#lateral oppression is so much fun

[johannestevans]

queer cisgender women love to invite "women and nonbinary individuals" to their events bc they might be down with queer solidarity but they draw the line at trans men or random nonbinary ppl they've decided are too scary and need to be gatekept away from events

[revasserium]

hiii can i pls request zayne with prompt 60 “home”? also love ur writing btw and i look forward to reading more of ur works <333

send me one + a character and i'll write u a drabble

60. home

zayne; 2,264 words; fluff, fem!reader, no "y/n", whipped!zayne, implied sex, fade to black, zayne being a simp as per usual

summary: a friday afternoon

a/n: idk i just love writing dialogue for zayne he's so !!!!

The Hospital - Friday, 4:36PM

Linoleum floors and fluorescent lights; the smell of antiseptic, the rhythmic beeps and hums of heart rate monitors and nebulizer machines. He spends too much time here, knows the flow of the hospital like he knows the web of arteries and capillaries in the human body, the wards branching off of each other, the hustle and bustles of nurses and staff familiar, oppressive.

It is only in the quiet of his own office, with its big windows and even bigger piles of paperwork (be it virtual or physical), that he ever allows himself to relax. He glances at the vase of brightly colored tulips on his desk and allows himself a grin. He remembers the shape of you, can feel the weight of your hand in his as you’d tugged him around the farmer’s market on Sunday morning, pointing at the various vendors, asking to try a bite of this and a bit of that, until finally, you’d come across the flower seller — a middle-aged woman with a sweet smile and a gleeful glint in her eyes as she explained about the language of flowers.

“There’s sunshine in your smile,” you’d repeated, looking down at the yellow tulips before grinning up at Zayne.

“Perfect for you, isn’t it?”

He could hear the tease in your voice, see that familiar playful twinkle in your eyes and he’d raised an eyebrow before wordlessly handing over a few bills from his wallet.

And now the flowers sit, quiet save for all their brilliance, on his desk, in a simple vase filled with crystal-clear water. He stares at it for a second longer before pulling out his phone and swiping it open to your contact.

Coming home early today, he texts. Immediately, a typing bubble appears, and a second later, a short shoomp sound as your reply appears on his screen —

oh? dr. zayne leaving work early??? is the sun setting in the east today?

He chuckles to himself before dialing your line and a second later, your voice answers, a little hesitant.

“Hello?”

“If you’re going to be sarcastic, at least do it in person.”

Shuffling noises, and then — “Not my fault you’re never around for me to be mean to you in person.”

Zayne leans back in his chair with a sigh, “Hn. How’s shopping with Tara?”

“Fun! But my legs are getting tired…”

“I can meet you at the main shopping center around 5:30.”

A moment of quiet, and then “Ah… but that’s still an hour from now…”

Zayne scoffs, “I could stay till 7PM like I usually do —”

“No, no! That’s… that’s not what I meant — I’ll see you at 5:30, then? Don’t be late!”

You end the call before he can protest and for a second, Zayne stares at the screen, the picture of your smiling face fading after another few seconds as the phone screen darkens.

“Doctor? Your next patient is here,” the nurse calls through his closed door.

“Yes, I’ll be right there.” Zayne glances once more at the yellow tulips on his desk before pushing himself up and adjusting his white coat. He’ll have to make a note to change the water soon.

City Center Shopping Mall - Friday, 5:38PM

“You made it!”

Zayne turns at the sound of your voice to find you slightly breathless as you jog up to him, coming to a stop a few steps away.

“You sound surprised.”

A blush dusts your cheeks as you avert your eyes, “I — I’m not! I just thought… you might be a bit later than this.”

Zayne keeps his expression neutral even as he reaches out to take your hand, casually lacing his fingers between yours. He feels you give him a small squeeze and contents himself with letting you take the lead as the pair of you start to wander through the mall, glancing at the window displays.

“Oh… that smells good!” you both pause as the smell of scallions and garlic warms the air. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, “I think it’s coming from that restaurant over there! Tara was telling me that it just opened a week ago and it’s already going viral online for their stuffed pancakes —”

“C’mon then.” Zayne starts off for the restaurant.

“W-wait! We don’t have a reservation! We’ll never get in!”

Zayne keeps walking, gently tugging you behind him till you both round the corner to see a truly impressive line outside the restaurant doors. He walks passed the massive line straight to the front where a smiling girl in a flowery apron stands at an electronic podium, taking down the names of the next party in line.

“Is Liam here?”

“O-oh! Uhm, I think so!” the girl blinks, surprised as she looks down at her reservation list, “May I ask who’s asking?”

“Zayne.”

The girl nods as she slips into the restaurant. Beside him, you look up, confused.

“Do you know someone here?”

Zayne nods but doesn’t explain any further as the smiling girl comes back and motions for you both to follow her.

“Right this way Dr. Zayne! Enjoy your meal!”

Zayne gives your hand a small tug as you stumble after him, the confusion on your face blossoming into something like surprise as the pair of you duck into the bustling restaurant to be greeted by an enthusiastic young man, around Zayne’s age, his sleeves rolled up, a bandana tied around his forehead.

“Zayne! You should’ve told me you were coming!”

“It was a last-minute decision,” Zayne supplies, shaking Liam’s hand firmly, pulling you into his side even as Liam’s eyes slide onto you.

“Oh… is this the girl you were always talking about back in —”

“I think we’ll take a booth in the back, thanks,” Zayne cuts him off with a loud cough, already making for the back of the restaurant. Liam laughs good-naturedly, leading you both to a booth tucked in the very corner, away from most of the noise and bustle.

You inch into the booth, casting Zayne a curious look.

“Is that the owner? How do you know him?”

Zayne doesn’t look up as he glances over the menu before pushing it towards you.

“We went to medical school together. Pick anything you want, it’s all very good.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, “And he decided to become a chef instead?”

Zayne’s lips twitch, “Is that so unbelievable?”

You shrug, looking down at the menu at last, pursing your lips, “No… it’s just… did he drop out of med school then?”

Zayne shakes his head, “No, he was one of the best in our year.”

“Oh. Then…?”

Zayne taps the menu, “I thought you were hungry.”

You blush, looking down, “I am!”

It’s not till the middle of the meal that Zayne speaks again —

“He said it didn’t make him happy.”

You look up, your cheeks bulging with food. Zayne watches you swallow with a concerted effort, reaching out to wipe at your lips with an indulgent smile even as you swat at his hand.

“Liam? About… being a doctor?”

“Yes. And… in a way, I understood him. He said that the kitchen’s always felt more like home.”

You purse your lips, looking at your half-eaten stuffed pancake.

“Then… does the hospital feel like home? To you?”

Zayne chuckles, leaning forward to add some more veggies to your bowl with his chopsticks.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Then…” you trail off, waiting for his answer. There’s a familiar color seeping into your cheeks as Zayne looks you over before his eyes flicker down to your bowl.

“Eat. Or else the veggies will go cold.”

Zayne’s Apartment - Friday, 7:01PM

“I’m so full!” you slump down onto his couch with a long sigh, patting your stomach.

“You were the one who wanted seconds of dessert,” Zayne says, hanging up his coat and turning to join you on the couch. You make a small noise as he lifts your legs and lays them across his lap, his thumbs absently digging into the backs of your calves.

“Ow…” you make to jerk your leg away as he hits a knot but he only grips your ankle and pulls it back with a soft tut.

“Hold still.”

You bury your face in one of the couch cushions as he continues to silently knead at your calf muscles.

“There, better?” his voice is soft now, tugging on the frayed ends of your subconscious as you turn your head to blink at him, a bit dazed.

“Yeah… lots better. Thanks.”

You make to get up but he loops an arm around your back and lifts you easily from the couch, bridal style.

“Zayne?”

“You’re staying the night, right?” he asks, even as he makes for the bedroom.

“I — I am?”

He glances down at your face as he sets you down on his bed.

“I can still drive you home if you want —” He makes to pull away.

“No! I — I can stay. I mean — I want to stay.” You reach up to tug at his shirt, fingers crumpling the material as he stills. You can feel your cheeks blazing as his gaze flickers over your face before settling on your lips.

“Alright then.”

There’s a breath’s pause before you give his shirt another tentative tug and he tips forward with the motion, leaning in to brush his lips against yours.

A soft groan bubbles out of you as Zayne presses you back and back and back, until he’s caged over you, trailing hot lips down the line of your neck, skimming his teeth along your collarbones.

“Mm — Z-Zayne…?”

He pulls back, his eyes a bit unfocused as he looks you over — you can feel the weight of his gaze as it flutters over the planes and ridges of your face, from the arch of your brows to the line of your nose. You can’t help blushing beneath this intense scrutiny, and you tug once more at his shirt, your fingers somehow having inched up to his collar, one of your fingers hooked into the top loop of his buttons.

He reaches up to cover your hand with his, fingers easily curling around your smaller hand.

“What is it?”

You lick your lips, stomach twisting, the base rumble of his voice sending shivers shaking through your body.

“Nothing just… I don’t remember you drinking at dinner so…”

He leans down to press a soft kiss to the back of your hand before dropping it back to his shirt collar.

“No, but… alcohol’s not the only thing that might cause someone to lose hold of their senses…”

You watch as his eyes darken at your intake of breath, the way his grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly.

“Then…” you swallow, eyes fluttering shut as you feel his lips trail back up your neck to your jaw.

“Are you going to make me say it?”

You let out a tiny whimper as he presses a leg up between yours, his breath now hot against the lobe of your ear.

“Say… what?”

Zayne pulls back just far enough to cock an eyebrow at you. And like this, you’ve never seen anything so alluring — the sight of him with his shirt tugged open, his eyes blown dark with desire, his hair slightly mussed from your eager fingers, his lips kissed pink, his cheeks warm with color.

“Hn. Is this my punishment then?”

“For what?”

“For being late to meet you.”

You fight back a grin, “Well… you did say I could be mean to you in person.”

Zayne lets out a sigh, “Alright then.”

You walk your fingers up his chest before pushing him back till you’re both sitting up again. He waits patiently for you to push him down and straddle his hips, slowly tugging open the buttons of his shirt, loosening his tie till it hangs undone around his neck. You lean in to press a soft kiss to his chest and revel in the way he hisses.

His fingers reach up for your hips and you catch them with a quick shake of your head.

“No touching… not till I say.”

Zayne stares at you for a second before relaxing and letting his hands fall back onto the sheets.

And it’s not until you lean down to kiss at his exposed abdomen that he groans, head tipping back. Then, a second later, you find yourself pinned beneath him, breathless, Zayne towering over you with parted lips, the moon casting stark shadows along the lines of his face.

“I said you could be mean… I didn’t say I wouldn’t retaliate.”

After, when the pair of you are curled into each other like pieces of jigsaw puzzle that’s finally found its missing parts, his breath warm along the nape of your neck, Zayne finds himself smiling.

“It’s always been you…” he murmurs, though he’s nearly certain you’re already asleep, your breathing sweet and level, your body pliant and perfect against his.

He laces his hands between yours and drops a soft kiss onto the skin of your bare shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter what I do… or where I do it… because my home has always been… you.”

[writingwithcolor]

Diversity Win: Is "Crazy Rich" POC Representation Necessarily Empowering?

sodapopsculptor asked:

I’m writing a story with two sets of protagonists: A trio with a Black girl, a Latino, and a Vietnamese-American boy who all come from middle-upper class to ridiculously rich families, and a pair of white working-middle class sisters. They’re all heroes of this story. I’ve seen way too many rich white people and poor poc people in fiction, and I’m kinda getting sick of it, but I’m worried that by having the poc kids be rich and the white girls not so much, I’ll be reinforcing the idea that poc somehow rule the world. The only time the rich kids use their status as leverage is when the Asian threatens to sic his cop dad on a bully (race unstated but I imagined him as white) picking on a freshman, and during the Black girl’s birthday party, when she pays the biggest jock there fifty bucks (And later says offhandedly that it was just what she had in her pocket) to chase off a creep hitting on her.

