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rosewaterandivy · 1 month

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answer July— ah, said July—

summary: from Summersong Request-athon, inspired by "July, July!" as requested by marvelous Meg aka @courtingchaos 💜 || The soft pad of your index finger trails down the scar of his jaw, lingering there as you smile, a little different from before.

Softer, somehow. As if it’s just for him.

w.c.: 4700

pairing: e.m. x f!reader

themes: prosaic summer feels, the ephemeral nature of time, processing trauma, mention of previous bodily harm & its aftermath, insecurities and the like, body worship

a/n: long time, no see my fellow fiends. did i let this run away from me? maybe. do i care? not a wit! thanks for tagging along with the team, aka let eddie have a nice, normal summer for once - hope you enjoy! title from "Answer July" by Emily Dickinson.

Summer slipped by syrupy slow, lingering around the edges. All honey-coated and sweet, so much so in fact, that it struck one Eddie Munson as rather strange.

Granted, his spring had been touch and go what with being the town pariah and nearly bleeding his ever-loving guts out in the Upside Down and all. So maybe a slow uneventful summer was well-warranted after all of that.

May sprinted past with its final school bells ringing and a quick dash across the stage at graduation to snatch a diploma from Higgins before the school board could think better of it. He hastily threw together a quick campaign to welcome Will Byers back to town and only somewhat regretfully passed the mantle of Hellfire over to Henderson.

He got himself a job, nothing to write home about, but certainly something to pass the time and get him out of the house. Wayne insisted Eddie didn’t need to work and Eddie said the same for him, the never-ending cycle rearing its head once more.

The government hush money was, after all, nothing if not generous.

Still, he felt ill at ease in the new house. Liable to crawl out of his skin at times.

Besides, if it weren’t for the job, he’d have never set his sorry sights on the newbie behind the counter at the soda fountain.

Yes, of fucking course Hawkins, Indiana had an old-fashioned soda shop pharmacy combo.

Which did nothing to help his sweet tooth.

So, on the days he happened to close the record store, Eddie would peer across the street searching for a familiar head of hair, usually swept up onto a bun or ponytail by day’s end, and a smile that could melt the cockles of his cold, black heart.

The bell chimed as you rung up a sale for a customer at the register, the cash drawer grazing a bit of skin at your hip as you turned.

“Be with you in a sec!”

Eddie settled himself on a well-worn stool and drummed his fingers along the polished counter. He watched as you counted change for one of the old biddies who all but forced casserole down the throats of the Munson men after he’d been discharged from the hospital.

She thanks you and shoves a dollar in the tip jar as she makes to leave.

“Looking lovely as ever Pearl,” A low familiar voice says.

“Oh, you sweet talker,” The older woman swats at Munson still perched on his stool. She tsks and tugs at a lock of hair that’s fallen from where he’d tied it back in frustration. “One of these days I’ll come at you with my scissors, young man.”

Eddie sighs dramatically and swivels on the stool as she reaches the door, “Promises, promises. And yet…”

Pearl pushes the door open and says with a wink, “You’ll never see me coming.”

The door falls shut behind her, allowing him to return his attention to you behind the counter.

At the far end of the shop, you’re hefting open freezer doors and scooping out near perfect spheres of ice cream onto sugar and waffle cones, scoffing when someone requests a cup instead.

He’s surprised to see no one else behind the counter, there’s usually at least one person to man the counter with during the busier hours, the after dinner rush.

The door keeps chiming as people join the line, eyeing the offerings— campfire marshmallow, french toast, vanilla, strawberry, rainbow sherbert— the list goes on and on. Some lean over and whisper to their dates, earning a tittering giggle here and there. Sticky hands of children smack against the glass pointing out their selection as you shove another scoop onto a towering waffle cone.

And it’s then that Eddie decides he’s had quite enough of this.

Tossing his bag behind the counter and hopping over it, all long limbs and pointy elbows. His knees pop slightly as he passes behind you to grab a scoop from the water trough.

“What’re you doing?”

“Uh, helping out?”

And without another word, he turns to the next customer and takes their order, only stepping on the toes of your Keds once or twice before locating the correct flavor.

“God,” He mutters under his breath, the tendons of his forearm prominent as he scoops a glob of pink cotton candy ice cream onto a sugar cone. “People actually like this crap?”

You merely shrug in response before sliding the freezer door shut and opening the next. It goes like this for nearly half and hour before Vickie stumbles in from the service entrance, her cheeks tinged pink and accompanied by a dazed look in her eye.

“Sorry, sorry!” She frantically apologizes, clocking in with her punch card.

Tying on an apron, which Eddie never bothered to do, she greets the customers at the till and rings them up while you make what could very well be the hundredth shake ordered that day, the mixer revving loudly over your retort.

“I’ll allow it,” You turn with a knowing smirk to Vickie, “But you owe me big time, Little Red.”

“Details?” She squeaks.

“Oh, that and more Vic,” You laugh as the machine whirs to a stop.

Deftly, you pour the shake into a cup and shake the canister of whipped cream vigorously. Eddie tries and fails to hide the blush coloring his cheeks as your shirt rides up with the motion. The ‘JERK’ emblazoned on your chest pulling taut against the swell of your breasts from the movement.

He nearly chokes on his own spit.

“Shit,” He rasps as his throat pulls tight.

Passing the shake over with a polite smile to a customer, you thump him forcefully on the back.

Which would be all well and good, if not for the fact that he wasn’t expecting it, and, as a result, falls bodily into your chest, legs tangling with yours, and takes the pair of you down to the mat behind the counter.

“Ow.”

Peering open an eye, he finds Vickie, arms crossed and toe tapping the tile floor, looking down at the both of you with a bemused pull of her lips.

“See, this is why it’s employees only behind the counter,” You say with a grunt as you peel yourself from the floor. “You’re not OSHA certified, Munson.”

Eddie digs the heel of his palms into his eye sockets, hoping that maybe he can just sink into the floor and forget this ever happened.

Because you’re warm, what with having worked up a sweat manning the counter single-handedly and your legs are nice; too nice maybe, with the way his heart is kicking up in his chest, to say nothing of what’s kicking up in his pants.

“Sorry,” He sighs, coming to a seated position. “Are you okay?”

Dusting your hands against the denim cutoffs you’re sporting, you turn and give him a smile. “Never better.”

Legs still tangled, you unwind your limbs from his, crisp white Keds knocking against scuffed Reeboks. He takes the hand you offer and allows himself to be pulled up, only to be greeted by six beatific smiles and less than subtle winks or nods.

“Sooooo,” Dustin drawls, fingers drumming against the glass of the freezer, “Fun trip?”

The ensuing laughter and taunts from what was formerly his favorite group of high schoolers, is enough to make Eddie miss the solitude of Reefer Rick’s cabin.

If May was a sprint, then June was a dive into cool water.

Rope swings lassoed around tree branches, splashing into a placid lake from great heights. Blankets spread on rocks and grass for makeshift picnics. The hum of cicadas as lips wrapped around lifted bottles of booze from the Harrington’s liquor cabinet.

Nearly a month gone and Eddie still hadn’t worked up the courage.

Which is how he found himself perched on rock formation that bordered Lover’s Lake with the boys— Harrington, Byers, and Argyle— playing barely tipsy lifeguard as you swam circles around Nancy, Robin, and Vickie. The latter two had somehow wound themselves into a Gordian Knot of limbs and had earned an eagle-eyed glare from one former captain of the swim team.

“Go to the shallows!” Steve called out, a half-empty bottle of whiskey at his feet. “No, Rob,” He huffed and stood up, “You gotta use your arms, like this!” He demonstrated with a perfect backstroke that Robin seemed woefully unequipped to replicate.

“What?!”

Robin’s befuddled call echoed against the rocks lining the shore and spurned Steve into action.

“Jesus Christ,” He muttered, passing the bottle off to Eddie. “Stay there ya dingus!”

Steve’s body elegantly cut into the water and he surfaced to a smattering of applause from those still perched on the rock.

“Good form, I’d give it a solid 8.5,” Eddie decreed before taking long pull from the bottle.

“Now way man,” Argyle piped up, “That’s at least a 9.The way he slipped into the water like that? Some top tier stuff right there.”

He elbowed Jonathan who was preoccupied with blowing rings from his joint.

“Huh? Oh, uh. 5?”

Steve merely rolled his eyes and swam toward Robin and Vickie, who where no closer to shore now than they were when this whole charade began.

“You’re shitting me dude. A 5 out of 10?”

“Oh, fuck.” Jonathan completed one rather slow blink in Eddie’s direction. “I thought it was like, out of five. My bad.”

Argyle called out the new score from the judges to Steve, who had his hands full with Robin and Vickie’s frantically kicking and thrashing limbs, so much so, that he was rather relieved when you swam up beside him to help.

Eddie placed the bottle between his feet and leaned back on his hands, face turned toward the night sky.

Stars littered the inky blue like so many twinkling lights. A few lightning bugs buzzed further along the edge of the wood, a soft yellow glow to guide through the dark. The lake grew calm again, small lapping waves skirting the shore as distant voices grew closer.

“Hey man,” Argyle nudged Eddie’s shoulder with his, knocking him from his reverie. “How’s our favorite soda jerk?”

He smiled despite himself, “She’s fine, I guess.”

“Hmm. And Operation Meatball?”

Eddie groaned and rolled his eyes, “Henderson got to you too, I see. That kid needs to get a hobby.”

Dustin, and the rest of his band of hellions, had gotten it into their heads that Eddie and you were destined to be. Had an entire notebook dedicated to plans and named the whole endeavor after a scene from Lady and the Tramp, which Eddie couldn’t even bring himself to protest.

“I dunno dude,” Argyle shrugged, “She’s schmokin and I may have seen her eye you a time or two.”

He was glad for the cover of night, because his face felt positively on fire.

“You know, if you’d—” Argyle began, only to get cut off by the sound of approaching footfalls.

“Hey guys,” You greeted, stepping onto the rock and dripping water onto Eddie’s arm. “Oh, shit, sorry Ed!” You take a step back and grab a towel from a nearby bag. Tying your hair up in the striped towel, you settle back at his side. “Ooh, got any more of that?”

He follows your eyes to the bottle at his feet, and stretches to grab it. Your damp fingers brush his along the neck of the bottle, and he, impossibly, blushes all the more.

“S’all yours.”

“Much obliged,” You say with a nod toward him.

Your lips wrap around the bottle, and Eddie can’t help but watch a rivulet of water trickle its way down your throat. His fingers itch to chase it, his tongue longs to taste it.

Jonathan deploys a well-timed cough and pointed glance in Eddie’s direction to excuse himself and Argyle.

“Catch you later chica,” Argyle promises with a grasp to your shoulder, “Lemme know when that horchata flavor comes in!”

You promise to do so with a laugh and a wave, before turning your attention back to the water. Eddie sits at your side, quiet, save for the movemnt of his fingers as he fiddles with his rings. There’s a few sounds from Steve dutifully pouring Robin and Vickie into the BMW with conferring with Nancy as she wrangles Jonathan and Argyle into the station wagon.

“You good?”

Turning at the sound of Nancy’s voice, Eddie can see your mouth pull into a smile, the white of your teeth bringing to mind a cheshire cat. Your elbow knocks into his as you duck toward him conspiratorially.

“Whaddya say, Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

Lightning bugs float around your damp hair that’s fallen from its turban, water slick waves drying slowly in the summer heat. A halo blurry gold around your head, Eddie loses all faculty of language, lost in the soft glow cast against your sun warmed skin.

“Take me home?”

He merely nods in response, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“I’m good!” You call back to Nancy and take another pull from the bottle.

“Call me when you’re home!”

The sound of car engines turning over fills the air, tires crunching over gravel and dried pine needles littering the forest floor. The heat of the day quickly dissipates, replaced with a soft breeze that alleviates a bit of the humidity. And it’s quiet on the shore, save for the clinking of the bottle as you take sips every so often.

For all his gregarious and dramatic antics, truth be told, Eddie didn’t quite know how to simply be. At least, not since spring break with the nearly dying and all of that. He’d returned to the land of the living a little more somber, recovering in the hospital between hushed tones from doctors and nurses, louder exclamations from Henderson and his brood, the comforting weight of Wayne’s hand at his shoulder.

Sure, he’d rallied.

Put on a brave face for the kids, found familiarity in a strained smile mirrored in Steve. Noticed his own body jerking in time with Robin’s at the sound of an unanticipated loud noise. Was quick to cover his discomfort with a joke buoyed by Argyle’s raucous laugh. Found himself helping Nancy plan outings to take everyone’s mind off of things. Sought out Jonathan to share a smoke when it all got to be too much.

But you—

He never minded the quiet with you.

Eddie could maybe, for a moment, let it fall away.

A clink of a glass bottle broke his reverie as it joined the others discarded on the ground.

“This is nice,” You said with a languid stretch, arms raised above your head and falling in a graceful arc as you settled back against the rock.

He had to agree.

“Can I uh, ask you something?”

Your voice had taken on an unfamiliar tone, almost as if you made yourself smaller and unsure. It wasn’t his favorite, he had to admit. Eddie preferred the unapologetic way you carried yourself, a royal flush of confidence which you bandied about with no inhibitions.

Timid didn’t suit you, at least, not in his humble opinion.

He knocked shoulders with you, tried to inject some levity into his voice.

“Shoot.”

“Well,” You squirmed next to him, “And you don’t have to answer this if like, it makes you uncomfortable— the last thing I wanna do is offend you, swear to God.” You take a breath to steel yourself. “I just, I noticed you weren’t swimming today.”

“Ah.”

“I mean,” You clear your throat, “You really never swim, not at Steve’s pool, not here. So.”

“Are you asking if I can swim?” He jokes, “Because, I’m definitely capable. Dear old Dad threw me into a creek,” crick, “And told me to get on with it.”

A hushed laugh falls from your lips, “So, you can but you don’t. Any reason why?”

“Well that,” He says, softer now, “Is quite the story.”

You hum, content with the response not pushing for more than he’s willing to share.

“Tell me someday?”

And oh, is he in trouble. Because the odds of that are more far likely than you’d think.

You’re quick to pack up after that. Eddie trails after you, tossing an odd can or cigarette butt into a trash bag and hauling it to the van. He scratches the light stubble of his jaw, nail catching along the scar decorating his cheek. It’s not as bad as it had been, mostly white with pink tinged edges, and receding into his jawline enough to slip most notice.

It’s not that Eddie regrets the scars, he did what he had to do— the whorls of pink and white puckered skin that now embellished him from hip to shoulder were a simple reminder of that.

Just not one that he’s keen to advertise.

He lets you fiddle with the radio, static crackling through the speakers before the opening riff of Cream’s “Sunshine of Your Love” sails through. An easy smile lights up your face as you lean back in the seat and sing along.

I’ll be with you my darling, soon, I’ll be with you when the stars start falling

His grip tightens on the wheel and he wills himself to focus on the road ahead and not the soft croon of your voice. Which is kind of difficult given how sweet you sound, how desperate he is for your touch.

He rolls up to your apartment complex by the song’s end, having had the pleasure of your signing for the duration of the drive. And Eddie’s probably biased, but he thinks you could give Jack Bruce a run for his money.

He parks the van in front of your building, letting it idle as you unbuckle your seatbelt. You’re grooving a little bit in your seat, and Eddie allows himself a moment to be selfish— gazing as you shake out your mostly dry hair and sway in time to the song, a secret smile pulling at his lips.

