#Y'all I'm gonna be absent for a while so

[majorpatheticcas]

More.. (finally drew Kas in a mature way lmao.)

|| I'm not really sure if this will be my last post for now, considering school is kind of burying me with projects and assignments. So I'll probably take a break from social media for now cuz of school and stuff. <3 ||

And i think y'all already know where this big guy is from lmao. The one and only: @didderd ! <3

[rieamena]

totally (not) beating the allegations

best friend!takuma ino headcanons

contains... best friends to lovers, mutual pining, casual confession of love, kisses (platonic), kisses (romantic), modern au, high school to university au, living together-ish, fem intended reader, pet names (baby, babe, love, sexy, handsome, beautiful, sweetie, the list goes on and on), lots of physical touch, nicknames (you call takuma, kuma.), reader has a mother and a father, y'all are basically dating just without the label...

word count: 2.3k (this wasn't supposed to be long. i told myself 0.8k maximum...)

riea's comments: all sixteen people living in takuma city RISE UP! i miss my husband of 35 years so much, come back to me loml :(( something to munch on while y'all wait for the next full throttle chapter. also not too much on me if this is a drabble and not hcs idk the difference :))

first off... i just wanna say that i KNOW I KNOW that ino is one of the funniest people in the jjk cast idc idc!!! if he had more screentime (and if the situation wasnt dire) my boy would be crackin some jokes!!!!

you've been friends with takuma for around 7 years, your first meeting happening in tenth grade, when your teacher paired you two up for an interview project. when time came to actually record the interviews, it was hard to edit out you two laughing uncontrollably every fifteen seconds or so

i mean, you two just had so much in common!!! same favorite color, same favorite franchise, same favorite tv show, same favorite video game; it was like yall were the same person. there was just one thing you both disagreed on: whether hex code #286061 was blue or green

your argument ended up being the last ten minutes of the final video you submitted...

without a doubt, after that, you two became inseparable. in school, people would take notice of your closeness. when one of you were absent, teachers would jokingly ask "where's the other one?"

there was not a single thing you didn't do together, homework, go to the gym, gossip, eavesdrop, etc etc. so of course, you ended up applying to the same universities and when it came time for college acceptance season...

takuma invited you over, forcing you to bring your mailed letters from the eight universities. sprawling out over his lap, you took in the all too familiar sight of his room. you've been in his room more times than you've been in your own (and vice versa!)

i mean ino's been over to your place so many times that he calls your parents mom and dad. and you've been over to his house so much that takuma's mom practically jumped for joy every time you burst through the front doors with a "guess who's home!!!" so it was completely normal that you guys knew the ins and outs of each other's rooms, right?

"kuma, baby," you started with a sigh, reveling in your best friend's repetitive motions. running his hand through your hair, ino looked down at you, eyes showing that he was listening. "i'm scared, what if we don't–"

"ah-ah-ah! no negativity here!" he cut you off, pushing you off his lap and grabbing the letters you left on his desk. "listen here beautiful," takuma says, bringing a hand to your cheek, his heart swelling when you subconsciously leaned into it, "we're gonna take each other's letters, and open them," he handed you a white envelope, the logo of both of yours dream university on it, "starting with, kyōmei."

taking a well needed deep breath, you nodded. "okay," you and ino began to open the envelopes at the same time, only looking at each other when you saw the status. "accepted or rejected in 3...2...1..."

"ACCEPTED"

"ACCEPTED"

cue the mandatory silence before the screaming. "holy shit. you got in." "you got in." "WE GOT IN!!! WE'RE GOING TO KYŌMEI!!!!" you two practically flew off the bed, jumping up and down in celebration. peppering his face in kisses, you nuzzled your face into takuma's neck. "i'm so proud of us! i mean, kyōmei," you pulled away from his neck, shaking his shoulders harshly, "the kyōmei?!!!"

anyways, soon enough, you both realized that you'd have to move away, resulting in a seven hour search for apartments near the university's campus. and just as takuma was about to give up, you found a listing for units 19A and 19B, right in the heart of the city and just a five minute walk from kyōmei

and with that, it was moving day, well, days is more like it considering that the whole process took like ten days... finding cute furniture is really hard! and moving all of it is even harder!! and don't even get me started on the appliances! although, you and takuma found a way around it

like what do both of you need a microwave for? and there isn't a reason to have two dishwashers, there wasn't even a reason to have one! y'all kept your fridges though... who was gonna be banging on the other's door in the middle of the night for some cold water??

with time, it came for the highly anticipated freshman formal, an welcome event hosted by kyōmei itself, and of course, you had to go. so here you were, staring at your figure in the mirror as your best friend's large hand rubbed your shoulder, the other zipping up your black dress. "all done!" he breathed, taking a step away so that you could see for yourself. "i look so cute~" you giggled, hearing the clack of your heels as you twirled. "you do!" he paused, looking you up and down, "when did you get that dress?"

"your mom gave it to me a couple days ago! where'd you get that tux? i don't think i've seen it before," you walked over and straightened takuma's suit, as he laughed in response, "your mom gave it to me..."

"this was planned."

"this was definitely planned."

"we should send a picture in the family group chat!"

"we should!!! but, hair first!"

notice how i said family group chat, singular, not plural. and that's because there's a gc for both of your families! it's name was a mix between "ino" and your last name, since, in all seriousness, your families were close

so here you were, sitting pretty on takuma's lap as you focused on straightening the front pieces of his hair, because that's what best friends do!

"okayyyy sexyyyy," you squealed, moving out of the way so that takuma could see himself in your vanity mirror, "damnn, i look hot!" he smiled as he checked himself out, his hand firmly on your waist (to make sure that you wouldn't fall, of course!). "i knew i was fine but, did i always look this fine?" he asked, looking up at you with his big dark brown eyes, a playful smirk evident on his face. "yes, takuma. you're the sexiest man ever. just a bit of eyeliner on you and we'll be on our way, okay?"

turning back to your station, you grabbed some brown and black pencils before starting to lightly draw over ino's outer eye corner, "do men as sexy as me really need eyeliner?" a look from you was all he needed to know to shut up and close his eyes

and oh, how he loved being so close to you. not just emotionally but physically as well. like, not every duo can say that they barge into the other's apartment to steal snacks! and speaking of snacks... let me just say, there's a whole cabinet in his kitchen reserved for your favorite foods and! he keeps your favorite ice cream flavor stocked in his freezer

you, on the other hand, have a little space where you hide takuma's favorite anything. chips, gummies, takeout menus, you name it, you have it. because your best friend is oh-so-optimistic, it can be harder for him when he's just not having the best of days. which is why when you go your (not so) separate ways at the end of the day, you pack up a basket for him. ribbons in his favorite color, his top 15 favorite snacks from that one time y'all bought one of everything in a nearby convenience store and ranked them, takeout on the way, horror flicks he's been wanting on dvd because he said "its cooler that way", and a handwritten letter from you, for my kuma, scribbled on the envelope

dropping off the basket at his door and retreating back to your place, you'd press your ear against the wall separating your units, physically feeling your heart break when you heard sniffles. that was all you needed to practically fly over to his, a few boxes of tissues in hand. because that's what best friends do!

and don't even get me started on how many belongings y'all have at the other's place... like that one time takuma walked into your apartment announcing his presence, only to be met with silence. let me set up the scene for you. you are taking a relaxing shower when you hear a knock on the door followed by four more and then three more. "come in!" you called out, unbeknownst to you, ino's voice was closer than you thought

"already in here..., anyways. is my shampoo in there?"

"the one with the purple cap?"

"yeah, thanks babe!"

"wait, can you get me my towel?"

or that time when you causally opened the door to his unit (because it was basically yours too) and greeted him with a simple pat on his head before skipping off to find those jeans you thrifted

slight cohabitation aside, the university life was definitely... something. it was clear and obvious that you two were close, a blind man could see it. but close is a really really really vague word, and it's surely not the word that describes the way the two of you act. in this friendship, terms of endearment drop like rain from clouds. every. other. sentence. contains a "babe" or "baby" or "sweetheart" or "darling" WE GET IT OKAY...

and it seems like if y'all go a single day without touching each other, a bomb will fall from the sky and earth would blow up. his hands are constantly on you, his favorite places (when in public) being your shoulders and arms, and when at home it was without a doubt your waist and thighs. just imagine how difficult it must be for people speak to you both on campus when his arm is slung around you and your hand is holding onto his side. the rumors practically created themselves....

and when i say people were shocked, i mean they were SHOCKED when y'all were like "haha, no, we're not dating!!! we're best friends!" everyone was thinking: yeah best friends who FUCK. best friends who are IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER. y'all became the campus' it couple without being a couple. how does that happen??!??

however... there were a couple of people who were particularly excited to hear that you both were single. a few girls approached you one day while in the general area, asking if it was true that you and ino weren't dating. "we aren't... why?" one of the girls shifted on her feet, clearly nervous. "well... could you um... give this to him for me?!" she bowed, presenting a pretty pink envelope. you froze, staring at the item before giggling. "i see what this is about! don't worry! i'll make sure this gets to him safely!" long story short, that letter was never delivered

and on ino's side, he had some classmates pestering him about you. asking for your favorite show, candy, date style, everything under the sun. "guys, guys! she doesn't even want a boyfriend right now!" takuma shouted, even though two days prior you were complaining about how spending too much time with him was scaring all the hotties away

but let's get into the real stuff... the realization of love

for takuma, there wasn't a "wow, i'm in love with her" moment. what he does know though is that he started feeling something different for you a few months before college admission season. to him, the world was always bright with you by his side but now... it was so much brighter. it was like looking directly into the sun; it hurt but he couldn't look away, he doesn't want to look away. you're the best thing to ever happen to him, and the mere thought of ruining what you have just for some feeling—no matter how intense—isn't... right to him

and you figured it out after a dream you had one night back in high school. you dreamt of being in takuma's arms, the ones you snuck glances at when he wasn't paying attention to you. in not dream world, all you had to do was ask and he'd gladly envelop you but the vibes in this dream were different. there was tension. and it was thick. his beanie was off and thrown somewhere on the bed, your bed. looking back at him, your breath caught in your throat, "hey pretty," he slurred, drunk off tiredness. ino's called you beautiful more times than you can count; he made sure to do it at least once a week, so why... just why did this time make your stomach heat up and your heart race? you woke up with a flushed face, queasy feeling in your gut, and a deep understanding. it wasn't just platonic love anymore

"hey," you started, eyes trained on the movie in front of you, but your mind was focused on something else, "y'know how everyone thinks we're dating?" ino nodded as you reached over to grab the bowl of popcorn. "i've been thinking... maybe they're onto something..."

takuma's gulp could be heard from miles away, "wh-what are you trying to say?"

"what are we? seriously. because i can't sit here and pretend like i don't wish we were something more."

"something more like...?"

"now's not the time to be oblivious! don't you get it?! i'm—"

"i'm in love with you,"

it was like time stood still as you looked at your best friend. his face was lit by the tv screen a couple feet away, his hair was a mess, and slightly prominent dark circles were under his eyes, but... he's never looked more beautiful to you. "have been. for a long time. we've basically been dating for like four years already. four more and then we'll get married?" he flashed his signature smile

"oh, shut up," he brought your face millimeters away from his, whispering "make me." before kissing you deeply, not on your cheek, or your forehead, or your shoulders, but on your lips this time. and all the times after that too

because that's what best friends lovers do, right?

jjk taglist

@blendingcaramal @gzchaos @theamazingrain @woah-girlz @voloslobotomyservice

@kyozvy @obessionofagrl @bubybubsters @sugurusbaobei @raindropsonrwses

@c-moon20-12 @saltynanobeanie @theamazingrain @synthiiiiis @ghostlyluminarycloud

@poopyyy @supernatrualqueen @bxrbie-jadeee @laitifly @discipleofthem

@cheesecake95 @strawberry-cherrypie @makeshiftproject @magiamad0ka @ncitygreen

@stillnotherapy @oniondrip @cloudy-yyy @definitely-not-leena @kidd3ath

@atigerandabear @russianremy @ohnoitsamistakee18 @ivy-vivii @ourfinalisation

@1ndee @yourhornysister @ancientimes

[yupstillaghost]

✨️Halo & Horns🥀

Part 1

Erik Campbell x Pastor's Daughter Reader

Part 2

Part 3

Summary: Attending the neighborhood cookout wasn't something you were too excited about. Your father insisted you attend with him and your mom to get to know your new neighbors, but you just want to dissappear. Being in the public eye wasn't something you necessarily enjoyed. But you loved your dad, and your dad loved showing off his good Christian daughter. But what happens when you meet mister tall, dark, and handsome, Erik Campbell?