OP, have you ever seen the “diversity win!” meme before?

I understand that your motivation for these narrative choices is to give POC a chance, if you will, to be the rich characters. But it is evident from this ask that you have not asked yourself what this entails. I want to ask you to critically examine the race and class intersections you’re creating here, as well as these kids’ roles in oppressive systems.

You explain that these rich POC are heroes and only have righteous reasons for leveraging their power.

But is your Black girl character aware of the potential disciplinary and/or legal consequences her jock accomplice might face while she has the resources to keep her hands clean? Are you?

Is your Asian character aware of how much of an abuse of power it is to “sic” a cop on someone, and the sheer amount of harm a criminal record or incarceration does to a juvenile with behavior issues? Are you?

So you want to put POC in positions of power for #representation.

Does it resonate with the group you’re representing?

Do you research and portray the unique ways race, ethnicity, class, and majority vs. minority status come together?

Or are you putting these characters in oppressive hegemonic roles for the sake of a power fantasy, on behalf of a group you're not even in?

To your question, you're not reinforcing the idea that "POC rule the world" because such a generalized belief does not exist. Instead, you're reinforcing:

The idea that society has “winners” and “losers.”

The idea that the problem with disproportionately powerful people is the lack of “equal opportunity” as opposed to the power imbalance to begin with.

The idea that those in oppressive positions of power need only have the right intentions to justify their use of it.

To be clear: that is not to say that you can't have jerk aristocrat billionaire millionaire crazy rich POC. Evil or mean rich characters are fun! I have some myself! You can even have rich characters who are gentle-hearted and well-intentioned, but you have to know the ways in which they’re privileged and decide how aware of that your characters are. That’s no problem.

But if you think that wealthy and powerful POC would have the same values and priorities as their poorer counterparts, you’re deluding yourself. There’s a reason why the quote “power corrupts” exists. There’s a reason why no matter where you look on the globe, there are historical dictators and tyrants.

If you want bratty rich POC who lack regard for the consequences of their actions, because you want bratty rich characters, great! If you want them because it would be uplifting or empowering representation? You’re doing it for the wrong reason.

~ Rina

I fully agree with Rina, and truly want to emphasize the last paragraph.

If you want bratty rich POC who lack regard for the consequences of their actions, because you want bratty rich characters, great! If you want them because it would be uplifting or empowering representation? You’re doing it for the wrong reason.

I don't think you need to aim to subvert or purposely make all the BIPOC rich and powerful and the white people poor and suffering. Add diversity and include upper class rich and class privileged BIPOC, sure thing! And you can avoid your fears of intentional subversion message by including rich and powerful white characters as well, even if they're not the focus of your story. Just their existence helps. You could also include middle-class characters of Color as well.

More reading: Black in upper-class society

~Mod Colette

[penguinsfly]

I unfortunately saw something I didn't want to see and that was my last straw. I'm fucking doing this.

Let's establish this first. Alastor is stated in the show to be asexual that is not up to discussion. He is also very heavily implied in the same conversation to be aromatic. 'An Ace in the hole' being used in context of him being with Charlie is also implying his aromanticism.

VIDEO

If that's not enough then here is Viv speaking about his romantic orientation. It's pretty clear despite the fact that afterwards she said it's okay to headcanon whatever (it's not but I will get o that later) that he is written purely as an aro ace character.

On top of that going by Alastor's interaction with Angel from the pilot and the first episode it is clear that he is sex repulsed. Not only that but on the fandom website he is stated to be touch averse with two sources which you can check out on the website.

Hazbin hotel wiki, Alastor page

Now we established that Alastor is canonically Asexual, Aromantic, Sex Repulsed and Touch Averse

As I also am all of the above I'll try to explain everything to the best of my ability as simply as I can.

Aromanticism and Asexuality.

I'm probably targeting the audience that knows those terms but regardless I will explain it anyway.

Aromantic - people that experience little to no romantic attraction towards any gender

Asexual - people that experience little to no sexual attraction towards any gender.

Little to no

Asexuality and aromanticism are spectrums in which people can feel certain attractions towards people but those attractions are less occurring or are defined by personal connection.

Diagram from AVEN website

However some people are at the end of the spectrum, they never felt attraction and that's valid. Alastor was stated to be aroace he wasn't written as demi or as gray he was written as aroace as in the end of the spectrum. His repulsion and not giving shit about romance or sex speaks for itself.

Representation

I do understand that everyone wants to be represented but it's so important to understand that aroace people are one of the most underrepresented queer groups in the media.

And I'm not here to scream about how I want my fav character to be just like me I don't care for it I'm way too confident in my orientation to rely on that however I'm tired of explaining to people what asexuality and aromanticism is just to receive 'are you sure' or 'you'll change your mind' or 'its not real' or the community favourite 'you'll find the right person' no I won't I'm not looking thank you very much (I just smile and nod to be polite and I'm sick of it).

'Harmless' buts like: 'He might be on the spectrum', 'AroAce people can still feel attraction' hurt the final outcome for all the people on the spectrum not only strictly aroaces because it allows people to write one shots with 'Demi Alastor' that falls in love in 2000 words because he is 'demi' (spoiler alert: they don't understand what that label means). It's just a cover, an opening, sneaky way to disregard his orientation, feel good about themselves and move on. Newsflash there is no moving on for aroace people it's our life.

Shipping

Shipping is just harmless fun right? Usually yes but not in this case. In the same way its not okay to ship gay characters with genders they are not attracted to.

It's erasure and since there is much less people identifying on aro/ace spectrums then there is gay or bi people our voices are being silenced. Not to mention that gay people received support from entire LGBTQIA+ community over the years in contrast to aro/ace specs who to this day are told that we are 'not queer enough' or 'not oppressed enough' often by other queer people.

And finally... FINALLY we get cannon Aro/Ace character that is clearly not interested in romance and sex. Character that beats stereotypes of boring and timid aro/ace people and what's the first people do? They ship him. Alastor's storyline provides so many points to be explored like 'what is his backstory', ' what's about his deal', ' how does he fit in in the found family trope' , 'does he care about hotel guests' yet people choose to write about the only thing that he is not interested in. As a heavily repulsed person that used to be horrified about the fact that I'll have to fall in love with somebody at some point before I found out what aro/ace is I find it repulsive and trust me he would too.

But Viv said it's okay!

Its the same point once again. What if Viv said that it's okay to ship gay Angel with woman. She doesn't have authority to say shit like that.

Queerplatonic relationships

I can't tell you not to do it I don't think he would be necessary interested in it but for fuck sake do your research and try to understand what queerplatonic means before you use it as a cover to shamelessly ship him. Respect the fact that he is sex repulsed and touch averse and you're fine.

Why can't you just avoid it?

First of all I shouldn't have to. Alastor's orientation should be respected in the fandom like any other orientation is. Second of all I've tried. I tried to only look up AroAce Alastor tag I've blocked over 80 people on tumblr alone (I just counted) to avoid to see anything that could trigger me and I'm not talking about slightly shippy posts or fanarts I'm talking about full blown disregard towards his orientation. Guess what it didn't work!

Archive of our own where do I start. I've used this website for over a decade and I could probably count days I didn't go there on my fingers. I'm fluent in AO3 I know which tags I should block. I know how to skim thorough the summary and tags to see if I'm interested. I've seen shit I'm a shipper I've been on ao3 for ten years but never had to mentally prepare myself to face queerphobia as I click on the tab.

Just use aro/ace Alastor tag.

I do and let me tell you people can't tag for shit or they just pretend to be clueless at this point. Besides see this?

there is more ff with Alastor/reader (disgusting) than there is Alastor with his canon orientation and to play the devils advocate for arophobic people there is more Angel/Alastor then his stated in the show sexuality. I understand that fandom goes back before the show was aired but Viv confirmed his orientation back then too.

Summary

I could go on and on bout different issues and maybe I will in the future but I'm not wasting anymore of this weekend on it. I'm ready to answer any questions as long as they are respectful.

I'm aware that he is a fictional character, it doesn't affect him in any way whatsoever but it does affect aromantic and asexual people keep it in mind.

If there are any mistakes grammar related I'm not sorry I'm fluent in English (not my first language) but I took 3h nap in between and I'm sleep deprived.

Have a nice day.

[adiluv-moved]

✦ : ❝ 𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐢𝐝𝐞 !

꒰synopsis꒱ in which you’re hurt, and it affects scaramouche far more than he’d like to admit. 1165 words.

꒰warnings꒱ angst, non-graphic mentions of injuries and blood, scaramouche needs a hug and a hot cup of tea ꒰as a treat꒱.

꒰adi moment꒱ literally cannot stop naming my fics after songs! genuinely so fun! anyway, it's been a while since i've written any angst, so here's an attempt at writing some for mr. mouche! i hope you enjoy! ໒꒰ྀི..◜ᴗ◝..꒱ྀི১

Bright lights, foreign machinery, gloved hands, white fabric stained red. The oppressive stench of antiseptic weighs heavy in the air, tainted only by the faint hint of something metallic, and were his mechanical body capable of accomplishing such a fear, Scaramouche is certain that it would’ve caused him to faint.

Pushing past patients and staff alike, he comes to deem the hypothetical preferable. A mercy, really, one that his creator was much too cruel to bestow upon him, one that he knew the Doctor would loathe to bless him with. What he wouldn’t give to lie back down on that cold vivisection table, gears and wires jutting out of porcelain skin. To have been in the right place at the right time, to have been attacked in your stead, to see you carrying on at one of the many other Fatui camps, none the wiser as to the tortures he’s endured. For your sake, no less.

꒰Because he could handle it. Because those wounds would heal.꒱

Scaramouche doesn’t think he’ll survive a fourth betrayal. 

He bumps into a particularly rowdy patient, then, catches himself as she’s sent stumbling into a wall. The coat of her uniform, worn proudly atop her medical gown, looks more akin to something out of a Fontainian horror film than official garb, ripped up and stained to an almost unrecognizable state. One of the injured, clearly. One of the other soldiers by your side. So why was it that she could walk around just fine?

The blood drains from her face as she whirls around to confront him, a look of abject horror taking the place of her previous scowl. Static wells up in the air, and she quickly kneels, though her body seems to protest the sudden movement. Insults swirl around in his mind, and Electro gathers at his fingertips, yet he finds himself paralyzed before her, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted as she trembles. Like a leaf caught in the midst of a hurricane.

Somewhere out in the Inazuman countryside, a child plucks one off a branch, bright red pressed against his cheek to match his dutifully applied eyeliner. An abrupt gust of wind rips it from the tiny hand, whisking it away to someplace neither can follow. The boy tries anyway. The puppet finds that he can’t keep up.

꒰The boy slips out of his sight entirely.꒱

The pit within his chest grows impossibly larger, the bāchīs attached to his hat colliding with her figure as he turns around. She breathes out a sigh of relief, and he hears somebody rush over to help her up. He’d deal with it later.

Save for your unconscious body, your hospital room is empty when he arrives. A small table sits before your bed, and a bouquet of unbloomed flowers obscures the view of your face, droplets of water condensing on the surface of the clear vase. This is not done for other patients, he knows. A small part of him can’t help but wonder whether the gesture was for your sake or his.

He’s hardly in control of his limbs as he enters the space, closes his eyes only to see glances of a golden feather and fire and blood dripping out of an ornate, handheld box, and—His fingers curl around the top rail of a chair, pulling it to your bedside. A small, shaky, pathetic noise escapes him as he sits, a hand shooting up to readjust the hat sitting atop his head. The bells attached to it mock him. It takes an embarrassing amount of self-restraint to keep from throwing it across the room, though he eventually settles for laying it onto the floor beside him. 