Opening your eyes, you meet his gaze. Leaning over the consol, your fingers caress his jaw, turning him to face you fully. The soft pad of your index finger trails down the scar of his jaw, lingering there as you smile, a little different from before.

Softer, somehow. As if it’s just for him.

I’ve been waiting so long, to be where I’m going in the sunshine of your love.

But July—

July passes like a dream, as delightful as the sugary syrup currently crawling its way down your arm. The bomb pop melting all too quickly in the height of the summer sun, trickles of red, white, and blue cascade down your sun hewn skin.

A screech pierces the air as Eddie leans over from his seat on the Harrington’s patio to lick the drips from your arm.

Loud enough to draw the attention of the kids and soon his soft huffs of laughter as replaced with a prolonged “Eeeewwww,” from the girls and an offended scoff of “Gross,” from Henderson.

“Can it!” Steve says, volleying a beach ball at his head, knocking his ever-preset baseball cap into the chlorinated water.

Eddie nods in thanks before continuing his assault of your arm.

“Shit, babe, no teeth!”

He ignores this and elects to dig his teeth into the temptation of your skin. You swat him away and recline back in your chair, Raybans affixed to your face, a pout on your lips.

“You’re no fun,” He grouses, kicking back in his recliner. “You use teeth.”

“Artfully,” You quip back in reply, “Poetry will be written about the exploits of my chompers, the deftness, the skill with which I decorate canvases of skin.”

And well yeah, Eddie would know. He has several bruises blossoming along his torso and thighs from said exploits.

So he really couldn’t complain.

He lets the clubmasters slide back onto his face, the blue polarized lenses giving the scene a cooler, dreamier tint. His hand falls to the side, fingers walking their way over to tangle with yours. You give him a quick squeeze before turning your attention back to your latest bookstore acquisition, The Handmaid’s Tale.

In fact, once Eddie got over himself and blurted out some amalgamation of ‘Can I take you out?’, you’d booped him on the nose in response, much to his horror, and waited a beat to say:

“Sure thing, stud,” — Eddie’s summer had only gotten better.

Was it annoying to have near daily occurrence of high schoolers singing “Summer Lovin’” at him? Yes. Were you worth it? Obviously.

Eddie had attempted to date, briefly and disastrously, in the past. In that respect, maybe he was a little gun shy.

But one night stands? Quickies? Handies after a deal at a party? Bjs in the back of the van?

Yeah, that he’d done. And was definitely the more enthusiastic partner in retrospect. And now, with you?

Well, suffice it to say that your first round in the sack wasn’t exactly picture perfect, and he’d nearly gotten a broken nose for all his effort. But, y’know, learning curve and all that, maybe some lighting was required so he could avoid getting socked in the mouth or something.

“Yuck, what is that?” Dustin says with thinly veiled annoyance, gesturing to your hand clasped in Eddie’s. “Hands Across America?”

“The fuck,” Eddie perks up, squinting as he flips his sunglasses onto his forehead. “Hands doing what now?”

“Pfft,” You blow a raspberry and lazily thumb over to a new page, “You don’t even know what day it is, or what’s going on.”

“Yeah, and I wish I knew even less.”

“Hands Across America was months ago, by the way.”

“Hmm, is that so?”

“Really and truly.”

“So, hey,” Eddie ignores Dustin’s gagging and turns toward you in earnest. “D’ya like sex?”

“Uh huh.”

“And travel, you like that, right?”

“Yep.”

“Well then, sweetheart,” He drops your hand from his, drawing your interest away from the plot.

You huff, perturbed by the interruption and glance his way.

“Then you can fuck right off.”

Eddie raises a solitary finger elegantly, aristocratically even. Something practiced time and time again until it became second nature. It’d be kind of impressive if he weren’t so damned annoying about it, flipping the bird every chance he got.

A trait that, unfortunately, the young Wheeler had adopted as his own.

Despite yourself, a laugh breaks from your lips, loud enough to draw the other’s attention from the pool.

“God, I hate you.”

“Really and truly?”

“Oh, you bet sunshine.”

Unbeknownst to the pair of you, Steve and Robin had corralled the kids out of the pool and lured them away with the promise of pizza. Nancy sidles out from the sliding glass door with the cordless in hand, tossing it over to Eddie.

“We got the usual— cheese, pepperoni, and cheesy bread. But I know you’re particular, so.”

“Right on, Wheels. Good lookin’ out.”

Eddie grabs for you again fingers twining with yours as he rattles off the usual to the pizza guy as Nancy makes her way back inside.

“Hey man, can I get an order of mushroom and black olive with the banana peppers and a shit ton of red pepper flakes? Uh huh, yeah.”

He pulls the phone away from his face, tucking it against his jaw to mouth something to you.

You watch his lips, red from one too many popsicles, form the words.

“Garlic sauce? Hell yeah.”

He returns to the call.

“And the— Oh, you heard that? Cool. Thanks, man.”

He hangs up and tosses the phone onto a rumpled pile of towels, tugging at your arm.

“Ugh, what,” You grouse, finally dropping your book on the patio.

“You’re so far away,” He whines, draping the back of his hand across his forehead to heave a woeful sigh. “Oh, when will my beloved return from the war?”

You roll your eyes and clamber over to his pool chair, straddling his hips. “Okay, calm down Scarlett. Tara is thattaway.” You hike a thumb somewhere in the general vicinity of what you’re pretty sure is south. You laugh and crawl your way into his lap.

And, here’s the thing:

It’s easy.

A foreign concept in Eddie’s life up until this particular point.

Which is to say, that since the advent of your relationship with him, Eddie found himself spending more time on his knees than he ever had amongst the pews.

While there’s no catechism for for this particular piety, he’ll take this act of communion for what it is—

His lips and tongue spouting devotionals as he kneels between your thighs. And he’d never been one for God, but maybe He’d made it so two bodies can fit holy wholly together.

After all, he’d been penitent enough.

You twine a streamer of his hair around your finger, head slotting into the cul-de-sac of his throat. His arms wind about your hips, anchoring you in place.

Steve sticks his head out to say he’s forcing the kids on a field-trip to get the pizza, Nance and Robin are grabbing some drinks from the store.

You hum in idle contentment and sink further into Eddie, as if he could consume you entire.

If my body is of your body and your body is of mine, can ever the two be parted? What lies in me now does in you, a reflection in kind.

The marks that decorate his skin, both intentional and accidental, fail to define him.

If they ever really could.

You’d traced their shape, plotted their paths, and transmuted them before his very eyes. The weight, the lead sinking and skittering and pulling him down was no more.

“If I could,” you’d said softly one night, a riot of arms and legs tangled against his own, a lone finger rhapsodizing against his ribs, travelling a familiar continent. “I’d paint you golden.”

No, not gilt.

But gold.

It still daunts Eddie how freely he fell— for you and the effervescent joy that flourished in your wake. It used to unnerve him, if he thought about it too much. For the longest time, he wasn’t sure if what he felt was real, or simply a facsimile of love.

He learned not to dawdle in his darker moods.

He’d hummed at your declaration, so much more accustomed to gloomier comparisons. You’d turned up at him, cleaving your chin across the ladder of his ribs, eyes big and brighter than any star he’d ever seen.

And he hadn’t known what to say.

Weeks had passed and he still hadn’t a clue how to respond.

“Hey,” Dustin yells, striding out of the sliding glass door. “Dinner’s ready!” He waits impatiently, striking a similar pose to that of Steve when he’s at his wit’s end.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie says, shooing him away and slinging a leg off of the recliner.

He takes you with him, much to your protest.

“Noooo,” you whine, “Eddie, the physical therapist said—”

“That I’m fine,” He reminds you, securing his grip under your thighs as he carries you inside the house.

Your petulant pout demands satisfaction, and he acquiesces, dipping his head to yours in a quick kiss.

“Y’know,” he says, voice rumbling and low as everyone fixes up their plates in the kitchen. He sets you on the island counter, his hands spread just past your thighs, arms loosely caging you in.

He smells like summer— sugar and chlorine and salt and the tell-tale wisp of a cigarette. His hair is loose and wild, sheltering you from prying eyes as he rests his head against yours.

It hits him like a thunderclap and descends as quickly as revelation.

“I’d follow you into the sun.”

It’s not a declaration, but a simple fact.

Love.

He’d tell you someday, but not quite yet.

For now, he’ll watch your lips kick up in that adorable smile of yours, the kind that crinkles the corner of your eyes from the sheer amount of joy packed in it. Allowing himself to float on the thinnest of air just for a moment.

This summer, you’ve been his North Star, always there.

And he hopes you always will be.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #cee's summersong request-athon

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eilidh-eternal · 8 months

Text

Dancing in the deep end

Part of the Martyr in the Making series | Part 1 | Masterlist |

| 18 + MDNI | TattooArtist!Ghost x f!reader | CW dub con/non con themes, Simon being a possessive menace in general |

It takes a tremendous amount of effort to sit still today, fighting to keep a grip on the tense coil of compressed nerves within you. One wrong move—one wrong thought—and the tenuous bubble of calm that you and Kyle sit inside of is liable to burst.

It’s not the needles. Not the delicious pain of each pin prick that has you all keyed up.

It’s him.

And you’re doing your best not to think about it, focusing your attention instead on the collection of studs adorning Kyle’s ears and the glittering rhinestones that catch in the light each time his lips part to ask you another question. Inconsequential things about your work, plans with friends, or references you have saved on your pinterest board.

“Who are you gonna book with for that?” He studies the picture on your phone while he changes tips, handing it back when finished and returning his attention to the detail work on your right forearm.

“I’m not sure. I thought about Johnny. He’s good with realism, but this is more… macabre. Not really his style. And I don’t think I want any color, not for this. If I did I’d already be on your book.” You’d book with Kyle every time if you could. Prefer his affable countenance and comfortable conversation over the others. But they all have their specialties, and one size certainly doesn't fit all when it comes to artists.

He hums thoughtfully and the corner of his mouth twists up into a wry grin. “Sounds like something Ghost would take on. Definitely up his alley; all that spooky shit.”

So much for not thinking of him…

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” he quips, breaking into a sharp-toothed smile.

“Grinning like there’s some kind of joke around here that I'm not in on.” When he pulls back to pick up more ink you shift in the chair, draw your legs up to cross underneath you and roll some of the tension from your shoulders.

“There’s no joke, hunny bun. Not about you.”

“Then what’s so funny?”

He shakes his head as he returns to his work, still smiling to himself. “Ghost, that’s what. Bloke’s been broody these last few weeks. More than normal, anyway.”

Oh.

“Had a bit of a tiff with Cap’ earlier. Dunno what about, but… I might have heard your name bein’ mentioned.”

“I thought you said this isn’t about me.”

“I said the joke isn’t about you. Never said what we’re pickin’ on him for isn’t about you.” He pauses his work just long enough to wink up at you, and you answer with a groan. “You don’t like him?”

You’ve been doing your best to not think about him. Even if the feel of his hands, pushing and pulling to arrange you the way he wants, tracing roughened fingers over the letters on your thigh, lingers like a phantom touch against your skin every night. The memory of his eyes, depthless yet brimming with beguiling allure, is burned into your retinas, staring back at you everytime you close yours–every time you blink.

You’ve been doing your best not to think of him, and you've failed miserably.

“I don’t not like him, he just…” Kyle’s hand hovers over your arm, the numbing bite of his needle just out of reach, waiting for your answer. “He fucks with my head. Can’t figure him out.”

Can’t get him out.

His smile shifts, full lips curled up at the edges and bright, intelligent eyes narrowed with a knowing glint. “Maybe that’s the point,” he surmises, and returns his attention to the half finished highlights.

In the days that follow, you start to think Kyle is right. That the reason Simon’s burrowed so deep under your skin is because that’s exactly where he wants to be, settling in with the same permanence as healing ink. An ever-present paresthesia that spreads like brushfire through the dried up remains of your resolve. Impossible to ignore.

Against your better judgment, you book your next session with him. This time, you’re determined not to let him get the better of you.

It’s another large piece, stretching from the apex of your spine to just below your shoulder blades, and needs multiple sessions to get the finer details just right. In retrospect, you really haven’t set yourself up for success in this whole ‘don’t let him get to you’ matter with your choice of placement and the inherent lack of clothing involved, but you’re adamant about this time being different.

It’s John who checks you in and collects the same signature and waiver as they always do, making idle chat and asking how some of your pieces have been healing while you fill out the forms. Leggings cover the bulk of Simon’s last piece so you show him the work Kyle did instead, holding out your arm for him to inspect.

“Gaz certainly knows what he’s doing with pigment. Boy’s got a knack for vibrancy.”

“His work is as colorful as he is. And Johnny’s language.” His eyes crease when he laughs, a full-bellied sound that echoes through the studio.

“Ghost should be ready for you. Same room as last time.” He gestures towards the hall with a tilt of his head, an unruly strand of hair escaping the hold of product and pomade to sway with the motion. “Good to see you, hun.”

“Good to see you too, John.”

No escort this time. You’re becoming something of a permanent fixture here, your presence something they’re quickly growing accustomed to. Ingratiated among their ranks and trusted to see yourself to each of their stations without need of their guidance.

Three short taps of your knuckles against the door, fading paint and a mess of stickers that are peeling around the edges dampening the sound, and Simon’s gruff voice grants you entry. When you crack the door open his back is to you, arranging his inks and tips to his specification on a rolling tray, clad in his usual monochromatic black. He’s silent as you slip inside, dropping your bag on the counter and shedding your jacket alongside it.

“Go on and get settled,” he directs, gesturing vaguely to the padded table beside him that’s replaced the chair from last time. His focus remains on setting up his station but you don't miss the way he cocks his head, watching you from his periphery. Once you’re comfortable, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the table, he reaches for the tablet on the counter beside him. “Gaz sent over the design? No changes?” he asks as he scrolls through the notes.

“Yeah, I’m really happy with the suggestions and revisions you made. It’s exactly what I’d envisioned when I sent over the references.” You fiddle with the hem of your tee, twirling a loose thread around your finger. “Should I…”

He looks up then, and it begins—the internal battle between logic and instinct.

The latter begs to let yourself drown in his gaze. Swallow lungfuls of churning amber and nestle into the warm, mindless haze that creeps at the fringes of your mind like mist over the earth, tinged an ephemeral gold by the first rays of dawn. The former recoils from the flaring of pupils like they’re the unhinged jaws of a predator, swallowing all of the light in the room in a uniquely serpentine manner. Some fragmented imitation of self preservation screams for you to run.

It doesn’t scream loud enough.

“Still with me, sweetheart?” Pale skin puckers around his eyes. Fissures in granite, the molten core of him pouring through the cracks and searing every detail of them into your memory.

“Yeah, sorry…” The hum that reverberates in his chest ripples in the space between you in waves of gravel that settle against your skin like velvet.

“Gotta go print the stencil,” he begins, standing from his chair, and he draws your gaze up with him to his full height. “Be good while I’m gone, yeah?” Ink stained fingers brush against your cheek, and you realize it’s not a request but a demand when he doesn’t wait for your answer, worn leather creaking with each retreating footstep until the door closes behind him and you’re left in dazed silence.

You blink once. Twice. Drag a hand over your face to wipe away the feeling of phantom fingers, and release the breath you didn’t realize you’ve been holding in a dejected sigh.

This doesn’t feel different. It feels exactly how it did last time.

Sit. Stay. Behave. These are his demands, and you’re powerless to defy them.