Warnings: mentions of religion and religious trama, alcohol consumption, strict and controlling father,

Other: no use of Y/N, reader has no physical description other than wearing a sundress and pink nail polish.

Author's note: y'all went absolutely ape shit at the mention of an Erik Campbell x pastor's daughter reader, and i'm a firm believer in writing the type of fan fic you want to read. Also, I want to mention that no deaths occur in this fic. Everyone is alive and well.

------------------------------------

You were standing at your father's side, staring absent mindedly into your glass of water as he chatted with the older woman in front of you. Your mother was chatting away as well, smiling along with the women as she talked about her family and her children. You have been half listening to the conversation, but you haven't been contributing. You were too busy thinking about how you would rather be anywhere than at this backyard barbecue, hosted by people you've never met.

You had just moved to this town, and your family was invited to this neighborhood barbecue by The Campbells, your neighbors at the end of your street. The lack of familiarity and the fact that you knew nobody at the barbecue made your skin crawl with anxiety. Your parents knew this wasn't something you were fond of, but they wanted you to get to know everyone in your new neighborhood.

The women in front of you, Brenda, seemed nice enough with her sunny blond hair and her pearly white smile. Her husband Howard could be seen behind her happily manning the grill and talking with a tall blond boy. "Over there with my husband is our youngest son Bobby" Brenda beamed with pride. "And over there is our daughter Julia" she said while pointing to a blond girl sitting at a picnic table smiling and chatting with other neighbors, just like Brenda.

You took a small sip of your water while silently wishing that it wasn't water you were drinking. All you could think about was a drawing in your sketch book at home that you couldn't wait to finish. You've been working on this cryptid moth creature for 2 days and he was coming along nicely. Your parents knew you liked to draw, but they thought you drew things like fairys, mushrooms, and nature based things, which you did. But they had no idea that what really peaked your interest were the things that tend to unsettle people. You liked the kind of art that was meant to comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable. You're parents could never find those kinds of drawings though. They would definitely think you were possessed and that the devil himself was making you draw such hanious images.

"You have a beautiful family, Brenda," your father said with a neighborly grin, "and you have a beautiful home." Brenda placed a hand to her chest, clearly flattered by your father's compliments. "Thank you so much! By the way I hope you guys saved room for dessert because we have a whole spread of goodies!" Brenda replied cheerfully. "And if you like smores my eldest son Erik is gonna be picking up some marshmallows on his way home from work" Your parent's ears practically perked up at that scentence. "You have another son?" Your mother chimed in, her interest immediately peaked. You closed your eyes and let out a sigh through your nose, knowing exactly why your mom was asking about Brenda's eldest son.

Your parents' obsession lately has been to find their future son in law so you can get married, move out, and give them grandchildren. Most of the girls you went to church with back home got married at 18 and had their first baby by 20. Meanwhile, you were a 22 year old college student still living at home, and you've never even had your first kiss.

Your parents have set you up on supervised dates in the past with boys from your old church or the sons of your mom's friends, but you never clicked with any of them. None of them were really interested in you as a person. All they cared about was your potential as their future wife, not your hobbies, your goals, or really anything having to do with you. To them, you were merely something to obtain. You being single and the pastor's daughter was their only motivation for pursuing you.

Your parents were worried about you finding a nice, well-mannered man who believes in a God. Meanwhile, none of that has ever really mattered to you. You have been too busy with college to worry about finding a boyfriend, and even if you were looking, his faith didn't matter to you. You didn't care if he was Christian, Catholic, Muslim, or even an atheist. You just wanted someone who would love you for who you are, not for who you could be.

"Yes, how could I have forgotten to mention Erik?" Brenda giggled, pausing to look down at her watch "I will have to introduce you when he gets here. He should be here any minute now." Brenda then excused herself to see if Erik had arrived. As soon as she walked away, your mother was in front of you fixing your hair and the skirt of your sundress, so you looked pristine for the eligible bachelor.

"Mom, stop," you mutter to her, swatting her hand away. "Sweetheart, I want you to look nice for when you meet this man," your mother persisted in a silent tone. "Who knows, he could be the one." You rolled your eyes at your mom's words. Just before learning about Erik, your mom was sizing up their other son Bobby for you, but she quickly dropped it when she learned he was too young. "But I-" "Young lady, there will be no arguing with your mother, especially not here" your dad interrupted, speaking to you in a quiet but stern tone. You gave a single nod in response, biting your tongue for the sake of your dad's public image.

Being the daughter of a pastor came with many expectations. Of course, you were expected to be coy, obedient, pious, everything you knew you weren't deep down. You weren't exactly the traditional Christian women. You did believe in God, but you didn't let the Bible dictate every aspect of your life. You liked reading fantasy books with magic and mythical creatures. You liked all kinds of music, including rock music, and it didn't matter to you if it was Christian rock or not. You never used your religion as a weapon to shame or shun others, and you never tried to tell anyone how to live their life because you knew it was none of your business. But you loved your dad, so during times like this, you silently agreed to be his perfect god-fearing daughter.

"I'll be right back I...have to use the restroom" you told both your parents, handing your mom your glass before turning and heading for the back door. You didn't actually need to use the restroom. You just needed to get away from them for a little bit, to get away from everyone really. You entered the Campbell's home and immediately let out a sigh of relief as you gently closed the door behind you. Your mind went quiet almost instantly as you mentally thanked the lord for allowing you to be alone, even if its only for a few minutes.

You walked over to the kitchen and took refuge there. You leaned on the kitchen counter and allowed yourself to close your eyes and take three deep breaths. You needed to ground yourself and become attuned to your body again after being in your head since you arrived at the cookout. Suddenly, the front door opens, and in comes two people. You couldn't see them but you could hear them. One voice belonged to Brenda, that you knew for certain. The other voice was man's voice that you did not recognize.

"Thank you Erik honey. Just put the marshmallows on the counter" you heard Brenda say to the man before you looked to your right and saw her go out the back door to the cookout guests. Your breath hitched in your throat when you heard footsteps approaching the kitchen. You then heard a soft thud that came from the kitchen counter across from you. You looked forward and your eyes simultaneously met a pair of blueish gray ones from across the kitchen.

Your chest felt tight and your lips parted slightly. The man in the kitchen with you kept his gaze locked on you, but you noticed him take a big swallow like he had something in his throat. You stood there for what left like a century and allowed your eyes to just take him in.

The first thing you noticed was that he was tall. Not intimidatingly tall, but tall enough for you. His black skinny jeans were tucked into his black combat boots and he sported a plain gray tee shirt that hugged his upper body in all the right places. His arms were adorned in several tattoos from his wrists all the way up and under his short sleeves. All of them dark and mean looking. He wasn't extremely toned, but he was definitely in good shape judging by the size of his biceps.

Then your eyes met his face again. You took in his short dark beard and mustache, a bit of a contrast to his dark brown messy hair. You then took notice of his hooped earrings, which matched the septum ring hanging from his nose. But his big muted blue eyes were the real star of the show. He was like a siren. Beautiful in a unique way. He was unlike anything you have ever seen before, and you found yourself wanting to open your mouth and say something. Anything. But you were frozen.

"You're a new face" the man blurted out, breaking the uncomfortable silence in the room. He screwed his eyes shut and brought his hand up to scratch the back of his head. He seemed embarrassed that those were the first words out of his mouth to you. You let go of the breath you were holding and let out a nervous chuckle. You took your hands off the counter and loosely crossed your arms, rubbing your thumb on your elbow as a way of calming your anxiety.

"What I meant was i don't think we've met before" he said with his own nervous chuckle "I'm Erik". You quickly glanced at the kitchen counter next to him. There sat a bag of marshmallows, the ones he bought for smores. Yup, he was Erik Campbell. Your mind flipped through mental images of his family, his parents, his younger brother and sister. He was the exact opposite of them. It was like night and day, but you found that you liked that about him. You liked that he stood out from the rest of his typical, suburban family members. Erik was the black sheep of the Campbells.

You knew your parents would definitely not approve of him. They may have been devout Christians, but they had a habit of judging a book by its cover, especially your father. They also wouldn't approve of the two of you being alone together. You were never allowed to be alone with any boy, let alone one like Erik.

You told him your name through a stuttering breath and he gave you a smirk. You noticed him look you up and down as you did with him, taking you in and committing you to memory. Erik finally pulled his gaze off of you and sauntered over to the refrigerator and opened it. He poked his head out from the fridge door and pointed the top of a beer bottle in your direction.

"You want one?" He offered casually. As tempted as you were to accept the drink in his hand, you knew drinking wasn't a good idea. "No thanks" you declined with a shy smile "I dont really drink". Erik shrugged nonchalantly and closed the fridge door. He made his way over to you, your heart rate picking up with every step. He leaned on the counter next to you as he used his teeth to pop the top off his beer. It was only after he got it off and took a swig of the beer that you realized you probably looked insane watching him so intently. But you couldn't help it. It wasn't your fault he was so easy on the eyes.

"So how come I've never seen you before, Peach?" Erik asked as he set his beer down on the counter behind him, bringing his eyes back to yours. You were so enamored by him and the pet name he just gave you that you genuinely had a hard time forcing words out of your mouth. "I um, I just moved here. Well, not here, I mean down the street from here," you stammered out like word vomit. Erik giggled at how inept you were at forming a proper scentence in the moment. You averted your gaze from his face and looked down at your feet, your fingers keeping busy by picking at your pink nail polish.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have laughed" Erik apologized sincerely, a grin creeping up on his lips "I just think you're cute". You bring your head back up to see him with a closed lipped grin, his eyes smiling along with him. You felt your stomach flip and your mouth went dry. He called you cute, and instead of giving a fake smile and saying thanks like you've done with other guys, you were stunned. He called you cute. Him. You matched his grin with your own, and you swore you saw his eyes sparkle.

"Well, welcome to the neighborhood" Erik told you softly like he was trying not to scare you "and for the record, I'm usually good at this whole flirting thing. But it's not everyday when I come home to a pretty girl standing in my kitchen." You felt your cheeks heat up and It was your turn now to giggle at him. "I don't know, I thought you were doing a pretty good job" you said in a playful tone. Erik kept grinning as he looked down at his feet. You could tell that he was trying to hide the blush that was starting to appear on his cheeks. You then stole a glance at his tattoo covered arms, taking a closer look since you could see them better.

"I like your tattoos" you blurted out without thinking. Not that what you said was bad, you just wish you would have segued into that topic more smoothly. Erik lifted his head up and looked at you with raised eyebrows. He went from leaning on the counter to standing in front of you. "Thanks. I actually drew them all up myself" he replied excitedly, holding his arms out so you could have a better look. Without thinking, you reached out and took Erik's left arm in one hand and started tracing his tattoos with your other hand.

Erik looked at you with parted lips while you looked at his tattoos. Your touch was feather light as your fingers traced his inked skin. You admired the beautiful line work and all the intricate details of each piece of art on his skin. "You really drew all of them yourself?" You exclaimed in awe. Erik chuckled, clearly amused at your reaction. "Yup. I'm a tattoo artist and a piercer, so ya know, when in Rome" you bring your attention from his arm back to his handsome face.

"You're a tattoo artist? So you draw like all the time?" You questined with genuine curiosity and interest. Erik flashed you an authentic smile. "Ya pretty much" he said in an almost coy tone. You realized that you probably made him uncomfortable by your questions and instantly felt regretful. "Sorry, it's just that I like to draw too, and I just really like the style of your tattoos" you stammered out, averting your gaze again and turning your attention back to Erik's arm. Erik furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly, attempting to find your eyes so he could continue memorizing every detail.

"I like that you like them" he reassured you "and if you like my style and you're also an artist, then I would love to see your drawings sometime, peach" you looked at him through your lashes, no longer hiding your flushed cheeks from him. He offered you another small grin and it was quickly becoming something that you wanted to see more and more of.

You let your eyes wander to Erik's upper arm area and you lightly carressd the tattoos there. Spiders, spider webs, plants, snakes, and skulls all embedded in his skin forever like a human sketch book. You were completely enthralled. You felt his skin become raised with goosebumps under your touch and you giggled slightly.

"They're beautiful" you whispered, your tone sweet like honey. "You're beautiful" Erik mumbled. You hardly caught his words, but you still caught them none the less. Your eyes locked again. You couldn't help but notice how the kitchen lights made him look so warm, so inviting. Your cheeks became hot again while your stomach was tying itself in knots.