Scaramouche doesn’t think he’ll survive a fourth betrayal.

There is something fragile, foul, and bloody resting inside of your chest. Like a winding key, almost, he remembers the blacksmiths telling him, a tool that powers humans, not unlike the electricity that powered him. A heart. 

He had wanted one of his own, once, back when he was young and stupid. So he could feel, just as humans felt. So he could love, just as humans loved. So he could be, just as humans did. But he was smarter, now, outgrown the foolish name he’d been given, the banal traditions taught to him, the disgusting emotions that they’d once defiled his hollow chest with. And only now, in some sick twist of fate, was his childish dream finally realized.

꒰What have you done to him?꒱

His fingertips tentatively graze over the middle of your bandaged chest, almost as if you were made of glass, almost as if he feared that his touch might shatter you. He could shatter you, really, if he wanted to; would, even, if it were anybody else lying before him. You’re lucky in that sense, he muses, yet it seemed that not even luck could lessen the extent of your injuries. You were human, after all. Inherently weak. Easily breakable. Why you so foolishly chose to rush into battle rather than wait for his return, he doubts even the Goddess of Wisdom would be able to understand.

꒰He could’ve protected you. Why didn’t you let him protect you?꒱

You don’t stir as he moves his chair closer, wood scraping against wood until his legs are pressed uncomfortably against the side of the mattress. Although he refuses to worship any God, he finds himself praying that your eyes don’t suddenly shoot open to witness him in such a demeaning state. You’ve never taken your wounds seriously, after all, and he doubts he’d be able to handle your asinine nonchalance. More than that, however, should the pain overwhelm you past your limit, he knows he won’t be able to handle your grief.

He sucks in a breath, unnecessary as it is. Then another, only to find it catching in his throat. His hands tremble, and he bows his head. He, the Balladeer. He, the son of Baal. He, a discarded puppet, lays his head directly atop your heart, hangs onto its every beat like a devout, and sullies your bandages with the tears of a failed creation.

You’re here with him. Unconscious, but breathing. It is not enough, but it will do, at least for the time being. Because you’ll wake up. Because you have to. Because he loves you, like a fool, like humans do.

Because Scaramouche doesn’t think he’ll survive a fourth betrayal.

A nurse enters your room the next morning, golden rays of light streaming through the window and onto your bed. The Balladeer sleeps alongside you, hands clutching desperately onto the fabric of the thick coat now carefully draped over your body. His makeup is smudged, red eyeliner streaking down his face, the gorgeous strands of his indigo hair splayed out messily around him. They consider waking him, though the thought is quickly abandoned. Even they know to choose their battles wisely. 

꒰A tear slides down his cheek. They close the door behind them when they leave.꒱

[starsexplodeatnight]

Ghost x Pre-school teacher!Reader

A request from @maxicorn !!! My first request! And its a good one!!!

It was dark in the back of the plane. But he knew where he was, the fuselage of the plane jerking subtly with their descent.

Simon was home.

Didn't feel like it yet. His mind was still smothered in an oppressive slog of adrenaline that refused to yield and let him relax.

He used to not care. He never had anyone to come home too. Now that he does? He notices. Or really, he cares enough to acknowledge things he's ignored because they worry you.

As much as he hates to worry you, its nice. Nice to have someone who cares.

The door creaks open, blinding them with the light from outside. England was fucking sunny, go figure.

Battered but not bloody, Ghost makes his way down the plane and his feet hit tarmac. It felt good...

The sight that met him was even better.

There you stood, beaming at him. Hair whipping around from the wind kicked up from the plane landing. And all of your students were lined up in front of you.

They all had paper plate masks on their faces, all of them crafted to look like skulls. Mimicking him. Oh god, that fucking hurt his heart.

You had yours propped on top your head so he could see your face.

"Lieutenant!!!" "Ghost!" "Mr Ghost!" All of them cheer, bouncing on place. They all obediently stayed put, they'd promised best behavior if they got to see him land.

How did you manage it? He stood dumbfounded, staring like an idiot.

Laswell, she stood next to you with a miniscule smile... She tips her head towards you and raised her brows minutely. Approval of his choice.

Ghost lumbers over, dropping his duffle and looks down at the tiny humans. They all held out gifts, masks still in place. Macaroni necklaces, pictures of what vaguely resembled him and hand crafted... Stuff... They children all showed their idol.

Simon laughs, a small sound before lurching forward. He snatched your paper plate mask off your head, held it up to sheild your faces as he simultaneously pulls up his mask up. Exposing the lower half of his scruffy face.

The shocked look on your face was worth those 4 fucking rotten months away... So were the disgusted gagging of the little ones.

They crowd him, tugging at his gear, begging for stories as you stare at him star struck. That was the first time he's kissed you in public! Infront of what you believe to be his boss!! You could be wrong but, still!!!

Your face heats up immediately, Ghost chuckles. "Come on." He grunts, grabbing his duffle in one hand and the lead rope for the kids in the other. "Lets get them home."

You try and take the rope from him as the kids all grab on. He let go, only to envelop your hand in his so you both lead the kids off the tarmac...

It was so much fucking better than nice to have someone care...

Years later? Every single one of your students remember you and Simon ... Especially the ones who got to see him come home that day. Some even still have their paper masks, somewhere.

They'll call out to you in the street if they see you. Run up and hug the both of you... The little girls who used to play tea with Simon now tweens, run up and all squeeze him...

(They all have high standards for dating now. If they aren't treated like how Mr.Ghost treated Ms._ then they can beat it!)

They coo over your new baby, all begging to be your babysitter... All begging to be back in your lives again....

So many people care about Simon Riley… he can’t hardly believe it. Even to this day.

Thank you @maxicorn for this!!! It was fun to stew on while I was at work!!!

[tossawary]

I saw "Hadestown" a while ago and found it pretty fun, especially because while it is a retelling of the Orpheus and Eurydice myth, it is also doing its own thing. It sets the story in a company town and presents a Hades in his aspect as the god of wealth. Though, it's not always clear in "Hadestown" what is figurative and what is literal. It plays with that mythological line a lot.

Hades is a wealthy businessman who owns mines and factories, which exhaust and trap (and presumably kill) the workers, a "god" among men, and Eurydice comes to work for him out of desperation. She doesn't actually die in this story... uh, I'm pretty sure. You can interpret the musical's ending a lot of different ways, I suppose. But when Eurydice first ends up in "the Underworld", in Hades' clutches, and signs a work contract to survive, her "death" is figurative.

So, when Orpheus comes to retrieve Eurydice, "Hadestown" is presenting us with a version of the story in which Eurydice can actually get away. She's not trapped by something as inescapable as death. When Orpheus appeals to Hades' love for Persephone and convinces this "god" to release Eurydice, I was watching the couple walk away together and thinking to myself, "What if they made it? What if they get to live together this time?"

I knew they wouldn't.

It still hurt.

And it later occured to me that a happy ending would betray not only the original myth, but also betray the new story that "Hadestown" presents to us.

"Hadestown" is a story concerned with poverty, with the fear of starvation and freezing to death, with the labor and rights of workers, with the oppressive power of wealth, with the selfishness of the rich. It's not subtle about it. At all. Hades is here as a figurative god of death, but he is very much present in his aspect as a god of wealth.

Hades releases Eurydice, but makes it conditional, because while Orpheus' song has softened him, he immediately becomes worried that this kindness makes him look weak and will set a bad example for all of his other workers. He doesn't want other workers to try for freedom or for other people to believe his workers can be set free. He curses Orpheus with doubt in order to make him look back.

Personally, I thought that the ending became a little messy, regarding what was figurative and what was literal. It fell back more into mythology, with how arbitrary Hades' condition is and how looking back automatically took Eurydice away. But I still liked it. Musical theatre is very well suited to that kind of blurriness in its lines.

If Orpheus had suceeded in saving Eurydice in this version, then the story would be saying that you can have your happy ending if you just work hard enough for it, if you're special enough, if you believe in yourself. The story would be saying: Orpheus' beautiful voice convinced a powerful, wealthy man that he and Eurydice were unique, that their love story was different, that their tragedy was unfair, and that they shouldn't be treated like the other poor workers. You just have to sing the right pretty song and people will listen to you out of the goodness of their hearts.

It's kind of what a modern audience expects: the heroes will succeed. They will succeed because they worked hard and they were special. The fact that Orpheus fails here too, even though Eurydice wasn't dead in this story, feels like a song getting stuck in your head because the ending is missing. It feels wrong. It's upsetting.

It made me think about how their ending was unfair. It made me think that their tragedy shouldn't have happened. That they could have been happy if only Hades hadn't taken advantage of Eurydice's poverty, if he wasn't so cruel to his exploited workers who create his wealth, if he didn't hoard his wealth instead of sharing it around, and if the wealth hadn't been allowed to go to one person in the first place. Orpheus and Eurydice were not without flaws, sure, but they were ordinary people just trying to make their way in the world. The "don't look back" condition is so arbitrary and unfair and disrespectful.

Everything happened at the unkind whims of a wealthy businessman who was scared of looking weak and losing power. It's not fair and it's all Hades' fault.

To me, though they tell you from the beginning that this is a tragedy, it seemed like "Hadestown" wanted you to think, "Maybe Orpheus and Eurydice will make it this time," and then wanted you to feel let down when they didn't. And maybe then wanted you to think to yourself, "As long as this same story keeps happening, they're never going to make it. Maybe there shouldn't be gods of wealth putting conditions on freedom, and deciding who lives and who dies. It's not fair."

[animeyanderelover]

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, clinginess, delusional behavior, stalking, manipulation, violence, sadism, murder, f! reader

Tags: @shumidehiro @leveyani @izanami78

S/o is like Kocho Shinobu

Fukuzawa Yukichi

⚪​An easygoing smile, a cheerful demeanor, a charming friendliness. Upon first glance you do not seem to fit in at all with the rest of the Detective Agency, all of them in their own rights a bunch of excentric people with unusual quirks and habits. It is this environment filled with people who aren't normal though that interferes with your abilities to successfully fool the members. Fukuzawa is only one of many who suspects you to hide something beneath that bright facade yet he has vouched for you, putting his trust in your abilities to protect Yokohama and its citizens. You spend a lot of time around the usually composed man, you adore teasing him and making fun of his inevitable stiffness and awkwardness as soon as you start teasing him, always causing his stoic walls to crumble as embarrassment paints his cheek a slight pink. He isn't the only one getting teased though, he often catches you doing the same with people like Atsushi as you always pick on him, your remarks almost sadistic which often leads Fukuzawa to interfere and reprimand you for your words, reminding you to be more mindful with the words you choose as you may hurt others feelings.

⚪​There is so much hatred underneath that smile and Fukuzawa knows that yet he finds himself unable to help you, a fact that bothers him deeply. You're unable to live a free life, your desire for revenge having stolen your wings to fly wherever your heart desires as you dedicate your energy into defeating whoever has taken away everything from you. He can't even remember how often the both of you have engaged into conflict over this deeply-rotted anger of yours, your sweet smile contradicting his oppressing seriousness. He doesn't wish for you to pump your body full of poison, doesn't wish for you to go down a path of hatred and anger that would lead you nowhere yet you dismiss his warnings and worries as your mind has already been made up. You're ruining yourself all in the name of vengeance and Fukuzawa is unable to let you go through with your plans. Tension rises as there is a sudden security you find yourself surrounded by, the walls slowly narrowing around you as you realise Fukuzawa's attempts to restrict you. A flicker of your frustration briefly flickers across your eyes as you visit him in his office. Now it seems the greater will is going to decide the winner.