Each word uttered from behind that inane mask has the effect of being yanked by a leash. Dragging you along with him until you learn to match his gait, the cadence of his steps careful and measured, but the collar around your neck only ever gets tighter, reeling you in to heel at his side.

It should make you angry. Should rattle your head with alarm bells and shrill, screeching sirens. But all there is, is silence. Thick, hazy, blissful silence that swaddles your mind in an ardent blanket of warmth. A proverbial pulling of wool over your eyes.

But perhaps that’s too kind, not cruel enough, for the man whose presence smothers rationale and suffocates logic. Who steals the air from your lungs to feed his own conflagration and feeds it back to you on words, whetted by a duplicitous tongue, that feel like licking honey from a honed blade. Warm and sweet–but at what cost?

You wonder briefly if the slow slipping of your sanity is the price to be paid, and balk at the probability that he has even yet come to collect. You wonder briefly, because that is all the time you have. All the time you're allowed before the door swings open and in walks the phantasm of a man with righteous intent.

When the door clicks closed behind him, it sounds more, you think, like the striking of a gavel. A thunderclap in the court of the heavens. The sealing of your fate by something far beyond your control.

“Up,” his voice rumbles in the echoing thunder.

What?

He’s standing over you, hands flattened and fingers splayed on the table on either side of you, staring down at you expectantly. “Gotta take this off to get started,” he explains when you continue staring blankly up at him, dragging a hand over to your hip and curling his fingers into the same hem you’d been toying with not ten minutes ago.

You can’t decipher whether it’s by some divine puppeteering or an infernal possession that your arms slowly lift and you allow him to pull your shirt over your head. Allow him to guide you down onto the table, prone with a pillow tucked under your head, and your right arm folded underneath. To unclasp your bra, unhook each strap from its band, and slide it out from under you.

He smooths transfer paper over your back, cold solution causing you to flinch at first contact, and he quells the beginnings of a whine with gentle sushing and a warm hand at your nape. “Jus’ some cold. Save those pretty sounds for me, hm?”

Time moves slowly, cocooned in a heady smoke and honey scented haze, threads of it woven into his blanketing aura, and it weighs heavy on your limbs. Makes your body feel as sluggish as your mind.

“That’s it, good girl.” Numb and high on praise, you barely register the added weight of his arm slung across your lower back. A faint humming permeates your cocoon, accompanied by a distant fluttering that traces slow lines over your back, and a small, contented sound resonates in your chest. “So pretty like this. Such a pretty, empty head.”

This feels different. Nothing like the last time. There are no nerves that hum like livewires in your head. No furtive glances or chills that creep across your skin when you’re caught staring. He welcomes it–encourages it–but like the rest of you, your eyes feel heavy, lids drooping under a lulling weight.

When that golden mist appears once more at the blurry edges of your mind, there is nothing that stops it from surging forward and swallowing you down to the dregs of slumber.

Waking up feels like surfacing from molasses, thick and syrupy tendrils of sleep still clinging to you and trying to hold you under a little longer. But there’s a stinging sensation that prickles your skin and won't go away, wrenches your body and mind free of its sluggish haze.

Your back feels raw, skin overworked and leaking plasma, but it's the stinging of your arm that clears the fog from your head.

You blink sleep crusted eyes against the harsh overhead lighting of the studio, spots dancing in your vision as it slowly adjusts. It’s been a long time since you've fallen asleep while getting tattooed, and you wonder if maybe you slept on your arm–had it twisted under you at some odd angle that’s cut off its circulation and made it numb with staticy pin pricks.

No, this is different.

Bright color blooms before you, and for a moment you wonder if it's a result of phosphenes; if the pressure of confusion building in your head has somehow distorted your vision.

It isn’t.

The bright colors are a result of the newest tattoo on your arm, more than several weeks old by now, and the burning, itching sensation that should have long since passed is a result of the thick layer of fresh ink that's been overlaid.

‘MINE’ stares back at you in the hauntingly familiar scrawl of Simon’s hand.

Next>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

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cevansbrat0007 · 1 year

Text

Southern Comfort

Summary: A day after your ex-boyfriend's unexpected return, you show up on Ari's doorstep intending to ask for a little time. Too bad your grumpy bounty hunter isn't feeling particularly charitable.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Some Angst, Smut, Ari Being A Menace, Arguments, Angry Sex, Discussions of Ex-boyfriends, Mentions of Body Image, Mentions of Disordered Eating, Manhandling, Pushing, Discussions of Female Virginity (mentioned), Edging (mentioned), Restraints (mentioned), Brief Allusions to Rape/Forced Sex, Allusions to DubCon/NonCon, Primal Play (mentioned), Ass Slapping, Spanking (mentioned), Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Takes place directly after the events in Case of the Ex, but it is not the sequel. This story is part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Not beta'd. Not beta'd. All mistakes my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

“Alright, now. Remember to breathe, sugar.” You mutter as you adjust the skirt of your floral sundress. “You’ll be in and out quicker than a hiccup.”

Although the day had cooled down considerably since this morning, the temperature still sat at an uncomfortable 88℉. Which therefore meant that you were uncomfortable. Even after a shower and a change of clothes.

You take one last moment to fluff your curls and reapply your lip gloss before reaching inside your car to pull out a ceramic baking dish, complete with a lid. And then you begin the quiet trek up the concrete walkway. Your stomach is in knots by the time you reach the front door to ring the bell.

Your teeth begin to worry your bottom lip while you wait, part of you wishing that you could just sit the dish on the front porch and make a beeline for your vehicle. But your Mama hadn’t raised you to be a coward, and neither had your beloved Uncle. God rest their souls.

So you had to see this through. And once you were done you would head over to your shop and through yourself into work until the sun came up. There was already a crispy chicken salad waiting for you on the passenger seat, accompanied by some reduced fat buttermilk ranch dressing.

Your stomach growls at the thought of food. It was a subtle reminder that you hadn’t eaten much lately, save for the wrap Ari had brought by yesterday. Now that you’d devoured, right along with the chips, salad, and the cookie – all of which had been delicious.

But when it had come time for you to call him that evening as you were locking up, for some reason, you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to do it. Because if he answered, you knew that he was gonna want the skinny on your ex-boyfriend. And you really weren’t prepared to dive into all of that yet.

So you’d decided to shoot Ari a text message after you’d already arrived home for the night, letting him know that you were safe and that you needed time to process the day’s events. After that was done, you’d powered off your phone, content to simply be alone with your thoughts.

And you had yet to turn it back on. Sometimes a girl needed her space.

In that same vein, you also hadn’t bothered with opening the store today. You’d been a little paranoid about receiving a pop-up visit from Ari or Mason. Or, worse yet, both of them at the same time. Again.

Seeing him like that had really done a number on you. He’d looked so good standing there in your shop with that same boyish grin of his. It had immediately transported you back to high school, in the most confusing way possible. But at least it hadn’t stirred up any romantic feelings.

In your opinion, Mason Prescott was a lot like double frosted chocolate mud cake. Pretty to look at, but indulge in more than a couple bites and it was liable to make you sick to your stomach.

Just as your mind begins going down the rabbit hole of comparing problematic men to desserts, the front door is wrenched open to reveal a stern-looking Ari Levinson. He’s barefoot, wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and light gray t-shirt.

The two of you stand there in silence for a moment, neither of you saying a word. He doesn’t need to communicate the fact that he was worried about you, not when it’s written plain as day all over his gorgeous face. But now, at roughly 6:30 in the evening, he wasn’t just worried. He was downright pissed.

At you. Oops.

“Good evening.” Comes your shy greeting once it eventually becomes too much. “I…I was in the neighborhood and figured I’d drop by.” You offer up a lame shrug, wishing that you would’ve practiced your speech a little more before you’d gotten out of your car.

Ari grunts in response, the seemingly ever-present tick in his jaw growing more pronounced with each passing second. And you can feel your confidence taking a dive as a result.

“I also wanted to tell you that I was sorry for kicking you out the way I did yesterday. And for texting instead of calling. I was a little ruffled, but I could’ve been a bit more gracious about things.” You force yourself to take a steadying breath. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“Alright.” That’s all you get from him. And now that tempting mouth of his pressed into a thin, firm line. Which did not bode well for you.

“I would’ve called you from the shop, but I decided not to open today so…” Your body sways in the wind as a gentle breeze picks up. Boy did that air feel good on your skin.

“I know.” Ari replies flatly. “Drove by your house earlier and saw your car. That’s the only reason I hadn’t filed a missing person’s report with Marlon Timmers down at the station.”

“Oh…”

And that was your confirmation right there. Yes, you had indeed worried this man. Which meant that he’d felt the need to go looking for you. If only to make sure that you were safe. And that a certain Prescott wasn’t taking up real estate in your driveway.

“I made you somethin’.” Pasting on a smile, you present him with the covered dish you’d brought along with you. “As part of my apology.”

The bounty hunter hesitates briefly before accepting your offering with a sigh, followed by a quiet “thanks”. And then he turns on his heel to head deeper into the house. Unsure of what else to do, you decide to follow behind him, closing the door as you go.

Besides, you’d much rather continue this discussion indoors anyway.

“It’s a cobbler.” You find yourself babbling as you both make your way into the kitchen. “A peach cobbler. It’s kind of my specialty, right up there with my brambleberry pie. The secret is a splash of bourbon, plus a dash of vanilla.”

For some reason unbeknownst to you, your nervous admission stops him dead in his tracks.

“You brought me a…” He trails off as he sucks in a breath, his brain kicking into overdrive. “Is this – is this a breakup cobbler?” You wince when he unceremoniously drops your beloved baking dish onto the counter.

Your eyes go wide at that, his unexpected accusation leaves you bristling. As if you had it in you to be so callous. If you were breaking up with him then you would’ve brought along muffins. Or perhaps a nice iced lemon blueberry loaf.

You had simply come to apologize, and maybe ask for a little time. Nothing too crazy, mind you. Only a few days, really. Maybe week tops.

“Oh, simmer down now, Beast.” You sniff, clutching your purse under your arm. Clearly he was still smarting about yesterday’s turn of events. But even so, there was no reason for you to conduct yourself as anything but the proper gentlewoman you were raised to be.

“Duchess, I swear to God….” Ari’s fingers go to the bridge of his nose as he visibly prays for patience. Meanwhile, you’re busy stewing over his ill-treatment of your precious cookware. “If this is a breakup cobbler, I’m gonna spank your ass so hard you won’t sit comfortably for a week.”

That rat bastard! Heat floods your face as your mouth goes slack. Ari Levinson had officially gone too far, which meant that it was up to you to set him straight.

“You are unbelievable!” You screech, smacking his chest with your handbag. It feels good, so you do it again. You’re even poised to do it a third time before it’s snatched from your grasp.

“Oh yeah, baby?” The agitated bounty hunter rakes his fingers through his hair, yanking at the chestnut strands. “Then how come I don’t hear you denying it?”

“I came here trying to do something nice.” You hiss through gritted teeth. “And to apologize for–”

“For what? Trying to fly away on me? Again?”

Ari reaches for you, although you’re quick to slap his hand away. With the way you were feeling right now, you were liable to bite him.

“You came here to apologize for being an ass. I’m supposed to say "no big deal". Next comes the part where you ask for space, because you’re confused and you’re scared.” He finishes with a shrug before turning his body so that he can fish something out of a drawer. Seconds later you see that it’s a spoon. “Add that to the fact that you’re falling for me–”

“Oh, fuck you!” You interrupt with a snarl, slamming your hand down on the counter. But your gaze remains trained on his chosen piece of cutlery.

“I have a feeling we’ll get to that.” Ari jams the utensil into the center of the cobbler. “But first…” He scoops up a hearty helping, grinning at the crumbly bits of crust and juicy peach before raising the spoon to his lips and devouring it in one swift bite. “Mmm. Not bad, baby.”

Not bad? You inwardly seethe. Not BAD? What that man had in his possession was an award winning cobbler. It was better than excellent. It was fucking legendary.

Your man chews animatedly, making a show of savoring the decadent mouthful. “Maybe a little heavy on the nutmeg. But as I was saying…” He sucks a stray drop of filling off his thumb. “Between the sudden appearance of our good buddy, Mace, and you being overwhelmed about this thing we’ve got goin’ on…I reckon that you’re feeling a tad out of sorts. Am I right?”

The gall of this man! A red haze colors your vision as his words wash over you, filling you with a slow churning sense of rage. Just who the fuck did Ari Levinson think he was?

“My cobbler has the perfect amount of cinnamon and nutmeg, you–you uncultured jackass!” You grit out through clenched teeth.

You could tolerate a lot from folks in this town. But one thing you absolutely would not abide by was someone bad mouthing one of your made-from-scratch confections. You baked with learned skill, as well as passion. It was the one thing you felt you were genuinely good at.

Which meant that you were about to choke some sense into the gorgeous man standing in front of you.

“Yeah?” He shovels another spoonful into his mouth. “Then how about you stick around and fight with me about it instead of running off like I know you want to?”

The smug turd gobbler has the nerve to smile at you before helping himself to more gooey, peachy, crumbly goodness. Little did he know that you were this close to slapping him hard enough to make his ears ring.

He wouldn’t even have to stoop down low for you to do it. You were so mad you could practically feel yourself about to levitate.

“No, thank you. In fact, I think I’ll be going.” You tell him, your tone rife with disdain. “Now hand me my purse and return my sub-par cobbler and I will be on my way.”

The damned bag had your keys inside it. Next time you left the house intending to make amends you were going to wear something with pockets!

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ya know what, Bird?” Ari tosses the spoon into the sink with a clatter before crossing his burly arms over his broad chest. “I’ve just realized that I’m not feeling all that charitable at the moment. Plus, you didn’t say please.” He tacks on the last bit with a cheeky wink.

“Meaning?”

He has no idea that you’re fantasizing about keying the side of his precious Nissan Titan right now.

“Meaning that we can either stand here all night sizin’ each other up.” He lets out a resigned sigh. “Or we can take a seat on the couch, or maybe curl up in bed, and talk about what’s got you ready to run for the hills.”

“And I take it there is no option three?” Your hands settle on your hips as you glare back at him.

“You and that damned option three.” Ari chuckles under his breath, not finding a damn thing amusing. “Well sweetheart, option three involves me cuffing you to my bed and edging the fuck out of that sweet pussy until you tell me whatever it is I wanna know.”

“There isn’t anything to know, Ari!” You all but shout, feeling every bit as frustrated as you sound. “I haven’t seen Mace in damn near five years!”

“Be that as it may, there was still something about his visit that shook you, Bird.” He goes to reach for you again, only to have you dance away. You absolutely did not want to be touched right now. “I saw it then and I see it now.”

“And if I were to tell you that it’s not a big deal?”

Instead of immediately responding, Ari cocks his head to the side, taking a moment to study you. “Then I would tell you that you’re lying. And not just to me. But to yourself.”

You look away, temporarily at a loss for words as you wrap your arms around your middle. A middle that was a little too soft for your liking, regardless of how often you seemed to be counting calories these days.

“I gave him my heart. And he smashed it into a million glittering pieces the first chance he got. I mean, I guess I can’t be too mad since I’m the one who gave him the hammer. Not once, but twice.” You spit as you feel hot tears prick the backs of your eyes. “But even so, do you honestly think I’d be stupid enough to let him do it a third time?”

“Bird.” Your nickname falls from his lips like a soft, urgent plea. But you don’t hear it. Not really.