You've read a lot of fantasy books with romance in them, and you started to think about all the scenes where the two main characters felt like the only two people on earth. That was exactly how you felt with Erik. Nothing else mattered outside of the kitchen. Not the barbecue, not Erik's family, not even your parents. All you knew in that moment was Erik, and he was all you wanted to know.

Erik gently brought his hand to the bicep of your arm that was holding his. You let out a shakey breath in response to his touch. His eyes searched your face intently. "I mean it" he whispered to you, that eye sparkle you saw earlier making an appearance again.

You've been called beautiful several times in your life and you were always reluctant to believe it. But when you heard Erik call you beautiful, you couldn't help but believe him. Erik Campbell, the sinfully handsome boy who was covered in piercings and tattoos and had a raging resting mean face, thought that you were beautiful. You have never felt this connection with any other guy before. You prayed to God that this wouldn't be a one time thing, that you would see Erik again. But you knew that as long as you lived under your parents roof...

You and Erik both jumped slightly at the sound of the back door swinging open. An unmistakable male voice called out for you and your heart sank to your feet. "Honey are you alright? You've been gone a long time" your dad called out as we walked into the kitchen in search of you. But he didn't just find you. He found you alone with a boy and that boy was touching you and you were touching him.

You were frozen in horror. Your father's face looked like his life was flashing before his eyes. His worst nightmare was unfolding before him. He walked in on his pure, innocent daughter, cozying up to what looked to be a stereotypical bad boy who would corrupt her and drag her into sin with him. His face then changed from horrified to angry.

"What the hell is going on here!?" Your dad exclaimed at the two of you, visible anger etched into his face. You and Erik removed your hands from each other and Erik took a step back. You were already mourning his touch and the warmth of his skin. Your father turned to Erik and pointed a finger at him.

"Who are you and what were you doing with my little girl?" He interrogated with fire in his voice. "Dad!" You cried out, mortified beyond belief. Erik just smirked and lifted his hands in the air like he was caught committing a crime.

"Nothing happened, I was just showing her my tattoos" Erik explained calmly. Your father backed away from him and looked him up and down, a disgusted look forming on his face. Your dad did not know how to hide his true emotions and it was embarrassing to say the least. Erik put his hands down but outstretched his right hand to your dad.

"We haven't met, obviously. I'm Erik Campbell, it's nice to meet you" Erik introduced himself to your father in a monotone voice. You can tell he was annoyed with your dad's irate state and judgmental staring, but he was trying his best to be polite.

"You're Erik Campbell?" You dad's disgusted expression turned into one of bewilderment. "The one and only" Erik answered with confidence "I guess my mom is still talking about me when I'm not around". Your dad looked in your direction with an expression that read as "is this guy serious?"

"He's telling the truth, Dad. Nothing happened" you attempted to reassure your father by backing up Erik's claim. "Then why did he have a hand on you?" He pressed angrily. You felt like you were being backed up into a corner. You honestly did not know how to explain that part to him without him getting more upset.

"Please don't be mad at her, okay? I promise you nothing happened" Erik chimed in to try and deescalate the situation. Erik took a step closer to your father, but your father took two steps away. He treated Erik like he was a deadly plaque he didn't want to catch.

"You listen to me, boy," your dad said sternly, pointing a finger at Erik again. "My daughter is a follower of Jesus Christ, and I will not allow you to corrupt her and lead her down a path of sin and eternal damnation. You stay away from her, you hear me? Or next time, i won't be so nice." Erik looked completely unphased by your father's threat as he let a smirk show.

"No promises" was all Erik said to your father before you heard the back door open again and the clicking of heels on the floor. "Did you find her?" Said your mother as she walked into the kitchen. She let out a surprised yelp at the site of Erik and brought a hand to her chest, acting like he was an actor at a haunted house. You brought your fingers to your temples and rubbed them, clearly aggravated with your mom's overreaction.

"I'm guessing this is your mom?" Erik said to you sarcastically. All you could manage to say was a "yup". Of course it only made sense for your parents to loose their minds when you finally found a guy you were interested in and he wasn't what they envisioned for you. Before your mom started asking questions, your dad grabbed your hand.

"We're going home now" your dad grumbled, still fuming from his conversation with Erik. He grabbed your mother's hand too and dragged you to the back door. You whipped your head behind you to get one last glance at Erik. You were sad but also scared that this could be the very last time you see Erik Campbell. But he gave you a wink and reassured you by saying...

"Don't worry, Peach. You'll see me again soon"

[callme-holly]

what about 20.bandaging/stitching up an injury paired with 10.hiding their face in the other’s neck with darry? (please❤️)

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 [𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐥 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - this took me way too long to get out so sorry y'all. my mental health has kinda gone on a silly little rollercoaster so my posting might be a little all over the place i'm still taking requests from both this prompt list and this one!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 579 words

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - brief mentions of fighting (i think)

The living room is unnaturally quiet, not a single word being said amongst the boys, the only sound being the muffled drone of the TV and the occasional sharp intake of air from Darry as you clean the cuts and scrapes littering his knuckles.

His already patched up hand rests lightly on your hip, keeping you steady in his lap as you work on his other hand,  his thumb gently rubbing circles into your skin under your shirt, a small gesture that you have become increasingly used to since you’ve known him. 

You run the wet cloth across his beaten knuckles once more, mumbling a soft apology when he winces slightly at the sharp sting. 

“It’s fine,” he mutters quietly, squeezing your hip briefly in reassurance, his gaze drifting to the rest of the boys. 

It’s never this quiet after a rumble; everyone is usually bursting with energy, waiting for the adrenaline high to wear off. But it’s been over twenty minutes since they returned home, and hardly anyone has spoken, the air in the room filled with a heavy sense of exhaustion, which is only further confirmed by the way everyone is slumped against one another. 

“Are you gonna stay the night?” Darry asks suddenly, his voice rough from disuse and tiredness, hushed so that only you can hear him. 

You glance up from where you were wrapping his injured knuckles, giving him a small smile in response before dropping your gaze once more.

“If you want me to,” you reply, nodding your head in response. You know he’d probably benefit from you staying; although he’d never admit it, you can sense his built up stress, how tensely wound he still remains despite your best efforts to calm him down, and you know it’d do him the world of good to be in the presence of someone perhaps a little more grounding than the other boys. 

Darry nods slowly in response, shifting you ever so slightly in his lap before leaning forward and pressing his lips to your forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back with a sigh. A fresh bruise is blossoming just below his eye, and you frown slightly at the sight of it, cupping his cheek tenderly before placing a quick kiss there. He leans into your touch easily, closing his eyes as you pull away. His arms tighten around you, a sure sign that he wants to keep you close, and you don’t fight it, settling yourself more comfortably into his lap, his hand sliding slowly along the fabric of your top.

You decide now is the best time to pack away the first aid kit, all of the boys cleaned up and taken care of. You set the box aside, letting out a small sigh of relief as you sit back once more, tucking your face in the crook of his neck. He hums softly in response, his fingers combing through your hair absently, removing any ounce of worry and stress you'd built up over the rumble. 

You’re content to stay just like this, listening as the boys finally begin to relax, one by one succumbing to exhaustion, the hum of commercials on the TV becoming quieter until it’s nothing but background noise. 

You stay like that a while longer, eventually lulled to sleep by the comforting weight of Darry’s arms wrapped securely around you, and the sound of his gentle breaths that match yours.

[ulteri0rm0tives]

so. I never looked thru kerry's laptop b4 (fake fan ik) because it's j honestly something I overlooked, and tbh if u ask me, it's really easy to overlook where it is. but. christ man. this shit is just upsetting.

kinda with kerry on that one, too, like yeah he was definitely a passive aggressive shit stirrer in that response but why tf are we involving the kids in y'all's bullshit? pitting y'all's kids against each other? Like Man. Mannnn.

Ohhh they were so toxic huh 😭

(some more thoughts abt this below)

'this is no place for children', is probably something she told him before, or some variation of it I'm sure, critiquing how his lifestyle could be a bad influence on the kids perhaps? Definitely he should learn to effectively communicate in a mature way without throwing that in her face, like Kerry's legit just being a shit stirrer with that, and she really was like 'lol fine if we're gonna play that game' and had no trouble out doing him there 😭

before even reading these I already thought he'd be one to buy their love, but this kinda confirms it for me. there's also other instances of Kerry throwing money when he can't do more to support (PL coma ending), so honestly, think Louise kinda got him on that one 😭😭

And at least? He tried to backtrack with suggesting they go on a trip together since they, for whatever reason, can't go to his place?

'they were all pleasantly surprised to know they have a father after all' Ugh I already thought he wasn't around much even when they were a family under one roof, and I can just imagine that rift just growing wider with Louise getting the kids and moving away and what seems to be her influencing whatever image they already have of him

Also KERRY GIRL 😭😭 spend time with them!! connect with your children, man!!!! I can kinda get why he wouldn't want to go on a family trip with Louise because I'm sure neither of them are gonna make it fun for each other between arguments and the resentments they clearly have for each other and all the petty snipes, but UGH she literally just called yr ass out for buying their love and being an absent father and here you are literally proving her right. Kerry babe c'monnnn, why don't YOU take them on a trip

tho I wonder if that'll be an easy thing to set up if Louise is the one who has custody and does NOT seem to like his ass nor how he is as a father 💀 and if she's willing to involve the kids in their bullshit I'm sure she's willing to not make it easy? I mean, it is common for resentful ex partners to weaponize custody

But also, her bringing up the fact the kids want to come see him in the first place must be something right? She's at least willing? Sorta? While Kerry is just keeping them at arms length.

Maybe the reason he doesn't want them to come over is because he doesn't want them to see how he's been living? The state of the house, how he's been, etc. But it's also like, dude, c'mon. You gotta make an effort to see them. Why don't YOU go over there then, get yourself a hotel room and plan some fun things to do during the day and spend a couple days there? Like???? There are solutions here?????? It's just a matter of effort.

I do have a draft somewhere about how I think their relationship was, some headcanons, etc, perhaps I'll post it

[spencewalterreid]

American Teenager

part 1. part 2.

Summary: Ethel deals with the death of her father and her sexuality while Spencer grapples with how to address her crumbling mental health.

Pairing: Spencer Reid / Ethel Cain (p)

Category: Angst, hurt/comfort (come on y'all know the routine by now)

Warning: discussion of war, house parties, witnessed makeout session by a third party, teenagers being drunk, dry humping, dubious consent (not sex, but like. heavy petting), suicide attempt!! you have been warned. forced gagging/throwing up unrelated to an ed. Please see master list for overall warnings for the whole series.

Word Count: 6.4k

Author's Note: I absolutely flew through this one. Enjoy the long chapter, because next week will likely be much shorter. It'll be setting up for Spencer's FBI career, the beginnings of joining the BAU. Ignore the timeline please:) I'm not gonna fuck with trying to make him one of the founders. just preteeeeend that they had all the technology they have now back in the 80s<3 it's fanFICTION for a reason xoxoxo. It'll be less of Ethel's pov except maybe some meandering daydreaming. Mostly Spencer-centric before we pull away from him for a while for Western Nights. I think that's all<3 enjoy!

PLEASE NOTE: reblogging is the only way to promote fics on tumblr!! if you enjoyed this PLEASE reblog and let me know!

September 3, 1976

It’s uncharacteristically cold for September; a crisp 36 degrees. Fitting, given the setting.

Last night, Daddy died. That’s it. There’s no other way to put it. There’s no way to say it in which wouldn’t sound like a lie; too soft to be honest. Mama won’t tell Ethel how it happened, and her older sisters have remained eerily silent. They haven’t spoken at all.

Allison found Mama, or so she assumed from the scream last night. She knows it was in the bathroom, because when she scrambled out of her threadbare twin-sized bed and down the hall to investigate, Hope, Allison, Joanna, and Mom were gathered around the doorway. When Ethel asked what was going on with tears in her voice, Mom turned around and grabbed her by the wrist, dragged her down the hall.

“You’re hurting me!” she’d shouted, but it hit deaf ears. She’d cried harder at the purple she knew was colouring her arm.

Mama tossed her back into her bedroom and locked the door from the outside. Joanna came in the next morning to let her out; they were going to the schoolhouse so Ethel could get enrolled. She’d never been to school before.

The building was concrete and empty. It was bigger than it needed to be, bigger than what was warranted with the amount of students it had to hold. It was laced with something desolate, as though anyone who passed through its hallways would be stung with a desperate loneliness. She felt it when she pressed the front doors open, and she saw it on Joanna’s face, but she wasn’t sure if the expression was there before they left the house, so she couldn’t be sure it was caused by the school.