Yosano Akiko

🦋​Yosano and you make one terrific duo when you join as you have a lot in common. Your abilities having connections to butterflies as well as the shared sadism and the expertise in medicine. Both of you work very closely together most of the time yet there is an unspoken distance between the two of you, one that drives Yosano slowly crazy the further her feelings for you grow. She senses something simmering beneath your surface, a suffocating wrath that scares her slightly yet more than anything she wishes to understand you better. Her feelings for you are undeniable and you with your keen intellect have picked up on it by now yet never do you give her a comment about it, choosing to further torment her as if her feelings do not matter to you in the greater scheme of things. Time and time again she has found you all by yourself in your laboratory, surrounded by toxin that you painstakingly create and coat your katana with to later paralyse or even kill your enemies by scratching and stabbing them with the tip of your weapon. She's seen your speed and your agility yet she deeply worries about you, afraid that one day your hatred will lead you down the wrong path.

🦋​It is when she figures out that you have pumped your own body full of poison that Yosano finally breaks down, her heart breaking as she realises just how consumed you are with a hatred she still fails to understand. She begs you to stop with your madness, her heart throbbing painfully in her chest as you give her a carefree smile and wave her worries off, telling her that you'll be fine. You've been planning and scheming for years for your revenge and if worst comes to worst she can simply use her own abilities to heal you if something should happen to her. You couldn't have broken her more than with those words as she realises that all along you never cared for her as much as she cared for you, your desire for revenge always having taken priority as you worked with her so closely due to her own increased knowledge with the human body. What even is she to you? She's precious, Yosano is a good friend of yours. Words you mean truthfully yet the truth sometimes hurts more than a lie as Yosano realises that even if you consider the entire Agency as your family you only joined because you would get your best shot at getting revenge by working for them. Well, she won't let you.

Dazai Osamu

🤎​Poisonous words laced in honey, an empty chest hidden behind a breathtaking smile and a bleeding heart rotting with hatred covered by a charming and cheerful facade. You are truly as graceful and beautiful as the abilities you possess yet Dazai is still aware of the venom that has filled your entire body. You are gorgeous yet deeply broken but hide your bruised heart behind a carefree and bright mask and the realisatio of how similar the two of you are almost makes Dazai want to laugh out loud. He shouldn't be as smitten with you as he is for he already knows that you can't fix him nor is he convinced that he could help you yet still he is unable to avert his eyes from you, feeling as if you have bewitched him already. Every smile you give him, every insincere compliment of yours and even the jabbing words you speak when you tease him only fill him more and more with an addicting sensation that threatens to overwhelm him. You know of his feelings for you yet you brush them off as they do not matter to you, you only silently watch as he willingly pumps himself fuller and fuller with the venom you provide him with, festering the obsession within him until there is no antidote that could cure him.

🤎​You are a minx. You are a witch. You have ruined him and only stood there silently whilst watching it all. And here he thought he was the secretive sadist between the two of you. Dazai is torn apart between elation and pitch black bitterness for what you have turned him into as he knows that your heart could never belong to him, dedicated to the dead for which you intent to sacrifice your own life for to achieve your revenge. Both of you are broken souls, neither one of you could ever be normal for the scars both of you received run far too deep. Yet there is something undeniably magnificent he finds in that. It's a fatal attraction, a lethal obsession he knows will only hurt him further yet with that pain always comes such a sweet sensation that only leaves him craving for more. An addiction wouldn't be appealing after all if it wouldn't be as beautiful as whatever it is the two of you have. Your presence is his poison and his medicine all in one, pain and sweetness blurring together until his heart threatens to burst as he greedily clings to every shred of your heart that you reveal to him. You complicate him and in return he will ruin you even more, drag you down with him until neither of you survive without the other.

Nakahara Chuuya

🟠​In hindsight he should have headed Mori's warning when you were initially assigned to be his partner for an upcoming mission to take down a pesky organisation who had been mingling with the business of the Port Mafia. He should have followed Mori's words when the boss warned him to always remain careful around you for you were much more than you may look like upon first glance. Admittedly, there has always been something about you that has slightly unnerved Chuuya yet at the same time it also intrigued him, drew him closer. Your expertise in poison and pharmaceutics has proven to be terrifyingly effective to torture hostages for information and your use of poison in fights as well as your agility, speed and your own gift have been a great asset in this mission. You entrance him, lure him closer as if you were a spider in disguise of an innocent butterfly yet he doesn't realise that he is slowly getting pumped full of poison until he finds himself caught in your web. You take his breath away yet his heart is aching, aching for he knows that your heart is unobtainable to him. You're possessed by something else that he doesn't know of and Chuuya is desperate to find out what it is.

🟠​An entire building left in shambles, the bones in your leg shattered all whilst Chuuya is pinning you down, his body littered with scratches and wounds as he can feel the poison already numbing his body and dulling his senses yet it is the sheer amount of adrenaline and desperation still keeping him conscious. The fight that ensues after he finds out the truth shatters his confidence and reveals the ugly obsession you've been feeding him with. You only tagged along because you wanted to kill the boss of the organisation for it was him who took your family away from him and for the sake of revenge you have pumped your body full of literal poison, spent years of your life planning and scheming for this day. It is your resolve to give up your own life to take the person you hate most down with you but it is Chuuya's own obsession that stops you and the clash of different wills that leads to the fight between the two of you. For the first time he sees your true emotions swirling in your eyes as you glare at him despite the broken bones you received from him. Everything is over before it even began yet Chuuya chants over and over again that he will fix this somehow even as he loses consciousness.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

🍎​Fyodor is the demon you intend to slay for it is him who remains responsible for the death of your loved ones. Years you dedicate tirelessly researching and even staining your own hands in blood yet all the lives you take seem insignicant in the face of your wrath as you destroy yourself and hunt down those who work for the devil. It is this sheer dedication that alarms Fyodor eventually of your presence as the news that someone seems to hunt after him and slay all his pawns stir a fascination within him even though he is already scheming how to kill you. You have captured his twisted interest as he himself decides to indulge you in your little hunt as he joins the game as both of you start wrestling to figure out who is the true hunter and who the true prey in this dangerous game between the two of you. The dedication you have shown over the years to kill him almost flutters him and as if to reward you he dedicates more of his own time into figuring you out and it is through gathering intel on you and observing you cautiously that he finds himself growing attracted. Both of you were given weak bodies yet both of you found ways around it to still take down those who stand in your way.

🍎​A little demon you are, daring to fill him with your poison as an obsession festers within his heart and you, witch that you are, hold the only cure. You are a sinner but you are a beautiful sinner, one that Fyodor intends to keep to himself. Your wings are stained in blood yet he intends to cleanse you of your sins until you are a beautiful, white butterlfy. His beautiful butterfly, forever encased within his own grasp without a way out. He will gladly face your burning wrath and step into the flames of your hatred for he desires his own revenge against you. Look at him, at the woeful state you have reduced him to and receive divine punishment from him. You have already stung him enough and now it is time for you to receive his own poison as well and suffer for the sins that you have committed. He truly sees the temptation of the devil within you as you are as gorgeous as you are deadly yet Fyodor sees himself as a man of faith who will not falter to the alluringly sweet addictions offered to him. Not now at least. Not until he has trapped you within his own web and pumped you full of his own venom. Do not fret for you will be a beautiful butterfly unable to flap its wings as soon as he is done with you.

Nikolai Gogol

🕊️​There is a twisted sense of companionship once the two of you meet for the first time as the clown senses the brooding emotions bubbling beneath that cheerful surface, reminiscent of his own silly acts he likes to put on. You've been denied a normal life as your hatred was too strong for you to break free, there are chains holding you back as much as they are holding him back. My, emotions truly are nothing more than a meaning to deny the two of you to stretch your wings out and soar through the air. It is through this strange connection that the two of you manage to work together as Nikolai's ability is quite useful for you and your own gift entertains him enough to want to stick around. He cackles when he figures out that you have pumped yourself full of poison, have essentially made yourself into a biological weapon all to ensure to murder those who have taken your family away from you. How wonderful it is, having someone he can suffer with. Such desperation suits you. If only you'd be as dedicated to him as you are to the person you plan to murder. Your venom has already entered his system yet Nikolai remains unaware of it as of now though the twinges of jealousy are already there.

🕊️​The poison starts taking effect the moment he finds out that you have managed to kill the person you have been chasing for years, now alive and free from the chains of hatred that used to tie you down. Only then does he feel the slimy sensation of despair pumping through his blood vessels as he realises that you are a free butterfly whilst he is still the caged dove. He thought the two of you were feathers of the same wing, he thought you were supposed to stay chained down with him yet you dare to obtain your freedom whilst leaving him behind? How lonely, how infuriating it all is as he realises that you have chained him down even further whilst he hasn't done the same to you. Oh, how cruel you are. Enjoy your little freedom for as long as it lasts for now it is Nikolai craving to tie you down using the same methods that have already once kept you from living a normal life. He is going to track down the people you cherish, he is going to murder them in front of your eyes and he is going to shackle you in heavy chains once more that will forever connect the two of you. He is going to rip your mask off of your face and he is going to bask in that pure look of despair and hatred you will give him.

[emeritusemeritus]

Sauron’s Secret [Eddie Munson x Reader]

Title: Sauron’s Secret, one ring to rule them all.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Wife!Reader {Established but hidden relationship}

Timeline: Around S4- slight alternate timeline, no Vecna. No mention of past events in Hawkins.

Summary: Eddie’s hiding a secret and Dustin is determined to figure it out.

Warnings: Swearing. Mentions of marriage. Hidden relationships, secret marriage. Mentions of drugs and marijuana. Dustin is a sleuth and I love him for it. Lord of the Rings references.

I had so much fun writing this. Set in mostly 3rd person/ Dustin POV.

Eddie Munson was allusive and mysterious, even to his closest friends.

He shared only what needed to be shared and kept his business private, just how he liked it. Eddie's favourite colour? Who knows, probably black or red but you'd never get a solid answer. His favourite movie? He says it's some old slasher film from the 50's that defied cinematic structure and gave the middle finger to the 'man' trying to oppress the creative spirit of filmmaking. Was it the truth? Probably not. His favourite book? He’d alluded to it being Lord of the rings but if questioned he would act like he’d never heard of it.

The only things he was open about were his love for heavy metal, pizza and D&D, and even then he kept his sadistic and intricate campaigns under wraps for as long as possible before the big reveal, trusting no one with his secrets.

Despite his attempts at general ambiguity, there were a few 'tells' in his behaviour, if read carefully, that could clue your in to his inner workings.

Dustin Henderson in sheer contrast is a completely open book; wears his heart on his sleeve, has little to no filter and will openly discuss all of his favourite things, regardless of if the audience is listening or not. But Dustin is also naturally inquisitive and curious, always trying to dig deeper and see the little idiosyncrasies in people that clue him in to their internal thoughts. He notices things that most people overlook and in the case of Eddie, someone he looks up to and proudly calls his friend, his curiosity is never stronger, particularly around the subject of Eddie's concealed love life.

It started a while ago, just a random day at Hellfire when Eddie came in a little late, trying to downplay his flustered nature as he shot off a roundabout apology and began setting up his campaign as Dustin looked on. Eddie had never been late, always having the table laid out perfectly, the mood lighting and repositioning all done ready for the Paladins, Wizards and Artificers ready to commence their quest. Dustin noticed as the game wore on that Eddie smelt better than usual, not that he ever smelt bad before but he seems to have a little more cologne on and his clothes smelt clean. Sometimes Eddie's clothes would have a faint tinge of damp, like they'd been sat in the dryer a little too long before airing out and being worn, only occasionally but that seemed to disappear completely after that specific meeting.

