I wanted to discuss with anyone, let alone them.

One afternoon, I finally gathered the courage to question Billy when we found ourselves alone while we ate our lunch on top of a hill that overlooked the skeleton of our home. The other boys and my father were a couple hundred feet away out of ear shot, but he could still easily see us.

“Do you want me?” I blurted.

His eyes darted to me, stopping mid chew, “‘course, darling.” He resumed eating. “I wouldn’t have asked for your fathers blessing if I didn’t.”

My heart warmed at his answer, but I wasn’t sure he picked up on what I meant. I toyed with a loose thread on my dress as I sat faced with the task of asking him more directly to get my point across. I quietly watched as he licked the last few crumbs off his fingers before leaning back on the tree behind him, tipping his hat over his eyes to block the sweltering sun. “Care to humor me with your thoughts, dear?”

“I meant sexually.”

His shaking chest gave away his small chuckle, the corner of his mouth pulling into a small grin.

My fingers moved from the thread of my dress to busy themselves with a loose strand of hair. Chewing the inside of my cheek, my anxiety continued to gnaw at me as he remained quiet.

A whistle from down below signaled break time was over. I packed the few items back into the basket I brought over, my anxiety was quickly turning to embarrassment

I stood quickly, about to make a beeline for the wagon to hightail it out of there when Billy gently grabbed my arm stopping me. Stepping in front of me, his body shielded me from the blinding sun and any eyes that could be watching. His face was suddenly so close to mine I could smell the sweet fragrance of the lemonade he’d been drinking on his breath, and then his tongue was in my mouth. I stumbled back a step in surprise but was quickly steadied as his large hands grasped me. His tongue prodded gently, almost as an apology for the sudden intrusion, and before I could think further, he broke our lips apart. He held my head between his strong hands, his thumb gently brushing my cheek. His face was so close to mine I had nowhere to look but into his shining blues. “More than you will ever know.” He licked his lips, slowly placing his hat back onto his head. He gently began guiding me back down the hill, bringing me out of my sudden haze. His next words were so low I almost missed them. “I just don’t know if I could stop myself if we were really alone.”

**********

A few weeks later our house was finally completed, and my father invited everyone over for a celebratory dinner. I was in charge of making all the food, while father attended to the field outside. Sweat ran down my face while the fire burned in the stove as the Kansas sun tried to bake the house itself. I kept busy making pies, bread, and cleaning the fresh vegetables from the garden. Seeing Billy’s shining face tonight kept my heart thudding just a little faster. Moving day would be here before we knew it. My father even slaughtered a pig for the occasion.

Soon enough the setting sun began to shine in the west window, and I gave the last touches to the food. I just managed to clean myself up, ridding my body of the sweat and changing into a dry clean dress, when I heard the thundering hooves of horses getting closer. Putting one last pin in my hair I hurried to the front room to greet them all. 

Billy was the first to walk in. “There's my pretty girl,” he grinned, scooping me up and spinning me around, earning a laugh from me. He set me back down, placing a heavy kiss to my lips. His smile was contagious as he pulled away, an immediate blush rising to my cheeks upon hearing a whistle from somewhere beside us as everyone filed in. My fingers gently brushed my lips still feeling his on mine. Knowing he felt the same way that I have been the last few weeks made my stomach flutter.

I startled as my fathers voice bellowed, “let’s eat!”

-

The celebration wore on well after dinner was over, and the dishes were put away. Slowly, one by one the men left, and the house became a little bit quieter, when I felt Billy’s leg begin bouncing under the table. No doubt because the crowd was dwindling down and soon it would only be the three of us. Without thinking I reached over to place my hand on his thigh to comfort him. I knew my father could be intimidating, but I thought they were a bit more comfortable by now.

He froze feeling the heat from my hand through his worn pants, his hand gripping mine keeping it in place. I glanced over at him, searching his nervous eyes in question. He swallowed hard, his face remaining impassive. I worried for him wondering if he was suddenly feeling unwell, but he didn’t look ill to me. Just some sort of sudden nerves.  

Soon my father was walking the last guest to the door, and Billy tugged my hand, pulling it up to his mouth, pressing kisses along each knuckle. “I need you to do something for me tonight,” he murmured.

“What is it?”

He let go of my hand reaching to play with a lock of my hair that rested against my chest, his eyes watching intently. Goosebumps spread when his skin brushed my collar bone. “Meet me behind the barn after your father goes to bed.”

Before I could question him any, father re-appeared, and Billy stood, his chair scraping against the wooden floor. I rose with him, “I’ll walk Billy out.”

My father nodded, leaving us. I reached out for Billy’s hand, but instead, bumped into his hat. I looked over in question when I noticed it was pressed to his crotch when it dawned on me, my eyes widening.

The nervousness. The grip his hand had on mine.

What had I done to cause such a rise in him? I bit my lip as a smile threatened to emerge, looking up into his bashful face. I so badly wanted to say something but remained quiet so as to not alert my father, who I’m sure was eavesdropping in the next room over. 

I walked him to the door with a whole new confidence, his hand holding mine. I turned to kiss him goodbye, but before he parted ways and headed out the door he whispered, “I’ll be waiting for you, darling.”

For the next half hour I waited in my bedroom in anticipated agony. I don’t think I’ve ever looked in the mirror so many times. Letting my hair down, putting it back up. Placing a dab of perfume on my wrists and neck. I’d lost complete control of my thoughts since he left, my heart pounding and thighs clenching, wondering how far he would lead me tonight. I decided to put another dab between my breasts. I let my hair down again, letting the brown waves cascade down my shoulders.

I heard the faint squeaks of the old bed frame coming from the other room, signaling my father had gone to bed for the night. My heart jumped in excitement. I stood, glancing over myself one more time, giving the neckline of my dress a good tug, trying to show a bit more cleavage.

I crept down the hall, quickly making my way to the front door, shutting it carefully behind me. I padded down the front steps, scampering across the property, not feeling completely safe until I reached the barn, blocking the view from the house. I walked around back, Billy’s horse Sugar snorting in surprise at my sudden appearance. 

Billy was sitting on an old tree stump, whittling away at a piece of wood with his pocket knife, but that was quickly forgotten about and placed to the side when his eyes darted to me. He stalked towards me with a ravenous look in his eyes. He grabbed me pulling my body deep into him, capturing my lips in his. A soft moan of relief escaped me as he continued his attack, his tongue easily finding its way back into my mouth. His fingers carded into my hair gently guiding me back until I was pressed into the wall of the barn. 

“Billy,” I panted into his mouth.

The full moon from the night sky illuminated his features once he pulled away. His jaw flexed, and his eyes were wild yet soft, holding a look I’ve never seen before, making my insides tingle.

“I want you every minute of every waking moment,” he rasped, “and every moment I’m not awake I’m dreaming of you.” His thumb pulled my bottom lip free from my teeth, before leaning in and connecting us once again. He gently rolled his hips into me, teasing what was to come, his mouth working its way to my neck. I began to fumble blindly with his suspenders, attempting to push them off his shoulders, all while lifting my head to allow him better access. 

I could feel him growing against me, when he paused to look into my eyes. We both were panting lightly, his hat lopsided on his head. I reached up to fix it for him. “Darlin’, I won't be able to stop myself if we go any further.”

I nodded, a grin pulling at my mouth, the burning coals simmering beneath my belly. I toyed with the collar of his shirt before speaking. “Does she have to watch?” I casually nodded towards Sugar.

He let out a short laugh, pulling away to lead me into the barn. 

Grabbing the lantern at the entrance, he led me inside, making our way up the ladder to the loft. He wasted no time picking up where we left off. I worked his shirt over his wide shoulders and he began fingering the buttons at the back of my dress. 

He groaned in frustration as it slowed everything down once again, giving the material an impatient tug. “Don’t you dare ruin this dress, Billy,” I warned.

Finally it was open enough and he gently tugged the dress off my shoulders. Pressing his warm lips to my shoulder, I turned to face him again. 

His eyes danced over my bra covered chest, before meeting my gaze, nervously clearing his throat. 

He sat himself on a stack of hay bales, beckoning for me to sit on his lap. 

I hesitated, the reality of what we were about to do, where we were about to do it struck me. “Billy,” I started, “maybe we shouldn’t-” I gestured around me, “right here?”

“It’s fine, baby, the animals can’t see nothin’,” he beckoned to me, “just come sit on my lap.”

If my hormones wouldn’t have been raging, I probably would have been able to resist him. But I was just a girl who was a bit more than just eager to roll around in the hay (quite literally) with a man as handsome as Billy.

I let him guide me to straddle him, my dampened center placed directly over his waiting member.

The moment he groaned, all the rest of my logical thoughts left. 

In a desperate attempt of getting some much needed friction for himself, he began flexing his hips to further things along. His smoldering eyes were almost too much as he watched my face intently while he guided my hips in a rhythm over himself. He grunted when I moved a little faster, trying to press myself harder into him, aiding the both of us. 

“Sorry it isn’t more romantic,” he murmured between kisses.

I snorted, “you think this isn’t romantic for me? Half naked up in a loft in a barn with a bunch of farm animals below us?”

He nipped at my bottom lip at my snarky remark.

I reached down and pulled my panties to the side letting my clit drag deliciously against the fabric of his trousers, with a sigh.

“Yeah baby,” he encouraged, “make yourself feel good.”

His words stirred the burning coals within me, my hips now moving at a frantic pace, and I was unable to stop, as I felt myself barreling towards the finish.

As the wave crashed over me my mouth opened in a silent scream as I held my breath through the thick of it, finally heaving as I came back down.

“For the record,” I breathed, “I’d let you take me anywhere if I get to feel like that.”

He let me regain myself for a moment before he tapped my thigh telling me to lift myself up. I did as I was told and he made quick work, pushing his clothing down to his thighs exposing his stiff cock. He stroked himself a few times, before holding himself at the base. I guided him to me, gently lowering my heat, slipping his tip inside, feeling myself stretch around the intrusion. I easily accommodated him, my body more than ready. I glanced up as I sank down, enveloping the last inch of him. His eyes were trained down between us as I held my skirts to my chest letting him watch. I remained still, letting my body relax completely. He tore his gaze away from where we were connected to look me in the eyes, “I fucking love you,” he whispered.

I answered with a desperate kiss, dropping my skirts, and I began to ride him, my hips rising and falling. A soft clapping sound filled the air as my thighs met his with every stroke. 

Neither of us were going to last long, his thumb reaching under my dress quickly working my clit as he started to get close. “Baby-” he panted, “I’m gonna-, you gotta get off-, I’m gonna bust soon.”

His words just turned the heat up in my belly, suddenly overwhelmed with desire for him to fill me up. I wanted him to let himself go inside of me. Doing what our bodies were designed for.

God, it was so hot seeing him so close to losing all control, all because of me.

