#Literally it feels exactly the same except somehow I feel MORE out of place for being anti barbie than i did in literally 2007

[4trackcassette]

i feel like im seven again digging my heels in like i don't care about barbie i hate barbie i don't want to think about barbie

[fourmoony]

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐓: Chapter Two

After breaking your ankle in the wake of a break up, you're determined to get through your senior year without any interference from James Potter. That is, until his loyalty to loose cannon Sirius Black lands him straight in your lap. Or, rather, your kiddie-skate group.

CW: Language, mentions of violence, sour sibling relationships, overbearing parents, mention of car crash and scars.

ITN: The Masterlist

James

One of James’ earliest memories is of the rink, back home. It’s not exactly a clear memory. There was lots of falling, a plastic penguin almost the size of him, and Sirius Black. His first day at kiddie-skate. Even though he’d spent more time on his ass than skating, it’s a memory James will always cherish. Even if it blurs, slightly, as time goes on. Because it’s the day he met Sirius. At five years old, James had no idea that the lanky, smart as a whip kid who somehow managed to both stumble across the ice and act like he owned it at the same time, was going to be one of the most important people in his life. Sirius is James’ soulmate. His best friend. There isn’t a day where James isn’t grateful for Sirius Black stumbling into his life; wild and untamed.

Except, maybe, today.

The rink at Hogwarts is a place James always feels at home. The smell of Zamboni fuel and the rubber mats meant to protect skate blades. The banging of lockers and the whir of the air conditioning that keeps the ice cool. It’s a small area of campus where James can go when he feels too much. Too overwhelmed, too sad, too anxious. A safe place. Even training is a relief to James. A time in which he’s allocated to turn his brain off, become captain and lead his team. He focusses on plays and makes mental notes on what to work on with the guys. During games he’s focussed on one thing: winning.

But today. Today, Hogwarts Arena is the very source of James’ anxiety, of the weight in his chest that just keeps pressing. It’s not that he’s scared of the rink. Or even of you. But the idea of being in charge of twelve miniature humans whilst knowing in the back of his mind that you’d rather be literally anywhere else is a pretty decent source of anxiety. The last thing James wants to do is make you uncomfortable in an environment that you love so much. You’ve coached mini skate since you were a sophomore. You once told James that it felt like your purpose. To fill the world with as many accomplished skaters as possible. Be a role-model. A guiding light. Someone they could look back at and think I’m glad I had a coach like her. A motivator. A kind soul.

You’re setting cones out on the ice when James takes a seat on the team bench to put his skates on. The kids are down by the tunnel, if the noise that flows from it is anything to go by. James finds himself staring as you skate. You do it with such ease that it reminds him hockey isn’t the only on-ice sport. You’ve trained your entire life to get to the level you’re at, today. He knows you’re going for Nationals again, this year, refuses to allow himself to think about last year. You deserve better of him than to have him distracted by that whilst co-coaching. He knows how that spiral goes. Spent all of his summer thinking about you, about the physical therapy you’d be enduring, the anger you’d have been feeling. Shame washes over him, hot and fast.

He ties his skates tighter than they probably need to be and joins you on the ice. Your head turns at the sound of his blades against the ice, fresh pressed by the Zamboni, after your training session with Pince, probably. You’re still wearing your training clothes, likely haven’t left the rink to get food between practice and mini skate. James makes a mental note to bring you something, next week.

“You’re late.” You call across the ice. You set another cone down, skate towards the next location.

James weaves in and out of the cones you’ve set out with ease, gaining on you without trying. “My Econ class ran long. Flitwick sent you an email.”

Your ponytail swishes when you turn to drop the next cone, feet crossing in a way James imagines is only capable because of your toe picks. If he tried a move like that in his blunt rounded hockey skates, he’d land on his face. With the final cone in your hand, you skate backwards, eyes on James. “Literally the last thing I said to you was ‘be on time’, James.” You sigh.

James smiles, “Actually, I believe the last thing you said to me was ‘You’re sorry that you feel like shit’.”

Your eyebrows hook in the middle when they furrow. James knows he has no right to chide you or try to joke with you, but he wants this to be painless. He hurt you, he knows that. He done a lot of stupid shit, things he can’t take back, even if he wishes he could. But he never thought you’d want to act like strangers, like two people who can’t hold a civil conversation. In his opinion, there’s too much history there, for that.

“The kids will be out any minute. We’re going over control. You take half, I take half.” You nod your head to the pile of cones on the other side of the rink.

James nods. “Sure thing.” He gets to work on setting up his cones before the kids come out of the tunnel.

The majority of kiddie-skate passes in a flurry of tiny skates torpedoing around James. He tries to keep up, tries not to come across as stern, even when all six of the kids under his leadership would rather race each other across the span of the ice. They remind him of he and Sirius, at that age. Causing trouble everywhere they went, consequences be damned. It’s exhausting, but nowhere near as awkward as he thought it might be. You dutifully keep your kids to your side of the ice, well behaved and skating in neat circles around their cones. James finds himself wondering if you gave him the wild bunch as a punishment. By the end of the session, James finds himself giving in and racing seven-year-old Michael from one net to the other. He considers letting him win but decides against it when he sees the determination on Michael’s face, the sure-fire way he glides on his skates. He’s fast; has potential. That shouldn’t be coddled. It should be nurtured, turned into motivation to try harder, next time. Because, next time, when he does try harder, he might just win. Until he’s playing at division one level.

James is sure that’ll be true, one day.

The parents mill around by the exit doors at the far end of the ice, ten minutes before the session ends. James can’t quite believe how fast the time has gone. You call him and his group of kids over to the middle of the ice, skidding to a stop on the edge of your skates. Dutifully, James directs his kids towards you. “Let’s go, team. The boss wants us over here.”

If you hear him, you don’t say anything. Instead, you direct James to stand next to you, arms crossed over your chest. “What did we learn, today?” You ask.

“Control.”

You nod, smile kind and patient. “That control is a key part in skating. Whether it be hockey or figure skating. If you can’t control your weight, your speed, your skates? Pshh,” You scoff, dramatically, “Game over, guys. You’re out.”

There’s amusement in your voice, despite the importance of what you’re saying. James finds it admirable, your ability to connect with the kids. You could connect with anyone, anywhere, though. It’s the kind of person you are. Patient, kind. Undeserving of all the bullshit James has brought into your life since you met him.

“Did you lose control when you broke your ankle?” One of the kids asks. A younger girl, a sparkly pink helmet sitting squint on her head. There’s no malice, just that childlike innocence that brings about curiosity.

The question shocks you, regardless. Your lips press into a thin line, eyes a little distant. James wonders if he should step in, cover for you. Change the subject, somehow.

“No, Kayla,” You fix your face, a sort of wistful look that James can’t figure out. “No, I lost focus.”

James feels his heart sink. Two nights before you left for Nationals, James dropped an irreversible bomb on you. It broke your heart, tore your relationship apart. Then, he sent you off to Nationals with a head full of his bullshit and watched you break your ankle in front of the entire country. Because he distracted you. He broke your focus. Took away the gold medal that had your name written on it.

The guilt keeps him awake at night. More so than the ache of missing you. Because he does. He misses everything about you. Your smile, your laugh, the way your nose scrunches when you’re focussing. He even misses your grumpiness when trying, and failing, to nail a new routine. He misses holding you, kissing you, telling you that he loves you.

But the guilt, the shame. The reality of what he did. It plays on a loop in his head, eats him alive. He’s trying not to drown in it as he watches you dismiss the kids, waving to parents as you skate them to the door. James just stands there, in the middle of the ice. Unsure of how to act. Unsure of what to do, if he should go, if he should stay and try to talk to you. He settles for skating to the team bench, a carved-out box halfway up the side boards. He sits down on the bench, bends down to untie his skates.

The door clicks shut behind you a moment later, a whoosh of cold air and the scent of your perfume as your skates skid to a stop outside the box, beforehand. James looks up as you cross past him, sitting on the opposite end of the bench. You follow his lead, untying your skates in silence. He puts his guards on, places them in his bag. Puts his shoes on. All the while suffocating in the silence.

“It wasn’t your fault.” You tell James. Your voice is quiet, so soft, like maybe you’re not sure you want him to hear you. Your eyes don’t leave your socked feet, hands folded in your lap.

James focusses on putting his shoes on. Doesn’t look at you. “You were right, you know.”

He catches the way your face scrunches, the sadness there. You won’t appreciate his comfort, so he doesn’t give you it. Instead, he stands, slings his bag over his shoulder. His hand itches to reach out and touch you, to tell you that he’s sorry. He wishes he could change everything, could take it all back. “I do feel like shit. But that’s not why I’m sorry.”

Your head tilts up. Your eyes are filled with tears and James can’t stomach it. He hates himself. You look so sad and tired. “See you on Sunday.” He nods and books it out of the team box, along the corridor, the foyer, and into the carpark.

He climbs into his truck, lets the shame swallow him whole, lets the pain burn him. And there, in private, alone, he breaks. He loathes himself for it. He has no right, no reason to be so sad, so solemn. He took everything from you. Yet he still breaks, anyway.

James doesn’t know how much more he can take before he can’t put himself back together, anymore.

Sirius

The Hogwarts Library is Sirius’ least likely haunt. He, honestly, avoids it at all costs. Unless he’s trying to find Lily. Even then, he tends to only stay for ten minutes, or so. It’s not that he hates studying. He actually enjoys his classes, finds the work stimulating for his overactive brain. He’s smart. That’s not to be doubted, even if he acts like an idiot ninety-nine percent of the time. The reason he hates the library so much is because it reminds him of the one at Grimmauld Place.

Hogwarts library is brighter, in fairness. But the high ceilings, regal architecture, the smell of old books and the eerie quiet. It’s all too similar to the library in his childhood home. It makes his skin crawl, the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. He’s guarded, like he always was at home. A place where it was do or die, fight to survive. Libraries are supposed to be a peaceful place. A place of childlike wonderment, a place where you can get lost in stories of knights in shining armour, passionate love. His opinion of libraries is that it’s a place one would go to get the shit kicked out of them at a dinner party for being too smart tongued. He remembers that all too well. Hates that particular story.

The girl at the front desk smiles kindly at him, but all he sees is a vulture waiting to pick him off, trap him here and make him relive his worst memories over and over. He grimaces, places his hands on the cold wood of the desk and begs it to ground him. Sirius forces a breath as he rolls his shoulders.

“I’m here for community service? There’s a kid writing a paper or something.” His words are breathy, unsure, gritted out through unwilling teeth. He hates this. Hates it with his entire being.

The blonde girl smiles, likely a little awe struck at the sight of a hockey player in the library. As far as Sirius knows, none of them use the library. Half of the team prefer to study at home, and half of them could give less of a shit about their degrees. “Uh, sure, Sirius, right?” She asks, prucking around the desk for a sheet of paper. 

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Astrology is on the third floor. He’ll be waiting at the main desk for you.”

Sirius nods, thanks the girl and heads towards the stairs. He climbs them two at a time, skin itching with anticipation. He really hopes whoever he’s stuck with for the foreseeable future isn’t an overachieving dick. The signs for the astrology section of Hogwarts library point to the right, Sirius follows them all the way to the main desk in the centre of the floor. All of the shelves surround it in a circle, little stars and flecks of paint on the edge of each bookcase. In the centre of the circle sits a circle table, scattered with open books, papers, drawings of constellations.

Sirius tries not to think too hard about the irony of being landed with an astronomy student. He might hate everything about his family, but he loves the stars. Loves his namesake.

There’s no one at the desk, their things left abandoned. Sirius tries not to be nosey but fails. The closest thing to him are drawings, mappings of planets and stars. Hand drawn; with such painstaking detail he finds himself in awe of it. He sets it down, moves on to the next piece of paper, covered in barely legible ramblings about the importance of planet distance, star mapping, it’s barely congeable.

“Did no one ever teach you not to touch what’s not yours?”

Sirius freezes, blood draining from his entire body. The ice cold, baritone voice. Sirius hears it in his nightmares. It claws at the darkest parts of him. His hands shake as he turns; face to face with a more polished carbon copy of himself. Regulus Black is two years younger than Sirius, and yet he looks almost a decade older. He looks positively regal in his ironed clothes, with his perfectly tamed hair and clean-shaven face. Even his shoes don’t have a single scuff on them. It’s not lost on Sirius, the idea that this could have been him. He was supposed to be the heir, the brother with his shit together.

Regulus scowls at Sirius, reaches forwards to rip the paper from his trembling hands. His brain refuses to work, bile rises in his throat. He’s going to kill Moody.

There are memories, there. Playing somewhere in the back of his head. Childlike voices talking in hushed tones, screaming, fighting, hateful words, laughing, crying. He and Regulus were once as close as brothers could be. He hates that Regulus now looks at him with disgust. But refuses to let him win.

“Only thing my parents taught me was to hit fast and hard, watch your enemies wither and die.” Sirius scoffs, hands stuffed in his pockets. He will not allow Regulus to see him rattled. “Of course, they treated their own children like enemies.”

It’s Regulus’ turn to scoff. Even his scoff is prim and proper. He rounds the table and takes a seat, like a king in his throne. Sirius supposes he is. Everything in the Black family dynasty will be his in a few years. Everything Sirius didn’t want. Everything Regulus didn’t want. Not until he didn’t have a choice. “You wanted for nothing.” Regulus quips.

Sirius’ blood burns with the statement. He sounds exactly like their mother. Cruel, evil. Willing to overlook the darkness of her own soul because it got her what she wanted. Money and power. “Spoken like a true Black, Reggie. Congratulations.”

Regulus’ smile is nothing short of bitter. He knows the insult that lies in there, but he shrugs it off as easy as picking a piece of lint from his pure cotton shirt.

“I need all of the books from section A to B noted. Titles, author, date of publication. Alphabetised.” Regulus levels Sirius with a bored look and he balks.

His younger brother, acting like Sirius is beneath him. He shrugs, “Better get to work then, Reggie. Might take you a while.”

“You’re the one on community service for acting like a rabid animal.” Regulus shrugs.

“Yeah, I’ll take the suspension. This shit isn’t gonna happen.”

Regulus chuckles and Sirius can already picture it. His younger brother, sweet, kind, sensitive Reggie. Turned into a fortune five hundred shark, belittling his staff because he can. Just like their father. “Sure. Throw away your hockey career, Sirius. But the Black family won’t be there to welcome you back when you blow your trust fund.”

Sirius’ jaw ticks. Hockey is his life. The Cannon’s won’t touch him with a ten-foot pole, draft or no draft, if he doesn’t touch the ice this season.

“You’re just like him, you know.” Sirius spits. He doesn’t miss the way Regulus’ face hardens; a little shame mixed in there somewhere. They’re too similar, in some ways. Sirius knows exactly where to press where it hurts. 

Regulus hands him a notepad. “A to B.”

“Better get out before you end up like her, too, Reggie. That shit’s irreversible.” Sirius tells him, disappointed in himself for even saying it. It feels like acid on his tongue. He turns and goes to find section A. Doesn’t look back to see the fear on his younger brother’s face.

Remus

Thursday evenings are Remus’ least favourite. There’s no practice to keep his mind occupied, the gym is closed for deep cleaning, there’s nothing for him to occupy himself with, except his weekly call with his parents. He’s longed for an excuse to cancel a million times over. It never comes. A punishment, Remus thinks, for something he did in a past life. He loves his parents. They can be overbearing, intense, but they care. That’s a lot more than some people have.

But they don’t get him. His father, more so, than his mother. Hope Lupin is kind and understanding. If Remus told her he wanted to sack it all in and become a shark wrestler, tomorrow, she’d buy him a shark keyring and do as much research as it took to help him on his way. But Lyall Lupin? Five-time Stanley Cup Winner, top player in the NHL for years, retired, hardass hockey player? He’d strangle his only son with his bare hands. All he ever does is push. He pushes and pushes and refuses to see Remus’ health as an issue.

It’s exhausting. Sometimes, Remus just wants to be told to slow down. As much as he’d hate to (he has goals, things he wants to do, his illness won’t stop him). It would still be nice to not have so much pressure on him all of the time.

The call connects with a heavy sense of dread. Hope and Lyall are in their living room, a large canvass of Remus with his first ever hockey trophy hung proudly behind him. That was before the crash, before the scars and brittle bones. Back when the world was his for the taking. Remus hates that photo.

“Hi, love.” Hope beams, cheeks appled out in a smile.

Remus looks most like his mum. Right down to the sandy brown hair, fluffy and unruly. Except he has his father’s nose. The nose that his least favourite scar slashes jaggedly across. He avoids looking at the square with his face on it. Instead, he focusses on the look on his father’s face.

“What’s wrong?” Remus asks, nerves on edge.

Lyall Lupin, to the media, to people who don’t know him, is an unreadable man. Remus can read him like a book. His face might portray as impassive, but he’s furious. About what, Remus has no fucking idea. It’s always something.

“Nothing, love.” Hope tries to shake it off.

“You were a little heavy on your left skate last game, no?” Lyall grits out.