Sometimes, Dustin swears that he can smell a faint whiff of strawberries emitting from their Dungeon Master, specifically from his hair. At first he thinks he's crazy but the second or third time it happens it's definitely too much to be a coincidence.

A few weeks later when Hellfire had just come to a close, Dustin watched as Eddie shrugged on his signature two jackets and instantly frowned as he looked at the patches on the outer battle jacket. He quickly dropped the frown on his face, unknowingly doing it in the first place, before shifting subtly closer to that he could look to see what was different. The Dio patch on the back piece of the jacket was no longer raised or peeling upwards as it had been before in the bottom corner. He couldn't see any additional patches so he put it down to a fluke that Eddie just have re-sewn the patches, this time doing a much neater job than before.

But then he notices the lunches. Eddie had always brought something easy for his lunch, a bag of trail mix or questionable nut and pretzel mixes but suddenly there were sandwiches and the odd leftovers. That's when things began clicking into place for Dustin, realising that he might actually be on to something. He kept quiet about it, uncharacteristically, until he had more concrete evidence that supported his theory.

One day at lunch, Dustin walked in to see Eddie frantically scrawling ideas and little drawings on to a notepad, an actual wire bound notebook. Dustin had asked Eddie where he got the notebook but he just received a harsh glare and a dismissive insult in reply. Unfazed, Dustin smiled to himself as he tucked into his lunch tray, adding another point to his mental list, taking Eddie's defensiveness as evidence that he hadn't just stolen it from an unfortunate freshman, it was given to him. Eddie usually scrawled onto little slips of waste paper he'd find in his pockets or donated by his friends, never having brought an actual book to school in all the years that Dustin had known him, which were then folded or crumpled up and thrust into one of his many pockets.

The first Hellfire meeting after Christmas break is when Dustin realises that he'd been right all along. Eddie lights up a smoke after getting things loaded into the truck and for the first time since Dustin had known him, he wasn't using gas station grade clippers nor a random pack of matches he sometimes carried when the shitty lighters inevitably died on him. He instead lit the questionable cigarette with a black zippo lighter, one of those that were built to last, refillable and much, much nicer than any he'd ever seen in Eddie's possession before.

Still, he says nothing, content in knowing something about Eddie that no one else did, almost gleeful actually. He decides that if he's going to find anything else out then he needs to tread carefully, not wanting to alert Eddie to his inside knowledge or tip him off that he's digging around in matters that were not his own. He has to plan this carefully, asking questions that are only appropriate in the right setting, not out of the blue.

Luckily for Dustin, the moment presents itself not too long after at Hellfire when mid roll- Eddie's shirt shifts just enough for a second chain to be seen beneath his shirt, the movement of him shaking and rolling the dice allowing the pendant and chain to slip out from under his neckline. Eddie had always worn the guitar pick necklace, he never hid that beneath his shirt but this one had definitely not always been there. Dustin doesn't miss the golden glint of something hanging from the necklace, a ring that looked like a simple band. There's a few tense moments where Dustin studies the ring intensely before Eddie notices it slip, trying to quickly instil it into his mind for future reference before Eddie is alerted to his necklace being on show.

It lasts all of ten seconds before Gareth pipes up about the curious piece of jewellery in a less than delicate manner, his face scrunched up and turned to one side as he questions Eddie about it. Seemingly not missing a beat, Eddie quickly looks down at the offending article and smiles before he stuffs it into his shirt.

"That my friends is a custom made ruling ring, one ring or Isildur's Bane if you will. Genuine lord of the rings replica, 'One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them'." He smirks dangerously at the crowd after replacing the chain inside of his shirt before crouching down and casting aside one of the figurines on the table, "now, gentleman, are you prepared for your next defeat? You've fought valiantly but it may not be enough to save your sorry hides!"

Dustin gives him a lingering side eye, knowing that there was way more to that then he's made out; He'd seen the face Eddie had involuntarily pulled when he realised his mistake. Dustin was moving in on him now, biding his time until he can make his move and actually probe Eddie for the truth.

What Dustin doesn't expect however, after the months he'd spent agonising over gathering secret intel and evidence on Eddie is that one day soon, Eddie would put himself completely due to unfortunate bad luck.

It's raining, tipping it down as the Hellfire club burst through the doors of the school in sheer elation, celebrating their defeat of Vecna and his cult. The gang separates into separates cars all waiting for them and disperse as they run to get out of the rain. Dustin's mom was at work and he'd have to cycle back regardless, cursing himself for not bringing his waterproof. Eddie offers him a ride in the van, only for him to scream multiple profanities when the van only stutters before giving up completely. He kicks the wheels in frustration, already stoked to the bone from the rain in just his two jackets before he turns to Dustin to ask for his cellphone. Dustin watches him closely as Eddie dials a number entirely from memory, moving away so that his conversation would remain private as he quickly talks to someone at the other end of the phone. Dustin quickly shies away as Eddie's gaze flickers over to him briefly, acting as if he wasn't paying attention at all, until Eddie ends the conversation and hands him back the phone.

"Got a ride, stick around and we'll drop you off at home," Eddie says, nodding his head back towards the school so that the two of them could stand under the canopy to avoid getting wetter. Dustin watches as Eddie rings out his nearly flat curls, boosting them up so that his signature look wouldn't be ruined. Dustin however, pays no mind to his wetness and instead stares intensely at the road leading to the school, not wanting to miss who would be picking them up, transfixed on the idea that it might be someone he'd been waiting to meet, or prove was real, for a long time.

Dustin has to fight back a happy jig when he spots an old looking pickup truck driving up the road towards the school, eyes stinging with the rain as he daren't even blink, desperate to catch sight of whoever was driving.

When the truck comes to a stop, he falters as he sees an old man get out, wearing a boiler suit uniform having clearly been a mechanic of sorts. He then notices the logo on the side of the truck, something or others repair shop. Eddie steps forward and has a brief conversation with him but Dustin pays no mind, throwing himself down onto one of the benches under the canopy, his chin resting on his hand as he pouts.

When the older man begins to tow away Eddie's van with one last wave and a pat to the back for the dungeon master, leaving Eddie and Dustin stranded, he shoots Eddie a confused glance. Eddie simply averts his eyes, shooting him a strange look before wrapping his arms around himself, the cold clearly getting to him.

Nearly as soon as the old truck pulls away with Eddie's van, a second truck pulls around the corner, pausing briefly window to window to talk to the man in the truck from their respective vehicles. This truck is all black and seemingly well loved, an old Chevy of sorts but Dustin's not great with car models. The trucks pull away from each other and the second truck comes to a stop outside the school, right by the canopy.

"Wait here Henderson," Eddie mumbles, eyes focused on the truck as he ducks out of the canopy and into the rain. The windows are slightly tinted so it's hard to see what's going off though Dustin desperately tries to sneak a peak at the owner of the truck.

"Haul your bike in the back," Eddie calls out, pulling open the passenger door, only to be met by resistance from the person inside the car. He huffs, closes the door and helps Dustin lift the bike onto the truck bed before he opens the passenger door again and slides across the bench, giving Dustin room to climb in.

He notices the woman driving immediately but doesn't recognise her at all. She's pretty, really pretty and is dressed in a leather jacket with a material hood that is hardly concealing her hair, dark jeans and fingerless gloves.

“Hi, you must be Dustin,” she smiles towards him and Dustin has to fight a blush that the pretty girl was talking directly to him. His momentary silent pause isn’t missed by his dungeon master, who shoots him a harsh look before letting out a low chuckle at the kids face.

“Hi,” he says shyly with a small wave, which only makes the woman smile wider.

“You’re up on Cornwallis right?” She asks, turning the key in the ignition to start up the truck. He gives a little nod, still not finding his voice entirely and she smiles back, turning to check her mirrors.

“How’d you know?” He asks only a few seconds later as the truck begins to pull away. He frowns when both Eddie and the mystery woman share a little mischievous smile, an inside joke of sorts.

“I’d like to tell you it was seeing you riding past on your bike when I’d visit Barb but,” the woman says, barely taking her eyes off the road as she navigates through the heavy rain.

“Skull rock’s just behind your house, dude,” Eddie says with a chuckle, finishing the sentence for him.

“Oh,” Dustin says, “oh.”

Both of the older constituents chuckle and Dustin takes a moment to watch them, seeing that they both had a natural ease with each other, like they’d known one another for a long time. He decides a little harmless digging wouldn’t hurt.

“You knew Barbara Holland?” He asks, watching her reaction carefully. She gives a sad little smile before shrugging gently, the faint rustle of leather ringing out in the near silent truck cabin.

“Our dads used to work together at the shop, before all the shit went down, nice kid,” she replied. Dustin watches as Eddie’s hand seems to move just slightly so that he’s touching her thigh, though it’s subtle, no doubt on account of Dustin’s presence.

“So you didn’t go to school with her?” He digs further. Something tells him that with the addition of the woman, who still remained largely a mystery to him would shield him from Eddie’s wrath if he caught on, like a buffer for the situation.

She snorts a little at the thought and shakes her head, flicking the wipers up a speed as the rain continues to pour, the windshield hardly clearing before it’s full again.

“Don’t know if I should be flattered or offended by that,” she says with a smile and a chuckle. Eddie’s mouth pulls to one side, like he was trying to hide his smirk. “I graduated in 84, spend two years at high with her but we didn’t interact much, she had her friends and well, I got stuck with this degenerate,” she laughs, gesturing to Eddie beside her. He shoves her, muttering his outrage at her statement but she merely laughs harder.

So they were at school together; before Dustin had ever reached high school. He wondered if Steve knew her? He didn’t recall him ever mentioning her, though he didn’t even know her name so that was one issue. He notices they are already on Cornwallis and he pouts again, wanting to find out more about the woman but by the time they’d pulled up to the mini intersection of Old Cherry, right by his house, it was too late.

“Thank you!” Dustin says very pleasantly as he prepares to make a run for it to grab his bike from the bed of the truck, frowning as he wonders how he’d lift it by himself.

“Eds, go help him,” the woman says, urging Eddie to help with the bike. Surprisingly, Eddie doesn’t hesitate much and does actually move to help

Dustin, who gives him an odd look.

“Thank you again, errr,” he pauses before hopping out of the cab, hesitating so that he’ll grab her name.

She’s about to reply but Eddie shoves him quickly out of the cab and reaches for the bike himself before placing it on the floor and handing it to Dustin.

“Night Henderson,” Eddie says, quickly messing with Dustin’s wet cap before he smirks and hops up into the truck again. The truck doesn’t pull away straight away and Dustin realises they are waiting for him to let himself in, checking he wouldn’t be left outside. That had to be the woman, Eddie would have been nothing but exhaust smoke and tyre screeches in the distance by now.

As soon as he opens up the garage, the truck begins pouring with loud music, something heavy and angry sounding and the truck begins to pull away with a single beep of the horn.

This brief but important encounter has only spurred Dustin on further, amping up his desperate need to find out exactly who she was and who she was in relation to Eddie. They seemed overly friendly but comfortable, could she be the one that had given him the necklace? She wished he was sat next to her so he could get a whiff of her hair; if it was strawberry scented he’d have been on to a winner. The next day, he cycled to the library, thankfully it much better weather than the previous day, and had scouted through pages and pages of source material trying to find old yearbooks from Hawkins High that might have illuminated who she was. Nothing.

He cycled to family video, scrambling for any information Steve could give but he was nearly as clueless as Dustin.

“Dude I’m telling you, I never noticed Munson until the satanic rumours started, never paid any attention to him,” Steve shrugged, already having told Dustin this at least three times but the kid was persistent.

“She had * colour hair and she was wearing a leather jacket, really pretty,” Dustin tried to explain her but Steve looks vacant.

“There were tonnes of girls with her hair colour and pretty,” he says defensively.