“Put a baby in me, Billy.”

His brow furrowed and his hips stuttered. “Fuck, baby-” he strained out before he stiffened further. A growl rumbled deep within his chest, every muscle in his body flexing as his high hit him. I finally felt the first warm spurt of his seed draining into me. He shuddered with every wave, a small whimper escaping his throat as the last of his release left his body. He slumped against me, his face pressed to my breasts. 

I pulled his damp curls off of his forehead, scratching his scalp lightly, earning a groan of appreciation.

“You gonna make it?”

He hummed, pulling himself off of me to sit back against the straw. His eyelids drooped a little, his hair a mess. A little smile graced his lips as he watched me. It was the most boyish look I’ve ever seen of him. 

I gently stood, letting his now softened cock slip out of me, a generous amount of his fluid following, “oh god, it’s everywhere.”

“And yet she was begging for it moments ago,” he muttered. I rolled my eyes playfully as he reached in his trousers for a handkerchief, handing it to me. I cleaned myself as best I could, straightening my dress out, while he pulled his trousers back up, slinging his gun belt back over his hips.

“You should just ride around like that all day,” I purred, sliding my hands over his bare shoulders and down his chest.

“Miss,” he grasped my wrists with feigned offence, “I’m about to be a married man.”

“Mmm,” I grinned slyly, “you tell her she’s a lucky lucky gal.” 

He chuckled, pressing his lips to mine, “and I’m a lucky lucky man.”

We shuffled back down the ladder, walking back outside, as Billy shrugged his shirt back on. 

“What if we actually made a baby tonight?” I threw the words out into the air as he mounted Sugar and settled into the saddle.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way, darlin’.” He leaned down gently caressing my cheek. 

“Only one more week.”

He tipped his hat, clicking to Sugar coaxing her into a canter, riding off down the worn path.

As I walked back to the house, I couldn’t help but rest my hand on my lower stomach wondering what the future held.

This was kind of fun diving into the late 1800's. I've never written for this time period before. Hopefully it wasn't too shabby. Hope you enjoyed!

Feedback is appreciated!

Need more? Check out my other works! > masterlist

[spectres-n-soap]

One Step Forward, Three Steps Back - Ghost x You x Soap

Content Warnings - pregnancy, afab!fem!reader, panic attack

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

You look at yourself in the mirror, you feel different. You feel like you’re getting better and you have expressed this to Dr Miller, told him how you think you’re starting to get better.

He had smiled at you, congratulated you but also warned you that healing is not linear. Much like an old scar, sometimes it’ll ache and you might find yourself hurting all day. You, being a soldier with a few scars that did happen to ache some days, took this like cough medicine. You knew that healing wasn’t linear. How many times have you broken something or needed stitches? You knew that healing was never as easy as it sounded. But today, you felt good. You’ve been feeling good all week despite the anxiety at the back of your mind, like a predator readying itself to strike at the unsuspecting prey. But you suspect it and therefore aren’t prey. You aren’t prey.

Simon peaks his head into the bathroom, checking on you like a mother hen. Last week, after returning home from dinner, you hadn’t just taken a step forward. You felt like it was a giant leap.

”You can sleep in the bed.” You murmured, finding it hard to meet his eyes when you said it.

”You’re not taking the couch.” Simon said gruffly and you cannot help the way your eyes rolled.

”No you wanker, I mean with me.” You huffed, annoyance washed away any sense of apprehension about offering this to him. You had been feeling bad about him sleeping on the floor next to you just so you could hold his hand on nights when you find it hard to sleep. Which seemed to be every night when you weren’t holding his hand.

Simon clutched the steering wheel of the vehicle, his knuckles nearly go white. You don’t notice it or pretend not to. He can’t tell, not when he has to focus on not crashing the car from the shock of you saying that. Finally he manages to speak again, “Okay, if that’s what you want.” He was not shocked to see you had put a pillow wall between him and you. He expected and found it surprisingly easy to settle into bed.

You smile at him, a thing that you feel like you’ve been doing more often. Yesterday you had smiled so wide your cheeks had hurt when Simon had brought home your favorite takeout while you had taken a short nap on the couch. “You sure about this?” He asks again and you roll your eyes with a smile.

”You sound like a dad.” You tease as you walk past him and grab your slip on shoes. “Yes, I’m sure. It’ll be good for me, even my therapist says so.” You comment as you slip the shoes on with a little more trouble than normal. You frown just a little, your feet have become more swollen. God damn it.

”I’m just making sure.” Simon says as he grabs your purse and hands it to you. “You’ll call me if you need me, right?” He asks and you can see the worry in his brown eyes. Genuine worry for you and you pat his bicep reassuringly.

”I will Simon.”

The group is nice. Although most of the women are a little less far along as you, they welcome you in with open arms. People discuss names for their babies, the genders and how excited or nervous they are. One woman, a pretty woman named Linda who is closest to you in terms of months, immediately brings you into her small group of women. They chatter and blessedly, don’t try to pry into your life. They don’t ask about your husband or the gender of the baby, the only thing they ask about is the name.

Your cheeks turn warm when you admit you hadn’t looked into any baby names yet. Linda gasps, jokingly, and offers you her baby name book, saying “I’ve already got my baby girl’s name picked out. I’ve had my eye on it since I was a little girl. I read it somewhere. Ophelia, how pretty of a name is that?” You smile and agree that it's a beautiful name. For once, you wonder if the baby is going to be a boy or a girl.

Everyone settles down when the teacher(?) starts. She goes over some things that every parent needs to know once the baby is here. How to make a bottle of milk, how to change a diaper, how to help get the baby on a sleeping schedule so you don’t go insane from lack of sleep and resources for postpartum depression. The class, overall, is wonderful. Most of the stuff you knew about but you have a feeling half of the reason for these classes is to know you aren’t alone and to make future new moms.

You’re walking up to Linda with the intention to give her your number so the two of you can text about the struggles of being this far along in a pregnancy. How achey your feet are or how your favorite foods seem to have been ruined. You stop dead in your tracks when you see her husband, it must be her husband since you saw the ring on her finger, come up to her.

All the warmth in the room seems to be sucked out when you see him. Messy brown hair, a bright and mischievous smile with a matching set of bright blue eyes that remind you of those springs in Florida that somehow keep getting advertised to you despite living in the UK.

He looks exactly like Johnny. So much like him that for a moment you think it is him until reality comes crashing down, you watch him smile down at her and kiss her tenderly. Your stomach lurches and your eyes burn, breathing becomes a struggle as you turn on your heel and rush towards the bathroom. You shut the door and lock it behind you, ignoring anyone who tries to talk to you and throw up into the toilet. You retch up your breakfast and that little fruity drink you had grabbed on the way here. Hot tears run down your face as you heave up everything in your stomach and then some.

You fall back, the taste of bile in your mouth only adds to whatever is happening as you sob. You grab at your hair as you cry and wonder what is going on. Why is this happening? Why now? You were doing so good! What did you do wrong? You should have never left the house, should have listened to Simon and stayed home.

Simon.

You fumble in your bag and shakily unlock your phone, immediately finding his contact in your phone and calling him. “Simon.” You sob into the line and he immediately knows.

”I’ll be right there luv, stay on the line with me yeah?”

”Okay.” You warble out as you struggle to breath past the sobs that shake your entire body.

”You got to breathe luv, can you do that for me? In, hold for three, out.” Simon talks you through it on speaker as he immediately begins to drive to you.

[say-al0e]

Dark Cloud

rating: pg

Summary: If anyone understands the pain of losing someone you've already mourned, it's Jake. (AKA my dad passed a little over a month ago and it’s been difficult to understand my emotions so I’m doing what I do best and write about it) Warnings: Death of a parent, bad relationship with parents, abusive parent, self-deprecation, general anxiety, grief, feelings, etc. (Anything else and I’ll tag it.) Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x GN!Reader (Pretty sure GN but if you catch anything, let me know and I’ll change it to the correct pairing) Word Count: 3.8k Top Gun Taglist | Top Gun Masterlist

Jake Seresin was not known for his silence.

At any given moment, he could be counted on to produce a witty quip or sarcastic comment. He was known for having a big ego and an even bigger mouth. To those who knew him - those who loved him - it was a mild annoyance. To those who didn’t, it was infuriating.

Despite his reputation, however, there were moments of relative quiet in the life you shared with Jake.

There were moments of quiet reflection, often in the days before or after a deployment, where he ruminated on what he’d done with his life - the things he’d accomplished and grew prouder of with each passing day, the things he had yet to achieve but knew were within his reach, the future he’d built with you.

There were moments of bliss, comfortable stretches of time where no words were needed as you allowed yourselves to disappear into your own little world. Those moments were few and far between as you were rarely left alone long enough, but you savored every chance you had to enjoy the life you’d built together.

There were moments of discontent, seconds that felt like hours passing in an uncomfortable lull that only amplified the insecurities or worries or sorrows either of you felt. Those moments dragged on, heavy and bitter in an otherwise beautiful existence, but were luckily few and far between.

Some of the moments of quiet you shared stretched on endlessly and you were grateful. The moments of quiet bliss and peaceful contentment were moments you wouldn’t trade for anything. Others grew less intense with time but you were still grateful for them as they encouraged growth.

But as you sat in a deckchair almost as old as you in a backyard you’d spent a different lifetime in, one of those moments you hoped would disappear just as quickly as it began enveloped you.

This moment was not one driven by Jake. The silence was not his choice - not something prompted by a reflection on his own mortality or the future he often worried he was jeopardizing by following his dreams. There was no bliss, no pride, no happiness, no worry for himself. This moment was one he held entirely for you.

Three days had been spent in a heavy hush, a silence that pressed on your chest and left Jake quieter than you’d ever seen him. He’d been rendered speechless after a short midnight phone call from your mother and chose his words carefully in the days leading up to the moment you found yourself desperate to run from. The silence was tentative, as if he knew one wrong word would snip the fraying thread you found yourself clinging to, and you hated it.

Though you’d often asked him to be quiet - almost always teasingly - and though his presence brought you comfort, his silence only made the overwhelming noise of your thoughts that much harder to withstand.

Despite finding yourself surrounded by family, the vast majority knew little about you. Jake, however, knew you well. He knew that you’d spent those three days struggling to understand - to rationalize, to compartmentalize - feelings that were complicated at best. He knew when you needed guiding, when you needed him to ask questions to help catalogue what you felt. He knew when you needed him to distract you, offering you stories from his last deployment to pull you away from the heaviness at hand.

But, most important of all, he knew when you needed space.

The moment that enveloped you, the quiet he’d given you in the three days since receiving that phone call, was meant to be comforting. It was meant to be the space you needed - space to decompress, space to be uncertain, space to be overwhelmed, and you appreciated the thought behind it. You were grateful he wasn’t pushing, grateful he hadn’t joined your mother or other well-meaning friends and family members in asking how you were doing, but you’d grown tired of the quiet as the still of the backyard surrounded you.