Remus almost laughs. Like, full on belly laughs. Disbelief washes over him, hot and furious, his blood burning. “I played first and second line because Kennedy bust his shoulder over the summer. You remember I have a bad knee, right?” Remus scoffs, eyebrows raised.

He sees the way his mother eyes his scars, the way they pale with the stretch. She looks sad, remorseful. He relaxes his face, shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“Of course, we do, Rem.”

“You think the Wasps will be impressed with that performance? So early in the season, too.” Lyall scoffs, waving a dismissive hand at Remus.

Sometimes Remus thinks his parents see right through him. Sometimes, he wants to scream that he’s right there. That they almost lost him altogether and anything he does now should be a fucking bonus. That he’s sick of never being good enough. That his father should be grateful Remus is even still physically able to get on the ice.

Instead, he swallows the anger and sighs. “Holme gave me some new physio exercises. It’ll be better next time.”

His father nods. “Good.”

“Is that all, then?” Remus asks shortly.

“How was your week?” Hope asks, at the same time Lyall lets out a stern, cold, “Yes.”

She frowns at her husband, who blatantly ignores her. It raises a feral beast in Remus. A wolf howling. He wants to tell his father to respect his wife, to appreciate all she does for him. But he knows Hope hates when he does that. So, he scoffs, hangs up, and slams his laptop closed. He’s exhausted after a mere five-minute phone call, wants nothing more than to crawl into bed with a book and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

But Sirius stands in his doorway, a sympathetic look on his face. Remus hates it. Hates when Sirius treats him like something fragile, something that can be easily broken. While it may be physically accurate, it will take a lot more effort from Lyall Lupin to break Remus mentally.

“He was in top form.” Sirius murmurs.

Remus nods, runs his hands across his face. The raised bumps of his scars irritates him, so he drops his hands to his lap. “How was community service?”

Sirius shrugs. “The kid writing the paper?”

Remus hums.

“Regulus.”

“Shit. Sorry, Pads.” Remus offers, hand itching to reach out and intertwine with Sirius’. A comforting touch for both of them. He doesn’t.

Just follows Sirius across the room with his eyes as he approaches Remus’ neatly made bed and climbs in. Remus sighs. He’s not sure he has the energy for whatever game Sirius is playing. He can barely keep up anymore. They’re toeing the line between best friends and something else, and while Remus enjoys it, sometimes, he doesn’t think he can stomach it tonight.

But Sirius pushes the display pillows off the side, pulls back the covers for Remus and he finds he can’t resist.

Sirius smells like old books with a touch of cinnamon. He curls into Remus’ side with ease, muscles relaxing until he’s lax in his arms. He feels himself relaxing, too.

“I miss him.” Sirius whispers, voice broken.

Remus presses his lips to Sirius’ hair. “I know.”

“He hates me.”

His chest constricts. Remus knows how much Sirius regrets leaving Regulus. It weighs on him, is probably a large part of why he refuses to take responsibility for anything, ever. He wishes he could make it better for Sirius. “He hates that you got out.”

“I hate myself for not dragging him with me.” Sirius says.

His grip tightens on Remus, his head pushing further into Remus’ neck.

“He’ll forgive you. If you tell him.”

Sirius doesn’t say anything. His breathing slows, Remus feels his eyelashes flutter against his neck. Asleep. Out cold.

He presses one last kiss to Sirius’ hair, pushes all of the thoughts out of his head, and follows suit.

[soullumii]

masked up | joel miller x f!reader

pairing: joel miller x fem!afab!reader

summary: joel fucks you while wearing his gas mask

warnings/tags: 18+ content MDNI, very self indulgent smut (unprotected piv oops, mask kink 🤭, vaginal fingering, riding joel cowgirl because that is for sure his fav position, little bit of a bulge kink, oral [m receiving]) descriptions of blood and violence, established relationship (married!! whoop whoop!!), making joel call you “my wife” because i’m weak for that shit, soft!joel, protective!joel, this got sappy, pet names galore as usual, NO USE OF Y/N

word count: 4.2k

a/n: i can’t explain how i feel about joel wearing a gas mask. i swear every time he put it on while i was playing tlou pt 1 i moaned /hj. just HEAR ME OUT PLEEK. JUST WATCH THIS (it’s a tiktok edit) OK YOULL UNDERSTAND.

You don’t mean for the mask to become a thing.

But it does. It becomes a Thing™.

It all starts and ends with Joel, like good and bad things usually do. And this thing is no exception.

But it all begins with something bad.

Coming across spores nowadays is few and far between for you. You're not usually on patrol much, your job being to tend to the crops in the greenhouse and feed the livestock. 

Today, though, you’re not so lucky. With Tommy out sick, you’re filling in for him. Thankfully, though, you’re paired with Joel, your very lovely and very experienced in the art of dealing with infected, husband. So you know if you come across spores, your husband will have your back. 

Spores are annoying, but they're manageable with gas masks. When you and Joel enter an abandoned office building on a new patrol route and you catch sight of the little specks floating through the air, you immediately put yours on, Joel doing just the same. 

The floaty fungal fuckers themselves aren't scary, especially not when you have the gas masks to keep you safe. It's just what waits in the shadows that scares you, because where there are spores, there's infected. Lots of them. 

And usually interspersed in that conglomerate of stalkers and clickers are the big, meaty ones. The kind that have been sitting and festering for years. The kind that could literally rip you into pieces, regardless if you have a gas mask on or not. Bloaters, yeah, those big shits. The fucking bane of your existence.

Unfortunately, the one lazing around in this abandoned office building must somehow pick up on your undying hate for them because within minutes of you and Joel looting the place for all it’s worth, it comes clambering out of what used to be a conference room.

It's a big one. Noticeably disgusting, outrageously hideous, growling and slobbering as it slings mycotoxin at you. It's not very fast, and yet it's so fucking terrifying as it lumbers after you, because you know exactly what it’s capable of. 

You're shooting at it with whatever arrows you have left in your backpack (though they’re mostly just bouncing off it’s thick fungal exterior), and Joel's crunching out shot after shot with his shotgun, but neither of you are hardly making a dent.

God, you wish Joel had brought the flamethrower he keeps in his storage room. You’d make a Molotov cocktail, but with the other infected hot on your heels, there's no time. 

A stalker comes crawling out of the shadows behind you, knocking over an office chair in the process, and you whip around to lodge an arrow right between its eyes. Two more come swinging out of nowhere, and you're so focused on trying to get rid of them so that they can't reach you—can't reach Joel—that you don't realize you've left your back unattended until a large, gross excuse for a hand lands hard on your shoulder, lugging you backwards with inhuman strength. 

Joel shouts your name with increased panic, and you hear his gun fire off more rounds into the bloater's back, but it doesn't care, it's hands finding your head and jaw, gripping you so tight you think it might shatter your mandible.

"Joel!" You scream, eyes squeezing shut as the pain in your jaw multiplies.

This motherfucker is about to rip you clean in half—

You think this is it, I'm about to die in front of my husband by being torn from the jaw down, but, thankfully, death never comes. Instead, the bloater releases you with a pained roar as the sound of squelching fills your ears. You manage to back away enough to watch Joel tug the bloater off of you by the handle of his machete, the blade lodged in its chest. 

He pulls the machete out only to swing it down in an arc straight into its head, repeatedly. Blood splatters all over him as he bludgeons the wretched thing. Over his veiny arms, his black mask. It sinks into the fabric of his flannel.

And funnily enough, this is when it becomes a thing.

The bloater crumples to the floor with a gurgling groan as it finally dies, and Joel turns to you, chest heaving and eyes wide and panicked. They soften, relieved when he catches sight of you physically intact, though, mentally a bit checked out.

Whether that’s because you’re in shock or because your brain is rewiring as it files this new image of Joel away, who knows? Maybe it's a little bit of both. 

“Are you okay?" Joel asks, sheathing his machete to look you over. His hands catch your jaw gently, a welcome contrast to the bloater. He turns it this way and that, checking for any damage or possible bites.

A traitorous thrumming starts up between your thighs as he stares you down through the lenses of his mask. 

"I'm fine, Joel," you say, breathlessly. "Thanks."

“Thank god,” he squeezes your arm lovingly, grateful to see you in one piece. “Let’s get outta here.”

- - -

"Do you like the masks?" You ask him eventually, when you're back outside, the setting sun warming you pleasantly as the tall borders of Jackson rise in the distance.

You both took the masks off the minute you escaped the spores, but a part of you secretly hoped Joel would keep his on.

Joel scratches at his graying beard. "They keep us safe. Don't feel much for 'em at all really." He glances sidelong at you, a curious quirk to his lips. "Why?"

You shrug, "No reason."

Just trying to figure out if you'd wear it during sex if I asked you to, that's all.

“Alright, somethin's up," Joel says. "You've got the look.” 

“What look?” 

“The sex look.” 

You halt in your hike, turning to narrow your eyes at him. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

Joel fails to stifle a chuckle. “You’re horny. That’s the face you make when you want to have sex. Like you wanna eat me alive.” 

Shit. He’s found you out.

“How would you know?”

He blinks. “Honey, I’m married to ya. Of course I’m gonna know.”

Valid. Still-

"I’m not horny," you try to defend, though you've never been good at lying, and based on the self satisfied smile Joel wears, you know he sees right through you. "We almost died, Joel. Maybe this is my 'loving every minute of my life' look."

"I know that look. This ain't it."

Jesus Christ.

You sigh heavily. “Okay, yes. Maybe I am a little horny.” 

"Because…what? We almost died? That gets you goin'?" 

"No," you grit. You can’t even look at him when you say it. “It’s the mask.”

His brows knit. “The...gas mask?”

You nod tightly. 

“I don’t think I’m followin’,” Joel says. 

Is he seriously asking you to spell it out for him?

You take a deep, steadying breath. You don’t quite know how to phrase this, so you just go for it. “Watching you save my life in the gas mask just sort of woke something up in me. It was hot.” 

“Oh.”

Yup. He definitely thinks you’re crazy.

“So, what, you want me to fuck you while wearin' the mask or somethin’?”

Heat pools heavy and thick between your thighs at his words, your heart hammering behind your ribs. “Something like that, yeah.” 

Joel straightens. “...Okay. I can do that.” 

Your head whips up. “Wait, seriously?”

“You’re my wife. If you asked me to fuck you with a damn jester’s hat on I’d do it.” 

You laugh. “Okay, let’s not go that far.”

“I’d really do it for you.”

“It sounds like you actually want to wear it.”

He chuckles, and you two resume walking back to Jackson. “Alright, so, gas mask on tonight,” he says. “Any other requests?” 

“Since you’re asking…maybe you could wear a cowboy hat sometime…”

- - -

"Jesus, you're really lovin' this," Joel muses.

You're laid out beneath him in your shared bed, his long calloused fingers deep in your cunt, his thumb circling slowly over your clit, drawing out your pleasure, stretching it like taffy. Your jeans are still on, unbuttoned and unzipped, and your soiled underwear is pulled to the side as Joel’s hands unwind you. 

You're grasping onto his muscled forearm for dear life, moans leaking out of you in a steady stream as he fucks his fingers into you, curling up to stroke that spot that has you clenching down hard on his digits as the burning starts in your toes, climbing up your thighs. 

He looks so fucking good with that mask situated over his handsome face, his peppered hair flipping out over the straps that keep it snug on him. His eyes are dark through the lenses as they watch you unravel before him, almost black from how dilated his pupils are.

His jeans are still on, his erection straining hard against his zipper. The flannel he wore earlier is gone, giving you the perfect view of his toned chest and the dark hair that dusts it. There's still some blood stains on his mask. Every time you catch sight of them, your body ignites with something carnal and hungry.

"’Cause, you look hot," you huff between moans. 

Joel laughs, deep and rumbling, and the mask warbles it a bit, adding a distortion to his voice that for some reason makes everything happening so much hotter. “I still don’t really get it, but if it’s makin’ you this wet, I don’t care.”

You moan particularly loud at the sound of his voice muffled through the mask and cant your hips against his hand, the combination of his thumb circling your clit and his fingers fucking up into you has you dangling dangerously close to the edge.

“I-I’m close, Joel.”

His brows furrow behind his mask, and he quirks his fingers inside you even more, and you jolt against his hand. 

“C’mon then, baby. Come for me. Show me how much this pretty pussy loves this mask.”

Fucking shit. When you first met Joel, he hardly spoke a single word, and even when you got him to open up more, he was thoughtful with what he said, chose his words carefully. Unless he was angry, then he could be a bit of an ass.

In bed though? Shit, if you can get him to shut up it’s a damn miracle.

“F-fuck, Joel,” you whine, legs stiffening as your orgasm swells inside you, a match striking, lighting up your viscera as pleasure fast-releases inside your veins. 

“There you go baby, that’s it,” Joel purrs. “So pretty when you come.”

You inhale shakily as the last few shocks fizzle through you, your clit throbbing as you come down from your high.

“Fuck…” you huff, trying to catch your breath.

He strokes your thigh lovingly, and if you could see him behind the mask you’d assume he’s probably wearing that soft smile that he gets sometimes that melts you into a puddle of mushy gushy feelings.

Joel leans back on his knees. “Now it’s time to deliver on that promise,” he says, and your skin tingles at the sound of his zipper. 

“Wait,” you tell him, and he stops, looking at you in concern.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

“No I just…I wanna show you how much this means to me.”

“Me wearin’ this mask? It’s not a big deal-“

You sit up and plant your hands on his chest, pushing him down until his back hits the mattress, effectively shutting him up.

You swing your leg over him, situating yourself right on his lap and peel off your tank, delighting in the way his eyes widen and his hands come down to settle warmly on your thighs. 

The muscles in his arms shift as he squeezes your flesh. The drag of the crotch of his jeans against yours has you biting your lip, a zing of pleasure shooting through you.

Joel’s eyes have darkened behind his mask, his pupils swallowing his irises whole besides the thin circle of hazel remaining at the edges as he watches you.

“I’ve never hated jeans more than I do right now,” he says lowly, his gaze dropping to the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

His strong hands slide up from your thighs to your hips to your waist, his dry, calloused skin causing goosebumps to rise in their wake. Finally, his palms cup your breasts, unrestrained by a bra because they’re too hard to come by in this day and age. 

He squeezes gently, and your nipples tighten beneath his palms. And then he rolls one between his thumb and forefinger, and your back arches, pressing you further into him. Your hips grind down automatically, and Joel releases a hazy moan. 

“Maybe,” you gasp when you roll your hips again, reveling in the delicious friction against your clit. “You should take them off.”

“Yours first.”

You don’t press him on it. You want your jeans off. So you lift yourself off of him and the bed to tug at your zipper, and Joel watches raptly as you pull your skinny jeans down your thighs, kicking them off your ankles.

And then you’re only in your underwear, and you throw your legs astride him again, the cloth of your underwear catching deliciously on the tent in his jeans. Joel’s hands find your body immediately, like a sweet tooth to a chocolate bar. His fingers dig into your flesh, and he grips your thighs, pulling them apart to set you on him fully. A shudder wracks your spine at the feeling of him pressed against your throbbing core.

“Goddamn,” he growls, eyes roving over you hungrily. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

You grind down on the hard outline of his cock, and Joel can’t help his reflexive thrust into you, and you sigh. 

“I need you in me, Joel,” you whisper, leaning forward to plant your hands on his broad chest, your fingers messing with the hair dusting his sternum. “Need your cock filling me up.”

“Christ,” he swears, eyes falling shut as he bucks again. “Need’a be in you, sweetheart.”

His hands find your hips and then your ass, squeezing the muscle cultivated there from twenty years of surviving in an apocalyptic world. 

His fingers dip beneath the waistband of your panties, warm and confident. He lightly rakes his fingernails over your skin, running his calloused fingertips reverently over the stretch marks on your hips. 

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he whispers through the mask. “Wish I could kiss you.” 

You shiver and your arms loop around his neck. His back is scarred beneath your hands, and you rub gently into the muscle of his traps, causing Joel to release a groan. 

His hand gravitates from your hips to the apex of your thighs, and your breath catches in your throat at the warmth radiating from his fingers when he positions them just below where you want him most.

He circles your clit again, smooth pleasure seeping through your nerve endings and your head falls back in a relaxed moan. You grind against the hard outline of his cock and the pads of his fingers against your clit, each slow drag of your hips causing pleasure to fizzle through you, like a flavored tab in a glass of water.

Your hands travel down his chest and stomach, outlining the thick, jagged scar there. Over his dark happy trail that starts just above his belly button and leads down to what your body is desperately craving. A little treasure map. 

You deftly undo the button and zipper and Joel makes a wrecked noise in the back of his throat when your hand brushes the hard outline of him through his briefs. 

“Wanna show you how much I like you in the mask,” you purr as you palm him. “How hot it gets me.” 

“Fuck,” his head falls back when you tug him out of his briefs, stroking his thick length to full mast. “Please, baby.”

You inch yourself down his legs so that you’re face to face with his weeping cock. Joel’s eyes widen and his hand comes up to gently stroke your hair appreciatively, tucking a lock of it behind your ear. He looks at you with adoration, and your heart swells in your chest.

“I love you, y’know that?” He says, softly. 