“I was the fat girl who fell for the jock. Not really all that notable, I suppose. Except in this case that jock just so happened to be the golden boy of Bell’s Creek.” Your arms fall wide before dropping them down at your sides in defeat. “But I didn’t care. Because I was stupid and in love and a fucking virgin when he–” You abruptly cut yourself off when you realize the direction your thoughts are heading.

You’d already said more than enough.

“When he what?” Ari’s voice comes out hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“It doesn’t matter.” You rise up on your toes as you search for an opening to snag your purse.

Because you were through talking about this. It was time for you to head back home, crawl under the covers, and hide there until you could summon the strength to bake every single dessert you could possibly think of using every last bit of the ingredients you had stocked in your kitchen.

And then you would eat them all until you either accidentally gave yourself diabetes or you finally exploded.

“Please talk to me.” This time when Ari takes a step towards you, you beat back a hasty retreat. And you don’t stop moving until you reach his front door. “C’mon, baby, wait!”

But you didn’t want to wait. What you needed was to be alone. The plan had been to drop off the cobbler, make your amends, and then peace the fuck out. And now it had all gone to shit because you’d allowed Ari Levinson to get under your goddamned skin the way only he could.

So, you’d walk home and send someone to pick up your car later. If you left now, you’d make it back before the sun had even begun to set. Besides, it wasn’t like you couldn’t use the exercise.

A firm hand on your arm halts your movements, hauling you backwards against the solid wall of his chest…

Which is when you finally snap.

“I did not give you permission to touch me!” You hiss, turning in the embrace and shoving at him with all your might. However, you know that the only reason the bounty hunter actually lets you go is because you had the element of surprise.

Because holy shit! What the fuck had you just done?

“Woah, woah.” Ari quickly backs away, his palms raised in surrender. “It’s okay, Bird. I pushed you, so you pushed me. It’s okay. It’s all okay, sweetheart.” You can tell he’s doing his damnedest to keep his tone calm and even so as not to spook you further.

You give him a shaky nod, feeling more than a little embarrassed by your inability to control your emotions.

“I’m so–sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.” You manage to eek out, even as your bottom lip starts to tremble. You scrub your hands over your eyes as you fight back tears. “There is no excuse.” You tell him, keeping your head bowed as your knees feel wobbly.

What an awful mess you’d made of this whole thing. Truly.

“Fuck!” He exhales softly, clearly unsure about whether or not it’s okay to touch you. “I don’t want us to end things like this, baby. I really don’t.” Now there’s a note of desperation in his tone that wasn’t there just a few seconds earlier.

Ari goes quiet, weighing his options as he contemplates the best way forward. At least that’s what you assume he’s doing, since you’re too preoccupied with wishing the earth would swallow you up where you stood.

“I’d really like to hold you. But I don’t want to scare you. So you’re gonna have to come to me.” He opens his arms to you then, just as you’re ready to fall apart at the seams. “But – and I can’t stress this enough – only if you want to.”

This time you go time without hesitation. And just like always, your man is right there to catch you before you shattered.

“I’m so sorry I hurt you!” Your words come on the heels of a muffled sob as you cling to him, pulling his body closer to your own as the feelings of remorse threaten to overwhelm you.

“Shh, little Bird. Shh.” Ari murmurs as he lifts you into his arms and carries you into the living room. Once there, he settles you both on the couch, tucking your smaller frame into his own.

He whispers soft, sweet kisses along the damp skin of your brow as he tangles his fingers in your curls to massage your scalp. “I got you. I got you. I got you.” He tenderly rocks you back and forth while he waits for you to calm down.

“Please don’t leave. I swear I didn’t mean it.” You’re babbling now and you know it, but it does manage to earn you a relieved grin from your man.

“Nobody’s goin’ anywhere, sweetheart. Not you. And definitely not me.” He cups your jaw, gently forcing you to meet his gaze. “We’re just fine, you and me. I’m a big boy. You surprised me, maybe. But you didn’t hurt me.”

“But I shouldn’t have –” You begin, your eyes blurring with a fresh wave of tears.

“Listen to what I’m saying.” Ari interjects, his tone containing just the right amount of authority to get your attention. “I’m a big boy, baby. I’m talking 6’3, 220 lbs on a good day. I ignored your body's cues, okay? I'm the one who failed to properly read your warning signs and I got in your space – so please hear me when I say that a pretty large piece of this was my fault too.”

You shake your head “no”, because it should go without saying that Ari would never hurt you. At least not on purpose, and never physically. And yet…

“Baby, you went a little primal is all.” He reaches for your hand to press a kiss to your clammy palm. “That’s all that happened. No harm, no foul. We can even play that way one day, if you’re interested. But not unless we’re both on the same page.”

You weren’t quite sure what he was talking about, but for now you’d simply choose to go with it. Because right now you’d need the kind of comfort and reassurance that only your man could provide.

Needed him to ground you when you felt like you might float away.

“Okay, but I’m still sorry.” You sniffle, gingerly wiping your nose on his t-shirt. Not that he minds overly much.

“I’m sorry too. Not just for pushing you how I did, but for disrespecting your cobbler. Which is divine by the way.”

Now that has you perking up almost immediately. “But you said –”

“Little Bird, I don’t know shit about what goes in a peach cobbler. My nutmeg crack was a shot in the dark meant to piss you off. I figured once I got you talking, you’d spill your guts, I’d take you to bed where you me me promise not to shoot your ex, and then…” Ari trails off as your words from earlier come flooding back to him.

Not wanting to start down this road again, you wrap your arms around his neck before slanting your mouth over his. Your tongue strokes along his plump bottom lip, seeking entrance. Ari responds without hesitation as he buries both hands in your hair, drawing you closer to him.

Right now you needed this man more than you needed air in your lungs. “Please.” You whimper, shifting your body so that you’re now straddling his hips, your legs coming to rest on either side of his thickly muscled thighs. “Please, Ari. I need you. Don’t make me wait.” You nip at his lips, before trailing a fiery litany of kisses along the curve of his jaw.

A part of your mind screams at you to slow down, to explain yourself. But you quickly silence it once Ari’s skilled hands abandon your curls in favor of your chest. Gripping the bodice of your dress, he manages to rip the lightweight fabric in two on the first try.

“Fuck, baby! Promise we’ll talk after.” He snarls, more to himself than you.

Meanwhile, you eagerly reach behind you to undo the clasp of your bra. You both let out a groan once you finally rid yourself of the garment, your heavy breasts spilling into his waiting palms. Of course he wastes no time before drawing a pouting nipple into his warm, wet mouth - sucking deep. His expert tongue takes turns teasing and laving at the pebbled tip as wetness pools between your thighs.

“After.” You hurriedly reassure him as you pull away long enough to unfasten his jeans. It winds up taking the both of you working together to free his impressive erection from his boxers, nearly sobbing with relief when it's done.

Because you needed him inside you now.

Needed him to fill you up just right. Wanted him to go so deep that you didn’t have to worry about thinking anymore. All you wanted to feel was him moving inside you. You couldn’t wait to feel that sweet burn you’d come to crave as he stretched you out with his perfect cock. Couldn't wait for him to claim your body with each slow, delicious stroke of his hips.

Breathing heavy, your hand fists itself around him as you guide his length to your waiting pussy – your panties having been previously torn to shreds. Right now you were so fucking wet for your hunter that you could feel your slick practically dripping down your thighs.

“God, yes!” You slowly lower yourself on top of him, welcoming your man into tight, velvet heat. And you relish the feel of nearly being split in two as you begin to ride him.

Ari’s head tips back in bliss, offering you his throat as you use him for your pleasure. “Doin’ so good for me, baby. So fuckin’ tight.” He grits out as your walls spasm around his cock, milking him as if your life depended on it. And in some ways it did.

He slaps your ass, spurring you on. “Harder!” You growl as your teeth graze along the shell of his ear, loving the rough way he squeezes your globes as you work yourselves into a frenzy. “Just like that, Beast. Don’t let go!”

You bury your face in his neck as stars begin to dance behind your eyes at the same time as that invisible coil tightens in your belly, threatening to snap and send your hurtling into oblivion. But you wouldn't go without your man.

Not without Ari.

“Never, baby.” Without warning, he flips your bodies so that you’re laying on your back, enabling him to take over. He sets a grueling pace – the sounds of slapping flesh and passion-fueled grunts filling the room. “We go together, you and me.” He captures your lips once more, swallowing your heady little cries of pleasure.

“You and me, Beast! God, yesss!” You keen, as you wrap your legs around his trim waist, your wedge heels digging into the small of his back. “Now fuck me like you mean it.”

END

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silverview · 14 days

Text

maybe the details of art are common knowledge, but i only read up about it yesterday. it's interesting! it opened in the west end in 96 & was something of a popular hit

it's about three old friends who fall out when one of them buys an expensive painting that's an almost-blank white canvas (a quiet night in); one of them aggressively disapproves, calling it pretentious; and the third is caught in the middle trying to keep the peace

had a ton of casts – a new one every three months. (the effect of this is interesting – more on that below.) tlog were selected to be the last lot before it closed in 02. if you don't already know, who do you suppose played each role? it has nothing to do with the weirdly deceptive promo pics. answers & more below the cut

mark played the friend who buys the painting, steve played the one who disapproves, and reece played the guy caught in the middle. i wonder how that decision was made. i wonder if they considered any alternative configurations (bf had steve & reece switched, which i think makes a lot of sense). as always i'm like. but what does the character say about YOU

they got mixed reviews. nearly every review singles out reece's delivery of this monologue, though they disagree on whether it was good or not. perhaps surprisingly, they don't uniformly characterise it (or his performance in general) as particularly angry. not to be dramatic but i would kill and die to have seen it, just that monologue alone

so below i've collected the most interesting parts of surviving reviews. the last one is my fav. some of them have interesting things to say on the effect of the rotating cast, sort of the opposite of the in9 meta-character effect, which i think is pretty funny & fitting

BBC

Reece Shearsmith is a little too giddy with Yvan's furious diatribe about his impending wedding - the laughs are landing so hard that some others are being lost in the process. But he is a particularly touching and vulnerable go-between, desperately sitting on the fence in the conflict that erupts between his friends Serge (Mark Gatiss) and Marc (Steve Pemberton), and finding - as you do - that those who sit on fences are liable to get splinters.

GUARDIAN

[A] play as bland and flimsy as this requires actors who are not only heroically talented but who also have formidable technical skills. Pemberton, Gatiss and Shearsmith don't. They are likeable, even mildly engaging but you are always aware that they are putting on a performance. What's more, they are far less funny than the two other casts I've seen. Shearsmith, for example, flunks the timing of his long monologue so instead of making an audience rock with waves of laughter, he gets only one big laugh right at the end. The silences in the evening, in particular the famous olive scene, are not eloquent, just empty.

THEATREGUIDE

I've heard, though, that other casts have had other dynamics. With some, it plays as light comedy, satirising everyone's pretensions to high passions. Others make it a touching study in the fragility of friendship and all three men's hitherto-unrealised need for it. The cast changes every three months or so [...] Just be prepared for the fact that the show you see will be different in tone and effect from the one your friends saw last year, and will probably be a glib skating over the emotional issues and implications it raises. [...] And while the laidback, indeed colloquial, approach of Mark Gatiss (perky Serge), Steve Pemberton (laconic Marc) and Reece Shearsmith (wickedly neurotic Yvan) may not be to everyone's taste, it's undeniably perfect casting to complete the spectrum of wall-to-wall talent that's made the show such a feature of London's theatrical landscape. [...] Playing cheekily with rhythms of speech and timing, they create a very English rendition of what is essentially a French play, substituting the de rigueur dramatic devices and flourishes with frighteningly real personalities that transcend the dramatic crutch of Yasmina Reza's Continental-style philosophizing text and sub-text. Admittedly the first ever cast of Courtenay, Finney and Stott all those years ago set the benchmark for the production (though I found them yawnsome and wooden) - and the League have the advantage of tapping into the accumulated performances that followed.

i think "laidback," "colloquial," "cheeky," "English" and "real" might be euphemisms for northern – more on that below

CIX

Having now seen Art three or four times (to be honest, I forget which), I've begun to muse that in some strange way it's a metaphor for itself. It's not just the performance dynamics, our impression of the trio's relationship, that varies from cast to cast... it's the very sense of how much real content there is in Reza's play, of whether it takes its thematic concerns about inherent versus attributed qualities (whether of a painting or a person) very far or not. In a sense, the performers are the series of diagonal white lines painted on to the white canvas of the play. And like the lines in the painting on stage (or so we're told), they're not pure white: some are vaguely yellow, some are sort of ochre-ish... In the case of the League, the bizarrely unrelated publicity images make clear that what's hoped for is a kind of fake-blood crimson tinge. So although there's no real indulgence, director Jennie Darnell allows the three to turn in a slight caricature of the naturalism with which the piece has usually been played, that little unreality often seen in the kind of sketch comedy where the group cut their teeth. The elegant apartment set is a world away from the League's fictional town of Royston Vasey, but the casting of the individual members plays to respective strengths familiar from their various screen guises. As Serge, who has paid 200,000 francs for the picture, Mark Gatiss exudes an appropriately smug and supercilious cleverness. As Marc, who faces off against Serge by declaring the canvas "shit", Steve Pemberton is more mercurial, with an air of suppressed violence. Reece Shearsmith, the relatively cuddly one [sic], succeeds in focusing audience identification on Yvan, the less smart piggy-in-the-middle. All three are of course skilled performers, and you can see the rapport gained from up to fifteen years' collaboration in, for instance, the way Gatiss and Pemberton trade facial "mugs" as they first consider the painting. However, this very affinity with each other enables them to skim over deeper elements in the play. When Shearsmith gabbles out Yvan's great bewildered set-piece about the complications of his wedding arrangements, we applaud the high-speed delivery but don't pick up enough of what he says to engage with Yvan's travails.

kissing this reviewer on the mouth for specifically describing what he thinks their respective strengths are & especially for describing reece as THE CUDDLY ONE like... idk if it shows but i'm obsessed with how people see them, and how they see themselves & each other

EVENING STANDARD

Not so much a piece of headline-grabbing stunt casting as three trained actors flexing their thespian muscles [...] bona fide drama graduates, not comedy chancers. This immediately shows, from their poise, projection and presence. Only the dimple-chinned Pemberton as intolerant Marc comes close to his rogues' gallery of BBC2 personae during moments of rage when he cannot come to terms with Serge's purchase of an overpriced minimalist painting. By contrast, Mark Gatiss as the punctilious, pretentious Serge is the epitome of restraint, as cool as his sharp, charcoal suit. The comic moments are all in context. Shearsmith, as the boyish Yvan, is increasingly troubled by his imminent nuptials. This eventually spills out in a breathless pseudo-Pythonesque rant against marriage that is as funny to witness as it is difficult to say. But throughout, the trio respect Reza's text, sidelining their insatiable appetite for the grotesque that has made their their brand of humour so distinctive. This may, however, be problematic. Having sold out in the West End with their sketch show a couple of years ago, some of the threesome's intensely passionate fans may see Art as a follow-up and feel shortchanged. The eye-catching poster may compound the deception, the chopper, axe and chainsaw being wielded suggesting some Grand Guignol flourishes which never materialise.