“I said really pretty,” Dustin says, adding the inflection. Steve huffs and takes a seat on the stool behind the counter, trying to rack his brain for anyone that might have been with Eddie. Until a faint memory appears at the very edge of his brain, making his face squint as he tries to recall it, having been so long ago.

“There was a chick, she was into rock music, saw her with Billy once,” Steve says, still squinting.

“Ughr,” Dustin says, his face distorting into disgust. Steve immediately sees Dustin’s reaction and clarifies.

“No, she told him to fuck off,” he then chuckles, “was pretty funny actually.” He’s quiet for another moment before it comes to him, the memory getting clearer in his mind, the vision of her coming into full view, he clicks his fingers in a eureka moment. “Hot girl! Munson pulled hot girl?” He sounds aghast, muttering it again under his breathe as he questions it over and over again.

“Hot girl? Come on Steve, names, I need names!” Dustin says, banging his hand on the counter.

“Alright alright! Sheesh,” Steve says, running his hand through his hair. “Umm, it was… something hot.”

Dustin gives him a thoroughly unimpressed glare but he doesn’t notice, too consumed with mentally searching for the name on the tip of his tongue. “Ashle…bec..ayleigh…Rox… y/n! It was y/n!” He clicks his finger again, smiling proudly that he’d been able to recall the information. “Y/n L/n!”

“Hey!” He suddenly shouts after Dustin who races out the door with no reply and no thank you. “I need new friends.”

Dustin wastes no time as he pedals harder and quicker, his destination set in his mind, with her name repeating in his head so that he didn’t forget even a single syllable. As he pulls up in front of his house, he doesn’t even slow before dismounting the bike, leaving it on the grass in front of his house without a single care. He runs in, completely ignoring his mums greeting and whizzes over to the phone book that Claudia Henderson always had sat on the side table. He leapt towards the book and quickly began searching for her name, endlessly trawling through the alphabetical listing until her name would show.

Nothing. It was like she never existed.

“Mom! How olds this phone book?” He shouts, his volume way above appropriate for inside. When she tells him that she only got it last month, he frowns and sinks down into the chair with a slump.

“Dammit!”

“Dusty-bun, language!”

He lays off the trail for a while, exhausted by his extreme efforts, pleased that he knew her name now but feeling deflated at not getting any further. He still watches Eddie for any signs and notices a few odd things here and there but nothing feels groundbreaking anymore.

Until the Byers’ pay a visit to Hawkins. Will is immediately accepted back into the group and whilst Mike is distracted with El and Lucas at basketball, Dustin spends most of his time with Will. Jonathan mopes around most days and even his spirited friend Argyle seems a little lacklustre and irritable at times.

“What’s up with them?” Dustin asks, nodding his head towards the two older boys who are sat on the couch moping, hugging pillows to themselves and barely watching whatever’s playing on tv.

“I thought it was just Nancy stuff you know, but they’re been like it for a few days,” Will says with a shrug, casting a look towards Jonathan and Argyle who look visibly irritated.

Later that evening, Argyle catches Dustin alone and delicately tries to swoon him with pleasantries and chitchat until he finally asks the question that seemed wholly inappropriate.

“My dude, where can we find the devils lettuce?”

“What?” Dustin asks bluntly, completely lost.

“You know,” Argyle says, mimicking smoking a blunt, “some green, some kush, Chiba Chiba, ‘pass the kutchie pon’left hand side’.”

“Weed? You want weed?” He asks bluntly, not caring for the theatrics one bit.

“Well yeah my dude, if you have to be so crude about it,” he says jokingly. Dustin rolls his eyes and walks over to the telephone on the side, reaching for the phone book and flipping it straight to ‘M’ for Munson. Eddie’s side business was the worst kept secret in Hawkins, especially to his friends even though he kept discreet about it for good reason.

Dustin’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he came across the name beside Eddie’s seeing it listed directly beneath his. Y/n Munson.

“My dude! I’m the delivery guy, don’t sweat it!” Argyle shouts with a laugh as Dustin suddenly takes off, offering no explanation as he grabs his bike and pedals away, straight towards Forest Hills.

He doesn’t stop, not even to catch his breath as he nears the entrance to the trailer park, flicking his eyes around for Eddie’s van. He’d been here once or twice, mostly to try and visit Max and had spotted Eddie in the opposite plot, assuming that he lived there and had visited once when Eddie needed something for D&D that Dustin had mistakenly taken. He pushes on, catching sight of Eddie’s beat up van and the black truck parked beside a trailer and doesn’t stop until he’s immediately outside. Dismounting his bike, he gasps for air and pulls out his inhaled from his jacket pocket, wheezing as he puffs on it a few times to catch his breath.

He walks up the steps to the trailer door and knocks over and over loudly, insisting that someone come to the door. The door opens to reveal Eddie in a Metallica shirt and some lounge pants, something Dustin would never believe he would wear, assuming he wore his jeans all the time.

“Henderson?” Eddie looks around behind Dustin and pulls him inside, “the hell are you doing here?”

The place looked very, very different from when he’d been here last, the rooms clean and not fusty anymore. The walls were no longer lined with display mugs and trinkets but rather nice homely decorations that were a little off centre, framed band posters and photos of people in nice frames.

“Dustin?” He hears the all too familiar woman say as she walks through into the kitchen. She’s also wearing a band T-shirt, Judas Priest he thinks he can make out, with some plaid pyjama shorts and a cardigan. She reaches up to smooth her hair down, not having expected anyone to turn up and a glimmer of something on her left hand makes Dustin freeze, before he remembers exactly why he came here.

“You’re married?!” He asks, turning to Eddie, shocked and outraged that he’d managed to keep it a secret. The woman, who Dustin now knew to be Y/n Munson, bursts out laughing as she throws herself down onto the couch, immediately covering her legs with a soft blanket.

“You’re still playing that game?” She asks, turning to look at Eddie, who looks like he’s about to spontaneously combusts.

“Fucking Christ Henderson, you came all the way here for that?” He asks, ignoring his wife’s laughter. Dustin simply shrugs, appearing resolute on the outside but internally he’s beginning to see how much he’s overreacted.

“You ashamed of me, Munson?” His wife teases, turning her head to the side, goading him with a smile. He finally turns to her and snorts, also amused by her words.

“Yeah like getting the hottest girl in Hawkins is something I’m ashamed of.” He sends her a wicked smile and she blushes just slightly, both of them smiling at each other as their eyes meet.

“So what am I missing?” Dustin says, not reading the room. Eddie breaks his gaze with his wife to glare at Dustin for interrupting the moment, the kid clearly had a lot to learn about women.

“Just tell him,” y/n says encouragingly, reaching for the cup of tea in front of her as she watches on with rapt interest, and slight amusement.

Eddie huffs and sighs, his shoulders dropping a little as he prepares his explanation, though why he was explaining things was a little lost on him.

“We got married in October,” he pauses as Dustin immediately looks like he’s going to blow a fuse and with one harsh glare, he closes his mouth, allowing Eddie to continue. “Been together for a few years but Wayne moved out last summer so my girl moved in and then we got hitched just after,” he explains, taking a seat on the little chair, offering the other to Dustin who declines. “I didn’t tell anyone because being a married man, still in school and DM’ing a kids D&D club isn’t exactly ‘cool’,” he says, sounding honest and a little deflated.

“To be clear, you weren’t that ‘cool’ before,” his wife snarks, thoroughly enjoying the show. He shoots her a look and she simply sinks at him, seeing the argumentative look diffuse immediately from his face as he smiles at her, seeing her beaming back at him, if not a little sarcastically.

The pieces slowly meld together in Dustin’s mind, illuminating the big picture, each little thing he’d noticed now becoming clear.

“So the ring,” he says, gesturing towards the chain around Eddie’s neck. “It’s not a Lord of the rings thing?”

Y/n’s loud burst of laughter breaks the last lingering slither of tension in the room and once again Eddie sends her a warning glance though she ignores it completely.

“Yes that very powerful wedding ring forged in the fires of Orodruin by the dark Lord himself, Edward Sauron Munson. Does it enhance your Dungeon Master powers specifically or is it like an all around enchancement? Because as far as I can tell there’s been no improvement to your cooking skills,” she says with a chuckle.

“Sweetheart you are in for it,” he says threateningly, though his eyes still shine with amusement. She lifts her eyebrows once as if goading him, hopeful that his words will take on a very different meaning later.

“Why not just wear it on your hand?” Dustin asks, missing the point of it all being hidden.

“Because, Henderson,” Eddie says, leaning forward to push Dustin back to fall into the seat opposite him. “My girl got me this ring,” he says flashing him the skull ring that sat on his left ring finger. “18th birthday. Couldn’t get married using that so I got a normal band but this means more to us,” he says, gesturing back to the ring. “Plus.”

He then slips off the ring and extends his hand under Dustin’s frowning gaze until he spots what Eddie is trying to show him. Her initials, tattooed on his ring finger, concealed by the skull ring he always wore.

“Soon as I graduate, it won’t be a secret anymore, hell, I’ll probably shout it from the rooftops,” Eddie says with a beaming smile, “but for now, it’s just between us three okay?”

“Okay.”

It’s graduation day and Eddie proudly walks the stage in his cap and gown to accept his diploma before giving the finger to Principle Higgins on the way. His friends sit in the auditorium and cheer him in but no one cheers louder than ‘hot girl’ who stands and cheers, clapping loudly for her husband who had finally graduated.

“Dude,” Gareth says, pointing towards the side of the stage after everyone had walked and the procession was over. They all turn to see Eddie place the cap onto the woman’s head before pulling her in for a searing and very public kiss.

“Who’s that?”

“Hot girl?”

“What?!”

Dustin smiles, watching the pair only briefly before the scene suddenly becomes decidedly less PG, turning to his group of friends that all look on in complete amazement. He smirks, ready to unleash the secret he’d been hiding for months, keeping his tone casual as if it were completely obvious.

“Oh, you guys don’t know Eddie’s wife?”

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[tarisilmarwen]

Sabezra Week 2024, Day 1 - Swap

Cause you're the last of a dying breed Write our names in the wet concrete I wonder if your therapist knows everything about me I'm here in search of your glory There's been a million before me That ultra-kind of love You never walk away from You're just the last of the real ones

-"The Last of the Real Ones" by Fall Out Boy

@sabezraweek

Went with something a little fun I think. Behold: Formative Childhood Trauma Backstory Event Swap!

In this AU, it's Sabine's parents who speak out against the Empire and get taken away when she's seven, leaving her to scratch out a living for her and her brother in the wilderness of Krownest. There's not much time for painting, she doesn't have access to the forges so she grew out of her armor pieces, and she learned very quickly that brightly dyed hair tends to attract predators, lol. But she managed to keep herself and her brother alive until the Ghost crew picked them up.

Ezra, meanwhile, was the one who got sent to the Imperial Academy and was a promising student until he got a little too close to the truth of why students like Dhara Leonis were disappearing. He spoke out but the Bridgers couldn't stand with him, too cowed by the oppression Lothal had been facing for years. Speaking out also immediately put a target on his head and got him a trip to the Inquisitorious. Fortunately he wasn't there long before he managed to escape to where Kanan could find him.

Had a lot of fun coming up with their designs. For Sabine I basically gave her lots of furs and pelts (from hunting) and stuff to keep her warm and with Ezra I kind of had the thought that after escaping he would try to repaint his Inquisitor armor. Not nearly as well as Sabine might, so it's a bit crude in places. She fixes it up all nice for him later and also helps dye the bodysuit. :)

[gremlinmodetweeker]

A Boy, A Twisted Memory and A Desire for Love

So this is the first official Ghost story on my blog. I know, I know, it's been a long time writing and I've not written something for the guy, but it's really just because I get so worried about writing him poorly.