You can’t help but get a bit misty-eyed, always a fan of Joel when he gets soft like this. “I love you, too.” 

He smiles, and glances down at his dick, maneuvering it so that the head skates across your lips, leaving a trail of precum. His heated eyes find yours again. “Go on and show me then.”

“Yes sir.”

You keep eye contact as you lean forward to give his cock little kitten licks, and his head drops against the pillow with a groan, eyes lidded. “Shit, you can’t be lookin’ at me like that.”

You just smirk, and lick a long stripe up a prominent vein and kiss the tip of his cock sweetly before slowly taking him into your mouth. You take in as much as you can (which isn’t much, he’s pretty fucking big), and your hands find whatever you can’t fit.

You start sucking him in earnest, pressing the flat of your tongue against the ridge of his cock, delighting in the way the hand that had softly petted your hair before is now gripping it tight when you tongue that sensitive spot that always gets him reeling.

“That’s it, honey,” he groans, his hips twitching with tiny little thrusts as he tries to hold himself back. “Just like that.”

You moan against his cock, which has him bucking up reflexively, shoving his dick further into your warm mouth. Your throat spasms around the head of his cock when it hits the back of it, gagging lightly and tears forming at the edges of your eyes.

“Shit, I'm sorry, sweetheart,” he says, wiping the tears from your eyes with his thumb.

You shake your head slightly in reassurance, moaning around his cock again, and he releases a heavy breath, eyes fluttering shut once more as you continue to suck and bob and lick, effectively ruining him.

“Okay, okay, baby,” he says after a little while, lightly tugging on your hair to try and get you to stop. “I’m gonna come if you keep doin’ that.” 

You release his cock with an audible pop and send him a pout, “But that’s the whole point.” 

He chuckles a bit, sliding the mask off for a second so he can pull you up to kiss you softly, his tongue swiping over your bottom lip. You moan gratefully into his mouth when he tilts his head to deepen it, opening up greedily. As attractive as you find the mask, you certainly do miss being able to kiss him. You sigh happily when he pulls back to mouth at your jaw and throat, sucking and nipping his way down. 

“I wanna be in you when I come,” he murmurs against your skin, voice rough and gruff and you don’t think you’ll ever tire of it. “How’s that sound?”

You moan softly when he bites down on your throat, his beard and mustache tickling your skin. “Sounds…sounds good.”

He gives you another kiss before tugging his mask back down over his head, and your skin ignites, pussy fluttering.

Joel laughs. “I can literally see the cogs in your brain turnin’ when I put this on. You really do like it, huh?”

You shrug with a guilty smile. “The heart wants what it wants.”

And what it wants is him. Real bad.

So you drift a hand down to pull your panties to the side and shift your hips to position yourself over him, the head of his cock catching on your entrance. You sink slowly down, his length filling you.

The two of you moan in tandem.

“There we go,” he sighs.

“Mm, so big, Joel…” you whimper, and his dick jumps inside you.

You both just hang there for a moment, suspended in time as you get used to the feeling of each other. You’ve done this so many times, know each others bodies inside and out, yet it’s still a brand new experience every time.

You always have to adjust to his thickness. 

You break the spell with an experimental roll of your hips, and Joel’s hands clamp down on your hips with a vice grip.

“Christ—“ he swears. “You’re so good, so good for me.”

He’s filling you so fully, so deeply right now, you’re practically speared on him, and each roll of your hips has your clit brushing against his pelvic bone, amplifying that white hot pressure building inside you. 

When you and Joel first started getting intimate together, he was quiet in the bedroom. Probably a bit nervous around you—he was the one that fell first, after all.

But now after years together, he lets it all out.

Grunts and moans leak out of his gritted teeth as you fuck yourself on top of him. He’s dousing you in praises, telling you what a good girl you are. How perfect you are. How lucky he is to call you his wife. 

It’s all so very adorable and very sexy and you just love him so fucking much. 

Joel plants his feet down behind you, just to get some leverage so he can thrust his hips up into you at a steady pace. Your hands find purchase on his chest, keeping you upright while he fucks you.

His large palm slides around the front of your stomach, pressing down, and you can feel the way his cock moves inside you as he does it.

“You see that, baby?” 

You haven’t really looked down, so focused on the way he looks in the mask, how his breaths are coming out heavier and rougher through it. The way he sounds wrecked. But now that he’s asking, you do. 

You look down, only to see a slight bulge in your stomach with each thrust of his hips. 

A pleasant shudder runs through you. “Oh fuck.”

“Love seein’ the way I fuck you,” he rasps.

You watch his cock disappear and reappear with a slack jaw, eyes glazed as his hands stray to your thighs, squeezing and kneading the flesh.

You’re losing strength in your arms, your nails scraping through his chest hair as you try and remain upright, but the effort of matching his thrusts with your own along with the steady ecstasy filling your marrow is enough to have you collapsing against his chest, boneless.

And now Joel can really take the reins. His big hands grip your ass, holding you still as he pounds into you, your cheek smushing against his pecs with each heavy thrust, your clit rubbing against his sweat-slicked skin.

“F-fuck, Joel. Oh my god—“

“Yeah, yeah,” he grunts. “Atta girl.” 

Within moments you’re already there, eyes squeezing shut, brows pulled together in ecstasy as your climax crashes over you in rolling waves. It ebbs and flows within you as you listen to the heated pants modulating through Joel’s mask, watching his eyes gloss over as he chases his own release. 

It’s so fucking good. So right. Your husband never fails to give you exactly what you want.

His thrusts grow sloppier as he follows soon behind you, the fluttering walls of your cunt pulling him over faster.

“I’m comin’,” he grits. And then he’s grinding his cock into your pussy, holding you still against him as he paints your insides with thick ropes of cum, releasing a long, drawn out, wrecked moan of your name.

You lay pliant on his chest, practically drooling on him as you both come down and his cock softens inside you, slick and cum running down the inside of your thighs. His heart pounds under your ear, a steady reminder that he’s alive and here and that you, thank fuck, didn’t die earlier today.

“Thanks,” you mumble against his perspirant skin.

He tugs the mask off, his hair sticking to his sweaty temple. “‘Course, darlin’. Though as hot as that was, I dunno about having sex wearin’ that again. I think I was startin’ to get light headed from the lack of air.”

You giggle, “I’m sorry.”

“No, no. I liked it. But now anytime we have to wear them again I’m just gonna be thinkin’ about this. Gonna get a damn hard-on when I’m on patrol.”

You smirk, leaning up to plant a kiss on his lips. He opens up beneath you immediately, moaning softly into your mouth. 

“Maybe that was my goal all along,” you mumble, smiling into the kiss.

He pulls back with a quirked brow and crooked grin. “You are into some sick kinds of torture.”

“I mean, if it gets you coming home to me quicker…”

“Oh I’ll be comin’, alright.”

Your face scrunches. “God, you’re sick. Why did I even marry you?”

His eyes melt, one hand squeezing your ass cheek, the other stroking your jaw. “Because you love me.”

That causes tears to well in your eyes again, because despite everything, despite all the fucked up things about this world, you do love him. You’re capable of loving him. And you’re grateful that, even with the terrible way life has treated him, he’s capable of loving you too.

“Yeah, I do,” you say.

He kisses you again, sweet and passionate and filled with all the things he never knows how to say. “I love you, too.”

[anxietycroissant]

So I’m doing something fun with @turbulenthandholding , per usual. We are exchanging prompts for sydcarmy stories. I’m going to post a bit from two. Please vote for the one you want to keep reading, and that will be my next story on AO3. Scroll down below the poll to read the stories before you vote!

Prompt 1: Syd finds out Mikey’s grave is near her mom’s. (I actually came up with this one for @turbulenthandholding but accidentally started writing it before I realized what was happening.

The Cemetery Story

Every year leading up to April 8th, she forgave herself in advance for not finding the time to come and visit her mom’s grave on the anniversary of her death. But like always, she somehow found herself here. She brought the same last minute bouquet of white flowers from Whole Foods to lay on her mother’s grave. She knew both that the bones of her mother rested quite literally six feet under where she stood, and that she wouldn’t feel her mother’s spirit. It couldn’t be found on top of or underneath this quiet stretch of grass. She didn’t know where else to go, though, so she came to this place, where she could rub her fingers across the carved letters of her mother’s name.

She allowed her eyes to look anywhere they liked, anywhere except at the dates of her mother’s life etched into her headstone. She had died so young. It was too sad. She sighed loudly, biting her lip. “Love you, mom,” she murmured under her breath. “My life is just as fucked up as when I stopped by last year. I own a restaurant now. Well, co-own, I guess?” she amended. What more was there to say, when you had so many things to say that nothing would come out?

She crouched, letting her fingertips brush the buttery flower buds nestled in the bouquet she’d brought. She tapped one finger to her lips, and then gently touched the headstone. It would have to be enough. Pushing off the wet grass with her finger tips, she stood up quickly at the sound of crunching gravel nearby.

She glanced into and through a large bush, and could just make out someone on the other side of it. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but then the guy started to speak. She knew the voice, had memorized every variation in tone and pitch that it could produce. She knew its whispers, and lately she had become very familiar with what it sounded like screaming in her kitchen. The voice now sounded soft, bereft. She couldn’t hear any specific words he said, which assuaged her guilt over being nosy. She turned around slowly to begin walking away, and then he spoke her name.

“Syd, um. Remember how I told you I was so afraid she’d leave The Bear?” She couldn’t see his face but she could hear him practically sucking on a cigarette. Their location was so quiet that she felt trapped now. She couldn’t leave without revealing herself. The most she could do was turn her face further away.

He cleared his throat. “She um. She didn’t… leave? Exactly? But she told me, that, you know… this real fucking prick, Shapiro- we worked together a long time ago. He’s not that bad I guess? Uh anyway, he offered her CDC at his new spot. She said she really thought about taking it but ultimately just couldn’t.”

He sat in silence for a minute, moving the gravel in front of his foot back and forth in the silence. When he continued, it was almost a whisper. “I fucking know it’s my fault, too,” he admitted. It was strange. She didn’t feel Mikey’s presence exactly, but the air felt thicker. “How do I tell her? That I have no- fucking idea how… to do any of it? Mikey, if you could meet her, you’d get it. She’s so, so good. She doesn’t need me. I have no idea why she’s staying. I’ve been such an asshole. To everyone, to her,” He sighed.

she heard rustling. “I never told you, but when she started at The Beef? I was so fucked up, and she- she, right away, I could see it. I knew her. I knew she was brilliant, to good for that place. Too good for me. Too good for anywhere. But I just wanted to keep her,” he scoffed. “Mike,” he whispered, sounding spooked. “She made this risotto. You would have died. It just… it just needed, like, the tiniest tweak. But, anyway I was a dick about it. But I could taste her future. Her talent is so much bigger than like, I can even comprehend.”

He was silent for so long that she had to peek to see if he was still there. He was. Elegant fingers messing up his own tangled curls, he was biting his lip with red eyes. “I wish I could tell her, Bear,” he said, his voice raspy. “I want to give her everything she wants. Everything. Probably too much. Even if I don’t know how,” he added, that last sentence slipping out in a rush.

She heard his jacket rustle as he shifted. She could hear him humming, almost as if he was reacting to something another person said. And who was she to judge? Maybe he was.

He was quiet for a long moment, his hand worrying over his chin. Syd stared openly at Carmy as he marinated. She watched his face as different emotions danced across his finely carved features. She was pretty sure she saw sadness, frustration, humor, and maybe even a smidge of hope. Or maybe she was just a stalker.

“What would I say if she were here now? I- I don’t know, Mikey,” he admitted, choking out a meager laugh. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Syd, I’m sorry I’ve been such an unbelievable asshole to the one person I want to be better for? Oh, and yeah. I know you wanted to work together but I apparently never learned? And you should be the one teaching me?” He laughed bitterly, on a roll now.

“Or how about this? I tell her, “Oh and Syd, the thought of you working with Shapiro - that fucking prick, Jesus, Mikey, if she had actually said yes to that asshole I’d have never forgiven myself- anyway, the thought of you rather working with him than with me… learning that broke me.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m so sorry, Syd. How do I tell you? How do I show you? How important you are? How do I do that without making you feel less than?” He had tears in his eyes.

The weak sunlight cast his hair in a golden glow. In that moment, he looked like an angel who would never be so cunty in the kitchen. She almost admonished herself for using that label. But, she reasoned, men could be cunty too. She almost laughed out loud, but slapped a hand over her mouth.

The gentle slap of her fingers over her open mouth was not what she’d describe as gentle or silent. It was, in fact, audible in the empty cemetery. The smile disappeared from her face as Carmy whipped his head around, his eyes finding hers. They widened first in recognition, then disbelief.

“Syd?” he breathed. “Is that you? What… what the fuck are you doing… here?” he asked quietly, gesturing between them to the bush. Having lost the ability to speak, Syd pointed at her mom’s grave. Carmy took that as an invitation to walk over to her. He stood next to her, and then kneeled down to read her mother’s name.

He smoothed his forefinger over the inscription reverently, just as she had done. He was silent for a long moment before doing something that surprised her. “Hi, Mrs. Adamu,” he whispered. “I’m Carmy. It’s nice to finally meet you,” he said awkwardly. Syd’s heart swelled. “Your daughter… I know you’re really proud already, but… I wish you could see her now. She’s really something special,” he muttered, looking down at his feet.

“Carmy,” Syd said hesitantly after making sure he was finished speaking. “Can you look at me, please?” she asked softly.

He looked at her then, his piercing blue eyes meeting her own. She couldn’t swear on it, but she thought she could see his pulse making the skin of his rose flushed neck stutter. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “How much.. um, of that did you- did you hear?” His voice shook slightly.

Syd winced. “Once I figured out it was you, I tried to tune you out but I couldn’t. And I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but like, there’s no way I have left without announcing I was here,” she said simply. “So I stayed.” She twisted a ring around her finger over and over, smiling nervously. She took a shaky breath.

“I believe you, Syd. But uh, how much? Were you here the… the… all that time?” His eyes searched hers.

She nodded, unsure what to say. She moved closer to him. He startled, eyebrows raised. She curled her fingers into the soft cotton covering his shoulder. “Carmy,” she breathed. She nodded. “I heard it,” she confirmed. Carmy closed his eyes, nodding once. He opened his eyes again and held her gaze. “Is there, um. Anything else you… you wanna say?” They were so close now they were almost touching.

His answering nod was so small that she almost didn’t see it. “Yeah,” he replied, his lips all but disappearing into a thin line. “I wanted to say some of this… you know, at the funeral. But then the guy that made me this way was there. And I had to confront him. You know, he’s why, Syd. He’s why New York was so shitty, why I have panic attacks. Why I… why I can’t just be-“ he broke off, his eyes shiny.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I confronted him. He’s still a piece of shit. He will- never change. But then, later, you were gone. And I, I realized. I’m putting all of this shit on you. My shit. Ruining this for you, taking away all the good parts. The things about it you love. I made it all about me, like you said. Syd,” he gasped. “I’m sorry, for all of it.”

Syd wiped at her wet cheeks, taking deep breaths. Looking down, she saw that she had moved even closer to Carmy. She was holding onto the tips of two of his fingers.

Prompt 2: Syd and Carmy are catering a party for Jimmy, post -season 3, in a fancy high rise apartment. Maybe the review came out and it's not bad but it's not stellar and Jimmy is trying to figure it out, so he asks them to do this. Syd and Carmy get trapped in the service elevator with trays as they are cleaning up afterwards

The Elevator Story

The service version of anything was always- by design- less than. Service entrances were often discreetly located on the side or around the back. Service staircases were simply adorned, with no frills. Who would they be for, after all? Utilitarian double doors, forlorn potted plants, and overstuffed cigarette receptacles were some of the glamor one could expect to grace a service entrance. Likewise, service elevators didn’t claim to be anything they weren’t. They were just to get from point A to point B.

Syd, however, would argue that it was more like rising from point A to B on the Y axis. There was not a cute way mathematically to say that she was ascending vertically in a shitty service elevator in a fancy high-rise building in a gentrified, annoying little bubble of Chicago with her business “partner”. They had been down and up a few times, sullenly taking their gear back to the van. But anyway, if the Y-axis was this shitty elevator, shooting straight up toward this building’s event space, then the X-axis was the things left unsaid between herself and Carmy. Things on the x-axis weren’t great. They hadn’t been for a while.

She noticed him looking at her. He had a little smirk on his stupid face. His strong cheekbones and soulful eyes fucking pissed her off. With all of the bullshit he’d put her through, he deserved to have an actual asshole instead of a mouth. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. “What?” she asked aggressively, unintentionally flaring her nostrils. His eyes widened in surprise. He seemed to be in a perpetual state of surprise these days. How he could ever be surprised by the situation he found himself in, despite being responsible for it, blew her mind daily.