Joanna signed papers that Ethel was sure were meant for Mama, and nary a word was spoken aside from an introduction delivered by the older sister. They were there for maybe half an hour as Joanna scribbled in silence, only broken by the turn of a page. When she was finished, she laid the stack down on the front desk and mumbled thanks before leaving without checking if Ethel was following. She was.

Anyway, that was yesterday and this is now, as much as Ethel wishes it weren’t. Mama dressed her in thick, black tights and a long, black dress with shiny, black shoes. She wonders why funerals are supposed to be black. Black is the devil’s colour, she thinks absently, rear end going numb from the outdated bench under her in this stuffy old church. The same one Daddy did his sermons in. Not anymore, she reminds herself.  If Daddy’s supposed to go to Heaven, shouldn’t everything be white? She wonders if Daddy would go to Heaven after all. He must, she’s sure. After all, he spoke His word at every chance he got. Especially when he came to her bedroom when Hope was sleeping on the twin-sized mattress on the other side of the bedroom. The Bible says you are mine to do with as I please, he’d whisper near her ear, so be quiet. Later, when she’d ask him why her and why not Hope or Allison or Joanna, he’d tell her, it’s because you’re my favourite. You’re the littlest one, God’s gift to me. And she was the favourite. Daddy would hold her hand when they were in public, he’d keep his hand on her thigh in private, or sometimes her chest, or sometimes her butt. He was always touching her somewhere, making sure she knew she was safe. He was protecting her. He never did that for her older sisters, even though they were so much prettier. They were lucky to look so much like Mama. Ethel looked more like her father and she always has.

The only person that speaks to Ethel all day is Hope, the sister closest to her in age. Only 9 months older. When they were lowering the casket, Hope had squeezed Ethel’s hand and said, “He’s finally gone.” At that, Ethel had ripped her hand away and shuffled closer to Mama. Why would she say that? Daddy was never anything but good to them. Even when he was hurting them, it was for their own good. He only ever once broke skin on each of them, and it was when he gave them their Mark of the Lord when they turned 10. He’d given them cross tattoos with his pocket knife, right at their hairline. It was always covered by bangs, of course, because otherwise the Heathens would want to hurt them for their faith, but Ethel was grateful for the gift. Daddy said it would keep evil away, keep the demons from possessing them. She’d let him do it without fighting, and she only cried a little bit.

Mama hadn’t let Spencer come to the funeral, so once everyone has gone to sleep, Ethel tries to climb out her window. She slides the wooden frame up without a sound, glancing over at Hope every few seconds to make sure she doesn’t wake up. She puts one foot out the window then the next, but as she wasn’t looking where she was stepping, her foot slipped and she fell, scraping her leg before she found purchase on the windowsill.

She supposes the sound woke Mama up, because she hears stomps down the hallway. Desperate, Ethel tries to pull herself back up, but she isn’t strong enough. A delicate hand wraps around her wrist, yanking her up back through the window. She hits her head on the way.

“What the devil are you thinking?” Mom yells. Once Ethel is safely back in her room, Mama rears back and smacks her across the face. “Stupid girl,” she continues. “Just because Joseph is gone, you think you can sneak out?” Mama’s fingers tangle in Ethel’s hair, yanking hard. “I asked you a question! Answer me!”

“I’m sorry!” Ethel sobs. “I don’t-” a hiccup. “I don’t know!” She turns her head as much as she can to try to see Hope out of her peripheral vision. She can’t see Hope’s expression, but she notices that her sister is sitting bolt-upright in her bed.

“Oh, you don’t know, huh?” Mama keeps hold of Ethel’s hair, dragging her toward the bedroom door. Ethel topples over at the change, but Mama doesn’t let go to let her get back up. They continue like that down the hallway, and when they approach the door to the basement. Mama finally lets go of her hair but stands behind her with her arms crossed. “Open the door.”

With shaking hands, Ethel does as told, and Mama pushes her down the stairs. Ethel cries out as she feels a crunch, her shoulder hitting the corner of one of the steps.

“Maybe you’ll figure out what you were trying to accomplish after a couple of days down here. Stupid whore.” Mama shakes her head, slamming the door behind her daughter and locking the door with a dull click.

Are you listening? Ethel prays, shaking with tears. I need guidance. I’m sorry to bother you, I know it’s late and you probably have better things to do, but my shoulder really hurts. Can you help me?

She sighs, turning on her good side. Daddy died today. I’m sure you know that, you’re probably with him now. Can you tell him I miss him? I’ve been bad, Father. I’m sorry. I tried to go see Spencer. I know you probably don’t like him, but he’s really nice. If you knew him better, you might get along. He tries to pray. I don’t know if it works because he doesn’t go to church very much anymore, but he does try every night. He told me he prays mostly about his mom. Is she really possessed? She’s been nice every time I’ve talked to her, but maybe that’s because of the Snake’s deception.

Ethel sobs when another sharp pain hits her shoulder. 

I’m sorry, I’ll stop talking about him. Please help my shoulder, and make my mom feel better about Daddy. I know she misses him too. Amen.

***

September 6, 1976

“Ethel?”

Soft footsteps on the concrete rouse Ethel before her name does. She looks up, trying to support herself with her elbow before she remembers her injury with a sharp, tearless sob. She sits up using her abdomen, then pushes herself with her feet toward the wall, careful not to let her bloody back touch it. “Please! Please, don’t-”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” comes a soft, sweet voice. “It’s okay. It’s just me.” Once she steps out of the stairwell and into the fluorescent light, Ethel finds Allison’s face, pinched with worry. “Are you okay?”

Ethel replies with a whimper, her good hand finding her sling. “It hurts.”

“I know, honey, I’m sorry.” Allison sets down a plate of food Ethel hadn’t noticed until now. It looks like cut up chicken with mashed potatoes and corn. “I made you dinner. Mama’s at church.”

At the new information, Ethel tucks into the meal with her hand on her good arm and murmurs a thank you through the food.

“I need to tell you something,” she says gently. Ethel nods to spur her on but doesn’t look up. Allison shifts uncomfortably. She chews on her words for a moment, then: “Joanna left.”

Ethel chokes and tears fill her eyes. She sits up, resting her potato-covered hand in the air, forearm on her bent knee. “What?”

“I’m sorry. She, uh… She left a note.” Allison digs in her jean pocket, pulling a crumpled, folded-up paper out and smoothing it. “Here.” She offers it, but changes her mind when she remembers her sister’s condition. “I’ve gone to the west coast. I’m okay, I’m safe. I just can’t stay in Alabama. I can’t stay in this house. I love you all. May blessings follow you wherever you go. Love, Joanna.” 

Ethel stares at her sister in shock, cheeks dripping with tears. “I’d like to be alone, please,” she croaks, quiet and wet. “Please go. Thank you for the food.”

Allison nods, placing a shaky hand on Ethel’s cheek, wiping it with her thumb. “I love you, you know that?”

She’s gone as quickly as she came.

***

June 10, 1978

Spencer’s nimble fingers trail through Ethel’s long, dark hair, his third attempt at learning how to french braid. “I know, I agree, but… I don’t know, I just think there’s more to people than that.”

“Not really. People make their own decisions, yeah, but at the end of the day, they’re either good or bad.” Ethel studies one of the paintings on Spencer’s bedroom wall; a Rembrandt. She can never remember the name of it.

“I can see where you’re coming from,” he replies, trying to tame a particularly difficult knot, “but I wanna know what makes people make the decisions they make. I want to know what makes them tick.”

Ethel tugs at one of her fingers, attempting to pop her knuckle. “Spence, that’s a dark road. Studying serial killers… it’s evil. True evil. Not like your Mom-”

“My mom isn’t evil.” Spencer’s hands still.

“No, I know, but I mean… You know, Daddy used to say-”

“Your father is dead,” he interrupts, voice tight. He ties off her hair and scoots back on the bed, folding his arms and glaring down at her, cross-legged on the hardwood floor. She turns around to look at him.

“I know,” she says, calm and slow. “My point is, serial killers aren’t just…” She chooses her words carefully, mindful of Spencer’s hard stare. “Troubled. They’re purposefully evil and do evil things. That’ll sink into you, eventually. I don’t want that for you.” She reaches up and offers her hand, but when he doesn’t take it, she sighs and puts it back in her lap.

“Everyone deserves empathy. Even the people you so flippantly label as evil. You know, there are some people that would call Joseph evil.”

Ethel swallows the lump in her throat that forms at her father’s first name. “You’re close to blasphemy,” she whispers, eyes on her hands, clasped together atop her ankles. “My father was a messenger of God.”

“Your father molested you,” Spencer replies, softening. “Your father abused you, your mother, and I think it’s safe to assume he abused Vera. He hurt me, too. And it isn’t your fault,” he adds, an afterthought. An unnecessary one. She didn’t assume it was, or at least she doesn’t think she did. “He was, as you put it, troubled.”

“Daddy was a good man, Spencer. He loved me, and he loved his family. You didn’t know him. He did what he did because God told him to.”

Ethel doesn’t address why God would tell him to do the things he did. She doesn’t address how scared she is that one day God would tell her to do that, too. She doesn’t even attempt to consider how ashamed she would be if she one day hurt someone else, whether it was directions from the Lord or not. Above all, she very importantly did not mention that she was, in a distant part of her mind she kept far away from her prayers, angry at God for telling her father to do those things.

Instead, she repeats, “He loved me.”

Spencer moves off the bed to sit next to his friend, back against the side of his bed. He pulls her into him, tucking her under his arm. “I know,” he mutters. “I know he did.”

God loves her, too, she’s sure. God loved her, but not enough to save her.

They fall asleep like that, and are awoken by a sob from downstairs. “Stay here,” Spencer demands, shifting Ethel off of him to investigate.

He’s greeted by his mother crumpled by the open entry door, hands over her mouth. There’s a stranger in uniform at the door with a sleek black box in his hands. He looks conflicted, like he isn’t sure if he should comfort her or not. She hears Spencer at the stairs and looks up, holding her arms out to her sides. She calls for him, and with bated breath, he approaches.

Diana pulls her son into her; tight, bony arms suffocating. “What happened? Who is that?” His questions are muffled by her bosom, his face held tight against her chest.

“Your uncle Reggie,” she sobbed, hot breath dampening his hair. “He- oh, my God.”

Oh. His uncle Reggie, who was fighting in the war.

Unbeknownst to the Reids and the man still standing awkwardly at the door, Ethel was watching the entire thing go down at the top of the stairs.

Spencer told her about his uncle just a couple weeks ago, and they’d discussed the moral implications of joining a war. Today’s conversation was almost a continuation of that; they’d decided, or at least Ethel had decided, that those who die at war deserved to. To make the choice of killing people at the word of a superior would be asking for God to strike them down. Thou shalt not kill, regardless of whether or not one thinks it is just. She has a hard time feeling bad for the man. He was patriotic, a firm believer that America always had the moral high ground as it was a Godly country. She wonders how God gets twisted and pulled in so many directions; God gives children wholly to their parents, so when a father beds his daughter, it is not adultery, but if a father beds someone else’s daughter, it is. If someone commits murder, they are a murderer plain and simple, unless they’re killing someone who’d done wrong. How is it that Christians are meant to know how to live their lives if there are so many rules, and so many exceptions?

Ethel elects to go back to Spencer’s room and pretend she hadn’t heard. When he comes back with red eyes and a red nose, she doesn’t comment on it, and she lets him hold her, even though she’s too hot and she has to pee and she was supposed to be home for supper twenty minutes ago according to the clock on his wall. She’ll pay for that, she knows, but for now she needs to comfort her friend.

***

August 28, 1981

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Ethel slurs, clinging onto Spencer’s sweater-clad arm. “He’ll be there,” she sings with a grin.

“If you’re referring to Will, I have far less interest in seeing him than you do, and less so if you’re going to be hanging off of him all night,” Spencer huffs, pulling his arm away from the young woman and crossing it with the other across his chest. Ethel pouts.

“I won’t be hanging off of him, I’ll be hanging on him.” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh, good grief,” he groans. “You’re already drunk, why don’t you just go to his house? What do you need to go to a party for?”

Ethel rolls her eyes. “Game first, then party. Also, it isn’t just a party, it’s the homecoming dance. You haven’t gone to a single one yet. You have to go.”

“Actually, it’s freshman year,” Spencer corrects. “I just finished senior year.”

“Yeah, but that’s college. You’re senior-age.”

With a huff, Spencer rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

Ethel beams, grabbing onto his shoulders. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

She drags him into a crushing hug, giggling like a kid. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She reeks of whiskey.