Orange light from the setting sun lit the world aflame and burned nearly as warm as the flurry of emotion churning in the pit of your stomach. It was difficult to catalogue what exactly you felt - mentally, physically; everything blurred into one overwhelming ache that you felt deep in your bones - and you weren’t quite sure how to articulate that.

Very little about the few days you’d experienced made sense, least of all your emotions, but you knew that if anyone could string together meaning from your rambling stream of consciousness, it would be Jake.

With a sigh, you slumped deeper into your chair and blinked back the sting of tears threatening to fall.

Every single person you’d interacted with for the better part of three days began every conversation with a barrage of questions; how are you? How are you feeling? What can I do? They all declared how tough it must be, some even claimed to understand exactly what you were feeling. It must be so hard, they cooed, before promising they were there if you needed them.

It was all superficial, at best, but you took the question as a base to begin a conversation you’d been dreading.

“I’m fine, Jake.” There was little chance he didn’t notice the quiver in your voice, even less of a chance he didn’t notice the clench of your jaw and the heavy exhale you released, but he nodded, just the same.

“I believe you.”

Jake knew that you weren’t fine - not really, not entirely - but he also knew that what you were feeling was more complicated than grief.

Losing a parent was always going to be a difficult experience but losing a parent you’d gone no contact with for reasons beyond your control only further complicated matters. There was no easy explanation for the multitude of emotions clouding your brain and Jake understood that.

Jake lost his own father in his twenties. Though he’d still been on speaking terms with his father upon his death, if only barely, their relationship had always been difficult. His father was cold, controlling and domineering, so Jake understood complicated relationships with fathers just as he understood how difficult it was to grieve someone long before they died.

Everything you felt, every complicated emotion and messy blur of feelings, you knew he would understand. It was likely he’d felt them himself. Regardless, it still felt nearly impossible to articulate as you blinked against the sun’s harsh glow.

Few others had seen the toll your mother’s misguided attempts at encouraging a reconciliation between you and your father had taken. It was well-intentioned, you were sure, but ended in an anxiety you hadn’t felt since your teenager years.

From the safety of your shared home, Jake had witnessed a handful of tense phone conversations. He’d listened as your father threw insults thinly disguised as questions or compliments and belittled you in ways that made his blood boil. He’d watched as you slumped on the couch and gave one word answers as you willed those awful conversations to be over. He’d held you after as angry tears tracked down your cheeks and you wondered just what you’d done to deserve this kind of treatment from someone who was supposed to love you.

It made sense, then, why he’d remained so quiet at your side. And instead of pressing for an answer, asking questions that would only make the entire process that much harder for you, he waited. He sat quietly, green eyes flickering between you and the trees in the distance as he waited for you to gather your thoughts.

“None of this is for me.”

The declaration felt bitter, dripping acid as it fell from your lips, but it was honest in a way you couldn’t be with anyone else. No one else understood, no one else saw you - really, truly, completely saw you - in the way that Jake did. Though you felt overwhelmed, anxious and upset, you felt hopeful that he’d get it as he hummed.

“How do you figure?”

“Funerals are… hard,” your settled on, blinking hard against the tears you were frustrated still managed to sting at your eyes. “They’re supposed to be for people you love, people that meant something to you. They’re supposed to give you closure. It’s a final send-off, something that just… marks the end, I guess. You mourn someone that meant something to you but all he was to me was a nightmare.” With a deep breath, heavy and barely enough to fill your aching lungs, you shook your head. “I didn’t lose my dad on Sunday. I lost him when I was old enough to realize what kind of person he was.”

Anger, burning hot and all encompassing, made it easier for you to finally feel the emotions you’d been attempting to rationalize away. And Jake, who had been waiting calmly for the storm, sighed.

There was little doubt that Jake was also feeling a multitude of emotions neither of you felt capable of exploring in the moment but that did little to stop him from reaching out to take your hand in his own. The weight of it, the heat of his palm pressed to yours, tethered you to the moment. A gentle squeeze helped you remain present as you swallowed the emotion clumping in your throat.

“Everyone here things I’m the problem,” you began, quiet but angry. “They think I just up and abandoned my dad. They think I’m a bad person because I haven’t had a relationship with him in over a decade but no one bothers to ask why. No one asks what happened to make me leave home and refuse to come back. No one asks why I went nearly fifteen years without speaking to him. No one puts any of the blame on him. They just ask why I didn’t try harder.”

The still of the night stretched endlessly around you but Jake’s attention fell solely on you. Those green eyes burned into your skin, patient, as you took a shuddering breath.

“Why was it my responsibility?” The question, a broken plea for an answer you knew Jake couldn’t give as he’d wondered the same thing, lingered unanswered for a brief moment before you huffed. “I’m the child here. He was the adult, he was my dad. He was supposed to care, to make me a priority, to love me. Instead, he made me believe I was worthless. He told me that no one would ever love me, that I was too difficult for anyone to ever waste their time on me. He was a miserable, abusive, narcissistic son of a bitch but no one ever acknowledges any of that.”

Breathing grew more difficult with every word you spoke. The weight of every emotion you’d ever felt in relation to your father pressed on your chest, leaving a dull ache between your ribs as you took a moment to clench your jaw and regain some semblance of your composure.

Jake knew all of that.

The beginning of your relationship had proven difficult because of your shared difficult pasts. Both of you had been wary of commitment - Jake because of his own insecurities, his own doubt that he’d never be worthy of anything more than a one night stand - but you’d managed to take everything in stride. Just as you’d encouraged him to know his worth, he’d been instrumental in helping you to find your own.

There was a flicker of hurt in his eyes as he realized just how difficult the experience was proving to be, just how easy it was for you to revert to an old way of thinking. It seemed that no matter how hard you tried, no matter how much progress you’d made, you felt yourself spiraling as you scrubbed at your cheeks.

“Everyone says he talked about how proud he was of me. He told them all that I lived in California and had a good life but he didn’t know anything about me. He had no idea what I do for work. He didn’t know your name, didn’t even know we were married. He didn’t know anything about me but he had everyone convinced that I was the problem. And I just…” With a weary sigh, feeling the weight of the world pressing on your shoulders, you laughed. “It’s not fair. Why did he get to have friends and so many people to defend him? Why did he get to spend so much time being happy, not caring, loving his friends when I spent years wondering if anyone would ever be able to love me?”

Jake squeezed your hand gently and you could feel the weight of that single gesture. It meant more than he likely realized, warmed you from within, and you desperately wanted to look at him but you knew that sparing him a glance would only end with you dissolving into tears. You were on a roll, speaking the thoughts you knew made little sense to anyone else but had been plaguing you since you received that phone call, and stopping didn’t seem like an option.

“Sometimes I wonder if all of this was my fault.” The admission was quiet, your voice dropping to a near whisper and thick with emotion as you laughed quietly - self-deprecatingly. “I remember being so happy when I was little. I remember him taking me places, going out to dinner and seeing movies and going to the roller rink. I remember him coming to my softball games and my spelling bees. I remember feeling loved.”

With a shake of your head, you tugged at a fraying thread at the hem of your top. “I remember all of that, but then I also remember being ten and wondering if everyone else had a dad who yelled at them. I wondered if everyone else had a dad who would disappear for days when he was angry. I wondered if everyone else had a dad who would throw things at them and make them cry. I don’t… I know if I just got older and he got meaner or if I just gained consciousness and realized he was always mean.”

Faint sounds of life began to bleed into the backyard - the noise of your mother and step-father and various family members who’d dropped by with food and well-wishes milling about - but you ignored them all as you inhaled a shaking breath.

With a single glance spared at the silhouette of your mother, you laughed quietly. “My mom doesn’t remember it but we had an argument when I was, like, fourteen. I don’t remember what it was about but I remember her being so angry at me and saying that I was more and more like my dad every day. I didn’t cry much but I remember breaking down. Nothing anyone has ever said to me has hurt that bad. I think about her saying that all the time and I try so hard to prove that it’s not true but it feels like no matter what I do, no matter how hard I work to be a good person, I keep seeing more and more of my dad in myself.”

With another harsh breath, this one a desperate attempt to clear your throat of the emotion threatening to choke you, you wiped harshly at the tears that had started falling. Somewhere in the midst of your inner turmoil, there was an anger that you allowed yourself to cry. None of this was worth your anger, your upset, your energy, but it felt impossible to do anything more than continue spouting a stream of consciousness you only hoped Jake could still follow.

“While you were deployed, I went to the bar with some friends after a bad day. I wasn’t really in the mood but I ended up having fun,” you admitted, shrugging lightly as you dropped your gaze to where your intertwined hands rested on your thigh. “At the end of the night, though, it was just me and Blake on the patio and we were talking about all the stupid shit that was happening at work. I made a joke about trying to be more positive and he laughed. He said it was no use because I’ve always been a ‘dark fucking cloud’ and that was just who I was. It was a joke,” you conceded, lifting your hand to trace a nonsensical pattern across the back of Jake’s hand. “But it really wasn’t. He’s right. I’ve always been a dark cloud and I’ve always been miserable and bitter and angry.”

A quiet laugh, devoid of any humor and clearly as defeated as you felt, escaped as you shook your head. “All the words parts of me, all the things I wish I could change, all the things I know that make it difficult for people to like - let alone love me - are all parts of my dad. And I just wonder, what happens if I can’t fix those parts? What happens if I spend the rest of my life as this dark cloud? What happens if one day, all my friends realize how miserable I make them? What happens if, one day, you realize that you could do better? You can be a jackass but you’re a good man, Jake. You could easily find someone who loves you that’s bright and happy and warm. I worry that I’m going to die alone, miserable and forgotten, just because I’m me; a dark fucking cloud that pushed everyone away.”

Jake allowed the silence to linger for a moment, giving you a chance to catch your breath. When he realized you were finished speaking, he reached out to carefully brush away the tears tracking down your cheeks. From the corner of your eye, you caught the look on his face - a deep sadness you’d never seen from him before, complete with shiny eyes and a frown - and felt a fresh wave of tears stinging at your eyes.

Though you tried blinking them away, Jake shook his head.

“Sweetheart.” He slid his chair a touch closer, his knee knocking into yours as he lifted his free hand to your cheek. “I don’t say this often, but you’re wrong. I don’t know what to say that will make all of this better but I can tell you what I do know.” With gentle fingers, he tilted your head to meet his eyes and, despite the urge to glance away, you held his gaze.

“You are not a dark cloud.” His conviction was clear, certain and strong as he searched your face. “You know that everyone was surprised when you showed up to the Hard Deck. They couldn’t believe that someone as good as you, someone as bright as you, could love me. I can be an ass, but you? Even when you don’t want to, you try to see the best in people. It doesn’t matter how bad your day is, doesn’t matter how rough things are, you’re always trying to encourage the people in your life. I can’t count how many times you’ve told me your day was shit only for you to turn around and spend the night hyping up Bob, cheering up Phoenix, singing with Rooster, making Coyote laugh.