BBC AGAIN

The northern accents do not quite ring true in the sophisticated setting of a Paris apartment and often lead to flat performances, where one gets the feeling their brand of wit is not quite enough to portray Parisian conceit. The strongest display by far comes from Mark Gatiss (Serge) - the eerie butcher in League of Gentlemen - as the tall, slightly effeminate doctor who acquires the painting, striking just the right balance of preciousness and acerbic wit. The diminutive Reece Shearsmith is adequate in his portrayal of Yvan, the put-down-upon soon-to-be-married stationer caught in the middle of the feud between his two friends. But the biggest disappointment comes from Steve Pemberton, who plays Marc, the critical compadre who takes Serge's indulgence for contemporary art as a personal slight. Pemberton, normally the trio's strongest performer, well-known for his brilliant turn as Pauline in the League of Gentlemen, seems ill at ease in the role. His northern persona cannot quite stretch far enough to inhabit the part of Marc, an angry homeopathic freak whose insecurity finds it hard to cope with his friend's show of independence over the painting. Like the painting, the play does not remain colourless throughout however. One of the highlights is Shearsmith's 10-minute tirade about the difficulties of coping with the women in his life ahead of his impending wedding.

yeah this one is definitely my favourite. casually calls them ALL scallies, then calls each of them out INDIVIDUALLY for being a) gay b) short c) shit. absolute legend. did they ever find this reviewer's body

related, from this article in the guardian:

"When we first did Art, a review said 'Yes, but can they act?' and that made me angry," said Shearsmith. "I remember thinking 'What have we been doing in The League of Gentlemen? It's not standup."

in 2013, reece said art was his favourite ever play to do. highlights from the replies

#tlog #the league of gentlemen #reece shearsmith #steve pemberton #mark gatiss #rs

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fast-moon · 16 days

Text

I'm 30 years late, but...

Star Trek: Deep Space Nine originally aired when I was 10 years old. I loved Next Generation when I was a kid, so I gave DS9 a try back then... and immediately grew bored of it. They weren't going to new planets or having space battles, they were just sitting around in one place discussing space politics, and there wasn't even anyone funny like Data to hold my attention. So, I stopped watching after a couple episodes.

But, since I keep hearing it ended up being the best Trek seres, I've decided to go ahead and give it a full watch-through. Maybe now that I'm 40 and have more life experience under my belt, I can appreciate it more.

Turns out I do! I've finished the first season, so I'll give a run-down of what I thought of the S1 episodes below the cut:

1-2. Emissary: All right, I actually understand the premise this time which completely went over my head as a kid. The Bajorans were under Cardassian occupation for decades, the Federation showed up and drove them out, now the Federation is in control of the Cardassian space station DS9 to help the Bajorans rebuild and return to self-governance. But wait! Turns out there's a wormhole that goes to the other side of the galaxy here and it's suddenly become prime space real-estate! And the wormhole is inhabited by... mysterious non-temporal entities that spit out a magic orbs from time to time and the Bajorans worship them as prophets.

3. Past Prologue: Garak is queer-coded like whoa and gives Bashir a taste of his own medicine about not respecting boundaries. Is also possibly like a quadruple-agent. And tailors a fine suit. Also, Kira got a haircut. There's rats on spaceships?! Oh, that's just Odo. Okay. Still, the fact that he considered that a convincing disguise means there's rats on spaceships?!

4. A Man Alone: A guy backstabs himself and blames Odo for it.

5. Babel: Poor overworked O'Brien gets so stressed out he starts speaking in tongues. Then it turns out it's contagious. And it turns out that it's because someone sabotaged the station decades ago with a dyslexia virus and then just kind of forgot about it.

6. Captive Pursuit: This actually touches on a moral question I'd been wondering about if we ever end up with sentient AI: If something is bred/programmed to like being oppressed, is it more moral to remove it from its oppression even if that makes it miserable, or to return it to its oppression if that's what makes it happy? This episode chose the latter.

7. Q-Less: A surprisingly boring Q-centric episode whose only shenanigans involved a space stingray Vash was trying to sell off. Q really does miss Picard.

8. Dax: Oh, another philosophical thought-experiment: If you committed a crime and then get reincarnated in a traceable manner and retain all the memories of your previous incarnation, can your current incarnation be held liable for your previous incarnation's actions? This episode decides it doesn't want to answer this because she's not guilty, anyway.

9. The Passenger: Bashir becomes even more insufferable and nobody notices.

10. Move Along Home: Samurai hippies come through the wormhole and demand everyone LARP with them whether they like it or not.

11. The Nagus: Quark falls victim to one of the classic blunders, the most famous of which is "Never get involved in a land war with Asia". But only slightly less well-known is this: "Never get involved with a Ferengi when profit is on the line".

12. Vortex: So... Odo just lets a guy get away with murder because he has a sob story and claimed he knew others of his kind? Just because he was wanted unjustly on his home planet does not change the fact that he murdered a guy for hire. Also, Odo can get knocked out by a rock?

13. Battle Lines: Remember that "Great Divide" episode of Avatar: The Last Airbender that everyone hated? No reason.

14. The Storyteller: O'Brien goes down to Bajor to fix the pipes, becomes God.

15. Progress: Kira has to go convince a Boomer to leave his land because they need the resources to rebuild the planet, but he's all "I got mine, screw them." She humors his sexist behavior all episode, then burns his house down.

16. If Wishes Were Horses: Bashir wishes for his own personal side-piece Dax, and real Dax is weirdly okay with this because "boys will be boys". The conflict in this episode is literally solved by thinking happy thoughts.

17. The Forsaken: Odo gets sexually harassed so reports it to HR who just laughs him off because they think it would be good for him to get laid. Then he gets stuck in an elevator with his stalker and it's revealed just how physically strenuous it is for him to maintain his human form all day, and yet he has never been afforded any accommodations beyond a bucket to sleep in. This poor space slime, no wonder he's always so grumpy. #JusticeForOdo

18. Dramatis Personae: TNG's "The Inner Light", but stupid. Once again Odo has to save the day because he's immune to the humanoid crazypox that seems to infect the station every half-dozen episodes, and yet they still just can't find it in their effects budget to adjust station operations enough to allow him the minimal comfort of not having to contort himself into human form every day until he collapses just to do his job.

19. Duet: I am a sucker for "Did the janitors on the Death Star deserve to die?" sorts of moral discussions, and this episode delivered that very well. Also, I'm in lesbians with Kira.

20. In the Hands of the Prophets: Lady who doesn't even have kids at the school nevertheless takes issue that the children aren't being taught in accordance to her religious beliefs. It's been 30 years since this came out and nothing changes.

All in all, a decent season 1. It does show its age in places, especially in its treatment of female characters, and being written before the internet and smartphones caused seismic cultural shifts that its vision of the future failed to take into account. But still, I'm liking it now that I actually understand what's going on. On to season 2!

#star trek #ds9 #season 1

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 2 years

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THE LAST SCRUFFY PIECE RAHHH poor girl just can’t catch a break

scruffy angst when they get to the hospital? mayhaps?

lots of love!! ❤️

"Jason go take a walk," Bruce said quietly, squeezing his shoulder.

"I'm fine-"

"She's dozed off for now. I'll be here. I'll call you if the doctor comes back."

Jason swallowed hard. He was thirsty. That chair was hard. And he felt so tense if he didn't move- if the energy didn't go somewhere- he was liable to snap. "Promise you won't-"

"I won't let them put her anywhere else. I don't think she needs it, honestly... Don't think anyone else does either. The consensus seems to be a bad reaction to a new medication- some kind of drug interaction with what she's already taking. NOT that she's a danger to herself or anyone else."

"Okay," Jason said standing slowly and leaning over to kiss your forehead before shrugging into his Jacket and slipping out of the room before he could change his mind.

Bruce slipped into the now unoccupied chair and smiled a little, "You're welcome," he said simply, squeezing your hand.

The last time you'd gone through this, you'd been worried about him. And Told Bruce he needed to get up and move... After pretending to doze off for a little bit to reassure him that he could leave for 10 or 15 minutes without coming back to find you in a straight jacket or something.

"Thank you," you answer, though you didn't open your eyes. The lights were horrifically bright.

"Headache?" Bruce asked, making a note to tell the doctor that.

"Right behind my fucking eyes," you sigh.

"Dull? Sharp?"

"Feels like a lobotomy from the inside out."

"Hn," he said, squeezing your hand again.

#Jason Todd #Jason Todd x reader #scruffy!verse #ask answered #minors dni #reader insert

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cricketnationrise · 8 months

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Congratulations on 500 followers, babe! It's awesome that you're doing another ficlet fest. Here's my prompt:

Time: 1:30 a.m.

Location: Hollywood

Character: Alicia Zimmermann

Song lyrics: "Another name goes up in lights; you wonder if you'll make it out alive" from "The Lucky One" by Taylor Swift

Rating: T

HI BABE <3 I love this prompt, and I hope you like where it led me! There's never enough Alicia content, so I was really excited for the excuse to write some. 💜🦗

read the rest of the ficlets here!

🏒🏒🏒🏒

1:30am, hollywood

Alone in the back of a taxi, finally hidden from the view of the cameras, Alicia lets her head fall back against the headrest with a heavy sigh.

It’s been a long time since award shows were fun, since after parties were anything other than an obligation pushed onto her shoulders by her agent. Tonight had been especially harrowing: enough meaningless small talk to make her want to tear her hair out, not enough food, and toast after drunken, incomprehensible toast. It was hard to believe that Alicia had ever liked the crush of people; that she had, at one point, craved this part of being an actress. More and more, her perfect idea of a late night features a warm body next to hers, a cup of chamomile, and a delightfully trashy romance novel—not backhanded compliments and uncomfortable shoes.

Above all, Alicia is tired.

Tired of the run around, tired of the hustle, tired of spineless directors and co-stars that didn’t bother to learn their lines. Tired of constantly getting her picture taken, tired of being hounded by the press, tired of being critiqued on everything from her outfit to her choice of project. Tired of the endless travel, tired of remote filming locations, tired of never being in the same time zone as her apartment for more than a week at a time. There just has to be a way for her to have more control over her career. Surely she’s paid her dues by now.

At least her taxi driver isn’t trying to make conversation, or ask for an autograph—either option was liable to send Alicia over the edge tonight. She frowns as they pass a billboard for a new movie, starring some girl she’s never heard of. Blown up to larger than life, it’s impossible to miss the excitement in the starlet’s eyes, the yearning for more. Alicia feels tears gathering in the corner of her eye and looks away hurriedly—when was the last time she had felt like that?

She still loves acting, is the thing. Still loves throwing herself into a character, really connecting with their desires and fears, breathing life into someone who would otherwise just be words on a page. Still loves becoming someone new. But everything else that comes along with being an actress makes her want to scream.

Finally at her hotel, Alicia pays the driver and makes it up to her room in a haze of exhaustion and general torpor. She changes into pajamas and brushes her teeth on autopilot. It's only as she’s reaching over to turn the bedside light off when she notices the red blinking light of the answering machine.

It’s probably her assistant. Maybe her agent. Both of them have been in constant contact on this press tour, keeping her in the loop on travel changes and adding more “quick appearances” to her schedule that end up being several hours and completely draining. But if she doesn’t check it, she’ll miss something important. With a defeated groan she checks the machine, tension leaching out of her when a man’s voice comes from the speakers instead of any of her all-female team’s strident tones.

Hi, euh, hello, Alicia? This is Bob Zimmermann, we met last week at that terrible premiere?

Alicia actually finds herself grinning as Bob’s Quebecois accent and stumbling words spill out into her hotel room, his genuinely hesitant and careful words wrapping around her like a blanket. She didn’t know him from Adam at the premiere party, but a shared eye-roll during the director’s meandering thank you speech prompted her to wander over once it was done. The warmth in his brown eyes was reason enough to keep talking to him after introducing herself.

The message rambles a bit about how awful the movie was (he’s not wrong, it positively reeked of studio interference) and a bit about how his hockey team did this week before he clears his throat. The change in tone has her listening with bated breath.

I know timing is going to be an issue for both of us, but I really enjoyed talking to you last week, and I’d love to take you to dinner and get to know you sometime— Sometime soon, eh?

He leaves the number of his hotel for the next two days and his pager number before saying goodbye. Still grinning, Alicia scribbles down both numbers and turns off the machine. She turns the light out and settles into bed with his voice echoing in her head and thinks.

A single, unlooked-for message, the possibility of a date with an interesting man, and Alicia feels lighter. And more determined than ever to make some career changes — she wants to love her job again, just as much as Bob loves hockey. And she’s been around long enough, has enough clout, that she really thinks she can change her job to suit her desires.

Resolved to sit down with her agent as soon as she’s in the same city again, she closes her eyes, replaying Bob's message in her mind as she drifts into sleep.

Bonne nuit, Alicia.

#cricket writes #the-lincyclopedia #ficlet fest 500 #check please #omgcp #pov alicia #bonus bad bob content #bc i love their love

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ask-sbr-side-characters · 4 months

Text

Welcome to ask sbr side characters!!

Inspired by @ask-dinopants

This blog will contain spoilers for steel ball run!

(I’m sorry I didn’t add this earlier, anon 😭😭😭)

Inbox is: open!

Hey!!! Mod here! I’ll first list the characters this blog will be including as well as their text colors, then we’ll go over some of the rules!

Ringo Roadagain

Oyecomova

Mrs. Robinson

Pocoloco

Soundman

Mountain Tim

Rules:

-no NSFW! You’re free to simp for the characters, however I will not be answering any asks that are graphic or otherwise nasty!

-you’re free to send “hate” to the characters in the ask box, but I will not answering any asks that include racism, homophobia, or anything else of the sort! This is all in good fun, so let’s try and keep it mostly lighthearted!

-I won’t be answering any hate aimed at this blog or myself

-you can send ship asks if you want, but I won’t be shipping any of the characters on this blog, so they will probably just say you’re a creep

-you can ask questions about the mod, but as of now I won’t be revealing my main (or any extremely personal information!)

I don’t have many rules as of now, but I am liable to change or add rules at any time!

Feel free to send art and other photos!

As of currently I don’t have a background storyline, and don’t have any plans to make one, but this may change!

Also a note here: I will be trying my best to make this blog accessible by adding image descriptions in the posts or alt texts of images. I appreciate it if you add an image description in images you send, but don’t feel forced! I don’t mind to make them myself!

Here’s a list of tags I’ll use and what they mean!

Mod yaps - for any post that I say something in!

Announcements - for any announcements or info about the blog

[character] speaks - the tag I’ll be using to indicate which characters are included in what posts! (ex: “ringo speaks”)

Reblogs - for any posts I reblog

Fanart - for any asks that include art of the characters in this blog

Alright! Thats all for now!

#intro post #ask blog #jjba ask blog #mod yaps #announcements #jojo ask blog #jojos bizarre adventure #steel ball run #jjba part 7 #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jjba soundman #jjba sandman #jjba pocoloco #jjba mrs robinson #jjba oyecomova #ringo roadagain #mountain tim

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literalite · 1 year

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hi seph! I hope you're doing well! I have a question. How do you get the lighting in your edits to be so damn good? I mean, before you edit them. I always want to take in-game pics for edits, but the lighting is always so abysmal. Do you have any tips or tricks for getting a good lighting set up? Thanks for answering!!

(P.S. - I think you were sick at the time, so idk if you saw it, but I did your telephone cas challenge a bit ago. If you haven't seen it.)