***

Spencer is curled up with a book under the bleachers, about 30 feet away from Ethel and Willoughby. What a stupid name, he thinks bitterly. He’s about halfway through Jane Eyre, and though he’s reading slowly, he suspects he’ll be done in 20 minutes tops, and he doesn’t know how he’ll be able to tolerate the moans and groans wafting from his left when he’s done. They’ve been making out since he started his book, which he picked up after Ethel cut their conversation short for favour of her shiny new boyfriend. They’ve been spending pretty much every waking moment together since Vera took sick last year. The only time Ethel isn’t drunk is Sunday mornings, and even they’re hit or miss. The church been through preacher after preacher for the last half-decade, each one quitting or dying off. Due to old age or suicide, Spencer isn’t sure. Regardless, the congregation liked Joseph so much that they elected for Ethel to take over sermons. Not a great idea to ask a 17-year-old girl to be a preacher in the first place, let alone a drunk, but no one ever asks Spencer’s opinion on these things. Whatever.

As expected, Spencer is done with his book in about a quarter of an hour, and slams it shut with a huff, turning his attention to the undulating heap that is Ethel atop Will. “I’m bored, E.” She ignores him. “E.” Silence. “Ethel!”

She whines and reluctantly pulls away from her partner, looking at Spencer. Will continues conducting an assault on her jaw and neck. “What?”

“I’m bored,” he repeats, shoulders slumped.

“Baby,” she coos, glancing down at Will again. “Can you get a soda for me, baby?”

Spencer cringes at the gooey nickname.

Willoughby grunts. “You know what, I think I’m just gonna go home.” He shoots a pissed-off glare to Spencer, who tries valiantly to hold back a chuckle. He succeeds, thank fuck.

“What? No, we still have to go to the dance,” Ethel whines, holding his face in her hands and kissing him sweetly. “Please don’t go. Please?”

“Whatever. I’ll see you there.” Will pushes her off his lap carefully, and dusting himself off, stalks away.

She feels like she’s been punched, like she got the air knocked out of her. Tears well up in her eyes as she watches him leave, and she just feels so fucking angry. Who does he think he is?

“See what you did?” Ethel snaps, throwing her arms up to gesture behind her, glaring daggers at Spencer. “All because you were bored. Why didn’t you just read your book like you said you were going to?”

“I did!” He waves his book in the air. “I finished it. I told you it wouldn’t last me that long. You’re being a dick.”

“You made my boyfriend leave just because you were jealous!”

Spencer closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them again. “I’m not jealous. I just don’t think it’s fair that you begged me to come to this and I did, and you’re not even talking to me.”

“Yeah, okay, Spence. Just… come on.” She offers him her hand, pulling him up off the concrete. 

“Where are we going?”

“To get drunk.”

Spencer gawks. “I thought you said we were going to go to the homecoming dance, though?”

“I changed my mind. We’re going to go to an honest-to-God high school party.” Ethel shouts, moving expertly through the dispersing crowd, abandoning a finished football game.

He considers arguing but thinks better of it.

***

“You look pretty,” Ethel drawls, pressed tight against Spencer’s side.

“And you’re drunk,” he says gently, trying to remove her. Admittedly, his heart isn’t in it, and he gives up. Maybe it’s nice to feel her against him. Sue me. “Where’s Will? I thought he was going to meet us here.”

“Went home, I guess,” she shrugs, shoving her face in Spencer’s neck.

He shivers at her breath on the sensitive skin. He crosses his legs at the ankle. They’d found a bathroom to set up camp in when Ethel got nauseous. She puked for a while, hair pulled neatly into Spencer’s hands, and now they’re sitting with their backs against the bathtub, vibrations from the music bouncing through their spines.

“Why are you asking about him? Why do you care?”

“E, you’re drunk,” he repeats, not having a good answer. Because if you don’t get out of my space soon, I’m going to lose my mind. Because the urge to kiss you is getting strong enough it’s getting hard to fight, and I will not kiss you while you’re drunk. Because you being all over another man is less unbearable than you being all over me.

“I’m sober as a judge,” she giggles, then presses one hand to his jaw, turning his face toward her. “You’re tense.”

The light of the bathroom is harsh against her sharp features, but Spencer is a firm believer that she’s as beautiful as she’s always been, and gets moreso every day. He pushes a stray hair out of her face and behind her ear. His eyes linger on her cross-shaped scar on her forehead, to the point where it's raised and white. He doesn't comment on it no matter how much he'd like to. He really fucking hates Joseph Cain. 

Brave, Ethel lifts herself up and settles on his lap. His hands instinctively go to her hips, and as much as he knows he should move them, he doesn’t. This is wrong, he tells himself, but he’s frozen in place. He just hopes she doesn’t notice his burgeoning erection.

“I might know a way to relax you,” she mumbles, hands going to tangle in Spencer’s curly hair.

“Stop,” he whispers, eyes shut tight when she tugs experimentally.

“Oh, you liked that,” she grins. “You want me to do it again?”

Yes. Please, for the love of- Yes, please.

“Ethel, cut it out. This isn’t funny.”

“I know,” she replies, voice suddenly stern. He opens his eyes and sees her eyebrows furrowed, head tilted down and lips pursed. “God, you’re so serious,” she smiles, the facade breaking. “I won’t bite.” She tugs again. “Unless you ask me to.”

Spencer swallows thickly and tries to convince himself to ask her to stop again. She rolls her hips against his, and though the movement is astoundingly uncoordinated, it feels heavenly.

Ha, he thinks. Heaven is not, and has never been, in this room.

She’s drunk. She’s inebriated, and she’s taken. Stop. You need to push her off of you. Tell her you don’t like it. Go on, tell her. Tell her. Tell-

Some very considerate partygoer bangs on the bathroom door. “Are you about done in there? I need to shit!” 

Ethel scrambles off of Spencer’s lap and he huffs out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Saved by the bell.

***

November 23, 1981

“Be honest!” Ethel shouts, shoving at Spencer’s chest. 

“E, you’re being impossible! I don’t know what you want me to say!”

She’s hitting him. She has never done that before. What the hell? She’s been yelling at him for probably an hour now, spouting nonsense about why he doesn’t love her. Of course he loves her. He’s told her he loved her their whole lives. Why is she freaking out about this now?

“Stop– Stop lying to me,” she demands, crying now. “Please just be honest for once.”

“Lying about what?” asks for the thousandth time, exasperated. “I do love you. I’ve never not loved you.”

Ethel sobs. “You are the only man I have ever met who didn’t want to fuck me.”

What? Since when does she swear?

“I- Where is this coming from?”

He does not tell her how badly he has wanted to do just that since he learned what sex was. The first time he ever heard of it, he remembers very clearly thinking, the only person I would want to make love to is Ethel. He isn’t sure why Ethel never calls it sex anymore; every time the topic would come up, she’d use the more vulgar term. He has a sneaking suspicion it has something to do with her ever-increasingly active sex life since she was, like, 13.

“It doesn’t matter where it’s coming from! Just answer me! What is it, do you not think I’m pretty? Are you not into girls? What is your problem? I mean, whatever the reason is, I can take it. I don’t care what you say, but say something! Just– I’m so tired of you being so damn calm all the time. Hurt me, or yell at me, but just don’t be so-”

“Why are you asking me about this? You have a boyfr-”

“Will killed himself,” Ethel cries, and she’s a goner. She’s all gasps and wails, and damn near falls to her knees. Spencer is right in front of her in a couple strides, arms around her waist in case she gets too unsteady.

“Okay,” he says, not sure what the protocol is. He guesses that was acceptable, because she doesn’t reply except for with more of the same. Her hands ball themselves into fists, entangled with his white button-up dress shirt. They stay like that until he guides her to her bed, laying down next to her. He shushes her gently, kisses the top of her head, and cards his hand through her pin-straight hair.

There are a million thoughts in his head. How did he do it? What preceded this? Did they get in a fight she didn’t tell me about? When did she find out? Why was I her first thought? None of them are pressing enough to address, at least not right now. He isn’t sure if he’ll ever be able to ask them, if she’ll ever be comfortable enough with the topic to truly discuss it. Soft whimpers and sniffles keep him awake for hours, long after Ethel falls asleep. He’s sweaty, and his arm is asleep, pins and needles all up and down his right side, and he is horribly thirsty, but he stays there until morning light. He wonders absently whether her mother even noticed she was gone. His mother thinks he’s gone even when he’s just in the next room.

She’s gotten worse while he’s been in college. He just got a PhD for mathematics, and in his absence, she’s falling apart. He sent someone to take care of her while he’s at school and visits as often as he can, but he’s getting emails every other day about some new ailment she has. The idea of putting her in a home is the last thing he wants to pursue, but it’s getting more and more pressing. It’s looking like his only option.

Hours pass by before he’s pulled out of his thoughts by Ethel stirring. Here we go again.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” he smiles, dragging his hand away from her hair. “Did you sleep well?”

She groans, rolling onto her back and stretching her arms out above her head. “What time is it?”

“7:06,” he replies, the smile stubborn on his lips. He does not look at the skin that her stretch reveals at her lower stomach, thank you very much.

“I feel better,” she tells him, bunching her arms up under her head, turning on her side to look at him. “I’m not sure what all I said last night, but… whatever it was, I know it wasn’t good, and I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.” How much did she remember?

“I think I’m gonna go home. Mom is probably pissed,” Ethel chuckles, grin radiant.

It’s good to see her happy, it doesn’t happen often anymore.

“I’ll check on you later,” Spencer says, not being able to convince himself to move. Ethel doesn’t, either. They just look at each other for a little while, memorizing. Eventually, she sits up with a vigor.

“Okay, I really have to leave. I’ll see you later, Spence.” With a squeeze of the knee, Ethel is off the bed and leaving.

***

Spencer promised to check on her, and he did. Just a few hours later, he drags a coat over his shoulders and traipses down the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Diana calls from the couch in the living room.

He stops, turns around, and approaches her. “Just going to see Ethel, Mom.” He presses a kiss to her cheek, leaning over the back of the sofa.

“Didn’t you just get back?” she frowns, placing a hand over his affectionately.

“No, Mom. She left a while ago.”

Diana looks sad, but she nods. “Okay. Be safe, come back soon, okay? I want you back before dark.” She presses pursed lips to his hand, and with a pathetic smile, waves him off.

Despite the early hour, most of the windows at the Cain house are dark. On the second floor, two are on that he can see; he recognizes them to be Allison and Hope’s rooms. Ethel got to have the attic bedroom when her father died, luckily for her. That light isn’t on.

Spencer opens the front door as quietly as he can and comes across Allison in the dining room, sitting at the table and scribbling in a notebook. “Hey, Allison,” he smiles.

Allison looks up from her paper with a grin and closes it at the sight of him. “Oh, hi! I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Spencer rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, she’s been coming over more lately. I’ve needed some extra help with Mom,” he lies. The truth is, Ethel just didn’t want to be at home with her mother, even if she’s been pretty much bedridden. I can feel her, she’d told him. It’s like a ghost, a chill on my spine.

“Yeah, I get that. Sorry she’s not feeling well.”

Spencer nods a thanks, eager to be done with the awkward conversation, and trudges up the creaky old stairs. More than anywhere else in the house, the hallways always smell like mildew and dust. It made him sneeze when he was younger, but he’s pretty-well used to it now. He knocks on the door to the attic and gets no response. Perhaps she’s in the bathroom? He knocks on that door, too, but to no avail. Turning back around, he returns to the attic and opens the door this time. Turning to his right, he finds Ethel asleep in bed.

“Hey, are you-” He touches her shoulder and pulls his hand away as if burned. He hadn’t noticed the blood at first. Upon closer investigation, he realizes she’s trembling, and a glance at her face reveals foam at her mouth. He looks around frantically and finds exactly what he expected to find; an empty pill bottle. He turns her onto her back, then on her side facing him. 

“Ethel!” He hardly ever calls her by her full name, but he figures this circumstance warrants it. “Fuck! Wake up!”

Gritting his teeth, he rears back and hits her across the face. That one worked. She stirs minimally, groaning, but not replying. “Fuck, what did you take?” He pulls her hands out from where they were curled under her chin and finds gashes down both forearms, two each, crossed in the visage of a crucifix. “Shit, shit, shit. E, you need to- you need to get up. Come on, wake up, please?”

He takes off his coat and tears off each sleeve, surprised at his own strength, then ties them firmly around her wounds. Just as he does that, his hands are covered in vomit. He cringes, but he’s relieved at her movement. He fights to urge to run to the sink and scrub himself clean.