“Nothing,” he said in a low voice, sighing. “You were mumbling something about math. It was…” he stopped talking, catching sight of her expression. It was their day off, and she was in no mood for his shit. She had ultimately decided to reject Shapiro’s offer, but that didn’t mean much had changed. The big review that came out on the night of the funeral at Ever had been just decent enough escape the total wrath of Cicero. He still threatened them with data from Computer regularly. Hence the catering side job they had both agreed to do tonight. Everyone else had begged off, probably because the tension between Carmy and Syd was thicker than cold veal fat on a chilled plate.

“It was what?” Syd asked neutrally, daring him to say anything. “Nerdy?” She scoffed. She had heard that one before, although Carmy would never insult her in such an obvious way. He would insult her by excluding her. It was much more insidious, eating away at her one small bite at a time.

“It was fucking cute,” he muttered loud enough for her to hear. She could tell he didn’t mean to say it because his eyes grew impossibly wider. He cleared his throat. “Last trip back up there, I think,” he said quickly, clearly keen to change the subject. Syd was glad for the stainless steel utility cart in between the two of them. She’d take any distance she could get.

Syd rolled her eyes inwardly. Outwardly, she tried to keep a neutral expression. But had he truly called her cute? She was torn between smiling and being (even more) annoyed. She felt crabby, and he was picking at her. “You know what would have been cute?” she asked in a neutral tone. Carmy raised his eyebrows, looking earnest. He reminded her of one of those sad old men she saw who sat waiting for their wives on benches in the mall outside department stores. “It would have been a lot cuter and more cost-effective if we hadn’t done that fucking caviar station. But as usual, you didn’t listen to me. I don’t know why I’m even here anymore.”

Carmy had the nerve to look wounded. “Syd, where is this coming from? I agree with you completely! The fucking caviar thing was Cicero’s idea. You believe me, right?” he pleaded with her. She glared at him, one side of her mouth puckered.

“Forgive me for finding that hard to believe,” she said tonelessly. “You know what? Forget it,” she said, waving her hand. She wanted to avoid whatever arguments he desperately wanted to hold onto. “I don’t know why I bother anyway. Let’s just get this over with so we can get the fuck out of here.” At that moment, she noticed that they had been ascending very slowly for quite some time. How long had this little exchange been going on, anyway? They should have made it to the top by now. And she certainly hadn’t heard that whining mechanical noise during their last ascent.

“Carmy, shouldn’t we be there by now? This is taking for-” she broke off as the elevator slowed to a halt. They looked at each other. They heard and felt a grinding shudder below their feet before the elevator was finally silenced. “Fuck my life,” Syd uttered, sliding down to sit on the floor of the elevator. She just wanted to go home and mindlessly disassociate like a normal person. She couldn’t even look at her phone in this elevator; there was no signal.

Carmy held the call button for a long time until someone came on the line. He tried explaining their situation to the operator, but she could not have been less interested. “Sir, let me stop you there. This is a modern elevator. I can see your location in my system. I can also see the error code on the elevator. The motor has overheated. But the ventilation system appears to be in order. I’ll put in a work order for this elevator and call someone out to your location,” she recited robotically.

Syd huffed, sharing an incredulous glance with Carmy. “Um, sorry, but how long will that take?” she asked. Carmy’s brow was furrowed as he stared holes into the speaker.

The lady’s tinny voice responded almost at once. “Oh, no idea. I’ve called them out, but it’s late. I’m sending them to you, but the elevator will probably cool down before they get here. I’ll also alert the building’s management, but they’re not the most-” she stopped talking suddenly. Syd suddenly understood that this probably wasn’t the first issue this lady had logged with this particular building. She sighed.

“How long do you think it will take? Until either the elevator cools down enough, or the technician gets here?” Syd asked, her voice calmer now.

The lady’s tinny voice sounded once more from the speaker. “Thirty minutes to an hour is my best guess,” she said. “Just sit tight. Like I said, ventilation is working properly and this is a really minor issue. There’s nothing wrong with the motor or any other systems. You’re safe,” she assured them.

Seeing Syd’s dubious look, Carmy grimaced.

Ok I am tagging the blog names I can remember off the top of my head but I know I’ll forget some geniuses so please add them if you feel like it’s worth their time! ❤️

@turbulenthandholding @currymanganese @unbeweavvveable @moodyeucalyptus @bioloyg @sashafiercest @fpink202 @thoughtfulchaos773 @sydneys-adamu @purposechef @ciaomarie @amieraisposting @ambeauty @houseofevangelista @devisrina @angelica4equity @imliterallyjustablackgirl @inalltheirgorgeouscolors @laviejaguardia @kdbleu @mitocamdria @sydcarmy @sillygoose375

[thepersialionheart]

Something I've realised over years of reading and writing fanfiction is that I have a slight knack for indulging myself in a particular type of trope. And that is when character a and b are in a secret relationship but they get caught or figured out or decide to finally reveal it themselves.

It's even better when a and b are blatantly in a relationship, have never tried to hide it, yet no one believes they are in one until they have to kiss on front of everyone for people to believe them.

Another version I like is when they think they are in a secret relationship except everyone and their mother and their mother's mother low-key knows because they are just so bad at hiding it but they don't realise it.

One of my favourite actual examples is the short time Hiccup and Astrid decided to hide their relationship just for the sake of wanting it to be between them and wanting to feel secure in their relationship before letting everyone else in on it, even though literally the entire archipelago knows that Hiccup and Astrid were endgame from the beginning. (Thor I will never not go on about how much I love these two together!)

Then there are the miraculous fics where Marinette and Adrien post reveal are together but keep it a secret, either for safety, or for shits and giggles (I myself may have directly helped in adding onto this). (Plus I'd rather have this happen than anything that happened after season 2 ended.)

Something I've really been into is wangxian fics where they secretly get together earlier and it changes everything. The especially juicy ones are the time travel fics where they are in an established relationship but no one realises because everyone thinks Lan Zhan hates Wuxian.

And of course, I've seen a few haikyuu fics where Kageyam and Hinata aren't exactly a secret, but no one seems to realise they are together because they act the same. I desperately want more of these types of fics.

Oh and let's not forget my old obsession with Dramione (not to say I don't sometimes indulge in a few fics I remember reading and loving- dramionehas a special place in my fanfiction heart), especially the fics where they were in a secret relationship which somehow got revealed. The angst, the fluff, the drama! It was all there!

I don't know why this trope became a favourite of mine but if I find a secret relationship fic of one of my favourite couples l, you bet I am gonna read the heck out of it.

[kuroo-hitsuji]

Maybe Levi and Beel with purring, if you don't mind?

Absolutely :) apologies in advance if any of this is incoherent, i wrote most of it out half asleep and did my best to fix it but my brain skips over things when i reread so it could go either way 💀

Context, i headcanon purring (positively or negatively charged) in demon society to be the kind of emotional display most people avoid doing publicly for the most part, like crying and etc in a lot of human society, often being tied to vulnerability

Levi - absolute master of silent purring. A lot of his emotions are really strong and happiness/excitement is no exception, especially when it comes to his interests; he's gotten good at purring silently as a matter of necessity, his social anxiety would vaporize him on the spot if purring about his blorbos drew attention to him in public, but he can't just not go to limited addition merch events and etc, and he also feels like he'll explode if he doesn't channel his excitement somehow, so he does it Silently (and feels very sneaky and prides himself on this ability lol. Some people do actually notice occasionally but at that point he is usually so engrossed with whatever is causing it in the first place to actually notice. As far as he's aware he's got a spotless record agsjsdg). In the privacy of his home (more realistically just his room, but not exclusively) he doesn't bother as much with keeping quiet. If MC is present its about a 50/50 shot between loud or silent purring, mostly depending on if its from general contentment or from shock and nerves at something cute MC did lmao.

When his purr is audible its very consistent and kind of crunchy? That's the best word i can find rn but its not exactly what i mean djdhshhd like. You know the kind of purr that lowkey sounds similar to crushing a paper bag or something? (But like, more even and consistent and purr-sounding lmao i have no idea what I'm saying anymore-). If he's really flustered by whatever caused the purring it gets weird and choppy because it cuts out when he forgets to breath properly lol

Beel - Literally a chainsaw. He is so large (lots of space to make loud and deep sound) and simply does not care that much about social norms jfzjfz He does tend to catch himself quickly when it happens (usually about getting a snack he's particularly excited about, in which case his stomach growling also tends to mask the short sound to begin with lmao), cutting the purring short in a way that kind of sounds like a tiger chuffing, but it's mostly just because he's been taught to do so and generally does do his best to follow rules ("rules") when he's aware of them. He's mostly the same in public and at home, just a bit less careful about it at home, and will generally drop the effort the most around Belphie and ofc MC. He found it to be a surprisingly useful comfort tool when they first fell as well, for himself but especially for Belphie (who was insistent that it was not actually helpful, not wanting to accept such a bizarre change, as if he could actually lie to his twin about something like this. Even without the twin telepathy the positive effects of it were visible).

[keywhole]

radio waves.

okay i toss this to the wolves. i've only seen like 1/4th of the game so if u tag this w spoiler mentions pls add that theres spoilers bc I Will Read Every Tag.

18+ for heavy gore. also. trigger warning for gore.

sanmos deimos/sanford lil hurt/comfort bc deimos has adhd/autism it's true he told me himself also ty @sparrowchute for editing this bc i would never 4.8k words enjoy

——————————————————————————————————

Hearing the alarms on the rooftop had sucked ass, but in the sewers? Oh, Deimos wanted to kill himself.

The sound pierced directly through his headphones as if they were made of clay. They weren’t. They were a good sturdy pair of a headset; Deimos just kept them a few sizes down for them to be pressed into his head. For something he found as a joke, his dumbass trademark had become a lifesaver. He never understood the phrase “so quiet you can hear a pin drop,” until he found these. And, well, after Doc fixed them up a little, but even before that they were perfect. He could finally hear and not hear at the same time. Instead of hearing every single creak of metal or wood, pounding enemies a dozen feet from him, with stomping footsteps behind, he just heard the footsteps. Instead of being in car crashes and hearing every sputter of the engine, every shriek that the windows made as they broke, he just heard Sanford asking if everyone was okay, Hank complaining about an illegal left, and his own laughter. It was like he was a radio, and the dial finally found a sweet spot.

But somehow, those tall ass dinner bells had shot right through the shells. The headphones were no match for the blaring sound the towers bellowed, and they didn’t stop. It started out as just an annoying ringing in his ears, fine, nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. But they really didn’t stop. Deimos and Sanford were careful, duh, but zeds weren’t. Little tiny pebbles that touched a goddamn pixel within their range weren't careful. Sure, yeah, it was pretty much par for the course for the two of them, but it sucked ass. And then sucked more ass. 

Every ricochet of drops hitting the sewer water echoed in Deimos’ ears. The water simply moved and bounced in his eardrums and never stopped, because that’s how water works. The old metal creaked inches from age and what lived behind the bars, and even with their sneaking and stealthy footsteps, they sounded like slams against the ground. The feeling of it too was louder to himself because it was, y’know, himself, and Deimos wanted to punch through the side of his head and close his eardrums by hand. He had considered if that would be beneficial in the long run, but they didn’t have enough bandages for all that jazz. He was in hell, and he’d have to deal with it for now. Deimos had done better with worse.

It still SUCKED MAJOR ASS though.

Especially when Sanford had simply explained a plan for once they get out of this place, and Deimos just had to find a dick joke in there, and moved his hand slightly too far to the left and set off an alarm. The same constant ringing that ripped through his skull, except it was amplified by the tunnel of steel encasing the two of them. A shit-fart of a cacophony. It got to the point where he couldn’t tell if it was a zed’s skull or his own cracking in half. The latches of the gate audibly flaked rust as they wailed open, letting a disgusting amount of sludge that pounded against the water beneath it, all combined with the swampy zeds treaded forward with footsteps that sounded like they belonged to moist giants. Not only that, but one of them (if not both) had been pushed into another alarm, which doubled the process.

In case it needed reminding in the last five hundred and eighty-seven words, Deimos wanted to kill himself.

The fights weren’t exactly a big deal physically. The second wave sort of (literally) swamped them, but it wasn’t anything the two of them couldn’t handle. Sanford was slashing his hook through skulls, using various heads as surprisingly useful hammers. Deimos switched between his gun and his bat, but he was off his game. Sanford was there, and his guard over both of them around zeds made up for it, but at some point Deimos couldn’t take it anymore. He took out his gun, and didn’t let go of the trigger. The noise was worse, the recoil creating a sound that not only shot outside his body, but inside, too. But, hey, if his ears were going to bleed, he had to do some of the damage himself. Go big or go home, and the latter didn’t have much meaning for him. So he flooded his ears until he felt Sanford pull his wrist aside.

Deimos’ head was pounding. Luckily, Sanford took a second to scan their surroundings to inadvertently  give the other a chance to compose his face. He pinched between his eyes, not a single beat in the air dropping. Everything was at a constant state of screeching, despite the outward danger being nill. He was about to consider busting his head open and ripping out whatever part of the brain registered sound when Sanford turned back around. He knew Sanford was scanning him to make sure he was okay, and at least it seemed Deimos could keep it together on the outside, in the dark. Sanford quickly gestured for him to follow, hugging the wall a bit more. Deimos knew that also meant to parrot his movements and follow him carefully.

“Up ahead there seems to be a dip in the wall,” Sanford said whispering, though it hit the other like he was speaking in his normal volume, “We should be able to at least breathe for a second.”

“Gotcha,” Deimos whispered in a desperate amount to not say anything more. He was talking as quietly as he could, an attempt to not even be able to hear it himself, but he still did. It received a nod from the other, so at least he knew he was keeping it together at the moment. They shuffled, and he put up with it, his head on a swivel as natural. His face was constantly twitching in discomfort. 

The ringing didn’t stop. It didn’t even start to ebb off.

Luckily, the little dip had been just a small, closed off alley-sorta thing. The two of them checked it out for any ironic traps, but Deimos called it quits far before Sanford and sat himself down. His ass hit the ground and his hands immediately flew up to press his headphones deeper into his head. It muffled some of the water, but the metal was loud.

Sanford wasn’t looking.

One of his hands was pressing against the edge of their little hiding hole while the other was gripping at the handle of his hook. His head was jotting around as he scanned the surroundings. The exit was in sight, but it was still quite a few tip-toes away. There was little to no telling of what was behind that door. Of what Sanford could remember, he could work out some kind of probability, but it’d be a long shot. And with shots on the mind, he thought back to how Deimos just let it rip with his gun. The coast seemed clear, but Sanford didn’t turn around when he sighed.

“You didn’t have to drop all that lead, y’know?” Sanford couldn’t be too mad, because he had spread the bullets out to save him the trouble of being tackled down, “I have no idea when we’ll be able to stock up again.”

“Hey, Sanford.” Deimos' voice was a bit out of breath, but not enough to be concerning; there was a small laugh in it. He tried for it to not sound too forced, because Sanford would notice immediately, so he kept thinking about that time Sanford blew himself up with a grenade. It had been really funny. No one had time for Deimos’ drama, and he knew that, but he wanted to peel his flesh off until that was the last resort. “Be quiet for a sec, ‘kay?”

Sanford knitted his brows. His sense of sight was more focused than his hearing, but he at least gathered a decent idea that his partner definitely needed a break. He couldn’t lie, he wouldn’t mind one himself, but he knew they didn’t have the time for his sore muscles. He didn’t like zeds. He really, really didn’t. It’s not like Deimos did either, he knew they both wanted to get the fuck out of here, but they can’t take a short rest while they’re in initiative. With his back turned, Sanford had no idea of the actual state his partner was in, but with the super funny joke he had made earlier that set off the alarms had him adverse to the idea of him taking him too seriously right now. It’s not like he was mad— no, the joke had been super funny and worth it— but again, they both wanted to get the fuck out of here.

“Deimos, this really isn’t the time to fuck around, we—”

“Sanford, seriously,” Deimos sounded annoyed, but that same rhythm was practiced in his voice, “Shut up for a second.”

Okay. Okay, that was a bit weird. Surely Deimos wasn’t doing the thing where he hides something tying him down under jokes— oh, Sanford felt like a fucking idiot for even considering the possibility that Deimos wasn’t covering something up. They still seemed safe for the time being, at least. He turned his head around to look at the other, confused and concerned.

Deimos was reaching his limit. Usually, when they found a spot they could sit, they had a quiet moment while Sanford jotted some things down and Deimos did fuckall (mostly sneaking in a cigarette) and took an actual second to themselves. This wasn’t one of those moments. His hands kept pressing and pressing and pressing his headphones closer to his head. He didn’t know if that was helping, or if it was making his circulation fucked up enough to cover up more sound. He didn’t want to be a dick, he really didn’t, but if Sanford didn’t give him a minute of silence Deimos would have to be getting his ears sewn back on when they got back. Or bash his head in with a nail bat until he could pick his own brain out; whichever would be faster, either were inevitable. Sanford was walking over to him. The only eye Deimos had opened twitched over to him for a moment, seeing only concern in his face. Despite trying to keep that feeling away from him, he found comfort in the care. He couldn’t comprehend that right now. His skin was buzzing with the reverb of every sound. Sanford’s shoes scraped against the ground in a sound that made his skin burn and sent bullets straight into his brain. His ears couldn’t stand it. The usual soothing gruff in his voice sounded like static squeaking. Deimos knew he was only trying to help. The part of his mind with sense had instantly regretted not asking for it in the first place, but Sanford didn’t shut up, let alone shut the fuck up, and the care didn’t make sense next to the rattles of metal, or the groans of rusted gates, or the sheet of crashes sewage water created. 