HI sorry that this has been sitting in my ask box for like two months i just never had the opportunity/memory to actually address it fghjk but ok here goes it's really simple imo?

im presuming we're talking about plain background edits for this, although the general uh method for this is the same regardless of having a "set" or not. firstly i use these backgrounds, i've used them in most of my ingame edits here here and here, combined with the lights in this set which i use in all my ingame edits pretty much

make a big empty room, and line the walls that will be in the direction of the camera with the backdrops. i usually use only one or two of the lights (and shrink them down so the mesh itself is less intrusive) to light the scene because underexposed images are wayyy easier to edit then over exposed images. less is more- in this case i literally only used the one. not too close to the sim either or you're liable to wash them out entirely

i think an important thing to keep in mind is where the angle of light is coming from? straight on can make your images look flat, from directly behind and you can't see a thing. i usually do one to the side of the sim and (if i want more light) one slightly behind but sort of far away. u can change the colours of the lights themselves too to make it more expressive i tend to stay away from greens and oranges because i find those more difficult to edit

i went hunting in my screenshots folder for examples of this general idea, sorry you really can't see the lighting i used but its pretty much what i just said hgjkl again its better underexposed then overexposed. also zoom in the camera by the scrollwheel and use the keys to back away from the shot to make them look nicer too

i really didn't know how to explain this adequately sorry FDGHJKl ur welcome to keep sending me more specific questions if you have any more

#ask #reply #morrigan-sims #tutorial #i hesitate to tag it as such because its a pretty bad one but uhhh well whatever

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the-ninja-legacy-whip · 1 year

Note

I don't know if you already answered a question like this but ; what are your general HC of the ninja's power ? For example, Nya's power are connected to Wojira or something?

Mmmmmm, I've already went over a lot of my general consensus for their powers (that isn't spoiler-related, anyway -> check the Elemental Compendium tag!) and Nya's powers are of course related to Wojira........so! *claps hands* Let's talk about something else!

Let's talk....Elemental Attunement.

Elemental Attunement (noun): Essentially, it is the level of compatibility a given Master has with their Element, effecting their overall connection with the element itself, and their overall ability to maintain control of it at a given time.

As we know, every Elemental Master is always going to be 1:1 with their Element, regardless of how they attained it or inherited it. The only thing is, there's no way to determine just how attuned (read: compatible) they will be with the Element. Your son could inherit Water and be nothing "like" water at all. You could willingly pass it onto the least compatible person in the world without even knowing. And this is why, when Elements are "cut from the compass" they're more liable to manifest in someone with a high level of attunement with that particular Element to restart the bloodline. Wind isn't going to re-manifest in someone better suited for Earth, for example.

And, on top of all that, there's the rather common tendency to fluctuate—sometimes you can be vibing with your element just fine, and other times it can feel having like a stranger in your own body. But, most of the time it's all in the individual's mindset. Some Elemental Masters gel very easily with their Elements. Some...have to really work for it.

Essentially, it's not really something that has any true impact on the overall plot, hence why I haven't gone into detail about it beforehand, but if you've been reading between the lines you'll notice that I've used it to explain some of the...quirks a few characters have (primarily for Jay, but also Nya, Skylor, and a little bit Jesse) yet this concept applies to all EMs.

There are two degrees to Attunement: Natural Attunement, and Fluctuation Tendency. Natural Attunement is, of course, how naturally attune one is to their Element by default. Fluctuation Tendency is how often the level of attunement tends to change. Masters more confident and comfortable with their Element fluctuate less; Masters that struggle to see "themselves" within their Element or have reservations will fluctuate more.

And, as a final thing, this is all independent of whether or not True Potential has been reached (as it goes back to the 1:1 thing).

Anywho, let's dive into some fun specifics!!! Yay!!!!

Kai: Mid Natural Attunement, Low Fluctuation (Overall Average: 60%) Kai's Attunement level has the (almost) unique aspect of being affected by having two Elemental parents—he may have inherited the Element of Fire and identifies well enough with it, but being descended from Water as well "dampens" his attunement to Fire *ba dum tiss* This is reflected in how Sadness is the biggest trigger for his Outbursts, as opposed to more...fiery emotions. But, more often is able to maintain his connection to Fire than to feel disconnected from it, despite having his moments.

Jay: High Natural Attunement, Low Fluctuation (Overall Average: 99%) Jay's Attunement level is ridiculously high, above normal amounts, which is why his Element manifests in ways when he's not even thinking about it (sparks flying off him, flying/teleporting just on instinct, etc). Plus, his constant high level of Attunement allows him easier access to his Derivative Elements (his speed/evasiveness, unpredictability, Thunder Scream, using that random ass Wind Move), which the others have yet to even consciously attempt, let alone succeed with. The downside is, of course, going too overboard saps a lot of his energy far too quickly, to the point of nearly being inconvenient.

Cole: Mid Natural Attunement, Mid Fluctuation (Overall Average: 75%) Cole is very inclined with his Element as his mother was, give or take a few points of weakness, but it's circumstances that tend to make him feel disconnected from time to time–his fear of falling, turning into a ghost, being trapped in Vengestone, etc. Basically times when he struggles to feel the support of the earth. He does fluctuate when he's feeling emotional as well, especially when he's feeling particularly bad about himself (and then it becomes harder to utilize the Earth Punch/Lava Arm ability along with Vibration Tracing)

Zane: High Natural Attunement, Mid Fluctuation (Overall Average: 85%) With Zane being more or less powered by the Element itself, his Natural Attunement almost reaches Jay's levels, although he does fluctuate a bit more than Jay does, mainly due to very specific uncertainties or letting his emotions get the best of him (which as we now know, Zane feeling too emotional weakens his connection to Ice). One reason his Psychic Ability doesn't kick in all-too much (as opposed to his mother being able to call on it at will) is because of that decreased elemental connection.

Nya: Low Natural Attunement, High Fluctuation (Overall Average: 40%) Like Kai, her attunement is also affected by hereditary factors. Unfortunately, she got more of the Fire genes than the Water genes despite inheriting Water, hence why her Outburst trigger is Frustration, and why it takes her so long to reach her True Potential when she struggles so much to see the Water-qualities within herself (even if others can). (And this is also why she basically has to shred her entire sense of self to even get close to mastering NRG Mode—but, you've seen Seabound, you know what happens)

Lloyd: Full Attunement, Zero Fluctuation (Overall Average: Infinite) Lloyd is always completely attuned to his Element/Essence, whether he likes it or not. Even while repressing the Green Element, that only heightens his attunement to the Golden Essence (or vice versa), so he's not really escaping anything at all (and King, if you're out there, this is basically the reason for that "Golden Kick" maneuver snksnksnk). Losing direct access to one or both would definitely start to fuck him up, however.

Jesse: High Natural Attunement, High Fluctuation (Overall Average: 50%) Like Lloyd, has a nasty habit of repressing his element whether he realizes or not, all in an attempt to appear more "normal" and "palatable" to people. But unlike Lloyd, this artificially lowers his own level of attunement... which is essentially why he doesn't have full access to all his powers (on top of his "incomplete" Potential, though that has a few other factors in play as well). If he embraced Surprise completely and had his Full Potential, his Attunement levels have the potential (ha) to match Jay's, honestly.

Skylor: Low Natural Attunement, High Fluctuation (Overall Average: 30%) Masters of Amber tend to have a naturally low attunement level anyway, given that Amber is an artificial elemental to begin with. However, Skylor's specific level of fluctuation is very high thanks to a variety of factors I can't discuss yet, but it becomes a good thing for her as it allows her to better connect with her Element over time (which eventually raises her average, and lets her control Amber at its base as oppose to requiring another Element to do anything at all).

But yeah tl:dr; how connected/disconnected an EM feels to an element can and will have an impact of how much mastery they have over their powers in a given moment, and why some EMs seem to have better/stronger/more immediate control than others.

#ninjago #the lego ninjago movie #tlnm #legacyverse #the ninja legacy whip #info tag #elemental compendium #kai smith #jay walker #cole brookstone #zane julien #nya smith #lloyd garmadon #oc: jesse marvell #skylor chen #long post

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isolaradiale · 2 years

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"If you do not descend into the depths you will never find the truth. Nor will you find the treasures within..." (Some explorer maybe idk Ofiuco made it up)

"Rise and shine. A new day of adventure awaits." Every piece of technology in the city that could broadcast sound and / or images whirred to life at exactly midnight, surely awakening any "early to bed, early to risers" long before they wanted to wake up. The voice was familiar in its monotone, but it didn't carry the robotic hollowness that it once had. That was because it was the voice of Ofiuco, who had recently undergone some changes to become one of the Stars herself.

She waited a minute before proceeding, giving the watchers and listeners ample time to wake up first. "I apologize for waking you, but as it seems to be the standard of the Stars to make these announcements at this unpleasant hour, I am expected to do the same. I take no joy from having to do so..."

For those watching on a screen, the android holding her hand out to the side with her palm flat could be seen, upon which a screenshot seemed to rest. A screenshot that was undeniably of the hole in the city's centre, but something was different. It was lit up! "As you can see, an anomaly has opened in the city's centre. I have deployed my remote version to investigate, but to no avail. A lift has been set up to take you down to the bottom."

The images that floated above her hand changes as she described different things. It lingered on an image of the older version of Ofiuco hastily putting a lift together though, before the image changed to one of a large, glowing gate at the bottom of a huge pit. The bottom of the hole that no one was allowed to see.

"I am unable to send my remote body through that gate. And as my scans have confirmed, the world on the other side of that gate is unstable. Uncharted. Every time someone enters it, its design and layout are different. We need you to do the charting for us. I understand that we're... I'm asking a lot, but you will be rewarded for your efforts. Please." The broadcast ended, but something didn't feel quite right.

Why did Ofiuco seem so concerned?

OVERVIEW

Welcome to our newest event, DOWN YOU GO! Inspired by dungeon crawler and roguelike games, it will have your character (either by themselves or with a party) exploring a variety of environment in pursuit of answers and treasures. But mostly treasures. Here are all of the features of this event:

four unique biomes to explore

each biome has its own mechanics and circumstances

a random buff / debuff system

a grand prize to be received at random once you've reached a certain word count with your event threads

abilities unlocked while within a biome, though difficulty scales accordingly

BIOMES

Each biome is unique and features different gimmicks, enemies, and a different challenge to overcome. Outside of the descriptions provided below, you have complete control over how the biome's size and how it looks, as well what is inside of it (such as things like poisonous swamps or lava pools). The challenged you encounter and how you overcome them are also up to you!

FANTASY A biome inspired by fantasy. A series of caverns and open forest clearings that are rife for exploring. You are liable to find standard fantasy fare here in terms of monsters, so everything from goblins to dragons is on the table. This is also the biome most populated with monsters in general, and will be the most combat focused. The stronger the characters that enter this biome are, the more dangerous and ravenous the monsters will be, and they will not be so easily killed even by overpowered abilities.

SPACE A biome inspired by space horror. The setting is an abandoned space station deep in the depths of the void. You must navigate the halls of the space station while being pursued by a murderous alien creature that will not stop until your whole party is dead, while navigating the risks of using abilities in a place where destroying one window could kill everyone. Feel free to customize the alien however you'd like provided it isn't just a licensed alien from an existing property! Just make sure it's a suitable challenge, because the alien cannot be killed. It will pursue you until you reach the control room where the treasure can be found.

SEA A biome inspired by pirates and ocean-related myths. Completely submerged within the depths of the ocean, this biome's gimmick is that your character has been adapted into a new form to thrive. They have become a merfolk, obtaining fish traits to help them move about the dark, underwater caves. They are rife with undersea monsters that can take advantage of their speed and experience vs your character who is still adjusting to their new underwater abilities. You're free to customize your character however so that they can function underwater!

JUNGLE A biome inspired by old adventure movies. While monsters are scarce, the caves and open jungle are plagued with numerous traps that seek to immobilize your character, if not kill them outright. It's also extremely hot and humid. For the sake of fairness, any mobility related abilities will be disabled in this biome, as well as any that provide invulnerability. Be as inventive as you want with the traps! Now is your chance to be chased by a giant boulder!

COMBAT SPECIFICS

Every character will be returned their abilities and weapons for the event while within a biome, but remember difficulty should be scaled according to how powerful the characters exploring are so that characters cannot steamroll it. While most of them are caves and tunnels, they're still extremely spacious for fights, barring the space station considering its unique threat. The corridors there are much tighter.

For characters that have no powers, the Fantasia system will be active and they can access their Fantasia forms while within the biomes. For those of you who weren't around during the Fantasia War event, you can still make a form for your character! You just need to pick one of the races from this post, and your character can then use any of these spells!

BUFF / DEBUFF SYSTEM

Within each biome a series of chests can be found (aesthetically reflecting the biome's theme). When opened, this chest provides a buff or debuff to the entire party. We've put together a wheel here where you can roll for what that buff or debuff might affect them. Of course this isn't something we can control, so if you just want to pick one for narrative purposes that's also fine! We just wanted to include the option. The list of buffs / debuffs you can receive can be found below:

ATK + / ATK- An increase or decrease to the strength of all of the characters.

SPD+ / SPD- An increase or decrease to the speed of all of the characters.

INVINCIBILITY All characters are invincible to damage and knockback for five minutes.

HEAL ALL All characters in the party have their health restored to full.

POISONOUS FOG A poisonous fog amasses within the biome that slowly drains the health of all party members and obscures the surroundings. Can be cleansed with the right abilities.

GRAVITY+ / GRAVITY- Gravity increases or decreases slightly, altering the ease of movement. (If in the sea biome, reroll)

FORTITUDE Every party member is shrouded with a barrier that can negate all damage from the next attack received.

DIVINE INTERVENTION Revives a fallen party member with the group. (If no one is fallen, reroll)

WELL RESTED Everyone's energy levels are restored. It's easier to forge ahead!

OFIUCLONE SWARM Summons a swarm of ten Ofiuclones during your next enemy encounter to aid in battle.

TRANSMOGRIFICATION Everyone in the party is changed into a random animal for ten minutes.

GOOD VIBES During the next enemy encounter, everyone's overall stats are increased. You feel like you can take on anything!

GRAND PRIZE

You're only required to make a single event post or drabble to be eligible for event participation, but we are also offering a grand prize to everyone who reaches 1000 words* across all of their event threads. This prize is random, and for each person that reaches this point we will be spinning a prize wheel to determine what you receive! Every character can only receive this prize once, but if you do not like your initial prize you get one reroll. You can also exchange your prize in for a Star amount equivalent to its retail price and put the money towards an item or items you do want!

The included prizes are as follows, all taken from our Galaxy marketplace:

shielden ring

companion star

polymorph star

cosmogills

starcycle

mysterious blueprints

1000 stars

*You do not need 1000 words before the event ends. So long as the threads are started before the event period concludes, you can cash in for this prize whenever you hit that milestone. In the case that a thread partner drops in the meantime, you can continue the thread in a new thread or drabble with that person separated provided you link back to the original in the first post. We will not be awarding prizes until the event period has ended.

EVENT FAQ

WHAT HAPPENS IF A CHARACTER DIES WITHIN THE BIOME? Accidents happen! Your character will simply respawn at the beginning and will be able to catch up with the others by trekking through the explored areas already. This may be more difficult in some biomes than others.

HOW ARE ENEMIES BALANCED WHEN CHARACTERS OF VARYING POWERS ARE IN THE SAME PARTY? Every group of enemies will have at least one foe that is equivalent in strength to your strongest member and will aggro to them. Unless your weaker members aggro the monster themselves, in which case? Good luck! If your strongest character has abilities that are considered "gamebreaking" like the ability to alter reality and so forth, this enemy will be immune to those abilities.