“Are you with me? You need to get up. Come on, let’s go.”

“Leave me alone,” she whimpers, trembling like a leaf. “I don’t need you, I don’t need anybody’s help. Just go.”

“No. Nope. We’re not doing that. Come on.” Spencer wipes his hands off on the mattress and puts an arm under her shoulders, dragging her upward. “What did you take, E? Talk to me. Tell me what you took. You need to walk, okay? Work with me.”

Her head lolls back against her shoulders when she’s pulled off the bed. “It was…” Her speech is slurred and her eyes fall shut. Spencer manages to get her all the way to the bathroom and set her down on the tile. This is gonna fucking suck. 

He gets her mouth open and, ignoring the lurch of his own stomach, his fingers creep into her mouth. She gags once, twice, and vomits in the direction of the toilet bowl. Most of it managed to land in the commode. He does that a few more times until all that’s coming up is acid.

“Okay,” he mumbles. “Okay.” He leans her against the bathtub and finally goes to the sink, scrubbing his hands clean. He tries to move quickly while still being as thorough as possible. Deciding he’s as clean as he’s going to get, he dries them off on a hand towel and returns to Ethel. “You’re gonna be alright, E. I need to dress your arms, is that okay?”

Barely cognizant, she shakes her head. “No,” she murmurs, tears still falling from her eyes due to the gagging. “Please, Spence. Just leave me alone.”

He bites his lip. “We’re gonna do this. You don’t get to kill yourself, E. Not now. You got me?”

Ethel doesn’t reply, just sniffles and hiccups against the white porcelain. Examining her wrists, he finally realizes just how fucking scary this is. There’s blood everywhere; on her clothes, his clothes, all over his hands and the floor. He never realized just how much the arms bleed before. He didn’t think he’d have to know that, at least not yet.

With a bone-deep sigh, he lets go of her to dig through the cabinet under the sink. He locates a first-aid kit and dumps hydrogen peroxide over her arms. She’s so far gone she doesn’t even react.

“This is really not my year, you know?” she slurs, a bitter smirk on her face. “I mean, shit. Dad died. Will died. Joanna’s probably dead by now. Mom’s as good as dead, and so are my sisters, as much as they talk to me. Fuck, why not me?”

Spencer feels himself get choked up, but he encourages her anyway. At least she’s talking.

“I mean, Daddy was years ago, but… I needed him, you know? He made me feel like I fucking meant something to somebody, for once in my pathetic life,” she scoffs. Spencer doesn’t mention how much he cares about her, or how much it hurt to hear her imply she didn’t mean anything to him. He just applies ointment and wraps arm number one.

“Dude,” she continues, “I’ve been drunk since freshman year, and no one notices. Either that or they just don’t give a damn. And God,” she snorts, “Definitely doesn’t give a damn. He hasn’t even been in this fucking town since I was little. If he’s here…” Ethel lets out a dry sob, and Spencer assumes she’s too dehydrated to cry. “If he’s here, I can’t feel him anymore. I used to. Sometimes. Like… Like that morning on the roof, you remember?”

“I remember, E. Tell me about it. Tell me about that night,” he says, picking up her other arm to apply more ointment. She lets him.

“When Will and I fucked, when I lost my virginity,” she says, opening her eyes to watch Spencer for the first time since he sat her down. “I felt God, then. I heard him in my head, screaming at me. He told me I was a whore. That wasn’t very Godly, was it?”

He can’t fight it anymore and a lone tear falls out of his eye, but he very pointedly is not crying. Go him.

“No, it wasn’t.”

“He’s supposed to be there all the time, but I just feel so damn alone. I always have, even when I knew he was there, like at church.” She shifts her weight, flinching when Spencer presses too hard with the gauze.

“Sorry. Go on?”

“I felt him, though, and it was good. Kinda fun. It was like…” She hold up the middle finger on the hand Spencer already finished with. “Like, screw you, dude! I can fuck whoever I want to. Not just my daddy,” she chuckles. Spencer’s stomach lurches and he feels like he’s gonna throw up, too. “But I’m good, though,” she declares, nodding her head sloppily, eyes shut tight and lips pursed. “I’m all good out here.”

“I know you are,” he says, but he doesn’t. He has never been less sure she was ‘good’, and given the current circumstance, he thinks he gets the right to be worried. He only left her alone for a couple of hours and she tried to kill herself. She almost succeeded. All this over a boy she’s known for about a year. Good Lord, if you’re listening, please keep a better eye on her.

Tag List: @darkmatilda @lizzys-sunflower.

If you'd like to be added, let me know!

[daemon-in-my-head]

Hi, an update;

Long story short, I got the messages. I loved them and I love you people. I'm trying my best to get back into it so I may lovingly annoy you again.

For a more expansive and far less wholesome update see below the cut. It's been a hot minute.

I'm... alive. That's the word. I guess. Solved the main issue I mentioned last post at work and then some. Felt great working on it, solving it, being recognised. The usual shit yk. Crashed just about the same day that stress was gone. Went to renfair regardless. Was great. Saw the bands I wanted to see, bought a dope new sword for the ever growing collection. But by grace of dealing with the hidden lovechild of a bipolar disorder and bpd that was raised by depression, aka the wonderous thing that calls itself atypical depression, that bout of feeling alive lasted just about as long as it was happening and I crashed even harder afterwards. Fun times. Went back to work. Worked even more, stressed myself more. Then my wrists started to hurt. Perhaps if I was a sane being I would've called it quits when it was still manageable but alas I am not. Yesterday, I decided to cave and visit my doc. He decided due to tenosynovitis I will not be returning to work this month. The good thing about that is that my colleagues won't have to suffer from seeing me wearing a hoodie and turtleneck in 30°C while they're boiling alive and I'm mourning the loss of my heater. The bad thing is that I am now stuck at home, in pain, and not even allowed to play games or draw to keep my mind of things. Which is one of the other reasons I've been absent. Apparently brain decided I am not allowed on social media unless I have something to show for it, but with spending just about every free second asleep my mermay wip has become somewhat of a merjune and now more of a merjuly prospect. And well holding things is painful so there's that too I guess.

I'm working on returning, but I'm still gonna need a moment. Regardless, what I said above the cut holds true. Means a lot to me, geniunly. Probably gonna sound stupid if I put it that way but its like physical evidence my brain is just a lil bitch and I'm not universally despised. Keep looking at them every once in a while when its bad.

Either way yeah, lots of fun. But that'll pass too eventually. And until it does I have skills and an emergency plan if it gets real bad, made it out before, will do it again, apparently I'm a cockroach in that regard. Or just too spiteful to prove someone right. Whatever it is, just gotta survive this one and once all is wrapped up I'll be back to being the usual me, insane about two fictional guys and their tragedies. Which I've discovered not at all about them apparently. I'll expand on that one as soon as writing stops hurting. But in the meantime y'all better keep being beautifully brained, creative and talented people so I can hopefully soon stalk y'alls blogs and be insane in ur tags about your dolls and their adventures again. I miss the stuff y'all r getting up to, finding posts that remind me of ur dolls or u guys and just you people in general. Until then y'all keep well (and debauched, this is still tumblr after all)

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

4, 8 and 15 for the ask game?? :)

Heya love!!! EEK THANK U!! ask game answers under the cut AGH!!

4.) Rank the main four (I feel like some of y'all are gonna string me up for this one I'm sorry it was SO close truly I love all these boys so so much 'n I really enjoy writin' for all of them)

Darry

Dallas

Soda

Pony

Johnny

Steve

Two

8.) How did you get into the Outsiders?

Ok so real funny story actually. I first read the book when I was in probably 6th grade 'n was one of only a handful to pick to (we had a couple options). 'N for a while man I wouldn't talk about nothin' else. It's real funny to me 'cause I can remember at the time I was significantly younger than Pony 'n I thought his logic was so sound. I truly thought Darry was AWFUL. God, times change man. Then probably five months ago or so I ran across one of them text posts put on Pinterest about the outsiders 'n thought man I haven't read that book in forever. I ran STRAIGHT out to my local bookstore to get it 'n then in the parkin' lot I thought hey I wonder if anyone's put together any Outsiders playlists 'n ran across the soundtrack. It really was one of those delightful moments where you rediscover somethin' from childhood 'n think you know what yeah. Eleven year old me was really onto somethin' here.

15.) Five head cannons that are entirely self indulgent

OH man a can of WORMS!!! I have so so many

1.) Dallas is a goddamn son of a bitch picky eater. He becomes SO indignant when Darry tries to force him to eat vegetables. 'N Darry is always baffled 'cause Soda 'n Pony are like vultures 'n will eat anythin' not nailed down. Meanwhile Darry's pullin' the 'you can get up from that table when your fuckin' plate is CLEAN' 'n they're on hour SIX.

2.) Johnny is a little SHIT. It always surprises Pony 'cause he's babygirlified him so hard but Johnny has it in him to be so feral. He learned how to hold a grudge 'n promptly used his deceptively big wet eyes 'n pathetic demeanor to get away with SO much.

3.) Most of the gang are drama FIENDS. Pony 'n Darry ADORE a good shit talkin' session. Dallas has his nose in EVERYONE'S business so he's always showin' up with some gossip. Steve pretends he doesn't care but he is just as nosy 'n he NEEDS those details. (Soda is the only one who could not care even a little)

4.) Steve is so deeply invested in NASCAR 'n Soda is entrenched in the rodeos. Neither of them much care for the others Thing but you better BET Soda is always right there in shotgun for all of Steve's drags 'n keepin' him company while he fixes up his beater 'n Steve is in the FRONT row every time Soda rides

5.) Darry loves the Beatles. He is an adamant Beatles defender. Good lord he is fightin' for his life every time they come on the radio 'cause the rest of the gang thinks Elvis is tuff 'n the Beatles are grandma rock. But Dallas. OH man one day Darry catches Dallas singin' absently to one of their singles 'n he's instantly like YOU. Dallas REFUSES to admit it 'n Darry won't rat him out. Mutually assured destruction.

[aceofwhump]

Hi everyone!

Sorry I've been a little absent for a bit. First I got sick which took me a while to get last and this past week I spent time travelling! Aka I was participating in a WWII reenactment which means no internet. It was such a blast as usual but man I'm tired lol. Here have some pics:

Back home now and exhausted but super eager to see what I've missed here for whumptober! I'm finally over my illness and my schedule is now gonna open up a bit which missed I have more time and energy for gifmaking and finally answering all of your lovely messages that have been waiting in my inbox (sorry for making y'all wait!) Also today was the last post I had prepped for whumptober so I'm gonna be behind now but I am not giving up!

Hope everyone had a good weekend!

[thegreatobsesso]

OK WOW!!!

This is funny because I'm not sure if my Electra Ray tag list wants to read porn, or if my gay crime bdsm tag list is interested in ladies banging. So I'm just gonna tag all y'all on this and send it into the world for exactly what it is, which is a scene from The Insuppressible Electra Ray that originally faded to black, but is now fleshed out in smutty glory.

And just to note, this was something I hadn't even planned to write until this morning, and now it's ... here, and I kinda love it.

✨All the people of the all the tag lists✨

@avrablake​ // @adie-dee //​ @dontjudgemeimawriter​

@ryorine​ // @thelaughingstag​ // @winterandwords​ 

@afoolandathief​ // @asomeoneperson​ // @cedar-west

​ @diphthongsfordays​ // @lowslore​ // @poetinprose​ 

@cilly-the-writer​​​​​​​​ // @harps-for-days // @foxboyclit

@revenantlore // @space-writes // @indecentpause

@words-after-midnight // @asher-writes

Electra

Why would anybody put this many pins in their hair? 

Back at the bar it looked like the woman's hair’d been pulled hastily back into a lazy bun, but upon getting her hands into it, it was readily apparent that it was held quite deliberately in place by a bunch of pins. So many pins.

She’d gotten the woman up against the wall in her musty old apartment. They both tasted like vodka and she was too intoxicated by the feeling of this hard, sharp body against hers to feel embarrassed about the state of the place. Peeling tiles, clanging radiator. Depression given form. 

More. She wanted more. And less. More touch, less clothes, that was the ticket. But there was something about the woman’s response to her ministrations that was, what, robotic? Uncertain? 

Electra pulled back. “Are you good?” 

The woman bit her lower lip. It was much hotter than it should be. “I, um-” 

“-don’t usually do this kind of thing, right?” Electra supplied. “What’s your name, baby?” 

She gulped. “Eve.” 