“Hey, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? I have some—”

Deimos opted to push his headset against his head until the plastic was digging into him. One of his knees dug into his forehead as he killed his own ears himself. Once again, Deimos had to stumble into an alarm.

“Sanford I need you to shUT THE FUCK UP!”

Oh. Oh, shit, something was wrong. Sanford’s shoulders fell. He didn’t turn around fast enough.

The yell was loud enough for some attention to be drawn. Dammit, if Sanford had just noticed Deimos was struggling earlier he could’ve used that very convenient spot to actually help him. The gates behind him opened with moans of familiar fuckers, and another slab of guilt stacked onto Sanford’s shoulders when he realized he’d have to turn his back again. But he had to take care of this before he could do anything for Deimos, so he tugged the rope on his hook for the handle to be back in his hand. With Deimos’ hands still clutched to the side of his head, he still moved his elbow towards his gun before Sanford put out a hand. Unfortunately, he had to talk.

“Don’t— I got this, just stay here.”

He hopped out of their ratting spot and hooked the closest zed by the legs. He flung it against the wall, hopefully buying himself some time to spread the zeds farther away from Deimos. Being in the middle of it all would be a bit of a risky move alone, but he’d find a way to make it work. Deimos hadn’t looked injured (but, then again, goop thrown up on him from a sewer creature could probably cover up blood) but he looked in pain. Either way, something was wrong, and he hadn’t realized. Sanford was so good at noticing his hints, but Deimos was just as good at faking it.

A fist flew its way through a zed’s stomach, making it fall to the ground with a gross squelch, leaving Sanford nothing but a bloody fist. He lifted his boot to crush its head, his foot soon flushed to the ground as if he stepped on a rotten pumpkin. If pumpkins had a lot more blood, at least. His less bloodied arm swung his hook into the throat of another, throwing the freak into another zed to buy him time. With said time, he ended up getting punched in the face and grabbed by the arm. He fought them off with a decent amount of effort before he loosened the rope on his hook to return the punch he owed, and kicked the other zed in the chest to send it down. That same leg stayed up to kick against the standing zed’s shoulder to give him the leverage to grab the thing by the sides of the head and twist its head off. Its bones let out a crunching sigh of relief, as if they had been begging to be free of the rotting meat they were trapped in. It fell towards him, which he dodged right back to the two zeds that were standing once again as they were still held together like a fucked up shish kabob. Sanford pulled the rope tighter to his hand as he lunged himself forward and stomped on their chests. His arm ripped the blade forward, short enough for a flick of his wrist to hold the hilt in his hand. It slashed against the zed’s faces with a rough, wet tear. Good.

There was a tug at the back of Sanford’s leg that led to an instinctual kick. He spun around to see a zed with no legs reaching towards him, its spine poking out of its body. His free boot sent a quick kick up into its open mouth, easily knocking the top of its head off with a swift movement, leaving nothing but a forgotten bottom jaw. A few more surrounded him, green foam bubbling from its mouth. This wasn’t going to be easy with a single weapon. His eyes jotted down to the dead legless zed, the spine writhing out like a larva trying to escape. Sanford ripped it out of its body, feeling it creak and shatter under his hand like spikes of wood. He slammed it into the side of another zed’s head and pierced it through and through. The head stuck on the barbs of the spine kept the thick sludge of a head stuck to it as Sanford whipped around once again and scratched another zed’s face before shoving it down. He used the other, splintered end of the spine to stab another in the face, the movement causing the stuck zed head to drop to his fear and roll around the other corpses. 

It wasn’t long until most of the heads were bashed in, but there were always, always ones that still got back up. Sanford gripped his hook as he threw it forward, giving its rope some slack. He didn’t have time for this. Something was wrong with Deimos.

“Just stay the fuck down, you chu—”

With precision and instinct Sanford hopped to the right to avoid a litter of bullets heading straight towards a zed’s head. It went down immediately, and Sanford couldn’t help but turn his head. Deimos was laying on his side with a cheek pressed to the ground with his gun matching his line of sight. His cheeks felt wet, and he was really hoping it was just miscellaneous goop and not tears. In Deimos’ mind, firing a few shots was the least he could do. In Sanford’s, it instilled another set of determination. He was hurting, but still at his back to help him. Sanford gave him a stern look, but his smile was sweet; a very “this stupid, stupid man” smile.

Deimos could only fire so many bullets. Partially because it was making him go insane, and he wasted most of his ammunition in a fit of rage. Still, it sped up the process of taking the rest of them down, but even with the extra hand Sanford eventually gave him the signal to stop. Deimos didn’t know why, but he did, because his aim was getting worse with disorientation swarming his head. Sanford must’ve noticed that. Or maybe Deimos’ aim had been fucked up enough to graze his arm— he didn’t know, and as long as Sanford wasn’t screaming in pain, it didn’t seem like he had to care.

The scariest part was making sure Sanford could creep his way back into the pair’s hiding spot without attracting further attention. Deimos really couldn’t care much, as long as Sanford was okay. His feet kicked their way to the back of the wall and had his shoulders fight to climb its way up for him to (lopsidedly) sit up. With his back against the wall, he finally had his hands free to push the padding against his ears closer. The pressure on his head was uncomfortable, but so were the bullets pelting their way into his brain through sound. The protection of the headset began to press into his skin more this time, the pads flat against the sides of his head. He could feel the plastic sewing its way against his skin. Was this the last resort?

Sanford stepped back into the tiny ally while looking in each direction. 

“Safe,” He said, mostly to himself, and turned around to run to Deimos and ended up skidding on one knee to meet his level, “I’m here, I’m here, what’s up?”

An annoyed groan ripped its way through Deimos’ tired, overworked lungs. How is Sanford not getting it? With great dramatic effect with his elbows, he pressed the muffs closer and closer and harsher against his head. He could feel the plastic scrape against his skin.

That’s when it all clicked. Sanford felt as if he failed a test for not realizing it sooner.

It was pretty common for certain sounds to cause Deimos to say his ears were ringing, but they always seemed to pass. Or, at the very least, was bearable enough for him to seemingly ignore it, but this one had been constant. They had been careful, yes, but shit still happened, because they were Sanford and Deimos. When the first alarm was tripped, he thought the majority of Deimos’ aggravation at it was the surprise. But adding on the fact that a few more went off— Hell, Deimos was probably still hearing the first alarm screeching in his ears.

Sanford crouched down in front of Deimos. His face was twitching with discomfort, and his chest was rising in panic. Slow enough for Deimos to stop them, he moved to be next to him. His arms laid around his shoulders at the same speed. Deimos didn’t stop him, but he also didn’t loosen up on the force of his headphones. Sanford tried to lower his voice to a point where he could hardly hear it himself, but he didn’t know how loud that was going to be right next to Deimos.

“I’ll keep an eye out, just try to breathe.”

And then, finally, Sanford shutted the fuck up.

His hands gently laid around Deimos’. He wished he could stop shaking, but the weight of Sanford’s arm was enough to hold him a bit more in place. Sanford’s fingers laced with his and gently tugged them away from the casing of his headset. They gently lifted his hands up, only a little, so that the blood coming from the small cuts on his head would slow at some point. Sanford applied the pressure with his wrists, an amount that kept it from hurting him, by gently guiding his hands off carefully. Deimos let him. The pressure slowly released, and blood suddenly felt normal throughout his body. Sanford’s wrist still kept down the pressure while he let his hands be peeled back. Sanford was still keeping an eye out. He could breathe. Deimos’ hand relaxed against his palms. He finally untensed his own wrists, but the muffling of sound was still there with Sanford’s help. One of his arms was around his shoulders.

Deimos closed his eyes and leaned a bit more against Sanford’s arm. The light blanket of quiet that attempted to cover up the overwhelming noise of everything ever was now in his hands. The warmth, and sticky-icky shit from fighting off icky-sticky zeds, was something Deimos could focus on. Everything was still there, threatening to overwhelm him to the point of crushing his own skull with his headphones, but the small bit of reduction was now thanks to Sanford. Deimos lifted his fingers to lay over Sanford’s as much as he could. What was left of a comfortable volume was easier to focus on with the outside comfort. 

Thankfully, their hands only moved to adjust to the position of Deimos turning his head to look up at Sanford. It hurt his head and his throat when he cleared it, trying to find the right way to talk with the least discomfort while he still had time.

“Sorry,” He sheepishly said in his anxiety riddled smile, “I didn’t mean to, to uh, y’know, yell at you. Not really.” 

Sanford shook his head. He turned his body a bit more to face Deimos, his hands holding the mittens around his ears in a firm but not intense force, but his arms were relaxed.

“I know, I know— it probably hurt you a lot more than it hurt me. I get it now,” Sanford whisper-talked(?) in a way like he was trying to turn a dial on the radio, trying to find the sweet spot, “Don’t worry about it, okay? Is this helping?”

He gave Deimos more time to breathe. His hands shakily reached up and placed themselves on Sanford’s biceps, taking a deep breath in, and a long breath out. It still felt as though if the two of them lifted their hands his ears would start spewing blood, but it didn’t seem like either of them would be letting go anytime soon. Right now, Sanford’s hands were keeping that overwhelming static that threatened to incase his senses at an almost bearable bay. When he looked up, the worry and care in Sanford’s face made him glance away. That part of sense in his brain that wanted to reach out for his help before? Yeah, it's at the forefront of his brain now. And it made his chest warm, and his face hot, and a bit more guilty for accidentally yelling loud enough to make Sanford lose whatever recuperation time he had in this spot. More sensations for him to focus on.

“Yeah,” Deimos admitted when he looked back at Sanford with a hint of a smile, “A little.”

A little while ago, Deimos had been writhing in discomfort, when he could laugh with broken ribs. But the moment Sanford’s hands could take their place beneath his, Deimos was giving him an embarrassed smile. A dopey grew on his face. He pressed his forehead against his. He could hear Deimos’ smile in his laugh.

Sanford pulled back with a huff. Now he knew what the problem was and, luckily, found a temporary fix. “Okay, how’re we gonna keep this right until we can take a look at it and see what we can really do?”

Deimos grinned. “I don’t have a fucking clue.”

Sanford was already nodding before Deimos even answered, because he already knew he had no fucking clue. Not only because he just knew him, but he knew how Deimos also couldn’t think when everything sounded like pot pans being slammed together. He hummed in thought, before he sat up. Softly, he reversed his hands with Deimos’. He made sure Deimos’ palms weren't pressing down too hard once they were placed on the shells, before he (reluctantly) let go. He reached into one of his side pockets before motioning Deimos to put his head down. With a confused look, he did so.

He heard the sound of fabric against the shell of his headphones. The fabric pulled tighter, similar to the added weight Sanford had applied. He felt Sanford securing something on his forehead.

“Okay, let go, see how that feels.”

Slowly, with genuine fear, Deimos lifted his hands. He blinked. It wasn’t as filtering, but it was similar. It was bearable. He moved to touch his forehead, feeling a knot with little, messy bits of fabric sticking up. “What’d you do?”

“I ripped a bandana a few days ago and kept the scrap, just in case,” Sanford said as quiet as he had been, “It’s not enough to cover up much but, hey, looks like it came in handy. How is it?”

Deimos adjusted it. He moved the fabric to the middle of his muffs, tightening the knot a bit. The creaking of the metal wasn’t as taunting. The water sounded farther away. There was only one test That could really see if it’ll work at all.

“Uuuuuhhhh,” Deimos adjusted to the sound of his own voice before he looked up at Sanford, “Say something.”

Sanford smiled. His hands moved up to hold Deimos’ shoulders. “Hi, Deimos.”

The soothingness of Sanford’s voice was back. Everything else felt like needles trying to use him as a pincushion, but needles were better than bullets. In two little words, Deimos was melting with a silly smile, finally able to straighten his vision and being held by what he saw. “Hey, Sanford. You smell like shit.”

Sanford’s snort was a happy chime in the musky air. “Yeah, because you smell any better. Works?”

“Yep, I’m just a drama queen.”

Sanford huffed. He shook his head, his hands falling down Deimos’ arm to his hands as he started to stand up. His grip wasn’t tight enough to force Deimos to stand; it was his choice to make. He took it. They didn’t let go of each other’s hands. “You’re not a drama queen. Next time, just say something, okay? Yeah, we’re in a crunch here, but there’s time for you.”

Deimos bit the inside of his lip. If he hadn’t been crying earlier, he came pretty close to then and there. He gently shoved Sanford’s shoulder, but put a hand on his bicep to keep him from actually moving. “Dammit, dude, don’t get so sentimental.”

Sanford smiled. There was his stupid, stupid man. He couldn’t help but chuckle, which made Deimos snicker under his hand before he took a step back. Unfortunately, he did have to reload his gun, because they did have to move. Sanford still kept a watchful eye out. Once Deimos was standing at the ready, Sanford couldn’t help but smirk. He flicked one of the loose pieces from the knot around his forehead. 

“If you’re a drama queen, is this your crown?” Sanford teased.

With a flushed face he waved away Sanford’s hand, the two of them in hushed laughter. Deimos shook his head, and this time Sanford knew he was fine. The playfulness in his voice was real. “I’m mostly good now, but maybe you should still shut the fuck up.”

Sanford laughed as Deimos started to walk to the opening of their hide-y hole, quickly stepping to his side. “What? Should I carry you, too, your Highness?”

Deimos groaned into a flustered laugh as Sanford grinned, gently nudging his way in front of Deimos to guide him out in the best direction. His arm still brushed against Deimos’. 

He smiled up at his partner.

“C’mon, get a move on,” Deimos said, “I still wanna get out of this place alive."

[llatimeria]

"oc ask memes that are plot-focused somehow" i don't know of any like that but !!! i would love to hear the plot of your story and more about your ocs if you feel like sharing ^w^

AH HI i meant to answer this like 4 times now and kept getting distracted with. Things. so here's the gist:

a supervillain announces he's after a set of magical macguffins, but in truth he doesn't really care and just wants to keep an eye on his little brother, a new superhero around town (unaware his brother's a villain). his partner in crime/literal romantic partner is the one actually after the macguffins and is using his partner's influence to get them so he can Take Over The World!™️. the supervillain, his partner, and their henchmen have to get the macguffins, while the heroes scramble to stop them... until they realize they're all in over their heads and suddenly have to switch sides and work together when aforementioned partner shuns the supervillain and Takes Over The World!™️ himself. will good prevail!? or will evil be evilly evil forever!? find out next time on-

anyways here's the pepesilvia.jpg version:

a supervillain, The Mastermind, discovers the existence of a set of 7 magical macguffins* that, when combined, would give him the power to TAKE OVER THE WORLD!™️. However, they're scattered in different places all over Earth, so he sics a gaggle of his finest henchmen on a few of the distant macguffins while he and his partner in crime/boyfriend, Rayzre Blayde**, maneuver to capture the ones closer to home. However, the truth is that Rayzre is the one who really wants to TAKE OVER THE WORLD!™️, he's just clinging to Mastermind's power as a bridge to get there. Mastermind's real motive is just to be close to and protect his little brother, who just moved into town to become the superhero Lammergeier.

(Sidenote: Rayzre, Mastermind, and Lammergeier are all from the same Evil Top Secret Government Genetic Experiment Lab and are human-animal hybrids. These experiments also happened to give some [but not all] of the resulting hybrids superpowers. Mastermind and Lammergeier were smuggled out as little kids and raised as siblings, while Rayzre escaped on his own a decade or so later, it's a whole thing. it's a recurring bit that this lab just has the shittiest security and most of their experiments have just escaped or been freed as a result, lol)

a few weeks after their plan first commences, rayzre unexpectedly gets a visit from his teenage son, Gray. Rayzre genuinely didn't know Gray existed until he just shows up on his doorstep, but they have the same superpowers (shapeshifting into dragons), basically confirming their relationship immediately. From then on, Rayzre purports that his motive is to TAKE OVER THE WORLD!™️ for his kid. This is a lie that he himself believes - he really does want to provide for Gray but we all know he started this whole thing without Gray even being a factor in his mind. Gray immediately thinks he's the coolest dad EVER, but he is also a child and all of his other father figures have been shitty step-dads, so he doesn't exactly have the highest standards. He's just jazzed that his REAL DAD buys him BEER and shows him R-RATED MOVIES and it's AWESOME

MEANWHILE the henchmen are off doing their own thing for the most part. They know of the ultimate TAKE OVER THE WORLD!™️ plot, but don't realize how serious their bosses are about it, or just how dangerous the macguffins they're after really are. they're the ones doing most of the action-adventure heavy lifting, going globetrotting and dungeoncrawling and such. i'm being the least specific here because this group's arc is currently in the most nebulous state of development where like half of them are fleshed out characters and the other half are still two dimensional and don't have agency yet,

The exception to this are the two supervillains-turned-henchmen, Frostbite and Wildfire, which MM recruited personally into his inner circle due to their impressive rap sheet and because he knows the two of them are also from the same lab he was born in (see. it's a whole thing). guess what their powers are. guess. it's not at all obvious. this makes it sound like i have a clever subversion up my sleeve but i don't they're literally just ice and fire respectively

Rayzre was always vaguely shitty (in fact he's Mastermind's high school ex and the rest of MM's family kind of hates him), but he gets more clearly shitty the more powerful he gets. He's a deeply egotistical, arrogant person who thinks he's the protagonist of this story. MM gradually becomes disillusioned with him after befriending Frostbite and Wildfire, who actually treat him with respect, especially once they start pointing out to him what a douche Rayzre can be. (unsurprisingly, fb, wf, and mm end up in a poly situationship.)