You’re the most supportive person I’ve ever met. Anyone who asks you to show up for them, you’re there and cheering the loudest. You push people to be the best versions of themselves. When I’m in my head, you’re the person to bring me back. Despite everything, you’re a good person. You try so hard and everyone can see it. I’m difficult to like, but you? There’s nothing difficult about liking you and there sure as hell isn’t anything difficult about loving you. You love me, you make me happy, and I’m lucky I get the chance to love you.”

With another gentle squeeze to your hand, Jake sighed. “None of this is your fault. You were a kid, sweetheart,” he reminded you, careful to avoid irritating your skin further as he brushed away the few tears that continued to fall. “I know all of this is hard. I know you loved him when you were a kid and I know there’s still some kind of love there. I know it still hurts, even though he hasn’t been in your life. And I know that none of this makes any sense. I can’t tell you not to worry about any of this but I can promise you that I’ll remind you every chance I get of just who you are. I’ll be here to remind you just how loved you are. You are a good person, sweetheart, and I love you. On the good days, on the bad days, on every other day in between; I love you and I’m not the only one. You mean so much to so many people and we’re lucky to have you in our lives.”

As the tears fell faster, Jake stood from his seat and tugged you up after him. He pulled you into an embrace, arms wrapped tightly around your body, and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head. He allowed you to squeeze him tight, body pressed close to his, and waited patiently for you to calm.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice carrying through the night when your breathing began to even. “You know I’m not just saying this for the sake of saying it. I’m not that nice.”

When you laughed quietly, Jake smiled. “Thank you.” With another soft squeeze to his middle, you sighed. “I love you, too, Jake.”

“Alright, what d’you want to eat?” Jake shifted then, tipped his head to look you in the face, as he redirected the conversation. He knew there was an apology coming - one neither of you needed - so he stopped it before you could. “You haven’t eaten anything all day. And if you tell me you’re not hungry, I’m calling Rooster and letting him sing as many songs as he can,” he teased, waiting to see if his joke would earn him a smile.

“You decide,” you offered, smiling lightly as you nodded. “I don’t want to make any decisions. I’ll have whatever you get.”

“Okay,” he relented, appeased by the easy agreement as he wrapped an arm around your waist and began guiding you back to the house. “C’mon, we’ll get you some water and figure it out.”

The pair of you knew the pain of this loss better than anyone. There was no easy resolution, no easy answer for the messy feelings you still felt roiling in the pit of your stomach - no solution for the feelings this dredged up in Jake - but you felt a little more at peace.

The path now placed in front of you was in no way straightforward, not one you’d be able to navigate easily, but you felt hopeful that there would be a rainbow shining bright through the dark clouds, just as long as Jake was by your side.

_____________________________________________________

Author's Note: I dunno, man. It's been a rough two months.

Taglist: @lulu-noodles, @holachicos, @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth, @withakindheartx, @ssprayberrythings, @verin93, @totalwitch2, @malindacath, @alexparkxr, @hangmandruigandmav, @alexxavicry, @calicokel, @jaymum, @dracosluvbot, @little-wiseone, @specialk6802, @mandylove1000, @julesclues, @archetypesoflife, @oliviah-25, @benhardysdrumstick, @caatheeriinee07, @yvespoems, @chloereidwayne, @flower-name​, @callsignharper​, @peoniarose​, @hangmanscoming​, @rh3tt​, @dakotakazansky​, @silversprings-mp3​

[joels-shitty-puns]

The Key To Your Heart - Track 2

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Musician!Reader

Series Summary: After writing your feelings for Pedro into a song, it gains a lot more popularity than expected. Ultimately it brings both criticism and support, with new possibilities around the corner.

Series Warnings: 18+ only (MDNI). Potential for puns/dad jokes (name of my blog, and the fic) should give that away. This is my first fic which should be its own warning, lol. Also some cursing. Mentions of masturbation (f) maybe more smut later idk. Sadness, reader is pretty depressed. Poor body image. Rude people. Bullying-ish and just lack of support? Anxiety. Age gap! Reader is in her mid 20's, Pedro is current age (48).

Other stuff: Reader is plus sized. AFAB. Inexperienced. Also has a dog, but you can pretend it is another creature probably. Further, in case it isn't clear, italics almost always are the reader's inner thoughts!

Word Count: 2.8K

Series List: Here!

Miss last chapter? Here!

I had a real rough time figuring out the proper voice for Pedro's dialogue and I hope I did him justice. Either way, the support I received for part 1 is astounding and completely unexpected! Thank you all for reading and let me know what you think :) I plan to continue until the story wraps up, but I don't know how many parts that will be. I hope to post every couple days, but with my work schedule it may be less speedy. Here we go!

You walk in the door, unclipping Skip's leash, slipping off your shoes, and dropping your keys on the countertop before flopping onto the couch and unlocking your phone. No. Fucking. Way. 

Pedro Pascal (pascalispunk) replied to your message. 

You dissected each letter of the username, assuming it couldn't possibly be THE Pedro Pascal… but it was. It really, really was. You clicked the message, holding your breath.

Pedro Pascal replied to you: "Hey, you don't need to thank me. I didn't say anything that wasn't true. That guy was out of line. You deserve happiness and I'm sorry for the harsh words you've been hearing. I appreciate you sharing your vulnerability with the world and hope that you will continue to be your genuine self and ignore the comments trying to make you be someone else. Don't listen to those people."

You stared in disbelief at his words, once again wondering why he would ever be so kind to someone he doesn't even know. Someone so childish and stupid to write a song about a man she doesn't know. I can't imagine he'd think these things if he knew it was about him…

You: "Thank you Mr. Pascal. I'm a big fan of yours and hearing that you're in my corner has me completely at a loss. I can't imagine why you would risk damaging your image by defending a girl…" No… don't say girl, it makes you sound like a child. You want this guy to like you! You backspace with a slight feeling of ridiculousness over the whole scenario. Ugh it's all wrong… calm down... calm down… it's just a conversation. He doesn't know you. He doesn't like you. Don't make it weird like you always do.

You try again.

You: "Thank you Mr. Pascal. I really admire your work and for you to say such kind things to me… to think that you're in my corner, has me completely at a loss for words. I don't know what I did to deserve this treatment when you don't even know me, especially when coming to my defense could potentially harm your image… but thank you."

He read it almost immediately. Your heart was beating out of your chest and you felt like you could throw up from the anxiety and adrenaline. After a few seconds, those stress-inducing dot-dot-dots appeared to show you he was typing.

He's actually replying to me?? Again? Doesn't he have better things to do? 

Your mind wandered to what he might be doing while he's messaging you. Sitting at his home, relaxing, taking the time to reply to you? Why? Maybe he's on a plane or waiting for something and killing time. Maybe he's- *ping*

Pedro Pascal replied to your message:

"Please, you can call me Pedro.. and as far as defending you, it doesn't matter to me that we don't know each other personally. You seem like a woman with a good heart, and all you did was share your true self. Nobody deserves to be talked poorly about for something harmless that they feel. If something like that hurts my image… then my true self wasn't being represented. I think we all just want to be seen, and I hope that you will feel comfortable to be yourself and show yourself more."

You don't know when you started crying, but you hiccupped with the overwhelming wave of emotions. He sees me.. you had just scrolled to the bottom of the long reply, when you noticed the "..." of typing again. He has more to say?!

Pedro Pascal: "As far as the subject of your song.. whether you choose to reveal that to him, or the world, you deserve love and respect. Being vulnerable and putting yourself out there is a terrifying thing to do, and I myself tend to close myself off from relationships to avoid that potential for getting hurt. But if that's what you want, you've already taken a big step and you should go for it. I hope that whoever he is gives you the respect and love you deserve."

Holy crap…

He doesn't… he doesn't know it's him right?? No. There's no way. He's just being nice… he's too nice. He's too genuine..??

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, doing a little dance in the air, pondering what to say. How much can I share with this man? Between this crush and his kind words, it's feeling tricky to hold back from spilling too much information.

You: "Thank you Pedro. You're too kind and I can't properly explain how much I really appreciate it. I'm having trouble coming to terms with all the sudden attention, and finding it hard to ground myself. But your words are helping me a lot. I - "

You hesitated over your next words, wondering if you should open up or just leave it. Don't be weird… don't scare him away like you always have with everyone else. As much as you think of disclosing your hesitation and lack of experience with relationships, as well as your reasons for trepidation, you decide to spare him of your self-hatred. Instead, you delete that last letter and hit send. 

Then you send another message, like he did. "And as far as the guy… I know I don't know him personally, we've never met, but I can already tell he would treat me right. I just hope maybe someday he will love me back."

Immediately after sending it you regretted it. That felt way too open and vulnerable. What are you thinking!?! Shit… what if he sees through you!?

You hold your finger down on the message, ready to hit unsend before he sees it. But it's too late. He's already replying.

Pedro: "He would be stupid not to love you back."

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck

You: "Thank you, Pedro. 🥺" Play it cool… Play it cool…

Pedro: "Of course, sweetheart. Feel free to message me if anyone else gives you trouble or you just want to chat. I enjoyed talking with you."

???!!!!!?????!!!!! SweetheartSweetheartSweetheart

You grabbed your nearest pillow and screamed into it. "SKIPPPPPEERRRRRRR!!!!!! I JUST HAD A CONVERSATION WITH PEDRO AND IT WAS MAGICAL AND AAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!" You squealed.

Skipper lifted his head at you and sighed before setting his head back down. He was no stranger to your shenanigans. Napping after a good walk was a better use of his energy than to deal with your drama. He closed his little brown eyes again.

You lay back on the couch, kicking your feet and squeezing your pillow to your body.

Fuck, this is going to hit me like a truck if it goes sour. If he even realizes it's about him, probably. Crap… what am I going to do?

The next day, you woke up and checked your emails before work. Thankfully nobody at your workplace has seemed to place your singing voice to your speaking voice, or pieced together the fact that several people know you have a crush on a certain celebrity and are a musician. Thank goodness. That’s the last thing you need.

You closed your eyes for a few minutes, trying to calm your breathing, your nerves, and your heart rate, before relaxing and shaking out your body. Finally, you decided to get ready for bed and see what tomorrow brings.

Your emails come in, one by one, with one intriguing email at the top, from a well known pop-culture show called The Jazz & Ally-Kat Show. They want to do an interview with you, live, as soon as possible. 

Great. They probably just want to see what I look like or have me spill my guts about my crush. You roll your eyes, and you can’t help but feel like the Mandalorian with his lack of face reveals. If only you had a cute little space baby to accompany you. I guess Skip is my own precious cargo in a way, you think, while looking at your still sleeping pup. You're being silly… Not everything needs to relate back to Pedro, you think with a sigh to yourself. 