“Mmm. I like it.” She freed the woman’s blouse from her pants. “The thing is, Eve, it’s not gonna be any fun if you can’t relax.” She ran her hands over the woman’s sides, hiking her shirt up. “Do you think you can relax and let me show you good time?” 

The plain, pretty thing closed her eyes and nodded, like she couldn’t even bear to answer aloud. Electra yanked her in and kissed her slowly, coaxing her lips open. She wanted to hear what that soft, smoky voice sounded like when it was screaming her name - except damn, she couldn’t tell it to her. Everyone in this shit town knew her as Moira, Moira, blah, and if she wanted to stay off the radar she had to keep it that way.

She’d just have to use her imagination, which she was real good at. Envision the spiky syllables rolling off the lady’s tongue. Electra, oh, oh, Electra.

“Get on the bed,” she said, and then didn’t wait. She pushed the lady down onto her back herself. She fell as easy as a reed in the wind. Tiny body, hot voice, and a tongue that met hers with such liveliness that made her want it on her clit instead. Would that be too much to ask of little miss doesn’t-do-this-sort-of-thing? These were the thoughts her drunk brain plonked out while she peeled off her own clothing and set upon her partner’s.

“I wanna make you feel good, baby,” she hummed absently, pulling the woman’s elastic bra over her head and lowering her mouth onto nearly non-existent boobies. “Mmm. Tell me what you like.”

Eve’s breaths came ragged and short, but she was only holding onto Electra with a loose grip, still stubbornly shy. “I’m not sure,” she breathed.

Well, if she said she hadn’t expected that she’d be a dirty liar. “That’s okay,” she grinned. “I’ll help you figure it out. We can play and play and play all night long if that’s what it takes.” She planted a quick kiss to the tip of Eve’s nose and slipped her hand into Eve’s underwear, the only item of clothing left.

Oh.

Dry as the Sahara. What the hell? Eve made a little noise that might’ve been surprise, pleasure or pain. Electra withdrew her hand. 

“Are you, like, not into this?”

“No,” Eve said quickly, sitting up on her elbows. “I mean, yes, I am. Honestly.”

“Okay, well in that case, do you have some kinda issue down there?”

“No,” Eve snipped, and Electra could swear in the darkness of her ugly little bedroom that she was blushing. “It’s just, have no idea what I’m doing, Moira. What do you want to do? To me?”

It seemed an honest question, and Electra found it an interesting and delightful one. “I wanna bury my face in your pussy and eat you like a slice of cake.”

Eve laughed, a husky, sexy noise that sent all her blood rushing in a single direction. “Alright,” she said.

Yes. Yes! ���Touch me,” she said, because while Eve apparently had no idea what she was doing, she seemed perfectly willing to be bossed around, and so Electra grabbed her hand and slapped it onto her boob while bending over her to kiss her silly. To her endless joy, Eve didn’t need to be told exactly how to touch her, and drew her nipple between her fingertips. Oh, fuck, that felt fantastic, but she’d been granted permission to eat her out and wasn’t gonna wait for the lady’s prudishness to kick back in.

She used her mouth to work her way down Eve’s body, pushing her legs apart and wasting no time getting to work. She always liked to start with licking solid stripes up and down to see what made somebody flinch, tense, whimper. Eve got a little wetter as she toiled, and quite right! Women did not stay dry under her attention, it just didn’t happen and if it did, quite frankly, she’d be extremely insulted. 

“You taste so good,” she slurred in between flicks of her tongue. “I wanna touch you on the inside. Can I?”

“Alright,” Eve said again. Woman of few words. She could deal with that - she had enough words for the both of them. Electra popped two fingers into her own mouth, making sure they were nice and slippery.

“Oh, fuck,” she moaned as she buried herself up to her knuckles in sweet, sexy stranger flesh. “You’re so hot and tight, baby. Fucking perfect. Does that feel good? Do you like how I feel inside you?”

Yeah, sometimes she liked to get creative with dirty talk, but this wasn’t one of those times. The classics were classic for a reason and Eve clearly didn’t mind, responsive at long last, lifting her hips in time with the curl of Electra’s fingers. Excellent. Now, to go in for the kill. She dipped her head back down and closed her lips around the woman’s clit.

Something surprising happened then - Eve moaned loudly, arched her back, and then collapsed back down on the bed.

“Oh, thank you,” she breathed. “That, that was good.”

Except she hadn’t come - Electra knew it, all up inside her as she was. She had more experience with penises, true, but she knew her way around a vagina just as well.

“Did you just fake it?” she demanded.

“What? No, I-”

“Because you did not just come. I can tell.”

She withdrew her fingers and sat up, looking straight at the woman from her perch between her legs. Eve had the lightly flustered look of someone who knew they’d been caught in a lie.

“Look,” she stated, and then tried a couple different beginnings before making any new words. “I don’t think I actually will.”

“Oh, fuck that,” Electra said, properly irritated now. “Why would you just fake an orgasm? Why would anybody?”

“Because I didn’t want to you feel bad. I can just do you now, if you want. It’s really fine.”

“The fuck it is. Lay your ass down. I’m gonna make you come so hard you forget your name.”

“You really don’t have-”

“You’re gonna tell me what feels good,” she grumbled, reclaiming her spot between Eve’s legs, “and then I’m gonna do it to you until you come. Faking a fucking orgasm. Hell no, not on my watch, not with me.”

She drew the woman’s clit back into her mouth, sucked on it for a moment, then released it. “What about that? Does that feel good?”

She watched Eve’s throat rise and fall as she gulped. “A little bit.”

“Fuck a little bit,” Electra said, and slid two fingers back inside her. “How about this?”

There was a soft exhale, and Eve drew her own hair back with splayed fingers. “Better,” she breathed, sounding ever-so-slightly ragged.

Just then, Electra had an idea. Fuckity fuck, she should’ve thought of this sooner! She dove over the edge of the bed and yanked the dresser drawer open.

“What are you doing?” Eve asked. She popped back up onto the bed with a toy in hand.

It was a small thing, with an indistinct, ergonomic-lookin’ shape - something she didn’t use much, probably actually came as a free gift with one of her more expensive purchases, but by some miracle it was charged when she clicked it on. She didn’t answer Eve, only licked the small vibrator like a lolly pop before touching it lightly to Eve’s clit.

She didn’t need to ask if it felt good - the reaction is immediate and unmistakable. Eve draped an arm over her face and whimpered delicately, and now that, that was a fucking authentic reaction. Electra held the vibe steady with one hand and thrust into her with the other. 

“There you go, baby,” she crooned, as Eve screwed her eyes shut and made a wonderfully high sound that gave Electra the overwhelming need to squeeze her own thighs together. But she didn’t let up on her rhythm, because it was quite clear this particular combination was all it’d take to send Eve right off to heaven.

A little experimentation, that's all. Hell, that was half the fun of it. Why the woman assumed she just couldn't get there was beyond Electra, but she felt quite smug at being able to prove her wrong so quickly.

And it didn’t even take long - a minute or two and Eve grasped the sheets, dropped her head to the side, and came for real. It was a fucking gorgeous sight that filled Electra up from head to toe with heady satisfaction. She removed the vibe but continued curling her fingers as the woman trembled and let out a long, uneven sigh.

“Good girl,” she said lazily, feeling more in love with herself than she had in quite some time. After a moment or two more of helping her ride it out, she pulled away and licked her fingers clean. Eve watched, adorably fuzzy-eyed, and she opened her mouth when Electra swept down for a kiss and covered her body with her own.

Eve arched into her and oh, it was nice. And put her arms around Electra’s neck, which, oh, was doubly nice. 

“Oh, my,” Eve sighed, when Electra came up for air. “God, I’m exhausted. Is it alright if I spend the night?”

“Do you snore?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then sure.” Electra grinned. “You want a shot? I’m havin' one.”

She jumped off the bed and went straight to the kitchen buck-ass naked, retrieving a bottle of whiskey from the fridge. Eve hadn’t replied, but when she looked back toward the bed, she’d pulled the sheet around her body. 

“What?”

Eve just sat there, looking more alert than she had a moment ago. “What about you?” she asked quietly. “Can I… make you come?”

It looked like it took every ounce of effort she had to utter something that explicit, and Christ, how charming was that? “Hell yes you can,” Electra said, downing a swig straight from the bottle and practically pole-vaulting back into bed. She claimed Eve’s face in her hands, kissed her deeply, and then promptly released her to dig back into her drawer. 

What? She knew what she wanted.

The dildo she deposited into Eve's hands was an entirely different beast than the dainty vibe resting discarded by the pillows, and Eve received it with equal parts skepticism and surprise.

"Really?" she asked.

Electra laid herself down regally and stretched her arms luxuriously above her head. "What can I say?" she murmured, feeling the fresh rush of booze settle warmly in her stomach. “I’m a hungry, hungry hippo.”

Now that had to be the stupidest thing she’d ever said in bed, but she didn’t regret it because it made Eve laugh again and Electra realized it was her absolute favorite sound the woman made, more than the moans, whimpers and hitched breaths. She'd been so dead-set on making her come, but now she found herself doubly determined to make her laugh, because when she laughed, she was somehow more open than when her thighs were on either side Electra’s head, and it was-

Well, it was beautiful. She was beautiful, Electra decided, even as plain as she was, bordering on nondescript. There was just something about her. 

Not enough to make her wanna stop and write a sonnet about it, though. She cocked an eyebrow, spread her legs, and stroked a circle around her own clit.

“Well? What are you waiting for, sweet cheeks?”

Eve moved over her with more confidence than she’d displayed on the receiving end, placing the toy at her entrance without further preamble, and Electra was more than wet enough to take it without any synthetic assistance. Eve pushed the thing in halfway and watched her face with interest, grey eyes unflinching.

“Go on,” Electra said, grinding into the toy and placing a hand on Eve’s sharp jaw. “Trust me, I’m not gonna break.”

She shivered as the toy bottomed out inside her, sweet and hot and not enough. Eve hovered over her, making steady eye contact that was such a contrast to the rest of her behavior this evening that it might’ve frightened her if she wasn’t in the midst of getting fucked so, so good.

“That’s it,” she said, pulling her knees up around Eve’s waist. “Do it harder. Oh, god. Faster. Faster.”

She begged for more and more until the crown of her head was thunking against the headboard. Eve was stronger than she looked and Electra was glad of it, so glad, so grateful for the unexpected strength in those toothpick arms because this was finally enough, finally what she’d been craving all night, what she was always craving every moment of her life since she ran away, since she disappeared: oblivion. The fucking incandescent absence of thought. Memory.

Guilt.

Every tenant in this shit-hole probably heard her scream and she couldn’t care less. She clung to the woman as she came, willing it to last a lifetime, or just long enough to pretend she was someone else. But she came back down into herself like she always did, and she was still the same wretched person she always was.

But there was somebody else here, and that was nice; another warm body to hold onto, stop her sliding down into the pit. Vipers wriggled and writhed down there, waiting for the moment she was honest with herself. She curled up into that warm body and, blessedly, fell into a dreamless sleep.

When next she woke, it was to the sensation of something hard and cold closing around her neck, and a warm hand clasped over her mouth.

Panic slammed her reflexes awake and she reached for her magic. And when she caught hold of it-

Pain exploded in her chest and nothing else happened, her attacker had not flown from her and hit the wall like they should. Her magic was-

“Easy, Electra,” said the familiar, soft, low voice. A slight body rested on her back and wrenched her hands together behind it. “I’m gonna put a needle in your arm, and if you struggle, you’ll hurt yourself. Nod if you understand.” 

And there were a million bad things about this, but somehow through them all, she was able to register which one was, quite distinctly, the worst.

The assailant called her by her name. She shouldn’t know her name, and if she knew her name, then that meant-

Shocked into acquiescence, Electra nodded.

“Good,” the woman said. 

She felt a sharp pinch in the crook of her elbow, followed by absolutely nothing at all. 

--

Riley

All the fuss over this woman in the interceding years between Peter's death and Riley's decision to seek her out - it shouldn't have been this easy. She was supposed to be America's Most Wanted, highly dangerous, do not approach. And after so much time evading capture, she was practically an urban legend.

But the woman Riley'd lured from the bar didn't seem ruthless, cunning, or even particularly competent. Still, it was undoubtedly Electra Ray lying unconscious in front of her, her glamour fallen away, red hair spilling like blood rivulets over dull, dirty sheets.

Her original plan was to gather samples for her work - hair, skin, saliva, blood. Enough to trace her DNA, map her genome, unlock the secrets that lived in her cells. After she took what she needed, she was simply going to disappear.

Only a maniac would wait around for a remorseless, unrepentant killer to awaken.