WHAT ABOUT THE ALIEN MONSTER IN THE SPACE BIOME? It cannot be hurt or killed even by your strongest party member. Run!

CAN WE USE A FANTASIA FORM IF OUR CHARACTER HAS ABILITIES OF THEIR OWN? In the case that those abilities would not help them in a combat situation, then yes!

ARE OUR CHARACTERS ALLOWED TO CHANGE THEIR FANTASIA FORMS? Sure thing! That information is stored in the Intraverse, so they could go in and change in whenever they like so long as it remains within the limitations of the Fantasia System.

CAN WE USE ABILITIES THAT WOULD "CHEAT" THE SYSTEM? LIKE BEING ABLE TO JUST TELEPORT TO THE END? Abilities that would otherwise break the spirit of the event are disabled even if your character has everything unlocked otherwise for the sake of fairness.

DO WE NEED TO RANDOMIZE THE BUFFS / DEBUFFS FROM THE CHESTS? As mentioned, you don't need to, but we hope you will as a fun mechanic! It isn't like there's a way for us to check if you actually did it randomly, and your threads are your own.

DO WE NEED TO CLAIM THE PRIZE TO GET PARTICIPATION? Nope! That prize is just a little something extra if you choose to shoot for it. Participation requirements are normal. And remember, you don't need to claim the prize by the event's end. You can finish it whenever so long as the thread is started before the event concludes at the end of the day on February 10th.

#isola event #isola event: down you go

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romana-after-dark · 1 year

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Ghost of You: Chapter 3

Ellie Miller & Joel Miller

ft. Tommy Miller, Lorenzo and Zach Aleverano

Summary: 16 years after her mom and dad's death, Ellie is finding her place in Jackson, being raised by her Uncle Tommy with the help of her uncle's Lorenzo and Zach. She loves them, but can't help but feel stifled. Soon, she finds out her suspicions were true, and her uncles have been lying to her. Will Ellie learn the truth? Can she trust anyone in this situation?

Takes place after The Wrong Way, but if you havn't read that series (too dark for you, too long, etc) you can read this. Since it's through Ellie's perspective, you can discover the truth alongside her.

DARK FIC! This is a dark!Joel, with canon typical violence and extra on the Joel. Anything discussed or shown in TWW is liable to be discussed here. There will be violence, but no shown sexual violence. Although this Joel is very dark, he is NOT DARK TO ELLIE. None of the things that happened to Ellie's mom are applicable to Ellie, but will be discussed.

Content warnings for entire series, not chapter by chapter unless more is added.

Talk/mentions/discussions of post rape, molestation, torture, violence, branding, forced breeding, major age gap (early 20's to later 40's), death. Child endangerment, major character death, murder, homophobic remarks, minor hate crime, manipulation, identity crisis.

This is longer than I meant it to be (4.5k words), but I needed these three scenes in there and I didn't want to rush. It's hard balancing showing you Ellie's relations with all 3 uncles AND Joel developed and change and shift.

Extra warning for homophobia, and Joel being Joel.

Also some lines/back and forth are directly from the game. I've been watching scenes a lot on youtube to really get the Jackson vibes. Remember, this isn't exactly Ellie we know. She's lead a different life than show/game Ellie, and she's16 so between ages of the games. I did my best to keep Ellie Ellie, but also how might Ellie be different growing up more sheltered.

******************

“So I was thinking, if you think you can get away from Tommy for a few hour, I could meet up with my horse this time, bring you to where I live, if you’d like?”

Joel and Ellie were fishing in their usual spot, a secluded area that Ellie was pretty sure no one was going to outside of patrols; and this was her section.

“Really?” She looked up at Joel from where they both sat, his kind eyes looking down at her, awaiting an answer.

“If you aren’t ready, of course, we don’t gotta. I know it’s kinda a big step but-”

“I’d love to! If I’m gonna take over, I better start learning the land outside of Jackson, huh?”

He smiled at her fondly. “Yeah, it’ll be like bring your daughter to work day.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind, pre-outbreak joke. You can meet some of the guys if you want. If not I’ll tell ‘em to clear out while we’re there.”

Ellie’s eyes lit up. “Really?! Wicked!”

“Careful.” He chuckled. “You’re starting to sound like you’re uncle Lorenzo.”

Two months ago, that would’ve been a compliment.

It took a few weeks to plan, but Ellie managed to trade some thing Joel brought her to Jesse in order for him to take her farming shift for the day. Jesse’s parents didn’t care where he was. After Ellie accidently cut Tommy’s hand, Maria thought it was only fair Ellie pick up the slack for what Tommy was unable to do. Well, unable wasn’t the right word. He had, in fact, tried to go to work as usual but got sent some when his dried wound broke open and bleed all over him. The news, of course, got to Maria who came to see him and found out the extent of the injury. Tommy refused to let Maria make Ellie do his work, not wanting her up on roofs or around heavy machinery, so Lorenzo swapped in for Tommy and Ellie was in charge of Lorenzo’s work for a few weeks while Tommy’s hand healed. He still helped as much as he could, but was frequently sent home with Maria telling him the point of a commun was everyone pitched in to help each other. Ellie found she liked the work, and even after Tommy got permission to work again she began doing agriculture in addition to patrol. It was summer, and she figured she needed to start doing more for the community. If she was going to take over for Joel, the more skills she had the better. She planned on earning her role, not just inheriting it.

Ellie stood at the porch, nervous. Not of Joel, no. She trusted him. Not nervous of the men inside, no. Joel wouldn’t let them do anything to her. No, this is the house. The house. The one she was conceived in, the one Joel took her mom to when he rescued her from Ellie’s grandpa, the one Joel and Uncle Tommy lived in for years before her mom, the one where her mom met Uncle Tommy and Uncle Lorenzo… This is the house she was born in, the house her mom died in. Joel had told her he and the men were gone when it happened, when the infected came. Tommy had found them, Tommy having come to the house for a reason he wouldn’t tell Joel… but he was the one that found the two of them before Joel came home and saw what happened.

“Do you wanna see her first?”

Behind the house is where her mom was buried.

“Please?”

Ellie stared at the grave, a headstone that read her first and middle name followed by Miller. Wife, mother, friend. ‘For they say you are taking the sunshine’ was inscribed on it, song lyrics Ellie knew right away. In the front, near patches of grass and a well worn area for sitting, there were flowers at varying stages of decomposition at the base… Joel brought them a lot, it seems. “Red River Valley” Ellie muttered about the lyrics, choking back tears. She will not cry, she told herself. “That’s uncle Zach’s favorite.”

Joel nodded in understanding. “Your moms too. Learned it on guitar just for her.”

Walking in the house, her chest felt tight, feeling like she may have another panic moment like she did when she first met Joel… all eyes were on her as she walked in, Joel telling them to ‘show some goddamn respect’ to shut them up. Walking in the dining room, however… her worry dissipated. Joel had set up a meal for her. “Figured you’d be hungry. I’m not the best cook, but…”

Thing was, it was good, vegetables and all. Joel even muttered manners after she ripped a large belch at the table. Afterwards, Joel asked if she wanted to see the room. Ellie knew which one.

It was strange, seeing the room she was born in, the room her mom died in. The window had been boarded up, a shitty mattress on the floor, a piano to the right and a few boxes of random things here and there.

“This is where your mom lived when she first came to live with us, before we were married. These are her things. You can look if you want.”

And look she did. Ellie flipped through the items, taking them out and holding them, smelling the clothes, boxes of pretty dresses, a few baby items that they had gotten preparing for her birth, a well-worn deck of cards… With Joel’s permission to explore and a heartsick eye watching her, she touched the things her mom touched, slowly getting a sense of who she was, dust-collected memories strewn about the room as Ellie took in everything she could: comic books that read Star Wars on the cover, a book called Jurassic Park, eventually landing on the piano.

She stood up from the floor of memories she never got to have, approaching the small piano with care and wonder. Zach taught her to appreciate instruments; they were rare, Lorenzo working extra hard and drawing in all his connections to bring Uncle Zach the one he had.

Tentatively, Ellie plucked out a few cords, drawing Joel over to where she stood.

“You play, Ellie June?”

Ellie nodded. “A little. Zach taught me some. I’m not good, but… I know Red River Valley.”

A soft smile spread across his sad face. “I’d love to hear you play, baby girl”

“I’m not singing. Fuck that shit.” She was quick to warn, making Joel chuckle and assure her he could handle that part.

With hesitant hands, she began playing the cords, and to her delight, Joel leaned over the piano as he began singing. He stared at her, intense and seemingly lost in thought. Ellie pulled her eyes away from his to concentrate on the keys. She couldn’t play when he looked at her with such pain…

“From this valley they say you are going…”

When concluded, the tears that glistened in Joel’s eyes were evident; a sharp agony pierced his so deep Ellie wondered how he made it through all these years without them.

“I loved her” His voice croaked.

“I know”

“No, I just…” Joel closed his eyes and shook his head. “I know you know.” When he looked at her again, she was greeted with a soft smile, the kind of smile that warmed her front he sadness that ached for her mom, for him… “I love you both, Ellie June. Very much. Death don’t stop me from loving her.”

Ellie nodded, but was uncomfortable with emotions like that, so she abruptly changed the subject, looking over the box of clothes. “She had a lot of dresses.”

There was that smile again, that fond, wistful smile. “Yeah, it was impractical, really, but she looked so pretty… I brought her back everything I could find, she could usually sew them up to fit.”

She couldn’t remember the last time she wore a dress; Uncle Tommy stopped putting her in them when he realized how much Ellie did not like wearing them, never pressed the issue. Now she was regretting not having anything, just a tad.

“There’s a town dance coming up… I don’t even got a sundress or nothing.”

Joel immediately jumped at the opportunity, striding over to the closet and flipping past them. “You can look through these! They might not be your style, their awfully girlie-” he quickly turned around. “Not that you’re not girlie!”

“I’m not.” She chuckled, and Joel chuckled back. “But won’t uncle Tommy recognize them?”

“Most of them are from after Tommy left- here, what about this one, it’s simple.”

Joel pulled out a dress that would rest right at Ellie’s knees, a collarbone neckline and ¾ sleeves. Simple, not showy.

“It’s really fucking purple” She said, hesitant.

His smile faltered a bit, the excitement in his voice fleeting out as he went to hang it back up. “You’re right, you’re right, maybe there’s something black in here? Or, depending how far away it is I can see what I can get my hands on for you?”

Ellie realized he was trying to connect, trying to make an effort, trying to do dad things with Ellie the way he never could before. She jumped up, quickly grabbing the dress. “It’ll be fun!” She assured. “I don’t really wear dresses anyway, so I’ll be trying all kinds of new stuff.”

Joel’s face lit up with so much bright excitement, she thought he looked 10 years younger. “You tryna impress someone, Ellie June?”

Heat crept up her neck and onto her face. She was, kinda. Dina had made a comment a few weeks ago how pretty another girl, Jess, looked in a dress and Ellie thought about it non-stop for a week. It wasn’t that she was trying to impress Dina, no! That would be silly! But… did she want Dina to think she was pretty too? She wasn’t sure. She had only just learned the truth of her existence. One identity crisis at a time.

Instead of telling her she can’t have a boyfriend, hounding her on who, giving her a talk, Joel simply smiles. “Good. Love is a beautiful thing.” He wanders over to the boxes of items. “You like to read?”

She nodded. “Yeah, when something catches my interest.”

Sifting through the books, Joel found what he was looking for. The book was hefty, nearly the size of a brick, the cover reading ‘Jurassic Park’. He tossed it to her. “Thought you might like this one. Lots of action. The leading lady is named Ellie, I think that’s where your mom got your name.”

Ellie looked at the book. She imagined her mom reading it, flipping through the pages while pregnant with her, as Joel worked long hours to protect his community and have everything Ellie and her mom needed… “What if Uncle Tommy see’s it?”

The bright look on Joel’s face darkened just a bit. “You’re awfully worried about him. He good to you? He take care of you?”

“I mean… yeah.” Although her and Tommy weren’t on speaking terms, she would never say he didn’t take care of her. Hell, every single day there was a plate or a bowl for dinner made up for her in the fridge with a note saying to eat her vegetables. That was all the communication she had other than Ellie shouting the newest lie of where she’d be.

“He don’t hurt you, does he?” Joel’s voice was calm and steady, but there was a deadliness behind it.

Ellie burst out laughing at that, cackling for a while before she looked up at Joel’s confused face. “Sorry” She said through laughs. “I know you’re trying to be protective but-” A few more laughs. “Tommy’s never so much as frowned at me. He couldn't hurt me if he tried.”

“You have no idea what Tommy is capable of.” The warning in his tone was clear. ‘You don’t want to know the things he’s done’ but Ellie just laughed at Joel’s serious act.

“No, no I know,” She giggled. “I’m well aware. He was a raider, and Tommy’s told me he wasn't proud of himself before he came to Jackson” Slowly, Ellie’s laughs settled, but her smile reminded as Jel watched her intently. “But Tommy would never hurt me.” Thinking back on the last 16 years, the years she remembered anyway, thinking about Tommy… the gentle father who showered her in nothing but kindness, understanding, care… Maybe she had judged him too harshly…

Joel’s body language changed, he loosened up again. “Few weeks before I kicked Tommy out, I found bruises on your mom.” He began walking around the room, pacing, avoiding Ellie’s eyes again.

“...What?” The life was sucked out of the room.

“She had some excuse or another, I questioned her if it was Lorenzo, Jack, any of the men… I didn’t even asking if it was Tommy. Never thought he could either.” Joel continued talking as Ellie listened intently, mouth slightly open agap. “When he left, she finally told me. Broke down sob’n about it, broke my damn heart, seeing her like that. Told me Tommy had come onto her.”

Ellie stood in shock at the revelation. All this time, Tommy spoke about her mom with such wonder, such reverence, tere had been times she wondered if he had feelings for her… but Renzo and Zach spoke similarly. She was an innocent, good person who died a tragic death, it was no wonder they held her in high esteem… but love? Or is it lust… What exactly was it he had done?

“Did he… did he tried to…” She couldn’t get the words out. She couldn’t fathom Tommy raping someone… but she was beginning to wonder if the Tommy she knew wasn’t really Tommy at all.

“No” Joel assured before clarifying. “Not that… but… he wanted her to choose him over me.” A slight blush, a shuffle of feet, the smallest sad smile… “This was early on, we were still figure’n things out, you know? I think she might’ve had a crush on him. I wouldn’t blame her if she did. I was gone long hours, leaving her alone with Tommy to protect her, it’s only natural. But she wouldn’t leave me. She said he took her arm, tried to pull her, get her to run away together ‘n shit. She wouldn’t go. She was loyal like that…” There it was again, that wash of sadness, that unbearable pain that Ellie had no idea how he stomached. “He gripped her hard enough she bruised for days…” When his eyes met hers again, there was a flash of anger, something she had yet to see from him. “I’m not say’n he’d hurt you either, I’m just say’n if he does, or he scares you, or you just want to leave for any reason… you have a home here. I’ll take care of you, Ellie June.”

Ellie’s eyes watered, but more importantly, she was focused on her stomach not spilling over in disgust. This was the nail in the coffin. Not only was her entire life a lie, but the man she had loved most in this world was no longer a safe person, no longer a good person, no longer her dad.

The dance was a week later, Ellie stepping out of her room in a dress to see Tommy turn around, mouth agape at the sight of his niece in a dress for the first time in… what? A decade? But Ellie ignored him.