MM finally decides that Rayzre's crossed a line when they go to heist a macguffin and Rayzre secretly brings a live firearm to the affair and points it at Lammergeier, who obviously shows up to stop them. When Rayzre puts his finger on the trigger, MM reflexively pushes him, and ends up making him accidentally shoot and ultimately kill a completely innocent bystander. this is traumatic for all involved. mastermind officially disavows him (and dumps him), but this just leads to Rayzre getting all of the macguffins for himself and finally being able to TAKE OVER THE WORLD!™️

Rayzre tries to get Gray to follow in his footsteps to become another manaical god-king while the entire rest of the cast turns on him - heroes and villains working hand-in-hand to take this motherfucker down. i won't spoil what actually happens here because i think it's cool lmao

(*the working name i have for the macguffins is Anima Crystals, but i'm not completely sold on that yet. a little too chaos emeraldy for my taste)

(**this is a dumb edgy name on purpose. He's had it kicking around as a pseudonym since his myspace days)

[theloveinc]

caitie plz i need the angst need to hear the backstory of shinso putting work before you and the baby…id like to think he didn’t outright say it and somehow that even hurt more to think he couldn’t admit it to himself

(pt.i here!)

Yessss I think that's exactly what happens, too!

Like, to him specifically, it never actually emotionally feels like he's choosing work over you, you know, he's not in the sense that he does love you both more than ANYTHING. But at the same time, he's also unable to actually stop himself from putting way too much into the job, even when you go from asking to literally begging him to.

Honestly, I think part of him doesn't realize he's doing it. Every second he's at work, he's thinking about you... it doesn't matter TO HIM that it's the third night (or day) in a row he's spent sleeping at the agency, it doesn't matter to him that he hasn't been there for any mealtimes or bedtimes or bath times with his daughter, or anything else... since he's keeping you in his heart, he believes it's not so bad as, for example, real abandonment.

Except it lowkey is.

(For such a smart guy, he's super, SUPER dumb about it—the very few times in a week he's home to see you, he's getting annoyed when you try to bring up him cutting his hours back: not even for your sake but for your daughter's... and then getting angsty when you get annoyed. He can't remember exactly when you start getting really mad.)

But then you hit him with separation papers and the topic of divorce and the whole world comes crashing down on him. I don't want to say you have one of those cliche moments when you literally ask him to choose between family or work as he's walking out the door................ but absolutely that is what I want to say, at least in the sense that I think:

You're talking about trying to make things work, finally, FINALLY, he took a few days off to sort things out with you and commit to being a father... and just when things are starting to seem like they'll be okay in the end (AKA: he was actually able to get you to smile and accept a gentle kiss), in the middle of the night, one of the first he's actually been back in your bed, he's getting a phone call about needing to come into the agency and...

You're sitting up in the dark as he's walking to the bedroom door, and you just know what's happening, and he's turning to look at you and no words are even needed to get across that if he leaves, you won't let him back in.

(And then that's really when he starts to sleep under his desk, eat literally nothing and go out on patrol for HOURS ON END, and actually process the extent of what's happened; that it was just as bad as leaving you all together in the first place, especially with a baby in the picture... and the fact that it was a decision he literally, consciously made.

(It took lecture upon lecture from Aizawa, Denki, Deku, fuck, Monoma, before he was able to get himself a half-decent apartment and actually reach out and to figure out a co-parenting schedule w/ you. Lord knows he'd never ask you to bend over backwards for him ever fucking again.)

[sleepdepravity]

ok i feel like making more in depth posts about those games i just listed but since they're so many i'll separate them by genre

Also admittedly I sorta just tossed these games into genres very haphazardly so i dunno if i particularly categorized them right. anyways, here are the ~~~mystery games~~~

This is basically ace attorney but with birds, which makes it an instant favorite. Also, for some reason, the french revolution is involved. i really don't remember why. I remember also a twist ending that's fun, plays on the expectations an ace attorney player would have and stabs them with a knife.

another bird-themed mystery game thing, point and click. It's got a nice aesthetic, and the voice acting is honestly quite good. i like going around and detectiving and also being a bird. it's fun.

there are a LOT of furry detective games for some reason. i think this one is based on a french comic? actually maybe i shouldn't have picked this as an "obscure game," i think this is, actually, a pretty big deal in france maybe?? the lady cats look real weird. i don't remember literally anything about this except that. somehow. the game ends somewhere underground.

LITERALLY don't remember anything about this. but the protagonist is a lady detective.

another furry mystery. this one is neat because you're just in your wheelchair, looking out from your room and finding out shit by watching. There's another game, Conway: Disappearance at Dahlia View (or whatever), where the protagonist is also in a wheelchair and looking outside his window, but Conway's protagonist drives me crazy for just being So Nosy and just, getting into places he Really Shouldn't. Anyways, the flower collectors felt nicer.

i just kinda realized that, like. this probably shouldn't be under the "mystery" genre. Like, yeah, I guess you're trying to figure shit out, but it's not exactly. like. mystery mystery. yknow? But it's a time loop! It's a time loop game. You're trying to figure out the stuff that's going on in this time loop. I think it's neat. Time loops are neat. It's fun.

this one also isn't really a mystery, honestly. Even though it calls itself "a mystery game" in the title. but I made my bed and now I have to sleep in it. Anyways, this one I don't particularly know how I feel about it. It's a very odd game. fun visuals sometimes. The scenery was nice. There are some good vibes. It's very odd. Anyways.

i literally don't remember shit about this game. there's a boat. you walk around in a house. I love walking around in houses. i love picking stuff up and looking at it.

I find this game to be a very interesting one...! I have no idea how to describe it. Also, there's some sort of....secret? Or something? on the title screen. I think there's a secret. But I don't know what it is or how to unlock it, and nobody else seems to know either, at least last I checked. you have to use law as evidence. but also, you play a cop so. y'know. acab. There's multiple endings depending on like, if you are a "good enough cop" or not. And also, you can use evidence in different ways when indicting someone, there are different level of crimes you can arrest someone for as well. Anyways, it's neat.

i remember liking this one because it involves timelines and you figuring out what's wrong with what people are saying based on what they say happened. Also, the culprits are daemons and you have to also correctly identify which daemon the culprits are possessed by.

honestly........this probably doesn't count as obscure (i see over 3k reviews) but i mean, like. it has the vibes of obscure. the environments and the music and everything is very, uhh, what's that genre called again? something-core? VAPORWAVE. that. also, there's a map and you walk around it and you collect things and i am always obsessed with that. honestly reminds me a lot of umineko, in terms of like. one of the phrases that keeps repeating is "the truth is not the same as the facts" (I think?). like, the ending is where you accuse people, and you essentially decide the "truth." and, yes, like, in some ways, the question of "who killed X" can be played with! Who is actually culpable? How far do you go? Idk. it's neat. also, your name is Lady Love Dies!!!! it's cool!!!! what a fucking name.

i don't actually know how i feel about this one either. there's stealth involved, though. and a lot of exploration elements, which I think is neat, actually, but i am such a soft nervous baby so I probably missed a lot of shit tbh. And there's a timed element too, so extra nervous baby mode.

uhhhhh. this one also probably hsouldn't have been counted as an obscure game, oops. I think there was a certain point where I just, really went wild for space games. I don't remember what this one is at all. I think there was some eldrich elements at the end, so maybe it shouldn't be considered a mystery, oops. Actually, this should probably be under horror. oops. oops!!

visual novel. I'm surprised it didn't have more reviews, because like.....i think this started as an actual? like? console visual novel game?? and got ported to steam later. anyways, i think this one is funny for one particular ending. maybe this also shouldn't count as a mystery, because you can, uh, determine what the "answer" is by choosing certain ways to write letters. but look, it's mysterious! you're trying to solve, like, a disappearance!! it's fine.

this one involves cults. once again, you get to walk around a place and look at things and pick them up. i like that in a game. does this count as horror? I think it does make things creepy and tries to scare you at points, i guess. ummmm i guess also this probably shouldn't count as mystery either. anyways, this is about cults so i mean, definitely a lot of dark shit going on here. you read a lot about death and sex and bad cult shit.

this one is an fmv game (game with real-ass people) and this one i think is kinda fun because you will shapeshift as people, meaning you can go to each person as some different person and see how they treat you and stuff. which is fun. though i think that doesn't end up mattering as much. i don't remember a lot of this actually. i liked the radio people.

corporate capitalism apocalypse type thing. sometimes i get so so sad about having to make decisions on shit. you make decisions on people living or dying. also, your boss grades your performance. there's one case about a cop android in particular that makes me so so so sad. anyways.

this one is by the guys who make the sherlock holmes game. this also maybe doesn't quite count as mystery?? because you also have to shoot stuff and things. but i mean, you also solve crimes and also sidequest crimes, so like. whatever. also, there is lovecraftian horror things involved. it is very much a sherlock holmes game except lovecraft.

i don't remember this game. but i do remember it being neat.

[lilacsolanum]

I'm really feeling grateful for the unspoken rule in fandom that if you don't like a fic, just click off. It's free and it's a hobby, so there's no need to leave a critical review. Every now and then I'll see people whine about that, which. Wild. But like. Hey, don't.

In 2020, I lost more than just my job. I lost my entire life path. I lost the future I had planned for myself. I worked in the service industry, and that industry will never, ever be the same. It might look like it's snapped back from the outside, but it hasn't. Obviously, everyone life changed permanently, a literal global level of shift, and I'm not exactly special. Myself and my family and friends all came out of it healthy and I'm so grateful. Still, man, for me more than most people I know, shit was like the Thanos snap. One day, half my life was gone.

I had two choices: despair, or make the best of it. I've been called to performing my entire life, but never pursued it due to self-doubt. Well, when I was unemployeed and desperate, I suddenly decided to jump into audiobook narration with no plan and no training. And somehow, I got gigs. I started working with an author who was on the verge of blowing up, who didn't have the budget to find a trained professional at the time so used someone with potential who would work for an appropriate payrate. I recorded my first series giving 200%, which is 100% more than anyone wants to listen to in an audiobook narrator. I'm incredibly proud of my first efforts and invested the money I made in coaching and equipment upgrades, but as the author's fanbase grew, so do people's expectations of the narration.

It's been uhhhhhhhhh a wild ride. I'm so grateful that I got lucky, but also, do not recommend this situation to anyone. While I am improving and growing, most of my books are a little rough, and the one star reviewers are fucking LETTING. ME. KNOW. All caps, rage filled, terrible spelling and b'grammar'd passionate reviews on every audiobook retailer imaginable are out there for me to obsess over in at my low points. Which is often. Remember when I said I suffer from crippling self-doubt? Mama I am dragging my stubborn ass through this accidental career pivot of mine out of spite rather than pride. It's not fun.

They have a right to speak their mind, as most of them paid for the book! So if you hate it, go off! But still! Sometimes I combat that by reading comments on my fanfiction. The majority of comments I receive on AO3 are positive with a few mild exceptions, and those are easy for me to shake off because of the support I've received. The positive comments motivate me to improve my writing just as much as the negative comments on my acting do, except being positively motivated makes that improvement go faster and a more pleasant journey. It's a nice, safe place for me. I don't appreciate the culture of no negative comments because I don't accept that negative criticism is a part of putting yourself out there creatively. I accept it very much. I appreciate them because I AM a professional creative and people pay for products I've produced and have every right to express their opinions on it and it's so important I have a space where I don't have to deal with that.

So thank you, those who suppress the urge to leave negative comments on fanfic. And thank you to people who leave kind reviews. You never know what someone is going through, and my god, kind comments on my fic inspire me to work even harder as a performer, because one day, I want to receive equal positivity for both ventures. Thank you for fueling my ambitions with kindness.

[dontmindme-imjustfangirlin]

no, because - eddie couldn't be there.

people have already talked about how not having eddie present in the coma dream was intentional, and how loud his absence was, and i think they're right! what i want to yes-and is the fact that it's loud because we, the viewer, make it loud.

because we spend the entire episode in buck's head - i mean yes, obviously - but the weird, off-balance camera angles and lighting and close-ups show that we're more than just watching as outside observers. we're literally watching what's happening through buck's eyes as he experiences his dream nightmare. the angles give the viewer the same vertigo buck feels; the close-ups show how wrongwrongwrong it is when we see people who are alive but shouldn't be (doug, that fucker), or strangers when they are not (chim and hen). so when the viewer wonders, increasingly, over the episode, where eddie is, i think we're supposed to extrapolate that that's where buck's mind is, too.

it starts small, like a drumbeat. buck wakes up. daniel teases him for not using a spotter. even in a groggy state, buck knows - i did. i had someone spotting me. someone i trusted had my line. someone who isn't here. someone is missing. who's missing?

the episode goes on. we get to the loft with all the get-well cards and flowers and mentions of kids, because buck loves kids and would be such a good elementary school teacher. but then there's the ferris wheel set, jarringly out of place. he touches it and there's the echoing flashback of water, crushing weight, a little boy screaming his name-

and it's gone.

where's that little boy? where is the person who had his back? everything is amazing and perfect and lovely, and everything is wrong because two people are missing who should be here.

we have the family dinner. everything is good and perfect except it's not, because jee-yun isn't here and doug is alive and oh god, now there's a kid in the middle of that, and in this universe maddie still isn't - may never be - ready or able to leave doug behind.

(and still, in all of that, buck thinks - because we think - something is wrong. something is missing. what's missing?)

and it's not until we get to chim (my beloved <3) that we finally put a name to it. eddie. where is eddie? the angry guy - no, that's not right, he's not supposed to be angry - no, god no, his son, he's not supposed to lose chris, they're supposed to be together, together with-

but then we learn that bobby is gone and the realization that his chosen father is dead without him makes his heart stop. buck needs to keep looking through his dream, because everything is exactly how he always wanted it to be but everything is wrong because maddie is with doug and chim and hen don't know him and bobby is dead and where's eddie, where's chris and eddie?

we get to the hospital. buck wonders if maybe he could stay in this perfect, uncanny world. we see bobby, hardened and mean and addicted the way he never wanted to be. he tells buck, if all you care about is how other people see you, then you haven't learned a damn thing.

(it's not about how other people see him. it's about how buck sees himself. and - importantly - how buck sees other people. more on this in a moment.)

still echoing: where's eddie? where's chris and eddie?

time is running out. buck runs through long, meandering hallways and meets the family he thought he always wanted. he passes chim and he's met maddie and is somehow already working out. it's still wrong - something is still missing - because if everything was so perfect, why is buck so desperate to leave?

(where's eddie? where's chris and eddie?)

little chris in the hallway, when he was supposed to be far away and unreachable in texas. can you help me find my dad?

what perfect, deliberate word choice. can you help me find my dad? find eddie, because you pulled him out of his head and gave him the resources to hold on and never left him to tread water alone? buck would dig through forty feet of mud for him, would crawl under a firetruck towards his broken and bleeding body, would climb into his messed-up head and fucked-up life and put everything to rights because he's the guy who likes to fix things.

and a step beyond - buck realizing, this is chris, but it's not his chris. it's not the boy he's helped raise since he was 7. this is a little boy looking for his dad, and here, in buck's deepest subconscious, i think part of him wonders: can i be that? can i be more than the donor, more than a legal guardian and in case of emergency contact? he's one of the things that's been missing in my supposed dream world - i love him as my own son - can i let him view me as a second dad? the dad he chose like i chose bobby? can i want that?

(can you help me find my dad? where's eddie? where's eddie? WHERE'S EDDIE?)

(because buck woke up in his dream world and knew something was missing from the start.)

there's nothing for you in that room. nobody in there needs you, daniel-buck (doctor buck? mean buck? idk) tells him.

and buck realizes, maybe that's true. maybe they don't. maddie has chim (as if she would ever not need her baby brother). margaret and phillip have each other and their grief and the ghost of their firstborn (though i truly believe, as i think buck does, that losing him would still ruin them. they did the best they could. that doesn't make it better. it just makes it complicated.) he's not going back for them

he's going back for himself. because he wants to live for himself.

(and maybe, he knows there are so many more people than the ones in that room he's going back to. chim and jee-yun and hen and bobby and athena and chris and eddie, eddie, eddie-)

and he smashes the glass. because he's not a teacher. he's a firefighter.

[crystalelemental]

I figured I’d make a most comprehensive post about the Alola VA, and you know what?  Start with the positives.  Now Sinnoh is no longer the worst Villain Arc.