Yet despite your anxiety, you agreed to their interview, with the exception that it was done as a podcast style interview, where simply your voices are featured. Surprisingly, they agreed. I guess everyone likes some drama, and what better way to get views than by having a little mystery.

The interview was scheduled for three days from then, and in the meantime you focused on work and your album, which was mostly finished after years of writing songs. All it needed was some editing.

As the days went by, you wanted desperately to message Pedro again. You wanted to tell him your feelings. Have him confess that he loves you too. Ask him about his family, his friends, his favorite things. Meet him, kiss him, fall in love, and finally be happy. But ultimately you knew that was silly. You had one little conversation, and although it was nice, you still didn't know each other. There was no way he loved you back. Yet…? you asked yourself, hopeful, almost asking for permission to let yourself try and earn his love. 

Despite Instagram drawing you in like a magnet, you held back from messaging him. You didn't want to come on too strong. You messaged him first last time. He doesn't know you. Literally… he doesn't even know your real name, or what you look like. But maybe that's a good thing…

_____The day of the interview:_____

You woke up around 9:30 in the morning; nervous, slightly nauseated, restless, and jittery. Why did I agree to this??! 

You decided to pass on the coffee this morning, figuring it would make things worse, and instead decided to take Skipper for a walk. After some fresh air followed by a refreshing shower, you looked at the clock. 11:30 AM. With the interview at 1PM, you still had some time to kill and sat down at the piano, letting your mind wander to Pedro while you plunked chords out with nimble fingers. I wonder if Pedro has ever wanted to learn any instruments… I could teach him, you daydream.

Your hands dance across the piano while he reads through a script in the other room, eyebrows furrowed as he highlights another line. You look up over the grand piano and see his soft brown curls blowing under the fan haphazardly. The sun is shining in through the window, which Skip bathes under, and reflects a golden brown undertone with gray streaks in Pedro's hair. He really is beautiful, you think. His tongue swipes across his lips as he makes notes and erases, before finally feeling your eyes on him. He glances up from the script, giving you a soft smile and a wink; with those chocolate brown eyes that frequently cause you to lose your train of thought. Your eyes drift down to the keys again, feeling a soft blush creep over your cheeks. 

"That music sounds beautiful, baby.." he says softly while padding up to you behind the piano. He places his large hands on your shoulders, sweeping them down over both your arms before settling on your hands, still resting over the black and white keys. You look over your shoulder and he leans in, closing his eyes as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips. Just like that scene in Narcos… you think. Yikes, I really am obsessed… anyway… you think back to your daydream…

He sits down at the chair next to your piano bench, kissing your lips again gently, then the corner of your mouth, your cheek, and your jaw. Your stomach gives a wave of butterflies and you lean in more to kiss him deeper, tugging on his hair while his hands find the small of your back, gently running his palms up your spine. A chill overcomes you and he-

~Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep.~

Fuck. You snap out of your fantasy and turn off the alarm you set to go off ten minutes before the interview. At least I gave myself time to use the restroom and wash my face, you think, hoping to clear your head a bit now that you're slightly frazzled.

Unfortunately the feeling that replaced it was nerves as you sat down at your desk, typing into your keyboard, turning on your mic, and hoping that Skipper doesn't throw a fit over the wind or something while you're on this call.

Jazz: "Hi there listeners! We're joined by the artist of the moment, our favorite lovesick lady, the singer responsible for "Imaginary Love!"

Both women on the other end of the call applaud.

Well… not sure I like being called a lovesick lady but what else did I expect, really?

You: "Thank you guys for having me, I appreciate you wanting to get to know me better."

Despite the rough start, the ladies turned out to be really respectful and fun. You think that if the circumstances were different, you could actually be friends with them. You discuss casual things like your dog, your favorite activities and favorite pop culture topics (careful to avoid mentioning Pedro or any other actor that could be perceived as your lyrical subject), and they even mention celebrity crushes they've had growing up. 

At the mention of their celebrity crushes, you can feel the interview funnel into a dangerous alley with little to no escape. Jazz was the first to broach the subject. "So… we've just discussed our celebrity crushes, and I think I speak for all of us here when I say we're all very curious to know who-"

-an air horn blares-

What the hell is that? You wonder, both thankful for the interruption, yet startled by the disruption.

They both chime in: "Viewers!!! Do you all know what that sound is!?! We have reached 1 million listeners!!!!"

To say you were astounded is an understatement.

You: "You're kidding!? 1 million people are listening to us right now?"

Ally: "You bet they are! And listeners… I don't know about you guys… but I can't help but wonder if our celebrity heartthrob is one of those million?"

They turn their attention to you again. "What do you think? Think he's listening?"

You're thankful for the lack of a camera, because you can't help but blush at the thought. You'd be lying if you hadn't already considered (hoped) that he was listening too. 

Jazz: "So as we were saying… I think we all are in agreement that we want to know who he is. You sound like a nice enough girl, so what's holding you back? You've made it. You can contact him now and he'll probably reply."

I already have… you thought with a smirk.

Jazz continues: "Which brings me to the next point... I know you've had a lot of attention lately. You were signed to a record company, you were contacted by us, you've been mentioned by a few talk shows and celebrities. Pedro Pascal even publicly defended you. The radio has been playing your song nonstop and people can't get enough. What do you think of all this attention?"

You: "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit surprised and maybe a little scared," you answered with a nervous laugh. "But I am so thankful for the kind words that I receive and I love hearing from people who can relate to my music."

Ally: "You've certainly received your fair share of criticism too. It sounds like you received that before your song was ever published as well."

You: "I have, and it's been challenging to try and not let it get me down. But I'm trying my best, and the positives seem to be greatly outweighing the negatives," you state, your mind thinking of Pedro and how his messages were really the only positive you needed to get you through the dark storm of criticism.

Ally: "I guess what I'm wondering is.. among all these people contacting you.. has he?"

You try to play dumb: "Has who?"

Both interviewers laugh before Ally continues. "Nice try. You know who we're trying to find out about. Has he, the man of your dreams and star of your lyrics, contacted you at all? Will we see a romance blooming?"

Your stomach flipped. You were not expecting this question. Should you tell the truth??? It's not like they could know who has contacted you, short of hacking your account. You have had a lot of people contact you, after all.

You take a deep breath before answering. "I uh… I have received a lot of messages, some of them from celebrities."

They reply, and you can practically feel them leaning in. "Yeeeeaaaah?????"

You consider your next move, your heart really working overtime since this whole thing started. Finally you decide your answer.

"Yes. We've talked."

Looking for Track 1? Read it here!

Next chapter: Here!

~Thanks for reading! Stay ~tuned~ for more!

Taglist: Let me know if you want in :)

@pedrotonin @starcrossed02

[thenightwolf51]

A detail from the first Trolls movie that always kinda confused me was the fact that Chef was gonna feed Poppy to Gristle.

Poppy is King Peppy's heir, shes the future queen. You'd think that would make her off limits. She needs to survive to be crowned and eventually continue the royal line. The bergens are a monarchy themselves so they understand this importance and the trolls are their livestock so they would have to put some focus on maintaining genetics and keeping the trolls at a somewhat stable quality of life, that includes the social dynamics of the tribe. At least as much as we would keep track of the Queen bee in a hive, the biggest bull in a herd, or the fastest horse in the derby.

But now with Band Together it makes more sence.

Viva is older than Poppy, which means that she would likely have been assumed to be the future queen. As far as the bergens are concerned King Peppy already had his "heir and a spare". Poppy was just the spare.

With that in mind, i wonder if it was a tradition for bergen royalty to be fed a royal troll for their first trollstice. "Every prince deserves a princess" Chef had said. Did Peppy have a sibling that was fed to Gristle's dad?

If Poppy hadn't been born, would Viva had been considered old enough for Peppy to be given to Gristle instead? She managed to lead the Puttputts when she got seperated. Or would Gristle have gotten Viva and the bergens just hoped Peppy would create a new heir?

And back to the genetics bit. Do you think they selectively bred the trolls for the best taste or effect. Like specifically choosing trolls or families with undesirable traits to cook at trollstice so that their genes die out. Is that how the average pop troll of the current generation got to be so... delusionaly cheerful.

Like i know its all played up for the movies because their pop trolls, constantly singing and dancing and eating sugary sweets. But in comparison to the other genres they just seem more exaggerated.

So how much of that happy positivity and optimistic near lack of self preservation that most pop trolls have is natural for their genre and how much is enhanced due to at least 100 years of selective breeding.

I imagine the happier a troll the more dopamine/serotonin they produce naturally so the bergens would probably take care to decrease the the amount of trolls that wernt as "potent". Which likely would have been trolls that sang and danced less, were more likely to develop anxiety or were prone to depression or going grey.

On the evolutionary side of things this would have led to the happiest and more optimistic pop trolls to be the most attractive and ideal mates even if the trolls don't relize the scientific reason behind it or consciously notice that happy trolls had a higher servival rate.

(Which kind of reminds me of that one post that said something about boybands like Brozone who made trolls happy with their music likely being "protected" in some way because bergens wanted them to continue making trolls happy)

And i do think the pop trolls were captive for at least 100 years because i doubt a whole town and castle, essentially a small kingdom can be built in one life time. Especially not one with an established monarchy and near religious holiday that has a "minister of happiness". Honestly i wanna see it as over 200 years, give them plenty of time to forget their pre-trollstice history like the existence of other tribes

This is a bit long and rambling but my world building mind really wants to hyperfixate on the details of the pop troll's captivity and what it means for them as a species and for the ways their culture might have shifted or adapted.

[sunlit-mess]

Please ignore if it's not your kind of conversation, but I've been wondering what's going on with me and I was wondering if you might be willing to share how you knew you had BPD or what that process was like for you. Thanks

Hello, I hope you're doing ok!! And I hope what I share can help, it's best to reach out. ::)

My discovery in BPD started at 17 when dad finally realized something is wrong with his oldest daughter. His exact words were that I was deteriorating and he hated seeing it. (Him and I have a complicated relationship, but we love our families just the same)

Although the symptoms started earlier than that, cue in childhood traumas, a shitty high-school, struggle with connection to other people and growing with a fucked up family.

To break it down:

My earliest symptoms were Abandonment issues and Paranoia (as a child), that I seemed like I had separation anxiety that engaged in people-pleasing. I hardly remember the rest of my childhood as if those memories are locked far in my head.

The next was until first year high-school where I started to develop obsessions, to an extent I seemed like a stalker. Naive, my relationships with other people always ended up toxic that even if I was so aware of it, I couldn't care less as long as they never leave me and such. Fortunately, I gave up and cut off. I remained an outcast, indifferent and it stayed that way.