I know he's a big military guy who hates having emotions and kills any and all kindness in his heart, but I also really like the idea of him exploring the concept of healing from his trauma? I dunno, I just thought about it.

Also, like König, I can't imagine Ghost keeping normal pets. Originally I had him get a spider, but then I read over his backstory again and it made more sense for him to get a venomous snake. I think it's a major step to overcoming his trauma. By the way! Big trigger warning, this is about a snake! This entire fic centres around a snake!

Anyways, I had some fun writing this but it made me super sad.

TW: Snake, discussion of past abuse, emotional trauma, child abuse (referenced), emotional disregulation

Wordcount: 1.7k

Art from This Post

Story Below the Cut

A Boy, A Twisted Memory and A Desire for Love

Simon locked eyes with the little black and yellow creature housed deep within its cave. It was a small thing, barely hatched from its egg it looked like. The length of a ruler at most. It was a light thing, covered in fine scales along its supple body. This thing was venomous, yes, but it couldn’t do any real damage. It was a threat maybe to a mouse, but a man such as himself wouldn't fall to such weak poison. Swelling, pain, nausea, yes. But death? Not quite.

And yet, his heart quickened within his chest. He could feel the sweat forming on his brow. It had been so long since he’d seen one of these beasts, and yet the same fear from back then wormed its way inside him now.

“Hungry?” Simon’s voice was particularly gravelly, roughened by sleep deprivation and lack of use.

The creature made no move. He’d be surprised if the thing even heard him. Did it even have ears? He’d have to ask the breeder later.

“Been a long time since I’ve seen one of yer kind before,” he admitted. He didn’t quite know why, but it felt somewhat soothing to speak to the thing.

“I killed the last one of ye that I saw. Crushed the fucker right under my boot, I did.”

It didn’t seem to scare the beast off. He wondered if it really was more afraid of him than he was of it. He hoped that was true. He didn’t want to admit that the fear still wriggled under his skin.

“He wasn’t anything like what my dad ‘ad,” Simon closed his eyes as the oppressive memories washed over him, “that one was a right bastard. Bigger than anything I’ve seen ever since. Shoved it right in my face, he did. Wouldn’t let me go till I kissed it right on the lips. If it bit me, I wouldn’t be standin’ ‘ere. But you,” Simon opened his eyes, dark eyes matching two glassy eyes of inky black, “you’re nothing. You're pathetic. You’re… You're so small.”

Simon turned back to the breeder.

Finally, the creature came to its senses and slithered back further into its burrow. So sleek and streamlined, and yet so slow to move. It was afraid of him, that Simon decided the moment he noticed that despite backing away, it didn’t dare look elsewhere.

“How much for this one?” he asked as he pointed at the plastic cube.

“That one?” the woman blinked and looked at what he was pointing at, “the female or the male?”

“The female,” Simon clarified.

“Oh she’s pretty, isn’t she?” the woman adjusted her glasses as she slid behind the plastic cube, “poor girl’s probably pretty scared being out here.” She didn’t mention how terrifying Simon was in his dark clothing, rough fabric stretched tight across his broad frame. He was used to scaring people by this point. Sometimes, like now, he wished he wasn’t.

“How do you pronounce that?” Simon pointed at the name that had been scrawled in blue ballpoint pen on a blank sticker.

“Boida dendrophila,” the woman replied, “she’s pretty young, but she’ll get big soon enough.”

“She’s one of them big ones, yeah?” Simon asked aloofly.

“You bet your arse,” the woman grinned, “she’ll be big soon enough. Don’t know much about ‘em?”

“Oh no,” Simon leaned down to take a better look at the little beast, “I’ve been doing my reading.”

“You got a big enough enclosure for her?” the woman quizzed him.

“Sure do,” Simon hummed, “I built her an enclosure myself. It’s nearly as tall as me, long too. Got some nice branches for her to climb and all that..”

“Wow that’s a lot of space. You sure that’s not too much?” the woman frowned.

“She won’t be in there for a bit, I’ve got something for while she’s small,” Simon reasoned.

What a stupid question.

“Oh well that’s fine,” the woman broke out into another smile, “but yeah she’s eating mostly baby mice, an adult once in a while. You know she’ll be eating bigger things when she’s full grown, right? You can handle that?”

“I think I’ll be quite alright,” Simon mused, “have to admit, she’s a right beauty.”

“She really is, isn’t she?” the woman gushed, “I’ve been raising her since she was just hatched. But now? Well, normally I sell them off a bit sooner, but she grew on me. Unfortunately, the husband isn’t too fond of her and wants her to be moved on.”

“Why’s that?” Simon looked at the woman from behind his sunglasses.

“Oh he got bit when she was the length of a pencil,” the woman laughed, “he’s held it against her ever since!”

“Heard her kind can get pretty feisty,” Simon commented as he looked back at the spider.

“They can get a bit aggressive, I won't lie to you. A bit territorial, too,” the woman explained carefully so as not to scare off the only interested customer she had all weekend.

“Real fast,” Simon continued on, “with nasty bites.”

“Sounds like you’ve done your reading,” the woman laughed uncomfortably.

“Course,” Simon refrained from rolling his eyes, “so how much is she? The sticker’s ripped.”

“She’s on sale, actually,” the woman grinned, “only a couple hundred quid.”

“That much, eh?” Simon straightened up to tower over the slender woman.

“Normally she could be anywhere up to four hundred,” the woman fought back against the subtle threat of intimidation.

“Well then,” Simon looked down at the cube, “looks like I got a good deal then.”

“You won’t go stompin’ on her, will you?” the woman furrowed her brows.

“No ma’am, that was just what I had to do when I went out to the Middle East,” Simon chuckled humorlessly, “I wouldn’t dream of hurtin’ this here little lady.”

The woman grinned as she counted her bills, Simon smiled just slightly as he picked up the container and brought it back to his car.

When he got home, he carefully moved the little creature into the glass enclosure of dirt, leaf litter and cork bark. He put it back in its place on his shelf and smiled.

“Dendrophila, eh?” he chuckled, “how ‘bout Ophelia? That’s a cute lil name for ya.”

The creature only burrowed away under the cork bark, eager to get out of sight of the frightening giant before her. He didn’t blame the little thing, he’d be terrified of himself if he was a younger man.

Once, he’d hardened himself into an unstoppable thing, a monster of a man. He had formed his shell through cruel lashings the world had lavished upon him. He took ablutions in raining blood. He was festering sickness or silver sin. He was what he despised in the world, the monster he tried to protect his own family from. When his brothers in arms welcomed each other warmly, they regarded him as a feral dog to be kept at a distance, chained in the backyard, out in the rain.

In Simon’s heart there was no room for love. He was not a man forged in kindness and love. He was the unfortunate son of Mr. Riley, cursed from birth to be raised in the muck and mire of human atrocities. He had been calloused by the time he was nine, and by the time he joined the military even the recruiting officers were afraid of him. He was too cruel, too strict, too much for anyone to handle. He could brute-force his way through life, but only for so long.

Even monsters had hearts. This was the unfortunate fact that Simon had learned far too late in life. He hated himself for how he wallowed in his loneliness. He thought his team would be enough, but there was a despicable part that still resided deep within him. He could offer his rotten sort of love to his teammates, but he could never care for them like he needed to. There was a part of him that had been stunted since childhood, and far too late it breached his skin to scream into his ears, begging him to please just notice me, notice me and don't let me die here inside of you.

He didn’t want to, but he spoke to a therapist. It was Price's advice after he'd broken down with a bottle of whisky in one hand and a revolver in the other. Price promised to never say a word as he unwound his lieutenant's fingers from the trigger.

A week later he'd arrived at a small office. They’d been cowed by him at first. Everyone was, but something about frightening the one person he wanted to be helped by hurt a part of Simon he wished to rip from his chest. Once he would have laughed, but in that office, he could only hurt. No tears fell, but his walls did and he was able to speak openly for the first time in his entire life without the help of a bottle of jack and a pair of dice. It felt wrong. He hated it, but he learned.

His therapist told him that to help rid himself of this festering parasite of an emotion, he should try to nurture the damned thing. Simon had laughed in the man’s face. He then told him to go to Hell. The man had learned not to flinch in the face of a predator, and so pushed forth. He said that to grow, Simon could try getting a cat or a dog. Something he could raise with the love he never had been given as a boy.

He said that he needed something to love or else he'd never be able to heal. Simon scoffed and left the room, but not before booking another appointment. The smug look on his therapist’s face disgusted him. He turned quickly and left.

So maybe it was out of spite that he bought Ophelia, but there was a part of him that felt like he needed the little creature. He needed something to love, and so he did. He loved the Ophelia with all his heart. He nurtured her and cared for her as best he could.

Months passed, and he started to handle Ophelia. She hissed, she scurried away, she did everything to get away from Simon’s touch. He figured that if he had to face himself, he’d do much the same. He wasn’t a creature born of love and compassion. He was death, in face and in heart, but each time he brought Ohpelia’s container out and changed her water, when she ate from his tongs, he could feel his rotten heart beating within his chest. It made him smile despite himself.

He was not a creature of love, and yet it was love he felt when Ophelia tentatively reached out and slithered up his hand. When he raised her up, ever so gently, he couldn’t help but cry.

How cruel was the world that a boy, born from street gutters and raised by heavy hands, would only ever feel love for the first time in a dingy London flat on his thirty-first birthday, alone save for the venomous snake in his hands?

Stories

Ghost Dump

[cinderella-ish]

Yuki, Kakeru, and the boyhoods they never had

So, I was talking with my partner the other day about how Kakeru and Yuki are always touching each other (one of many reasons they're the most popular non-canonical furuba pairing on Ao3). Anyway, it got me thinking-- if we don't read all this physical contact as necessarily romantic, what are some other possible explanations? An examination:

When Yuki first meets Kakeru, he immediately gets up in his face talking about his favorite Super Sentai character, then walks him out of the student council office with an arm around his neck, despite Yuki's obvious discomfort.

When Kakeru puts a hand on his shoulder soon after, he teases Yuki about his feminine features. Yuki bats his hand away and decides he already hates Kakeru.

In Kakeru's next appearance, he puts a hand on Yuki's shoulder, removing it when Yuki gives him a death glare.

When Kakeru stays behind that day to needle Yuki about Tohru, Yuki is the one to initiate touch this time. This leads to the two of them sharing a moment of vulnerability and the true beginning of their friendship. Kakeru putting his thumbs up on Yuki's shoulder is also a change to the way he's touched Yuki before - it's perhaps a bit more comfortable for Yuki, who's reacted negatively to all touch from Kakeru before this. Kakeru's communicating in his own way that he'll try and consider Yuki's needs from now on.

Next, we have the Kyoto trip, in which Yuki is still not fully comfortable with Kakeru (shown by his embarrassment when he tells Kakeru they wouldn't be friends anymore), but is starting to consider him a friend and spend time with him intentionally. We also have some sweet moments like this exchange between Haru and Kakeru, which Kakeru takes very seriously.

After this, Yuki finally learns (some of) Kakeru's backstory when he goes to help Kakeru clean up after Machi destroyed the student council office again. Yuki gets context for why Kakeru is the way that he is, learns about the successorship conflict, and then tries out some Kakeru chaos for himself. We also see Yuki initiate touch for the third time. I think this episode is where the real shift in their relationship happened. Yuki sees that there's a wisdom to Kakeru that he wasn't seeing without that context of Kakeru's oppressive childhood-- something to which Yuki can relate all too well. In a way, Kakeru's impulsiveness and sense of fun is his own way of either reclaiming or living out the childhood he didn't get to have, along with other traits like his love of Super Sentai.

And now, a brief aside.