That's a little unfair, I feel like Hoenn and Unova also kinda sucked overall.  Basically everything since Johto has been so up Giovanni's ass that Sinnoh looks good by comparison solely for actually focusing on its villain instead. The core issue is really Team Rocket.  Well...one of the core issues.  Team Rocket has been overshadowing the other villain teams like every event.  Hoenn barely did squat thanks to the emphasis being placed on what Team Rocket is doing in the shadows, while Alola is hit similarly.  So much of this villain arc's tension comes from the fact that Team Rocket is allying with one of the two factions forming within Aether Paradise.   Which...sure?  They've been in everyone else's business, this wouldn't be so bad.  Except...nothing comes of it.

With Hoenn, at least they establish Team Rocket's plan in the background and that something happened as a result.  What did the current plan actually accomplish?  This feels more like Kalos, only at least this time no one died over Giovanni's failed plan.  They don't actually do anything.   Just like Lusamine and Guzma, who should have been the center of the event.  Lusamine accomplishes nothing.  She sits there and I guess battles a bunch of grunts.  Wow.  Much excite.  Very tension.  Guzma means less than nothing, showing up for like 15 seconds to get a bit of information, and stopping the machine causing problems off-screen.   Literally anyone could've done what he did, and the only reason he showed up at all was compulsory cameo.  It's a complete waste of these characters.  Their own villain arc, and they somehow out irrelevanced Maxie and Archie.  Mind-blowing.

But I can't pin it all on Team Rocket, because the other culprits are the Tapu Quartet.  This is exactly why I didn't want the Tapu to be the center; they have no place here.  Think about this: from the perspective of the Tapu Quartet, what happened?  Oh shit, Ultra Beasts!  Better appear out of nowhere and side with these kids that have a vague connection to us!  Now we're gonna battle to protect this island and oh hey the wormholes stopped.  Whew.  Glad that problem resolved itself.

If Lusamine and Guzma are irrelevant, I can't think of anything more extreme to accuse the Tapu Quartet of being, despite them actually being worse.  They have literally no reason to take up as much time as they do, aside from the fact this is a gacha, and their presentation is to sell the sync pairs.  I legitimately hate it.  Take out everything to do with the tapu, and we'd have a lot more time to focus on the aspects that matter, like Lusamine's handling of the company schism, or Guzma's reasons for being involved at all, or what Giovanni actually hoped to accomplish, or the Interpol Trio getting to interact literally at all.   We get the barest minimum information about Anabel drawing the attention of the beasts, and one shot of the trio posing, and that's it.  It's lame.

Alola VA has been hit by far the hardest by the issues plaguing the whole villain arc series.  Giovanni and Team Rocket are given disproportionate attention.  The Villains that aren't Giovanni get sidelined super hard, or rendered borderline useless.  The arc exists more to establish sync pairs to sell you than to create a meaningful narrative.  The roster of significant characters is outpacing their ability to focus, as they split between the villains, the protagonists, now random side characters as the sync pairs, and Interpol.  There's too much going on to keep every VA the same length and expect event time, and the further in we go the worse it seems to be getting.

I have zero hope for Galar's VA being interesting at this point.

[jklovesfandoms]

I haven't seen anything like this (except that one literally amazingly written fanfic) yet, but I feel like I am very qualified to talk on this subject, and I want to talk about it, and maybe possibly avoid the ignoring of this conversation before it starts.

Quick TW, bc it is dark, I will be talking about SA with a few details, but not going into super duper specifics, so please don't feel pressured to read this just bc I'm talking about RTC and Constance Blackwood.

Also, please don't read this if you think you'll mentally struggle bc of it, please prioritize yourself and your mental health over me projecting and not quite shit posting.

Please put yourself first over my projecting and ranting. And take care of yourself <3

So, if you've seen the musical, or read the script, you know that Constance lost her virginity to a carnie in a port-a-potty, about 3 hours before the Cyclone derailing.

However, I'm going to include this part of the script, bc it's very important. "He was ancient. Like 32.... Anyways, my virginity. I just wanted to get it out of the way. I just wanted to do it, so I didn't have to think about doing it anymore. No, actually. I just wanted to lose it in the most horrible way possible. 'Constance the lifer, lost it to a carnie, in a crap-box, in a crappy town! Why, of course she did...' " She says this right before Jawbreaker, the monologue leading into Sugar Cloud, if you were somehow not aware.

Now anyways, my projecting.

Constance is talking about her virginity like it was the only thing she had to offer. She also lost it to a man who is 32 years old. She is canonically 17.

Now, do I believe that this started consensually? Yes. I don't think it stayed that way.

And before you go "James, but how can you say that?"

I'm a survivor of SA. I lived through (not at all the same situation) but very similar SA. It started off consensual, and very quickly my no's were not being heard, and suddenly I was SA'd in the side stage and dressing room of the theater that I had longed to call my home for years. Suddenly, I was SA'd in the bedroom of my ex-partner, who was the one who did it. Suddenly, I was SA'd in my own bed. And sadly, many other places.

So yes, I'd say I'm very qualified to speak on this. I hope, for Constance's sake, it started off consensual, bc in my experience, it's worse when it doesn't.

Also, just the way she's talking about it. The way she mentions it so casually. Emotionally, yes, but casually, even more so.

That is exactly how I talked about my multiple SAs.

I made jokes, constantly, about me "having intercourse" with my partner at the time. I put "having intercourse" in quotation marks there, bc it was only consensual a handful of times. It wasn't intercourse, it was SA. Now of course, I'm still recovering. It's been over a year, but it's still a struggle.

Constance Blackwood hasn't had a year. She hasn't even really had a day. Sure, she had an ambiguous amount of time between her death and the start of the musical, but based on how the choir reacts, it wasn't processed time for them. The world was spinning, and then they were in a warehouse. Which means, that by the time Jawbreaker/Sugar Cloud happens, she's had approximately 4 hours to process.

Let me repeat that.

4.

Hours.

OF COURSE, SHE'S MAKING JOKES ABOUT IT

One time that I was SA'd, about 4 hours later, I was on a discord call to play some random online game with some ex friends. I made so many jokes about what happened, making it sound consensual, bc I didn't want my friends to worry. I had barely processed the fact that my pleading hadn't been heard yet. That wasn't the first time, and it wasn't the last, but it still took me a full 3 days to process that it wasn't right.

Constance wouldn't have had ANY of that.

(Btw, I call them ex friends, bc despite every single one of them being told my story, they claimed that I was so joking and proud of the intercourse, that I was lying about a "perfectly fine man." And all of them, to this day, are still friends or friendly acquaintances with the absolute a-hole who SA'd me.)

Now guaranteed, the choir would have been a lot better friends than those people. The choir would've almost, or actually, murdered that man, as soon as Constance came to terms with what happened, and told them. I believe that the choir cares that much about her, about each other.

However, I sadly can imagine how Constance would've lived if she had either been voted back, or if the Cyclone had never derailed.

For context:

To this day, I have an English class with my SAer. Last year, I had science and English class with him. I also still act with him constantly, because we are both still members of our high school drama club, and we're both male seniors. I get sent into auditory (and I'm sure if I could visualize in my head, they'd be visual too) flashbacks, every single time this man speaks. I can't walk into the theater without getting nauseous, especially in two very specific places in the theater. My heart starts beating an average of 20 bpm (recently it's been 30) faster when I walk to my English class. And yes, I keep track of that due to my watch that tracks my heartbeat. Even my own bedroom. For about 4 months after I was SA'd in my own bed, I struggled to exist in my bedroom. I'd sleep in either of my college siblings beds, on the couch, on the floor, anywhere as long as it wasn't in my bedroom. I refused to change in there, and would only change in the bathroom. I still have trouble sleeping to this day, bc some days are a lot worse than others.

Constance, if she reacted anything like me, would not be able to bring herself to use a port-a-potty for several months, to a year. Not just that specific port-a-potty, any port-a-potty. She wouldn't step foot near another carnival for a year, if not more.

But yk what I definitely project onto her? (totally not in spite of my ex friends)

She'd avoid all that with a smile on her face, and a lie on her tongue.

Bc that's exactly what I did. I got asked, why do you struggle so much in English or science, and I'd lie about homework, about outside stress, and how I just can't focus that well. And I said it with a smile on my face.

I got asked why I arrived 45 minutes early for tech week and performance week of our musical last year, fully ready with costume on, makeup on, and contacts in, with 30-35 minutes till call time started, and well over an hour before mics were called.

I said I was anxious about time, how I just wanted to be ready. How I wanted to do personal warm-ups before the group ones.

I'd say that I sat in the pit (a place actors were not supposed to be) for well over an hour bc I didn't want to over heat, and it was the coldest place in the theater. How the dressing rooms were just too crazy. That I wanted some time to talk to some online friends, or play games on my phone. I wanted to check my props and set pieces, I wanted to make sure I didn't still have the fake cigar in my bag.

And I said it with a smile on my face, and lying right through my teeth.

At the time, I was (and still am) anxious about time, so I arrive everywhere 30 minutes early. I was ready early, but I didn't have to be that early. I never once did personal warm-ups. I sat in the pit bc it had the calmest scent (bc of all the lumber), and kept me calm before having to face people. The cold kept my heart rate lower before it rose from dancing, running, and hearing my SAer's voice. The dressing rooms were 20 times more chaotic at the end of the night than when I got there. I didn't have any online friends at the time, I only had 3 games on my phone. I checked all of that other stuff the moment after I entered the theater and signed in.

You can't tell me that Constance wouldn't do that exact same thing. She would very happily lie through a smile if it meant her friends were happy and not in the know. And she would keep doing that until she broke. Yes, she would break eventually. Even if the Cyclone never derailed, she would've broken just like it was supposed to.

Her moment, talking about this right before Jawbreaker? This monologue that brought me down this rant, that brought me to tears the first time I saw it bc it was exactly how I reacted, exactly how I acted? This is her first crack in the wood. It's the first shatter in the mask. And I wish we got to see her fully break, bc I know exactly how that looks and feels.

I know the fear, the pain, the panic, and the overwhelming sense of relief that comes with a proper break.

It's the reason that Sugar Cloud is my second favorite song, that's basically in a three way tie for first with Jane Doe's Ballad (3) and Space Age Bachelor Man (1). We don't see a full break, but Sugar Cloud is at least accepting that it happened. Sugar Cloud is recovering from the small shatter in the mask that is the title of "The Nicest Girl In Town" and I love it. It's exactly what I need, and it's exactly what calms me down. It's recovery, and it's a break at the same time, and I adore it.

Anyways, I don't really know how to end this? Bc I went very very far off track. I don't know how this post happened, but it did, and it feels really good for this to actually be off my chest a little, even if it's only on the wide open internet.

So, if you did actually read this, thank you. Sorry for just getting dumped with trauma, even if I tried to keep the details a little down.

But yes, as an SA survivor, Constance Blackwood is one too, and that's why Sugar Cloud is amazing.

Stream Ride The Cyclone, I promise it'll be more than worth your time.

[exceptionalzed]

Ranking all Dcoms I have Seen

Hello friends!!

I-I’m…. alive?

So sorry for the long hiatus but, well, you know how school is (it kinda sucks)

Anyway, I’ve decided to start branching out from pure Z-O-M-B-I-E-S content, so for the return, I’m going to be ranking all dcoms I have personally seen with a little snippet of my thoughts about them. Alright,

1. Zombies 3

Amazing, beautiful, absolutely perfect, un ironically hilarious, great songs, out of pocket story. I love it.

2. High School Musical 2

Same as previous, but more gay and slightly less interesting characters.

3. Descendants

Best descendants movie by far, but Mal and Evie > Mal and Ben for sure. Still, a good watch overall. A really interesting and dynamic main cast too.

4. Teen Beach Movie

Very funny, great music. The only reason it’s below Descendants is because I viscerally hate the two main characters.

5. Adventures in Babysitting

I actually liked the Disney remake, which I didn’t expect to. It may just be because I really like Sabrina Carpenter and Sofia Carson but who knows.

6. Princess Protection Program

Really liked this movie when I was a kid, although looking back I don’t really understand why. I wouldn’t want to watch it nowadays but I still think it’s good.

7. Cow Belles

Good movie, my mom and I watched it together a lot. Reminds me a bit too much of Liv and Maddie though.

8. Good Luck Charlie, It’s Christmas!

Honestly a comfort movie for me. It’s not exactly “good” in the slightest but I watched it a lot when I felt sick or anxious so whenever I watch it today it tends to make me feel safe. Also I really liked Good Luck Charlie.

9. High School Musical

I mean it’s alright. A little overrated considering there’s only like… 4(?) good characters.

10. Radio Rebel

Pretty funny at some parts but also just suuuupeer dumb. It’s fine.

11. 16 Wishes

Honestly everything Debby Ryan starred in kinda blurs together for me. Also this one apparently isn’t technically a dcom? It’s okay though.

12. Zombies 2

Good, but not Zombies at it’s best. That’s pretty much all.

13. Descendants 2

Okay descendants… you’re getting worse. You can stop here. The only thing I really remember liking about this movie is Mal and Evie’s relationship getting expanded upon.

14. Zombies

Yeah it’s okay. Not near as good as 2 and 3 but like, I’d watch it happily on my deathbed or whatever.

15. Descendants 3

Had one really good song with Mal and Hades and that’s about it.

16. Wizards of Waverly Place: The Movie

Pretty good, actually. I really enjoy the Russo’s family dynamic so seeing them in stressful situations like this and how they responded was fun.

17. Sharpay’s Fabulous Adventure

Worse than all the regular HSM movies, but it stars Sharpay so obviously it’s still alright.

18. Cloud 9

I think I remember liking this movie solely cause it had dogs in it.

19. Camp Rock

It’s… okay.

20. Phineas and Ferb the Movie: Across the 2nd Dimension

Yeah I didn’t like this movie. I mean, like I could watch it again and be pretty happy but I really just did not enjoy the plot. Reminds me of that one futuristic sci-fi Jessie episode but worse.

21. Frenemies

Uh… I think I liked this movie? I dunno it was okay.

22. How to Build a Better Boy

This movie creeped me out so much when I first watched it. Will never be watching it again. Had a nice song though.

23. Bad Hair Day

I don’t remember much about this movie other than that I didn’t hate it but like, I also reeeaaaally didn’t like it. So…

24. Zapped

This movie also creeped me out, less than How to Build a Better Boy did, but the plot of this one somehow was worse.

25. Teen Beach 2

Everything about this movie is good except for the ending. It’s like Bayonetta 3, amazing until the ending destroys every last bit of happiness your soul contained.

26. The Cheetah Girls 1, 2, and One World

I don’t actually know if these are good movies or not, I literally just don’t remember one single detail from these movies other than than that Raven-Symoné was in them (and don’t get me wrong, I love Raven-Symoné). I watched all of these movies one day when I was sick out of school and then never watched them again.

27. Invisible Sister

I think I fell asleep halfway through this one? I don’t know, but I’m not a huge fan of the two main actors either.

28. The Suite Life Movie

Literally so bad. Look, I’m not normally a fan of movie specials for shows, but this was the absolute worst. I wish I had never watched it.

29. Camp Rock 2: The Final Jam

Horrid. Horrid Acting. Horrid characters. Horrid Music. Horrid story. I hate it.

Anyway, there’s some stuff I would probably move around if I had seen more of these movies recently, but some I legit haven’t seen since elementary school.

[thathopelessromantic]

i fell hard into your arms tonight (it was nice) (4/?)

His body is heavy and hot and there seems like very little reason to keep fighting the heavy droop to his eyes. Except, there’s this strange tugging somewhere deep in his chest. Like an anchor settled just behind his ribs, reaching back out of his body towards something Eddie can’t place. And it keeps pulling at him. Not painfully, but insistent. Stay awake. Stay alert. Tug. Almost there. Pull. Safe. Calm.

Eddie Munson wakes up from his expedition into the Upside Down to a broken guitar, some new scars, and Steve Harrington’s voice in his head.

AO3: (X) First: (X) Previous (chp. 3): (X) Next (chp. 5): (posting TBD)

4. there's two clear ways (and i always take the easy one)

Nancy looks between them just once before reaching over and picking up her sweater and purse from the chair next to Eddie’s bed. He can’t believe he didn’t notice those before. Like Steve’s lie wasn’t already blatant enough.

“I’ll go check on Robin. Good night, Eddie.” Nancy shoots a look at Steve, but it’s too dark for Eddie to make out any details. She skirts around him carefully, slipping back out into the hallway and closing the door fully behind her.

Even having adjusted to the dark of the room beforehand, now shrouded in complete darkness, Eddie can only just barely make out the shape of Steve standing in the middle of the room – still poised to run. Somehow, Eddie knows even if he couldn’t make out anything in the room, he would know exactly where Steve was. That sensation in his chest – it isn’t pulling now, not like someone trying to get a message across, trying to get his attention – but it’s still there, settled, nestled between his ribs. A tether unfurling from somewhere deep inside him and tying him inexplicably, but inarguably, to Steve. He could find him across a busy room; across town. Somehow, he just knows he could follow this sensation to the ends of the world and find the same destination.