Trouble in high-school was something, but what's worse was the toxicity in my own house, my family. What else could I do? Where else could I run to?

My moods started to have intense erratic patterns or just completely random and confuses most. As the years pass by, more obsessions and unhealthy habits developed as a way to "cope" or just felt what was right, what I deserve. This affects me as a whole because I never grew out of it. I never grew out of how we are treated in this house even until now that I am in college. I struggle in life AS A WHOLE from mentally to physically and so on.

Everyday I feel like I'm at war with my own head, my own self, feelings of hate and love, to other people and more in-between. And I'm actually always on edge as if it could be my last day. There are the endless list of what I have to hide and so much more confusing feelings, behaviors, and thoughts. Just to consider being, functioning "normal".

I actually struggle to voice these experiences, because I've been called insane and worse. Life keeps giving me lemons and I'm so, extremely, tired, but I can't give up as much as I want to. I have younger siblings I do not want to share this burden with.

I handle all of this myself ever since, even financially.

Lately, from my last consultation, was found out the disorder was also rooted from Autistic traits early life to adulthood in a way I couldn't show because of how we are treated at home. So.. To be fair it did make sense.

[haihaihaitani]

Don't Be Scared ~ *Rindou Haitani*

Summary: It seems Rindou’s colleagues don’t respect you as they go out of their way to make you miserable. But you would never tell Rin this. You’re stronger than that, right?

Pairing: Rindou Haitani X G/N!Reader

Genre: Angstyish Drabble

Word Count: 686

Warning: swearing, anxiety attack, insecurities. Rindou being OOC (but I need him to be this way), hating the nickname baby (seriously I could rant about how much I hate being called this, but I think I summed it up pretty well in this)

Masterlist

A/N: I wrote this as a sort of therapy piece. Two things mentioned in this story are insecurities of mine. And sometimes I just imagine a lovely anime boy telling me he’s going to protect me. So yeah. Very self-indulgent. 

A/N 2: Also my dad had piranhas. That’s why they’re here.

You were officially having the worst day ever. Currently, you were curled up in the far corner of your husband’s office, behind his couch. You were squeezed into a tight ball, shaking and crying like a child. All because you were embarrassed in front of your husband’s coworkers.

Honestly, you couldn’t remember who it was who did it and you frankly didn’t care. You could still remember what he did clearly, even though it happened over an hour ago. You don’t think you were ever going to forget.

You were on your way to your husband’s office with some important paperwork when some guy jumped out and scared you. You hated jumpscares because you always felt stupid afterwards. However, after he jumped out, you tripped over your own feet and fell on your ass.

While you were trying to fight back your heavy breathing and tears, the guy laughed and said, “Ha! Gotcha, you whore.”

You were frozen.

A whore? Is that what these people thought of you? You thought…

You shook your head. It didn’t matter what you thought anymore. What mattered is that no one here respected you. Maybe your own husband didn’t respect you like you thought. You just wanted to disappear and believe none of this ever happened. That when you close your eyes, count to three, and open them, you’d be home again.

The door to the office opened. You heard Rindou call out to you, “Baby? Are you here? Ran said he saw you run in here.”

Baby. You were right. Your own husband didn’t even respect you to see you as anything more than a child. Were you being dramatic? Sure. But you still felt justified in being a little extreme considering the humiliation you were subjected to.

“Babe?” Rindou’s voice was much closer to you now and you felt his shoulder brush against yours. You squeezed yourself into a tighter ball to get away from him. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Go away.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me. Something is bothering you and I will do whatever I can to make it right.”

“No! It’s embarrassing and I just want to crawl into a hole and die!”

You weakly struggled against him when he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his lap. “Love, please. Let me help you.”

Taking a few breaths to try and calm yourself, you told him. You recounted the mortifying ordeal with the jumpscare and how he called you a whore. You then let your insecurities spill, how you were so stupid that you could handle a bloody massacre but couldn’t watch a horror movie. You mentioned that you didn’t think anyone respected you, much less like you and you wished you weren’t so dramatic, but explained that these were the thoughts and feelings you were having.

When you were done, Rindou didn’t say anything for a long time. You were about to ask him to say something when he whispered, “I’ll kill him.”

“What?”

“I’ll fucking kill him. I’ll gut him like a fish and feed him to your piranhas for making you feel this way.” He snapped, his voice cold and deadly.

You shook your head and burrowed yourself into his chest. “Don’t do that. You’ll make yourself work more for something those fish won’t eat.”

He gave a slight chuckle but pulled you in closer. “I’m glad you’re making jokes but I’m furious someone would make you doubt yourself like that. You are not a baby and you are not a whore. I love you so much, I married you. If you want, I’ll stop calling you baby. I call you whatever you want. But you have to know that I have never thought less of you and I never will. You are the love of my life and I will never, ever stop loving you, okay?”

You nodded. “Can we go home?”

Rindou kissed the top of your head. “Of course, my love. Right after I call Ran, okay? I have to order a hit.”

“Tell him to be slow and painful.”

“Anything for you.”

[theresivy]

PLEASE HELP: SIGNAL B*OST, D*NATE, OR C*MMISSION ME!!

Listed below are the TL;DR, How to Help, and Full story/Context. I’m sorry I had to resort to this but i have no other choice.

TL;DR version

Please help a mentally disabled fan artist’s family to pay for medical debts for c*ncer, insulin, maintenance meds (for depression, anxiety, etc), and cat food

How to Help

D*nations!!! - I only have P*yPal (also thru K*-fi) and GC*sh! Please dm me for the link or QR code

C*mmission me!!! - I really hate asking for help with nothing to give in return, so preferably please c*mmission me. I havent updated my new set of c*mmission sheet samples BUT heres a short, quick version attached on my post as a pic.

B*y my let-go collection of merchandise!!! (PH-based only please and sorry) - In order to try and make up for the em*tional ab*se me and my mom have to go thru on a daily basis just by living with dad, I ended up in a downward spiral and tried to buy things impulsively since 2020. So, now, we’re paying the price and I have been deeply regretting it ever since. So, plsase please please help buy my palugi (selling for a loss) let-go merchandise, theyre mostly official and am selling for a loss, we badly need the space and especially the funds. Weve only sold less than a half of my stock and it doesnt help that my dad keeps mocking me about it.

Share and S*gnal boost!!! - Tumblr is the only site where i have somewhat of an audience. Please please please help reblog, share, and signal boost.

Full Story/Context

Hi, I’m Theresivy (Teh-reese-ivy), I have been depressed and mentally impaired (among other things) who draws art as a multifandom self-taught fan artist, As of 2020 my mom’s tumor has turned into cancer that has only been given medical attention to in 2022 onwards. And as of then, i have indefinitely become a N,E.E.T for my mom and our finance’s sake while being there by her side. As of now she has gone through FOUR surgeries because more and more unexpected complications keep popping up. She doesnt deserve this, why couldnt it have been me,

We live with my emotionally abusive and manipulative dad (her husband) and our two fur daughters Pancake and Waffles (of which my cats and mom mean more than the world to me) while being forced to live in one of the countless apartment complexes my equally abuse maternal uncle (and his wife, my maternal A-I-L) as we have no other choice. And as such, my dad has been kissing their asses since we were forced to move here more than five years ago.

Both my uncle and my A-I-L took it upon themselves to become the defacto head of my maternal family ever since my maternal grandmother passed just because he became rich thru the means of evil entrepreneur practices. We cant do anything lest we want to get kicked and live on the streets. He is a real-life mastermind as he is always a few steps ahead of us, even making it so that his eldest daughter became his perfect pawn of being his personal lawyer. He always has connections and to them we are merely insects.

My parents and the rest of our family dont really see “artist” as anything that could get money rolling in (and day by day my failed attemptes have been proving them right), and on top of that, they see me being depressed and such as being the “freeloading couch potato”. So they keep bringing up how much of a failure I am. Weve been living in such toxic conditions that my mom has developed this sort of stockholm syndrome type relationship with my dad, and her younger brother (my uncle), and his wife (my A-I-L, her S-I-L). At first i thought i could try and save mom but shes too far gone that she strictly forbids me from fending for myself whenever either of the three try to berate me and drive me to tears and breaking down for the fifth time every week.

All i wish now is to be able to pay back at least some of the debt, for my mom and my fur daughters’ sake, and hopefully my own. I have been in a downwards spiral ever since i have been tolerating being the “odd one out” kid from school. in general, and even in the family, its been literal years and my entire life, im tired of being used and tossed to the side, im tired of being the punching bag of a cosmic joke, and im tired of my disabilities. im tired of being useless to the people i care for the most. so please. help us.

My wish now is to be able to help mom and our fur daughters move away from our domestic ab*sers. everything is an endless spiral of dead ends and im sick of it. ive been self sabotaging for years but a small part of me still has hope, please. i dont want to believe that this is where it ends for us. in this world of darkness and cruelty that spits on our faces, only my mom and our fur daughters have shown me the smallest glimpse of happiness. and even then ive failed them by becoming a barely functioning patient of depression. so, please, dont take my sunshines away.

[jimraisedmeup]

TICK // 17.1 - dancing in the dark

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Rating: mature (angst, language, graphic sexual content)

Word Count: 2400

☾

I get up in the evenin' And I ain't got nothin' to say I come home in the mornin' I go to bed feelin' the same way

☾

May 16, 1984 - junior year

"Toilet paper?"

"Check."

"Eggs?"

"Check."

"Red lipstick?"

"Check," Robin answered, then lifted an eyebrow at her sister. "Wait, what do we need the lipstick for?"

Eddie butted in between the two Buckley girls from the back seat of your father's work truck. "Perhaps if I wear lipstick I'll be less recognizable?"

You snorted, both hands on the wheel. "I don't think a disguise is necessary. Honestly, if you get caught, what else do you have to lose at this point?"

The brown eyed boy sat back in his seat, shoulders slumping in a mild sense of defeat. You still hadn't really talked to him since showing up on his doorstep with Robin. You were quite clearly on a mission and having fun with your sister, but Eddie knew you well enough that you were still far from happy with his fireworks show.

At this point, he just felt lucky that you wanted to include him in whatever plan you cooked up.

And Eddie thought Robin was quirky. Like if you took all the seriousness and cynicism away from you, added a dash of band geek, BAM! Robin Buckley. Eddie found her perpetual lack of coordination and rambling sentences to be entertaining. 

On the same note, though, he was intimidated by her scrutinizing gaze on him - they hadn't really spent time together yet, just simple greetings in passing at school when he was with you. 

Eddie still had yet to properly meet your father, upon your request.

I think that's something that can wait a while, yeah?

Hawkins was empty this late at night and all three of you buzzed with anxiety. "Borrowing" your dad's work truck was a good idea, but also a risky one. The construction company's name on the side of it was a little more recognizable that Eddie was comfortable with.