“You look nice” Tommy tried to tell her as she stormed through the hall in the purple dress (a light jean jacket on to offset the purple) “Be safe. I’ll be there in a bit if you want to-” but she was gone before he could finish. Ellie and Tommy always danced together, starting with little Ellie in his arms, then standing on his feet, then slowly learning moves as Tommy swung her around. A year back, Ellie asked why he always danced with her, why he taught her all these fancy moves, and he said it was so Ellie wasn't impressed by “some no good Johnny sidestepping to a slow song. If he loves you, he'll learn how to do the pretzel.”

Ellie had no intention of dancing with Tommy tonight. He joined the town hall as promised a little bit after her carrying the moonshine he was famous for. He used to allow her and Dina some sips here and there if they swore to be responsible… but Ellie was not going to ask. Maybe she could get Jesse to get a cup for them, Tommy wouldn’t know how old Jesse was, right? Ellie couldn’t stand looking at Tommy any more… Over the last week, she had mauled over what Joel had revealed: Tommy taking her, Tommy, Zach and Lorenzo lying, Tommy hurting her mom, trying to take her away from Joel… she was disgusted. The man she knew didn’t exist.

The offer to move in with Joel was on the table, and Ellie was considering it… Only thing is, even if she was furious at Tommy, she was still going to miss her other uncles and her aunts. Jackson was all she knew. Of course, she’d need to move in with Joel eventually if she was going to take over, and sooner is better than later, but besides the obvious of leaving her hometown, there was a huge, glaring reason why Ellie was hesitant to leave, and she was dancing in Ellie’s arms right now.

Dina.

Ellie spoke softly to her friend as they slowly danced… it was that basic side to side that Tommy warned her about, but Dina wasn’t a man. Dina was Dina, just a friend… “Every guy in this room is staring at you right now.”

“Maybe they're staring at you.”

She nodded, but didn’t believe her. Ellie never thought of herself as much to look at. It wasn’t that she was self deprecating, to her, it was just a fact. But That’s okay, she didn’t need to be pretty… well, except to Dina. “They're not.”

“Maybe they're jealous of you.”

“I'm... just a girl. Not a threat.”

“Oh Ellie... I think they should be terrified of you.”

To Ellie’s surprise, Dina went in for a kiss… and to Ellie’s bigger surprise, she reciprocated it. It felt good, so, so good to finally let out that tension, that desire for her friend she’s had for so long… until she felt a strong grip on her shoulder, and she let go of Dina.

“Hey, this is a family event.”

Turning to see Seth, Ellie wanted to back away, to apoligize and leave it alone… but if she was going to lead a group of raiders in protecting a community, she needed to be strong, to be brave, she needed to be the kind of woman Joel thought she was. Although only 5’1, Ellie stood up as tall as she could get and faced off with the old man in front of her. “We weren’t doing anything, Seth.”

Seth glared down at her. “Yeah, you were. We don’t need another goddamn dyke in this town.”

Before Ellie could respond, Seth was ripped off of her, Ellie wobbling forwards as Seth’s grip on her shoulder was yanked away.

“Get your goddamn hands off my daughter!” Tommy shouts, shoving him back and away from Ellie. Zach jumps in, something about ‘Did you fucking hurt her?’ and predictably, Lorenzo isn’t far. Seth has some choice words to say to Renzo and Zach and Ellie knows a few of them are slurs, but in the chaos of the four men and the shock entering her system, she can’t make out much. Maria appears, telling Tommy to settle it, and Tommy calls her uncles away, telling Seth that if he finds him near his ‘child’ ever again, he’s a dead a man, earning a glare from Maria as she ushered Seth away.

Tommy turned to her, attempting to put his hands on her face but Ellie stumbled back in fear. She didn’t trust Tommy anymore.

“Fuck off!” She shouted at the man who had only ever been loving to her, watching his heart shatter in his dark eyes. Lorenzo and Zach’s voices are heard interchangeably trying to calm her down, but Ellie had tunned them out.

“Ellie, I’m sorry” Tommy began. “He had no right-”

“And you do?” She shouted back.

“Elles, what-”

“YOUR LYING TO ME!” It was all but a scream now, echoing off the walls of the dance hall that had now silenced at the scene unfolding before them. “You’re all fucking lying to me!” She referenced her married uncles watching them. “Fuck you!” Running away from them, running past Dina, Ellie took off into Jackson as Lorenzo’s voice called for her, his footsteps keeping after hers for a short while before he stopped. Uncle Renzo had been shot in his torso before she was born, and the old wound showed up in his limited ability to do cardio.

By the time Ellie had made it home, both hers and her uncles houses looked like the had gone to step. Ellie almost made it up the stairs to the porch when she heard Zach’s voice over from his. “Is that what you’ve been hiding?”

Ellie wiped her head around to see him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Zach didn’t move to get up, simple sat in his chair, watching her. He didn’t look made, worried, sad… he just looked like Zach.

“Dina. You guys seeing each other?”

A blush crept up Ellie’s face. “I- I don’t- that was nothing we just-”

“30 years ago, Ren and I wouldn’t have been able to get married, you know that?”

Ellie nodded. She did know that before, men weren’t allowed to marry men, and women weren’t allowed to marry women.

Zach continued, soft and calm as he always was. “You have a blessing here. I ain’t saying you need to fall in love and marry her, but… she treat you right?”

The teared welled up again. Yes, yes Dina absolutely did. “Y-yeah.”

He nodded again. “That’s all I need to know about that, Ellie Bellie. I need you to understand something. What we are- or rather, what me, Ren, June and Maura are… you don’t need to label anything right now. What we are, for thousands of years was something that meant we could be legally killed for and was something people continued to beat and kill us for up until the outbreak. It was only a few years before when a boy in this very state was killed for being gay; just a teenager, about your age. Hell, it happens still, I know, but I think there are so much bigger issues at hand, most people just… begrudgingly accept it. Some people, like Seth, say a few things but he wouldn’t beat you, wouldn’t torture you, wouldn’t see the things I’ve seen…” Zach closed his eyes and shook his head before opening them. He didn’t say a thing about the tears that had finally fallen from Ellie’s face. “I ain’t tryna scare ya, or guilt trip ya. I’m just saying… it’s a beautiful thing to be living somewhere that we don’t gotta hide anymore. And if you are gay, I just… I need you to know, you don’t have to be afraid or ashamed. I love you, very much, so do Lorenzo, June and Maura. And even though you aren’t talking, Tommy would die for your right to love who you love.”

Ellie couldn’t talk. She could betray how much she had been crying in the light of the moon, how much Zach’s words had touched her, how much she was scared of her future. But Zach knew.

He nodded one final time. “Slam the door when you get in so Tommy knows you’re safe.”

It wasn’t long after the dance that things escalated for Ellie. Joel had been walking with her, showing her the rounds as he usually did when he asked if she’d like to take things a step further, if she wanted to see what he really did, the hard parts.

Of course she did. “What do you mean?”

Joel nudged her off their regular path that Ellie was getting to know, and explained. “Got a man, justice that needs to be served. You okay with seeing that?”

Ellie didn’t need to know what kind of justice it was. She trusted Joel, and if he thought the man needed to die, then he needed to die. Soon, she was standing in front of a man with a black bad over his head who was tied up to a tree. By the sounds of his muffled whimpers and cried, he must have been gagged by something. He was afraid, desperately trying to get out of the ties that bound him to the rough trunk that left bleeding scratches on his arms and hands.

Suddenly face to face with the concept, Ellie’s resolve wavered around her. “Joel, I don’t know…” The man paused for a second, listening to her it seemed.

Joel turned to her, his face open but firm. “This is part of the job. You can’t just have others doing the dirty work, we gotta be able to do as we tell others, Ellie June.” When Jole emphasized her name, the man began screaming in hysterics, writhing and thrashing against the tree which only served to disturb Ellie more.

The leaves and sticks beneath her crackled and she shifted her weight to the other foot. “I dunno… do I have to watch?”

His face was grave and serious. “Ellie June, if you don’t think you can do this, you can tell me now. You’ll always be my daughter and I’ll love you and take care of you. You don’t have to take over-”

“No!” Ellie jumped in, trying to ignore the frantic pleas from the man in front of her. “Just… he deserves it, right?”

“Absolutely. I don’t hurt people who don’t deserve it.” Joel talked over the wailing that was growing increasingly hard to ignore. “We don’t tolerate rapists here.”

Ellie gave her consent, and Joel, inturn, gave her earplugs. “Don’t wanna end up deaf like your old man.”

Stepping up to the man, Joel placed the gun up to his bag-covered forehead and fired. To Ellie’s shame, she mostly felt relief that the man stopped screaming, even though it was because the life left his body, head hanging down low as his body slumped forward. Shock was probably the best way to describe her feelings, she was unable to process witnessing her first death… but he deserved it, right? This was good. The man was a rapist. Rapists deserve death, and Joel didn’t tolerate rapists in his communities. This was a good thing. This was a good thing. Joel was a good guy. Joel protected women. Tommy had hurt her mom. Joel protected her mom. This was a good thing.

“What are you doing?” Ellie asked, shaking like a leaf- when did she start shaking? Was she scared? There was no reason to be scared, not of Joel. This was a good thing.

Joel was bent over the man, lifting up his sleeve and doing something Ellie couldn’t see.

“Always take credit for what you do, Ellie June. Never hide in the shadows.”

This was a good thing.

*****************

Ellie's name comes from Jurassic Park bc i fucking said so. I love Jurassic Park, so sue me.

Anway! Lots happening here

Fun fact I was already planning on having Tommy defend Ellie against someone being homophobic and I'm talking to Maura about it, and she, who loves the games and played the second one, goes "you'll never beleive this" turns out theres a scene in the game XD so hey!

All the stuff in little ones rooms made me emo esp the playing cards ;-;

and the irony of Joel saying he doesnt tollerate rapists SIDE EYE

@maura-honey @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @the-fox-den @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @koshkaj-blog @primosworld @miraclesabound @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

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sweetchcolate · 10 months

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I was not exactly surprised about stockholm syndrome accusations towards Shall/Anne (power imbalance exists at first) but still, even without considering troubling origins of the term, Shall... doesn't seem to operate in a way that lends itself towards developing it. Arguably even his 'I hate everyone' brother Lalafe- Lafa- Rafael is more liable to end up with something like that under right circumstances.

Shall meanwhile doesn't just protect himself via cutting everyone off emotionally - he literally seems to filter everything through the strict roles defined by relative positions of power - he is reduced to property and dehumanized so there is no point for anything like relationships with people who dehumanize and entrap him. He only categorizes them into 'possibly useful for escaping', 'has power over him', 'everyone else' (maybe why he ends up designating Anne as luggage in his mind- that's a whole other point and it is not a post but an ask in the askbox and it is already long)

So it was weird but also not really. Like, it feels like he would have developed his feelings faster if he wasn't bought by Anne but rather if they met under some other set of circumstances.

What do you think? About the early power dynamics talks and about Shall's mindset I mean.

Hey, my bad it took a while to answer! Putting this under read more because it gets a bit long.

Shall [...] literally seems to filter everything through the strict roles defined by relative positions of power - he is reduced to property and dehumanized so there is no point for anything like relationships with people who dehumanize and entrap him. He only categorizes them into 'possibly useful for escaping', 'has power over him', 'everyone else' (maybe why he ends up designating Anne as luggage in his mind- that's a whole other point and it is not a post but an ask in the askbox and it is already long)

This is perfect, I have nothing to add.

This is exactly how early Shall acts with Anne and later Bridget when she becomes in possession of his wing! His view of relationships with humans (other than Liz) has been shaped exclusively through the master/slave lense and in that sense, I don't see him ever growing to genuinely care for his master.

That's not to say Shall's insensitive to occasional shows of kindness, such as Anne giving him food or bedding, feeding him first, insisting they all eat together, etc., or his masters's circumstances (like that one noble boy who longed for companionship or Bridget, who's also lonely and not listened to), but he doesn't let that affect him as it doesn't change how their roles in this relationship are skewed. They have power over him; he's their possession. End of the story.

Anything that tries to go beyond that dynamic is certain to be fake and affected by that power imbalance.

it feels like he would have developed his feelings faster if he wasn't bought by Anne but rather if they met under some other set of circumstances.

Oof, that's a tough one. Ironically enough, I don't think he'd have warmed up to her as quickly, if only because he'd have no reason to interact with Anne in any other circumstances.

In canon, the LN mentions that he stayed with Anne after the fair not only because he was touched by her kindness, but also because he felt needed. She gave him purpose, something to strive for. Being with her also had the benefit of people assuming he was her pet fairy, making him unavailable.

All of which all gets stripped away in the Philax arc when Anne sends him away. What does a hundred y.o warrior fairy, who spent most of that time enslaved and who just lost the only two people he ever cared for and who cared for him (Liz and Anne), do now that he's on his own?

Join human society or pursue a craft of some kind? Out of his reach, because no one sees a fairy as an equal individual and no one would stay quiet about a free fairy for long;

Live in secrecy on his lonesome for the decades he has left to live, with no one to care for him or talk with? A depressing and lonely outcome;

Roam the kingdom to explore the world? Sounds like the best option, but...

in all these scenarios, he runs the risk of getting attacked by fairy hunters, either dying in the process of fighting them off or being made a slave again. In the end, Shall's freedom would always be in danger.

If Shall met Anne as a free fairy in their current society, I think he would withdraw ASAP instead of engaging with her. The only way I could see them interacting in an organic manner is if Shall was incapable of fleeing. For example, if he was severely wounded or starved (and Anne would offer to help by sheltering him or giving him silver sugar). Even then, it'd be very painful on him; it'd be hard to let his guard down since both his life and freedom are at stake (whereas as an enslaved fairy he has... little to lose but his life). I can see him being even more abrasive and evasive, wanting to leave the second he's in good enough shape.

If Shall met Anne while under someone else's thumb, I think it'd go much like their first canon meeting: goad her into buying him to trade his current owner for someone more innocent, easier to escape from.

The other big factor that could influence how he interacts with Anne and how he develops feelings for her is Rafael. Should Shall meet him before Anne, I have no doubt he'd join his brother, whatwith all his distrust, cynicism, and bleak view of humanity at large (not that he'd be super enthusiastic about traveling with Rafael, but better a fellow strong fairy than the chance of falling back in human hands while also getting his revenge on said humans).

Though I don't think he'd take well to Rafael making other fairies give up their wing in allegiance to him (considering how Shall tried to give Mythril a chance to run away from Anne when they first met, thinking she was the one who owned Mythril's wing). This could be a point of contention, something which would make Shall reconsider helping Rafael.

An interesting first meeting between Shall and Anne could then be set after Rafael kidnaps her to make him silver sugar. Shall could be in charge of checking up on her and her work, and through their interactions (her views about fairies deserving freedom, finding how they gave their wings to Rafael abhorrent, etc.) grow to understand her and even care for her. It could be the tipping point Shall needs to dump Rafael, and he'd remain with Anne out of both curiosity and a feeling of responsability.

All that to say... there are sooo many angles to Shall and Anne's first meeting and their early relationship, especially if you move outside of canon. It's why I love early SAFT as well as SAFT AUs so much!

Thank you for your ask and for waiting! This was really fun!

#sugar apple fairy tale #shall fen shall #sweetchcolate's nonsense of the day #anonymous #thanks for the ask!#:>#long post #anne halford

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