Except she didn't seem to be that. So Riley had recalculated quite quickly in the face of the shocking banality that was her brother's infamous murderer, and decided she'd very much like to stick around and ask her a few questions.

[latimeria-fell-from-heaven]

lati what are your opinions on ebenholz . i'm having the biggest goat cock brainrot

so unfortunately i don't have our resident goat boy since i was absent from arknights during his banner :(( i've heard that he's pretty useful in dealing with elite/boss enemies, but he's also pretty tricky to use in regular combat like other operators.

horni wise, you can't fucking convince me that ebenholz wouldn't have a thing for fingering. he abuses your sensitive walls, curling and scissoring his fingers to stretch you out while ignoring each of your pleas for mercy. and of course he's edging you, building you right up to a climax only to tear it away from you at the last moment. and he has the nerve to tell you to keep your voice down, making sure to really dig his padded fingertips into your sweet spots as he's saying that. ebenholz has a bit of a mean streak to him :((

yes, you can grab his horns when he's in between your legs for stability. he's gonna grunt and give you a look, but he won't really do much to stop you. ebenholz lowkey finds it arousing that you have to grip onto his horns of all things just because he's making you feel that good. and he curses under his breath when he's got his dick inside you, hissing a quick "scheiße, so eng!" here and a "So verdammt gut" there.

also i'm so sure that i'll get thirsts about this bc y'all are nasty, but yes, male goats go into rut. they act weird for the does attention, especially when they smell a doe in heat. does will also do a thing called "standing heat," which is when the doe stands still so a buck can breed with her. take this information and imagine a very horny ebenholz who wants to fuck you standing up and do with it what you will.

[jetblackknight]

// sorry for being absent the past few days !! I got the in-person job and it's beeen hectic. Today was my last "normal" day, and it was supposed to be continuation date for the abuser's hearing. Turns out it has another continuance ! So idk when that's gonna be !

But also, I start my first full day shift tomorrow, and then Saturday—after that, my days off will be Thursday and Saturday, and as I said before thursdays are mine and my mom's cleaning and shopping / " honey do " days. Saturdays are our days off.

But knowing me, it's gonna take a while for me to get used to this—my previous jobs have all been pretty lax, and before that none at all, so it'll take getting used to. I don't know how long that'll be, but im not going on hiatus because I will reply eventually ( probably sometime these next two weeks ) !

Also a blanket apology for not responding to discord messages / DMs. I've been pretty dead aocial battery wise, and that makes it difficult to respond in a way that isn't unintentionally snippy or seemingly disinterested ( I promise I'm not, I'm just very exhausted ). I'm doing my best to recharge but it's a battle, lol.

I'll reply as I can and everything, plus I'll always be available at ( usually ) 2:00-3:00pm EST, from mobile ( that's my lunch break ). I'll try to reply, socially ( discord ) then, lol

Again, so sorry, it's just been busy and hectic and I promise it's not an excuse, just an explanation ( one of several—I also managed to get fruckin' wombo comboed by getting sick and getting punched in the uterus by Mother Nature, TMI sorry ) ! My life is a joke, I stg.

One of y'all also keeps stealing all of my sneezes, and when I figure out which one of you it is, I'm stealing all of your shoe laces and wall chargers, you lil shit /j

Love you all, dearly, and sorry for the mobile post 😭

[likeshipsonthesea]

I love your recent posts about Eddie and Shannon and their relationship. I just don’t see how the show can address any of that with the way they’ve written this arc. There’s no one who can criticise Eddie’s feelings of ‘she was the love of my life, I’m broken without her’ except us the audience. There are no characters who saw their relationship as it actually was, so how can the show steer Eddie in that direction? I feel like they’re gonna leave it as she’s his Great Dead Love and that’s that

i see what you mean, and tbh i'm not sure what the show is going to do with this arc on-screen. they have a bunch of storylines to tie up in this finale episode (here's hoping we don't get any cliffhangers 🤞) and i don't know how much time they will have to devote to eddie, or even what they want to do with that time. it's possible they have a completely different perspective on this and will take it a whole other way, but i have faith that the show will tell the story they want to tell and, if the past six seasons are any indication, i will enjoy that story

all that being said, if we're talking dream arc, this is what i would want

as far as who can tell eddie "hey, you're looking at your marriage with rose-colored glasses, this is how it actually is," i've got two ideas for this. one is eddie himself, and the second is his parents, specifically helena, who has been rumored to be in the s7 finale. i'm kinda more excited about the second, so let's get the first one out of the way

eddie himself - hopefully after the clusterfuck that is explaining to his son that he's been seeing a dead ringer for his dead mom and she cosplayed as mommy to give eddie closure, eddie will talk about this in therapy, and through the skills he's learned and a frank discussion (pun intended) he will be forced to confront the reality of his marriage and start to address the trauma he has from everything with shannon

p cut and dry, my typical eddie-goes-to-therapy kinda story. we've all been here before.

now, for the good stuff 😈 (putting this under a read-more bc i have Thoughts)

helena. the diaz mother we all know and have complicated feelings over. or not-so-complicated feelings over, given the "don't drag [chris] down with you" line. i know i keep asking y'all to think of things from the white woman's perspective, but bear with me just one moment while i do this again

helena married into a large mexican family in the 80s. she had a mother in law whose cooking was renowned, a husband always away on business, and three children to bring up along with keeping her home together. given how everyone in their family seemed to treat shannon, i'm gonna go out on a limb here and assume there were some heavy expectations on helena to be the wife everyone thought ramon deserved, and i'm gonna assume that meant a lot of tradition--cooking the right things, doing the holidays the right way, teaching the kids the right values, etc. etc.

i think it was hard. i think helena didn't always meet the expectations put on her. i know it was played as a joke, but during ramon's retirement party, eddie and pepa were concerned that helena was cooking a specific dish (i can't remember which one atm) until abuela assured them she was in charge of it. meaning this is probably a running joke, helena not cooking things as well as she ought to.

also, raising three kids with a physically absent husband in a town that (i'm assuming) is full of in-laws seems hard to me, too. (if this is sounding familiar, yes i'm about to make a shannon comparison just gimme another second). the stories we hear about eddie as a kid are yes, reflections of traditional masculinity and eddie falling short of that, but also reflections on his parenting--how could helena let her son try to cook? that should be her job, she should be watching him! how could she let him try to drive at 8? tsk tsk and all that

i think helena has become a part of the diaz family fully, but i don't think it was always easy, and i think when her son married a white woman who didn't fit the expectations of a diaz wife either, helena recognized that. i think helena saw herself in shannon so clearly.

and instead of breaking the cycle and offering shannon that support and empathy that shannon (and young helena) needed, helena enforced those expectations even harsher. helena did it, so shannon had to, too.

maybe it was out of protection--she wanted shannon to fit into the family the way helena had learned to. maybe it was common generational sentiment, i.e. it's the Right way or it's the way I did it so therefore you have to do it that way, too. maybe it was a means of reinforcing her own place in the family, as she was no longer the newbie, shannon was.

whatever it was, i don't think she was conscious of it, and especially after shannon left her son, helena refused to acknowledge she was anything like shannon at all.

until now.

(yes i've found my way back to the point, i usually do i promise--and yes my adhd meds are THRIVING rn)

both helena's husband and son have done a lot of emotional work in the recent years and i think it's likely she would take a queue from them (and if her daughters are anything like me, i'm sure they're trying to nudge her towards a therapist at every turn). helena very well may be in a place where she can acknowledge how the expectations she's lived under may have been stifling, and given her son's recent encounter with kim, she very well may be in a place to acknowledge how similar shannon was to her.

and that's where, dear anon, your point comes in.

because helena was there for shannon and eddie's entire marriage. ramon was working, eddie was in the war, abuela and pepa were in la, but helena was right down the street (idk if she was actually right down the street but you know what i mean). helena knew shannon as an 18-20yo woman, as a new mother, as a struggling mother. she was in the unique position of watching shannon go through a marriage alone and remembering exactly how that felt.

kim may look like shannon, but she has no idea how shannon felt during her marriage. eddie can say all the things he wants to say, but it's like talking to a gravestone. i think helena can say the things eddie needs to hear, even if he may not want to hear them.

....and now i really wanna write that conversation. fuck.

[sasdavvero]

hi! just wanted to say I'm gonna take a break from the internet for a bit (I sadly cannot focus on fandom content at all, also I'm relapsing and that is taking every little corner of my brain) so like I will not post until I, uh, have something to post. considering i have no fandom thoughts at all and I cannot sit down and draw/write for the life of me, i just wanted to say that i will be absent for a while (idk how much, hopefully not too much but we will see)

I'll sometimes lurk around tumblr to check random stuff, but I won't promise new posts for a while, if it takes me a while to answer DMs/asks that's why!

peace !! love y'all <3

[mzyraj]

Jsyk I'm as alright as I can be at the minute, I'm still very engaged in ffxiv and fall too far behind on my tumblr dash to catch up on it all.

Additionally there's certain politics I do not want to witness unless it's for a crab rave, like bluesky is worse for it than my tumblr rn but understandably people are gonna post about the shit that's going on but it's so stressful and depressing and got me down in recent times so. I'm gonna be sort of absent for a bit.

But! I still care about y'all and am open to being tagged or DMed about stuff, don't be afraid to bother me

I'm trying to prog some medical stuff rn and I might post here and there (probably to bitch about it), but if I'm quiet for a while it is very unlikely I'm dead or dying ❤️

Have a nice picture of my (me) main to finish :3

[autiezo]

Sadly, while I was writing an 'Incorrect Disco Elysium" quote, it turned into a Jean centered one-shot fic.

The original idea was "Jean insults everyone except Kim and Jules while introducing a rookie into Precinct 41 (Judit is absent that day), and also accidentally admits that he likes Harry."

[Writer rambles under the cut]

20 minutes into writing this, I was like "Shit, this is way too long. These aren't a list of quotes anymore." Which is probably a good thing since the idea isn't a super punchy 'Ha-ha funny' and would benefit much more if I explored the characters properly. Also, it's not like many DE fans would be on Jean's side on this, so it falls flat as a quote. Hell, even I wouldn't without paragraphs of context. In fact, I'd just be waiting for Jean to be humiliated/humbled because I love bullying him.

Also, it turned into a Y/N fanfic?? I never read those since I personally find them low-key off-putting. Like a "Don't tell me what to do!" type of deal. However, I didn't wanna put in an OC that does nothing except nod along and follow the story, since I find that more lame. If I'm putting in an OC, I want to make them count. Honestly? I'm excited to take on the challenge. I could do a work-around and write a reason on why Y/N is acting the way they are. Also, for some reason I pictured Y/N as female at first, probably because I'm a woman too. But nah, scratch that, I want Y/N to be any gender possible so that everyone can be Y/N in this. The only tiny hiccup is that they are referred to as 'they', but that's fine since I can't have everything ngl.

If y'all have seen some of my 'Incorrect DE quotes', you'd know I take the term very very loosely. Like the time I had Harry and Kim read the Death Note, or the time I had them discuss Kim's Dream, or the classic time where Kim used the eyebrow on Jean. Those ones are 1 or 2 paragraphs long.

For this idea I have rn? I wrote down two paragraphs and haven't even gotten to Harry's part. Sheesh. I already cut out all the background details here, that's how off the rails this went.

I'm happy that I got to write Mack and Chester shenanigans though. Writing for DE minor characters is always a bonus. And... huh. Maybe one of them should briefly flirt with Y/N as they walk away? Ohhhh or they'd tag-team ngl. It'd be a joke to get a reaction, but still. I haven't seen much of those two, but I feel like they'd be jokesters 90% of the time, like hooligan schoolboys hanging out at the back of the classroom. Gonna have to read their quotes on Fayde before I make any further assumptions.

But yea, it's definitely a one-shot. The biggest this could expand into is a series of slice-of-life RCM office one-shots, but that's unlikely. I'm not too keen on writing Y/N for too long. Hypothetically, by some miracle, if I do end up writing those then I'd either turn Y/N into an OC instead, or research on how to make Y/N interesting while also including the reader themselves.

Y/N characters... sigh. In my personal (and possibly ignorant) opinion, they tend to be really generic and/or suffer the "Marvel Sarcasm Bot" effect. Personally, I have never related to a Y/N character. When I was a teen first reading TMNT 2012 fanfic, I always thought Y/N was someone else, and never me.

Ah, I could make Y/N an introverted person who keeps to themselves, so that they could be an observer. That's one idea. It could work since I can put it in the tags and author notes, so that the reader knows what's up first. hmmmmm