But it was better than taking Eddie's van. He was always noticed wherever he went.

"How do you guys know where Higgins lives, anyways?" he questioned, poking through a toolbox that was in the back seat with him.

You peered at him through the rearview mirror, your shining eyes glowing under the street lights.

"Robin knows a girl, who knows a guy, who knew a girl that dated his son."

"Well that's a goddamn soap opera if I've ever heard one," Eddie mumbled, then leaned forward towards Robin. "Cheers, criminals?"

Eddie popped the top off a beer bottle, startling the two girls in the front seat. You slammed on the brakes. Snapping your head to glare at him, Eddie held a look of innocence in his eyes, a beer in one hand and a random tool he used to open it in the other.

"Did you seriously bring a whole six pack with you? How did I not notice that?"

"You were too busy stealing all of my toilet paper. Look, there's two for each of us," he held out the open beer for one of you to take, fiddling with the lid of another one.

Robin took it from his hand immediately. You stared at her in shock. 

"Hey now, don't look at me like that. He lit a car on fire yesterday. We just stole our dad's work truck… to go vandalize our principal's home," she took a swig of the beer, wincing at the taste. "Might as well continue breaking laws as long as we're having fun, right?"

Sighing, you nodded at your younger sister. "Touché. But save mine for later, would you? Drinking and driving isn't on my list of crimes this evening."

Eddie and Robin tapped their beers together with a sharp clink, then proceeded to race each other to the bottoms of their bottles. 

The truck pulled onto Higgins' street. You parked in a dark area underneath a large oak tree. You turned to your accomplices with a grin.

"Are you ready, bitches?"

☾

I ain't nothin' but tired Man, I'm just tired and bored with myself Hey there, baby, I could use just a little help

☾

The trio looked upon your handiwork, sweet revenge coursing through your veins.

Toilet paper covered Higgins' trees, lawn, and lampposts. Eggs were artistically scattered over the brick front of the house - Eddie specifically recommended not to egg any windows so that you wouldn't draw attention from anyone inside with noise.

Robin stifled a giggle with her palm. "Guys… that was fun as hell."

"I concur," Eddie said, hands on his hips.

You couldn't help but smile at your two favorite people. "Ditto."

When you were almost back to the truck, you stopped suddenly. "Wait! I almost forgot." Then you bolted away. "Wait here!" you whispered at them frantically.

Eddie side-eyed Robin as they watched you run up to Higgins' mailbox.

"Uh, so Robin, you think she’s gonna hate me forever? For what happened yesterday?"

Clicking her tongue for a moment, Robin stared at her feet as she replied. "I don't think she's capable of hating you." 

The Munson boy next to her felt a pang in his heart at her response, and was unable to find his own.

Then she chuckled. "But good luck with the dirty looks she'll give you every time you light a match around her. She can be really scary sometimes."

"It's her eyes, right?" Eddie said with a laugh. "Aggressive."

Robin patted him on the back. "Just don't try to blow yourself up again anytime soon, and I'm sure you'll be just fine in her books. She loves you, you know?"

"Does she?"

"Isn't it kinda obvious?" Robin pointed at you, who was now jogging back to the pair. "She’s never been a rule breaker like this before. Not until she met your dumb ass."

Before Eddie had a chance to process Robin's words, you ran up to them.

"Guys, let's roll! I saw a light come on in Higgins' house," and then you ran past them, out of breath and cackling wildly.

As you drove past the principal's defaced home, Eddie snuck a glance at the once bright, white mailbox. 

In red lipstick, you had written "ASS of '84" in swirling, fantastic letters.

☾

You can't start a fire You can't start a fire without a spark This gun's for hire Even if we're just dancin' in the dark

☾

As you neared the center of town, you felt chills up your spine when Eddie's quiet voice sounded from behind you.

"Come stay with me tonight?"

You fidgeted in your seat. You would pick Eddie's soft bed over your own any other day. But now you were conflicted. 

"I have to take Robin home. And the truck. She can't drive it home alone," you explained, mumbling towards the back seat. 

You glanced at Robin, who was enjoying her second beer and looking out of the window at the passing businesses of downtown Hawkins.

But Eddie wasn't going to back down. "So? I'll come with you, then. Sneak me into your bedroom, I'll be your little secret."

"Do you want to die at the hands of Richard Buckley?"

"Darling, I'd die any day just to spend another night with you."

You had never allowed him to stay the night at your house before. You tried your best to avoid Eddie and your father crossing paths at all costs, usually only having Eddie in your room on days when your father was working late.

A bit of anger flashed in your mind, wondering why Kate was allowed to stay the night. You couldn't hold the anger for long, though. Over the last few months of awkward dinners, both you and Robin had begun to realize that Kate wasn't all that bad, even if she had a horrible taste in men.

And now, as you could feel your boyfriend's heated eyes on you from the back seat, a gut feeling told you that you weren't ready to say goodnight to him just yet.

"Fine, just this once."

"You know I can hear everything, right? You idiots are loud and the radio isn't even on," Robin gestured wildly with her hands. "I'd say 'get a room', but it sounds like you're about to do that. Gross."

Uncontrollable laughter bubbled up in your chest, adrenaline still pumping through your veins from the mischief you unleashed on the principal of Hawkins High School.

It must have been contagious, because Robin smirked at her sister.

"I'll help you sneak him in. Maybe one day you'll help me sneak in someone, too."

With a quick wink and the signature interlocking of your pinky fingers, you nodded knowingly at Robin as you pulled the truck into the driveway of your home.

☾

Stay on the streets of this town And they'll be carvin' you up alright They say you gotta stay hungry Hey baby, I'm just about starvin' tonight

☾

"Do you need me to wash your clothes or anything? For school tomorrow?"

You searched through your dresser drawers, finally finding a clean pair of oversized shorts that you had previously stolen from his room. You threw them at Eddie, who caught them with an uncomfortable look on his face.

"Sunshine… hate to break it to you, but I'm kinda done for the year. They suspended me for the last two weeks of school."

"Oh."

He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding the disappointment on your face. "I think I might just say 'fuck it', you know? Drop out, get a job with my uncle. Eulin is never going to pass me… or Ms. O'Donnell. Definitely not Higgins. What's the point in trying senior year again?"

Your eyes were sad. Though still sweet and deep as a pot of honey, your voice seemed smaller than usual.

"You should try again… for me. We could graduate together." You picked at your fingers, not meeting his eyes.

Eddie Munson didn't need any convincing. It was clear how much it meant to you. 

"Jesus, babe, no need to beg," he joked. "You already begged me enough just to stay here tonight."

The small smile that crept up on your lips made his entire night. Sure, he royally fucked up with the fireworks. But you were still here. You took him to get his childish revenge on Higgins. You wanted him to graduate with you. 

Maybe there was still hope for a fairytale ending, making it out of Hawkins with you by his side.

Never really ceasing to surprise him, you pulled off your jeans and sat on the edge of your neatly made bed, spreading your knees just a few inches.

"Enough talking, if that's okay?"

Eddie was already hard. But he purposely hesitated.

"Messing up a bed this pretty seems like quite the sin, you know."

Tilting your head back, you scoffed. "Says the boy with the stained mattress!"

"My uncle gave me that bed, I have no idea where those stains came from!"

"Sure." Then you bit your lip, looking behind him in the dim bedroom. "Lock the door already, will you?"

Again, he didn't need any convincing. He pushed the lock closed on your bedroom door, seeing it shine in the hazy light emanating from your closet. 

The brown eyed boy dropped to his knees in front of you, grasping your calves and pulling you to the edge of the bed.

He ran his hand over your belly, then hooked his fingers underneath the elastic of your underwear… he said a quick, sarcastic prayer for his devilish conscience, then pulled the underwear down. 

In the darkness, your hair hung around your sleepy face, making it difficult to read your expression. Eddie didn't mind it, though. He just wanted to feel you, love you, hear you… taste you.

Both of your hands ran across his neck, your nails slowly exploring his skin, then down to the collar of his shirt. He took the subtle hint and pulled it off, discarding it on the floor. The dark piece of fabric looked out of place in your immaculate pink bedroom.

Eddie could feel the warmth radiating off the skin of your stomach, your inner thighs. He grabbed your knee and then ran his hand upwards, stopping when he felt your hips.

He didn't even contemplate his actions for a single second - Eddie knew exactly what you wanted. Pressing one hand against your backside, he pulled your hips forcefully towards his mouth. Your flesh held remnants of what smelled like rose-scented soap and sweat.

His tongue traced the hot crevice between your thigh and the wetness already pooling between your legs. Immediately, your back arched, almost collapsing your body like a little fractured marionette.

He was the puppet master.

The tension in the air snapped. Like a buzzing telephone wire on a scorching summer day - Eddie felt a fire being lit in his groin, guiding him as if he was a man possessed.

Self-control being a thing in the past, Eddie grabbed hard onto your ass, and you leaned back as you held onto his head. He tasted you, fully, unabashedly, exploring you like you were an undiscovered wonder of the world. His tongue circled your most sensitive areas as you whimpered, knees trembling.

You squirmed further and further up the bed like a cat in heat. He yanked your hips back to the edge of the mattress. You grabbed one of your pillows and held it over your mouth.

His fingers traced an arc along the underside of your breasts, barely visible under the fabric that separated them. It took everything in him not to fully undress himself.

His cock was hard, straining against his jeans. But there wasn't anything that would stop him from making you come into his mouth.

Eddie didn't think he had ever tasted something so real, so human, in his entire life. The sweat, the salt, the unique taste of you. 

He controlled the speed at which you finished - dragging it out as long as he could. The more your body tensed up at his actions, the more satisfied he felt. Your legs curled around his head like a vice grip from heaven.

Afterwards, sitting back on the floor before you, his face was wet. His lips were swollen. 

He could see your figure splayed out on the bed. Shameless and spent.

☾

I'm dyin' for some action I'm sick of sittin' 'round here tryin' to write this book I need a love reaction Come on now, baby, gimme just one look

You can't start a fire Sittin' 'round cryin' over a broken heart This gun's for hire Even if we're just dancin' in the dark

☾

(song lyrics credit: "Dancing in the Dark" by Bruce Springsteen)

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[skyloftian-nutcase]

I am a predicament man, Miphlink Trash happens to intrigue me. However, it that one has already been in an ask or you wish to change things up, Blood of the Hero sounds interesting.