We see pretty clearly that the other three cursed Sohma boys around Yuki's age are all pretty comfortable interacting with each other physically. Kyo will roughhouse with Haru and give Momiji noogies, Momiji will hug or lean on both Kyo and Haru. These sorts of interactions began when they were young boys, and are pretty typical of boys through adolescence. Yuki, being shut in a room with Akito or alone, didn't get to have that experience of boyhood. All his physical interactions with Kyo are negative, and his physical interactions with Momiji are neutral-ish (Momiji jumps on him at the culture festival, Yuki dabs his tears in Kisa's first episode, and Yuki scolds Momiji a handful of times). (Aside within the aside: while Haru sometimes reciprocates the affection from Momiji or rough play from Kyo, he clearly has a special way of physically interacting with Yuki in the T-shape and shirt pinch, or the stroking of his chin, etc..., and he initiates touch with Yuki much more often than with the other two, likely because he noticed that as one more thing Yuki was missing out on and wanted to include him in a way that would be comfortable for him.)

So when Kakeru tells Yuki about his childhood, and Yuki gets stuck in the storage room later that episode and has a flashback to his own terrible childhood, he's already primed to open up to Kakeru about his own childhood and to start looking at the world more like Kakeru does.

So, after that day, their friendship becomes much more physical. Yuki no longer bats away Kakeru's hand and even initiates touch more often. They roughhouse and Kakeru often puts his arm around Yuki in a gesture of affection. To me, it's a way of reclaiming those experiences they didn't get to have in their childhood-- especially the type of friendships neither of them got to form when they were younger.

[fleshengine]

I want to talk about representation a bit, because I see the "trans women have more rep, so they are privileged/can't be oppressed/are more societally accepted" thing thrown around a decent amount. Let's take a game I'm playing right now, Cyberpunk 2077.

I love how for trans characters in Cyberpunk 2077 we have Claire, a tough looking bartender who's into cars, and the random girl in Lizzie's who drops a line about how she's a woman and that demands sacrifice, a sex worker who immediately gets played for laughs as her (floating) co-oworker makes fun of her.

Claire is fine representation in my eyes. Sure, she has "guy" hobbies but like genuinely so do most of the girls I know. We get interested in things as kids and that stuff stays. She's a little tough looking, but it's 100% in a definitely masc woman way. She's great, I love her, best girl. The mox is representation, but like... harmful rep at that. She's literally just a side character in this one scene who says "yeah being a woman is rough but it's worth the effort huh?" and gets made fun of for being trans. Her entire point is people pointing at transwomen and saying "haha you're all sex workers and ugly and everyone can tell you used to be a man lol." and frankly it's infuriating. She even uses the male character model! I don't know if cyberpunk 2077 has any definite transmasc characters, and so the case could be made that trans women "have more rep" in it. But when half the rep is this random mox who exists to be made fun of, I don't see the point.

And this is what I mean when I say recognition is not representation. Claire and the mox are both recognizably a trans women, but only Claire is a character who has depth and is a person and actually represents anyone. Being a trans woman is a tiny part of her, but it's there, she has a flag on her truck and mentions it in dialogue exactly once! You don't even really learn she's trans until later, so she's barely recognizable in the text.

So much of what people refer to as "transfem representation" boils down to characters like the mox who are just stereotypes of transwomen who exist to be made fun of. They do not represent anyone, no lived experience, no depth of character. They exist entirely to be recognizable as transwomen and nothing more. They are jokes and to say they represent trans women in any way is deeply revealing to how tme people think of us.

When you clock me in the street, what kind of trans woman will you recognize me as?

This is an idea I've had kicking around in my head for a bit. I'd love feedback/ideas on it so I might uhhhhhh @plaidos hopefully that's okay. You don't have to respond, I just want my thoughts out there.

[scriberye]

Hello, hope it's okay to request, on the pinned post it appears as closed, but then there's the recent post... just ignore this please ó, if it's the former (or just not your cup of tea) :)

Kind of a silly idea really... Would you be open to write something with Guilliman x femreader? With the premise that they are engaged and she finds in the archive a really old book of wedding traditions, that mentions the henparties and what they entail and wanting try it and asking him about if she could. Then he notices the male dancer part and ask if that applies too and she tells him no, she just likes the getting together with friends to celebrate angle.

Later he suprises her with a dance privately (I'm ignoring the size difference here, the premise gives me enough amusement).

Hey, Anon! I forgot to edit the pinned post, so you're good! Your request had me in stitches and I absolutely love it! So, here you go! Please enjoy!

It was one thing to be engaged to a Primarch, to plan a wedding for one was an entirely different beast. Guilliman tried to help you, but the relentless tide of paperwork demanded his attention. He wanted to complete as much as he could before the honeymoon. Yet, you didn’t want to plan without his input. So, you made a space for yourself in his office.

You were leafing through an old tome on the history of wedding traditions dating before the Imperium. Many of the customs had survived the passing years. One entry in particular caught your attention — a party to celebrate the last day of ‘freedom’ before marriage.

It sounded fun, and you’d heard rumors of some turning toward the scandalous. The very thought of seeing another man in a state of undress beside Guilliman made your cheeks turn red. It was unthinkable. You could never.

“Roboute,” you called out, seeking his attention. He responded with a gentle hum, his eyes focused on the reports before him.

“I found this tradition to celebrate with friends before the wedding.”

Without looking up, Guilliman holds out his hand. Excited, you placed the tome into his large hand, already open to the page detailing the tradition. He brought the tome close, skimming over the page. “It seems like an enjoyable time,” he remarked, continuing to read. “It also details dancers of a certain reputation. Is this the part of the tradition that’s piqued your interest?”

Your cheeks flamed. “No! I-I just thought it would be pleasant to celebrate privately with friends.”

Guilliman glanced over at you, a small smile curving his lips. He returned the tome to you. “Very well. I see no harm in it.”

“Really?” You smiled brightly, taking it back with eager hands. “Thank you!”

“Please do enjoy yourself, my dear,” he said, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your lips.

On the night of the party, you and your friends enjoyed the time together, laughter and clinking of drinks filled the air. Conversation flowed freely as you reminisced about adventures in the past and celebrated the things to come.

After a time, your friends took their leave, one by one, until you found yourself alone in your quarters, basking in the afterglow with a warm heart. A smile lingered on your lips. You sank back in your chair, eyes half-closed.

Without warning, the door flew open.

Startled, you nearly jumped out of your chair, heart pounding, and eyes wide with alarm. Guilliman entered the room, his expression stern and grim. You didn’t notice him close and lock the door behind him.

“Roboute, what’s going on?” you implored, trembling as fear began to take root. You’d never seen him so intense before.

Guilliman approached you like a stormcloud, his eyes dark and focused entirely on you. His sheer presence filled the room, overwhelming and oppressive. On instinct, you rose from your chair and inched back.

“You have been accused of heresy,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

“Heresy?!” you gasped. “What are you talking about? On what charges?”

Guilliman’s expression remained the same, unmoving. “You have been leading a Primarch astray, distracting him from his duties. For this, you will be punished.”

What. You blink, stunned and unable to comprehend his words as he reached for his toga. His eyes never left yours as he began to undress with deliberate slowness. Inch by agonizing inch, his muscular chest was revealed.

Oh. Oh, Emperor, yes.

“As Primarch, it is my duty to enforce obedience,” he declared, untying the last knot holding his toga in place, letting it drop to the floor and pool at his feet. He stood before you, resplendent and bare. “You will redeem yourself by submitting to my will until I am satisfied you have learned your lesson.”

“Do you accept your punishment?” he continued.

You nodded eagerly, a breathless, squeaky ‘yes’ escaping your dry lips.

“Good,” Guilliman smiled.

[tenosit]

On bit of "early and missed worldbuilding" aspect of 2001 Bionicle, there are the very fun interactions in MNOG in the Onu-Koro, between Whenua and representatives of Ussalry, miners and traders (last one doesn't get as much representation further down the line).

First one, is how Ussarlyman describes the sudden dense layer of stone (which, as we belatedly know, is Mata Nui's surface): he calls it "with high organic levels", and even elaborates for Whenua.

Depiction of GSR appears fairly mundanely robotic, so organic traits to it make it very interesting - its also a Bionicle! IIRC it has been described as organic-like in Hapka books around Bohrok, but more concrete mentions benefit that.

Before that, he also suggest moving Onu-Koro to other Wahi. This is a really cool detail - perhaps, Onu-Koro has evolved from an aboveground settlement (as it could have been in 2000 story bible), or moved from another location already.

Since miners compose the actual tangential events of the chapter, it is the third Matoran who falls into interest - evidently, a Guildmaster of the Trade Guilds.

(there is a much stronger focus on Toa "descending from heaven" in 2001 than in subsequent retellings 2001 plot; you can tell they expected to wrap it up sooner, and it is something 2016 reboot tried to play with)

The Guildmaster, expectedly, is worried about both the sudden unbreakable layer and stalling of Le-Koro route. Onu-Koro trades Protodermis to Po-Koro, where goods are finished, whereas Onu-Matoran recieve stone (? Perhaps it is higher quality, or easier to work with aboveground). Evidently all Matoran engage in trade, which is why Le-Koro route is important (Le-Matoran can access Onu-Koro, but with much difficulty); he dismisses proposition to travel by sea, as it has even more Rahi than the unlit tunnels (according to him). He even tries to drag in Onua, asking if the fabled hero is unable to help do the trade route faster.

There is a really cool characterisation to Saffire's Onu-Matoran; there is a very strong current of them being workers and traders. Later depictions sort of sidestepped that, with their former Metru Nui culture being that of miners and scholars. I wish there was more of a dedicated source to culture of Matoran of Mata Nui; it is a topic that is fraught with complexities of not exoticising oppressed cultures, but if care would be given to it, I imagine it could be a really great piece of worldbuilding.

[la-pheacienne]

I am going to be a killjoy and choose violence again but I did not like the spectacle of Marie Antoinette holding her decapitated head in her arms in the olympics, at all. I don't give a shit about Marie Antoinette the person, she was a traitor in the context of a war and she would rather betray France than give away her privileges. This is what happens to traitors in that context and she absolutely had it coming. I won't shed one tear for her, sorry if that bothers people.

However. The executions of the Terror are not something to make a spectacle of, they are not something to mock. They were an inevitability, a historical necessity yes, but they are not an esthetic, nor a pop culture reference. They were inevitable, even necessary because of the revolutionary context, because it was the people of France who demanded those executions, and when I say the people of France I mean the working class, the peasants, the sans culottes, people who lived in extreme poverty and misery. This was not just a civil war, this was a class war. Centuries of class inequality, oppression, hunger, injustice, needed a release and that release was inevitable, but the factors that led to it, the structural inequality, the privilege, the injustice, they are still relevant today. Those people, the people of France, did not ask for the king and queen's head so that, two centuries later, the political and economical elites of this world can sit comfortably in the seat they paid hundreds or even thousands of euros for, and mock and have fun watching Antoinette's decapitated head in a spectacle that cost around 300 millions, the same political and economical elites that are right now funding genocides, that are right now maximising their profit off the Olympics, that are right now destroying the welfare system and impoverishing the people of France, who are unemployed, homeless, and stuck in ghettos. But it's alright I guess, because we have democracy now so these people can still watch the spectacle in their TV (if they have a TV) from their 9 square meter apartment in Sarcelles or Seine-Saint-Denis that takes 80% of their salary. If they have an apartment. They must feel really lucky they don't have a king or queen anymore and all their problems are solved. What a fine mockery. I don't think the Jacobins would be impressed with this turn of events, I don't think that's why the french revolution happened because the french revolution is not an esthetic and the social struggles that led to it are still here, very much present.

I would advise people to leave Antoinette's head alone because she's dead and has been dead for 250 years. There are a lot of heads that are far too comfortable in their class privilege, right now, in 2024.