“What the hell is going on?”

That thrum of anxiety starts up again, agitating him. But now, Eddie can recognize the sensation not as his own anxiety but Steve’s. Childishly, Eddie wishes he could put his hands to his ears and taunt “La-La, I’m not listening” until the sensation went away. But it is literally in his head or his chest or something and either way, he has a feeling that would not be particularly effective.

“Fuck.”

Something finally seems to propel Steve forward and he moves to the side of Eddie’s bed, collapsing into the chair. He slumps forward. For a moment, Eddie thinks he’s going to drop his head against the bed, but he stops just short of that, catching his head in his hands, elbows propped sharply on bent knees.

“…Steve?”

“I didn’t want to have to hash this out with you just yet,” Steve says quietly to the floor. “You just woke up.”

Eddie was passively aware that he had most likely been unconscious for a couple days, rather than just a few hours, based on how worried and squirrely everyone was acting around him, but if any of the doctors or nurses had said the exact time, he hadn’t retained that information. He tried asking Wayne for the date or time earlier in the day, but his uncle had gotten uncharacteristically shifty and changed the subject. Or maybe Eddie hadn’t asked as coherently as he thought. Both were very real possibilities given his general state even just a few hours ago.

Exhaustion still weighs heavy in his limbs even now, but he feels more present mentally for this conversation than he has all day. Maybe it’s an effect of whatever this connection is, or maybe it’s just a burst of adrenaline born from the insanity of all of it.

He’s honestly not sure his body has stopped producing adrenaline since Chrissy first started levitating in his trailer.   

“How long has it even been?” Eddie asks. It’s not the most pressing concern to him at this moment, but he wonders if it will make it easier for him to understand Steve’s hesitance to talk about whatever the fuck is going on with them.

“Nearly two weeks.”

Eddie flinches despite himself, the information settling in his gut like a rock. He supposes it could be worse – no, it definitely could be worse; Max still hasn’t woken up yet as it is – but that was still longer – a lot longer – than he would have ever thought.

“Weeks?”

Steve is quiet for a minute, as if gathering his thoughts. He won’t look up to meet Eddie’s gaze again. “We brought you here as soon as we could after getting out of the Upside Down and you were rushed to surgery. You were technically conscious in the beginning, but they kept you pretty heavily sedated after that because every time you started to come to you uh…” Steve glances up at him, just for a second, but Eddie can see a haunted look cross his eyes in that flash. “You were just in a lot of pain.”

He doesn’t elaborate but Eddie gets the sense that he knew, personally, just how much pain Eddie must’ve been in during that time, and not just because he’d also been bitten by the demobats. Eddie at the very least can’t remember any of that time, at least not right now, but he wonders if Steve’s memories of these past few weeks are what makes him look a little sick to his stomach right then. “So, they kept you sedated for a few days after the surgery, but then even after they started to wean you off the medications you just…you just didn’t wake up.”

Eddie exhales slowly, rolling Steve’s words around in his mind and trying to make sense of them. He tries to imagine how he would feel if he was on the other side of the conversation. If it was one of the kids or Uncle Wayne or, goddamn him, Steve, inexplicably unconscious while he just had to wait around and hope for the best. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Steve lets out a shuddering breath and adjusts himself in the chair. Finally, he lifts his head out of his hands, but he still won’t look at Eddie. He stares past him to the window, but the little sliver of moon still hanging in the sky is mostly blocked out by clouds so there’s nothing to see but a stretch of darkness outside the hospital. “At first, they kept saying stuff about how your body needed the rest, but then it turned into how the stress and trauma of everything might have been keeping you from waking up while you were still recovering. And then they just seemed to stop offering explanations when Wayne asked for updates.”

Eddie glances at his uncle’s still-sleeping form on the cot in the corner and feels his chest ache with guilt.

“The only reason we knew for sure that you were still in there somewhere was…” Steve lets his sentence trail off, but the unspoken part lands heavily in the silence between them regardless.

“So, everyone knows?”

 Steve’s face makes an interesting, complicated series of expressions before landing on something a little bit like…embarrassment, maybe. “Uh no. Just El and Robin know. Though I think Nancy has some theories brewing, especially after tonight,” the comment feels pointed, but Eddie refuses to feel bad for any part he may have played in Nancy figuring this out. “And it’s probably only a matter of time before the kids start figuring things out, they’re all way too smart for their own good.”

It makes sense, Eddie thinks. El can clearly see inside his head into whatever this bizarre connection is, so of course she would know about it. And he’s only seen them together for a short while, but he can’t imagine Steve keeping something like this from Robin, even for a moment. Those two were so in-sync, so in tune with each other at every turn, there’s no way he’d be able to keep a secret like this for even a minute before Robin would have figured out something was going on.

And Robin…Robin would believe Steve, immediately and whole heartedly, even if it sounded insane, which this absolutely did, even just in the privacy of Eddie’s own head, let alone trying to explain aloud to someone separate from the experience.

But he could see the kids questioning it, poking holes and prying and trying to either make sense of all of this or unravel Steve’s statements entirely until some other explanation made itself known. Which is probably the last thing he needed to deal with on top of everything else. 

“And how long has…it been going on?” Eddie follows Steve’s lead, leaving whatever this thing is between them unspoken or unnamed.

With every passing second of this conversation, he doubted there was much chance for this to have started while he was in a minor coma, though he had been hoping before this revelation that he’s been imaging some things, and this was a very recent development.

He tries very hard not to think of some of the more questionable thoughts he’s had about Steve recently. On the off-chance Steve miraculously missed those earlier, Eddie certainly doesn’t need to remind him.

“I think it started when you were first attacked by the demobats,” Steve finally says after a moment, confirming some of Eddie’s fears. He tries to tell himself it could be worse. He’s still been unconscious for like ninety percent of the time since the demobats. Not many opportunities for embarrassing Steve-related thoughts. Probably. “It wasn’t really a solid connection until Robin, Nancy, and I found you and Dustin though.”

“What does that even mean? A solid connection?”

Steve runs his hands through his hair, tugging at the ends in frustration. Eddie wants to reach out and pull his hand away, gently untangle his fingers from the unkind way he has them twisted in the dark strands. No sooner does that thought cross Eddie’s mind and Steve pulls his hands away from his head, crossing his arms over his chest and tucking them under his arms as if he has to forcibly hold them down to stop from doing it again. He glances up at Eddie for a moment, almost shyly.

Embarrassed.

Oh.

He had heard that.

Fuck.

“Steve-” He falters. What is he even going to say? Kill me now?

Steve’s expression scrunches up like he’s smelled something foul but relaxes again after a moment. He takes a deep, grounding breath. Eddie can feel it unfurl in his own chest through the tether.

Calm. Focus.

“Not everything comes through, but right now most everything does,” Steve says, pointedly, when he opens his eyes again.

Right. So, he definitely heard the ‘kill me’ thing too.

Eddie latches onto something else he said, rather than focusing too hard on the rest of this dumpster fire of a conversation. “‘Right now,’? Like it’ll change? How do you know?”

Steve groans, slumping forward once again. “Oh, god. This is a mess.”

Steve lurches out of the chair again suddenly, pacing around the room like a caged animal. Eddie can practically feel the tension rolling off of him, even from across the room. A few times, Steve edges towards the door but somehow Eddie knows he won’t just leave. Not yet.

Or maybe not, somehow. He knows because he can feel it settle in his chest like it’s a fact he’s always known about the world, even though that doesn’t make any sense. The sky is blue. What goes up must come down. Steve Harrington won’t abandon his friends. And Eddie is now inexplicably included under that umbrella.

He knows it because Steve knows it. He can feel his desperation to stop this conversation, the curling anxiety and stress of trying to have this out in the middle of the night, on what seems like very little sleep on Steve’s part, and his determination not to abandon Eddie to deal with this on his own if Steve can help, even a little.

Fucking unbelievable.

Steve seems to have an argument with himself for another minute but the only thing Eddie gets from him is the same calming mantra.

“How come you’re getting some kind of constant word vomit – thought vomit? –” Steve makes a face like he can’t quite believe that’s the description Eddie is going with. “From me but everything from you seems intentional? Except maybe the anxiety because like, honestly dude, you might need something for that.”

Steve gives him a dull look and even though he isn’t saying anything – aloud or through whatever this insane mental connection is – Eddie can still practically hear his sarcastic “Gee, what would I have to be anxious about?” anyways.

“I’ve had a little more time to practice,” Steve finally says.

That being his reply doesn’t exactly surprise Eddie, for some reason, but it still doesn’t make any sense. “But…I’ve been unconscious. How are you practicing? Or know what you’re doing works?”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering to himself. Eddie can only just make out the quiet exhale as he speaks and he wishes he could make out the actual words, his steady voice.

He stomps that thought down before it can even finish forming. No more Steve-related thoughts. At least not until he figures out how to keep things to himself.

Steve sits down again, staring intently at Eddie for what feels like the first time in a very long time. Had he ever met Eddie’s gaze like this? “Will you just…Just let me talk. To explain. No questions, no interruptions, until I’m done. And then I’ll try to answer any of your questions. Can you do that?”

Eddie nods, pressing his lips together as if he could force himself to stay quiet for Steve’s explanation through sheer force. If just keeping his mouth shut for a few minutes would get him an actual explanation about everything that was going on, he would damn well manage it.

Probably.

Seemingly satisfied that Eddie would keep quiet for the time being, Steve starts with a shaky breath.

“The best we can figure is this connection has something to do with both of us being bitten by the demobats. You know how the bats and the vines and the, the demodogs-” Dogs? Eddie definitely did not remember dogs in his trip. “-We’ve met before, just all of the Upside Down works like a hivemind. So, the demobat spit or venom or whatever tapped us into some kind of similar hivemind.”

That explanation made a surprising amount of sense considering how insane it all was in general. But Eddie practically had to hold a hand over his mouth to stop from asking questions. Like again, dogs? But also, were they connected to the bats or greater Upside Down hivemind along with each other? Or maybe just when the gates were open, assuming they were successful in fully closing everything. God, Eddie didn’t even know what happened after he had been attacked. Just that somehow Vecna had gotten to Max. And then he woke up two weeks in the future with no fucking clue what was going on or how many others might have been hurt during that time.

Steve had continued talking for a little while, but apparently at some point in Eddie’s mental spiral he had trailed off. When Eddie finally manages to get the world to come into focus again and drag his eyes back to Steve, he’s watching him with a solemn expression.

“We should do this later.”

“No wait, please!”  Terror, or at least something akin to it, settles in Eddie’s gut at Steve’s suggestion. “We can – we – please continue. Tell me. I can handle it.” 

“Eddie…”

Eddie tries to ignore the involuntary shiver of something that travels down his spine at Steve’s husky whisper in the dark. So not the time, Munson. Get it together.

“I’m going to go insane if I don’t get some kind of answers, man. Seriously, how are you not freaking out just as bad as me right now?”

Steve just stares at him for a long time. “I’ll explain everything, I promise, but you’re exhausted. I don’t think this is a good time.”

Eddie thought that was particularly rich coming from a guy who snuck into the hospital in the middle of the night with bags under his eyes so dark they looked like bruises.

However, before Eddie can think of a way to express that sentiment without just making Steve irritated or defensive, the door opens and a nurse slips inside, pushing a cart in front of her.

She looks between Steve and Wayne on the cot a few times, clearly surprised by the multiple visitors, but she quickly schools her expression into a friendly smile. Steve gets to his feet immediately, moving out of the way to let her in close to the bed. Eddie’s eyes follow him to the corner of the room, even as the nurse sidles up besides him and starts checking him over. He wordlessly holds his arm out as she pulls out a blood pressure cuff and she smiles gratefully at him.

“I’m sure you guys aren’t always happy about it either way, but these check-ups are always so much easier when you’re already awake,” she tells him in a whisper, like she’s sharing an important secret with him. “I always feel bad waking you up. How are you feeling tonight?”

Eddie finally tears his gaze away from Steve to really look at her. The room is still mostly dark, though she left the door open for some light while she worked, so its hard to make out any distinct features. But she’s older, probably old enough to be his mother, with soft curly hair pushed back from her face by the glasses perched on the top of her head. And she’s treating him so unbelievably normal that it startles him.

“Uh…fine,” he manages after a moment.

“He’s in pain,” Steve chimes in quietly from the corner. “Especially his right side.”

Eddie shoots him a look of utter betrayal. Dick.

The corner of Steve’s mouth quirks in a quick, half-smile. So, he had heard that too. Well, good.

Eddie scowls at Steve while the nurse tuts over him, finishing with his blood pressure and moving on to check his pulse and temperature.

“It is about time for your next dose, hun. Sit tight for me and I’ll go see if I can’t get that for you a couple minutes early.”

“Thank you,” Steve says for him as she bustles out of the room again. Eddie feels bad about not managing to thank her himself, but his guilt is quickly replaced by his anger flaring once again as Steve comes back to the side of the bed.

“That’s your grand plan? Drug me up so you don’t have to talk to me?”

Steve’s expression darkens for a moment and Eddie thinks his comment might have actually bothered him, except just as fast the look is gone.

“You are in pain,” Steve says plainly in his defense.

“Yeah, but I’m still more concerned about how you can tell.”

Steve glances over his shoulder to the doorway. The nurse hasn’t returned with his medication, but she left the door to the hallway open with her departure. The light of the hallway spills across the floor, and the sound of the still-constant bustle of the hospital comes with it, other machines beeping somewhere, people walking down the hall, their conversations carrying with them. An overhead announcement summons a doctor to the nurses’ station on floor four. And there’s a person stationed outside Eddie’s room.

The door hasn’t been open so wide since he’s been awake, or maybe he was just too out of it the last time to really pay attention, but the outline of someone’s back and shoulder in the doorway is enough drag his attention away from their argument. His side protesting the movement the entire time, Eddie sits up more, trying to lean around Steve to see more of the doorway. Steve silently pushes him back against the bed, though he shifts to stand closer to the head of the bed so Eddie can still see around him.

Eddie stares for a few minutes, but its like his brain can’t comprehend what he’s seeing.

“Is there…an armed guard outside my room?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie can’t make out much more than the dark suit and the walkie strapped to the guy’s hip, but he can’t seem to stop staring regardless.

“I thought that doctor…doctor something, earlier, I thought he said my name was cleared?”

“It is.”

“So, he’s there for…?”

“As far as Wayne is concerned, your protection. To make sure no one still not convinced tries to take things into their own hands.”

Eddie was definitely going to have to ask what the fuck this cover story was they had come up with, but there was just too much going on right then for that worry to take center stage.

“And as far as anyone in the know is concerned?”

“To make sure you don’t talk to anyone not already involved before you sign an NDA.”

Eddie’s gaze snaps away from the guard to stare at Steve with wide eyes.

“Seriously?”

Steve shrugs. “Welcome to your first government-classified secret.”

Eddie searches Steve’s face for any hint of how exactly he’s supposed to take that, but his expression gives nothing away.

Eddie’s nurse bustles back into the room a moment later, triumphantly brandishing a small plastic cup of pills. Eddie tries his best to put on a grateful smile as she encourages him to take the pills, expertly switching out the pill cup for his water as he needed. She is…nice and her overwhelming…normalcy refreshing after everything. He doesn’t want to push away the one person outside of the Party and Wayne who is willing to treat him like an actual, decent human being again. Not to mention, it isn’t her fault she was unwittingly used against him.

She spends a few more minutes with them, checking a few more things off Eddie’s chart and double checking with both him and Steve that there wasn’t anything else they needed. By the time she finally bids them goodnight, Eddie can feel the medicine beginning to take hold, drowsiness making his eyelids droop and his limbs feel heavy.

His side does also feel a lot better, dammit all.

 Steve has a tightness around his eyes as he finally comes back to Eddie’s side. He feels guilty again, Eddie guesses.

“I promise drugs aren’t usually my solution to difficult conversations,” Steve says awkwardly. There’s a tone in his voice – something tight and a little scared, maybe – that Eddie can’t quite parse when his mind feels quite so fuzzy.

“To be fair,” he says around a yawn. “They are usually mine. You’re not off the hook though.”

Steve’s expression softens a little with an awkward smile but there’s still tension behind his eyes and through the line of his shoulders.

“I’m going to explain everything, just not right now.”

Normally, Eddie would like to have argued the point more, even if he agreed with Steve, but he knew right now it was just a losing battle with his consciousness. Even if Steve kept talking, he wouldn’t be able to follow any of it.

“Just tell me one thing,” he starts, though his jaw feels heavy and he’s not sure he’s being entirely coherent. It’s a struggle to keep opening his eyes after every blink, but behind his eyelids, those nightmarish images are starting to come back. There’s a flash of the Demogorgon coming through the wall, of it lifting Steve in the air, monstrous, inhuman hand thrust through his chest. “Am I going to have that nightmare again?”

“No,” Steve says firmly. He reaches out, just for a moment to straighten the blankets on the bed and though the touch is fleeting Eddie feels the phantom trail of his fingers even as he drifts off. “No, I won’t let that happen again.”