I wrote this when the Miphlink brain rot was absolutely eating me alive lol. Also because any time I've ever ran into "Mipha gives birth" scenes it's always this simple little "out pops the egg and we're fine :D" thing and just... as someone who has seen mothers in labor... no. Just no. LOL. Also, let Link be weirded out! Everyone writes him as being totally fine with his wife laying eggs and like... it's unnatural to Hylians anyway, and most dads are weirded out by natural and normal births. Doesn't mean he's gonna love his kid any less. Anyway, enough rambling, here's a snippet lol:

Link had known that it would be different. He knew the Zora laid eggs, and from there the child would develop and hatch and become far more akin to what he was used to as a Hylian. But he’d never seen a Zora egg – they were all kept here, a place that had been forbidden to him until today. It looked strange, almost transluscent, each egg in varying shades that resembled Zora scale tones. None of the ones in the same pool were as big as Mipha’s, but some in other pools seemed to be. All the eggs stirred occasionally, nearly scaring Link out of his skin, though the manner in which they did varied. In other pools the eggs simply seemed to rock, whereas the one where his child was all the eggs moved a little in shape.

“The shells harden over time,” Naran explained as she approached him. “They’re very malleable during birth to make the process easier, but they harden to protect the child afterward.”

A womb outside the womb, he supposed, and the thought made the process a little less… foreign and strange. He couldn’t take his eyes off the egg, wondering if the baby could hear all of them just like Hylian babies supposedly could while being carried by their mothers.

What was in store for this child? What kind of father would Link be? How would he protect the child? Anxieties old and new started to plague him, interrupted only when Naran offered to hold the egg for him for just a moment. She carefully pulled it out of the water, and Link found he didn’t know what to say or do, so he leaned in and gently kissed it. He very clearly felt a little hand press against him, and he gasped, jumping back.

Goddess there really is a baby in there. It wasn’t like he didn’t know that, in theory, but still… Link leaned over again, a smile pulling at his lips now as he stared in wonder, and he whispered, “Hello, little one.”

Naran carefully placed the egg back in the water and put a hand on his shoulder. “Congratulations again, my prince.”

It was finally Link’s turn to let out an emotional laugh, eyes stinging with tears, and he found himself running back to Mipha to hug her. His wife held him in return, giggling into his shoulder, and there they stayed until the moon was high in the sky. Afterward, they were given one last chance to look at the child they’d created together before they were escorted outside. Link carried Mipha, as she was still absolutely worn out, and the two settled in a nearby spring, close enough that the midwives could reach them and check on Mipha, which they did religiously through the night. He held her all night, letting her rest, keeping her safe and admiring how she had managed to do such a thing and then act as if it was normal and everything was fine. Hylia above, women were built different.

[munchmemes]

HARI KONDABOLU: WARN YOUR RELATIVES

because i was a fool and deleted the original post + updated a bit

❛ how is 800 not significant? ❜ ❛ you have to weave through a capitalist obstacle course. ❜ ❛ hey, [NAME], why did you miss your flight? ❜ ❛ i just bought a 40 pound Toblerone for no reason. ❜ ❛ hey, you look nervous. why do you look so nervous? ❜ ❛ how do little bottles keep us safer? ❜ ❛ what i think is happening is that the government is in cahoots with the little bottle people. ❜ ❛ then you walk through another machine that swipes right to left like this and steals your thoughts. ❜ ❛ it’s a little suspicious. it’s a little SUSPICIOUS! ❜ ❛ yes, pay respect to your silent masters. ❜ ❛ what does that tell you!? what does that tell you!? ❜ ❛ that tells me you're on the internet too much. ❜ ❛ this is a depression beard. i’m depressed right now. ❜ ❛ i'm depressed right now. i am just a threat to myself. you have nothing to worry about. ❜ ❛ but if you’re there, then who’s - ❜ ❛ if you're the expert on being harassed, it's time you do the harassing, right? ❜ ❛ who brought the asshole with the microphone? ❜ ❛ why [is he] yelling so much? ❜ ❛ it was a delightful diminishment of my life's work. ❜ ❛ you need to keep it simple. elementary, my dear watson. elementary. ❜ ❛ look at you! look at what you look like! ❜ ❛ i look like a Muppet getting a PhD. ❜ ❛ i'm talking really loudly 'cause i want everyone to hear. ❜ ❛ Kid Rock, right? ❜ ❛ and also: WHAT THE FUCK? ❜ ❛ Kid Rock? you confused me with Kid Rock? ❜ ❛ maybe [they] saw the K and the I and ignored all the other letters. which is weird because that's not how reading works. ❜ ❛ that's the saddest shit in the world! ❜ ❛ but [they] felt bad. and i felt better so it was a win-win situation. ❜ ❛ well, you could’ve fooled me. ❜ ❛ i clearly fooled you! you were fooled! ❜ ❛ i don’t know what the fuck that means! ❜ ❛ i don’t know why you do this to us! ❜ ❛ well, now i know how to end the show, great. ❜ ❛ fucking snowflake. ❜ ❛ you don’t know me! i was an athlete! yes, chess is a sport! ❜ ❛ i’ve never heard of that technology. ❜ ❛ why are you blatantly lying to us? ❜ ❛ i figured it out. what they are doing is using the philosophy which is held within the song "it wasn't me" by Shaggy. ❜ ❛ things are so bad. they’re just really fucking awful. ❜ ❛ everything feels like the end of a Kurt Vonnegut novel. ❜ ❛ it's not good. it's just better than nothing, right? ❜ ❛ health insurance might as well be run by casinos at this point. ❜ ❛ it goes through the system, gets negotiated back and forth and you end up with far less than you want. ❜ ❛ what do we have now? like, echinacea, prayer and a hug. and [they're} trying to take the hug away. ❜ ❛ no, i don't know what those words mean. but i saw Rocky IV. ❜ ❛ my proposal wasn't about a redistribution of wealth. my healthcare proposal was about a redistribution of organs. ❜ ❛ after rich people die - i mean, after we kill them -  ❜ ❛ we kill these rich people and we take the organs from them. ❜ ❛ and we'd feast. we’d eat a little meal i call justice. ❜ ❛ now, you might be thinking 'well, [NAME], that sounds so unreasonable.' yes! it is! ❜

❛ i can’t believe [they] won though. i mean, seriously?! ❜ ❛ i don't wanna put my values on you but i was always told not to do that. honestly, i wasn't even told. i just kind of knew. ❜ ❛ i love my mom, man. my mom is my favourite person. ❜ ❛ my mom is the reason why i’m funny. ❜ ❛ my dad is the reason i have anxiety. ❜ ❛ half of your genes were an obstacle to overcome. ❜ ❛ don’t have children. only stupid people have children. ❜ ❛ my mom was Grindr before there was Grindr. ❜ ❛ ultimately, that’s what this is about. change hearts and minds. ❜ ❛ homosexuality is not an open rebellion against God. do you know what an open rebellion against God is? NASA. ❜ ❛ not now, [NAME]! ❜ ❛ that joke was about divinity! about identity! it was about the nature of power! ❜ ❛ so, i was licking this girl’s asshole … ❜ ❛ man, i fucking hate firefighters. ❜ ❛ who hates firefighters? what are you, the fucking Human Torch? ❜ ❛ what is this, the 1980s? or the Midwest now? ❜ ❛ it’s too spicy. what is it? ❜ ❛ it’s water. ❜ ❛ it’s a lemon. ❜ ❛ can i put ketchup on it? i wanna put ketchup. i wanna put ketchup on everything! ❜ ❛ that is the glorious taste of something. you’re tasting something. ❜ ❛ the story is, the mango was very juicy. that's the whole story. ❜ ❛ can you tell me the mango story again? ❜ ❛ it’s because that mango is that GOOD! ❜ ❛ it’s a good mango. ❜ ❛ i fucking love mangoes!! ❜ ❛ i would start a mango podcast if i could. ❜ ❛ this is why you need to cut your high school friends from Facebook. ❜ ❛ why does the devil need an advocate? he's the devil! why does the prince of darkness need your help exactly? ❜ ❛ that’s interesting. have you thought about selling your soul to the devil? ❜ ❛ you know, if you'd like to live forever, you could sell your soul to the devil. ❜ ❛ that’s all the devil wants! ❜ ❛ and i said 'yes' even though i had no idea what this meant. ❜ ❛ oh, shit! acting! ❜ ❛ oh, shit! he’s pretending this is real or something. ❜ ❛ this shit is wild. ❜ ❛ and then … HE PUNCHED ME IN THE CHEST. ❜ ❛ this is acting? i hate acting. ❜ ❛ oh, it’s okay. i have that joke. ❜ ❛ if you think i’m talking about you, then yes, i’m definitely talking about you, yes. ❜ ❛ we're gonna snapchat the revolution. ❜ ❛ you can't ask me where i'm from and not know geography. ❜ ❛ where's your white guilt? ❜ ❛ i'm not looking for a lot of white guilt, just enough where you apologize even if you don't mean it. ❜ ❛ i was vexed. i was fuming. i had had it up to here. ❜ ❛ there's no time for symbolism! ❜ ❛ what’s the deal with that old dude? ❜

[misc-obeyme]

there has to be a loophole to get a cat past luci. i refuse to believe old man luci is impossible to convince that felines are a good idea inside the house. he has the energy of a dad who says he dosent want a cat but handing him a kitten he'll never put it down. surely if the mc had a pet cat before being spirited away it'd be allowed to come with!!!!

it is an INJUSTICE that theres zero cats in that giant house!!! whos cleaning all the dark forgotten corners of spiderwebs with their dumb little faces otherwise!!!!

I am in full agreement with you, anon! Let there be cats!!

As a cat owner myself, I have often thought about what would become of my floofer if I was the one randomly transported to the Devildom. (I think about my mortgage and my job too but that's far less whimsical.) And I have come to the conclusion that I would refuse to be an exchange student unless my cat could come with me. Like are you kidding, I can't leave her behind. It isn't even just that I want her with me (which I do), I live alone! Nobody else can take care of her if I'm not there! She would starve until one of my family members figured out that I was missing and she might die by that time!! Unacceptable.

So I definitely think that they could end up with an MC who refuses to leave their pet cat behind and therefore Lucifer would have to make an exception.

I believe the issue was that once Satan had one cat in the HoL, he just kept getting more and more cats until they were overrun. And in the end Lucifer had to ban all cats.

But I think he'd make an exception for MC. Especially if it was a situation where MC really needed their cat. I could easily make the argument that my cat helps with my anxiety. And yeah, maybe demons wouldn't normally care about that, but this is MC we're talking about.

It's really cute for me to think about how Lucifer would react to my cat. I think he'd love her. She's very pretty and she's very sweet, but she's also loud and demanding. He wouldn't like her fur, which is light and would get all over his black suit lol. But she would love him, so I definitely see that reluctant dad being like okay I love this cat.

And Satan would be thrilled. And if he could control himself about it, maybe MC could convince Lucifer to let them have another one. Or two. Or seven. No wait...

Anyway, all big old houses are required to have at least one cat. That's the rule, I didn't make it up (yes I did). Because just as you said, someone's dumb little face needs to clean the cobwebs! And chase the spiders! And get stuck in the tiny spaces! And sit on top of the fridge!